Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols

of the anger drained from her face. “What did he do?”

      Jace fired the engine, lowered his window and shut the door.

      “Tell me,” she insisted, her breath clouding before her. “You can’t drop something like that in my lap, then leave.”

      Shaking his head, he dropped the SUV into gear. “You’ll have to ask him. Then ask him if it made a damn bit of difference.”

      Minutes later, she was pulling her father away from his plumed and ruffled fiancée and doing just what Jace had suggested. She didn’t let go of him until they’d reached a vacant back table littered with coffee cups, confetti and sparkling Mardi Gras beads. “What did you do to Jace?”

      Morgan Winslow stared down at his daughter, tension still glinting in his dark eyes. At nearly six feet, with a thickening jaw and midsection, he appeared to be in no mood to be cross-examined by his only child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m still angry with you for running after that presumptuous wood hick. He may have cleaned up on the outside, but underneath that rented tuxedo he’s still trailer trash.”

      “Dad, stop it. What did you do to him? And don’t say nothing, because I know better. He’s still angry, and that anger’s directed at you, not me—though God knows I deserve it.”

      “It was nothing. He came to me for a business loan, and for the sake of the stockholders, I had to act responsibly. He simply resents the fact that I turned him down.”

      “No. There’s more to it than that. How did you turn him down? What did you say to him?”

      For a moment she doubted that he’d reply. Then he said in a righteous tone, “I told him that my bank didn’t loan money to people who couldn’t pay it back—that his background made him a bad credit risk, and that he wouldn’t get the money from any other bank in town, either.”

      Abbie’s jaw sagged. “And you made sure of that?”

      He didn’t answer, but Abbie knew it was so. Then she took into account Jace’s bearing, his clothing, the new SUV he drove and the high price tag on this annual charity event…and she knew he’d done well with his life. “He got the loan anyway, didn’t he?” she said. “Somewhere out of town? And his credit was flawless, wasn’t it?”

      Morgan’s gaze hardened. “I don’t know a thing about the man or his business.”

      Abbie released a tattered breath. “Dear God, no wonder he’s angry. You’re still making him pay for that night in the gazebo.”

      “I prefer not to think about that night, if you don’t mind. Now, let’s return to our table. Dr. Bryant, Miriam and the others will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

      Abbie shook her head. “You go ahead. Suddenly I don’t feel much like partying. I’m going back to the house.”

      “Now? It’s not even ten o’clock. And how do you propose to do that? This isn’t Los Angeles. You won’t find a cab here.”

      She knew that. Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, wasn’t large enough to support a taxi service. “I’ll walk.”

      Anger flashed through her father’s eyes again. They both knew she couldn’t walk the three miles to the Winslow home in the dark, especially dressed the way she was.

      Taking the keys to his Lexus from his pocket, he spoke impatiently. “I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well, and ride back with Miriam.”

      Abbie accepted the keys. Everyone would know that was a lie, but at this point, she didn’t care. Suddenly her mind was reeling with questions, and they all concerned Jace. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dad.”

      Twenty minutes later, Abbie had reset the security system, pulled on a robe and was curled in the deep-violet chair beside the white nightstand in her bedroom. Eagerly, she pulled the phone book from the drawer. Her mother had decorated the room when she was in high school, and it was still lovely. Over the years, her dad had suggested that they remodel, but Abbie had steadfastly refused. She loved the white walls and violet-sprinkled pattern on the fussy voile curtains, bedspread and pillow shams. Loved the plush, deep-violet rugs on the hardwood floor. Not because she still gravitated toward the frilly. She loved it because her mother had worked so hard to make it pretty for her, and sometimes she still missed her mom terribly.

      Abbie flipped quickly through the phone book’s pages to the Rs, and seconds later, found a listing for Rogan Logging & Lumber. The location was the same as the company Jace had worked for right out of high school. The place they’d met her senior year. She’d needed information on the lumber industry for a term paper, and the company’s owner, Jim Freemont, had assigned Jace the job of answering her questions and showing her around.

      The chemistry between them had been swift, nerve-thrumming and irresistible. To his credit—and Abbie’s frustration—while she was in high school, Jace had never let it go beyond a few hungry kisses. He was older and blue-collar, he’d told her. She was Morgan Winslow’s college-bound princess.

      Swallowing, Abbie turned to the yellow pages and read his ad.

      Wholesale Timber and Kiln-dried Lumber. We Deliver Locally.

      Below that, in smaller print, it read:

      Owned and Operated by Ty & J.C. Rogan.

      A warm run of satisfaction moved through her. He’d bought out his boss. And he’d done it despite her father’s best efforts to stop him.

      Abbie slipped the book back into the drawer, her mind turning back to that warm August night before she’d returned to college to start her sophomore year. How far Jace had come since then. How far they’d both come.

      She’d tried not to think about that night after she’d gone back to school. It had hurt and shamed her too much to dwell on what she’d done.

      She’d never regretted making love with him; that part had been wonderful, because after the quick flash of pain, she’d been awash with such feelings of tenderness and completion, she’d wanted to stay in his arms forever. But it wasn’t to be.

      The room blurred as tears filled her eyes and suddenly Abbie saw her father step through the patio door to see why the pool lights were on. “Abbie? Abbie! Are you out here?”

      Oh, yes…she’d been there. Forty short yards away in the gazebo, she’d pressed a horrified finger to Jace’s lips and prayed that, without an answer, her dad would go back inside and they’d have a chance to dress. Then her father started up the knoll toward them, and she’d had to beg him not to come any closer.

      Her dad’s disillusionment when they finally appeared turned to rage when he saw she’d been with Jillie Rae Rogan’s bastard son. Especially since weeks before, he’d seen them talking at the fair and warned Abbie to stay away from him. When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.

      “You knew I’d be home by eleven,” Abbie heard her father thunder again, speaking as if Jace wasn’t there. “You wanted me to see this! Dammit, Abbie, you deliberately dragged that kid back here to rub my nose in it!”

      The betrayal in Jace’s eyes nearly destroyed her. “Jace, he’s wrong!” she’d cried. “I swear it!”

      “Am I?” her father raved on. “You’ve been rebellious all summer. Well, fine. From now on you make your own choices and to hell with what I think. But if you ever see him again, you’ll never get another dime from me for your education. You want to go back to college? You want to go to law school? It’s your choice. Just remember that his mother was a whore and he’ll never be anything better!” Then, swiping a dismissing hand in the air, he’d stalked back to the house. A moment later, Jace was gone, too.

      Abbie lolled her head back in the violet chair, tears running from the corners of her eyes, feeling as spent tonight as she’d felt fourteen years ago. He’d never let her explain. Not then, not when she’d phoned