by Judy Duarte
But she’d better get her head out of the clouds and her feet back on solid ground.
When he finally spoke, he said, “I…uh…talked to Doc. And I told him that I lined up someone to look after the ranch until I can find someone a little more permanent to help out.”
“You know,” she said, crossing her arms to ward off the chill in the air, as well as the painful goodbye. “I had a feeling that you were a take-charge sort of guy.”
“I guess you were right.”
Funny, but being right wasn’t much consolation right now. Not while her heart was crumbling.
“There wasn’t any future for us,” she added, taking the only position available to her that wouldn’t cause her to collapse in a pathetic heap. “The only commitment I need to have right now is one to the hospital and to my patients.”
And she’d best remember that.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” he said. “But we can talk then. Maybe we can have dinner or…something.”
Was he trying to let her off easy? Or did “something” mean sex?
If so, she couldn’t do that with him ever again. Not when she loved him-whoever the hell he’d turned out to be.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
Sure, she thought, realizing he’d just left her with the standard last line to use on a date when the evening hadn’t gone anywhere.
She lifted her pager and glanced at the screen, as if it had vibrated unbeknownst to him. Then she offered him a wistful grin. “I’d better get back to work. It’s showtime again.”
But the only show she’d be putting on was this one, the goodbye conversation that was tearing her up inside.
“Okay,” he said. “I won’t keep you, then. But I wanted to say one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If she asks again, I hope you’ll give your biological mother a chance.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged. “Because I think your ex made you wary of being hurt. And because I hope this thing with us didn’t make it worse. Sometimes love and relationships deserve a second chance.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t know how to.
As they both headed back to the hospital, he veered toward the parking lot and she turned to enter the E.R.
On the way, she’d been tempted to blurt out that she loved him, that saying goodbye hurt like hell, but that she understood. And that she wished him well.
But the words jammed in her throat.
When she reached the glass doors of the E.R., she reminded herself that she had more important things to worry about than a crazy, irrational attraction to either John Doe or Jason Alvarez-like wondering if the bank would loan the hospital money to stay afloat until the end of the year. But she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder and taking one last peek at the stranger who’d first stolen her heart, then broken it.
And wishing that things were different.
Jason arrived at the Carlsbad Airport at a little after two that afternoon, where he was met by the company limousine.
He’d recognized both the corporate jet, as it had taxied down the runway and stopped to let him board in Wexler, as well as the black luxury vehicle that waited curbside to take him to his house on the beach in Del Mar.
The driver of the limo, a fiftysomething man wearing a sports jacket and a tie, seemed vaguely familiar. He stood beside the open passenger door with his hands clasped behind his back. “Good afternoon, Mr. Alvarez. Did you have a nice flight?”
Jason merely nodded as he climbed into the back of the vehicle. The trip home had been uneventful, but he hadn’t felt like talking to either of the pilots or the driver of the car. Leaving Texas had been far more unsettling than he’d expected it to be.
Maybe because that meant leaving Betsy.
After Jason settled into the L-shaped backseat, the driver shut the door, then circled the car and climbed behind the wheel. Before driving off, he looked over his shoulder to peer through the glass panel that separated them. “Where to, Mr. Alvarez?”
“My house. Do you know how to get there?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Good, because Jason wasn’t sure he could find it just yet.
“Your brother gave me a spare key,” the driver said. “He didn’t think you’d be able to get in without it.”
“He was right.”
They drove out of the airport and turned right, heading toward the entrance to Interstate-5.
“I’ll bet it’s good to be home,” the driver said.
Jason didn’t respond. The whole trip had been complicated.
He’d been afraid that his leaving would hurt Betsy as badly as it had him, but she’d taken it much better than he’d anticipated.
What we had together was good, he’d said.
But it was never meant to last, Jason. We both knew that.
But had they?
A part of him wished to hell that what they’d had, what they’d shared, would have lasted. Or that it still had a chance of making it. But before he could stew about her comment, the phone rang.
The driver pushed a button on the dashboard, then answered.
“Hello? Yes, just a minute. I’ll let you speak to him.” The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “It’s for you, sir. It’s your brother. I’ll transfer the call to the back and raise the privacy shield.”
“But how do I…?”
“There.” The driver pointed to a control panel. “It’s near the climate control.”
“Thanks.” Jason waited for the panel to rise, then took the call.
“It’s good to have you back,” Mike said. “How was your flight?”
“It was okay.”
“Did you ever find Pedro?”
“Actually, I stopped at a local honky-tonk on my way out of town.” Jason had been wearing the clothes Betsy had bought him so that he’d blend in better with the locals, and he couldn’t help thinking that it had brought him better luck. “I talked to a couple of guys who knew Pedro.”
“Oh, yeah? Have they seen him lately?”
“One guy seemed to be the spokesman. He wanted to know who I was and what I wanted with Pedro. So I gave him my name and told him we were friends and that we’d worked together in San Diego.”
