You, And No Other. Lynda Sandoval

second. He had pictured spending this day lording over the Gulchers in repayment for having always passed unfair judgment on him and his mother.

      It wasn’t working that way.

      To his shock, everyone so far had been gracious.

      Genuinely, or so it seemed. Certainly it had something to do with the fact that he had money now, his inner cynic whispered. He should be happy they were welcoming, regardless of the reason, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the emotion. Wealthy or not, he still didn’t belong.

      With a yank on one diamond-and-platinum-cuff-linked sleeve, then the other, he frowned at his inner turmoil. Throughout all of his extensive planning, he hadn’t foreseen the strangeness of being back in the town he despised after so many years. It defied simple description. After all he’d accomplished in the computer world, he hadn’t banked on feeling like that same unwanted outsider, that shame-filled kid who’d tried so hard to blend in.

      Shoot, with the staggering amount of money he’d just handed over to the hospital board, they ought to give him the key to the damn city and rename the main road after him. And yet, a small part of him felt somehow … undeserving.

      Which was bull, of course. But the town stripped him of confidence, seemingly without trying.

      The hand-tailored suit he wore cost more than twelve months’ rent on that dilapidated trailer he’d spent his high-school years living in. So why did he still feel like the lonely, misjudged teenager from the bad side of town wearing secondhand jeans from the thrift shop?

      He flinched. Stop it.

      The surreal feelings churning inside him threatened to ruin everything. He clenched his jaw and fought to shake them off. The fact was, he’d more than succeeded in his life despite overwhelming odds, and no insular little Podunk town should be able to diminish that, not even Troublesome Gulch.

      Cagney’s town.

       Cagney.

      A familiar flash of pain, followed by a roar of self-preserving anger. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment. Okay, she was the problem, and the honest part of him knew it.

      He had loved her more than anything in this world, opened up to her like he hadn’t done with anyone before or since, and she’d ruthlessly trampled his heart. He never wanted to feel that kind of pain again.

      The merciless part of him hoped she still lived here, though he knew she’d hear about this spectacle either way. And when it was all over, he hoped she felt this precision cut all the way down to the bone. God knew, his wounds at her hand were still festering, and paybacks were … well, everyone knew exactly what they were.

      He had learned that her bastard of a father still ran his dictatorship in the Gulch, and knowing this whole thing would infuriate the old man provided some consolation. But mostly, he focused on Cagney.

      And yet, a twinge of … something … nagged at him.

      Regret? Conscience? Self-doubt? Whatever it was, the fact that it detracted from this all-important day annoyed him. He deserved this. More importantly, she deserved this.

      Being back in the Gulch brought forth the kid he used to be, and the problem was, it shook him. He never thought he’d end up being the kind of man who’d seek retribution, but prom night—that deep betrayal—had killed something innocent inside him. His heart had shattered and his soul hardened in one fell swoop, and he’d vowed to show them all one day that Jonas Eberhardt couldn’t be shoved aside like so much trash.

      Every single decision he’d made in his adult life had led him toward this day, this place, this chance to subtly smack down a few people and set the record straight. He’d lived for this goal, worthy or not, so he’d better quash the unexpected doubt immediately or he’d miss out on the glory moment.

      Reaching into his jacket pocket, he wrapped his hand around the talisman he always carried. In previous times of self-doubt, it had always given him strength of purpose. Power. Now it fueled him for what lay ahead. An eye for an eye, just as it should be. He’d make his point—one only Cagney would fully grasp—and then he’d hightail it out of Troublesome Gulch for the second time and never look back.

      Score: even.

      This town had made it abundantly clear what they thought of him twelve years ago, and his current financial status wouldn’t change that—at least not for him. Today, despite his unexpected maelstrom of feelings and no matter how many millions it cost him, the last word would be his. The awkward feelings would dissipate eventually, and money had never mattered to him anyway.

      Cagney mostly tuned out Walt Hennessy—master of verbosity—as he dragged out the introduction until it made the worst of Oscar-night speeches seem like breezy, witty blips.

      Get on with it, she wanted to yell.

      The table in front of the podium held some large lumpy thing covered with billowy, red fabric, and she could see most eyes focused on that rather than Hennessy. No doubt it was an architect’s rendering of the proposed supersecret wing. Surely that would be more interesting than old Walt’s incessant prattle.

      After several more minutes of pointless effusing, Hennessy nodded to his four underlings, who were poised to unveil the model. They moved into position, each grasping a corner of the red cloth.

      “Without further ado, I’d like to bring out the man who is making this all possible, one of Troublesome Gulch’s own.”

      Wait a minute—a Gulcher? That was an unexpected twist. Cagney’s curiosity was piqued, and she angled a bit closer. Who could it be? More importantly, how had this mysterious Gulcher walked amongst them and still kept the secret? Everybody knew secrets were impossible in the Gulch.

      “Before that, however, I’d like you all to take a look at what will be the crowning jewel of High Country Medical Center.” He paused dramatically, then spoke in a booming voice, arms spread wide. “The Ava Eberhardt Memorial Art Therapy Wing. Gentlemen?”

      The cloth billowed back, and everyone erupted into applause and cheers and excited conversation. Cameras flashed. People shouldered closer, craning their necks and jockeying for a better view.

      All Cagney could do was stand frozen and replay Hennessy’s incomprehensible words in her brain.

      Ava Eberhardt?

      Memorial?

      Art therapy?

      The thud of her heart literally hurt; she couldn’t feel her extremities. Her mind raced and her blood chilled. Jonas’s mother hadn’t exactly been an icon of Troublesome Gulch society—far from it. So, who could the benefactor be but—

      “And, the man making it all possible, Troublesome Gulch’s own prodigal son, Mr. Jonas Eberhardt.”

      Cagney gasped. Stars filled her vision until she feared she’d pass out.

      The curtains behind the elaborate outdoor dais opened revealing none other than the boy she saw in her dreams every single night. A boy life had chiseled into an incredibly gorgeous—and apparently filthy rich—man. A boy who had listened to and encouraged all her dreams of creating art and helping people, of combining the two into a career, yet who’d left her in the hospital after the devastating prom night crash without so much as a phone call or a get-well balloon. A boy who’d broken her heart, and yet, despite that, the one person she’d never stopped loving.

      Jonas had returned.

      Her knees melted to nothing. She wobbled toward the nearest parked vehicle—a Ford pickup—and sank onto the front bumper, sucking air and trying to regain her equilibrium. A myriad of emotions swirled through her. Excitement. Fear. Wonder. Resentment. Anger.

      Why?

      Why had Jonas come back after all these years? Why—and how—was he funding, of all things, an art therapy wing at the hospital when that career field had been her dream, not his? More importantly, why hadn’t