Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (22 page)

A trace of anger registered in his eyes. “So you can love ’em and leave ’em?”

“Yes,” she said, ignoring the furious line of his mouth as she struggled into her jeans. If only he knew. Tonight had been the first time she’d made love since she’d slept with him, twelve years ago. She’d come close a couple of times and disappointed more than one man, but she’d never been able to give herself to another…not even to David, which, she’d decided, was why he was so anxious to marry her. Over the years, she’d told herself that she was flawed, or at the very least scarred from Jackson’s tender lovemaking and then quick exit from her life. She’d learned not to trust men who spoke words of love in the throes of passion.

Although Jackson alone couldn’t be blamed. Her mother’s track record with men hadn’t been good, and Heather, too, had failed at marriage. Tremont women just weren’t good at picking partners. Her feelings for Jackson were a case in point.

He studied her for a minute as she worked at the buttons of her sweater. His eyes followed the movement of her fingers and she blushed. He was still naked, still somewhat aroused, and his dark skin and sinewy muscles reminded her that his body could do to hers what no other man had ever dared try.

“You don’t fool me, you know. All this tough act—the hard-nosed reporter bit—I don’t buy it.”

“No one’s asking you to.” She straightened her sweater and stood. What had she expected? Champagne and roses? Moonlight and promises of love? With Jackson Moore? She had to be kidding!

He, still silently seething, jerked on his jeans and quickly buttoned his shirt.

When she started for the motorcycle, he grabbed hold of her hand. “We’re not through yet.”

Her throat closed. How much more of this emotional roller-coaster ride could she take? “Oh, I think we are.”

“We have one more place to visit.”

She knew what he was considering and the idea turned her cold inside. Was he crazy? The man certainly had a death wish. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go snooping on Fitzpatrick property.”

“You’ve come this far.”

“My mistake.”

He cocked a thick black eyebrow. “I don’t think so. Come on, reporter. Let’s go face our past.” He tugged gently on her hand and reluctantly she fell into step with him. The lake was dark and quiet and the night felt suddenly cool. Going back to the place where Roy had been killed chilled her to her very bones. They walked in silence along the shore and she wondered what Jackson was thinking. They’d just made love and he acted as if their lovemaking had never happened.

Just like before.

Maybe this was how he dealt with all his lovers.

Her heart wrenched as they crossed unseen property lines along the lake, keeping near the water’s edge, passing huge, empty estates until they came at last to the Fitzpatrick property, the most prestigious on the entire north shore.

They walked along the creaking dock, their footsteps loud in the quiet night. Rachelle could hardly breathe. She felt that they were being watched, that at any second someone, the police or the Fitzpatricks, would leap from behind the trees and point the muzzle of a rifle at their chests.

Please, God,
she silently prayed,
let us get out of this.

The boathouse was locked, the dock gray and bleached in the moonlight. The path to the gazebo wasn’t lit as it had been on the last fateful night that they had been here, and the scrape of flagstones beneath her feet caused a chill to race down her spine. Her heart knocked in her chest. She felt as if there were eyes in the huge sequoias and pines that guarded the house.

No laughter or music or smoke tonight. Rachelle rubbed her arms. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Where’re all your reporter’s instincts? Your natural curiosity?”

“I’m not curious about this place.”

“Well, I am,” Jackson said, surveying the shrine of the Fitzpatrick empire. “Someone who was at the party that night killed Roy and was happy to pin it on me.” He frowned as he studied the lines of the manor.

“But who?”

Jackson shook his head. “I wish I knew. It could’ve been anyone, even someone who hadn’t been invited to the party—like me.” Together they walked toward the dark house, which seemed to melt into the black trees surrounding it. “Roy had stepped on lots of toes. He just barreled through life not giving a damn about anybody else.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Why did you hate him so much?”

Jackson thought for a moment, his hands stuffed into his jeans. “It was mutual. For some reason Roy detested the sight of me. I didn’t know it, until I was about thirteen, I guess. Then, all of a sudden, I was the object of his ridicule. I was older, but he was bigger—had more friends. He made a point of always putting me down.”