“What’d they say to that?”
“That they’d give him the message.”
A beat of silence followed. Then Mike asked, “Do you think he’ll call?”
“If he gets the word, he will. We weren’t exactly friends, but we had a connection that went beyond management-employee.”
“I told you to watch out and not get too close to your subordinates.”
Jason clamped his mouth shut, even though he wanted to snap at his older brother and say, “Look who’s talking?” After all, hadn’t getting cozy with female subordinates and rubbing elbows-or whatever-with them gotten Michael into trouble?
Not that Jason was saying that he was guilty of Cheryl’s charge. But why give people a reason to believe the worst?
“You know,” he said instead, “my relationship with Pedro could prove to be helpful.”
“I hope that it is.”
They ended the call, and Jason glanced out the window, watching the passing scenery, the stretch of the Pacific near the Del Mar racetrack.
He had a turf club membership, he realized. And he spent a lot of time there during racing season. But not because he was a big gambler. He just liked the horses, the people who worked them.
Is that why he’d settled into Brighton Valley so easily? Was that why he wasn’t at all happy about coming home?
He suspected that he had an issue with his older brother. That while he loved him and there was a loyalty factor, he didn’t always respect him.
Had he always known that? Or had the amnesia and the time away highlighted the things that had been wrong in his life, the things he’d just accepted before because he’d been groomed to be a part of Alvarez Industries?
/> He wished he had the answer to that, as he settled back into his seat.
Ten minutes later, the limousine pulled in front of a sprawling house on the beach.
Home, Jason thought. And while the yard and structure appeared more than a little familiar, he didn’t quite feel as though he belonged here.
Was that another result of the amnesia? he wondered. Or was it due to the time he’d spent at Doc’s ranch in Texas?
The limousine driver opened the door for him, and as he stepped out of the car, he was handed a key to the house.
“I’m not sure if the alarm is set,” the driver said. “If it is, I can’t help you there.”
That could prove to be a problem, Jason realized. “Would you wait here until I find out? If the police arrive, you’ll have to vouch for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fortunately, as Jason let himself in to the foyer, he saw that the alarm was off.
The scent of lemon oil and cleaning products suggested the reason for it. The maid came in a couple of days a week, and he usually left it off for her. He suspected that it had remained off for the entire time he’d been gone.
After waving the driver on, he entered the house and scanned the model-home-type furnishings, with everything in its place.
“Home,” he repeated, hoping he would come to believe it.
He made his way to the kitchen, where the breakfast nook window looked out to the ocean.
It was a great view. Did he enjoy sitting at the table or out in the yard? Did he take comfort in the ocean air, like he’d taken comfort in the sights and sounds of the ranch at night?
He cast a glance at the kitchen furnishings, the black marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances. He wandered to the refrigerator and opened it, finding it fully stocked with a variety of beverages.
How about that? Someone had been ready for him.
Katrina? he wondered. Did she come to his house often? Did she have her own key? Had she left her feminine mark on the place?
So far, he hadn’t seen any indication that she had.
He was glad of that because he had no inclination to see the woman-no matter what she may have meant to him.
After taking out a cold beer from the fridge, he popped open the flip top, then closed the door. On the counter near the sink, he spotted a telephone-answering machine combination.
A red blinking light indicated he had messages. So he sauntered over to the counter and pushed the play button.
“You have twelve messages,” he was told.
Beep.
“Hi, Jason. It’s Katrina. Give me a call when you get home. I haven’t seen you in a while and thought that it might be nice to have dinner.”
Beep. “It’s me again, Jason. Where are you? You didn’t return my call yesterday. Are you out of town?”
Beep. “Okay, I’m getting worried now. No one at your office will tell me where you are. And you never mentioned leaving. What’s up?”
Beep. “I give up, Jason. This is the last call you’re getting from me. I realize we don’t have a commitment, but common courtesy doesn’t cost a dime. Unless you have a very good reason for shining me, don’t bother calling back.”
Beep. “Oh, my gosh, Jason. I just heard that you disappeared. Are you okay?”
Jason slowly shook his head. Clearly, Katrina wasn’t the brightest star in the galaxy. How the hell was he going to call her back if he was missing?
Beep. “Okay, Jason. This is the last call you’ll get from me.”
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
He wondered if the hang-ups had been her.
Beep. “Jason, this is Jim Felton, with Felton, Thurman and Grady. Give me a call when you get in. I’d like to meet with you and discuss strategy. Counsel for your insurance company tells me that even though the injuries weren’t terribly serious, there’s definitely going to be a lawsuit coming down the pike. But the good news is that I spoke to the D.A., and there won’t be any criminal charges filed against you for the car accident.”
Beep.
He’d caused an accident? The one he’d dreamed about?
The pregnant woman hadn’t been Katrina, he realized. She must have been driving the other car. Thank God her injuries hadn’t been serious.
