Heartless

by Diana Palmer

  She felt the joy drain out of her. “I don’t want to this year,” she said without looking at him. “Maybe Kittie was right. You’ve never liked having the place swimming in decorations, anyway. It’s just a big fuss, that’s all. Mrs. Harcourt can put up a tree for you at the ranch.”

  His heart sank. He could see the reason she’d lost her enthusiasm for the holiday. He felt guilty all over again. “Gracie, you love decorating for the holidays.”

  She met his eyes and winced. “I can’t. Not this year. I can’t, Jason.”

  He drew in a ragged breath. “Okay. I won’t push it. You’re coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, though, right?”

  She hesitated.

  His face hardened. He wondered if what had happened in her bedroom had influenced her hesitation. Was she feeling guilty? Had he made her feel ashamed of what had happened? She’d wanted him, he knew she had. What was wrong?

  “Gracie, about what happened…” he began.

  Blushing, she turned away. It was embarrassing, the way she’d practically thrown herself at him. The wild abandon wasn’t like her, and she was confused and a little afraid of what had almost happened. She needed time to sort out her feelings. “I have to help Barbara in the kitchen. Goodbye, Jason.”

  She walked out, just like that.

  He held in the bad language until he was back in his truck, speeding away from the house. He’d never been so frustrated. Something in Gracie’s past was holding them apart, making her hesitant, spoiling things. He didn’t know what terrible secret she was hiding from him. He’d never pushed her for answers. But what he’d already learned made him certain that there was more. Much more. He wanted answers, by God, and he was going to get them!

  “JASON’S IN A SNIT,” Barbara commented as Jason left skid marks on her cement driveway going out into the road.

  “He’s just in a hurry,” Gracie replied warily. “He’s not used to the ranch trucks.”

  “He’s frustrated.”

  “Barbara!”

  “Both of you were flushed and disheveled,” she returned with a grin. “Just what was going on here while I was working?”

  “Barbara!”

  “It’s about time, is all I have to say,” the older woman mused.

  “What do you mean?” Gracie asked as she joined her friend at the table, where Barbara was filling glasses with iced tea.

  “I mean, Jason smolders every time he looks at you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

  Gracie’s heart jumped. “Really?”

  “Wasn’t he inviting you to decorate the house?” she asked.

  Gracie picked at her sandwich. “Yes. Kittie made fun of it. She said nobody put up decorations like that anymore, and that I went overboard. Jason had already been saying it for years.”

  “And you’re going to let that stop you?” her friend asked, aghast. “Gracie, you always did have a style of your own. You should do what you like, without wondering what other people think. I loved your decorations. The neighbors used to drive by the house every holiday season—they looked forward to seeing what new color scheme you came up with.” Her eyes lit up. “It was like a gift you gave to the whole community. I expect it was like that in San Antonio, at the mansion, as well.”

  She knew it was. But the memory of Kittie still hurt, even more now that she knew Jason had almost made a mistake that could have forced him to marry the terrible woman. Gracie would have lost him forever.

  “Kittie is history,” Barbara said firmly. “She only wanted what Jason had. She didn’t love him.”

  “He was attracted to her,” Gracie said quietly.

  “Was he? Or was she a consolation prize for what he really wanted?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should go over for Thanksgiving,” Barbara said firmly.

  But Gracie wasn’t sure she wanted to. She loved Jason with all her heart, and she’d wanted him desperately earlier in the day. But even heavy petting wasn’t sex. She didn’t know if she could give him what he wanted. She was afraid to find out. If she refused him a second time, he might really go off the deep end. He might go back to Kittie in desperation. It might end all her dreams. She had to have time to think about what to do.

  IT WAS WORRYING THAT Jason didn’t phone her or come by again. Gracie got out of bed the next day. School was closed for the Thanksgiving holidays, but she helped Barbara at the café, against the older woman’s wishes. Jason didn’t contact her. She thought of calling him, but she was still too embarrassed about the way they’d parted.

