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She shrugged off the sympathy. She didn’t want his pity. “I wouldn’t have survived my childhood had it not been for Alateen. The people there—the counselors, the sponsors, the other kids—helped me realize that my father’s problem with alcohol was not my fault.” Tears stung her eyes.
Matt clamped his hands on her shoulders, gave her a brief, comforting squeeze. “Of course it wasn’t,” he said softly, looking a little rough around the edges himself. “He was the adult. You were just a kid.”
A kid with a big heart and a sensitive nature…and a hopelessly idealistic outlook on life.
Jen had worked hard to erect a hard shell around her vulnerable inner self, to put all her pent-up emotion into her artistry, where it could do some good.
The trouble was, with just one steamy embrace, and an unexpectedly gentle word or two, Matt tempted her to undo all that.
She had no intention of letting the floodgates open. “Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lessons well enough until I got a lot older.”
Matt locked eyes with her. “And this caused problems.”
“Oh, yes. Tons of them. In big and little ways.” Jen hitched in a restless breath and resisted the urge to pace. “Because for a while there, I still chased after lost causes. Thinking if I could just make someone else’s life better, it would make up for the fact that I never got through to my father. Never managed to get him to a single meeting.”
Matt’s expression softened. The empathy in his eyes gave her the courage to go on.
“So I got involved with someone else, someone with family problems of his own, hoping to help him in a way I hadn’t been able to help myself.”
“Only, that didn’t work, either.”
“No,” Jen said tautly. “It didn’t.”
“Which is why you got divorced.”
Jen nodded.
Pushing the turmoil away, Jen lifted her chin. “But don’t worry. I am not interested in sponsoring you.” Jen threw up her hands, her boundaries firmly in place once again. “Your issues are your own. And so,” Jen emphasized flatly, “are your father’s.”
Jen spun around and made a beeline for the door, which she flung open, gesturing for him to take his leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
* * *
MATT HAD WEATHERED a lot since his mom died. Some of it was caused by his own grief and reaction to loss. The rest was due to his dad. So Matt didn’t feel guilty about trying to prevent more heartache for all of them.
This, he figured, was his duty as Emmett Briscoe’s son.
But he also knew enough to realize he was holding Jen Carson accountable for far more than she deserved. She hadn’t pursued his father, as the other women had.
Emmett had evidently done his research this time and sought Jen out for the clearly defined purpose of commemorating his life.
So maybe, Matt thought, if he let them all concentrate on the business at hand, there would be no more romantic disasters.
He sure didn’t need to be acting on impulse and kissing her. Either to make a point, or to ease a natural desire that had gone unfulfilled for way too long.
What he should do, he decided, was adopt a formal attitude. Be helpful, yet reserved. Become a sort of emotional Switzerland for Jen and his dad to come to if and when they needed him. Clearly, they were both grappling with some deep-seated issues, but he wasn’t exactly sure what was at the root of it all.
All Matt knew for certain was that Jen wanted the money and fame that came with this commission, badly enough to put up with the rest of the flack.
Wanted it enough to come into the formal dining room—even after he’d admitted to having her investigated—and sit down for a meal with him and his dad.
Luckily, from that moment on, Emmett dominated the conversation with talk about the Texas art scene. Jen was only too happy to oblige. When the meal concluded, they rose from the table, and Emmett, looking happier and more content than he had in weeks, led the way to the library.
More than a dozen storage boxes sat in front of the oversize mahogany desk.
“I’d like to have the sculptures commemorate my adult life on this ranch, and I’d like them all to honor my first wife, Margarite, as well. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how to do this, Jen, but the bronzes should include our courtship, marriage, and the birth and upbringing of our only child.”
“Sounds good.”
“I don’t want to look old or infirm in any of the sculptures,” Emmett further stipulated. “And I don’t want Margarite to ever look ill, or be confined to a wheelchair or a hospital bed in any of the bronzes. She would not have wanted to be remembered that way.”
That was true, Matt acknowledged.
“Not a problem,” Jen declared. “I’ll make sure she appears vibrant and healthy in all the sculptures.”
