by Imani King
I sag against Jackson. “How did you do that?”
“I think it was reminding him about the pony that did it.”
I frown. “What happened?”
He shudders. “I’d rather not—”
“Tell me.”
Jackson sighs. “Brad got a pony for his eighth birthday. He wasn’t very nice to it. The only pleasure he seemed to get from the poor animal was when he whipped it. I stepped in, thinking that’s what a big brother should do.”
My stomach churns with acid, and I tense. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t like my interference and rode off on the horse. It was too young for riding, and he injured it. The vet had to put it down, and Father refused to buy him another horse after that.” Jackson looks ill when he finishes the story.
I shiver. “He preferred killing the horse to sharing it?”
Jackson pulls me closer. “I don’t think he deliberately hurt the pony. He just got angry and rode it without thinking. Brad’s not all bad. The incident with the horse reminded him of what can happen when he acts impulsively. I think he finally realized what he’s doing, and it’s over now.”
I shake my head, but don’t contradict him. There is no reason to upset him, but I can’t believe Brad just gave up. Something in his tone and expression told me it wasn’t over. His parting words had been more than threatening. They had held a note of promise. Would he rather have me dead than see me with Jackson?
38
Shawna
Brad was gone by mid-afternoon when we leave for the Murphys’ party. He had slipped from the house without a word to anyone and without signing the custody papers. Jackson curses up a blue streak when he realizes, but by then, Brad’s plane had taken off.
I try to set aside my fears as we get into the Prius. I wave to Lillian and Lindsay, who stand on the porch with a warmly wrapped Tamara. I know they will take good care of the baby. Tamara took immediately to Lindsay, seemingly enchanted with her auburn hair and thick glasses. With Lillian’s common sense and the teenager’s enthusiasm, our daughter is in good hands. Still, I hesitate to leave them.
Jackson touches my leg. “They’ll be fine.”
I sigh. “I know, but it’s my first time away from her in weeks. She won’t have you either. What if she gets sick?”
“They have Dr. Walsh’s number and my cell number. We’ll be back around one A.M.” He moves his hand up my thigh to squeeze my hand. “Try not to worry so much.”
I nod and force a smile, wishing I could share his confidence. At the back of my mind lurks my real fear: Brad. What if he follows us from the ranch, stops the car somewhere, and does something crazy? I try to be reassured by Jackson’s presence and levelheaded thinking. He is solidly muscular and in great shape; more than capable of dealing with any situation that might arise. I’m worrying for nothing.
Despite my internally repeated assurances, I couldn’t help watching the road. Each time a car falls in behind us, I have to turn around and identify the driver before I can relax again, even for a few minutes. If Jackson notices my jumpiness, he doesn’t say anything.
39
Shawna
The Murphys live in White Salmon, WA on the bluff with a lovely view of the Columbia River and Mt. Hood. Their home is a huge three-story house, painted beige with brown trim. It has a sloped roof, a profusion of plant life—although much has been trimmed down for the season—and a four-car garage. A fence surrounds the back of the house. Their lawn is muddy from the recent rains, causing my boots to stick in the muck in several places as we walk up the hill to the walkway. I’m glad I listened to Jackson and opted to get ready for the party at the Murphys, rather than before. I can’t imagine traversing the ground in heels.
We’d left the Prius among several high-end cars, including Audis, Volvos, various SUVs, and a couple of Jags parked up and down the street. Their maid opens the door wearing a starched black dress with a crisp white apron. She even curtsies.
I am awed by it all as I follow Jackson through the vaulted entryway, down the hall, past a wood-paneled room with a grand piano, and into a salon. Celine stands there, talking to someone in a white uniform. I am relieved to see the other woman wears slacks and a sweater, and has haphazardly pinned up her black hair.
A smile curves across her face when she sees us. “You made it.” She comes forward and grasps Jackson’s hands to kiss his cheeks before hugging me. “I’ve given you the use of the second room on the right, near the top of the stairs.” Celine sighs heavily. “Would you mind showing yourselves up, Jackson? I’m swamped.”
“Where’s Jim?” I ask.
She sighs again, more prolonged this time. “He took the kids to the zoo to make up for them missing out on our usual Christmas Eve celebration. They aren’t back yet.” Celine looks at her watch, shaking her head. “He swore—well, never mind. All will be well.”
“You never fail to pull it together,” Jackson says, taking Shawna’s hand. “Do you need any help?”
She shakes her head. “No, but thank you for the offer. The few other guests who’ve arrived didn’t even offer to hang their own coats.” Celine grimaces. “A couple of people invited themselves for overnight stays, even though tomorrow is Christmas.” A black and white uniformed man near the door waves to catch her attention. “Excuse me.” She inclines her head and hurries away.
I follow Jackson up the spacious white staircase, pausing at the top of the landing to look down. My head spins at the obscured view of the floor below, partially blocked by the twists of the stairs.
“We’re there,” Jackson says, and points to a set of French doors made of blond oak.
I follow him into the guest room, gasping at the opulent multi-colored Persian carpet, dainty white furniture, and large bed. The black comforter appears to be satin, and I couldn’t resist walking over to touch it. I sit down on the waterbed, noticing it barely rippled. “Why don’t you live in a place like this?” I blurt out.
