To Have and to Hold (8 page)

It was time to go home.

To the main house on Randall Station, the place where she'd watched her father die a quiet death, safe in the knowledge that Jess would protect their land. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Fighting them, she clamped her hands on the steering wheel and stared out at the passing scenery.

It was maybe sixty minutes later that the station house first came into view, getting larger as she approached. And then there it was. Tempting as it was to turn the SUV around, she shut off the engine and stepped out.

She'd half expected to find it falling to pieces, but it appeared to have been well maintained. Going up onto the verandah, she peered through the glass and gave a shocked gasp when she saw all their old furniture sitting inside, carefully covered with dust cloths.

Emotion a knot in her throat, she put her hand on the doorknob. It was locked, of course. She'd never returned after being evicted by the bank, but now she wondered if anyone had bothered to change the locks.

Running back down the steps, she reached under the last one and scrabbled around until she located a small rock. “Gotcha!” The key was rusty but otherwise fine. Dusting off her knees, she went to try the lock. If it
had
been changed, she'd have to ask Gabe for the new key and, in her current mood, she didn't want to ask him for anything.

She slid the slender piece of metal into the lock and turned. “Please. Please let me in.”

T
he door opened in smooth welcome. Kicking off her shoes out of habit, she walked through the hallway and into the living room. It hurt. So many memories, so many good times. But walking into the kitchen was the worst. This was the heart of the house, where she and her father had sat many a night drinking coffee and talking over everything.

Everything but the finances it turned out.

Sean Randall had considered it a man's duty to take care of his family, to keep a roof over their heads. So he'd borne the strain alone and she'd been too wrapped up in the cotton-wool of his love to understand the threat of foreclosure.

But then he'd died, leaving her with the burden of a promise she'd sacrificed everything to keep. “How could you do that to me, Dad?” Sobs breaking her voice, she crumpled to the floor. Guilt had kept her from acknowledging the anger she'd carried around since his death, but being in this house destroyed her ability to pretend.

When the tears finally stopped, she felt wrung dry. There was no water in the taps so she walked out to the SUV, found one of the bottles of water always banging around in the back, and used it to wash her face. Afterward, she had no will to return to the house. It belonged to the ghosts now.

Instead, she went down on her knees in front of the verandah and began to pull weeds. While the building had been maintained, Beth Randall's garden had been left to run wild, a tangle of climbers and weeds even in the still-icy breath of winter's approaching end.

“Look after my garden won't you, Jessie my love?”

“Yes, Mom,” she'd said, holding on to her mother as she lay dying in the hospital bed.

A promise to her mother. And one to her father. Between them, they held her trapped. A trap of emotion, of love, of memory.

* * *

Where the hell was Jess? Gabe stared out at the cloud-heavy evening sky and swore he'd wring her fool neck when he found her. “Are you sure she didn't say where she was going?”

Mrs. C. shook her head. “She wasn't here when I came back from Kowhai. I figured she'd gone visiting.”

“I'm heading out to have a look. If she comes back, tell her to stay put.”

“Do you want me to ring around?”

“I'll give you a call if I don't find her.” He held up his cell phone and made a mental note to buy one for Jess as well. “Why don't you go home?”

“Are you sure?”

“You can keep an eye out for her from the cottage—the driveway's in your line of sight.” He got into the Jeep after receiving a nod of understanding. As he backed up and turned in the drive, he considered the places where his wife might have gone without leaving word, especially when she was pissed with him.

His jaw tightened. No, surely even Jess wouldn't be idiotic enough to wave the red flag of Damon in front of him. Deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, he headed toward the one place that he knew held a grip over her stronger than anything or anyone else.

Bumpy country roads made the drive slow going and when full dark caught up with him near the old boundary line, he had to further lower his speed. By the time he got to what had once been the Randall station house, he was cursing himself for not having gone with his first instinct and hunting down that pretty-boy Jess was in love with.

All that changed a few meters later when his headlights bounced off the side of the SUV. There was no one inside. Worry jackknifed in his gut. If she'd injured herself, she could have been lying out here for hours. Alert for any sign of her, he brought the Jeep around, intending to park it parallel to the other vehicle.

