Texas Pride (16 page)

She glanced at her appointment schedule. Her next applicant was due in ten minutes. A Mr. Conrad Trite. If the man could pick up a hammer and knew which end to use, she'd hire him.

Three days had passed since Christmas. The kids had been able to work without Dylan for the short term, anyway, but she knew they needed experienced supervision. There'd been a marked change in their enthusiasm, though. Especially Dean's. His chin had been dragging the ground ever since he heard that Dylan was gone. But then, she certainly hadn't fared well, herself.

He'd left three messages on her machine, but she hadn't called him back. She assumed he'd left town by now. There was no reason for him to stay, was there?

What a fool she'd been. Her pride would heal, she knew, but her heart was a different story. She felt as if there was an emptiness inside her, a bottomless black hole that could never be filled.

The smell of grilled food made her stomach growl, and she realized it was lunchtime. She reached for the menu when Susan set a plate filled with french fries and a hamburger on the table.

Jessica glanced at the waitress. “I didn't order this.”

She refilled Jessica's coffee and nodded to the corner booth by the front door. “He did.”

Frowning, Jessica looked over her shoulder.

Dylan.

Her heart started to pound as their gazes locked. Her first impulse was to jump over the table and throw herself on his lap. The second was to dump the plate of food over his head. She turned quickly around, determined not to let him see her in such a vulnerable state.

When he slid into her booth across from her, she studied the information she'd taken on each of the applicants. She wanted to pick up her pen, but her fingers were shaking too much.

“Hi.”

She said nothing, just continued to read through her notes.

“I'm here for my appointment,” he said.

She glanced up sharply at him.

“Mr. Conrad Trite.” He pointed at the list. “You know, Con Trite.” He leaned closer. “As in, I'm sorry.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. Now that she thought about it, the man
had
sounded strange on the phone, as if he'd just swallowed a chicken bone.

She straightened her back and placed her forearms on the table. “I'm afraid the position is not open to you, because apologies are like your name—trite.”

He looked tired, she thought. Wonderfully, beautifully tired. A little rumpled, as if he'd just woken up. She remembered what it felt like to wake up beside him, feel his hands on her skin, on her—

Stop.
She couldn't let herself think about him. Not now. Not ever.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I'm fine,” she lied. She didn't ask how he was.

“How's my crew doing?”

His sincere concern for the kids put a chink in her armor, but she ignored it. “
My
crew is doing well, thank you. They'll be able to keep going on the projects you gave each of them for a few days. I'll have a foreman hired by the time they're ready to start something new.”

“Any luck with your applicants?” He pointed at her list.

“I'll find someone. Life, I assure you, does go on.”

He reached across the table and took her hands. “Jessica, stop it,” he said sharply, keeping his voice down. “This isn't like you.”

“Isn't like me?” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held her tight. Unless she wanted to make a scene, she was trapped. “Mister, don't flatter yourself that you know me so well.”

His thumbs moved over the backs of her hands. “I know you're the most honest, most beautiful woman I've ever met. You see the good in people—you believe in people. It's a rare quality. And the thought of hurting you, of destroying that rare quality, sickens me.”

His thumbs, with their rough texture, moving over her skin sent electricity shooting up her arms. She wouldn't weaken now. She couldn't. Her anger was the only thing that held her together. “The Stones don't destroy so easily, Dylan. I wouldn't give it another thought.”

“Dammit, Jess.” He leaned across the table. “I'm sorry. What else can I say?”

That you love me.
Even as she thought it, she hated herself for being so weak. For still holding on to glass hopes and wishes made of sand.

She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't have the strength or energy. “Is that what you want from me? To accept your apology? All right—” she stared straight into his eyes “—apology accepted. You can walk out of here now, conscience clear, Mr. Grant. Go back to South America or one of the other dozens of places you've been running to your entire life. I'm going to be fine.”

A muscle worked in Dylan's jaw. He released her hands, then slid out of the booth and stared down at her. “Whatever you think of me, Jess, however you remember me, I want you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

She looked up at him, and the need to feel his arms around her grew with painful intensity. Her chest tightened, her throat felt thick. Between heartbeats, she thought for one wild moment that she'd take whatever he might offer, even one night. Even one afternoon.

But she'd let her heart rule her head with Dylan before. She couldn't do it again. No matter what she'd told him about Stone determination, she wasn't sure she could survive another goodbye.

“Hey, Jess.”

Jessica turned. Sam had just come in the front door of the diner. A mixture of frustration and relief poured through her as he moved toward her. She felt Dylan tense beside her.

Sam touched the brim of his cowboy hat to Dylan. “Hey, Dylan.”

