Texas Pride (12 page)

He'd had enough of this. He was done lying.

Somewhere, at the other end of town, Dylan heard Hannibal barking insistently, but he ignored the dog. He took Jessica by the arm and dragged her away from the back door of the church where anyone else might hear. “We need to talk,” he said tersely.

Brow furrowed, she stared at him. He hadn't a clue what to say. “Jessica—”

She lifted a hand to cut him off, turning her head as she listened to Hannibal's bark. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Dylan,” she said slowly, fearfully. “Something's wrong.”

Something
was
wrong, he realized. Hannibal's bark demanded attention.

“Oh, my God! Dylan!” She looked over his shoulder. “No!”

He spun around, and his heart jumped into his throat.

Smoke billowed from the saloon.

“Fire!” he screamed to the crew. He was already running for the saloon with Jessica at his heels as the kids spilled out of the church. “Get the extinguishers,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Jessica's mind raced, and she felt as if she was moving in slow motion. Thick black smoke poured from the saloon's double swinging doors. Hannibal was backing away from them, barking at the billowing cloud as if it were a living creature.

It was her greatest fear. An uncontrolled fire could destroy Makeshift in minutes. In his blueprints, Dylan had included a complete system of alarms and sprinklers, but there'd been no time yet to install them. As a precaution, though, every building had at least two extinguishers.

She couldn't lose it all now, not when she was so close. She started to run into the saloon, but a pair of strong arms grabbed her roughly and hauled her back.

“Where do you think you're going?” Dylan yelled.

“I've got to get in there,” she yelled back, trying to pull away from him. Smoke curled around them, burning her eyes, and the sound of flames crackled from inside the building.

He held her tightly. “The hell you do.”

Larry and Pete ran up, carrying extinguishers. She stumbled backward as Dylan let go of her and grabbed one of the cans. “Don't come in unless I call for you,” he said to the two young men, then gestured at Jessica. “And if she takes one step closer, lock her in the jailhouse.”

They nodded, then looked at her apologetically.

Furious, she watched helplessly as Dylan drew a deep breath and dove through the black cloud. She heard the squall of the extinguisher and the heavy stomp of boots. The smoke intensified.

The rest of the crew showed up, all of them carrying extinguishers they'd gathered from other buildings. They stood in a line, quietly watching, waiting for a sign from Dylan. Even Hannibal had stopped barking and sat watching, his head tilted as he stared into the saloon.

Jessica's fear turned to panic.

“Dylan!”

No answer. She started to move toward the doors, but the boys grabbed her.
“Dylan!”

She struggled, calling his name. The fire, and what it might do to Makeshift, no longer mattered to her. Dylan was all that mattered. She twisted sharply away from her captors, catching them off guard, then ran straight through the doors and smack into Dylan's wide chest. His arms came around her. Coughing, he lifted her off the ground and dragged her back outside into the middle of the street.

“Dylan!” She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Thank God.”

“I thought I told you to stay outside,” he said hoarsely, gasping as he drew in air.

“You have a lot to learn about me, Dylan Grant, if you think I can be bossed around so easily.” She stepped back and ran her hands over his arms, checking him for burns. Soot smeared his face and clothes, and the smell of smoke clung to him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I caught it before any serious flames could get started. A few more minutes, though, and the place would've gone up like dry kindling.”

Hannibal nudged his way between them, licking Dylan's hand. Jessica knelt down and hugged the dog. “Thank you, boy. You and Dylan saved the town.” She looked up at the others. “You were all terrific. If you hadn't moved so fast, we could have lost Makeshift.”

They all grinned, then shifted modestly. “You know what caused it?” Pete asked.

Dylan shook his head. “Not yet. Once the smoke clears, I'll check it out. You can all get back to work now. I'll take care of things here.”

Excitement over, the boys shuffled back to the church. Jessica's heart was still pounding hard as she faced Dylan again. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close, but the tight expression she saw on his face stopped her. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, instead. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“What were you thinking?” he said tightly. “A roof could've collapsed. The smoke could've gotten you. Dammit,” he said, his voice softening, “you could've been hurt.”

Surprised by the concern in his voice, Jessica went still. She felt the heavy thud of her heart as she lifted her gaze to his. “I wasn't hurt.”

“Maybe not this time,” he said, his eyes searching her face.

