Tender Absolution

by Lisa Jackson

  “That’s not the way I remember it.”

  She felt the color drain from her face, but she inched her chin up a notch, refusing to give him an inkling that she remembered with crystal clarity the party she’d crashed, just to be with him. “Look, you don’t have to pretend to like me—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Then we’re even,” she lied, her pride ruling her tongue.

  His lips tightened at the corners.

  “Now all we have to do is endure your sister’s wedding. We don’t have to speak, touch or so much as look at each other. Then, after the reception, you can go your way and I’ll go mine.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and seemed to wrestle with something on his mind. “I just didn’t happen to show up here,” he said. “I was at Nadine’s dock and I saw you through field glasses.” The stubborn set of his jaw didn’t alter. “You’re right, I knew you were invited to the wedding, but I thought I should warn you.”

  “About what?”

  He stared at her long enough that she was certain he’d studied every pore on her face.

  “My dad won’t appreciate your being there.”

  “Your dad didn’t invite me.”

  “You’re not wanted, Carlie.”

  That stung, but she wasn’t a virgin in the pain department. “Not by you maybe, but—”

  “Not by me ever.”

  The old wounds opened, but she wouldn’t give Ben the satisfaction of knowing he still had the ability to hurt her. She shook her head and sighed. “I was hoping that it wouldn’t be like this between us.”

  “It couldn’t be any different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Kevin’s dead, damn it. Don’t you remember?”

  “Every day of my life.” She swallowed back that old, painful lump that filled her throat when she thought of Ben’s older brother. “But—” she forced the words over her suddenly thick tongue “—nothing I can say or do will bring him back. We have to let it rest. Both of us.”

  He looked as if he planned to disagree. Shadows darkened his clear eyes and he quickly glanced away, past her, to the mountains rising in the distance. Seconds drummed by, punctuated by the silence that stretched between them. A tic throbbed near his temple and his jaw was clenched so hard, she wondered if his teeth were being ground into his gums. “I don’t think we should talk about this,” he said at length, but his voice was less harsh; the accusations in his eyes had faded.

  “The way I remember it, you don’t think we should talk about anything!”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Good. Because we—or at least I—have a wedding to attend.” The brisk air crackled between them and he didn’t reply. Again, the silence was deafening and it was all she could do to stand her ground under his hard, uncompromising gaze. “Are you always this rude,” she asked impulsively, “or did the army teach you how to be a jerk?”

  “You just seem to bring out the best in me.”

  “I don’t remember handing you an invitation to bulldoze your way over here and insult me. This time, Ben, you’re doing the crashing.” She turned, intent on leaving him, but he moved quickly, reaching out, his hand clamping firmly over her elbow. He spun her back to face him with such force that his cap fell into the snow. For a breathless second she remembered him as he had been: impetuous, young, bold, sought after by most of the girls who had attended Tyler High. And she, Carlie Surrett, had been flattered that she’d caught his attention—even if she’d had to chase him a little to get it.

  His gaze settled on her mouth. The breeze seemed to die and they were alone. Two people, man and woman, lost in a swirl of snowflakes and icy air. In the span of a heartbeat she thought he might kiss her, and her lips felt suddenly dry. How could she even let one single memory of the love they once shared into her heart? It had all been so long ago.

  “I’m surprised you’re back,” he said roughly, his eyes narrowing, his warm breath fogging in the cool air. “I heard you were married.”

  Her spine stiffened slightly. “For a while.”

  “Didn’t last?” He raised a dubious black eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Irreconcilable differences,” she said, ignoring the little bit of pain that still remained when she thought about her short-lived marriage. “I believed in monogamy. He thought it was a drag.”

  Ben’s skepticism was etched on his face, but she told herself she didn’t care. What Ben Powell thought of her didn’t matter. Squaring her shoulders, she was determined to change the subject. “What about you, Ben? What’re you doing back in Gold Creek? Unless things have changed, there’s no army base for hundreds of miles.”