As he leaned against the counter, relieved, he was struck by an almost overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and call Betsy, to tell her he’d definitely be coming back to Texas, that he wasn’t involved with anyone after all. He just had a few details to work out first.
A few details? He had a couple of lawsuits-Mike’s and his own-and a formal breakup to a relationship that was already over. He also held an executive board position in Alvarez Industries and all the responsibilities that went along with that.
Damn. Even if he managed to cut strings and smooth out all the rough spots in the road, how could he go back to Brighton Valley and tell Betsy how he felt?
She’d been very clear when she’d told him that what they’d had was nice, but that it was over.
And she’d never even shed a tear.
Chapter Twelve
After the limousine left, Jason spent the next couple of hours roaming the rooms of his house, scanning the furniture and artwork on the walls and checking out the shelf in the den that displayed a couple of golf trophies he’d won in the various Pro-Am tournaments in which he’d played.
As he did so, some of the spotty memories he’d been having began to weave together, making sense. He knew that Mike was eager to see him, but he found himself dragging his feet. For some reason, he wanted to be clear about who he was and how he fit into the family.
So he went to the refrigerator to find himself something to drink, settling on a can of soda. He flipped open the top, then took a sip as he sorted through a stack of mail on the counter, all of it postmarked prior to his trip to Texas.
His vehicle registration was due in a couple of days.
How many other monthly bills were now outstanding? His post-office box was probably busting at the seams, and playing catch-up wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to hire a personal assistant-unless he had one already.
Either way, his first priority was Alvarez Industries, as it always had been.
After placing his empty soda can in a recycling bin, he took a shower and changed his clothes. But instead of choosing one of the many suits that hung in his closet, he picked out a pair of khaki slacks and a golf shirt-considered too casual for the office by Mike’s standards. Then he took his car keys from the dresser and went out to the garage, where his black Mercedes was parked.
As he climbed behind the wheel, pictures of the past-some of the conversations he’d had, the people he knew-began to fall into place, providing him with a better understanding of who he was and how he fit into the family dynamics. Thankfully, with each passing moment, his life became more and more familiar.
After backing out of his garage and using the remote to close the door, he drove to the office and parked in his own reserved spot in the underground parking garage. Then he rode the elevator all the way to the top floor and entered the executive offices of Alvarez Industries, where wall-to-wall windows provided an amazing view of the Pacific Ocean on one side of the building and the downtown San Diego skyline on the other.
Suzy Walker, the thirtysomething receptionist, looked up from her desk and smiled brightly. “Mr. Alvarez, it’s good to have you back.”
“Thanks. Is Mike in?”
“Yes, and he’s been waiting for you. Do you want me to let him know you’re here?”
“That’s not necessary.” Jason was tired of all the formality, which had always felt like a facade to him.
Rosa Alvarez, whose recipes had set up future generations of the family for wealth and success, had been a down-to-earth woman who’d adored her husband and sons. Her smiling face adorned every label, every package, every box of Abuelita brand foods. And while she would be happy to learn of the success of the family business,
she’d insist that they all remember just where they came from-hardworking immigrants, loving grandparents, with strong family values.
Jason strode right into his brother’s fancy office, briefly addressing Miriam, Mike’s executive secretary, yet bypassing her to let himself inside.
Mike glanced up from his computer screen, then brightened. “Jason! It’s good to see you, man. I wondered when you were going to get here. I’d thought that you would have Max drive you straight here from the airport.”
That might have been Jason’s routine in the past, but he’d spent too many evenings in Brighton Valley, listening to horses whinny in the corrals and cattle lowing in the pastures. And he’d enjoyed too many quality hours with a beautiful doctor who dedicated herself to her patients and to the community at large.
Being in Brighton Valley had changed something in him, although he wasn’t sure what it was. But he suspected that it had given him reason to believe that life didn’t always have to be lived in the fast lane.
“I had some things to take care of at home,” he said, realizing those “things” had included getting his memory in check, his feelings sorted and his priorities in line.
“Well, I guess you didn’t have time to change. But at least you’re here now. Why don’t I catch you up on our defense of the lawsuit?”
Jason took a seat in the brown leather chair in front of his brother’s desk, then listened as Mike told him the legal game plan.
In a nutshell, if they didn’t find Pedro, or if he couldn’t dispute Cheryl’s testimony, they would have to find some other way to discredit her. And if that didn’t work? They’d agree to a settlement and insist that she sign a nondisclosure agreement.
“We can do the same thing with the woman who was involved in your accident,” Mike said, “assuming she decides to sue. We’ll have the attorneys offer her a settlement so we can put it all behind us.”
Jason wasn’t the least bit opposed to paying out a fair settlement for an accident he’d caused, but it rubbed against his grain to think that money could easily solve any number of mistakes a man made, any consequences of his poor judgment.
