Crimes of the Heart (Heart Romance #2)

by Laurie LeClair

  He’d never known how she’d viewed him, then or now. He shoved away from the counter. Pacing the room, he jammed his fisted hands into his jean pockets. “You mean, deadly, don’t you?” Bitterness laced his words. “Every relationship I’ve ever had seems to end up destroyed. My father, my mother, and especially you.”

  “Is that how you see it?” She turned around, braced against the counter, so now they faced each other. Gone was any trace of tears. A beam of determination burned bright in the glare she drilled him with. “Damn you, Devon Marshall, for putting people into neat, little categories: rich, poor, realists, dreamers. Your mother dreamed of a better life—”

  “A fairy tale life, you mean,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “In loving your dad, she reached for the stars and in your eyes fell short. She even made you believe in the happily ever after, didn’t she? The poor Cinderella marrying the handsome Prince Charming. Just like I did to you, only in reverse? And when they didn't come true, you blamed us and wanted nothing to do with us ever again.”

  Anger bubbled inside him, growing in strength with each charge she leveled at him. She’d struck a nerve, a raw one that tasted bitter on his tongue. “That’s not true. We’re together now, aren’t we?”

  “For the time being.”

  He couldn’t refute that one. “Doesn’t that say something?”

  Folding her arms, she shot back, “Only that you need me for your own purposes.”

  Every muscle in his body tightened. Scanning her lazily once again, he asked quietly, “Are you complaining?”

  Red dotted the tops of her cheeks when he returned his gaze to her face. “Not about making love,” she said softly, allowing him to relax, the tension easing in him. Puzzlement covered her features now. “You must know, Devon, you’re the only man I’ve ever been to bed with.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. He’d hoped, even suspected. To be told that now only pumped a surge of male possessiveness through his mind and body. Jewel was his.

  “Can you say the same?” Her voice caught and broke.

  The question lay between them, pulsing with a life of its own. Grinning wickedly, Devon reverted to the playful side of himself. “Well, dollface, to tell you the truth, I’ve never slept with any man.”

  A strangled chuckle escaped her mouth and she shook her head at him in admonishment. “You know what I meant.”

  The strain returned ten fold. Blood roared in his ears and a cold sheen of perspiration bathed him. Devon swallowed hard, and then admitted, “No, I can’t say the same. There’s been a few women over the last twelve years, only for physical release, nothing more.”

  She clamped her eyes shut as if warding off a blow. “I think I knew, but hearing it was a little more than I bargained for.”

  His heart turned over in his chest for inflicting the pain. Trying to help, he explained, “Only when she reminded me of you, only when I couldn’t stand the loneliness anymore. And I was always disappointed because it wasn’t you.” Thick emotion throbbed in his every word, but he didn’t care.

  Focusing on him once again, she smiled tightly, “I never expected you to be celibate.” Pausing, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Even after all you told me just now you still don’t see the irony of it all, do you?”

  “Irony?”

  “Who betrayed who here, Devon? I never once gave you false promises I’d run away with you. I made it clear before we got married I wanted to stay and make a home here in town. After you saw the impossibility of that happening you must have figured you could change my mind after we eloped. But it didn’t work, did it? I really didn’t betray you at all. But you betrayed our wedding vows. Who should be holding the grudge here, you or me?”

  She gave him a sad smile, and then walked out of the room. Standing stark still, he closed his eyes, straining to hear her light footsteps as she made her way back up the stairs.

  In the process, he cringed as he heaped a whole pile of self-recriminations on himself. There had been no censor in her eyes and no blatant reprimand in her words. But he’d hurt her, more than she dare say or show. He knew it though and would have to live with himself for it.

  Repeating her question, he asked softly, “Who betrayed whom?”

  Chapter 17

  Later that day, Jewel, clutching numerous used combs and brushes, entered the beauty salon stock room. Disarray greeted her. Empty boxes of perms and dyes littered the butcher-block countertop. The trash overflowed with cut hair, solution soaked cotton wraps, and messy plastic bags.

