The Pride Of Jared Mackade tmb-2 Read online

  Morningstar had kept the photo. Because, Jared thought with a tight-lipped snarl, he'd known.

  And nothing had been done.

  Savannah watched him from the doorway. Her emotions had been on a roller coaster all day. This looked like one more dip.

  She'd wanted to forget the edginess, the anger she'd felt when she left Jared's office. She'd hoped to come home, find him here and share with him her small triumph in selling Howard Beels three paintings.

  With a very good possibility of more.

  She and Bryan had cackled about it all the way home. Over Howard himself and the way he'd hemmed and hawed over what she considered a highly inflated asking price, and settled on an amount that had been considerably more than she'd anticipated.

  She'd even stopped off and bought a bottle of champagne so that she and Jared could celebrate. So that she could celebrate with him the fact that her long-buried wish of painting for a living was working its way to the surface.

  But she could see there would be no celebration now. Not with that look on Jared's face as he studied what her father had left her. She didn't know where his anger came from. But she had a feeling she was going to find out.

  The hell with it, she thought, and pushed away from the door jamb. Let's get it over with.

  "Not much of an estate, huh?" She waited until his head came up, until his gaze shifted to hers. The fury in them almost buckled her knees. "I imagine most of your clients have a bit more to deal with."

  He knew how to take things one step at a time, to start at one point and work his way to the heart. "When did you get the shipment?"

  "A week or two ago." She shrugged, then walked over to the window to look down. "Bry's down in the yard. We picked up the kittens. He's in heaven."

  Jared MacKade also knew how to stay on a point. "A week or two. You didn't mention it."

  "What was to mention? I took out the check and gave it to that broker you recommended. I didn't feel like dealing with the rest, so I put it aside until this morning. I guess I'll put the buckles away for Bryan. He might want them one day. The clothes'll go to charity, I suppose."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Why should I have?" She turned back, vaguely annoyed, vaguely curious. "It's not a big deal. No long-lost lottery tickets or pouch of gold dust. Just some old clothes, older boots, and papers."

  "And photographs."

  "Yeah, a few. He wasn't big on souvenirs. There's one of him in the chute I like. It shows who he was, always gearing up for the next ride. I figured Bryan might like to have that, too."

  "And this one?" Jared held up the snapshot of Savannah and the cockily smiling cowboy.

  She lifted a brow, shook her head. "I don't know how I got into those jeans. Look, I'm going to throw some burgers on the grill."

  When Jared shifted into her path, she was genuinely surprised. She tilted her head, studied him. And waited. "Have you shown this to Bryan?"

  "No."

  "Do you intend to?"

  "No. I don't think he cares what his mother looked like at sixteen."

  "He would care what his father looked like."

  She could almost feel her blood slow, go sluggish. "He doesn't have a father."

  "Damn it, Savannah, are you going to tell me this isn't Bryan's father?"

  "I'm going to tell you that isn't Bryan's father. A couple of rolls in the hay doesn't make a man a father."

  "Don't slice words with me."

  "It's a very important distinction in my book, Lawyer MacKade. And since this seems to be a cross-examination, I'll make it clear and easy. I had sex with the man in the picture you're holding. I got pregnant. End of story."

  "The hell it is." Furious, he slapped the picture down on the dresser. "Your father knew. He wouldn't have kept this, otherwise."

  "Yeah. That occurred to me when I found it." And the hurt had come with it, but it had been slight and easily dispatched. "So what?"

  "So why wasn't anything done? This isn't a kid we're talking about. He had to be over twenty-one."

  "I think he was twenty-four. Maybe twenty-five. It's hard to remember."

  "And you were a minor. He should have been prosecuted—after your father broke his neck."

  Savannah took a deep breath. "In the first place, my father knew me. He knew that if I'd slept with someone, it was my choice. I was a minor, technically, but I knew exactly what I was doing. It wasn't a mistake or an accident. I wasn't forced. And I don't appreciate you casting blame."