Matt wanted to concentrate on the positive, too.
“Too many of my fellow ranchers and friends are becoming ill or dying,” Emmett continued, still on the same depressing tact. “I am not interested in memorializing that.”
Seeing the conversation about to continue down a path it shouldn’t, Matt interjected firmly, “Dad, you’re fine.”
Matt realized, of course, that Emmett was getting older. That sometimes his dad felt a little sluggish and occasionally suffered from tired, aching muscles. But these things happened to everyone when they reached their sixties. Bodies began to age and wear out. It was just something everyone dealt with at that point in their life. It didn’t mean they were sick.
If his dad were really ailing, he would go see his doctor. And he hadn’t. So…
Emmett harrumphed. “Life can change in an instant, Matt. Not always in ways we want. Your mother proved that.”
There it went, Matt thought in frustration, the maudlin attitude that inevitably led to chaos.
He turned to Jen. “My mother died ten years ago of multiple sclerosis. She’d been ill for a long time.” She’d had a difficult, depressing decline.
Emmett grimaced. “It was hard on Matt. He was just a kid when Margarite became sick.”
But it was his dad who’d gone off the deep end. “It was harder on you,” Matt said.
His father stared at him. “I don’t know how you can say that. Since I’m not the one who eloped to Vegas with a woman who was barely even a friend.” Emmett paused, letting his words sink in. “And then never even bothered to consummate the marriage.”
* * *
WOW, JEN THOUGHT. I have not seen drama like this since my own marriage ended. She held up a hand, more than ready to excuse herself. “I really think you two should continue this discussion in private.”
Jaw set angrily, Matt stepped to block her exit. “No need for that. Dad and I are done.”
“We certainly are,” Emmett agreed, just as tersely.
Matt stomped off.
The older man sighed and returned to the boxes. He opened one and pulled out a big stack of photographs. For the next thirty minutes, they looked through them. Finally, eager to get the conversation back on track, Jen said gently, “Let’s talk more about what you’d like to see in the bronzes.”
Beginning to relax, he sat down next to her.
“I want to go out—at least in the public perception—very much the way I’ve lived. With my boots on. If and when I ever do get sick, I am not going to put Matt through that. It’s enough what he went through with his mother.”
Matt reappeared in the doorway—clearly unable to stay away no matter how much he wished he could, Jen noted curiously.
Looking much calmer after a brief respite, Matt ambled in. He looked at his dad. “With the exception of your slightly elevated cholesterol and blood pressure—both of which are well controlled through the medicines you take—there isn’t a thing wrong with you, Dad.”
Emmett looked at him for a long moment, an undecipherable emotion on his craggy face. “The point is,” he said at last, “you never know.” He pressed a hand on the table and pushed himself to his feet, looking suddenly too weary to go on.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced with an apologetic glance at Jen. “We’ll talk again in the morning?”
Seeing firsthand how the constant bickering with his only son was taking a toll on Emmett, she nodded. Why couldn’t Matt just let his dad be?
“Yes, sir. Thank you again for the opportunity.”
Emmett looked at Matt, his brows lowered. “Don’t you chase her away with your bad behavior.”
Jen jumped to reassure him. “He won’t, I promise. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”
“Good to know.” Emmett exited, leaving them alone.
Jen slid Matt a reproachful look. “You really don’t have to stay. The silver is safe.”
He slid his hands into his pockets, looking totally at ease. “Ha, ha.”
Feeling way too aware of him, Jen began sorting through the photos. “All I want to do is work.” And forget about that kiss we shared earlier…
Matt sat on the library table, hands braced on either side of him. “I know you think I’m being ridiculously on guard.”
Jen hated feeling so vulnerable whenever she was near Matt. And she resented knowing how intensely attracted she was to him.
Hadn’t she done the rich-man’s-son thing once?
Hadn’t she seen how badly that had turned out?
She swallowed and continued laying out the photos in a haphazard collage. “I understand. For whatever reason, your father is suddenly feeling the need to document the most important parts of his life in a unique way only someone with his wealth could afford.” She paused to move some of the pictures around. “That sentiment leaves him vulnerable. You don’t want to see him taken advantage of, monetarily or in any other way.”
