The Loner (10 page)

He saw something else in her gaze, something greater than regret. And suddenly knew what was causing her so much pain.

Guilt
.

Maybe, like him, she’d wished that Jesse’s child had never been conceived—and regretted her thoughts as much as he regretted the words he’d uttered aloud. Maybe she believed some prayer she’d spoken in the
depths of her despair had been answered in this awful way. What if she’d later realized how much she’d wanted her child? And God had punished her for those earlier, uncharitable thoughts by taking it from her.

He didn’t dare ask. He didn’t want to know. It was disturbing enough to see her in such anguish.

His heart was thumping in his chest. He wished he could tell her that he’d never stopped loving her, that he still wanted her. But he had a wife. And maybe a child of his own on the way.

Ren’s eyes welled with tears, and he watched as she gritted her teeth to still the quiver in her chin. “You should leave,” she said. “Jesse will be back soon.”

She was right. He had no business being here. She was another man’s wife. He’d already let her go once. He had to leave her alone. He had to forget about her and go on with his life.

“I wish…” He could have bitten off his tongue when he saw the despair in her eyes as she stared up at him.

The sob seemed to be torn from someplace deep inside her. She tried to turn on her side away from him but cried out in pain and grabbed for her ribs. Blackjack lifted her upright, and her arms groped for his neck and held on tight as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

He felt his heart swell with emotion as he listened to her muffled sobs of grief. He kissed her temple, murmuring what comfort he could, realizing as he held her close—for what might be the very last time—that the loss of this child would force them apart every bit as surely as its birth would have done. Knowing Ren, she
would never forgive herself for wanting him when she was pregnant with Jesse’s child.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Ren jerked backward at the sound of Jesse’s voice, crying out as her ribs protested.

Blackjack pulled her close again to spare her the pain of holding herself upright. He turned to face the man who’d married the woman he loved. “I heard Ren was hurt. I came to see for myself.”

“Get away from my wife,” Jesse said, crossing into the room, headed straight for him.

“Jesse, please,” Ren cried.

Blackjack saw her face had been robbed of what little color it possessed. She looked frightened and ashamed. It was the shame that angered him.

She was struggling against his hold and whimpering with the pain it was causing her. He let her go and watched as she wrapped her arms around her ribs and held herself tight, as though she might splinter into pieces if she did not. Her eyes were squeezed closed, and her teeth bit hard on her lower lip.

He felt Jesse’s hand grab at his shoulder and shrugged it off as he stood and confronted the other man. “We can talk outside,” he said.

“We’ll talk right here.”

Blackjack glanced over his shoulder at Ren. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear just fine. He didn’t want her hurt any more than she already was. For her sake, he had to placate her husband.

“There’s nothing between me and Ren,” he said.

“Right,” Jesse said, his lips twisted in scorn. “She told
me what happened between you two—after she cried out your name at the wrong time.”

He could see Ren from the corner of his eye. Her eyes were open now and wary, her face suddenly flushed. With mortification? With humiliation? How dare her husband reveal what must have been a very private—and awkward—moment between them?

He could understand Jesse’s animosity better. But he wondered just how much of the story the other man knew. Whether she’d told him how they’d made love at the pond, and what a shattering experience it had been for both of them. How they’d spent the rest of the afternoon loving one another, when there had been no question of who he was. That he’d known even then that he wanted to spend his life with her. And that she’d known even then that she was pregnant with Jesse’s child.

The child she had lost.

“What happened between Ren and me is in the past,” Blackjack said. “I’m married now.”

“Then what are you doing here making love to my wife?”

“I came to offer my condolences and—”

“And to see if she’d be your whore again?”

“Watch your tongue,” Blackjack said, as adrenaline pumped through his veins. “She’s your wife.”

“And your lover!” Jesse accused.

Before he could reply, he heard another female cry—this time from beyond Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse turned at the sound, and Blackjack saw Eve pressed against the doorjamb, her eyes stricken. He felt his stomach cramp as he realized the disaster his visit here had wrought.

“Eve, I—”

She didn’t give him a chance to explain, simply whirled and ran.

He turned his anger on Jesse. “I could kill you for that.”

“I only spoke the truth,” Jesse said stubbornly. “You’re a lowdown, wife-stealing—”

“See to your wife,” Blackjack said abruptly. “She needs you.” He resisted the urge to vent his anger in violence, as he shoved his way past Jesse and went in search of his wife.

The promising start of his marriage had been spoiled. His wife, it turned out, was pregnant with his eldest son Trace. He hadn’t seen Ren again for a long time, and when he had, she’d avoided looking at him. Her husband had remained jealous ever after. And though Eve had professed to love him, even after what she’d heard, her laughter had disappeared.

Over the years, though he’d never so much as spoken to Ren, Eve’s resentment of the other woman had grown. He’d felt frustrated, unable to convince his wife that he had nothing to do with Lauren Creed. He’d spent nearly every night of his marriage in his wife’s bed, but that one mistake had never been forgotten… or forgiven.

Four years ago, Eve had asked her lover—his own foreman—to hire someone to murder Ren. The gunman had mistaken his mark, and Jesse Creed had been killed instead.

Leaving Ren a widow and free to marry him.

Well, not quite free. Jesse had passed on his animosity for all things Blackthorne to his children. Surprisingly, their two girls had ended up marrying two of Blackjack’s boys. But he was going to have to find a way
to make peace with her two sons. Otherwise, there could be no future for him with this woman.

No, he wasn’t at all sure that he and Ren would end up together. But he had to try. The rest of his life would be infinitely long and lonely without her.

Blackjack felt his breath catch as the rising sun hit Ren’s face through the kitchen window, illuminating her beauty.
Nothing can keep me away from you now
, he thought.
Nothing and nobody
.