  "Of course there's blame," Jared shot back. "That son of a bitch had no right touching a girl your age, then taking off when there were consequences."

  Her eyes lit. "Bryan is not a consequence."

  "You know damn well that's not what I meant." Pulling both hands through his hair, he paced away. "There's no going back and righting wrongs at this point. I want to know what you intend to do now."

  "I intend to cook hamburgers. You're welcome to stay, or you're welcome to go."

  "Don't take that attitude with me."

  "It's the attitude I've got." Then she sighed. "Jared, why are you gnawing at this thing? I slept with a man ten years ago. I forgot him. He forgot me." To illustrate, she picked up the photo and dropped it carelessly in the wastebasket beside the dresser. "That's that."

  "Just that simple?" It was that, Jared realized. Exactly that that gnawed at him. "He didn't mean anything to you?"

  "That's right."

  "You conceived a child with him, Savannah. That boy who's down in the yard, playing with his kittens. How can you just dismiss that?"

  Temper streaked through her. "You'd prefer a different story, wouldn't you, Jared? A different story you could live with. One about the poor, innocent, neglected girl looking for love, seduced by an older man, betrayed, abandoned."

  "Isn't that what happened?"

  "You don't know who I was, what I was, or what I wanted. You don't want to know, not really. Because when you do, when you hear it, it'll stick in your craw. How many men has she been with? Can I believe her when she tells me she didn't sell herself? Even her own father didn't stand by her, so what does that tell me? Now that I look back, I remember she was ready to hit the sheets with me from the get-go. What kind of a woman have I got myself tangled up with? Isn't that what you're wondering, Jared?"

  "I'm wondering why there are so many things you don't tell me. Why you shrug off ten years of your life and how they affected you. And, yes, I'm wondering what kind of woman you are."

  She threw her head back. "Figure it out." She started to storm out, then came up hard, toe-to-toe with him. "Keep out of my way."

  "I'm in your way, and you're in mine. And it's long past time to settle this. You say you love me, but you pull back every time I touch a nerve, every time I want a clear picture of what brought you to this point in your life."

  "I brought me here. That's all you need to know."

  "It's not all I need to know. You can't build a future without drawing on the past."

  "I can. I have. If you can't, Jared, it's your problem. You know what you're doing?" She tossed the question at him. "You're harping on a face in a photograph. You're insulted by it, threatened by it."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Is it? It's all right for you to have been married before, to have had other women in your life. I haven't asked you how many or who or why, have I? It's all right for you to have been wild and reckless, to have sauntered around town with your brothers, looking for trouble or making it. That's just dandy. Boys will be boys. But with me, it's different. The problem is, you got tangled up with me before you thought it through. Now you want to shift the pieces around, see if you can make me into more of what seems suitable to the man you are now."

  "You're putting words in my mouth. And you're wrong."

  "I say I'm right. And I say the hell with you, MacKade. The hell with you. You want a victim, or you want a flower, or someone who looks just right at some fund-raiser or professional event. You'
ve come to the wrong place. I don't read Kafka."

  "What in the sweet hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about reality. The reality is, I don't need this kind of grief from you."

  His eyes narrowed. "It's not just about what you need. Not anymore. That's reality, Savannah. I don't have to justify wanting to know how you could toss out that photograph, or dismiss your father's things and not even tell me you had them. I don't have to justify asking you what you want from yourself, from me. From us. Or telling you what I want, what I expect and intend to have. That's everything. Everything or nothing."

  "Down to ultimatums, are we?"

  "Looks that way. Think about it," he suggested, and strode furiously out.

  Steaming, she stood where she was. She listened to the door slam below. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to race to the window, to watch him. Maybe to call him back. Minutes later, she heard the sound of his car.

