The Best Revenge

by Justine Davis

  Then he ran a hand through slightly shaggy dark brown hair—she got the impression he usually had to lift a cowboy hat first—and an odd sort of smile curved his mouth.

  “Well, well,” he murmured, as if many things had just become clear to him. And as if those things surprised him greatly.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not here for horse feed?”

  The man chuckled. “Time was, I could have been.” An odd sort of shadow flickered in his eyes. “Not sure I don’t prefer that time.”

  She understood too well the longing for a time past; she was standing in the biggest reminder she had of what she missed so much. Then the man shook his head as if to shake off the feeling, and held out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Jessa Hill. I’m Josh Redstone.”

  She smothered a gasp, was certain she was doing the traditional double take, but couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t recognized him. She’d seen many photographs of the man, but mostly formal, posed portraits in a suit and tie, or distant shots where all you could see was his lanky frame and confident posture. And the boots, always the cowboy boots. She’d once smiled at one of the formal portraits, guessing he probably had a shinier pair on with the suit. There was nothing about him that spoke of the boardroom, he could have as easily been the ramrod of some vast cattle empire a century and a half ago as the shepherd of the global enterprise he was now.

  Standing here in the flesh, he seemed nothing at all like those stiff portraits. She doubted anyone expecting the head of a worldwide empire would recognize him like this. The tousled, untrimmed hair, the worn clothes, the unwavering steadiness of his gaze, none of those could come across in two dimensions, not the way they did in reality.

  She shook off her shock, and belatedly took the proffered hand. There was no challenge in it, just a firm, even grip. Perhaps he just didn’t think a woman worth the effort, she thought, then decided as quickly as the thought formed that he wasn’t the type. Men like this weren’t threatened by such things.

  “It’s an honor, sir,” she said as he released her hand. She put all the respect she felt into her tone, saw it register.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I guess I don’t have to ask why you’re here, even if it’s the last thing I expected.”

  He lifted a brow at her. “I see he’s told you about me.”

  “Yes. After the figurative removal of several teeth, yes.”

  He laughed, with the rueful undertone of someone who knew exactly what it felt like trying to get information out of St. John.

  And much later than she should have—it had to be the shock of having the man himself standing here—she realized what his first words, and the fact that he’d come here to the store, meant.

  “I didn’t realize he’d told you about me,” she said.

  “He didn’t say much, but that he spoke of you at all…well, he doesn’t talk a lot,” he finished with the brief flash of a grin, “but I’m guessing you know that.”

  “That I do,” she said wryly.

  “It didn’t take much to figure it out. All the pieces fit.”

  She looked at him curiously. “You know…about his life here?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know Cedar was the place, but what happened, yes. I got him drunk enough one night, long ago, to tell me, at least enough to understand.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, although she didn’t speak. “It was the one and only time, and I needed to know what he was dealing with to know how to deal with him.”

  “I wasn’t judging,” she said quickly. “I was just trying to imagine him surrendering that much control.” A sudden image of Dam, naked, locked in her arms and completely out of control, flashed through her mind. She felt herself flush, and knew it had to be showing like a neon sign on her fair-skinned cheeks.

  “Well, well,” Josh said again, only this time there was a tone of awed wonder beneath the drawl.

  She hastily changed the subject. “Did he ask you here?”

  Josh shook his head. “No. But when my Vice President of Operations asks for time off for the first time in over a decade, vanishes, then starts some interesting wheels rolling, and then tries to stop them, I get…curious.”

  Jessa knew she was gaping again, but again couldn’t help it. Vice President of Operations of Redstone Incorporated?

  “He said he was…basically a gofer.”

  Josh laughed. “He would.” Then he studied her for a moment before saying solemnly, as if he’d decided she’d earned it, “He’s my right hand. He has the entire scope of Redstone in his head. He’s our go-to guy for any crisis, and has built the most incredible network I’ve ever seen or heard of. He’s probably the one person who could seamlessly step in if anything happened to me.” And then, softly, he added, “And he’s forever been the most alone man I’ve ever known.”

  She didn’t think her expression changed, despite the twist of pain that tightened her chest.

  “I knew,” Josh said, “that there had been one bright spot in those ugly days. One thing that helped him to go on. That in a way, gave him the courage to escape the hell he was living in.” His voice went even softer. “I’m guessing that bright spot was you.”

  Jessa felt her eyes start to brim. This was the man who had saved Dam, who had given him the chance at a kind of life she never would have dared hope for him. She wanted to hug the man, and would have if she wasn’t so intimidated by the very idea of him standing here in her little store. “Jess!”

  She heard his voice from the back of the store, heard the urgency in it, and in the quick footsteps. “Need to—”

  Dameron St. John broke off, staring in shock at the man standing before her.

  “What the hell?” he said, his voice harsh.

  “Good to see you, too, my friend.”

  “Damn.”

  Josh took no offense, clearly realizing “you” wasn’t attached to the word.

  “That’s the downside of having friends,” Josh said, his drawl a bit more exaggerated as he looked with undisguised amusement at the man he’d called his right hand. “They keep sticking their nose in your business, because they care. Whether you want them to or not.”

