Confessions: He's The Rich Boy / He's My Soldier Boy. Lisa Jackson

I gave Mr. Monroe to invest is gone.”

      “Gone?” Ben cried. “Gone where?”

      George shrugged. “The investment didn’t pan out.”

      “What do you mean, ‘didn’t pan out’?” Ben demanded, and Nadine’s stomach squeezed so hard, it hurt. “Where did it go? To old man Monroe’s pockets? To pay for one of his mistresses? To send his son to a private school?” Ben’s face was flushed, his eyes flashing fire.

      “Now, hold on. I knew the investment was risky,” their father admitted, and Donna made a small whimpering sound. She leaned against the sink for support. “That’s the only way to make money—big money. The bigger the payoff, the riskier the investment.”

      “What investment?”

      “Oil wells.”

      “Oh, God,” Donna whispered.

      “You mean dry wells?” Ben demanded.

      Nadine felt sorry for her father as he nodded curtly and said, “It appears that way.”

      “But who says so? Monroe?”

      “I saw the geological survey,” their father replied. “There’s nothin’ there but an empty hole.”

      “Oh, it’s not empty,” Donna said bitterly. “It’s filled with every dollar we ever saved! It’s filled with the house we used to own, and it’s filled with our dreams, George, our damned, beautiful, foolish dreams!” Tears were tracking freely down her face, and Nadine wanted to run anywhere to get away from the awful truth and the doom she saw in her mother’s eyes.

      “How could you trust a Monroe?” Ben demanded. “Everyone in town knows old Garreth’s as greedy and crooked as his brother-in-law. He was in on it, too, wasn’t he? I’ll bet it was Thomas Fitzpatrick’s idea. Monroe doesn’t have the brains to pull off a scam like this!”

      “It wasn’t a scam.”

      “Like hell!” Ben said, standing and kicking the table.

      “Ben!” Donna’s back stiffened, but he didn’t listen to his mother.

      He whirled, and planting his flat hands on the table, glared at Nadine. “Now you know what the Monroes are like, little sister,” he snarled. “All of them. Cut from the same cloth. And your precious Hayden is no different than his old man.”

      “Oh, God,” Donna whispered. “Nadine. Not Hayden Monroe!” The lines of her face carved deep into her once beautiful skin, and Ben, realizing what he’d done, gritted his teeth.

      Nadine’s spine stiffened, and though her eyes burned hot with unshed tears, she wouldn’t break down. She cared for Hayden, probably even loved him. And, deep down, he felt the same for her. She knew it.

      “He’s the boy you were sneaking out with?” Donna demanded.

      “Oh, hell,” Ben grumbled, apparently sick with himself.

      “Who’s been sneaking out?” Kevin wanted to know as he shoved open the screen door.

      “Nadine. With Hayden Monroe.” Donna’s condemning stare landed full force on her daughter. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. “There’s just one thing I want to know,” she said, her voice trembling, and Nadine braced herself for the blow. “Tell me the truth, Nadine. If you lie I’ll find out anyway.”

      Nadine lifted her gaze to meet her mother’s. “What?”

      “Are you pregnant?”

      “Pregnant?” Kevin repeated, shaking his head. “What’s going on here?”

      Their father eyed his firstborn. “What’re you doing home so early?”

      “I’m home for good, Dad,” Kevin replied as he flopped into a chair. “I got laid off today.”

      “Laid off?” Donna said, and Nadine hated the disappointment in her parents’ eyes.

      “Don’t you know? They’re cutting back shifts. The newest guys like me got pink slips.”

      Nadine felt the doom settle over the roof of the little frame house.

      “If you ask me,” Kevin said, “old man Monroe has lost it. And it’s probably because of his son. The kid’s gone ’round the bend, I guess.”

      “Hayden?” Nadine whispered.

      “You don’t know?” Kevin’s eyes scanned everyone in the room. “Hayden Monroe is in the hospital. He wrecked the old man’s boat this afternoon and the girl he was with, his fiancée, she’s been life-flighted to San Francisco. There’s a question whether she’ll make it or not.”

      Nadine’s life splintered into a million pieces. “And Hayden...is he...?”

      “Oh, he’ll be all right. Those Monroes are lucky bastards. The way I hear it, he broke a couple of ribs and tore up his leg, but he’ll survive.”

      Donna was already reaching for the telephone, no doubt to confirm the story. Nadine crouched lower in her chair, her eyes hot with unshed tears.

      The kitchen seemed to disappear, but she could still hear her mother’s quick questions to a friend of hers who worked at County Hospital. It was true enough; Hayden was lying in the hospital emergency room, in pain, perhaps more seriously hurt than Kevin knew.

      She heard the receiver click and slowly raised her eyes to meet her mother’s. Donna nodded. “The Galveston girl is critical—crushed pelvis, possible internal injuries, but Hayden Monroe will be fine. There’s a question about him ever walking without a limp, but he’ll survive.”

      “He’s at County?” Nadine asked, involuntarily reaching for her purse.

      “That’s right.”

      She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. “I hate to do this, missy,” he said, his voice rasping with regret, “but you’re not going anywhere.”

      “I’ve got to go....” She felt everyone’s eyes on her.

      “You’re grounded,” her father said. “Don’t even ask me for how long ’cause I can’t begin to tell you. Now you listen hear, young lady. There’ll be no more sneaking out. Until Hayden Monroe is transferred to a hospital in San Francisco to be with his own doctors, you aren’t going anywhere.”

      “But—”

      “Don’t argue with me, Nadine. Believe me, I know best.” His faded eyes held hers. “I’ve learned my lesson about the Monroes the hard way, and I’m not going to stand by and see you get hurt.”

      Panic surged through her. “I won’t—”

      “You heard me. That’s it. We won’t speak of it again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re to forget you ever met Hayden Monroe.”

      BOOK TWO

      San Francisco, California

      The Present

      Chapter Five

      MIST GATHERED OVER the tombstone, and the sod, recently turned, smelled fresh and earthy. Chilled to the bone, Hayden shoved his hands in his pockets. Sleet drizzled past the upturned collar of his old leather jacket and dripped from his bare head and nose.

      He stared at the final resting place of his father, strewn with roses and carnations and lilies, and he whispered under his breath, “I hope you got what you deserved, you miserable bastard.”

      A lump filled his throat and his eyes burned with tears he refused to shed. Hayden Garreth Monroe III had been a pathetic excuse of a father. He’d shown his son no love, nor kind words—only strict discipline and upper-crust values.

      From his