  So, that was that, Savannah thought. All or nothing. He had a nerve, demanding she give him all, leave herself nothing to fall back on. Nothing to cushion a fall. She'd been there once, and the bruises had plagued her for years. By God, she wasn't going back.

  Steadying herself, she went downstairs. She ignored the flowers on the table, the champagne chilling in the refrigerator. Maybe she'd drink it herself later, she mused as she took out some hamburger. Maybe she'd drink the whole damn bottle and get herself a nice fizzy buzz. It would be better than thinking, better than hurting. Better even than this simmering anger that was still hot in her blood.

  But when the door slammed and she looked around she hated herself for the stab of disappointment when she realized it was her son.

  "Is Jared mad at you?"

  "Why?"

  "I could tell." Uneasy, Bryan sat down, propped his elbows on the table. "He stopped to look at the kittens and stuff, but he wasn't paying attention. And he said he couldn't stay."

  "I guess he's mad at me."

  "Are you mad at him, too?"

  "Yeah." Slapping patties together was a fine way to release a little violence. "Pretty mad."

  "Does that mean you're not stuck on him anymore?"

  She looked over, and her own temper cleared enough that she could see the worry in Bryan's eyes. "What are you getting at, Bry?"

  He moved his shoulders, kicked his feet. "Well, you've never been stuck on anybody before. He's mostly always here, and he brings you flowers and hangs around with me. You kiss each other and stuff."

  "That's true."

  "Well, Con and I thought maybe you were going to get, like, married."

  A quick arrow shot straight into her heart. "Oh."

  "I thought it would be kind of cool, you know, because Jared's cool."

  She put the patties aside. To give herself time, she ran water, washed her hands and dried them thoroughly. All the while, all she could think was, what had she done to her little boy?

  "Bry, you know that people kiss each other all the time without getting married. You're smart enough to know that adults have relationships, close relationships, without getting married, either."

  "Yeah, but if they're really stuck on each other, they do, right?"

  "Sometimes." She skirted the table to lay a hand on his shoulder. "But it's not always enough to love someone."

  "How come?"

  "Because..." Where was the answer? "Because people are complicated. Anyway, Jared's mad at me, not at you. You can still be pals."

  "I guess."

  "You'd better go out and make sure those kittens keep out of trouble. I'm going to fire up the grill."

  "Okay." He dragged his feet a little as he started toward the door. "I was thinking if you got married, he'd be sort of like..."

  "Sort of like what?" she asked.

  "Sort of like my father." Bryan moved his shoulders again, in a gesture so very much like her own when she blocked off hurt, another shaft of pain shot through her. "I just thought it would be cool."

  Chapter Twelve

  Bryan's wistful statement dragged at her mind and spirits all through the evening. To make it up to him for a disappointment she felt unable to control, she made the casual meal into their own private celebration.

  All the soda he could drink, french fries made from scratch, wild, involved and ridiculous plans on how they would spent the fortune they would amass from selling her paintings.

  Trips to Disney World weren't enough, they decided. They would own Disney World. Box seats at ball games? For pikers. They would purchase the Baltimore Orioles—and Bryan would, naturally, play at short.

  Savannah kept up the game until she was reasonably sure both of them had forgotten that what Bryan really wanted was Jared.

  Then she spent the night staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the wonderful, hideous ways to pay Jared MacKade back for putting a dent in her boy's heart.

  Hers wasn't all that important. She knew how to hammer it out. Time and work and the home she'd continue to make would all help. She didn't need a man to make her whole. Never had. She would see to it that her son never felt the lack of a father. But she would punish Jared for raising Bryan's hopes.

  The bastard had made himself part of their lives. Flowers, damn him. Playing catch in the yard, taking Bryan over to the farm, awakening her in bed the way no one, damn him again, no one ever had.

  Then looking down at her from his lofty lawyer's height. Questioning her morals and her actions and her motives. Making her feel more, then making her feel less, than she'd ever been. Making her question herself.