Dylan nodded stiffly.

“Dylan was just leaving.” Jessica forced a smile and gestured to the seat across from her. “Why don't you take his place?”

Anger tightened Dylan's expression. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and the look he shot her was like a torch to her insides. “Goodbye, Dylan,” she said quietly.

He left without a word, rattling the glass door of the diner as he slammed it behind him. The waitress looked up with a frown, and Sam lifted his brows.

“It's a long story,” she said with a sigh, staring at the cold hamburger and fries. Her stomach rolled.

He pointed to the plate. “You gonna eat this?”

She shook her head and he dug in. Food never went to waste around a hardworking rancher.

Without giving details, Jessica told Sam what Jake and Jared had done. He tried to be the diplomat, but she sensed he sided with Jared and Jake. Sam was like a big brother to her, though she realized that their relationship could shift if she encouraged any change. But she knew she'd never think of Sam as more than a friend. After Dylan, she might never think of any man as more than a friend.

* * *

It was dark by the time she got back to Makeshift. She'd finished the day with ten interviews, none of them promising, but she was determined to choose one and at least give him a try.

She stepped out of her truck, listening to the bark of a coyote and the call of a bird. The night was cool, and the scent of mesquite filled the air.

It had never felt lonely here before Dylan. She'd always felt the presence of Meggie and Lucas, and Hannibal was always there to talk to, even though the conversation was one-sided.

Where was Hannibal? She glanced around. She'd told the kids after they finished for the day to leave the dog outside.

A full moon lit the streets, but the shadows were dark and, for the first time, a little frightening.

“Hannibal!”

She called him several times, but there was no answering bark. He'd always greeted her immediately when she came back from town.

Fear began to creep along her spine. She walked through the town, whistling for him, moving toward the church. Her heart pounded harder as every minute passed with no answer.

A soft light wavered from inside the church. Jessica froze. No one should be here. Quietly she opened the side door and slipped inside, pressing herself against the wall. A single candle burned on the altar. She started to move forward when she suddenly tripped over something at her feet. Something large and furry.

“Hannibal!”

H
e needed to hit something. Smash something. He needed to release the devil inside him and howl his rage at the moon slowly moving up into the sky.

Fists clenched, Dylan paced his hotel room. She was the most infuriating woman he'd ever met. The most stubborn, foolhardy, unreasonable—

A knock at the door curtailed his list.

“What!” He threw open the door.

It was Dean. The teenager stared at Dylan, saw the anger on his face, then backed away. “Sorry. Guess I caught you at a bad time.”

Dylan felt like an idiot. Dean had seen enough anger in his life. He didn't need it from him, as well. “No.” He dragged a hand through his hair and stepped back. “Come on in. It's fine.”

Dean hesitated, then shoved his hands into his pockets and moved inside. “I heard you were leaving.”

Dylan knew the teenager had heard more than that. It was no longer a secret why he'd come here. He nodded, closing the door. “‘Fraid so.”

“I also heard Jessica was hiring someone else.”

Someone to take my place.
He could still plainly see her sitting with Sam when he'd left her earlier. Anger threatened to erupt again and he quickly reined it in. “She's going to need a good foreman.”

“You were a good foreman.”

Dylan looked at the young man and realized that Dean didn't want him to leave. Dylan couldn't remember anyone particularly caring if he stayed or left.

A heaviness came over him, centering in his chest. “I can't stay,” he said. “My coming here was wrong. My intentions may have been good, but the fact is, I lied. By helping Jared, I only ended up hurting Jessica. She deserved better than that.”

She deserved a hell of a lot more, Dylan thought. Candles and flowers and diamond rings. Things he knew nothing about. Things that scared the hell out of him.

“She left town a few minutes ago,” Dean said. “I thought that maybe, well, you know, you patched things up.”

Dylan shook his head.

“Can't you just say you're sorry?”

Dylan sighed, then gestured for Dean to sit at the table in the corner. “I tried. She didn't go for it.”

Dean settled on the edge of a chair and glanced down at the hands he'd dropped between his legs. “Maybe you could try harder.”

“Dean,” Dylan said quietly, “even if she did accept my apology, I still can't stay. It wouldn't be right now.”

He could hardly tell the teenager that he couldn't stay because if he did he'd want Jessica every second of every day, and the wanting would make him crazy. It was better this way. He'd still want her, he'd still think about her, but he wouldn't hurt her any more than he already had.

Shoulders stiff, Dean straightened and looked Dylan in the eye. “Take me with you. Me and Troy.”

Stunned, Dylan simply stared at the young man. He'd been caught completely off guard. Dean's eyes were bright with determination, his mouth set.

