by Lisa Jackson
The doorbell chimed again.
“I must go. You think about what I’ve said.”
“I will. And you have a wonderful time.”
“Okay. End of lecture.” Mrs. Deveraux kissed Ashley lightly on the cheek and hurried out of the kitchen. As Ashley pierced a piece of the roast with her fork, she heard the door open and the sound of laughter as Mrs. Deveraux greeted George. Within a minute, the door was closed and the great house seemed incredibly empty.
“If only everything were so simple,” she said to herself, forcing the delicious food down her throat. Try as she would, she couldn’t eat half of what Mrs. Deveraux had served.
With a groan, she got up from the table and tossed the remains of her dinner down the garbage disposal. “What a waste,” she muttered before cleaning the dishes and trudging upstairs.
After a leisurely bath, she settled into bed and turned on the television for background noise as she sifted through the pages of a glossy magazine. When the local news came on, Ashley set the magazine aside and turned her attention to the smartly dressed anchorwoman who smiled into the camera.
“Rumor has it that one of the candidates for the senatorial seat vacated by Senator Higgins may be out of the race,” the dark-haired woman stated evenly. Every muscle in Ashley’s body tensed. “Trevor Daniels, a popular, pro-environmentalist candidate and lawyer originally from the Springfield area who later practiced law in Portland, will neither confirm nor deny the rumor that he is considering dropping out of the race.”
“No!” Ashley screamed, bolting upright in the bed.
“Mr. Daniels was leading in the most current polls,” the anchorwoman was stating, “and so his alleged withdrawal from the race before the May primary comes as somewhat of a shock to the community and the state.”
Footage of Trevor, taken very recently at a campaign rally at Oregon State University, showed him talking with the students in the quad under threatening skies. The would-be senator was smiling broadly and shaking hands, looking for the life of him as if he were born to be a politician. Trevor’s chestnut hair ruffled in the breeze and his face was robust-looking and healthy.
Ashley’s heart contracted at the sight of him and she noticed more than she was supposed to see. There was something different about him; a foreign wariness in his eyes, and a slight droop to the broad shoulders supporting the casual tweed jacket. Tanned skin stretched tautly across his high cheekbones and the set of his thrusting jaw somehow lacked conviction. What Ashley noticed were the slightest nuances, which had apparently eluded the press.
“Dear God, what happened?” she whispered while the anchorwoman listed Trevor’s accomplishments and the pitfalls of his campaign.
“. . . not only was Mr. Daniels able to fend off false charges of bribery, which occurred last summer, but just recently he sustained an injury in a single-car accident that nearly took his life. . . .” The anchorwoman continued, giving a little background on Trevor’s life, including the fact that his father had disappeared ten years ago and though his brother, Jeremy, ran the family business of Daniels Logging Company, Trevor had been known for his tough stands on fair timber-cutting practices and wilderness preservation.
“Again,” the woman was saying, “we can neither confirm nor deny this rumor, but if anything further develops on the story, we’ll report it to you later in the program. Mr. Daniels is scheduled to speak at a rally in Pioneer Square tomorrow at noon. Perhaps we’ll all know more at that time.”
When the news turned away from the May primary, Ashley snapped off the set and fell back against the pillows while uttering a tremulous sigh. Why would Trevor be planning to drop out of the race? All of his life he had had political aspirations, and he was currently leading Bill Orson in the polls for the primary. Pulling out now just didn’t make a lot of sense.
Just then Claud’s words of a few days earlier rang in her ears. “We can’t let that son of a bitch win!” he had stated to an unknown caller. Could Claud be somehow responsible for the rumor? And was it even true? KPSC wasn’t a station to report sensational rumors just to gain viewer attention. Most of the stories reported by the Portland station were purely factual, very seldom conjecture. And yet, the rumor was unconfirmed.
Though it was nearly eleven, Ashley reached for the bedside phone and with quaking fingers punched out the number of Trevor’s home. There was still no answer in the grand house on the Willamette, and Ashley wondered if Trevor had moved. He’d never felt completely comfortable in his father’s stately home. The vestiges of wealth were too harsh a reminder of the price his father had paid to make Daniels Logging Company successful.
