by Lisa Jackson
Thinking of Ashley and her betrayal still made him clench his teeth together in frustration, and he silently cursed himself for caring. Hadn’t she shown her true colors? Hadn’t she tossed him out of her life and married another man?
Trevor had been blind to her faults and had let his feelings for her manipulate him. But now the tables had turned; if the senatorial race ended in his favor, he would personally see to it that all the suspicious dealings of Stephens Timber were investigated and halted.
His blue eyes narrowed as he stared past the leafless trees to the silvery waters of the Willamette River. A soft morning fog clung tenaciously to the shoreline.
What if Ashley inherited Lazarus’s share of Stephens Timber Corporation? What if all those rumors that her father disinherited her were only idle speculation? What if Ashley was now the woman in charge of the corporation Trevor had vowed to destroy?
His headache began to pound furiously just as the telephone rang. Trevor Daniels was jerked back to the present and the most pressing problem of the day: winning the election in the fall.
Chapter Two
During the next few weeks, Ashley’s impatience with her cousin mounted with the passing of each day, and her concern for Stephens Timber drew her attention away from Trevor and his candidacy in the May primary. Trevor’s face was continually in the news and Ashley was glad for the distraction of the timber company. It helped her keep the memories of the love she had shared with him pushed into a dark corner of her mind.
Between studying the reports that Claud had grudgingly begun to send her and instructing her classes, Ashley barely had a moment to herself. When she was able to find a few minutes to relax, her thoughts would invariably return to Trevor and the few blissful months they had shared together nearly eight years ago.
Now she owned the lion’s share of the company Trevor had vowed to destroy.
“Oh, stop it,” she admonished as she sat at the cluttered kitchen table in her small apartment near the campus. “You’re beginning to sound as paranoid as Claud.” At the mention of her shifty cousin’s name, Ashley frowned. It didn’t take a supersleuth to realize that Claud was up to something, but Ashley didn’t know exactly what. The information he had been sending concerning the timber company was sketchy at best. Ashley had the uneasy feeling that Claud was deliberately trying to hide something from her.
The first report from Claud hadn’t been as encompassing as Ashley had hoped, but when she had asked her cousin for a more lengthy audit of the books of Stephens Timber, Claud had been reluctant to send it to her.
“Don’t worry yourself,” he had soothed when she had called him and demanded more complete information. “You’ve got more than you can handle with your teaching job. Besides which, I’ve got everything under control up here.”
“That’s not the issue, Claud. I need the reports,” Ashley had insisted.
“Then you’d better come up and look at them,” Claud had growled, losing his veneer of civility. “I don’t like sending out that kind of information. Right now we’ve got a shortage of personnel in the bookkeeping department, and I wouldn’t want to trust the post office to get the reports to you, even if we were able to put them together.”
“You’re stalling, Claud,” she had responded. “Get the reports together and send them in tomorrow’s mail, or I just might take you up on your offer and come up to Portland to see for myself just how well you’ve ‘got everything under control.’”
“Look, Ashley, I don’t need a keeper!”
Ashley had begun to worry in earnest.
“And Claud?”
“What?”
“For God’s sake, hire the help you need in accounting!”
Claud’s reply had been a disgusted snort, indicating all too well what he thought about Ashley’s interference in what he considered his domain.
Claud’s reluctance had been all the reason she needed to talk to the school administration about getting out of her teaching contract. Within a week, the administration had found a suitable replacement to take over her classes for the rest of the school year. All she had to do was finish the term, and that task was nearly accomplished. Christmas vacation started next week.
At that thought, Ashley quit thinking about her cousin and let her gaze return to the untidy stack of papers sitting on the table. As she started grading the tests, she listened to a local news channel on the television.
She was frowning at a particularly bad answer to one of her questions and sipping coffee when news of an accident involving Trevor was announced by the even-featured anchorman.
Ashley almost spilled her coffee, her throat constricted in fear and her eyes snapped upward to stare at the small television situated on the kitchen counter. She had left it on for background noise, but at the sound of Trevor’s name, all of her attention became riveted to the set.
“. . . Trevor Daniels was rushed to Andrews Hospital in Salem when the car he was driving slid off the road, broke through the guardrail and rolled down an embankment.. . .” The screen flashed from the earnest reporter to the site of the accident and the twisted wreckage of Trevor’s car.
Ashley’s stomach knotted and nausea rose in her throat. “Dear God,” she whispered, placing her hand protectively over her heart. Her blood ran as cold as the clear December night. The pencil she had been holding over a stack of papers dropped unobserved onto the table as she concentrated on what the wavy-haired reporter was saying.
“Reports have varied as to the cause of the accident,” the reporter, once again on the screen, told the viewing audience. “Police are investigating the site, but as yet have not confirmed the rumors of foul play. Mr. Daniels remains in serious, but stable condition.”
“No,” Ashley murmured, at the fleeting thoughts of Trevor and the love they had shared. Absently, she removed her reading glasses, rubbed her temples and stared at the screen. When she found the strength to move, she pushed her chair away from the table and some coffee spilled onto the tests. She didn’t notice.
