Just a Whisper Away

It was remorse for something she couldn’t fix, but also a plea to forgive and move on.

“I don’t want your pity,” Jace said.

“It wasn’t pity.”

He searched her eyes. “Then why?”

“Because you’re a good man, and I wanted to kiss you,” she whispered.

He didn’t nod. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even tighten his arms around her. He merely lowered his head, gently kissed her back and Abbie felt a chunk of her heart tear away.

They stood there for a time when it ended, feeling the March air cool their lips and ruffle their hair, last night’s memories curling in their bellies and imaginations. Then Jace’s gaze dropped to her mouth again.

Somewhere far away a voice whispered that this was another mistake Abbie would regret. But it drifted off like morning fog the second his lips found hers again.

Dear Reader,

My husband, Mike, and I love to visit the places where I set my books—and since I’m a big chicken when it comes to flying, we travel by car. Silly phobias aside, it really is the best way to experience the sights, sounds and textures that make locales interesting and exciting.

We’ve visited Arizona’s prehistoric cliff dwellings, the Montana Rockies, the Maine coast and more, and each place is beautiful in its own way. But for us, there’s no place like the rich, wooded Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania—especially in early spring, when the creeks are thawing, the air is indescribably fresh and the trees are just beginning to green. This is our pretty part of the world—and the setting for Just a Whisper Away. I hope you’ll like it, too.

Peace, love and happy reading,

Lauren

Just a Whisper Away

Lauren Nichols

LAUREN NICHOLS

started writing by accident, so it seems fitting that the word accidental appears in her first three titles for Silhouette. Once eager to illustrate children’s books, she tried to get her foot in that door, only to learn that most publishing houses used their own artists. Then one publisher offered to look at her sketches if she also wrote the tale. During the penning of that story, Lauren fell head over heels in love with writing fiction.

In addition to her novels, Lauren’s romance and mystery short stories have appeared in several leading magazines. She counts her family and friends as her greatest treasures, and strongly believes in the Beatles’ philosophy—“All You Need Is Love.” When this Pennsylvania author isn’t writing or trying unsuccessfully to give up French vanilla cappuccino, she’s traveling or hanging out with her very best friend/husband, Mike.

Lauren loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at www.laurennichols.com.

For Bob, Kevin and Ernie, brothers extraordinaire.

And for the wonderful women who love them, Deb, Shelley and Kathy.

And always for Mike.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Tom Shields for the tour of his lumberyard and sawmill during the preparation of this book, and to Carmella Manno who took me through the kiln drying process and was always there to answer my goofy questions. I owe you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

A powerful jolt of recognition hit Jace Rogan as he crossed the country club’s crowded dining room. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eagerness to leave the faux, day-early Mardi Gras celebration forgotten. For an instant he simply stood there, feeling his nerves vibrate and adrenaline pulse through him. Then the night, the music and the costumed crowd all faded to a blur as he watched a good-looking couple join the other partiers on the dance floor.

It couldn’t be her… Yet when his gaze fell to the smooth, graceful slope of the woman’s bare back in her plunging gown, he knew it was.

Jace drew a cautious breath. He’d touched that back…kissed the sweet, sexy small of it…held those hips in his hands and slid his fingers through that long auburn hair.

The memory lasted only a second before a bitter one took its place. Jace jerked his gaze from the side-slit in Abbie Winslow’s dress to scan the lavishly decorated room.

It didn’t take long to spot an old enemy.

Wearing a powdered wig and the fancy brocades of an English lord, Abbie’s perpetually controlling father stood beside his table, beaming as the new surgeon in town kept his daughter smiling and engaged.

Morgan Winslow’s venomous tirade thundered in Jace’s mind, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, but he blocked it out. The words didn’t hurt anymore because he’d used Morgan’s humiliating rant to succeed beyond the banker’s wildest expectations—beyond the town’s expectations.

And suddenly he wanted Abbie to know that, too.

Cutting through the crowd, he tapped Abbie’s partner on the shoulder, all the while enjoying an unobstructed view of the shimmering, halter-style gown that clung like liquid silver to her body. Small diamond earrings winked at her lobes when she jerked her head up in surprise.

“Mind, Doc?” Jace asked with a smile when the surgeon turned around. “We’re old friends.”

“Not at all,” he returned amiably, then grinned at Abbie. “Okay with you?”