With a sigh, Ashley hung up the phone and settled into the pillows, hoping for sleep. If nothing else, she would be at Pioneer Square the next afternoon to see Trevor, if only from a distance. It seemed like years since she had set eyes on him.
Fortunately Claud was still out of town, so there would be no one looking over her shoulder. Tomorrow, she promised herself, come hell or high water, she would find Trevor. Maybe, just maybe, she would force a confrontation with him.
* * *
Pioneer Square was a mass of cold, disenchanted citizens. People from all walks of life milled around the red brick amphitheater with frowns. Elderly couples rubbed their hands together for warmth as they stood next to men and women dressed smartly for work in the business offices flanking the city block designated for the square. Gaudily costumed young people with punk hairdos and glittery clothes were joined by a disenchanted group of street people. Joggers paused on their daily run through the city streets on the way to Waterfront Park and young mothers pushing strollers braved the cold February air to hear Trevor Daniels speak.
Ashley stood on the edge of the crowd, her stomach tied in knots. Pieces of angry conversation filtered to her ears.
“You really don’t think he’ll show?” a jeans-clad student with a scruffy beard asked his friend.
“Nah—politicians, they’re all alike—say one thing and do another.”
“This guy—he’s supposed to be different.”
“Sure, he is. Then why isn’t he here?”
“Beats me.”
“They’re all alike, I tell you. They just want you to think that they’re something special.” The shorter of the two paused to cup his fingers around the end of a cigarette before lighting it. He blew out an angry stream of smoke as he shook his blond head. “I’ll tell ya one thing, I’m not votin’ for this clown, Daniels. Hell, he can’t even show up for his own goddamn rally.”
“Maybe his plane was delayed—”
“His plane? Gimme a break. He’s supposed to be in town.”
“Okay, okay, so the guy’s a jerk. Who’re you gonna vote for? Orson? That son of a bitch would sell his own mother’s soul if there was a dime in it.”
“God damn!” The short man ground out his cigarette and frowned. “I was hoping this guy would do something—”
“Meaningful?”
“Give me a break!” His gruff laughter drifted off as the two young men walked toward the podium.
Ashley’s anxious eyes skimmed the crowd. Nowhere was there any trace of Trevor. The rally was supposed to begin at twelve and it was nearly twelve-fifteen. Worried lines creased Ashley’s forehead as she blew on her cold hands. It was cold, but fortunately dry, and the wind blowing down the Columbia Gorge cut through her coat and chilled her bones.
“Come on, Trevor,” she whispered, and her breath misted in the clear air. “If you want to lose this election, you’re certainly going about it the right way.”
Finally there was a flurry of activity near the podium. Ashley’s anxious eyes were riveted to the small stage that had been prepared for the event. The crowd murmured gratefully as a small, round man stepped up to the microphone.
It had been many years since Ashley had seen Everett Woodward, but she recognized Trevor’s campaign manager, whose high-pitched voice was echoing in the square. He introduced himself to Trevor’s
restless public and then politely explained that Trevor had been detained in Salem and that the rally would be rescheduled for another, undisclosed date.
No one was pleased at the news. While some of the would-be Daniels supporters began to disband, a group of hecklers standing near Ashley began to taunt Everett.
“So where is he?” one demanded gruffly. “I don’t buy your story that he’s in Salem. He was supposed to be here today.”
“Yeah, right. And what’s all the rumors about him pulling out of the race? What happened? Did he get caught with his hand in the till or something?”
Everett, in his seemingly unflappable manner, ignored the jibes, but his brow was puckered with worry.
The hecklers continued their conversation in private. “If you ask me, Daniels was probably caught with his pants down—in bed with somebody’s wife.”
“Oh yeah?” The other youth chuckled obscenely and Ashley started to walk away. She was concerned about Trevor, and wasn’t interested in any gossip about him.
