Obsession Down Under (16 page)

Chapter 23

Whip slammed out of the office and stomped into the living room, his face a thunderous mask.

“Who rattled your cage?” Drew glanced up from reading the paper.

Whip barged passed, marched to the bar in silence, and poured a double shot of single malt, then paused before filling the entire glass. He took a deep swallow before easing into the recliner and switching on the television.

“You going deaf, bro, or just practicing selective hearing?”

“It’s over, if you must know.”

“What’s over?”

“The engagement. She’s e-mailed and called it off.”

“Bullshit. Why?”

“How the fuck should I know? She didn’t give a reason.”

“It’s got to be a mistake. That girl’s head over heels for you. Blind Freddy could see that. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“Well, it seems my nose isn’t that fucking plain.” He drained his glass and placed it on the side table with a heavy hand.

“E-mail her and ask what gives.”

“Don’t you think I’ve already done that? She won’t reply, she ignores my calls, and now she’s bounced my last message and blocked my address.”

“Shit, mate, I’m sorry. That sucks. Anything I can do?”

“Yeah, give us a refill.” He held his empty glass out to his brother.

Drew curled his lip but didn’t cooperate, so he got up and refilled it himself.

The rest of the evening progressed in much the same way until he’d had a skin full. He had a vague recollection of Drew, helping him up the stairs to bed.

The next morning, Whip’s head felt like it had been kicked by a mule, and his mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage. He crawled out of bed and hit the shower in the vain hope it would restore him to something resembling human. He hadn’t had a hangover to rival this since his twenty-first birthday when he and Travis had taken it upon themselves to see who could pass out first.

When he finally made it downstairs, it was almost eleven. There was no sign of Drew or Mark when he walked into the kitchen, but Travis was helping himself to food from the fridge and turned as he entered.

“You look like shit.”

“Funny, I’ve always been told I look like you.”

“Drew filled us in over breakfast.”

“Of course he did. Nobody in this family ever could mind their own fucking business.”

“If there’s anything Annie or I can do, you know you only have to ask.”

“Well, there is one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Get that hang-dog expression of your face and buck up. You look like you’ve lost your best friend.” He forced a smile, it was weak but it was the best he could muster under the circumstances.

Travis squeezed his shoulder. “I know we didn’t know her for long, but she fitted right in, and we all took to her like a duck to water. Even Brenda had changed her tune and was coming around. Shit, mate, Jess was already part of the family. I don’t understand what the hell could have gotten into her?”

“Fucked if I know. Fucked if I care.”

“Tell yourself that long enough and maybe you’ll believe it.”

Whip gave his brother a hard stare. That was the trouble with being a twin. You were so in tune with one another there was no hiding your thoughts or your emotions. Travis meant well. Whip knew he was gutted for him, so softened his features along with his tone. “What other choice do I have?”

“Fly over, confront her face to face.”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? But she’s made her decision clear. Besides, I don’t have an address. We always communicated via the Net. Even if I did, I can’t force her to change her mind. I just have to accept it was a holiday romance and move on.”

Chapter 24

Jessica often thought back to her ill treatment of Trish and cringed. She’d apologized of course, and was so grateful Trish had a thick skin and had brushed it off, but she would be forever in her debt. It was Trish’s relentless well-meaning bullying that had pulled Jessica through those first soul-destroying months after the accident. Trish, however, argued it was Jessica’s own natural exuberance and zest for life that did the trick. Either way, Whip would have been proud of her. As quick as that thought entered her head, she pushed it aside. That chapter in her life was over.

It’s funny how time changes things, Jessica thought. True, certain parts of her life would never be the same, but she was adapting. For the moment, no more tennis. Instead, she’d started swimming, and she’d taken up horseback riding on a regular basis. But the strangest thing since the accident was how she’d become much more dedicated to her writing. Any spare time she had, when not attending doctors, specialists, and physiotherapist appointments, she’d channeled into a new story. She was like a woman possessed. There was no writer’s block. The words churned out at a rapid pace as her fingers flew over the keys. She’d wake in the middle of the night and reach for her laptop or paper and pen to jot down an idea. The story kept flowing, the characters taking on a life of their own, and she’d completed her novel in record time. She called her story
The Cattleman,
and it was loosely based on her time spent at Highland Glen, but the hero was all Whip. It was her best work ever. The military romance she’d completed before flying to Australia had been turned down time and again. Now she could see why. It would always hold a place in her heart, though. The research for that novel was what had brought them together.