Jackson looks up from opening his case. “Would you rather we did?”
I shake my head. “No. I love the ranch, but this seems more like a Reeves kind of place.”
“I don’t think I would be comfortable here,” he admits. “I like the simplicity of life on the ranch.”
I smile. “I can’t believe you don’t have an army of servants.” My eyes cloud over as I remember the unpleasant man who lived in small quarters at Brad’s. He had always watched me with a creepy intensity. I now suspect he had been my guard, with the purpose of keeping Brad informed of my every move. He just happened to cook and clean too.
He shrugs. “We’ll probably have to add a daily cleaner or a housekeeper in a couple of years, as Mom loses mobility, but we’re both independent types.” Jackson grins at me. “Why? Do you want an army of servants?”
I giggle. “Maybe just one servant, clad only in a loincloth.”
Jackson sighs loudly. “Damn. I left my loincloth at home.” His eyes sparkle. “Will you settle for naked?”
I force myself to look aggravated. “If I must, but I did have my heart set on the savage look.”
Jackson lifts his suit from the case. “Let me get this up first.”
“Generally a requirement.”
He shakes his head. “You’re depraved, Shawna. I was referring to hanging the suit.”
I stand up and walk to my case, lifting it beside his. I withdraw the red sweater set and follow him to the closet. “How do you know the Murphys?”
“Celine, Jim, and I went to college together, until I dropped out.” Jackson winks at me. “Celine became an engineer for Intel, while I’m just a lowly construction worker.”
I lean against him. “You aren’t a lowly anything.”
Jackson puts his arm around my waist. “You aren’t embarrassed that I didn’t finish college?” he teases.
“I didn’t even go to college. Just a Vo-tech program I didn’t complete.” Although he’s joking, I can’t hide my concern. “You’re the one
who should be ashamed.”
His mouth firms. “Don’t talk like that. I could never be ashamed of you. I wouldn’t care if you had a doctorate or didn’t finish junior high.”
My mouth wobbles when I smile. “That means a lot.”
Jackson wraps his arms around me. “I don’t want to change you or make you something you aren’t. I love you, Shawna. Not who I think I can make you.”
My eyes widen at his impassioned speech. Has he guessed how Brad tried to mold me into something I never felt comfortable attempting to be? I grimace when his name enters my mind again, and I push thoughts of him away. I refuse to let Brad spoil the evening for me.
I put my arms around Jackson’s waist and look up at him. “What does Jim do?”
“Advertising.” Jackson chuckles. “He started out as a history major, like me.”
“Why history?”
He shrugs. “I enjoyed it. I wanted to be a teacher.” His mouth twists, and his eyes darken for a brief moment. “My father soon crushed that dream. He refused to pay for college if I didn’t take something sensible.”
I touch his brow where it furrows into a frown. “What was sensible?”
“Business administration or engineering. I tried.” He lifts a shoulder. “Engineering wasn’t my thing, but I introduced Jim and Celine, so some good came out of it.”
Something in his tone causes my eyes to narrow. “There’s more to the story than that.”
“Celine and I dated for a while, but there wasn’t a spark.” He leans forward and kisses me on the nose. “I guess I was waiting for you. Jim snapped her up while I was waiting.”
“Didn’t that hurt?”
Jackson shrugs. “At the time, but I’m not carrying a torch for her.” He touches my cheek, careful of the bruised spot I have hidden with heavy makeup. “I couldn’t imagine either of them with someone else. Just like I can’t imagine being with anyone but you.”
My eyes glisten with tears. I clear my throat and try to steer the conversation away from topics guaranteed to make me cry. I don’t want to have to completely redo my makeup. “What happened after you dropped out?”
He looks at his watch. “I worked a series of bad jobs for a few years, until Father got sick. Brad was too young to take over, so he brought me into the company.” Jackson’s lips twitch. “The old bastard that he was, it was the lowest position. I started out drilling rivets into steel beams on the skyscrapers the company erected.”
“Then—”
He kisses my nose again. “I’m afraid that’s all the history lesson we have time for. There isn’t much of interest beyond that anyway.”
I quirk a brow at him. “I doubt that.”
Jackson gives me an innocent smile. “I’m an open book and hardly worth the read.”
We go downstairs a little after eight to find several people milling about. I clutch Jackson’s arm as I eye a sea of new faces. I grimace when I see the avid expressions of some of the guests. A few immediately form huddles, and a small buzz of conversation sweeps around the room.
“Straighten your spine and walk proudly,” Jackson says from the corner of his mouth, around a wide smile. “Only a few people here matter at all. The rest can think what they like.”
I try to mimic his way of speaking, but bite my tongue. “Ouch.” I turn my head in his direction. “I’m trying to be brave.”
Jackson takes my hand and squeezes it. Then he lifts it to his mouth and kisses my palm as they step off the last step. Celine and Jim gravitate toward us, as do a few others, who eagerly push forward.