“Sure, why not? The way I hear it, he was involved with a daughter of some hotshot timber guy—a rival or something—and she was married to someone else.”
“Hey, I’ve got new respect for this guy . . . tell me about it. . . . ”
A protest leaped to Ashley’s tongue when she realized the hecklers were discussing her. She had to physically restrain herself from causing a scene and telling the two men that her love affair, that beautiful and fleeting part of her life, had been long over before she married Richard. An unwanted blush flooded her neck and her steps faltered slightly, but she clamped her teeth together, lowered her head against the wind and walked resolutely toward the object of her quest: Trevor’s campaign manager.
Everett noticed her approach and a flicker of recognition registered on his placid face. The corners of his mouth twitched downward.
When she was close enough to be heard, Ashley didn’t mince words. “I want to talk to Trevor.”
Everett smiled coldly. “You and the rest of the voters in this state.”
“It’s important. I telephoned the campaign headquarters yesterday and a receptionist promised to have Trevor return the call.”
“Which he didn’t?”
“Right.”
Everett was about to make a hasty retort, but changed his mind.
“I don’t think he got the message,” Ashley informed the round campaign manager.
“Or maybe you didn’t. Did it ever cross your mind that maybe Trevor didn’t want to talk to you?”
The muscles in Ashley’s back stiffened and for a moment she considered letting the subject drop. But too much was at stake. In the past few weeks she had learned that her love for Trevor would never die and that at least some of the pain in the past was her fault for not trusting him. It was imperative that she see Trevor again. With newfound strength she swallowed her pride.
“Which is it?” she demanded, her muscles rigid. She braced herself for the rejection she was sure would follow. “You’re his campaign manager, and from what I understand, very good at what you do. Certainly Trevor would confide in you, let you know if he didn’t want to see me again.”
Everett considered the woman standing before him. The pride and determination in the lift of her chin were compelling. Ashley Stephens Jennings was a far cry from the spoiled timber brat she had once been.
He fingered the handle of his umbrella and his gaze left her to study the architecture of the buildings surrounding the square. “I think it would be best if you forgot about Trevor Daniels,” he ventured. “It would be political dynamite if the press found out that you were seeing him again.”
“That’s ducking the issue, Everett. Has Trevor told you that he doesn’t want to see me?”
Everett gazed into the quiet fury of her blue-green eyes. There was a new dignity and spirit in her stare. He found it impossible to lie to her. “Right now, Trevor isn’t really sure what he wants,” the campaign manager admitted.
“Including his ambitions for the Senate?”
The portly man’s eyes glittered dangerously. He knew he’d given too much away to the becoming daughter of Lazarus Stephens. “Leave him alone, Ashley,” he warned. “Before Trevor saw you again, he knew what he wanted. And now . . . oh, hell!” A fleshy fist balled in frustration.
“And now what?” Ashley whispered, her throat constricting.
Everett laughed feebly. “I guess you and your father got what you wanted all along,” he said in disgust. “Single-handedly you seem to have convinced the best goddamn man in Oregon to back down from his one shot at making it. Do you know what you’ve done? Have you any idea what you alone have cost this state?” His face reddened with conviction and his hands gestured helplessly in the air. “He would have been good, Ashley, damned good.”
With his angry remark, he turned toward his car, and then cast another warning over his shoulder. “Give up, Ashley, you’ve gotten what you wanted. It’s over for him. Now, for God’s sake, leave the poor bastard alone!”
After grinding out his final, gut-wrenching advice, Everett slipped into the dark interior of a waiting cab. The battered car roared to life, melding into the traffic heading east toward the Willamette River.
Ashley was left standing alone in the wintry air. She felt more naked and raw than she had since the last time she had seen Trevor walk out the door of the mountain cabin. Shivering from the frigid wind, she wrapped her arms under her breasts.