“I'll be eighteen next month. My dad's drinking so much lately he probably wouldn't notice we were gone for weeks. Not that he would care if he did notice.”

“Dean, I...I can't do that. Troy is only nine. You can't take him away.”

“I can and I will,” he said fiercely, then added more softly, “We won't be any trouble. You said yourself I'm a good carpenter. I'll find work and pay our way.”

Dylan didn't know what to say. He'd traveled alone for years. The idea of hauling a teenager and a nine-year-old around the country or through the jungles of South America was inconceivable.

“I can't, Dean,” Dylan said as gently as possible. “My life is no way for you or Troy to live. Hell, it's no way for even me to live. I couldn't do that to either one of you.”

A cold blank look came over Dean. He rose slowly and stuck out his hand. “Yeah, well, thanks, anyway.”

Dammit, why can't I think of the right thing to say?
Dylan thought. Why didn't he know what to do? He couldn't stand the look of hopelessness in Dean's eyes.

“Dean, Jessica needs you here,” Dylan said finally. “When that center of hers is up and running in a few months, maybe you and Troy can live there, at least until your dad gets straightened out.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you're right. It was a pretty crazy idea, anyhow. I'll be okay.” He smiled tightly. “Well, see you around sometime.”

Dylan didn't believe for a second that Dean was okay. And to a kid in trouble, a few months was an eternity. Dylan watched the teenager leave, quietly closing the door behind him.

With an oath, Dylan started to throw his things into his duffel bag. He'd done enough damage here. It was time to get the hell out.

When he picked up the gloves Jessica had given him Christmas Eve, he stopped and stared at them. A dull ache spread through his chest as he fingered the smooth leather. Without thinking, he slipped them on and curled his fingers tightly as he tested the feel.

A perfect fit.

He could still see the smile in her eyes as she'd handed him the present. A gift from the heart. Everything Jessica did, everything she gave, was from the heart.

A knot tightened in his stomach. She'd not only trusted him, she'd given him the most precious gift a woman could give a man, and he'd betrayed that trust.

She loved him. He knew that, though he'd never given her an opportunity to say it. He'd kept her at a distance, held himself back, not physically, of course, but emotionally. He'd never believed the kind of love Jessica offered him truly existed. All he had to do was accept that love, believe in it, and it was his.

The thought scared the hell out of him. He'd spent a lifetime avoiding commitment, of not allowing anything or anyone to control him. Was it possible to let go of that safety net now?

But the answer wasn't here, he realized as he stared at his hands. It was back at Makeshift. With Jessica.

* * *

Jessica dropped to her knees. “Hannibal!”

He didn't move, though she called his name several times. Panic overwhelmed her. She ran her hands over his still body, digging her fingers into his fur to see if he'd been hurt. He had to be all right.
He had to be!

Holding back a sob, she laid her head on his chest. It was warm. She listened carefully, holding her breath. A heartbeat. It was there. Faint, perhaps, but at least it was there.

She jerked her head up at the sound of a cough from the shadows on the other side of the doorway. “Who's there?”

There was a movement from the darkness, then the silhouette of a man. It was impossible to make out his features.

Breath held, Jessica watched as the man moved forward slowly, until the light of the candle burning on the altar reflected off his face.

Carlton.

“What did you do to Hannibal?” she asked desperately.

“Just a few tranquilizers in a nice hamburger. He found me in here tonight, I'm afraid, and seemed determined to prevent me from doing what I need to do.”

She stood slowly. “What is it you need to do, Carlton?” she asked carefully.

He sighed. “You weren't supposed to find me, Jessica. I only needed another minute, then you'd never know I was here.”

A chill ran up her spine at the distant sound of his voice. “Why are you here?”

He glanced around. “You've done a beautiful job rebuilding the church. The review board would have been impressed.”

She fought back her rising fear. “What do you mean, ‘would have been impressed'?”

“It's too bad there was a short in the church,” Carlton said. “They're dangerous, you know. Fires start that way all the time.”

Fire?
Jessica's heart stopped, then raced at Carlton's words.
Keep him talking,
she told herself. Anything to buy a little time so she could think, try to understand why he was doing this. “It was you, wasn't it?” she asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “All this time, you were the one who's been trying to force my brothers and me off Stone Creek. How could you hurt us like that?”

His skin was nearly white in the candlelight, his eyes sunken. “Both of the young men I hired to make problems for Jake and Jared had specific instructions that no one was to be hurt.”

“But people
were
hurt,” she said tightly. “Savannah and Emma almost died in the barn fire, and Jared was nearly killed when his compressor blew up.”