  Mrs. Harcourt phoned her Thanksgiving night, at two in the morning. Gracie answered the phone half-asleep.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Gracie? It’s Eve Harcourt.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Harcourt. Happy Thanksgiving! I’m sorry I didn’t call…”

  “Oh, that’s all right, we all know what you’ve been through.” She hesitated. “Miss Gracie, do you think you could go down to Shea’s Roadhouse if I have one of the boys drive over and get you?”

  She sat up in bed and blinked. “Mrs. Harcourt, why would I want to go to the roadhouse at two in the morning?” she asked, still drowsy.

  “You see, Mr. Jason got this package yesterday, special express. He took it into his office last night and closed the door. I don’t know what was in it, but he stayed out all day today. He didn’t even come in for Thanksgiving dinner. I thought he might be with you until the phone just rang and it was that bouncer, Tiny, from the roadhouse.”

  Gracie sat straight up in bed. “Tiny? Why would he call you?”

  “He says Mr. Jason has treed the bar, Miss Gracie,” she continued worriedly. “He put Tiny over a table when he tried to get him to leave. Now he’s got one of the Hart boys’ ranch hands trapped in a bathroom and is threatening to tear the door off if he doesn’t come out. I swear, I can’t remember the last time Mr. Jason took a drink!”

  “I can,” Gracie muttered, remembering what he’d told her about how he ended up in bed with Kittie. She wondered what had set him off this time. “I’ll get dressed. Send one of the boys over. I’ll bring Jason home.”

  “You were the only one who could ever handle him when he got drunk,” the older woman said. “I hated to call you, but he wouldn’t let anybody else near him.”

  “I know that. It’s okay.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gracie,” she said, and hung up.

  She was afraid of men who drank, but this was only the second time Jason had ever gone overboard with liquor. That other time he’d gotten drunk was after his father died and he hadn’t threatened her in any way when she’d interfered. In fact, he’d been incredibly easy to handle when she’d taken the liquor away from him. He did anything she told him to and followed her like a lamb. It was one more reason she’d never had to be afraid of him. Having lived with a father who drank to excess and was violent, it would have devastated her to find Jason like him. But he wasn’t.

  TIM, ONE OF THE RANCH hands, drove Gracie over to the bar. “You want me to come in with you?” he asked.

  “Come and stand on the porch, Tim,” she said. “I’ll need you to help me get him to the truck. It would probably be better if you don’t come in.”

  He looked relieved. “Boss is dangerous in a temper,” he remarked.

  She smiled. “Yes. But not to me.”

  She walked into the bar. Jason wasn’t staggering, but he did look like a rattlesnake looking for a place to bite. He was cursing at a closed door in the back of the bar. Most of the patrons had long since gone home. It was just Jason and whatever poor soul he had trapped in the bathroom.

  Tiny came to meet her, limping. “Sorry I had to call for help, Miss Gracie, but I’m just getting over surgery again,” he apologized. “Mr. Pendleton there gets unreasonable when he drinks, and he’s already swung at me once. I don’t want to call the law unless I have to. He’s a good man.”

  “I’ll handle it. Thanks for calling me, Tiny. You know we’ll pay for any damage
s.”

  “Of course I do.”

  She walked past him. Jason was still cursing.

  “Jason,” she called softly.

  The change in him was immediate and amazing. He turned, blinked and then seemed to relax all at once. “Hello, Gracie,” he said in a breathless rush. He managed a wan smile. “I’m a little drunk.”

  “I noticed.” She took him by the hand. “It’s time to go home now.”

  “Okay.”

  She led him out of the bar to Tiny’s astonished amusement. He didn’t even offer any resistance. Behind her, she heard a door open.

  “Is he gone?” a cowboy asked plaintively.

  Jason stopped, whirled. “You…!”

  “Home, Jason!” Gracie said firmly, jerking on his hand.

  He glared at the cowboy, who was frozen in place. Then he dragged in a rough sigh and turned away, letting Gracie lead him off the porch and to the truck, where Tim was waiting with the passenger door open.