  “I’m through with the military.”

  She eyed the buttons of his uniform, the medals decorating his chest. “Doesn’t look that way.”

  “The wedding was news to me when I got back to town. Didn’t have anything to wear. The trunk with my tux hasn’t arrived yet.”

  So he still had a sense of humor—cynical though it was. And his eyes, angry and smoldering, were staring at her with an intensity that caused the chilly air to be trapped in her lungs.

  She had to remind herself that she wasn’t going to fall for his sex appeal again. Not now. Not ever. Quickly she yanked her arm from his. “We’ll be late.”

  “You shouldn’t go, Carlie. Not after what happened.”

  She felt like dying. All the old pain and shame ripped fresh holes in her heart.

  “My old man, if he sees you…” Ben’s brows drew together.

  “He’ll get over it,” she said, though she didn’t know if she was up to facing the censure and accusations in George Powell’s eyes. “This is Nadine’s day. If we’re smart, none of us will do anything to spoil it.”

  Backing up, she nearly stumbled, then turned and strode briskly back to her vehicle. She could feel him watching her as she climbed into the Cherokee, twisted on the ignition and pumped the gas. The engine turned over and in a plume of blue exhaust, she drove away from the little campground by the lake, away from the ghosts of the old legend and away from Ben Powell, a man she’d loved with all of her naive heart and a man who had all but destroyed her.

  Had it really been eleven years? A decade of carrying around a load of guilt she should have unstrapped long ago? She switched on the defroster, clearing the suddenly misty windshield.

  “Forget him,” she told herself angrily. He was wrong for her then, even more wrong for her now. Not that she wanted him—or any man for that matter. It had taken a while, but she’d grown up to be her own independent woman.

  She wiped at the fog the old defroster couldn’t make disappear. Her fingers came away from the windshield wet and cold. Forgetting Ben Powell was easier said than done. She’d already spent so many years trying and had obviously failed. Why else would she care what he thought of her?

  Gritting her teeth, she took a corner a little too fast, the Jeep’s tires skidded and spun and she slid into the oncoming lane. From years of practice negotiating the icy roads in Alaska, she turned into the slide and guided the Cherokee back to the right-hand lane. Her heart was pounding, her hands tight around the steering wheel and she couldn’t help remembering Ben and how much she’d once loved him.

  It had been summer when she’d crashed that party, a warm July night filled with the sound of crickets and thick with the scent of honeysuckle. She’d been young and reckless and anxious to experience all that life had to offer.

  Because of Ben Powell. Ben with his irreverent smile, his intense hazel eyes and his promises…. Dear God, why couldn’t she forget him? Why did just the sight of him inspire memories that she’d kept locked away in a dark corner of her heart and promised herself that she’d never open?

  As an old Fleetwood Mac song about the chains of love filled the
interior of her vehicle she hummed along.

  Despite all Carlie’s vows to herself, her mind circled backward in time to the hot summer nights that had changed the course of her life forever….

  BOOK ONE

  Whitefire Lake, California

  Eleven Years Earlier

  CHAPTER ONE

  “MAYBE WE SHOULD turn back.” Carlie gnawed nervously on the inside of her lip, but continued to paddle forward. She didn’t usually second-guess herself, and she’d always been adventurous, but this time she questioned her own wisdom as she dipped her oar into the water and glanced over her shoulder to her friend, Brenda, paddling steadily at the stern of the small rowboat.

  Dusk gathered lazily over the lake. Water skippers and dragonflies skimmed the clear surface and mosquitoes droned in the early-evening air.

  “Turn back now? Are you crazy?” Brenda asked, clucking her tongue in disappointment. With springy red curls, freckles and eyes the color of chocolate, Brenda was new to Gold Creek, but she and Carlie were fast becoming friends. “This was your idea, remember?”

  “Can’t I change my mind?”