“So you hated him.”

“Wouldn’t you?” He smiled at a private irony. “And I was probably jealous. The kid had everything. A rich, good-looking father who gave him anything he wanted, a big house, a respectable mother, nice clothes—the whole nine yards.”

“So why would he give you a bad time?” Rachelle eyed the house warily.

Jackson shrugged. “That’s just the way he was. He always put someone down to make himself look better.”

“Prince of a guy,” Rachelle said.

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “A few years later, I worked for Fitzpatrick Logging. But my career was cut short.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I was working in the woods—setting chokers. You know what they are—the cables that’re hooked around the cut timber. Once they’re set and in place, the logs are winched up the hill to the road where the trucks are waiting to be loaded.”

“I’ve heard of chokers,” she said dryly. “You’re forgetting that I grew up with them. So what happened when you worked for the logging company?”

“The old man fired me.”

“Why?”

“Well, I was never quite sure,” Jackson admitted, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully. “The long and the short of it was that I was working, setting chokers one day, and there was an accident. The bull line snapped and, because of the tension, flew at me. I dived out of the way, skidded down the hill and hit my head—woke up in an ambulance. I was examined in the emergency room, stitched up and held overnight for observation. I had a private room, and I was groggy, but once, in the middle of the night, I woke up and the door of the room was cracked a little. I could see out into the hallway.”

He chewed on his lower lip. “I couldn’t believe it. I heard my mom talking, so I know she was there, but the only person I could see was Thomas Fitzpatrick. I don’t know what he was telling Mom—his voice was too low—and later, when I asked my mom about it, she told me that I’d been delirious, that I’d imagined the whole thing, that Fitzpatrick had never been in the hospital.”

A chill crawled down Rachelle’s spine. “That wasn’t all of it,” Jackson said quietly. “Someone else was with Fitzpatrick that night, I think, but I can’t remember who. I didn’t hear another voice, but I
sensed
that someone else was there. It’s strange—just an impression. Anyway, I got out of the hospital and found out I didn’t have a job any longer.”

“Why?”

Jackson shrugged. “Who knows? I was just a kid—I didn’t question it and my mother didn’t bother explaining, just told me that I’d have to look somewhere else for work. I always blamed Roy, but I’m not sure he had anything to do with it.”

“Why would your mother lie and say you were delirious if you weren’t?”

“I don’t know. But she lied. I spoke with one of the orderlies. He’d seen Thomas Fitzpatrick there that night.”

Rachelle hugged herself and walked a few steps closer to the imposing house, a symbol of the lifestyle of the Fitzpatricks.

“The night Roy died, you were furious with him,” she said.

“We’d already had a fight a few days before,” Jackson said. “He’d started spreading rumors about my mother and I couldn’t handle it. I confronted Roy and he hit me, cut me under the eye.” Jackson stared to the far shore where the lights of cabins glimmered seductively. Moonlight cast shadows over the smooth water, and high overhead a night bird swooped over the hills.

“There’s always been bad blood between our families,” Jackson admitted. “While I was in the navy, Roy started seeing my cousin, Amanda. She lived over in Coleville and thought she was in love with Roy. Anyway, she ended up pregnant and Roy wouldn’t marry her—claimed the baby wasn’t his. It was a time before they could do DNA testing and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Amanda’s father was swayed by the all-mighty buck and Thomas bought him out. Amanda put the baby up for adoption and some couple now has an eleven- or twelve-year-old kid. Amanda regrets giving the baby up, but she got a college education out of the deal—bought and paid for by Granddaddy Tom.”

Rachelle felt sick. “So that’s why you hated Roy.”

“One reason. But there were lots of other people who hated him. Lots of people were jealous of his money, hated the way he threw his name around town…how his old man bought him favors. Even Erik Patton had a bone to pick with Roy. Roy had promised to marry Melanie, but he got sidetracked.”

“By Laura,” Rachelle said.

