by Cindy Dees
He would be left with reminders of her everywhere he looked. And it would kill him.
* * *
Jessica was shocked to discover how much she loved the steady rhythms of ranch life. Each day was tied to the weather and the land and the animals—no two days were the same. And yet, the progression of spring, of calving, of renewal and growth was slow and steady, as inevitable as sunrise and sunset.
The incursions into the ranch stopped, and John’s ranch hands went back to Runaway Ranch. Even Wes finally relaxed and quit worrying constantly. Oh, he still kept a loaded shotgun by the bed, within arm’s reach, but he slept through the night now. They both did. Running and growing a new ranch was hard work, and there was always more for both of them to do in a day than there was time. But she found deep satisfaction in working beside Wes and helping him make his dream come true.
At long last, she did a final walk-through of the renovated house with the general contractor, clearing the last few items from her checklist of fixes and tweaks before the project was done to her exacting satisfaction.
She had just watched the contractor’s truck retreat down the newly paved asphalt driveway when her cell phone rang in the back pocket of her jeans. A moment’s amusement that she now more or less lived in jeans struck her as she dug out her phone.
She stared in shock at the caller ID. “Dad? Hi. Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”
More to the point, had he run a find-my-phone app and figured out where she was? God, why hadn’t she thought of that before? If her dad could do it, her stalker could probably do it, too.
Her father was speaking angrily. “...you’re the one who up and ran away from home without a single word to anyone.” He devolved into a tirade about how she was selfish and ungrateful, and she tuned it out, walking back up the porch steps and sitting down in one of the pair of beautifully carved bench swings Wes had made for her as a surprise to say thank you for redoing the house.
Eventually she tired of her father’s ranting and interrupted. “Do you have something specific to say to me, or are you just calling me to vent?”
Her father stopped speaking abruptly. Then he continued, “Since when do you think I’ll stand for that kind of insubordination from you?”
“Insubordination comes from a soldier to his superior officer or an employee to his boss. I am neither a soldier nor your employee,” she snapped.
“You’re my daughter. I raised you and fed you and housed you and clothed you, and you’ll by God show me the respect I deserve!” he bellowed.
“Every parent has those responsibilities to their children. You didn’t do anything special by providing for my needs. You merely did what was required of you. And, let the record show, I paid for my own clothes and my own housing and needs out of my trust fund for a good chunk of my youth.”
And he was off and running on another tirade, shouting this time. She put him on speakerphone, lowered the volume and laid the phone in her lap to wait for him to wind down. A few months ago, she would have hung up on him and given him the silent treatment for a few weeks until she got over her petty tantrum and he cooled off. She’d grown up a lot since then.
She could forgive the man for being lost after his wife died and for never finding himself again. Now that she’d experienced the partnership a man and woman could share, she understood how devastating Rebecca’s death must have been to George. God knew, he hadn’t signed up to be a single parent of a little girl. That had to have been a terrible shock to a military man like him. Not only had he had to be both mother and father, he’d had to learn how to parent a girly girl, totally unlike his rough-and-ready Marine troops.
Some of his words penetrated her thoughts, and she listened in dismay as he shouted, “You’re just like your mother, and, mark my words, you’ll come to the same bad end she did!”
The old pain, the empty place in her heart that should have been filled by her mother’s love, reared its ugly head. She hated it when George played that card. How could she be anything like her mother? She’d never gotten a chance to even know Rebecca.
While George continued to rage through the phone beside her on the bench, demanding that she come home immediately, she reflected that, truth be told, he hadn’t really been that much of a father to her over the years. He’d expected her, at age six, to learn how to make her own lunches, do her own laundry, get herself to and from school every day and do her own homework.
Honestly, she’d felt like a trained pet most of the time, marched out to perform for his guests, and then put away and forgotten until it was time for her to perform again. When she’d gotten a little older, he’d expected her to act as his social aide, planning and hosting business dinners and meetings by the dozens.
Of course, as a kid she hadn’t known any other life or anything different. And she had learned to be independent. To take care of herself.
But as she reflected back on that little girl, she saw now how lonely she’d been. That she’d been starved for love. That she had become a flamboyant class clown so the other kids and teachers and her friends’ moms would like her and fill the gaping void in her heart.
She liked the person she had become for the most part. And, thanks to Wes, she’d discovered that she wasn’t as broken and unavailable emotionally as her father liked to accuse her of being. Which was ironic. The man had the emotional depth of a spoon.
She would like to think that all his love had died with Rebecca and that he had never recovered from that tragic loss. But when he was being an ass like right now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he really was just a cold, hard shell of a human being after all.
“...sick of waiting for you to come crawling back home. I give up. Where the hell are you, anyway?”
She snorted. He must have an important dinner meeting coming up and had finally noticed her absence. She’d been gone over two months, and he was just now bothering to call and ask her where she was?
