But hanging on to his patience at all costs was a necessary evil. He had to keep in mind that his son was still a kid, and an immature one at that, thanks to his mother’s protective coddling. He had to accept that fact and work around it, whether he liked it or not.
He certainly hadn’t stepped into this commitment wearing rose-colored glasses. Nor had he expected a bed of roses. Going in, he’d known the score and the stakes. He’d just hoped that when they were together one-on-one the damage wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought. Unfortunately it was worse, much to his acute disappointment.
“I don’t intend to leave again, son,” Brant said at last, easing his plate away.
If Elliot picked up on the fact that his father had barely touched his dinner, he chose to ignore it. Probably just didn’t care.
“Whatever.”
“Are you involved in any kind of sports?”
“Football, though I’m not on the starting team.”
“That’s a goal you can work toward.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Brant went another route. “There’s never a time when I didn’t think about you, Elliot, and wish we could be together.”
“That’s not what Mom says.”
Brant swallowed his anger. “Let’s leave your mom and her feelings out of this. She’s happily married to another man, and I’m glad. I want you and me to be a family.”
“I just don’t understand why you had to go.”
“Son—”
“Stop calling me that,” Elliot said, his teeth clenched and his eyes sparking. “Preston’s my dad.”
Brant winced. “I’m glad you feel that way about him. But I’m your dad, too. No matter how you feel about me, that’s not going to change. And I’m not going away again.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it, Elliot.”
“So have you moved here?” The jut of his chin and his tone were both belligerent.
Brant hesitated, momentarily feeling as if he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. “No, but you can come to Arkansas anytime. You’d love my cabin there. The hunting and fishing are great.”
Elliot made a face. “Not interested.”
Brant expelled a sigh. “That’s fine. We could do whatever you wanted, then. You name it.”
“Mom wouldn’t let me go.”
“Oh, I think she would.”
“You don’t know Mom. She hates you.” Elliot’s eyes were challenging.
Brant winced again. Damn Marsha for slandering him in front of Elliot, something he would never have done. And the crux of the matter? He was bitter, too, especially when she had booted him out.
If Elliot knew the truth, would it make a difference? He would never know, because he had no intention of telling him. The truth would just belittle his mother, even though Marsha had certainly had a hand in their disastrous marriage. Yet he wasn’t about to fight old battles again. Anyway, he didn’t give a damn about Marsha, except when it pertained to their son.
And she couldn’t stop him from seeing the boy.
Only Elliot could do that, even though by law he had visitation rights. And he’d never missed one child support payment.
“What did I do wrong?”
It took Brant a moment to jerk his mind back to the present. But when he did and realized what Elliot had said, he felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart. There had been such deep pain in his son’s tone.
Fighting the urge to grab Elliot and hold him close, Brant said in a low, firm tone, “Look at me.”
When Elliot didn’t respond, he added, hearing his own desperation, “Please.”
Elliot complied, though Brant knew he wasn’t happy.
“What happened between your mother and me was never your fault, never anything you did. If nothing else is settled this evening, you have to understand that. You have to know that.” Brant paused, struggling to keep his head above imaginary water when he felt like he was drowning.
Elliot still didn’t respond, though Brant sensed he was listening.
“I loved you then and I love you now. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner.”
“So? Now you’ve told me.”
Not the words Brant wanted to hear, but he had to face facts as they were and move on. He wasn’t giving up.
“Can we do this again?” Brant asked, his desperation deepening.
“I dunno.”
“I’ll call, okay?”
“Suit yourself.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Brant said, trying to cover his own pain.
Once Elliot had disappeared inside the house, he drove off, wondering why the car in front of him was blurry. That was when Brant realized his eyes were filled with tears.
Maybe he had a conscience after all.
Sixteen
“So how do you think we stand?”
Curtis Riley felt the color drain from his face.
“Not good, huh?” Adam Foley muttered, his thin upper lip drawn so tight it almost disappeared.
Anxiety took another chunk out of Curtis’ gut. He hated admitting he had failed to accomplish what he’d promised, a fact that didn’t bode well for all parties involved.
He and Adam, the plant guru, had agreed to meet for breakfast at a diner in the small town near the tract of land in question. They had just polished off a healthy meal of bacon, eggs, grits and biscuits. Now that mountain of food lay on Curtis’ stomach, threatening to sour.
“Dammit, Riley, good, bad or bloody indifferent, you’ve got to tell me.”
Curtis fingered the top of his coffee cup that was now empty, then looked up. “You guessed it. It’s not good.”
Adam let an expletive fly, then took a drink of his own coffee, only to curse again as he put the cup back in the saucer.
Even with a scowl on his face, Adam was a good-looking man. Medium height, with an abundance of curly brown hair except on the crown, where no hair existed at all. It was as though he’d cut a perfect circle out of the top of his head. Yet that small imperfection didn’t detract from his self-confidence. He was young, cocky and hyper—a mover and shaker.