  “Not now.” Brenda shoved her oar into the water and threw her shoulders into her stroke. The small boat skimmed closer to their destination, an abandoned log cabin on the south side of the lake.

  The Bait and Fish, lights glowing warmly from the windows, slid by. Flickering neon signs announcing favorite brands of beer stood in stark relief against the weathered old boards. In the distance, near the north shore, speedboats dragged water-skiers. Carlie recognized Brian Fitzpatrick at the helm of a racing silver craft that rimmed the shoreline and left a thick rippling wake over which an experienced skier, probably Brian’s younger sister, Toni, was balanced on one ski.

  “What a life,” Brenda said dreamily as she glanced at the sleek speedboat.

  “You’d want to be a Fitzpatrick?” Carlie shook her head. “With all their troubles?”

  “They’ve got soooo much money.”

  “And soooo many troubles. Haven’t you heard about the root of all evil?”

  “So, let me sin a little.”

  Carlie laughed, enjoying the breath of a breeze that fanned her face and lifted her hair off her shoulders. Though the sun had set in a blaze of gold and pink behind the mountains, the July air was hot and sticky.

  Their destination loomed ahead, a thicket of pines surrounding an ancient cabin with rotting, weather-beaten shingles for a roof and rough log walls. No one knew who owned the property, but the single acre was referred to as the “old Daniels’s place” by most of the people in town. Jed Daniels built the cabin for his bride just before the turn of the century, and successive generations of Daniels’ kin had used the place as a summer cottage. Eventually the Daniels family was spread too far and thin to keep up the house, but if the place had ever been sold, no one in town talked of it.

  Carlie eased the rowboat to the old dock of weathered pilings and broken boards. Though the house was dark, music and laughter drifted through the broken, boarded-up windows, and she recognized an old song by the Rolling Stones.

  She bit her lower lip and worried it over her teeth. What was it about her that was always seeking out adventure or “looking for trouble,” as her father had so often said?

  “She’s just curious, nothing wrong with that.” Her mother, Thelma, had quickly defended her only child on more than one occasion. “She’s got a quick mind and she gets bored easily.”

  “Dreamin’, that’s what she’s doin’. Thinkin’ she can become some hot-damn New York model. Where I come from that’s called being too big fer yer britches,” Weldon Surrett had stated as he’d sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette.

  “Where you come from, a six-pack of beer and a deck of cards were considered big-time,” her mother teased gently, then adjusted the skirt of her uniform and kissed her husband on the cheek. “See you after my shift.” Thelma had always been defensive of Carlie. Sometimes she went too far and was overprotective. Carlie blamed it on the fact that her mother couldn’t have any more children. A hysterectomy one year after Carlie’s birth had denied Thelma the large family she’d always wanted. Consequently, Thelma had poured all her motherly affection, concern and love onto her only child. If it weren’t for the fact that Thelma’s job at the Rexall Drugstore in town kept her busy, she would surely have suffocated Carlie with all her good intentions long ago.

  “This is the place?” Brenda asked skeptically as she eyed the dilapidated cabin.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure you heard right?”

  “Positive.”

  “And Ben Powell will be here?” Brenda lifted a doubtful eyebrow.

  “I heard him talking to his brother,” Carlie said as the boat rocked softly against the dock. She’d run into Ben and Kevin at the new video store that had opened up near the supermarket. The boys had been arguing about which movie to rent when Kevin had looked up and caught her staring at them. Carlie felt a little jab of guilt when she remembered the spark of interest in Kevin’s eyes when he’d caught her gaze.

  Kevin was older than Ben and had spent a year away at college before Kevin’s grades had slipped and the money had run out for his education. Now he was working at Monroe Sawmill and was unhappy with his life. He and Carlie had dated several times, but then she’d stopped seeing him. Kevin was seven years older than she, and was much too serious and possessive. By the third date, Carlie had known that their relationship was doomed. He began calling twice a day, demanding to know where she’d been, jealous of her friends and the time she’d spent away from him. After three lousy dates!