“Mom? Are you in there? Are you all right?”

Blackjack saw the terror in Ren’s eyes as she glanced toward the screen door. “That’s Sam.”

He watched as her gaze shifted toward the front door, as though to send him out that way, before she realized his truck, with the Bitter Creek brand painted on the door, was parked out back. Sam already knew he was there.

A moment later Ren’s eldest son rolled himself into the kitchen in his wheelchair. Blackjack had to admit there was a startling change in the boy—the man—since the last time he’d seen him, two years ago. Sam must be all of thirty-two or thirty-three now. He’d been in a wheelchair since he was eighteen, when Blackjack’s son Owen had tackled him at football practice and broken his neck.

He seemed bigger somehow, broader, stronger. Blackjack realized Sam was no longer using an electric chair. He’d wheeled himself into the room with his own powerful arms and shoulders. Blackjack could almost see Sam’s neckhairs bristle when he noted how close his father’s mortal enemy was standing to his mother.

“What is he doing here?” Sam said, glancing from his mother to Blackjack and back again.

“I’m here to see Ren,” he replied.

“If you’ve got ranch business, you can call me later. I’m busy right now,” Sam said.

It was a dismissal, pure and simple.

Blackjack felt his own neckhairs hackle.

Ren placed a tentative hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, begging for understanding.

He understood, all right. Sam Creed was his stubborn, bullheaded father all over again. Blackjack wasn’t about to let some pup’s growl spook him, when the big, bad barnyard dog had never scared him away.

“I’m not here for—”

“Sam has taken over the day-to-day business of the ranch,” Ren interrupted. “So I have more time to work with the horses.”

Blackjack had employed Ren ever since Jesse’s death to raise and train his quarter horses for cutting horse competitions. It had given him a reason to visit Three Oaks. He considered making up some business excuse for why he’d come, as Ren obviously hoped he would, to avoid the confrontation with Sam. But that was only postponing the inevitable.

The boy—he had to stop thinking of Ren’s grown son that way; there was nothing boyish about him—might as well get used to the way things were going to be. He met Sam’s distrustful gaze and said, “I came to see Ren for personal reasons.”

“You have nothing to say to my mother that she wants to hear,” Sam retorted.

“That’s your mother’s call.”

Sam turned to his mother, apparently expecting her to agree that he should leave. “Mom?”

“I want Jackson to stay, Sam,” she said in a quiet voice.

Blackjack breathed an inward sigh of relief but kept his satisfaction to himself. This showdown was between Ren and her son.

Sam turned to his mother and said, “He doesn’t belong in this house. Dad would roll over in his grave—”

“What happened in the past is over and done,” Ren said.

“Not for me,” Sam snapped.

“If you feel you can’t stay, Sam, I’ll understand,” she said.

Blackjack saw the astonishment flicker in Sam’s eyes before he said, “You’re siding with a Blackthorne over your own family?”

“I hope you won’t make that necessary,” she said.

“Luke isn’t going to be any more pleased about—”

“Luke isn’t here right now,” Ren countered.

Sam wheeled his chair over to Blackjack, stopping with his knees only inches from Blackjack’s, and said, “I want you out of my father’s house.”

Blackjack resisted the urge to back up. He could see the corded muscle on Sam’s forearms where his Western shirt was rolled up, see the veins throbbing in his forehead. He was glad Sam didn’t have a gun handy. He looked mad enough—mean enough—to kill.

“I’m here at your mother’s invitation,” he said. “When she tells me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“I’m telling you to leave. Now.”

Blackjack perused the man—it was no boy who glared back at him—wondering what Sam would do. What kind of physical threat could Sam exert from a wheelchair? On the other hand, you never hit a man when he was down. How was Blackjack supposed to fight someone who wasn’t able to stand and face him?

Blackjack glared back, unwilling to fight, unwilling to retreat.

In the end, it was Ren who blinked.

“Jackson,” she said. “Please. We can talk later.”

He could see how upset she was, how much this was tearing her apart. He could afford to be the bigger man and leave. This business with Sam was just a little wrinkle that needed ironing out. “All right, Ren. I’ll go. I’ll call you later.”

When he saw the smug look on Sam’s face, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something he’d regret. That
boy
didn’t know it yet, but his reign in this household was coming to an end.

Blackjack turned to Ren, uncurled her balled hands and held them in his own. He wanted to say
I love you
, but somehow he couldn’t get the words out with her son watching. He wanted to kiss her, but her eyes said
Don’t
.

He squeezed her hands, then let them go. Sam was in his way when he turned to leave.

“Don’t come back,” Sam said. “We don’t want you here.”

“Get out of my way.”

Sam backed up the wheelchair and made a mocking gesture toward the door. “Be my guest.”

Blackjack stopped at the hat rack and settled his Resistol carefully on his head, then pushed open the
groaning screen door and let it slam behind him. He resisted the urge to turn and say,
I’ll be back
. In the
Terminator
movie, it was the villain who’d uttered those words, and he’d returned to wreak havoc.

Blackjack didn’t want to ruin anything. He just wanted to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. But as he cranked the engine on his pickup, he stared at the two figures highlighted through the screen door and muttered, “I’ll be back.”

S
UMMER STARED AT THE RING FINGER OF HER
trembling left hand, which was bare of the four-carat square-cut diamond engagement ring which had sat there for the past year. “I didn’t think it was possible to get married so quickly and simply,” she said to Billy. “No blood test, just a license and a few words said by a magistrate.” No wedding band. Not even a kiss at the end of the ceremony. But that would have been a travesty since the entire marriage was a sham.