“What do you mean, not this time?”

“I mean—” his lips thinned and he stepped closer “—this was no accident.”

* * *

She couldn't sleep. She heard the steady tick of her bedside clock, Hannibal's deep breathing, the persistent creaking common to all old buildings.

The sounds were magnified tonight, as was her awareness of the man sleeping in the room next to hers. She couldn't erase the image of him running into the smoke, the seconds that felt like hours when he hadn't come back out. Her heart still slammed in her chest every time she thought of what might have happened if the fire had been more serious.

This was no accident.

Dylan's words still pounded in her brain. The thought of someone intentionally starting a fire was inconceivable. She couldn't believe it. She refused to believe it.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped out of bed, tugged on her robe, then quietly made her way down the stairs. She could have used a flashlight or turned on one of the lights Dylan had installed in the hallway, but she preferred the darkness. Even as a child she'd never been afraid of the dark. She'd always found a comfort in the quiet blanket of night. That was when she could see the stars, and here in Makeshift, there were millions of them.

She moved silently into the kitchen, closing the door behind her as she fumbled for the light.

A hand reached out and grabbed her, then threw her against the wall.

“D
ylan!”

Heart pounding, Jessica realized it was Dylan who held her securely against the wall. She felt his hard body press against hers, heard the sound of his rapid breathing, then a muttered curse as he loosened his grip. Still, he did not release her completely, and she let her body slump.

“You scared me to death!” she said, breathless.

“What are you doing sneaking around in the dark?” he asked.

He gripped her wrists more tightly, pinning her to the wall. The coarse texture of his hands on her skin sent shivers up her spine.

Either one of them could have pulled away and turned on a light. They didn't. They stood there, torso to torso, his face inches from hers.

She couldn't see him in the blackness, but she'd never been more aware of a man in her life. The darkness did that, she thought dimly. Changed a person's focus. In the darkness there was nothing but feelings, a honing of the senses. Her pulse raced, her skin tightened. His breath was like a warm feather skimming her neck, and she caught the faint scent of whiskey.

“Having a little midnight nip?” She forced a light tone into her voice. She felt more than saw his answering smile. She held her breath as he moved closer, bringing his lips a whisper from hers.

“A little nip never hurt anyone,” he murmured.

Anticipation shimmered through her as his mouth hovered close. With a will of their own, her lips parted and her eyes slowly closed.

Dylan felt Jessica's body soften against his, felt the rise and fall of her breasts. A hunger consumed him that neither food nor drink could ever quench. Only
she
could. When he actually considered pressing his lips to hers, Dylan knew he'd had too much to drink. Or perhaps too little.

He released her slowly, then flicked on the light. They both blinked.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping away and shoving a hand through his hair. “I'm a little edgy tonight.”

She pulled her robe tightly around her. “Because of today?”

Because of today. Because of her. Because she could have been hurt in the fire and the thought terrified him. That was what had driven him down here. His fear. That she might yet be hurt. If not by someone else, then most certainly by him.

“Those oil-soaked rags didn't get in that saloon by accident, Jessica.” He eased down into a chair at the table where a shot glass sat beside a whiskey bottle.

“They could've been there a long time.” She took the chair beside him. “Maybe the weather or the humidity set them off. Or maybe an animal dragged them in to set up a nest.”

He shook his head. “I can't believe that.”

“Dylan, none of my kids would've done anything like that. There has to be another explanation.”

“We already went over all this at dinner. And I never said the kids did it.”

She still didn't want to believe it. “So who, then?”

“If I knew, I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here. I'd have my fist in someone's face.”

He refilled the shot glass and held it out to her. Their fingers touched as she took the drink from him.

“My mother used to make me hot chocolate with little marshmallows when I couldn't sleep.” She stared at the glass.

“Somehow,” he drawled, “I can't quite picture marshmallows in whiskey, but I'll try to rustle some up for you if it helps.”

She looked at him, and the crooked grin on his face had her smiling. “Maybe next time.”

Somehow she knew there wouldn't be very many next times with Dylan. He'd made it clear he wasn't a man who stayed put.

“Tell me about your mother,” he asked quietly.

She took a sip of the whiskey and grimaced. “She was a beautiful woman, small and slender. My brothers and father towered over her, but she only had to give a look and they toed the line. My father worshiped her. Her death devastated him.”

