Alone at last, he thought with relief when Consuela was finallygone from view. Blessed silence for two whole weeks. His cattle were pastured on landfar from the main house and were being tended by his foreman and a crew of volunteersfrom among the hands. The ranch’s business affairs were tied up through thebeginning of the new year. He had no obligations at all.
He opened a cupboard, withdrew an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’swhiskey from the supply he’d ordered, ostensibly to take along as gifts to all theholiday parties to which he’d been invited. He pulled down a nice, tall glass,filled it with ice and headed for his den and the big leather chair behind his desk.
Uncapping the bottle, he poured a shot, doubled it, then shrugged andfilled the glass to the rim. No point in pretending he didn’t intend to get blind,stinking drunk. No point in pretending he didn’t intend to stay that way until thewhole damned holiday season had passed by in a blur.
Just as he lifted the glass to his lips, he caught sight of the weddingphoto on the corner of his desk, the one he’d turned away so that hewouldn’t have to see Erik’s smile or the radiance on Erik’swife’s face. He’d destroyed two lives that day, three if he counted his ownworthless existence. Erik was dead and buried, but Jessie’s life had beendevastated as surely as if she had been in that accident with him.
A familiar knot formed in his stomach, a familiar pain encircled hisheart. He lifted his glass in a mockery of a toast. “To you, littlebrother.”
The unaccustomed liquor burned going down, but in the space of a heartbeatit sent a warm glow shimmering through him. If one sip was good, two were better, andthe whole damned bottle promised oblivion.
He drank greedily, waiting to forget, waiting for relief from theunceasing anguish, from the unending guilt.
The phone rang, stopped, then rang again. The old grandfather clock in thehall chimed out each passing hour as dusk fell, then darkness.
But even sitting there all alone in the dark with a belly full of the bestwhiskey money could buy, Luke couldn’t shut off the memories. With a curse, hethrew the bottle across the room, listened with satisfaction as it shattered against thecold, stone fireplace.
Finally, worn out, he fell into a troubled sleep. It wasn’t hisbrother’s face he saw as he passed out, though. It was Jessie’s—thewoman who should have been his.
* * *
The sky was dark as pitch and the roads were icing over. Jessie Adamssquinted through the car’s foggy windshield and wondered why she’d ever hadthe bright idea of driving clear across Texas for the holidays, instead of letting herfather-in-law send his pilot for her. She wasn’t even sure how Harlan and MaryAdams had persuaded her that she still belonged with them now that Erik was gone.
She’d always felt like an outsider in that big white Colonial housethat looked totally incongruous sitting in the middle of a sprawling West Texas ranch.Someone in the family, long before Harlan’s time, had fled the South during theCivil War. According to the oft-told legend, the minute they’d accumulated enoughcash, they’d built an exact replica of the mansion they’d left behind inashes. And like the old home, they’d called it White Pines, though shecouldn’t recall ever seeing a single pine within a thirty-mile radius.
The bottom line was the Adamses were rich as could be and had ancestrythey could trace back to the Mayflower, while Jessie didn’t even know whoher real parents had been. Her adoptive parents had sworn they didn’t know and hadseemed so hurt by her wanting to find out that she’d reluctantly dropped anynotion of searching for answers.
By the time they’d died, she’d pushed her need to know aside.She had met Erik, by then. Marrying him and adjusting to his large, boisterous familyhad been more than enough to handle. Mary Adams was sweet as could be, if a littlesuperior at times, but Erik’s father and his three brothers were overwhelming.Harlan Adams was a stern and domineering parent, sure of himself about everything. Hewas very much aware of himself as head of what he considered to be a powerful dynasty.As for Erik’s brothers, she’d never met a friendlier, more flirtatious crew,and she had worked in her share of bars to make ends meet while she’d been incollege.
Except for Luke. The oldest, he was a brooder. Dark and silent, Luke hadbeen capable of tremendous kindness, but rarely did he laugh and tease as his brothersdid. The expression in the depths of his eyes was bleak, as if he was bearing in silencesome terrible hurt deep in his soul. There had been odd moments when she’d feltdrawn to him, when she’d felt she understood better than anyone his seemingloneliness in the midst of a family gathering, when she had longed to put a smile on hisrugged, handsome face.
That compelling sense of an unspoken connection had been ripped to shredson the day Luke had come to tell her that her husband was in the hospital and unlikelyto make it. In a short burst riddled with agonized guilt, he’d added that he wasresponsible for the overturning of the tractor that had injured Erik. He’d made noapologies, offered no excuses. He’d simply stated the facts, seen to it that shegot to the hospital, made sure the rest of the family was there to support her, thenwalked away. He’d avoided her from that moment on. Avoided everyone in the familyever since, from what Harlan and Mary had told her. He seemed to be intent on punishinghimself, they complained sadly.
If Luke hadn’t been steering clear of White Pines, Jessiewasn’t at all sure she would have been able to accept the invitation to come forthe holidays. Seeing Luke’s torment, knowing it mirrored her own terrible mix ofgrief and guilt was simply too painful. She hated him for costing her the