Matt’s eyes fell on a photo of himself at two years of age, standing with his mother and father in front of the Alamo. They all looked so happy. Content. Without a care in the world.
Exhaling, he stood. Worry lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “The disastrous second, third and fourth marriages aside…life hasn’t always been easy for him.”
Jen watched Matt pace the room. “Or you?”
He chose his words carefully. “I know my dad thinks this process will bring him comfort.” Matt raked his fingers through his hair. “I worry all it will do is dredge up the unhappiness that sent him into a tailspin to begin with.” He shook his head, still vibrating with pent-up emotion. “Which, in turn, could lead him to feel so lonely he’ll marry badly again.”
“And maybe,” Jen said softly, as another shimmer of tension wafted between them, “you will, too?”
* * *
MATT SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that Jen wouldn’t let information that volatile go unexplored.
Before he could decide how he was going to handle this, she lifted a hand. “Don’t worry, cowboy. You don’t have to tell me about your failed elopement.” She surveyed him with something like reproach.
“I’m sure I could look it up. Or get someone else to tell me.” Still laying out photos, she waggled her eyebrows at him playfully. “Maybe even have you investigated.”
Ouch.
Although, Matt conceded, he may have had that coming.
He exhaled. “You want the story?”
Jen pushed back her chair. “Actually…I do.”
He watched her sashay toward him, all feminine sass and confidence. He tore his eyes from her spectacular legs. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t fit with anything I know about you so far.” She bit her lower lip, then said, “You seem like the last person to impulsively tie the knot.”
He leaned against one of the custom floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “Which maybe was the point,” he drawled.
Jen walked around the table and rested her hands on top of a straight-backed chair.
Aware that he could use some comfort—a fact that made him feel entirely too vulnerable—Matt confessed, “It was six months after my mom died. My dad was already planning to marry the novelist. It was too soon, and everyone knew that, but Dad wouldn’t listen to reason. So I decided to take a page from my future stepmother’s book—and bring a little more carefully scripted drama into our lives.”
Jen’s brow lifted. “By eloping in Vegas with a female friend you barely knew?”
Matt nodded. “I thought if I embarked in a hasty, ill-thought-out marriage before Dad went through with his own wedding, he would see how ludicrous it was.”
Jen’s expression gentled. “He’d learn from your mistake.”
Matt swallowed. “Yes. And I thought that Elanore—the girl I ran off with—understood that.”
Jen walked around the table toward him. “She didn’t?”
He grimaced. Thinking some fresh air might help, he strode toward the French doors that led to the courtyard, and stepped onto the beautifully landscaped stone patio that his mother had once loved.
Darkness had fallen. There was a quarter moon and a sprinkling of stars overhead. “Apparently, she’d had a secret crush on me for a long time.” Matt passed one of the gas lanterns that illuminated the courtyard.
Jen was right behind him. “When did you find out?”
He sank down on one of the cushioned chaises. “When I passed on the opportunity to get drunk on champagne and really ‘show everyone’ by actually consummating our foolhardy marriage.”
Looking stricken, Jen sat down sideways on the chaise next to him. “What happened next?”
Matt folded his hands behind his head, savoring the warm night air. “We got on a plane back to Texas and broke the news to our folks.”
And, oh, what a mess that had been.
Jen clasped her hands around her knee. “What was their reaction?”
“Dad saw it for what it was and refused to be manipulated.”
Intrigued, Jen prodded, “And her parents?”
Matt frowned. “Elanore’s parents knew how she had secretly felt about me all along, and were incensed. They accused me of leading her on, and insisted we not annul the marriage—that we needed to stop and think about what we were going to do next.”
Jen’s eyes widened. “You explained to them what had happened? How it had all come about?”
The unhappy memory still rankled. “They didn’t care. They had a brokenhearted daughter who wanted to stay married to me and give our union a real shot.”
“Even though you didn’t love her and viewed her only as a friend.”