I keep my chin up and breathing level as I greet Jim. After a brief air kiss for Celine, I turn to eye the crowd. Most have lost interest, but a few eyes still bore into me. I try to meet each stare with forthright determination, but am relieved when Jackson pulls me to the small bar set up in one corner of the large room.
After fortifying ourselves with gin and tonics, Jackson leads me around the room to meet various people. Most are friendly, if overtly curious, and few say anything other than giving congratulations as news of the engagement spreads.
Two hours pass, and I find myself wishing Lillian had organized this party too. Last night had been filled with fun and laughter, unlike this boring meeting of executives from both Jim and Celine’s worlds. I stifle a yawn behind my hand.
“Bored?” Jackson bends his head to whisper the question in my ear.
I nod and flip over his wrist to see his watch. “When can we leave?”
“Ten-thirty,” he says.
I sag with relief. “Just thirty minutes more.”
Jackson laughs and pulls me against his side. He kisses me on the cheek and the lips. “Sorry it’s not much fun for you. I didn’t realize it would be so dull either. Celine told me Jim’s trying to hook a new client and decided to mix business with socializing. Unfortunately, none of the people they work with have anything in common.”
We both look up as a man and his wife approach. I hear Jackson groan quietly. I force a smile, disconcerted to see the man eyeing me so intently.
“Reeves.” He inclines his head. “You remember my wife, Liana?”
“Mrs. Corbett,” Jackson says, taking the hand she extends and shaking it quickly. He uses the arm he has around my waist to bring me forward. “This is my fiancée, Shawna Davis. Shawna, this is Mr. and Mrs. Corbett.”
I smile at them and can feel my lips trembling. “How are you?”
Mr. Corbett’s brows shoot up. “How many fiancées do you have, Reeves?”
I gasp at the question. My face instantly feels like it is on fire, and I press a hand to my hot cheek.
Jackson straightens his spine. “Excuse me, Mr. Corbett?”
“We saw your fiancée at a Christmas party just two nights ago in Los Angeles. She was with her manager. She explained away your absence as family obligations.”
“Anastasia,” I mouth, trading looks with Jackson.
“Anastasia and I were never engaged,” Jackson says bluntly. “In fact, we broke up before the night she made the announcement. My apologies if you were misled because of her machinations, but Shawna is the woman I plan to marry.”
Mr. Corbett frowns. “I see. Why would Miss Bonham do such a thing?”
Jackson shrugs. “Some assignment with your company. She wanted to project the image of a family woman.”
Christian Corbett sighs. “That was supposed to be confidential. I wonder who leaked the information.”
“It’s not my problem either way.” Jackson takes my hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we haven’t danced together yet.” We turn away and head to the small area where other couples sway to soft music.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Reeves.”
I feel him stiffen before we turn back to Mr. and Mrs. Corbett. I force a smile back on my face. It slips when the other man hands me a business card. Christian Corbett, Corbett Children’s Charity. A handwritten number is in the corner. “What is this?” she asks.
“We like your look, Miss Davis. We would like to offer you the position of spokesperson for our clothing.”
My mouth drops open. “Me? I’m not a model.”
Mr. Corbett shrugs. “There’s not much to it.”
“Really, I—” I hold out the card to return it.
Jackson takes it from me and slips the card in his pocket. “She’ll get back to you.”
Mr. Corbett looks impatient, but Mrs. Corbett nods. “Of course. With the holidays and a baby, business is the last thing you want to think of.”
“Happy Holidays,” I say numbly, before following Jackson from the room. “Dancing—”
“Do you really feel like it? I’d rather get a head start on traffic so we can get home at a reasonable time.”
I shrug and follow him upstairs to change clothes and retrieve our cases. When we come back downstairs, Jim and Celine stand on the fringe of the crowd. They walk forward when they spot Jackson and me. After hugs and holiday wishes, Jim says, “Corbett agreed to sign wi
th my company.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t be so modest. He dodged my attempts at discussing business all night. After meeting you, he was ready to sign. Then he set me to the task of persuading you to take the job.” Jim looks confused. “What job?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, before Jackson can explain. “I’m not interested, but it is flattering.” I turn to look at Celine. “Thank you for a lovely time.”
Celine’s mouth twists. “A nap would have been more exciting. It appears my business acquaintances and Jim’s don’t mesh.” She shrugs. “We’ll see you Tuesday. That’s guaranteed to be more exciting.”
I force a smile as my stomach churns with the reminder of the wedding. “Let’s hope not too exciting.” I am looking forward to marrying Jackson, but part of me believes Brad will never let it happen. It wouldn’t surprise me if he turned up at the ceremony, bent on causing trouble.
We’ve traveled for more than an hour when I remember Christian Corbett’s job offer. “Why did you take Mr. Corbett’s card, Jackson? I’m not interested in modeling.”
Jackson’s grin borders on wicked. “Mr. Corbett is a powerful man, darling. I have a feeling he’ll deal more effectively with Anastasia than either one of us could. It doesn’t hurt to let him think you’re considering his offer so he doesn’t lose interest in spreading the truth about her.”
I bite back a giggle and try to look horrified. “That’s a terrible thing to do.”
He lifts a brow. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” It was no more than that manipulator deserved. Not even a twinge of conscience accompanied the thought.