  She groaned in dismay, bone weary from the onslaught of customers in the last four hours.

  Over the sound of a whirring dryer in the adjacent room, Tessa muttered, “It’s only going to get worse tonight. I’ve got two perms back to back starting in an hour. And on top of your two comb outs in a little while, you’re booked solid.” She nudged Jewel in the back.

  Complying, Jewel moved forward to allow her friend room to slide by. Dumping her own handful of instruments in the disinfectant container, Tessa turned and grabbed Jewel’s.

  “I’ll take care of this mess. You sit before you fall over.”

  Aching all over, she did as she was told, slumping onto one of the two stools nearby. “Where do you get all your energy from anyway?”

  With an impish gleam sparkling in her deep green eyes, the redhead wiggled her brows suggestively as she made short work of rinsing the mound of accumulated combs and brushes soaking in the light blue liquid. “I don’t have a sexy guy like you do to wear me out.”

  Jewel attempted a chuckle. It came out as a puff of air. “That won’t last long.”

  Setting the handful of plastic to dry on a towel, she asked, “How’s that?”

  “He’s leaving.” She tried to stop the break in her voice, but failed.

  “Just for a couple of days on business, right?”

  The silence hung between them, thick and telling. Her friend eyed her suspiciously. She must have seen something; she hooked a foot through the leg of the empty stool, dragged it to her, and then settled on it. “Oh, Jewel, it can’t be.”

  Afraid she’d break down, Jewel nodded. Busying herself, she reached over and snagged a large green trash bag from a low shelf. She made a big production of opening it, and then began to dump the debris from the counter into the big gaping mouth.

  Leaning close, Tessa whispered, “It isn’t another woman, is it?”

  Their earlier conversation ran in Jewel’s ears now. He may be disappointed with the results of his encounters, but he’d always be able to find a poor substitute for her. So why would he settle for that when he could have the real deal? Because he doesn’t have an ounce of forgiveness in that incredible body of his, that’s why.

  “No, there’s no one else.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s us, our past. He can’t make peace with it. It’s almost like he’s obsessed with finding out about his father and nailing mine. Once he discovers the truth of what happened, broadcasts it to the whole town, and gets his revenge, he’ll go away for good.” Just saying it out loud to Tessa brought a well of misery to her soul.

  “What about Sean?”

  “He swears he’s going to do his part in raising him. Probably take him to Texas for a visit now and then.” She shrugged helplessly.

  Tessa placed an elbow on the counter, and then rested her chin in her hand. “Seems like you’re letting him call all the shots here. You know, a few weeks ago, I’d have bet good money on you not letting anyone push you into doing something you didn’t want to. Girl, where’s that spunk you had?”

  For the usually over excitable, nonsensical woman sitting before her, Tessa made a valid point. Blinking in wonder, Jewel saw it all so clearly now. “God, what a fool I’ve been. I’m reverting back to how I acted years ago when it comes to dealing with my husband. I let him make all the decisions.”

  Smiling smugly, Tessa pointed out, “See, I told you so. And look where that got the both of you.”

  “Yeah, l
ook where that got us.” Contemplating what she’d do, Jewel knew in order to get what she wanted she couldn’t make the same mistakes as she had in the past; the outcome would surely be the same if she did. She had to come up with a plan that when everything worked out he’d not only want her, but need her as well.

  ***

  Devon stood before the run down shack, shaking his head in dismay. Peeling gray paint, the screen door resting on one hinge, and several splintered steps spoke volumes. The man who inherited and housed the Wainwright’s business files had sunk pretty low.

  “Cyrus Pritchard,” he muttered under his breath. “Who would have figured a stable master would end up with what could be the key to everything?”

  A curtain fluttered closed behind a grimy window and Devon guessed Cyrus had been watching him. A moment later, the door creaked open. Devon got his first glimpse of his former boss in twelve years. The iron gray hair had turned a snowy white and he’d added a few more pounds around his middle, stretching the denim overalls to the limits.