Matt scoffed at the naivete of it all. “They felt that love could grow, given half a chance. What they didn’t want was for their daughter to be any more humiliated. To have her known as a willing accomplice to fraud was not a good thing, either.” He shrugged. “Her parents preferred for everyone to think we’d eloped in the heat of young love. Then if, over time, the marriage didn’t work out—and they desperately hoped it would—they could save face and say that we’d given it our best shot, but that the marriage had been too hasty, after all.”
“How did you resolve it?”
He grimaced. “The same way my father got out of his ill-conceived marriages—with a hunk of cash, and the opportunity to blame the whole debacle on me and my fickle heart.”
Jen blinked. “And that worked?”
He let out a low, regretful laugh. “Every sad story needs a villain. In ours, I was it.”
“You didn’t mind.”
Yes and no. “I was just glad to have my freedom. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck living a lie.” The way his father had eventually. Three times.
“Hmm. Well.” Jen rose from the chaise in one graceful motion. She walked over to admire the roses. “I see why you mistrust women.”
Not all, Matt thought. Just the ones who stood to benefit monetarily from their association with his family. Like it or not, that included Jen.
“My point is—my dad is a lot more vulnerable than he looks. My mom’s death hit him hard. He went into a life crisis when she passed, and he’s never come out of it. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“I have no intention of hurting him,” Jen insisted.
Famous last words, Matt thought, giving her a skeptical look. Just the process of taking out these old photos and repeatedly walking down memory lane was bound to open up every old wound. And then some.
Jen glided closer, inundating him in a drift of her lilac perfume. “I’m not going to let him take advantage of me, or the situation.”
More famous last words. He just hoped they were true.
Matt sighed. “Just be warned. Dad has a way of getting what he wants from people, whether they want to give it over or not.”
He left her to think about that.
Chapter Four
Later the following afternoon, Jen took stock. The day had been blissfully quiet. Matt had gone off with the cowboys before dawn to move cattle. Emmett had attended a breakfast meeting of the local cattlemen’s club, and had other business scheduled after that. So it had been just Jen and the housekeeper, Luz, in the Triple B ranch house for most of the day.
Which of course had been for the best, Jen mused. No interruptions. No Matt barging in—or out—for hot kisses, or learning things about the lone Briscoe heir that she would rather not know.
Like the fact they’d both lost a parent in their early twenties, then been betrayed by someone they had trusted.
Not, Jen scolded herself firmly, that any of that mattered. She and Matt Briscoe were as different as night and day. And likely to stay that way, since he tried to control everything in his universe, and she tried to control nothing in hers…except her own reaction to things.
“So what do you think?” she asked Emmett, when he stopped in to check on her progress.
He looked at the twenty photos Jen had selected. All were displayed on the big library table. All had the potential to be turned into bronze sculptures.
“This is my favorite,” he said in a choked voice. He pointed to a particularly poignant photo of himself and his late wife, taken soon after they had married. Emmett and Margarite were riding side by side on big beautiful horses. Young, vital and exceptionally attractive, they were clad in casual Western riding attire, and seemed in sync emotionally and physically.
“Mine, too,” Jen murmured.
Mostly because Emmett and his new bride both looked so happy. And so immune to the life challenges to come…
“I’d like you to start with this one,” he continued, tearing up.
Jen turned away and gave him time to compose himself.
When she looked again, he was standing with both hands thrust in the pockets of his khaki trousers. Tears gone. No longer trembling.
“You’ve done a great job whittling it down,” he declared in a firm, authoritative voice.
Happy to hear that, Jen smiled at him. “Thank you.” She was going to enjoy working with Emmett on this commission.
“I like this one, too.” He pointed to a photo of Matt and he flanking his wife’s chair, at what appeared to be Matt’s high school graduation. All were smiling determinedly, but there was a sadness underlying the cheer on those faces, giving the moment special poignancy. Yet Jen had pulled it out anyway, because it was definitely a milestone moment for the family.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted any sculptures of your wife when she was sick.” Although Margarite was not seated in a wheelchair, Jen suspected that she had been using one at the time the photo was taken. Otherwise, she probably would have been standing with her husband and son.