She just shook her head. How in the world had she ever mistaken his sporadic attention for real love?
She started, jolted out of her own wandering thoughts. “I’m with Wes, Dad. And I’m happy.”
“Are you insane? That bastard tried to ruin you! He was prepared to drag you into court and force you to describe in public the humiliation you suffered, so his own precious career wouldn’t be ruined. He was going to destroy you to save his own sorry, worthless hide.”
“That’s not how it happened, Dad.”
“Don’t you tell me how it happened! I was there. That sonofabitch was going to drag you down into the mud with him.”
What kind of drugs was her father smoking? She’d called Wes and dragged him into the middle of her mess. The only reason she hadn’t suffered serious harm and humiliation—life-destroying, horrible emotional damage—was because Wes had come charging to her rescue the instant she’d called him. The fact that she’d escaped the bastard who’d drugged her pretty much unscathed was wholly due to Wes.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Dad—”
He yelled right over her, ranting about how Wes had ruined her life and, furthermore, ruined his life.
“Hell, for all I know, that disloyal, selfish bastard set you up just to get back at me!” George shouted. “My career tanked because of him! My personal aide forced to resign or face court-martial—it was a fatal stain on my flawless record!”
Really? Her father was going to make this all about him? She had escaped rape by the skin of her teeth, and somehow the whole nightmare was all a giant plot to ruin his precious career? Wow. Her father really had gone off the rails.
On a hunch, she asked, “So. Have you retired yet, Dad?”
“Bastards put me out to a pasture like some broken-down old mule. No matter that I have forty years’ experience. That I was a general, for crying out loud. That I wanted to keep working. Oh, no. They had to make room for new godda
mned blood.”
Or maybe they were getting rid of the crazy old man who’d fallen way off his rocker. She’d known for a while that her father was becoming increasingly unstable, but she had no idea he’d gotten this bad.
“Have you thought about talking to somebody about your feelings? Someone who can help you deal with them?” she tried.
“Like a shrink?” her father squawked. “You think I’m crazy? You? You’re just like your mother, and she was completely unhinged!”
“You just seem really upset. Maybe if you talked to a counselor, they could help you let go of your anger. Show you some ways to help calm your emotions—”
Nope. The rant was back on.
Having been away from him for a few months, maybe that was why his deranged emotions were so striking to her now. Or maybe he’d just completely lost it since she’d left Washington. Either way, she was shocked. Her father had been a formidable man in his day. A hard taskmaster, yes. Tough as nails and leading by intimidation rather than inspiration. But he hadn’t been crazy. This man, the one yelling and sputtering incoherently, was a stranger to her.
And then something her father said made her sit up straight and stare at her phone in dismay.
“Wesley Morgan ruined my life. And, mark my words, he’s out to ruin yours. You need to leave him. Now.”
“I’m not leaving Wes, Dad.”
“Then he’s going to break you. You’re more fragile than you know. When he rips your heart out and stomps on it, you’re going to fall apart. And then you’ll pull some stupid stunt like your mother did and end up dying.”
“That’s ridiculous.” But a chill rippled down her spine at his dire prediction. Was he right? Would she crumble if Wes left her? It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She’d laid her heart bare to Wes and had thrown herself into this relationship with everything she had. She’d held nothing back from him this time.
“Leave him, Jessica. I’m ordering you.”
“I’m. Not. A. Soldier,” she huffed. “You can’t order me around. I’m an adult, and I’ll make my own choices.”
“Leave him. Or else,” her father growled angrily.
“Or else what? What will you do to me?” she challenged. “You can’t touch me or my trust fund. I don’t need you anymore.”
“Wanna bet?” he snarled. Lord, she’d never heard her father sound quite this enraged—and she’d seen him get pretty darned furious over the years.
She’d had it with him. He could just get over himself and get over trying to push her around. She declared sharply, “I’m not leaving Wes, no matter what you say.” Her voice rising, she added, “Do you hear me? I love him!”
She disconnected the call, jabbing furiously at the off button.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to look up.
Wes.
He was standing on the steps, leaning against one of the new porch posts.
“Who was that?” he asked evenly.
“My father.”
“What the hell did he want?”
She was abjectly grateful to Wes for not dwelling on her last, shouted assertion to her father. She shrugged. “He called to demand that I leave here and go back to Washington. Apparently, he thinks my place is there, taking care of him.”
Wes snorted. “Last time I checked, he’s not in his dotage. He’s what? Fifty-eight? Sixty?”
“He’ll be sixty next month.” Her hands were shaking, and the aftermath of the call was starting to hit her. She felt tears well up in her eyes, although she couldn’t tell if they were from sadness or anger. Who did her father think he was, yelling at her like that and trying to order her around like she was a child?
“Aw, Jess. I’m sorry you had to deal with him.” Wes opened his arms, and she ran into them, sobbing in earnest as all the pent-up emotions precipitated by her father’s hatefulness came flooding out.