“And then you.” Jackson turned and faced her. “It was you he wanted, you know.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah. Laura was just a means to an end. She was pretty and willing and Roy was happy enough to show her a good time until he could get to you. But you posed a challenge and Roy liked nothing better than a challenge.”

“But I never knew he was interested in me,” she protested. “Until that night I didn’t have a clue.”

Jackson’s eyes turned hard. “Roy wasn’t known for longevity. He was just used to having anything or anyone he wanted. If he made a mistake, Daddy took care of it. He figured it was only a matter of time before you’d be interested in his wealth or his car or him. But he got too drunk to be subtle. You showed up in the gazebo and he reacted.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve had a long time to piece it all together.”

“And are the pieces beginning to fit? What happens when you find out the truth?”

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “Then I’ve made my point to this town.”

“And that’s it?”

“One chapter in my life closed.”

They walked down a short path and suddenly the gazebo was in front of them. Paint peeled from the weathered slats, a step sagged in the middle and the roof had lost a few shingles, but it stood, neglected in the same grove of pines that Rachelle remembered. Rachelle’s heart thudded painfully and her insides turned as cold as a long, dark well. She remembered Roy struggling against her, pressing his anxious body over hers, his breath sour with beer as he’d tried to tear off her clothes.

“Oh, God,” she whispered as the memory of Jackson and the fight slid through her mind.

The taste of bile rose in her throat. She could have been raped and beaten if not for Jackson. He’d risked his life for her, rescued her and been falsely accused of murder. It had happened long ago, but tonight, faced with the decaying ruins of the gazebo, Rachelle felt all the fear and pain of the past.

Shivering, she looked away and stared at the water of Whitefire Lake. She felt Jackson’s arms surround her, felt the warmth of his body seep into hers as he drew her against him. His chest was pressed firmly to her backside and he buried his face into her hair. “I’ve never been in love,” he said, his voice as low as the wind in the pines. “I wouldn’t know what it felt like.”

“Maybe you’re not missing anything,” she said, fighting a losing battle with tears.

“I don’t have room in my life for a wife or a family.”

“Did I ask you?” She whirled on him. “Is that what you’re thinking? That I want you to propose to me? That I want to start making babies with you?” she demanded, frustrated tears hot as they ran down her cheeks. “You arrogant, self-important bastard!”

She tried to break away from his embrace, but he wouldn’t release her. The harder she pushed, the stronger his arms tightened around her.

“Let go of me!” she ordered, the thin web of her patience unraveling.

“Not until you hear me out!”

“I’ve heard enough for one night!” She shoved hard and was rewarded with his mouth crashing down on hers in an angry kiss that plundered and took. But instead of reacting as her silly heart told her to, she kicked him in the shins.

Sucking in a swift breath, he finally let her go.

“I don’t know the kind of women you’re used to, Moore,” she said in absolute fury, “but I’m not one of them. And I can’t be ‘tamed’ or ‘controlled’ by a kiss. Either treat me as a woman, an equal, or leave me the hell alone!”

He smiled slowly. “Oh, God, if you only knew,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I wasn’t trying to control you. I was trying to control myself. And that’s what I was trying to tell you. I can’t seem to control myself around you. You turn me inside out. I’ve never,
never
wanted a woman the way I wanted you—the way I still want you. But I’m not the right guy for you. You should try and work things out with that guy in San Francisco. He can give you what you want.”

“Which is?”

“A house. A family. A man to take care of you.”

She advanced upon him, poking him in his chest, hiding the fact that she cared about him. “I don’t want or need a man to take care of me, Jackson. And what I do want or need you couldn’t begin to understand. So just leave it alone. Don’t think you have to court me, for crying out loud.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good!”

“But I can’t stay away from you.”

“You did a damned good job for twelve years!” she threw back at him, and in the moonlight he blanched. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing for the past decade and don’t concern yourself with me. I’m fine.”

“We made love.”

She swallowed hard, and all her tough facade shattered around her. “My mistake.”

“Mine.”

“It won’t happen again. Don’t worry about it. It was natural,” she said, with false bravado, though her voice shook a bit. “We just wanted to see if the same chemistry was there.”