His Touch. Mary Baxter Lynn

what he saw as a betrayal. He hadn’t forgiven her, either, for not relinquishing her hold over his money.

      Too bad. Roy would just have to continue to live within his means instead of outside them. After all, he was thirty-three years old, with a responsible job at a respected computer firm, making good money. And he wasn’t married. She couldn’t imagine why he was always broke.

      Booze, she suspected. Or worse.

      But that wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t her problem, and she refused to let herself worry about him. While she would help him, had helped him, she refused to further indulge his taste for the high life. If she did, he would soon be broke.

      Holding to that thought, Jessica got up and finished undressing, then stepped into the shower. Shortly afterward she climbed into bed, but sleep eluded her.

      Tossing back the sheet, she crossed to the computer and reached for the switch, only to hesitate. Then, furious with herself for letting her nemesis win, she clicked it on. If there were any messages from him, she would have to face them sooner or later.

      She had several messages, the last one from her cowardly enemy. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to read the words.

      You Stink-Ass Bitch. You’re Not Much Longer

      For This World.

      Another threat. Sick to her stomach, Jessica shut down the computer and began pacing the floor. Brant Harding? Was he the answer? The only answer? Just thinking about him and his strong appeal made her uneasy, though certainly in a different way. Yet she had to admit, there was also something about him that made her feel safe and secure. Her instincts told her he would take care of her.

      Or did that feeling stem from something else—a more basic instinct?

      Shrugging that absurd thought aside, Jessica paused in her thoughts and in her pacing. It was just that she felt so alone, so incredibly lonely. So frightened. Maybe if she and Porter had had a child… What was wrong with her? Her husband hadn’t wanted another child, nor had she. She had never thought of herself in terms of motherhood, anyway, probably because her own mother hadn’t set all that great an example.

      Jessica’s eyes darted to the picture of her mother, father, sister and herself that she kept on the secretary in her bedroom, the only picture still in existence of them as a family. She had hidden this one from her mother’s vicious rampage. She had never figured out why, since that time in her life had been one of the most painful.

      Even now, just thinking about that fateful day when she’d learned her father had abandoned them, her breathing turned labored and the room spun. Time had never softened that blow.

      She had been barely seven years old and had walked into the kitchen one summer morning to eat breakfast. Her mother had been sitting at the table, sobbing.

      “Mommy, what’s wrong?” she had asked, racing up to her.

      “Your father’s gone, that’s what,” Opal had spat. “The sorry coward just walked out, leaving nothing behind but this lousy note.” She held it up, then proceeded to rip the paper into tiny pieces.

      

      “Don’t cry,” Jessica pleaded. “He’ll be back. He’s just gone to work.”

      “No, he hasn’t!” Opal cried again, then, grabbing her, shook her until her teeth banged together. “Don’t you understand? He’s gone forever.”

      “No,” she whimpered, after her mother turned her loose, though her little heart was beating so hard she found it difficult to speak. “He loves us. He wouldn’t do that.” Huge tears spilled from her eyes and soaked her cheeks.

      “He hates us!” Opal cried, her features twisted with bitterness. “Don’t you ever forget that. And don’t ever mention his name again. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. You hear that? He’s dead.”

      Fearing her mother was going to grab her again, Jessica stepped out of harm’s way, whirled and ran to her room, where she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. Then she got up and went to the window that overlooked the front yard. She stood there all day and night waiting for her daddy to come back home.

      He never did.

      From then on, her life was never the same. Her mother changed, turned into a mistrusting, bitter woman who continually bad-mouthed men, instilling in both her girls how important it was for them to stand on their own, never to trust or depend on a man for anything, especially their livelihood.

      Jessica had taken that lesson to heart, rarely ever dating until she went to college. Even then, she had only one serious relationship, which failed when she refused to marry the boy.

      Only after she graduated from law school and began practicing law had she dated anyone else seriously, and that was Porter. That had been a giant step for her.

      

      Scar tissue covered a portion of her heart. And every so often thoughts of her mother and that awful day would prick that tissue and reopen the wound. She would hemorrhage from the heart again.

      Like now. Feeling the wetness on her face, Jessica grabbed a tissue out of the box. This weak display of emotions would never do. The tears resulted from the havoc she was going through, mainly the threats against her.

      Once that was fixed, her life would surely revert to normal. So how was she going to stop the menace? Simple. Do what she should already have done.

      With a resigned sigh, Jessica reached for the phone and punched out the Nashes’ phone number, praying she wasn’t making a big mistake.

      Six

      He would rather have a root canal than be confined indoors, doing what he’d sworn he would never do again. Brant thought he had learned long ago never to say never. He guessed he hadn’t.

      He could look for a scapegoat all he wanted, but there wasn’t any. He had no one to blame but himself for letting his conscience overrule his sound judgment. A cynical smile altered his lips.

      Face it, Harding, you don’t have a conscience.

      He had lost that years ago. Yet something was sure as hell playing pull and tug with his insides or he wouldn’t be in this predicament. His son. He was that something. If it hadn’t been for Elliot, he wouldn’t have fallen victim to Thurmon’s arm twisting in the first place.

      But dammit, wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to do any good or change one thing. Besides, it wasn’t like him to look back. Maybe that had to do with the fact that he was a trained marksman whose eyes were always ahead, on the target.

      He admitted that part of his ill humor stemmed from the improbability of the situation that had again sneaked up on him and bitten him in the rear.

      He really hadn’t expected her to call. In fact he’d been stunned. After their encounter the day before, he’d figured he would be making plans to see Elliot, then return to Arkansas.

      Brant wondered what happened to make her change her mind. When she’d called the Nashes’ house and told him he had the job, she had asked him to meet her at her office the following morning. Early.

      He was there at the appointed time. He suspected she was, too, alone behind closed doors. Not a good idea. Brant peered at his watch just as the door to her office opened and Jessica walked out.

      “Thank you for coming, Mr. Harding,” she said in her cool, polite manner.

      It was obvious she wasn’t any happier with the situation today than yesterday. She wasn’t happy with him or what he represented, that was the bottom line. Too bad. She got the entire package, whether she wanted it or not.

      “I’m willing to make this as painless as possible for both of us,” he responded in the same tone.

      An uneasy silence fell between them.

      Her assistant picked