  Jessa had to smother a laugh. The ache in her chest eased at the teasing; he’d had a friend, and obviously a good one, all these years.

  Then she remembered the urgency with which he’d come in, before the shock of seeing his boss standing there had brought him to a halt.

  “What do we need to do?” she asked.

  He shook his head, almost fiercely. “Tyler.”

  She stiffened, worry sharpening her tone. “Is he all right?”

  “May not be.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sheriff’s car.”

  “At the Alden house? Now?”

  He nodded. “His.”

  “His car’s there? He’s supposed to be in River Mill today.”

  “Not.”

  “Too much to hope Tyler’s mother finally called, I suppose,” she said with a grimace. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Whether it was her lack of any hesitation, or her assumption that they would deal with this together, she didn’t know, but her simple declaration earned her a smile that warmed her to her core.

  “Tyler wouldn’t be a boy about ten or twelve with a cast on his arm, would he?”

  They both spun to face Josh. He was watching them so intently Jessa was amazed they could have, even so focused on Tyler, almost forgotten he was there. Something, Jessa was sure, that didn’t happen to Josh Redstone often, no matter how unassuming he was. And now there was the slightest of smiles on his face, and Jessa had the strangest feeling it had nothing to do with the subject at hand. And wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she had easily followed Dam’s cryptic conversation.

  “I only ask,” Josh said, “because he’s in your barn out back.”

  Jessa and St. John both
stared at him.

  “I saw him when I pulled in. He darted back inside when he saw me.”

  They were outside in moments, heading toward the barn at a run. She was aware Josh was following, but Tyler was the objective for both of them now.

  Maui met them at the door.

  “Where is he, boy?” Jessa said softly.

  The big dog turned and led them back to the stack of hay bales in the far corner of the barn. And there, barely visible protruding from behind the shelter of the bales, was a small shoe. Maui disappeared past the shoe, and it moved, Jessa guessed as the boy reached out to his gentle guardian.

  “You,” Jessa whispered to Dam. “It should be you.”

  She sensed him almost shake his head, knew he didn’t want to do this, didn’t think he could. She reached out, put a hand on his arm. His eyes closed for a moment, and he put his own hand over hers, squeezing in silent acknowledgment of the support.

  “You’re the only one who can really understand where he is right now.”

  His eyes opened. He nodded. Took in a deep breath. And took those last few steps forward.

  Jessa stepped back until she was next to Josh. She glanced up at him, saw that he was staring at his Vice President of Operations with no small amount of amazement as Dam crouched down a foot away from that shoe that seemed impossibly small to her.

  “Hey, buddy,” Dam said quietly.

  Jessa heard a murmur, but it was too quiet to understand from here.

  “How bad is it?” Dam asked. Then, after another quiet answer, “You sure?”

  He listened again to the boy’s words, and while Jessa was anxious to know if Tyler was all right, she knew as well that interrupting them now could destroy a delicate balance.

  “I know, Ty,” he said, using the nickname he’d shyly told her he liked, that first day. “He told you it was your fault. That he had to beat the evil out of you. That he was a patient man, but you, you’re so bad even a saint couldn’t deal with you. And he told you if anything bad ever happened to your mother, it would be because of you.”

  She heard a sob then, wrenching, heart-breaking. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, nearly shaking with the pain she felt for that helpless child—and the pride she felt in the man stripping his long-protected soul bare to help him.

  And then Tyler had moved, scrambling forward, throwing himself at Dam, tears streaming down a face that sported some new swelling besides the old black eye. Dam grabbed the boy, held him, sinking down to sit on the floor. It was all Jessa could do to stay where she was.

  She felt a sudden warmth, a steady arm coming around her shoulders to lend her strength. Josh said nothing, was simply there, as intent on the emotional scene before them as she was. And she realized that he had seen none of the progression of the past weeks, and that the shock of seeing this St. John, compared to the one who had left Redstone, must be tremendous.

  “He has to do this,” she said, barely whispering so that the two on the floor couldn’t hear. “He needs to.”

  “I know,” Josh said, just as quietly. “I just never thought he would.”

  “And then,” Dam said to the boy he held, “he gave you some hope. Said things would get better when you were a little older, and you were of some use to him.”

  Tyler looked up at him through his tears, and slowly nodded. “He…” The boy hiccupped, swallowed, tried again. She could hear him now, but Jessa almost wished she couldn’t. “He said when I was twelve I could…do what sons do for their fathers. But he’s not my father!”

  “No.” Dam tightened his grip on the shaking child. And then, with a grim, ugly note in his voice he finished. “He’s mine.”

  Chapter 23

  St. John sat on the bale of hay, wondering with a detached puzzlement why he was having so much trouble thinking. Maui sat beside him, leaning his full weight on his knee, occasionally sighing when St. John remembered to scratch that delicious spot behind his right ear.

  Jessa sat beside him, but with that uncanny perceptiveness she seemed to have she didn’t touch him. And he was, despite the hunger for her that never left him, grateful for that. He didn’t think he could bear her gentle, loving touch, not right now. Right now he needed to stoke the anger, the fury at the twisted, evil being that was his father. And he couldn’t seem to find it.