  “He made fun of my damned hat,” Jason muttered as he climbed up into the seat. “I was going to feed it to him, but he ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Damned coward!”

  Gracie got in beside him, motioning Tim to get the truck going.

  “I don’t want to go home,” Jason said suddenly.

  “Well, you’re going anyway,” Gracie replied. She’d fastened her seat belt, but she couldn’t find his. He was sitting on it. She sat back and hoped the police wouldn’t notice. It was against the law not to buckle up.

  “Mrs. Harcourt was all upset,” Gracie said. “She said you didn’t even have any Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “No point,” he muttered. “You weren’t there. It isn’t Thanksgiving without you.”

  Her heart ached at the comment. She felt guilty.

  “I hate whiskey,” he murmured as they approached the ranch.

  “You’re going to hate the hangover you have in the morning, too,” she assured him. “Right up to the porch, Tim, then you go back to bed. Thanks,” she added.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Gracie.”

  Between them, they got Jason on his feet and headed into the house. Mrs. Harcourt was waiting there in her housecoat, her dark eyes full of concern.

  “Is he all right?” she asked worriedly.

  He glanced at her. “I’m just drunk, Mrs. Harcourt,” he told her. “Not drunk enough, though.”

  “Come on,” Gracie said, aiming him down the hall toward his room. “Mrs. Harcourt, you go on back to bed. I’ll get him into his room.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gracie.” She hesitated. “But I’ll need to run you back to Barbara’s house.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said firmly. “I can sleep in the guest room. No use upsetting the household again.”

  “I’ll make you a nice breakfast,” the older woman said with a smile. “Thank you for saving him.”

  “Nothing’s going to save him from me,” Gracie muttered. She propelled Jason along with her and guided him into his room, closing the door behind them. She wanted, more than anything, to know what had set him off.

  She eased him down onto the king-size bed and bent to pull off his boots. He sprawled on the patchwork quilt, knocking off his hat. She tossed it onto his big dresser and sat down beside him. He was wearing jeans and a chambray shirt, very comfortable clothes, but not dressy. Apparently he’d gone from the ranch to the bar.

  “What in the world is wrong with you?” she asked. “You almost never drink.”

  His eyes opened and looked up into hers. “I hired a private detective.”

  Her heart stopped. “Why, Jason?”

  He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “To tell me what you wouldn’t. To tell me about your childhood, and the truth about your family.”

  11

  GRACIE’S HEART STOPPED. She knew every drop of blood drained out of her face at the statement. “Oh,” she said weakly.

  He grimaced. “I knew you’d take it like that. I had to know. I had to know, Gracie!”

  She averted her face. She fought tears. “I thought I could keep it hidden forever, that you’d never find out.” Her eyes closed tight. “I’m so ashamed!”

  “Ashamed of what, baby?” he asked softly. “Come here to me!” He pulled her down into his arms and wrapped her up tight, fighting the effects of the liquor as he tried to marshal his thoughts. What he’d learned had been a terrific shock. “Why were you afraid to tell me?”

  “We were so poor,” she whispered. “We had nothing. Mama didn’t want your father to find out. He was such a snob, Jason. He would never have come near her if he’d known. She pretended that we came from a wealthy background and made up stories so he wouldn’t try to find out anything about us.”

  “Your father held a gun to your head and threatened to kill you,” he bit off. “A SWAT officer who was there said he would have done it, that he wasn’t bluffing. The sniper had to take him out. But the trauma—to have your father killed when he was standing behind you.” He groaned. “If I’d known, I’d have had you in therapy! And not only for that. Your poor mother!”

  “We were all messed up, I guess,” she agreed, shivering. “I thought…I thought it might change things, between us, if you knew my real background. It’s so sordid. Kittie overheard me talking to Mrs. Harcourt and threatened to tell you if I didn’t get out of your life.” She felt his tall body shudder. “I was so afraid…”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. It doesn’t matter now.” His arms tightened. “You’re safe, Gracie. Nobody will ever hurt you again, not as long as there’s a breath in my body!”