  “Well, you gonna stand out there all day, boy, or what?” The deep rumble that passed for a voice brought a smile to Devon’s mouth. Lord, he’d missed the old coot.

  Dodging the holes, he climbed the stairs, and then crossed the short expanse of the porch. The boards protested with his every step. He halted in front of Cyrus, knowing the man was taking his measure as he scanned him up and down.

  Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “Do I pass?”

  Cyrus grinned from ear to ear, his small brown eyes nearly hidden in the crinkled folds. “You’re just as good looking as your pop and just as wise alecky, too. Come on in and take a load off.”

  Glancing at his gold watch, Devon said, “I can’t stay long. I have to be at the house when Sean gets home from school.”

  “Ah, the boy. He’s something, isn’t he? The girl sure brought him up right.”

  Following the older man into the house, Devon asked, “You know my son?”

  “Course I do. They stop by every now and then to check up on me and see how I’m coming along.” In the tiny kitchen, with its faded wallpaper and stale cooking oil hanging in the air, he stopped at the three-legged Formica table with a stack of books piled high substituting for the fourth one. “She brings some baked goodies, too. I’m all out now or I’d offer you some. But can I get you some coffee?”

  Something inside Devon twisted. According to the lawyer he’d finally gotten in touch with a half-hour ago, Wainwright hadn’t left Cyrus anything but the paperwork. All those years of loyalty and he’d been reduced to squalor.

  Reaching back, he felt the outline of his wallet in his jeans. On second thought, he’d tread lightly and not insult his friend with charity. Dropping his hand, he bit his tongue, thinking diplomacy and tact would work wonders with the proud man. He’d never rob Cyrus, or any man worth his salt, of his self-respect and dignity. If the older man had taught him anything it was that.

  “Coffee sounds great. Make it black, no sugar.” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Dragging a hand through his hair, he said, “You must have heard about my moving back.”

  The old man snorted as he put a pot on the old fashioned stove to boil. “You’re the talk of the town, son.” The glee in his tone was unmistakable. Somehow the news didn’t bother Devon as much as it once would have.

  “I’ve got some of my horses coming next week. I’ll be out of town. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and see to it they get settled in without any problems.”

  Silence descended, thick and oppressive. Cyrus lifted his chin and straightened his spine, and then turned to face Devon. For long moments Devon endured his friend’s intense scrutiny.

  “I’m out of the business. Have been for years now.”

  That stiff pride blocked many a person from going further, he figured. “Listen, you’re the only one I trust enough to handle the operation.” That much was true. “No one can do a better job than you when it comes to horses, Cyrus, we both know that. And I don’t want strangers hanging around the property with Jewel and Sean just a few feet away in the house. For their safety and peace of mind, I’m asking you to reconsider.”

  His stern features relaxed into a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  Shrugging, Devon said, “I figured you’d have taken it on for nothing, if that were the case. But this isn’t charity by any means.” The older man bristled at the word. Devon named a slightly inflated fair figure to pay Cyrus.

  The snowy white brows rose for an instant, and then settled back in place. “Well, now, if you really need a favor, who am I to turn you away?”

  A ribbon of pleasure wound through Devon. Helping the older man who had taken him under his wing years earlier seemed only a small way to thank him for all he’d done.

  The water began to boil. Cyrus returned to making the coffee by spooning in heaping teaspoonfuls of instant crystals in two chipped mugs. “Ever since I heard you were back I’ve been expecting you. You’re here for the papers.” He waved a beefy hand in the direction of a doorway. “Got a trunk full of the stuff in the back room. Glad to get rid of it, I’ll tell you.”

  Taken aback at the easy acceptance of his right to them, Devon frowned, diverted from his earlier happiness on hiring Cyrus. “You’re just going to give them to me, with no fuss or fight?”

  “Ain’t mine. And he wanted you to have them.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “The lawyer?”