  He felt simply exhausted. As if reaching into the depths of the darkness inside him to help Tyler had somehow drained it away, leaving him a hollow shell with no energy, no strength, no fire.

  “Josh?” he asked wearily.

  “They’re gone.”

  After a moment to process the answer, he gave a slight nod. Unlike him, Josh had been able to gain, if not Tyler’s trust then at least his cooperation, within a matter of minutes. Of course, the fact that the boy had actually heard of him—the news of Redstone’s interest in Riverside Paper had apparently been a loud topic in the Alden house—and knew his stepfather was furious about it, likely put Josh on his good side. And the promise of actually getting to set foot on Josh’s plane was irresistible.

  With Tyler safely out of the line of fire, St. John knew it was time. It was time to put an end to all of this. But he couldn’t seem to find the energy to even move.

  Maui’s trumpeting bark penetrated the fog in his mind. The dog leaped to his feet. His demeanor was something St. John had never seen from the sweet-natured animal, hackles up and tail still and held straight out behind him; this was not Josh coming back. The dog bolted for the door of the barn, head down, ears back.

  Jessa was on her feet and following in an instant, her focus on her beloved dog. Trying to shake off this unsettling lethargy, St. John got to his feet; whatever had the dog riled up, he wasn’t about to let Jessa face it on her own, no matter what he was feeling like.

  Nearly simultaneously he heard three things; Maui’s yelp of pain, Jessa’s cry of protest, and a man’s voice.

  His father’s voice.

  “Get that damned mutt away from me! I’ve called the sheriff, he’s on his way over here. You’re going to finally get yours, you arrogant bitch. What have you done with the boy?”

  He exploded into a run and was at the barn door in two seconds. Maui was crouched at Jessa’s feet, growling fiercely, only her slender hand on his collar holding him back. And Albert Alden was too damn close to her, looming over her as she put herself between him and the angry dog.

  “Where is my son? I know he’s here, one of my idiot neighbors finally got around to telling me you’ve been showing up at my house with this mangy dog.”

  “And only a coward would take his problem with me out on a dog,” Jessa snapped, facing him down with a steadfast glare. “Or a child.”

  Alden flushed, cocked his arm back as if to strike, but hesitated as St. John skidded to a halt and firmly pulled Jessa behind him.

  “One finger on her or that dog, you’re dead where you stand.”

  In that moment St. John knew he meant it, more than he ever had in his life. And when his father turned to face him, puzzlement on his face, he realized with a sudden rush that Jessa’s words had been true. He’d called himself a coward for hiding, setting himself apart from the world, when in truth it was this man who was the coward. And he always had been.

  “Who the hell are you? And what business is it of yours?”

  “What you’ve done is every decent person’s business,” Jessa said, and as he flicked a quick glance at her, St. John thought she’d never been more beautiful than she was in that moment, fierce, fearless and facing down his demon for him.

  His father didn’t even look at her, he was staring at St. John. “I’ve seen you around town. You’re helping her, aren’t you?” Realization dawned on his flushed face. “That explains it. I knew she was too stupid to have done this on her own. You’re some kind of consultant or something, aren’t you?”

  St. John inwardly gathered himself, knowing the battle he’d postponed for more than half his life was at hand. He focused on the
man before him, feeling the weight of the last twenty years, knowing that one way or another that weight was about to be relieved.

  “You’re good, I’ll give you that,” Alden said, his tone changing completely, turning, incredibly, coaxing, persuasive. “I can pay you more, you know. Better to work for the winner.”

  “Save your money. You’ll need a lawyer.”

  Alden frowned. “Look, I don’t know what this stupid fool has told you, but it’s not true. She’s just desperate because she knows she’s going to lose, so she’s trying to smear me.”

  St. John went very still. “Jess,” he said quietly. His gaze never left the face of the man who had once haunted his nightmares. His father was still studying him, but not with the expression of someone who thought he recognized him but couldn’t place him. It was more of a calculating look, as if he were trying to put him in a prelabeled slot that would tell him how to deal with him. “Take Maui. Go home.”

  “I’m not leaving you here with him!” she exclaimed.

  “Afraid I’ll kill him? Might.”

  He took a small amount of pleasure in the fact that Alden straightened suddenly, and backed up a half step. And a bit more pleasure in the fact that for a moment fear showed in his eyes, beneath the puzzlement.

  Yes, be afraid, he thought as he let the rage he’d kept in check for so long lose a notch.

  “Don’t you dare threaten me! You know who I am.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then you know I’m an important man, that I could…”

  Alden’s voice trailed away as St. John silently stared at him. He didn’t have Draven’s stare-down ability, but he’d seen how it worked on some scary enemies, and Albert Alden was a much lesser, slimier creature.

  It was only to him that the man was the archetype of evil.

  Only to him…and Jessa. For his sake.

  The thought warmed him. And for the first time in his life he realized that there was something more important than this man. He may have bent him, twisted him, shaped him, but Jessa had brought him back to life in a way he’d never imagined.