“That was my initial response. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps,” Emmett said, “it’s time I embraced every aspect of my life. And hers.” He turned toward Jen. “Can you do all twenty of these photos? Turn them into sculptures?”
That was double his initial order!
Trying not to get ahead of themselves, Jen warned, “That would take at least a year and a half, if not more….”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars per bronze, as long as I get a royalty on any copies that are sold.”
That ego again!
“Why don’t I do the first one—the one we decided on last evening—and see how happy you are with that before we go any further?” she proposed.
Emmett grinned, looking like his old self again. “Trying to raise the price on me?”
“Not at all.”
“Good thing,” Matt said, sauntering into the room. Ranch dust clung to his sweat-stained clothing. A touch of sunburn highlighted the handsome angles of his face. Jen figured he hadn’t shaved since the previous morning, which made the black scruff on his jaw all the more pronounced. And he smelled to high heaven, yet she was ridiculously glad to see him.
“’Cause I’d have something to say about that,” he continued in his lazy, provoking drawl.
“Good to see you, too,” Jen murmured, rolling her eyes. Not.
Ignoring his presence, she looked at Emmett and continued their conversation in a crisp, businesslike tone. “Everything that was shipped to me arrived by noon, but there are still some things I’m going to need for my stay. So if it’s okay, I’m going to call it quits for today and head into Laramie to do a little shopping and get some dinner.”
“We’d be happy to hold the evening meal for you,” Emmett said.
She lifted a hand. “No need for that.”
It was time to start setting limits with both father and son.
She smiled and gathered up the photos for further study.
Ignoring Matt’s intent appraisal, she headed for the door. “You all enjoy yourself this evening. And I’ll get started setting up a temporary sculpting studio tomorrow.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, Emmett said in a worried tone, “Jen should have been back by now.”
Matt looked up from his laptop computer. He’d been doing the ranch books. Or trying. Hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki trousers, Emmett had been pacing the front of the house, looking out the windows, for at least forty-five minutes now.
“Did she give anyone a time to expect her?”
“No. But a storm is brewing. And I don’t like the idea of her driving unfamiliar back roads in the dark and the pouring rain.”
Matt had been thinking the same thing.
Then cursed inwardly for allowing himself to worry. Jen Carson was not his problem.
Except when it came to keeping her from taking advantage of his father.
“I’m sure she has driven in rain before, Dad.”
“In the city. Where she probably knows the roads, and the location of all the low water crossings to avoid.”
He had a point there. “If she takes the farm-to-market road straight to town, she’ll be fine.”
“But she won’t be if she drives the shortest route, which is on the back roads. A lot of which are not well marked.” Emmett grabbed his hat off the coat tree in the front hall and planted it on his head. “I’m going to go out and look for her.”
Matt studied his father’s wan complexion. Although his dad was loath to admit it, these days he tired easily.
Matt supposed it was to be expected, though.
After all, his dad wasn’t getting any younger.
Reluctantly, Matt put his laptop aside and followed him out to the porch.
If Jen hadn’t wanted to handle another stressful family dinner with the two of them, Matt couldn’t wait to hear how she would like being tracked down during her “free time.” Eager to avoid a situation she was likely to consider an intrusion, he asked casually, “Have you tried calling her cell?”
Emmett nodded grimly, squinting at the rural highway barely visible in the distance. Overhead, no stars were discernible. Along the horizon, there were violent flashes of jagged yellow light, and the wind had started whipping up, making the cattle nervous.
“I imagine her phone is either turned off or she’s out of range of a tower.”
She was fine.
It wasn’t like she needed him to rush to her rescue and wrap his arms around her. Even though, Matt admitted to himself, that was a tempting fantasy.
Aware that his dad was still weighing the advisability of going after her, Matt consulted his watch and tried to talk sense into him. “It’s only nine-thirty, Dad.”
It just seemed as if she’d been gone forever.
Emmett rubbed his wrist, as if it were hurting him. “The stores all close at nine.”