“And you?”

A heartbeat of silence passed between them. “I adored her. She always knew the right thing to say and when to say it. I missed that when she was gone. She used to wake me every morning and say, ‘Wake up, Jess, it's a beautiful day.'” She stared at the glass in her hand. “It didn't matter if there was a thunderstorm, she always said the same thing, ‘Wake up, Jess,'” she repeated softly, “‘it's a beautiful day.'”

It had been a long time since she'd thought about that. And though the words brought an ache to her chest and moisture to her eyes, there was comfort in them, as well. “I was angry after that. Angry because everyone had lied to me about her dying. Angry because she was gone. Angry my father married another woman. My grades dropped and I started to hang with different kids. I was sneaking out at night, coming home late.”

Dylan took the glass from her hand and downed the remaining liquor, then refilled it and pressed it back into her fingers. “You turned out okay. Better than okay,” he added with a grin.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “There was a big question over the issue in that period of my life. I spent a lot of time here at Makeshift. It was my own special place. Even as a child I'd felt good here, that I belonged here.” Her smiled faded. “But I came here with the wrong kids. Before I knew it, they were bringing alcohol here, and drugs.”

Dylan watched Jessica's eyes narrow as she remembered. “One of the guys, Tim, brought some marijuana, and another one, Bobby, a bottle of vodka. I was too stupid to realize what they were up to, but after I had a few sips of alcohol, I caught on real quick. I tried to get away from them, but they were stronger than me.”

Dylan felt as if a fist were squeezing his chest. He tensed, waiting to hear what happened, yet not wanting to hear.

“What they had in mind,” she continued, “wasn't what I intended at all. I started to panic. All I could think about was how disappointed my mother would be. How disappointed I was in myself.”

Dylan barely managed to contain the rage that poured through his body. She held his gaze, though he suspected she wasn't truly looking at him.

“And then the most incredible thing happened,” she said. “I wasn't afraid anymore. I stopped struggling, calmly looked at both of them and told them if they didn't let go of me they'd be sorry. Of course they only laughed.”

She smiled slowly. “Then, as if someone was lifting my arm for me, I swung my fist and hit Tim. He flew across the room and smashed into the wall. Stunned, Bobby just stood there. I simply touched him, one finger to his chest, and it sent him sprawling. Gave him a broken nose.”

Dylan frowned at her. “I don't understand.”

She leaned closer. “It's what I've been trying to tell you, Dylan. It was Lucas. He wouldn't let anyone hurt me. He's always been here for me. That's why I'm not afraid here. And that's why I've got to build this center. For all those kids who need a place to go, to be with someone who understands. Someone who can whisper each morning, ‘Wake up, it's a beautiful day,' even when it's not.”

Dylan could only stare. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes were midnight blue, dark with earnestness. He had no idea what to make of her story, but he knew she believed it from the depths of her heart. He wanted to believe, too, but it was so incredible, so farfetched, reason refused to accept it.

But there was no reason with this woman. Only the sweet sensation of her compelling beauty, inside and out, drawing him closer even as he pulled away.

Setting the glass down, he gave in to the need to touch her and took her hand in his. It was cool and soft in his palm. “Jessica, if someone is trying to undermine this project, you aren't safe here.”

She tensed at his words, but her eyes held his. “You're here,” she said quietly.

Frustration and desire had him aching for her. That she would trust him like that, look to him for safety, brought forth a fierce primitive need to protect, to shelter this woman from any person who might harm her.

He'd almost told her the truth earlier, before the fire had stopped him. And now the time was hardly right. As if the time would ever be right, he thought with a sigh. He had to talk to Jake and Jared as soon as possible, but with Jared on his honeymoon, that wouldn't be until Christmas.

He realized how tightly he was holding her hand and released it. “And what if I wasn't here?” he asked.

A long moment passed between them. Then she blinked slowly and straightened with a shrug. “I managed before you came here, Dylan. I'll manage after you've gone.”

The truth of her words, spoken with such cool indifference, had him grinding his teeth. He wanted to shake her.

He wanted to kiss her senseless and drag her upstairs.

But he
would
be leaving. They both knew that. It was wrong to pretend otherwise. “And how exactly do you plan to
manage
if someone decides this town ain't big enough for the two of you?”