And his corporation wanted this land. Badly.
Almost as badly as Curtis wanted them to have it. Just the thought of making a deal with such a huge manufacturing company made him salivate at the benefit to his pocketbook. He would be on Easy Street for the rest of his life.
That was why he couldn’t let Jessica Kincaid and her pigheadedness mess this up.
“Might as well spit out the bad news. All of it.” Adam entered the silence with a clipped tone.
“The mayor’s still hell-bent on annexing the land into the city.”
“I thought you two were chummy enough that you could derail that?”
Curtis gritted his teeth. “I thought so, too.”
“What happened?”
Curtis looked away, then back at his companion, whose features were now pinched in fury.
“Stop stalling, dammit.”
Curtis swallowed hard, grappling for a way to appease Adam. He saw none. “Apparently I read her wrong,” he admitted truthfully.
“Then change her mind.”
Curtis laughed. “You don’t know this lady. On the outside, she’s as lovely as anyone you’d ever want to look at, and ultrafeminine, too. But underneath, she’s tougher than nails, a lot tougher than her deceased husband.”
“What you’re telling me is that you can’t get into her panties.”
Curtis flushed, though more with anger than embarrassment, disliking Adam’s crude sarcasm. “Not at the moment.”
“Then you’ll just have to come up with another plan to make her see reason.”
Adam made it sound so simple, but he didn’t know Jessica. “I’m working on it.”
“Any ideas?” Adam pressed, picking up his spoon and clicking the side of his cup.
The sound grated on Curtis’ nerves, adding to his agitation, if that were possible. At the moment
he felt so frustrated, he wanted to toss the whole thing. He squelched that ridiculous notion. He’d gone too far to chuck it now. Besides, Adam would ruin him financially and any other way he could.
The bigwigs Adam worked for didn’t take too kindly to being thwarted. And they wanted that tract of land—and not in the city, either. He had promised they would have it. Now he was in jeopardy of having that promise crammed back down his throat. Suddenly Curtis almost strangled on his own fury.
Damn Jessica and her tough stance.
“I asked if you had any ideas.”
Adam’s tone had turned a bit nasty. Curtis figured he’d best do some fast tap dancing if he even wanted to survive this meeting. “Yes. I already have something in place.”
“Care to share that something?”
Curtis shrugged, as if his piss factor were at its lowest level. “Not at this point. However, I feel confident about my endeavors.”
Adam leaned forward, his eyes becoming beady. “What about your partner? What does he have to say about all this?”
“He’s letting me take care of it.”
“Maybe I ought to talk to him.”
Curtis stiffened. “That’s not necessary. Hell, don’t you think I want this deal to happen as much as you do?”
“Then get results. My company’s tired of mollycoddling that woman.”
“So am I.”
“Then do something about it and do it soon, before she gets the majority of the council on her side.”
“Right now the council’s split, thanks to my behind-the-scene dealings.”
“Split won’t cut it.”
“I know,” Curtis said, losing his patience. “I told you, I have a plan in place.”
“Are you sure you don’t need help from your partner?” Adam demanded as though determined not to let that ride.
“No, I told you I was handling this.”
His partner was his elderly uncle, for whom he was responsible, an uncle whose mind was not what it used to be. Uncle Selman, in his condition, was useless. The fact he was in that shape made closing this deal all the more important.
When his uncle died, other nephews were bound to jump in and try to tie up Selman’s will, which in turn would tie up the property. Curtis wasn’t about to let that happen. Right now, he had the old man’s permission and the power of attorney to sell the land.
“Maybe I ought to have a go at the mayor.” Adam lifted a renegade eyebrow. “Would that bother you?”
“Not in the way you mean. It’s just that I don’t think it would do any good.” Curtis refrained from giving his reason, but it was simple. If Adam Foley came on to Jessica like gangbusters, she would only dig her heels in deeper.
His uncle always told him you could accomplish more with honey than with vinegar. With Jessica, that was definitely the case. Too, he sensed Jessica wasn’t interested in developing a personal relationship with anyone, so Adam’s “charm” would be wasted.
“Well, then handle it—and soon, too,” Adam said into the silence. “Otherwise we’ll be forced to look elsewhere for a site for our manufacturing park. The company’s ready to make a move, and if you can’t swing a deal, then we’ll find someone who can.” He paused. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” Curtis said tersely, shifting uncomfortably, feeling as though his balls were in a nut grinder.
Adam stood. “Just keep in mind that my patience is wearing thin.”
“You’ve also made that clear.”
“I guess we’re on the same page, then.”
Adam turned and walked out, leaving Curtis behind with the check and his seething anger.
Jessica Kincaid might not know it yet, but she’d met her match. The sooner she found that out for real, the better off she would be.
“I don’t know where you got that, but it was damn good.”
Jessica gave him a lame smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Was this another of your culinary endeavors?”