An ache, deep and throbbing, cut through her heart and pounded in her pulse. “Dear Lord, Trevor,” she whispered, “what happened to us?” She looked up at the cold gray sky and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. How had she been so blind for so long? Why had she let other people, other things, unnecessary obstacles separate her from him? Was it pride, or was it fear of the truth that had kept her from facing the fact that she loved him more desperately than any sane woman should love a man?
Her fingers were clenched tightly around her abdomen when she heard her name.
“Ms Jennings?”
Unaware that anyone had been watching her, Ashley whirled and faced a young man, no more than twenty-five, who was staring intently at her. His clean features gave no hint of what he wanted.
“Pardon me?” she whispered, carefully disguising the huskiness in her throat with poise.
“You are Ashley Jennings, aren’t you—Ashley Stephens Jennings?”
“Yes.” She was instantly wary. The last twenty-four hours had been a roller coaster of conflicts and emotions and something in this man’s studious gaze warned her to tread carefully.
The young man flashed a triumphant smile. “I thought so. Elwin Douglass.” He stretched out his hand and reluctantly Ashley accepted his larger palm in her icy fingers.
“ls there something I can do for you?”
“I hope so. I’m a free-lance reporter.” Ashley’s heart froze in her throat. “I’m doing a series of articles about the politicians in the primary . . . and, well, I’m starting with Trevor Daniels.”
“Mr. Daniels wasn’t here today,” Ashley replied, sensing that she didn’t want to become embroiled with this young man. “You should be talking to him and I have to get back to work—”
“I’ll walk with you. This won’t take long,” he reassured her. “You’re in charge of Stephens Timber, aren’t you?” He was writing in a notebook, glancing at her and refusing to be put off.
“Yes. I’m the president. Several people help me handle the management. I couldn’t do it alone.” lnvoluntarily she thought of Claud and cold dread stiffened her spine.
A traffic signal on Fifth made her pause. Douglass grabbed the opportunity. “I know. But your company, at least in the past, has been very vocal in condemning environmental candidates such as Daniels.”
The signal changed and Ashley stepped off the red-brick curb and onto the wet pavement. “Look, Mr. Douglass. I really don’t want to give an impromptu interview right now. Perhaps if you called the office, w
e could arrange a time that would be convenient for both of us.”
The bold reporter refused to take the hint. “Well, there’s just a couple of questions.”
“Really, I don’t think—”
“You’re Lazarus Stephens’s daughter, right?”
“Of course, but—”
“His only child, the one who got involved with Trevor Daniels several years ago.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Ashley stated, increasing the length of her stride. The offices of Stephens Timber Corporation were now in view. Ashley was never more glad to see the renovated turn-of-the-century hotel sitting proudly on Front Avenue.
“Wait a minute. What do you know about this rumor that Daniels is withdrawing from the race?”
That’s an easy one, and safe, too, Ashley thought to herself. “Absolutely nothing,” she answered honestly. Her smile was well practiced and cool. “Now, seriously, if you’d like to continue this interview, at another time, just give the office a call.” She fished in her purse, found a business card and extended it to him. “Right now I have work to do.”
Grudgingly Elwin Douglass accepted the small white card and slipped it into his wallet.
Ashley pushed open the wide glass door of the building and effectively ended the interview. Her chin was held proudly, her strides determined. Despite the warnings from Everett Woodward, and the unspoken insinuations from the reporter, she knew that she had to see Trevor again.
Tonight.
Chapter Ten
Twilight had fallen by the time Ashley arrived at Trevor’s stately home. Despite the gathering darkness, Ashley could see that the grand two-story structure hadn’t changed much in the past eight years. Built of cedar timbers and bluestone, the English manor stood proudly on the banks of the silvery Willamette River.
Sharp gables angled against the steep roofline, and ancient fir trees guarded the estate. Leaded windows winked in the harsh glare of security lights, which illuminated the rambling structure and cast ghostly shadows over the dormers.
Gathering her purse and her composure, Ashley got out of her car and walked up the rough stone path to the front door. Though she had entered that door dozens of times in the past, her heart began to thud anxiously as she ascended the steps of the stone porch and braced herself for Trevor’s inevitable rejection.