Without considering her motives, she dialed operator assistance and was given the number of Andrews Hospital. Her fingers were trembling when she punched out the number for the hospital in Salem. After several rings, a member of the staff answered and told her politely, but firmly, that Mr. Daniels was taking no calls and seeing no visitors.
Ashley replaced the receiver and slumped against the wall. What was happening? Within the course of three weeks her father had suffered a fatal heart attack, she had inherited the company and now, Trevor Daniels, the only man she had ever loved, had nearly been killed. The reporter had glossed over the mention of foul play; certainly no one would want to harm Trevor. . . .
Get a hold of yourself, she warned. He doesn’t care for you—never did. Nothing will ever change that.
She continued to listen to the news program, hoping that a later bulletin would give her an update on Trevor’s condition. After wiping the table, she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and tried to concentrate on the test papers she had been grading. The task was impossible.
Teasing thoughts of Trevor, provocative images of a younger, more carefree time, continued to assail her. She remembered the first time she had seen him more than eight years before. She had been immediately attracted by his flash of a rakish smile, and his lean, well-muscled body. But it was his eyes that had caught her attention and captured her heart. They were a brilliant shade of blue and challenged her silently. The hint of amusement in their clear depths had touched a very intimate part of her—and had never let go. Those damned blue eyes seemed to look through her sophisticated facade and bore into her soul and they had dared her to seduce him. . . .
With a start, she dragged herself back to the present. “Don’t brood about what might have been,” she told herself, though her stomach had knotted painfully.
If she could just get through the next few days, she would have time to herself and by that time she would know more about Trevor’s accident.
“No one is allowed to visit Mr. Daniels,” the rotund nurse insisted upon Ashley’s inquiry. The large woman was standing behind the glass enclosure of the hospital reception area and had only looked up from her paperwork when Ashley had inquired about Trevor.
“But I’m a personal friend,” Ashley stated with a patient smile. She hadn’t spent the last two hours in the car to be thwarted by hospital politics.
“It wouldn’t matter if you were his mother,” the strict nurse replied, glancing up from the chart she had been studying. In the past two days she had dismissed five reporters, seven photographers and about fifteen “personal friends” of the famous man lying in room 214. Security in the hospital had been increased due to the celebrity of Trevor Daniels. The sooner Mr. Daniels was out of the hospital, the better, for staff and patient alike.
The nurse, whose name tag indicated that she was Janelle Wilkes, smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, Ms.—”
“Jennings. Ashley Jennings,” Ashley supplied.
“I’ll tell Mr. Daniels that you were by.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Ashley retorted, sneaking a longing look down the corridors of the building. If she could only have a quick glimpse of Trevor—just enough to ease her mind, so that she would be convinced that he was indeed recuperating and on the road to recovery.
She left the hospital in frustration, after giving the nurse her name and telephone number.
Ashley didn’t really expect Trevor to call, and she wasn’t disappointed. In the next few days, while school was ending for the holidays, Ashley had been in and out of her apartment, but either Trevor hadn’t called, or she had missed him. She suspected that the would-be senator had received her message and promptly tossed it in the trash.
She told herself that she would never try to contact him again.
* * *
His wound had healed to the point where he could take charge of his life again, and Trevor Daniels intended to start this morning. Ignoring the warnings from his concerned campaign manager, Trevor hoisted his suitcase from the closet and tossed it carelessly onto the bed.
He couldn’t wait to break away from Portland. His plan was simple. All he needed was a few hours alone with Ashley.
Hiding a grimace of pain, Trevor withdrew a faded pair of jeans from the closet and stuffed them into the open canvas bag. Determination was evident in the knit of his thick, dark brows and the hard angle of his jaw.
Everett Woodward, wearing an expression of disapproval on his round face, walked into the room and silently observed Trevor’s deliberate movements. He sipped his second drink patiently while he watched Trevor fill the bag with casual clothes. It was obvious that Trevor had a purpose in mind, a purpose he hadn’t confided to his campaign manager. Everett took a chair near the window in the master suite of Trevor’s home. The would-be senator had noticed his entrance, but chose to ignore it. Everett frowned into his drink, silently plotting his line of reasoning to deter Trevor from making the worst political decision of his life. The damned thing of it was that Trevor had never thought rationally whenever Ashley Stephens was involved. And this time, Ashley was involved. Everett knew it.
“You know that I think you’re making a big mistake,” Everett ventured, stealing a quick glance through the window at the threatening sky. The chill of December seeped through the panes. There was the promise of snow in the air.
“So what else is new?” Trevor retorted with no trace of humor. He threw a bulky ski sweater into the bag before zipping it closed and eyeing his uneasy companion. “You always think I’m making mistakes.”
“You’re a gambler,” Everett pointed out with a frown. “Gambling and politics don’t mix.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Trevor reached for his jacket and tried to change the course of the conversation. “I thought you were downstairs going over political strategy or something of the sort.”
Everett avoided the trap and concentrated on the subject at hand. “We’re not talking about some obscure issue here,” Everett reminded the lean, angry man staring at him from across the room. “Your entire political future is on the line—everything you’ve worked for. The way I see it, this is too big a risk to take.”