The headlights swept across a small figure seated on the verandah steps, hand raised to block the brightness. His concern flashfired into the most dangerous kind of anger in a single hard instant. Turning off the lights and engine, he got out.

“Gabe?” She gave him a puzzled look. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, that's what.” He pulled her to her feet. “What the hell kind of childish stunt do you think you're pulling?”

“Stunt?” Something in Jess broke at that moment. She slammed her fists into his shoulders. “I came to visit the only place that's ever been home to me! To be close to the only people who ever loved me! Can't you even allow me that?”

“Stop it.” He pulled her into a tight embrace to restrain her pummeling hands. “Be still, Jessie.”

She struggled to escape but he was holding her so tightly, she could hardly move. “Damn you, you've never loved anyone in your life! How would you know what it feels like to lose everything?” His body went as still as ice, but blinded by her own anguish, she paid no attention. “You don't even put flowers on their graves!”

“Shut up. Shut the hell up before you say anything else.” Quiet, frighteningly calm, his tone cut through her pained fury to chill her on the inside.

“Why?” she challenged, refusing to be bullied. “Don't you like hearing the truth?”

He released her so suddenly she almost her balance. “What do you know about the truth?” The words were razor-sharp, edged by blades of contained rage.

“I know your father changed the name of Dumont Station to Angel Station because your mother loved angels and he loved her.” Everyone in Kowhai knew that story.

He swore, harsh and bullet-fast. “Yeah, the great Dumont romance.”

His flippant response bruised her and she didn't quite understand why. “Just because you're made of stone doesn't mean you have the right to mock their love!”

“I have every right!” His voice rose for the first time and he shoved up a shirt-sleeve to bare the faded burn scars on his arm. “I
earned
that right.”

Shocked out of her self-absorption by the sheer depth of his anger, she frowned. “What are you talking about?” Her eyes fell to his scars. “What do your burns have to do with your parents?”

“Everything.” A grim statement.

“But, the fire was an accident.”

His entire demeanor changed in a millisecond. It was like watching a wall descend over his face. Pushing down the sleeve, he jerked his head toward the cars. “Get in. We have to drive back before the rain hits.”

She gripped his arm. “Gabe? What did you mean?” He'd come close to telling her something important.

His answer was to remove her hand and say, “I'll go in front. Follow as close as you can—the tracks can be difficult at night.” None of his earlier fury was now evident but she'd felt the tension thrumming beneath the surface of his skin.

“You can't do this,” she protested. “I'm your wife. I have a right to know about your past.”

“Why do you keep making me remind you of the terms of our marriage?” he asked almost conversationally, eyes black in the darkness. “The only thing you have a right to know is that I can provide a good home for you and the child you agreed to bear me. If you have any doubts about that, I'll show you the accounts tomorrow.”

She knew he was being purposefully cruel in order to block her questions but that didn't make it hurt any less. What she didn't stop to consider was why it hurt. “You're calling me a gold-digger?”

“No, Jess. I always thought it a fair deal. How else could I have found a woman willing to agree to never make any waves in my life?” He opened the door of the Jeep. “So concentrate on doing a better job of keeping up your end of the bargain. I don't want anything else from you.”

* * *

That night, Jess lay awake in her bed, waiting for Gabe to come for her as he always did. But the hours passed and the door between their rooms remained shut. An odd feeling clawed through her veins. Surely she wasn't disappointed? No, of course not. It was simply that she'd wanted a chance to push Gabriel into talking about what he'd alluded to earlier.

“Stop lying to yourself,” she whispered out loud. “Talking is hardly what you do best in bed.” And though it was tempting to place the responsibility for the heavily sexual nature of their marriage on Gabe, she knew she was as much to blame. If she hadn't been so eager a lover, would he have become as demanding?

Kicking off the blankets in a burst of frustration, she folded her arms behind her head. It was obvious that Gabe was very angry over what she'd said tonight. But his wrath had never before stopped him from claiming her. It would seem she'd touched a raw nerve. What she couldn't understand was how.