The title,
The Cattleman,
perhaps could have been more arresting, but it suited him—straight and to the point. When the New York publisher replied to her query letter requesting the complete manuscript, she cheered from the rooftops. When her book made the romance bestseller list, it all happened so quickly, it almost made her forget her heart was broken. But every cloud had a silver lining, and she was over the moon. Tonight she was in Houston, Texas, and the day after tomorrow she’d be celebrating her first book signing as a bona fide author, almost a celebrity. She giggled at the thought.

Whip sat at the keyboard swigging a soda. It was late. Travis had already retired for the night, but he was too hyper to sleep. They’d spent a productive day at the sale yards and the new bull they’d acquired for breeding purposes was going to make them a shit load of money.

Now it was veg-out time.

He’d been trolling the Web for the past hour and found himself back on the military forum where he’d first met Jessie Rose. Would he ever learn his lesson? He’d sworn to stay right away from that site ever since she’d screwed him over just over a year ago.

As he signed in to check his private messages, he called himself all kinds of a fool. There were five messages in total, and he held his breath in anticipation. Disappointment though was like an Arctic wind, bitter and swift. The messages were all from women seeking pen pals, and no way was he  ever going to get caught up in another Internet relationship. One was more than enough for  a lifetime. 

It was often said time heals all wounds, but the hurt was just as strong and just as real today as it was back then. He heaved a sigh and logged out, not bothering to respond. A quick glance at his watch revealed it was nudging the witching hour, but bed wasn’t an option, and neither was the idiot box.  He tapped on the keys and did a web search on
Jessica Butler-Reid
.  Nada. He didn’t really expect anything.

He toyed with Googling
Jessie Rose
, his pet name for her but quashed the idea.  Damn if he wasn’t turning into a masochistic stalker! She’d been on his mind more than usual, probably because the anniversary of their time together had not long passed, together with the fact that he was in her country.  He checked his e-mail, answering the urgent ones and leaving the others. He wasn’t tired; he still hadn’t adjusted to US time, so poured a nightcap and settled back in front of the laptop.

His fingers had a mind of their own and before he knew it, he’d Googled
Jessie Rose
.

Bingo.

He straightened in his chair and clicked on the link.  Her face appeared on the website along with the cover of her first book.

She’d made it as an author. Excitement on her behalf rippled through him. He felt a sense of pride, as if it was somehow his achievement. Not only had she been published, but her book
The Cattleman
had also won an award. His eyes skimmed the webpage and he read  her blog. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he voiced his thoughts. She was doing an afternoon book signing the day after tomorrow at
Rosemary’s Romance Books,
a little shop right here in Houston, Texas. He did a map search and discovered it was not even three blocks from this very hotel.

Fate. It had to be. He had an afternoon appointment that day, but Travis was more than capable of handling it alone. He’d have to clear it  with him, but Whip couldn’t see it being a problem. Travis was  easy going, laid back, and besides, Travis knew  how devastated he’d been when Jessie Rose broke the engagement with no explanation. It had taken him months to get over it. Hell, who was he kidding? He still wasn’t over it.

He balked at the memory. He’d moped around like a bear with a sore head, taking his frustration out on everyone. The way he’d acted was insane. Drew and Mark tried to jolly him out of his depression with,
‘There’s plenty of other fish in the sea,
and
life’s a smorgasbord of women’
comments, but they were hurting, too. Jessie Rose had carved a special place in all their hearts, and the boys couldn’t forgive her.

Travis knew, without him having to voice the words, just how much her rejection had cut him. And like the supportive brother he was, he’d put up with his crap for as long as he could before reading him the riot act.

Whip had needed the wakeup call. He’d picked himself up, dusted himself off, and gotten on with his life; but now with her being so close, the urge to know why was too strong to fight.

