Revenge (39 page)

 

“You need to see an orthopedist.” Skye continued to cluck over him like an old mother hen. In some ways, because of her medical license, she was as bad as his family, always telling him what to do. “Your ankle's probably just sprained, but the knee isn't good.”

“That much I know.”

“Do something about it, Jenner, or it won't get any better. Call Dr.—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Kendrick. The man with all the answers.”

“Has anyone ever mentioned that you've got a bad attitude?”

“A few times.”

“Okay, so set up an appointment with Kendrick.”

“I will,” he said with a cocky grin, making a promise that neither one of them believed.

A new leg brace had been fitted over his bum knee as well as another one for his ankle. Although Skye thought both joints were only sprained, that the X rays showed no sign of bone breakage, and that it didn't seem as if any of his ligaments had been torn, she wasn't completely convinced. “The pain pills won't last forever,” she warned.

Jenner scowled. “I don't plan to get hooked on any medication, Doc.”

“Good. Because if you don't go see Dr. Kendrick at his clinic in Dawson City, I won't give you any more.”

“Kendrick's a stuffed shirt.”

Skye shook her head and rolled her eyes skyward. “Ron Kendrick's one of the best. Okay, I'll admit his bedside manner isn't particularly kind—”

“It stinks,” Jenner said flatly. “The guy's got no sense of humor.”

“The important thing is he knows his stuff. You can't find a more capable surgeon anywhere around.”

“Thanks, but I'm not looking.” Jenner turned toward the door, the edge of his pain dulled by one of the sample tablets Skye had given him. He'd started into the hallway when her voice arrested him.

“Jenner, for your family's sake, take care of yourself.”

His jaw tightened as he made his way out of the clinic on the crutches. Damn, he hated anything to do with medicine. Hospitals and clinics, they were too sterile, too cold, too unfeeling. He couldn't imagine Beth working in that kind of environment.

Beth.
He couldn't shake her image from his mind—the way she'd gently caressed him, the feel of her tongue against his nipple, the smell of her hair as she'd found a way to pleasure him. He'd wondered over the past few months if he'd ever be able to make love again. She'd shown him that his manhood seemed to be functioning normally. In fact, ever since she'd returned to Rimrock, his hormones had been on overload.

Once outside, he determined to see Beth again and pin her down.

He couldn't leave things the way they were.

 

The last thing Beth needed was to see Stan's Chrysler parked in the driveway, but there it was, big as life, sitting in the shade of a spruce tree and blocking the view of her mother's flower bed.

A weight settled over her shoulders as she edged her trusty Nova next to the curb, twisted the key in the ignition, and felt the little car's engine shudder to a stop. “I don't think I'm ready for this,” Beth said with a frown. She really didn't want to deal with Stan, not after changing the course of her life forever by becoming intimate with Jenner.

In a few short days, she had let Jenner touch her where Stan had never dared; he was too much a gentleman. The opposite of Jenner McKee. “Come on, Crandall,” she told herself. “You can't put this off.” With a new sense of determination, she tossed her keys into her purse and headed out.

Inside the house, Harriet sat cross-legged on the floor working a puzzle with Cody. Stan was leaning back in the rocker, one leg propped on a footstool, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he perused the local paper. Beth didn't bother closing the door.

Scrambling to his feet, Cody spied her first and cried, “Mommy! Mommy!” He hurled his sturdy little body into her arms. “I ate a waffle this—” he held his arms as wide as they would stretch “—big!”

“Good for you,” she said, holding him tightly, her throat suddenly clogged as she remembered Jenner's worries about his safety. Surely there was no reason to think her son was in danger.

Carrying Cody on her hip, she walked into the living room and offered a smile to Stan, who was watching her over the top of his reading glasses. “Hi,” she said. “I was surprised to see your car outside.”

“I know. I probably should have called but, well, for once I thought what the hell and just took off.”

“I couldn't eat it all,” Cody said, casting Stan a dark glare.

“What? Oh, the waffle. Well, that's all right. Hey, tell me, did you meet some of Grandma's friends?” she whispered into her son's ear.

“Lots and lots!”

“They thought he was absolutely adorable,” Harriet boasted. “Oh, look, here's the duck's beak.”

“Me do!” Cody squirmed out of Beth's arms and dashed back to squat near the puzzle and shove the yellow piece firmly into place. “All done!”

“And well done,” Harriet said.

“Do 'gain!”

A furrow deepened between Stan's eyesbrows. “Now, Cody, your grandmother's already helped you with it three times since I've been here. Maybe you can think of something else to do.”

Harriet laughed as Cody, ignoring Stan, dumped the pieces onto the floor.

“Do 'gain, Gramma.”

“Why not?”

“Cody—” Stan began to reproach him in a gentle but firm tone.

“It's all right, Stan.” Beth tossed her purse into a corner of the couch and hung her jacket on the coat tree. She wondered how she looked, if she showed any signs that she'd spent the better part of the day with Jenner, most of which was involved in lovemaking.

“You know, Beth, I was worried about you. After the phone call the other morning, I thought I'd better drive over here and see what was wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong.”

“Nothing? But—” He stopped and cast a glance at Harriet and Cody.

“I guess that's our cue to leave, sport,” Harriet said. “Besides, we've got work to do. There's some apples that need to be picked before dark if we're gonna make that pie.”

Cody was on his feet in an instant. “Like pie,” he said.

“Then come on, we'd better get shakin'.” Harriet took his hand and, leaving the puzzle pieces in the middle of the floor, headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

Beth waited to hear the door slam before she let out her breath. This wasn't going to be easy, but she knew, as she'd suspected for a long time, that Stan wasn't the man for her.

No! Maybe there was never going to be a man for her.