  “Wainwright.”

  Blood roared in his ears. Had he heard right? “How do you know that?”

  “He told me, that’s how. Right before he died, he sent for me. He knew you’d be back and figured I’d do as he said.”

  Stunned wonder vibrated through Devon. “He hated me, so why would he do a thing like give his permission for me to have them?” he talked more to himself as he dropped into a wobbly chair.

  “It’s your birth right, son. Those business records are yours.”

  “Why would he hand over incriminating documents to the one person who longed to expose his part in it all?” A frightening answer clutched at his heart. “Unless Jewel’s been right all along. And I’ve been wrong.”

  Chapter 18

  Hours later, Devon sat on the floor in his office. The old battered sea chest stood in the middle of the room with its lid thrust open. Papers, yellowed, brittle, and musty from age, littered the area surrounding him. Holding up a ledger, he squinted in the inadequate amount of light coming from the only source of illumination on his desk.

  From the little he’d learned so far, he developed only more questions and no solutions. The mounds of paperwork, contracts included, for the joint horse training and breeding venture seemed credible. At the time of the merging of the two savvy businessmen, his father had been in charge. Slowly, it appeared, he’d given up his superior position, bowing to Wainwright’s advice and suggestions.

  “Why would he give up controlling interest in Arabian Knights? Did Jewel’s father have something on mine? Something incriminating?” It didn’t make any sense to Devon why a man who had a thriving enterprise would easily give it up to a partner.

  Peering at the immaculate printing in the heavy leather bound book he held, he frowned. A nagging thought eluded him, a piece to the puzzle, he was certain. If only he could grab hold of it, then work it out, he’d arrive at some sort of conclusion.

  “Dad? Dad?”

  Devon jumped at the nearby voice, his heart jolting in his chest. “Jesus, Sean, don’t sneak up on me like that, all right?”

  “Sorry, but I’ve been calling you for a while.”

  Chagrined, Devon closed the book with a thud, and then focused all his attention of his pajama-clad son. “Need some more help with your homework?”

  “Naw. I’m finished. But I just remembered I’ve got to bring something to school for the bake sale tomorrow.” His features began to crumble into a pitiful expression, tugging at Devon. “I forgot to tell
mom to make some brownies and the stores are closed, so I can’t call her at work to have her stop somewhere on the way home. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Could you help me?”

  Something clutched inside him. At this moment he’d do anything to wipe the anguish from his son’s face. Disregarding the litter around him, Devon rose, grunting at the way his sore muscles protested at the sudden movement. Rubbing the small of his back, he gingerly stepped over a large mass of files, and then moved to Sean’s side, saying, “Let’s see what we can come up with. Your grandmother used to let me help her when she’d make her famous sugar cookies. How ’bout we whip up a batch?”

  Happiness swept across the little face so like his own. “Really? Gee, you’re the greatest, Dad.” He led the way down the hall and into the kitchen, saying, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  Going into the pantry where Jewel kept most of the food supplies, Devon laughed. “Believe me, your mother’s much better at it than I am.” He winked at his son. “Why do you think I haven’t said something sooner?”

  A momentary flash of indecision crossed Sean’s face. “Dad, just how bad is it? I mean, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. You see, I kinda suggested the idea for the bake sale so our school could raise money for Tammy.”

  Reaching for the sack of flour on the deep shelf in the tiny room, Devon stilled. “Who’s Tammy?”

  Waving his hands to explain, Sean said, “She’s this girl in my class. And she’s sick, really sick. Her folks don’t have the money to pay for her to get better, so we’re all chipping in. Me and mom even gave her family our swear jar money.”

  Bowled over by the generosity of Jewel and Sean, Devon stared open-mouthed at him. First, they helped Cyrus, now a little girl. The Jewel he’d known years ago had been kind and sweet to others, but nowhere near the selfless, giving woman she’d obviously become. When she had so little herself, she gave without complaint or fanfare. Incredible.