“I've got Hannibal.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You expect a dog to protect you out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I seem to recall it was Hannibal who warned us about the fire this afternoon. We'd be sitting in ashes right now if it wasn't for him.” She stood, her shoulders rigid as she faced him. “But the fact is, what I do or don't expect is really no concern of yours, Dylan. And while I admit that some of my decisions may be bad ones, they're still my decisions. I'll live with the consequences.”

His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. He knew she was talking about him now, about the night they'd made love. She'd neatly labeled him in the category of “bad decisions.” And while he understood, he sure as hell didn't like it.

“That's what I want to make sure of, Jessica.” He lifted his glass to his lips and downed the contents. “That you live, consequences or not.”

* * *

The church was finished Christmas Eve day. Late-afternoon sun streamed in through the new leaded windows, and the freshly varnished pews and floor shone brightly. Jessica set the pair of crystal candle holders that had been her great-grandmother's on the altar, then draped a pine bough over the corners.

“Merry Christmas, Lucas and Meggie,” she whispered, and stood back to admire the church. A sudden breeze floated through the room, stirring the crystal teardrops on the candlesticks and creating a tinkly musical sound. Jessica smiled. “You're welcome.”

Humming “Here Comes Santa Claus,” she turned and headed for the hotel, where the crew had gone ahead to wash up for eggnog, punch and sodas. She'd also made popcorn and holiday cookies, and wrapped a small gift for each of the kids. They'd worked hard to finish the church by Christmas, and she appreciated it more than she could say.

But none had worked harder than Dylan. Other than brief meals where strained silence had prevailed, she'd barely seen him since that night in the kitchen. And while she suspected that his diligence had a great deal to do with avoiding her, she also wanted to believe that he'd put in the extra hours because he, too, had wanted to see the church completed by tomorrow, and that Makeshift had become more than just another job to him.

Or that she'd become more than just another woman.

It was a dangerous thought, she knew. Dylan had made it clear he had no intention of staying on here. If she let herself fantasize that his physical attraction might grow into anything beyond that, she was setting herself up for the fall of a lifetime. She knew instinctively that once she gave her heart to Dylan, there'd be no turning back.

But she wanted marriage and a family, not a casual affair. Her plans did not include pining away for a lost love. It would take her some time to forget him, but she would, she resolved, though the ache in her chest argued with her. She'd have a wedding here in Makeshift in the church he'd rebuilt, and she'd have children.

She'd nearly reached the hotel when Hannibal came bounding down the sidewalk. He barked sharply when he saw her, then turned and headed back to the hotel. He stopped at the doorway, barked again, then disappeared inside.

Frowning, Jessica followed the dog. No doubt he wanted a cookie. The beast hadn't taken his eyes off the tray when she'd pulled it out of the oven.

When she stepped into the hotel lobby, her breath caught.

The boys all stood around a Christmas tree that nearly touched the twelve-foot ceiling. There were no decorations on the tree, but the branches were full and green and the scent of pine filled the hotel. She stared at the tree, then looked at the young men. They were all grinning to beat the band. Dylan stood off to the side, his arms folded and a crooked smile on his face.

Larry took a step forward and jammed his hands into his pockets. “We knew you didn't have time to get out for a tree, so we all pitched in and bought you one. Sorry there's no decorations. We sort of forgot about that.”

“It's beautiful,” she whispered, and reached out to touch one fragrant branch. “I don't know what to say.”

“It was Dean's idea,” Pete said, nudging the dark-haired kid.

Jessica smiled at the blush on Dean's face. “Thank you. All of you.”

Tony pulled out a twig of mistletoe and, with a big grin, held it over his head. Laughing, Jessica kissed each boy on the cheek as the mistletoe was passed around. She hesitated when Pete handed the twig to Dylan.

“Go on, Jessica,” the kids taunted. “Dylan helped set the tree up, too.”

His dark gaze met hers, almost daring her, and the smile on his lips was challenging. She rose on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek, but he turned at the last minute and swooped down on her, circling her with his arms as he slanted his mouth against hers. The boys cheered and whistled, then clapped when Dylan finally released her.

She felt her face burn. And though his kiss infuriated her, it had also aroused her. That infuriated her all the more.