Trevor’s square jaw tightened and the thin lines around his eyes became more distinct as his gaze hardened. “The way I see it, I don’t have much of a choice.” The small red scar on his cheek seemed to emphasize his words.
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trevor demanded. He paced restlessly in the confining room before looking pointedly at his watch. Through the window, he could see gray storm clouds gathering, their somber reflection darkening the clear waters of the Willamette River. Raindrops fell against the window, blurring his view.
Everett shifted uncomfortably in his chair and pushed his stocky fingers through his thinning hair. “Ever since the accident you’ve been obsessed with Stephens Timber.”
“It began before the accident.”
“Okay, ever since those phony charges last August, then.”
Trevor turned to face the short man seated near a small table. “The charge was bribery,” Trevor stated, his lips thinning.
“I know. But the important thing is that it was dropped.” Everett looked as exasperated as he felt. “Admit it, Trevor, that is what all this—” his upturned palm rotated to indicate the packed bag “—is all about, isn’t it?”
“Part of it,” Trevor allowed with a grimace. “The bribery was just the latest of Lazarus’s tricks. You seem to have conveniently forgotten that Lazarus Stephens was involved with my father’s disappearance.”
“Ten years ago. Idle speculation. No proof. Look, Trevor, you can’t become obsessed with that all over again.” Trevor’s cold blue eyes didn’t waver. Everett pressed his point home. “You can’t fight a corporation the size of Stephens Timber, for God’s sake! It employs over three thousand people in Oregon alone and Claud Stephens knows just whose palm he has to grease to get what he wants.”
“But Claud only works for the company. He doesn’t own it, does he?”
Everett changed his tactics when he noticed the dangerous glitter in Trevor’s eyes. If there was anything Trevor Daniels enjoyed, it was a challenge.
“Look, Daniels, you’ve come too far too fast to throw it all away now. Forget what happened in the past, forget the accident, and the bribery scandal last summer, and, for God’s sake, leave Stephens Timber alone!” Everett’s expression was pleading. “Concentrate on the election in November.”
“It’s not that easy,” Trevor admitted, rubbing his hand over the irritating pain in his abdomen.
“Rise above it.”
Trevor’s muscles flexed. “That’s a little too much to ask, don’t you think?”
Everett rolled his eyes upward and let out a frustrated sigh. “What I think is that you should quit brooding about false bribery charges and the accident,” Everett explained with a lift of his shoulders. “Besides which, we have to make up for lost time. The days you spent in the hospital are gone; you missed a couple of very important meetings.” “They can be rescheduled,” Trevor thought aloud. “Right now I have other things on my mind.”
“You should be concentrating on the opposition.”
“I am.”
“Stephens Timber,” Everett guessed, shaking his balding head despondently. “You’re going to have to ease up on them.”
“And play into Claud’s greedy hands? No way.”
“If you want to win the election—”
Trevor stopped dead in his tracks and wheeled around to confront his friend. Anger flared in his eyes. “I’m not even sure about that anymore. I had a lot of time to think while I was lying in that hospital. I’m not really sure that being a United States senator is all that it’s cracked up to be. It certainly can’t be worth the price.”
“You’re tired—”
“You bet I am!”
Evere
tt held up his soft palms as if to ward off a blow, hoping that the gesture would calm Trevor. It didn’t. Trevor had good reason to be upset, but Everett had hoped that the politician in Trevor Daniels would overcome the anger. “You’ve got to think about your career, Trevor, and you can’t afford to take any time off right now. Think of all the hard work you’ve put into this campaign before you go mouthing off to the press about all of this nonsense concerning the accident. The last thing we need right now is another scandal!”
“Is that all you ever think about?”
“It’s what you pay me to think about,” Everett reminded his employer before draining the remainder of his warm drink. “My only concern is to get you into that vacant senatorial seat this fall.”
“Even if it kills me?” Trevor asked with a sarcastic frown.
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“Then don’t ridicule me!”
Everett’s light eyes were steady when they clashed with Trevor’s angry blue gaze. “I’m the guy who takes care of your security, remember? If I thought, I mean really thought that someone was out to get you, then I’d be the first one to suggest that you pull out of the race. But face it, if someone wanted to nail you, they would have done it before now. And, believe me, it wouldn’t be some two-bit job on your car. Even the police didn’t buy that one. For Christ’s sake, don’t turn paranoid on me now!” Everett muttered.
The words sunk into Trevor’s weary mind. He let out his breath and his broad shoulders sagged. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, though his voice still sounded skeptical.
“Of course I am.”
A crooked smile tugged at the hard corners of Trevor’s rigid mouth. “I can think of a few times when you’ve been wrong.”
“All in the past,” Everett assured him with a knowing grin. “I don’t claim to be infallible . . . just the nearest thing to it.” The rotund campaign manager walked across the room and poured three stiff fingers of bourbon from a bottle sitting on the bar in the corner of the room. “Here, have a drink,” he offered. “We both could use one.”