There was no mystery around the fire—it had been ruled an accident. Then she remembered that it had been the mention of his parents' love that had first set him off. She'd grown up hearing stories of how Stephen Dumont had wed Mary Hannah the day of her high school graduation. Though he'd been fifteen years her senior, they'd become inseparable from day one, and had had four children in quick succession.

Why would the reminder of such a bright love enrage Gabe?

“Stop thinking and start doing, Jess.” Getting up, she pulled on a robe. Gabe might think he'd silenced her with his cruel reference to the terms of their marriage, but she wasn't so easily distracted. Maybe, she thought, remembering his nightmare, she'd come too close to whatever it was that haunted him…hurt him. It was time to find out for certain.

However the master bedroom proved to be empty. Guessing that Gabe hadn't yet come up from his study, she padded downstairs and along the corridor. The light spilling out from the half-open door at the end confirmed her guess.

She placed her fingers on the wood, ready to push it open. Then Gabriel spoke and what he said made her turn to stone.

“She knows nothing about it and it's going to stay that way.” A short silence. “How I handle my wife is my concern.” Another short pause. “No, Sylvie won't say anything. I've already spoken to her.”

Jess stuffed a fist into her mouth to stifle her cry. Gabe had told his secrets to his one-time lover, but he wouldn't even consider telling his wife?

“There won't be a problem. Jess won't rock the boat.”

She began to back away from the door, trying to not make a sound.
God, she was stupid
. If Gabriel's earlier statements hadn't made it perfectly clear, it was obvious from the way he'd just spoken that he really did consider her nothing more than a convenience. A wife who'd give him a child and otherwise stay out of his life. A wife who'd never
rock the boat
. And here she'd come down with some half-baked notion of helping him face his demons.

“So concentrate on doing a better job of keeping up your end of the bargain. I don't want anything else from you.”

Why had she rationalized away that statement? The question tormented Jess as she made her way to her studio. Once inside, she turned on the light and shut the door but refused to give in to the urge to cry, though it thrust a knife through her to think of Gabe sharing his secrets with Sylvie. That was a reaction she didn't want to examine too closely.

Because it could not be allowed to continue. At least tonight's humiliation had finally screwed her head on straight, crushing the fragile dreams she'd unconsciously begun to build despite everything she'd told herself to the contrary. The only way she was going to survive this marriage was to do as Gabe had done and bury her emotions so deep, nothing and no one could ever reach her.

Picking up a brush almost automatically, she began to put the final touches on Damon's portrait. Minutes, maybe longer passed. She was composed enough to not betray anything when the door snicked open and Gabe walked in.

“I thought you were asleep.”

She made no effort to hide the portrait as he came around to stand beside her. He stared at it without speaking as she made the last stroke and stepped back. “Finished.”

“Yes,” Gabe agreed, a tightness to his tone she had no trouble reading. “That part of your life is over.”

Putting away the palette and brush, she checked her hands and found not a speck of paint on them. “As your relationship with Sylvie is over?” She regretted the words the second they were out—obviously, she wasn't as good as Gabriel at shutting off her emotions. “Forget it.”

“I'm not sleeping with anyone but you,” was his blunt rejoinder.

“I said forget it.” Having tidied up, she was ready to leave but Gabe blocked her way.

Leaning in, he curled a strand of her hair around his fingers, then released it. “I don't think I want to. Are you jealous, Jess?” He almost sounded amused but there was an intensity to his eyes that held not laughter but a wealth of unrelenting hunger.

That quickly, the atmosphere shifted from edgy to lushly sensual. When he bent his head to hers, she stood her ground with a sense of fatalism. He'd hurt her with the way he'd dismissed her so easily, hurt her so much. But at this moment, she couldn't move away and part of her despised herself for it. The rest of her ached for his touch.

If the harsh jangle of the phone hadn't torn the passionate web to pieces, she might yet have surrendered the remaining tatters of her pride.