Jace met her wide brown eyes and startled features. “How about it, Abbie? Care to dance for old times’ sake?”

For a second, she didn’t seem capable of uttering a word, and Jace found some pleasure in that. Then she murmured, “Of course,” and turned to the doctor. “I’ll see you back at the table, Paul.”

“I’ll be there. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

Then Jace opened his arms and Abbie stepped into them for the first time in fourteen years. The first time since her father had caught them locked intimately together in the gazebo behind the Winslow’s country home. Unexpectedly, some of his bitterness faded as her uneasy gaze searched his, and he silently—reluctantly—admitted that it felt good to hold her again.

“Hello, Jace,” she said quietly. “It’s nice to see you again. You look wonderful.”

The dress code for this shindig was always costume or black-tie, and for the first time tonight he was glad he’d worn a tux—the lesser of the two evils. It made a statement that he’d come far since that night in the gazebo.

“So do you,” he returned as she pinned her gaze to his shoulder, and they began to move. “California living seems to agree with you.”

He stole a glance over her head at the crowd. Morgan Winslow’s face had turned to stone, and, sophomoric as it was, Jace’s pleasure doubled.

He spoke close to Abbie’s temple, inhaled the light floral scent of her perfume. “I see you’re not into costumes, either.”

“Not the one my dad chose for me,” she said. But there was a vulnerable look in her chocolate-brown eyes, and Jace knew she was wondering why they were dancing after fourteen years of silence. Her voice softened. “I found this dress in a trunk in the attic. It was my mom’s.”

Jace heard the loving, the missing in her reply and the kid in him empathized with that, but he didn’t comment. Because a dozen feet behind Abbie, his fun-loving baby brother was grinning up a storm and dancing his partner their way. He’d told everyone at the Rogan Logging & Lumber table that he was cutting out early to get some work done—which surprised no one. Now Ty was on his way to see who’d convinced him otherwise.

Jace spun Abbie off in another direction. The last thing he wanted now was small talk from someone wearing a plumed hat and a Cyrano nose. “So, how’s the legal eagle business?”

“You know what I do?”

“Hard not to. Your dad brags you up every time you win a case.” They’d talked a lot back when they’d cared about each other. Fourteen years ago, Abbie the Crusader had wanted to practice law more than anything in life—much more than she’d wanted a roughneck logger with a past people still loved to talk about. “Not that I get the news firsthand,” he added, managing to keep an edge out of his voice. “I do my banking elsewhere.”

Abbie held back a sigh, but kept her thoughts to herself. Anything she said would bring up that wonderful-then-terrible night in the gazebo, and she already had more anxiety in her life than she could handle. That included the dewy warmth radiating between them and the sudden return of libido as Jace’s leg insinuated itself between hers and they moved to the slow, moody rhythm of “The Way We Were.”

How appropriate. Lifting her gaze, she took in Jace’s strong jaw and handsome features. He was more powerfully built now, more attractive in a sexy, rugged…maybe even cynical way. His feathery black hair was long by California attorney standards, but it was neatly trimmed, and his compelling storm-gray eyes held a look of confidence that he’d never had at twenty-two.

The gentle pressure of his hand on her bare back made her tremble as he guided her away from another couple…and suddenly, feelings and regrets she’d thought she’d put aside returned with heart-tugging poignancy. Swallowing, she searched for conversation, but everything she came up with felt awkward. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d like this sort of thing.”

“People change,” he replied, a shrug in his voice. “I guess you’re home for a visit?”

“Yes, I got in yesterday afternoon.”

His smile held a trace of sarcasm. “And already you’re partying at the country club. How long are you staying this time?”

How long? Abbie suppressed a shudder as sniper fire echoed in her mind again. Hopefully, until the Los Angeles Police Department uncovered enough evidence to keep the young man she’d defended last month behind bars. The one who’d sent her the musical greeting card.

The one who wanted her dead.

Forcing Danny Long’s genial choir-boy features from her mind, she answered, “I’m not sure. At least until my dad gets back from his honeymoon. They’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“Morgan’s remarrying?”

“Yes, this Friday night.”

“I hadn’t heard. Then again, it’s not as if we move in the same circles.”

No, she supposed not.

It had been nearly seventeen years since her mother’s death from meningitis, and though Abbie had adored her mother, she was glad her dad had found Miriam to share his life. At sixty—and with Abbie living and working in Los Angeles—her father wouldn’t be alone.