  She’d never really broken up with him because they’d never really gone together; she’d just stopped going out with him. He spent a lot of his time at the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge, drinking beer and watching sports on television through a smoky haze as he relived his own days of glory as one of the best basketball players to ever graduate from Tyler High School.

  Carlie shuddered, thinking of Kevin. Too many times he’d wanted to touch her, kiss her, get her alone. They hadn’t had one thing in common and she probably didn’t have much more with Kevin’s younger brother, Ben.

  So what was she doing here? Crashing a party because of Ben Powell, Kevin’s younger brother? Boy, Carlie, you are looking for trouble!

  She tied the boat to one of the sturdier pilings, walked carefully across the bleached boards and hiked along a weed-choked path to the broad front porch, where an old rocking chair swayed slightly with the breeze. The sound of voices grew louder, some from inside the house, others from around back, but a heavy chain and padlock on the front door suggested they find another entrance.

  “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this,” Brenda admitted. “It’s kind of creepy, you know. Aren’t there laws about criminal trespass and breaking and entering?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to turn back!” Carlie, too, was torn. She remembered another party, less than a year before, when a group of kids were gathered at the Fitzpatrick house on the other side of the lake. Things got out of hand and Roy Fitzpatrick, the golden boy of Gold Creek, heir to the Fitzpatrick fortune, had been killed.

  Jackson Moore was suspected and arrested for the crime, but Carlie’s best friend, Rachelle Tremont, had given Jackson the alibi he needed to avoid being indicted. Jackson had walked away from jail a free man, but he’d left town, leaving Rachelle with a soiled reputation and a broken heart.

  The aftermath of the party had been devastating, but now, even remembering the hell the Fitzpatricks and Tremonts had gone through, Carlie still couldn’t turn around. The lure of seeing Ben was greater than her fear of being caught breaking some kind of minor law. She walked off the porch and took an overgrown trail of flagstones toward the back.

  Why she was so attracted to Ben,
she didn’t know. He should be the one boy in town to avoid, considering the fact that he was Kevin’s younger brother. But everything about Ben appealed to her—his rugged good looks, his easy, slightly cynical smile, his open irreverence for all things monetary.

  Shorter and more compact than Kevin, Ben wasn’t quite six feet, but he was more muscular and his hazel gaze seemed to burn right into her soul. So here she was, acting like a sneak thief, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and stepping around the corner to…nearly run right into him.

  She gasped and Brenda, walking behind her bumped against her backside.

  Ben didn’t seem the least surprised. Stripped to the waist, wearing faded Levi’s with split knees, he stopped dead in his tracks. A bottle of beer dangled from his fingers and a slow, lazy smile spread across his beard-darkened jaw. “Carlie, right? Carlie Surrett?”

  She nodded, her throat dry, her heart hammering.

  “And I’m Brenda.” Her friend stepped out of Carlie’s shadow to introduce herself.

  Ben seemed amused. His lips twisted upward a little and an intense spark of interest lighted his hazel eyes. Never, not for one second, did his gaze waver from hers.

  Carlie swallowed hard and shoved a handful of hair over her shoulder. She suddenly felt awkward and wondered why she’d been so stupid as to come party crashing.

  “Kevin isn’t here,” Ben said, taking a long pull from the beer. Carlie watched in fascination as he swallowed. Sweat trickled down his neck and his Adam’s apple moved slowly.

  “I didn’t come looking for Kevin.”

  One dark brow shot up. “Who then?”

  “Nobody,” she lied and heard Brenda’s sharp intake of breath. “I just, um, heard there was a party.”

  He leaned a palm against the rough sides of the building and moved his fingertips restlessly along one hand-hewn log. She noticed his tanned arms, the muscles of his shoulders, the veins bulging beneath his skin. “So this is what you do…crash parties?”