  He wasn't going to get away with it. Without realizing it, she shifted to the center of the bed, so that it wouldn't feel so empty. He couldn't worm his way into their lives, then start making demands. Who was she, where had she been, what did she want? She didn't owe him any answers, and she was going to prove it.

  He'd wormed his way in, all right, she thought, scowling at the ceiling. He'd made her feel foolish and inadequate and, for the first time in ten very long years, vulnerable. Now he thought he could worm his way out again because she wasn't just exactly what he preferred in a...

  She sneered at the word. In a wife.

  She hated him for that, really hated him for making her start to think, start to hope and even plan along those lines, without her even being aware of it. Until Bryan brought it up, she hadn't realized she was dreaming, just a little, about happy-ever-after.

  Like the fairy tales she illustrated, with their strong and passionate princes.

  It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. A woman like her, a woman who had managed through sheer will and grit to shrug off the bruises life handed out, to be brought this low by a man.

  She'd survived alone. She'd gone hungry, worked until she was dizzy with fatigue, had taken jobs that scraped at her pride. She'd been turned out by her own father when she needed him most.

  And none of that, not one of the painful or difficult experiences in her life, had ever left her as low as this.

  And none of that, she had made certain, had ever brought Bryan one moment's sadness.

  She took a deep breath, then another. She would show Jared MacKade just what kind of woman she was. The kind of woman who didn't need him.

  Jared decided brooding on the front porch with a beer on a Saturday afternoon wasn't such a bad thing. He was almost enjoying it. It was a beautiful day, and he was pleasantly fatigued from the morning's work.

  His brothers were with him, and it was a good feeling, to have all of them there. Just passing an hour, he mused, at home. Watching the grass grow and the dogs race over it.

  Maybe, just maybe, in a little while, he'd stroll on over to the cabin. He figured he'd given her time enough to stew, to calm down and see reason.

  He'd given himself almost enough time, as well. He was almost ready, not quite but almost ready, to admit he'd been somewhat heavy-handed. Maybe just the slightest bit unreasonable.

  Still, she'd been ridiculous. Accusing him of being threaten
ed by a photograph, of wanting a different kind of woman. Of not being satisfied with her because she didn't read Kafka.

  God knew where she'd come up with that.

  He didn't appreciate the comparison of her life with his, either. Made him sound like a narrow-minded sexist. Which he certainly was not.

  It was different, that was all.

  "Talking to himself," Devin commented as he whittled as a piece of wood.

  "Been doing it since he got here yesterday." Shane yawned and kicked back in his chair. "You ask me, Savannah kicked his butt out."

  That, and Rafe's snorting laugh, snagged Jared's attention. "She did not. I left to make a point."

  "Yeah." Rafe winked at Devin. "What point was that?"

  Eyes narrowed, Jared tipped back his beer. "That she'd better start seeing things the way they are."

  This statement was greeted by hoots.

  "His way," Rafe pointed out. "It always has to be his way or no way."

  "Bull." Unoffended, Jared crossed his ankles. "It just has to be the right way."

  From his perch on the top step, Devin shifted, leaned his back against the post. "So, what was she doing wrong?"

  "She holds back. I get a call from Howard Beels this morning, thanking me for introducing them. Seems she went over there yesterday and he bought three of her paintings." Just thinking of it had him simmering again. "Does she tell me? No. What kind of relationship is that? I don't get anything out of her without a direct question, and then she only answers half the time."

  Amused, Shane stretched his arms. "And I just bet you've been full of questions, too. What happened then? What did you do? What chain of events led to that? And where were you on the night in question?"

  Jared's punch would have been stronger if Shane hadn't been a full arm's length away. "I don't interrogate her. I ask. I want to know about her. A man has a right to know the woman he's going to marry."

  Rafe choked on a gulp of beer. "When did that happen?"

  "I knew it." With a heavy sigh, Shane flipped the top of the cooler and got out a beer for himself. "I just knew it."