“Come here,” Stan said, and when she didn't move, he walked across the room and took her into his strong arms. Though he was nearing sixty, he kept himself in good shape and could have passed for forty-five. “You scared me, Beth. When you said it was over.”

Her heart softened a little. “It scared me, too, Stan,” she admitted, carefully sliding out of his arms. “But I think it's for the best.”

“The best? Are you out of your mind? I'm crazy about you.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “I... I can't imagine what it would be like living without you.”

“You did it before.”

“And it was hell.”

She told herself to be strong, that though she cared for Stan, it wasn't enough. She didn't love him, not as he wanted or needed or ought to be loved. Then there was his problem with Cody. “I'm sorry, Stan,” she said, her throat clogging, “but I've thought about it and I can't keep seeing you.”

“Why not? Don't you hear me, Beth? Aren't you listening? I love you, I want to marry you, to take care of you and your son.”

At one time those words would have been music to her ears, but she'd learned that she could stand on her own, take care of herself, be both mother and father to Cody. She could juggle a job and single motherhood; in fact, she was damned good at it. Her mother was right. She couldn't settle. “I—I've been doing a lot of thinking since I got here, Stan, and it's not working, not for me. And I don't think it's working for you, either.”

“You're wrong,” he protested, but she noticed the doubt in his eyes.

“What you and I want are worlds apart.”

“How can you say that?”

“Please,” she said, steeling herself, “let me finish. I want more kids, Stan.”

“Good Lord,
why?
”

“It's just the way I feel. Cody needs a sister or a brother and I... I would like to be a mother again.”

The corners of Stan's mouth pinched, the way they did when Cody made too much noise or demanded too much attention or got in the way when Stan wanted to take her to a movie or a ball game or a restaurant alone. “There's more, isn't there?” he said, his voice suddenly cold, his nostrils twitching as if encountering a bad smell. “You're trying to take up with Cody's father again, aren't you?”

She wanted to lie, to tell him that she didn't care for the man who had sired Cody, that she was willing to turn her back on him. But the truth of the matter was that, if she examined her feelings for Jenner more closely, they were a lot more complicated than she would ever admit. To Stan. Or to herself.

“Oh, God, Beth. Do you know what you're throwing away? All for a man who didn't want you and didn't want his boy.”

Beth didn't have time to respond because at that moment she heard the distinctive roar of an old pickup's engine and knew that Jenner had just rounded the corner of the street. Her stomach clenched when she heard the engine die, the slam of a heavy door and the uneven tread of boots hitching up the front walk. Her throat worked for a second. “I'm sorry, Stan,” she said with more than a little regret. She had pinned so many hopes on this man, probably been blind to his flaws because she wanted the security of a stable, rock-solid man's love.

Deep inside her, something broke free.

A heavy hand knocked boldly on the frame of the door.

“It's open,” she called over her shoulder, and Jenner, crutches thrust out ahead of him, a thunderous expression as dark as the mountains in winter, filled the doorway.

“I didn't think we were finished...” Jenner's voice trailed off and his gaze collided with Stan's for a second, and then, as if he thought the older man was a friend of Harriet's, he forced a grin. “Jenner McKee,” he said, hobbling up and extending a hand, even though he was balancing on his crutches.

Stan's eyes narrowed and his gaze slid from the tips of Jenner's dusty boots, up his worn jeans, past his flannel shirt and shadow of a beard, to his eyes—blue as the Oregon sky in June. Stan's nostrils flared as if he smelled something unpleasant, but he extended his hand. “Stanley Cole. I'm a friend of Beth's.”

One of Jenner's eyebrows arched. “Of Beth's.”

Stan slipped his wallet out of his back pocket and withdrew one of his business cards. “That's right.” He handed the embossed card to Jenner. “I'm with the National Insurance Company.”

Jenner glanced at Beth as if to ask if this guy was for real.

She didn't move a muscle, just prayed that this whole thing would soon be over. Her palms began to sweat as Jenner flipped the card over once, then lifted his eyes to meet Stan's again. This time his gaze was dark and serious. “I'm a friend of Beth's, too.”

“Just a friend?”

“A close friend.”

“Jenner, don't—”

“Why not?” Jenner demanded. “Who is this guy?”

“Before she came back here to see you—I assume this is the guy—” he hooked his thumb in Jenner's direction and glanced at Beth who nodded “—Beth and I were planning to get married.”

Jenner's mouth flattened into a harsh line.

“That's not true, Stan,” Beth interjected. “We'd discussed it, yes, but it wasn't as if we'd even gotten engaged.”

“Because of
him
,” Stan accused, his furious gaze raking down Jenner again, one finger jabbing the air near Jenner's chest. “Because you never got over him, even though the only thing he did was get you pregnant and dump you.”

Jenner moved fast, too fast for a man on crutches, but he kept his balance and swung himself closer to Stan. His eyes were mere slits. “You don't know anything about what happened,” he said, his lips barely moving, his eyes bright with anger.

“I know she ended up in Oregon City—
alone
. Had a kid there. And I know that before she came here to see you, she was different.”

That much was true. In the days she'd been in Rimrock, she'd changed, become more independent, realized more fully what she wanted out of life. She'd thought once that she could be content with Stan, that she shouldn't expect more out of life than contentment and security. But then she'd met Jenner again and realized there was more. If nothing else, she owed Jenner McKee for making her face up to her own needs and wants as a woman.

“You mixed her up, McKee,” Stan charged.

“I'm not mixed up,” Beth interjected.

“Maybe you never really knew her,” Jenner drawled.

“I think I know her better than some punk cowboy who's...”

“Who's what?” Jenner demanded. “Go ahead and say it. A cripple. That's what you were thinking.”

Stan had the decency to close his mouth.