Brant’s baiting, if that was his intention, fell on deaf ears. Her forced smile gathered strength as she said with fake sweetness, “Yes, it is.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes, like he knew he’d ticked her off. “Well, it tasted damn good, and I was damn hungry.” Having said that, he pushed his plate aside and reached for his glass of iced tea.
The fact that he was hungry was an understatement, Jessica thought, as he’d consumed two chicken salad sandwiches, along with a generous helping of coleslaw.
Since it had been such a long day, she’d had no intention of inviting him to share her evening meal, certain he wouldn’t want to, anyway. However, after she had changed into something more comfortable and wandered into the kitchen, guilt had worked on her until she’d made the offer. Once she’d asked, she had crossed her fingers he wouldn’t accept. Much to her chagrin, he had. Quickly, too.
And like the last meal they had shared, tension had been thicker than the humidity outside. Several times Jessica had felt his gaze leveled on her, bringing unwanted heat to her face.
She knew his mind was on the same thing hers was—that kiss—especially when she’d felt his eyes linger too long on her lips before moving to her breasts, where her nipples poked against the material of her lounging outfit. But then, just being in the same room with him brought on that reaction.
Insane.
Insane or not, he affected her like that, and she no longer bothered to deny it, at least to herself. Still, this desperate hunger, this overpowering need for something she’d never desired before, frightened her.
And she was no closer to understanding why than she had been in the beginning.
He appeared tired, the lines in his face more pronounced than usual. And he needed another shave, which made him look more uncivilized and menacing than usual.
He had changed into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt. She wondered if he had anything on under those jeans. God, she couldn’t keep this up. Jessica bit down on her lower lip, then shifted her gaze. He must never know what was going through her mind.
“Have you received any more e-mails?”
His thick-edged voice jolted her mind back into focus. She looked at him with what she hoped was a bland face. “Not today, though I haven’t checked yet.”
“Let me know.”
“You’ll be the second.” She paused. “Have you made any progress?”
He sighed. “I’m still waiting on Thurmon.”
“I know he’s not dragging his heels, but…” Jessica’s voice faded as she was careful not to sound critical of her best friend’s husband.
“He isn’t, though it does appear that way. But gathering information on people is not as easy as it sounds, even with computers.” Brant stood abruptly and began gathering their dishes.
“I’ll take care of that.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. Then, as if he realized his tone was heavy-handed, he added, “Clearing the dishes is the least I can do.”
“I’d really rather do it myself.” If you don’t mind, she almost added, then thought better of it. She didn’t care if he minded or not. The reality of him taking over her kitchen was not something she was prepared to tolerate.
Couldn’t tolerate, for her own protection.
“Fine,” he said, his tone growing more harsh.
After setting the dishes on the counter, he reached for the pitcher of tea and refilled his glass. When he would have poured her some more, she placed her hand over the top of her glass. “Enough for me. I probably won’t sleep as it is.”
He replaced the pitcher, then sat back down. Jessica had thought her rejection of his help would have sent him to his room like a kid who had been scolded by his parents. Well, he was no kid, and apparently her scolding had rolled off him like water off a metal roof.
“Have you heard any more from Riley?”
His question took her aback. “What makes you ask that?”
Brant didn’t hesitate. “He’s a man with
a mission. And you two do have a relationship.”
That last statement fired her temper. “We don’t have a ‘relationship,’ as you put it.”
“So he’s not going to get his way.”
“No, not if I have mine, that is.”
“It’ll be interesting to see if his threat escalates as a result of your unmovable position.”
“You’ll never convince me Curtis is behind this menace.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m around to be objective.”
“Guess it is,” she retorted.
A stiff silence ensued while Brant took a drink of his tea. The mundane gesture brought her eyes to his long, tapered fingers, which had just the right amount of hairs sprinkled on them. She wondered what they would feel like on a woman’s bare flesh.
On her flesh.
Jessica’s heart plummeted to somewhere around her toes, and it was all she could do not to get up and rush out of the room. She was thinking like some street-walker.
She didn’t need sex.
She didn’t want sex.
She didn’t want anything from this man, not even his protection.
“Let’s go back to your husband,” Brant said, once again pulling her attention back to him.
“What about Porter?” she asked in a resigned voice.
“Did your husband have any enemies?”
“None that I’m aware of. So you can forget about going down that path.”
Brant shrugged. “You never know till you ask.”
“My husband was loved by everyone in this city,” she said, feeling on the defensive. She wouldn’t let him attack Porter or demean him in any way.
“Lucky man.”
She tensed. “How are things with your son?” Now why on earth had she asked that? Maybe it was because he was grilling her and he deserved some of his own medicine. “Look, forget I asked that.” Her tone was unsteady.
“Because you don’t care?” His unreadable eyes were pinning her.
She released a slow breath. “Because it’s none of my business.”
“I’m not making much headway,” he volunteered, as though her last statement hadn’t penetrated.
His Touch Page 12