* * *
Wes didn’t know what to say to make it better for Jessica. He knew full well how mean her father could be. The man had a gift for going for the jugular. How she’d turned out loving and kind and warm and generous with George Blankenship for a father, he had no idea.
He kissed Jessica’s hair and felt the front of his shirt get wet, and his heart hurt for her. His kisses shifted to her temple, then to her satin cheek, where he tasted the salt of her tears, and on to her jaw. And when Jessica lifted her face to him, he kissed her lips, offering comfort and support in the only way he knew how.
He bent and swept her into his arms, carrying her inside, through the beautiful home she’d made, and into his bedroom. Their bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and stretched out beside her, kissing her tenderly. She turned in to him, pressing hungrily against him, suddenly frantic for him.
He understood the impulse. She wanted a distraction. Needed a distraction. She wanted to feel better, and he was the lucky man she had turned to, looking for love.
Love.
Her shouted declaration to her father rang in his ears as he undressed her gently, kissing a path in the wake of his hands as he pushed her clothing aside. Warmth flowed through him that had nothing to do with the heat of her body. Smiling against her stomach, he kissed a path of destruction up to the valley of her breasts and back down to the core of her womanhood, savoring every inch of her, relishing every cry of pleasure slipping from her throat.
He kissed away the last tears from her cheeks, abjectly grateful that he seemed to have successfully distracted her. He’d never been around women who cried, and he had no idea how to deal with it other than panic and chocolate. And sex. Apparently, this worked, too. Thank goodness.
Jessica’s hands speared into his hair, and she laughed a little as she tugged him up her body to kiss him on the mouth. “Are you ever going to cut your hair, or are you planning to be a wild mountain man the rest of your life?”
He grinned and kissed her smile, savoring the sweet berry taste of her. He murmured against her soft lips, “I did it to punish myself. To erase any sign of the Marine I used to be.”
Her smile grew. “I’d say you obliterated that guy when you went for the beard.”
He moved his chin, rubbing his beard against her neck, and she giggled. “That tickles!”
“Oh, so now you like the wild mountain man?” he teased. He dragged his beard down her throat and across the sensitive peak of her breast.
She laughed and pushed on his shoulders, rolling him over onto his back. “Am I going to have to pin you down and make love to you until you agree to shave that thing off?”
He grinned up at her. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”
Her eyes danced with humor and affection and desire, and he pulled her down to him, kissing her with all the ardor he couldn’t find words to express.
Their lovemaking was tender and funny, punctuated by laughter and teasing, and, finally, when words deserted him, he resorted to staring deep into her eyes. He loved how they glazed with pleasure and then went blind with ecstasy, and he was right there with her, losing himself completely in her and in them and in the magic they made between them.
In the aftermath, as she dozed on his chest, Wes reflected that life couldn’t get a whole lot more perfect than this.
If only he could be sure of Jessica. She might yell at her father that she was in love, but he knew how fractious their relationship had always been. He’d witnessed plenty of fights between the two of them in George’s office when Jessica would storm out in tears after ugly words were exchanged. He got that she would fling her relationship with him in her father’s face by way of hurting her father back.
He just wished she really meant it. That she was willing to commit to him. To stay with him forever. Then he might finally be able to let down the last walls in his heart, too.
Of course, Jessica was nothing if not observant. She didn’
t say anything about it, but surely she felt his reservations about her. That was probably why she was trying so damned hard to prove herself to him. She was possibly the only woman he’d ever met who was as competitive as him. The one way to get her to do something was to tell her she couldn’t do it.
The cloud of doubt that followed him around constantly settled upon his shoulders like a lead blanket. Funny, but it felt almost comfortable, so long had he been carrying it around with him. Making love with Jessica might drive it away temporarily, but until she promised him forever, the doubt would always be with him. Of that, he was sure.
He got that she had daddy issues. Hell, he had some of his own. But at some point she had to grow up. Break away from George and live her own life. And until she did that, Wes knew—knew—she would keep on running from her demons.
* * *
Jessica woke up in the early evening to the delicious smell of steak sizzling on a grill. She smiled lazily. Wes must be playing with the grill feature on the new stove. Memories of how they’d spent the late afternoon made a smile play on her lips as she stretched her arms over her head.
Then her father’s disturbing phone call came back, and her smile faded. She was actually worried about his mental stability. He’d been mercurial in the best of times. Had forced retirement finally pushed him over the edge?
Of course, the question was, what edge? How much of a handle on reality had he lost? Or was he merely obsessing over her abrupt departure and blaming it all on Wes?
Frowning, she climbed out of bed, pulled on jeans and a cute tank top and strolled barefoot into the kitchen. Wes was at the stove, tending to a pair of mouthwatering sirloins. But, more to the point, he was shirtless, his jeans riding low on his narrow hips. The V of his back and the play of muscles across it were enough to make her mouth water.