“Actually,” she said, acutely aware of Jace’s leg between hers again, “I tried to back out, but Dad insisted that Paul— Dr. Bryant—needed a dinner date.”

“And how like you to oblige him.”

Abbie jerked her gaze up to his, hearing what he hadn’t said. Sweet little Abbie, always doing her daddy’s bidding. And finally she knew what this dance was all about.

“All right,” she returned quietly. “Let’s get this over with. Does your asking me to dance mean that the cold war is over, or that it’s just regaining stre—”

With a loud crack, something exploded behind them, and Abbie lunged forward, her arms circling his neck in a stranglehold.

“Abbie?” Shocked by her reaction and more concerned than he wanted to be, Jace stilled, then slowly tightened his arms around her. “Hey,” he said softly as laughter and apologies erupted behind them. “You’re okay. That was nothing. One of the waiters just lost a bottle of champagne from his tray.”

It took more than a moment for his words to sink in. Then, flushing deeply, she seemed to regain her composure and put some distance between them again. “Well,” she murmured, “that was embarrassing. I’m sorry. I was just a little startled.”

Jace searched her dark eyes as they began to move to the music again. “That’s not true. You’re shaking. And if that was startled, I’d hate to see terrified. What are they doing to you in L.A.?”

“Nothing,” she replied brightly. “I told you, I was just surprised.” The band finished to a smattering of applause, and Abbie put her hands together, too—a little too energetically, Jace thought.

Smiling again, she backed away. “I should get back to my table and let you get on with your evening. Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, still disturbed by the fear he’d seen in her eyes and damning himself for caring. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

“I will. And it really was nice to see you again.”

He should’ve let her walk away. That would’ve been the smart thing to do—the intelligent thing to do. Then Jace caught sight of Morgan’s black eyes and beet-red face, and the past came roaring back. Tossing good sense out the door, he called her name, caught her fingertips…and drew her back to him.

Then his mouth was covering hers, and a tingle he hadn’t counted on was sweeping through his system. Jace jerked away. For a second their gazes locked, and that old breathless current flowed between them. The same snap and sizzle they’d fought from the moment they’d met so long ago. Then he pulled himself together, forced a smile and started away. “See you around,” he called. “Give my regards to your dad.”

He’d barely stepped into the crisp March air when he heard the country club’s door bang open again.

“What was that all about?” she shouted, swiftly closing the distance between them as he strode to his SUV.

He glanced behind him. A thin coating of old snow crunched beneath her strappy open-toed high heels as she crossed the parking lot.

“Was it payback? Restitution for something that happened fourteen years ago? My God, Jace, when are you going to get past that?”

Ignoring her, he pulled his keys from his pocket and pointed the remote at his black Explorer. The taillights flashed as the doors unlocked.

“Because if ticking off my dad was what that kiss was about,” she continued when he faced her, “it was one of the most asinine displays of childishness I’ve ever witnessed!”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed calmly, opening his door. “But I must say it felt good. Now, you’d better get back inside before you freeze.”

“I intend to. But you need to know something before you leave.” She held his gaze in the amber spill of the light poles. “If you wanted to poke my father with a stick, dancing with me would’ve done the trick. You didn’t have to kiss me. And that makes me wonder why you felt the need to do it.”

Sending her a dry look, Jace climbed into his SUV. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have if the only thing he’d done to me was run me off the night I stole his little girl’s virginity.”

Some 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 him and not when she’d tried to see him at work. Now, when she considered her father’s financial blackballing, it was easy to see why he’d acted the way he had tonight.

Abbie touched her lips. She could still feel the tender pressure of his mouth…still feel the rise in her stomach, still feel the strength of his arms after that champagne bottle smashed. He’d been her friend, her lover. And she’d hurt him terribly.

Her cell phone rang. Slowly, Abbie left the chair to remove it from the charger on her dresser. After wiping her eyes and clearing her throat, she checked the caller ID window. And for the second time that night, fear rippled through her. Unfolding the phone, she spoke quickly.

“Stuart, what’s happened?” She’d already spoken to him today, and a second call—especially this late—was unusual.

The elderly senior partner of her law firm replied in a kind, soothing voice. “First, calm down. What I have to say is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

But it had been important enough for him to contact her well after ten o’clock, and that made her question his statement. Abbie drew a breath, then swallowed. “Okay, I’m calm. Tell me.”