Carlton's face twisted with anger, and the glow from the candle created a frightening mask. “Those men were incompetent. Idiots.”

Though she hated to leave Hannibal's side, Jessica moved toward Carlton. “Yeah. It's impossible to find good help these days, isn't it?”

“Precisely.” He nodded his agreement, completely missing the sarcasm. “So with you, I decided to handle business myself. It's easy to stop a few shipments or lose an order.”

“That was you?” She stared at him in disbelief. “How?”

“You're so naive, my dear. Money, of course. I have a great deal of it. Grease a few palms, as they so coarsely say, and anything is possible.”

“And the fire in the saloon?”

“Yes, my dear. I'm afraid so.”

Even faced with the truth, she couldn't believe it. Myrna's father had always used his money to get what he wanted, but she'd never known him to be mean. “How could you do this? We're family.”

He shook his head. “Myrna's my only family. After her mother ran away with another man, I made a vow that my little girl would have everything she ever wanted. I kept that vow, too. Until your father died and left her with no land. Stone Creek was the one thing I couldn't buy her. You were all too damn stubborn to sell.”

He started to cough then, a deep exhausting cough that left him gasping for air.

“Myrna doesn't know about this, does she?” Jessica asked when he'd composed himself again. “What will she say? Will she want land you cheated from us?”

Her question obviously distressed him. He pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of the blue sports coat he wore and wiped at his brow. “She's not going to find out.”

“I'm going to tell her, Carlton. I have to.”

There was fear in his glazed eyes, something that Jessica had never seen before. He slipped his handkerchief back into his pocket, then reached behind him and locked the side door of the church. He threw the key into the darkness, and she heard it land somewhere with a metallic clink. “You can't do that, Jessica. I won't let you.”

She looked to the front doors of the church and gauged the distance. She could outrun him and get back to her truck.

“I already locked those doors, too,” he said calmly.

She still couldn't believe he would actually hurt her, but she realized he wasn't the same man she'd known all these years. “Carlton,” she said softly, “you're sick. Let's go back to the hotel and talk.”

“I'm dying, you know.” He moved closer to the altar and stared at the candle's flame. “Myrna thinks it's just a little case of stress and overwork. But I only have a few weeks left.”

“Then spend it with Myrna. Stop trying to buy her things. Give her yourself for whatever time you have left.”

He shook his head slowly and picked up the candle. The flame wavered, sending grotesque shadows over his face. “This is the last thing I can do for her. The last thing I can give her. I'm sorry you found me here, Jessica. I truly am fond of you.”

He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. When he opened the bag and pulled out a rag, Jessica smelled gasoline.

Oh, God, no!
He was going to set the church on fire!

She forced herself to remain calm, but her insides were shaking. “Don't do this. Please. I'll sell you my land, Carlton. All of it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “You're a terrible liar, my dear, but I commend the effort. I also want to thank you for firing Dylan. It was terribly difficult to get around the man when he was here, and my time was quickly running out.”

She reached toward him as he lifted the candle to the rag. “No! Carlton.
Please,
no!”

“Nooooo...”

Another cry echoed Jessica's. The hollow desperate cry of a woman. It filled the church with its anguish. Carlton paused, confused at the unseen voice. A cold breeze lifted the ends of Jessica's hair, swirled around her, then circled Carlton.

The candle went out and they were in darkness.

The smell of sulfur lingered in the heavy air. Jessica couldn't see Carlton, but knew he was close. She heard the strike of a match, but there was no flame. Blindly she stumbled toward the man, determined to do whatever necessary to stop him.

A furious pounding from the front of the church made her scream.

“Jessica! Open the door!”

Dylan! It was Dylan! Relief poured through her as she turned and felt her way along the pews. “I can't. They're locked,” she yelled.

He continued to pound, yelling her name. She was almost to the front of the church when a cold hand—Carlton's—wrapped around her arm and dragged her to the floor. She hit her head on the corner of a pew and white spots swam before her eyes.

Carlton lit another match. The flame burst to life, casting eerie shadows over everything. He lifted the match to the rag.

The front doors of the church flew open. Dylan rushed in, then froze at the sight of Carlton with the rag and the lit match.

“You're too late, Mr. Grant,” Carlton said, bringing the match to the rag. “Too late.”

It was no breeze this time, but a strong wind that blew through the church. Cold and furious, it swept over them, pulling the rag from Carlton's hand and nearly pushing Dylan back. The match went out again, and a woman's cry was distinctly heard over the roar of the wind.

They were in darkness again. Jessica felt a shuffling around her, but was too dazed to move. She gasped as another match was lit, then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the man holding it was Dylan. Carlton sat huddled on the floor two pews away.