  She relaxed with a little shiver and let him take her weight. She curled up into his body and held on for dear life.

  He laughed oddly.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I’ve got you in my bed in the middle of the night, vulnerable and soft, and I can’t get hard enough to do anything about it.”

  “Wh…what?”

  He laughed breathily. “Drunk men can’t perform.”

  She lifted her head and looked down into his amused black eyes. “They can’t?”

  “It’s all that saved me from Kittie,” he mused, tugging on a lock of pale blond hair. “But I don’t want to be saved from you.”

  She propped her hands on the pillow behind his head and studied his relaxed face. “You don’t?”

  He tugged harder. “You could take my clothes off,” he suggested. “We could see if it helped.”

  She flushed. “No.”

  “Spoilsport.” He drew in a long breath. “Sleep with me, then. It’s a big bed. It’s freezing in here. I might catch cold.”

  “It’s not that cold.”

  “Yes, it is.” He moved, tugging at a colorful afghan that Mrs. Harcourt had made. The only light in the room was from the security light outside, barely enough for them to see each other. He rolled Gracie over next to him and covered them both with the afghan.

  “Mrs. Harcourt will be outraged.”

  “No, she won’t,” he murmured. “She knows about drunk men, I guarantee it.”

  “You won’t be drunk in the morning,” she protested, but not very strongly.

  “In the morning,” he whispered at her ear, “you might not mind.”

  She stiffened just a little, but he knew her well enough to understand why. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

  “You think sex outside marriage is a sin,” he whispered. “I know that. I frightened you at Barbara’s because I lost control. I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll never force you or coerce you.”

  Her body relaxed. “I don’t want to be this way,” she bit off.

  He curled her close and wrapped her up tight in his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you are,” he said quietly. “Go to sleep, angel. I’ll keep you safe.”

  It was very late. Mrs. Harcourt wasn’t judgmental. Besides, they both had all their clothes on, she rationalized. She moved closer to Jason, closed her eyes an
d, finally, slept.

  JASON WATCHED HER SLEEP. Daylight was coming through the windows. Gracie had been in his arms all night. She hadn’t tried to leave. It was a dream come true, to see her face on his pillow, her hair spread over it like a pale gold curtain. He looked down at her firm breasts under the T-shirt she was wearing and he ached to pull it off, along with her bra, and make a banquet of that soft, warm skin. But he knew things about her now that he hadn’t known before. He had to take his time, go slow, coax her into intimacy. For the first time, he had a little hope for the future. Gracie wanted him. She might not know it yet, or understand it, but she felt it. He smiled with joy.

  There were footsteps outside in the hall. The door opened, just a slit, and Mrs. Harcourt peered in.

  He put his finger to his lips, and indicated the soft little body next to his in the bed. He smiled.

  She smiled back. “Breakfast in ten minutes,” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  Mrs. Harcourt closed the door. She was positively radiant.

  Gracie heard him chuckle and her eyes opened. She looked up at him in the soft light, fascinated by the play of emotions on his face. Her eyes went from him to the bed and back again.

  His fingers traced a pattern over her breasts. “Mrs. Harcourt just came to say breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.” His hand went slowly under the hem of the T-shirt. “Do you think we can find something to do for eight minutes?” he murmured wickedly.

  She caught his wrist and then slowly let it go.

  He grinned. His fingers went around her to the fastening that held her bra in place. His hand went under it and teased around under her arm and then right onto her soft breast.

  He bent to her mouth. “I love touching you like this,” he murmured as he kissed her very softly.

  Her nails bit into him, but she didn’t protest. When he looked into her eyes, he found them rapt with pleasure and curiosity.

  “Everything has changed,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” His eyes were growing darker. He shifted and smoothed the fabric out of his way, so that he could see what he was touching. “Everything.”