He had to see her one last time to get her out of his blood once and for all. With his mind made up, he swallowed the remains of his nightcap and turned in for the night. Tomorrow he had a lot of work to do, the least of which was to purchase and read a copy of
The  Cattleman.

Chapter 25

The shop was almost empty. Jessica glanced at her wristwatch. Five minutes to closing time. It had been a successful day, but now  she was ready to  call it quits, go back to her hotel, order something from room service, and curl up in front of the television for the night. 

That was the game plan until a book landed on the table she was seated at with a thud. The hand that slapped it there was big and weathered—a man’s hand. That was a surprise. Most of the romance readers who attended these book signings were women.

She pushed her lips into a smile, tilted her head and looked up.  Reproachful eyes, cold and hard as flint, chased the prepared smile from her face. Her  heart somersaulted. Without conscious thought, his name escaped, a mere puff of air through trembling lips. “Whip.”

“Jessie Rose.”

The deep timbre of his Australian drawl was a soothing balm to her shattered soul. How often these past months had she ached to hear his voice, yearned for his touch? She studied the familiar figure so often an intruder in her dreams. Bronzed and rugged, wild and unpredictable, and so like the sunburnt land she’d fallen in love with.

He straightened and stepped back. His black Akubra added inches to his already dominating height. Low-slung jeans hugged his hips like a second skin, and her mind leaped to another time, another place, another life, when it was her body molding his, her legs hugging his hips.

He cleared his throat, snapping her back to the present. His demeanor demanded an explanation and he had the patience of Job.

“You’re a . . . long way from home,” she stammered, hedging for time.

“I didn’t come all this way for a geography lesson, so let’s hear it.” His voice was even, controlled, but edged with latent anger.

She struggled for enlightenment. Confused thoughts and emotions of vivid scenes and bright colors tumbled in her head and swirled like confetti on a blustery day. Should she tell him the truth? No. She had to spare him that. Spare them both, really. She couldn’t bear to see pity in his eyes, and that was exactly what she’d see if he knew the truth.  But he was shrewd and wouldn’t be fooled easily. She searched for a lie, plausible deniability.

“How did you find me?” she asked instead, her voice clear and steady, though her knees trembled and her heart thumped so hard in her chest, she feared he would see the movement against her blouse.

Stormy eyes darted to the book and back. “I’d have thought that was obvious. Now quit stalling and answer me.”

She blew out a breath and rested her wrists on the table, palms down. This had to be the performance of a lifetime. “Simple,” she said, and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her blouse. “I changed my mind. A woman’s prerogative, you know.” Her eyes dropped to the book he’d slapped onto the table in front of her. It was their story only with a happily-ever-after. She swallowed the despair that clawed up her throat. She thought it had gone for good, but it was only hibernating deep inside, waiting for the opportunity to awaken and destroy her all over again.

“Bullshit.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as she watched. Tanned skin tautened over high cheekbones, brows wrinkled, and his mouth became a hard line. He planted his palms on the tabletop and leaned in.

Her eyes stretched, and she injected a measured amount of exasperation and a smidgen of anger into her tone. “Oh, for God’s sake, Whip, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Yeah, I think maybe you do.”

He flinched and hurt flickered in his expressive eyes, but she had to be cruel to be kind. “In a nutshell, we come from different worlds. You live on a cattle station on the other side of the planet, I live in New York City. We’re chalk and cheese, oil and water, and you know what they say about that.”

“That was always the case. You loved it there, we made plans, so why the sudden change of heart?”

She forced a loud rush of air through her lips. “Words, Whip, they were just words. I told you what you wanted to hear.”

“No. You were sincere.”

She sighed again for effect. “I’m a writer, Whip, words are my craft. Don’t get me wrong, what we had was great at the time, and you’re a very desirable man. It filled a void in my life but get real, it was never meant to be anything more than a holiday romance.”

“Everything you said and did, nothing but lies, pretense, all of it?”

His eyes pleaded for a denial she could never give, so instead, she played her trump card. “What can I say, Cowboy, it was just a game. I thought you were smart enough to realize that.”

Betrayal, disillusionment, anger, his face held it all. Savage energy crackled like a brush fire. His sharp-eyed glare pierced her heart and she felt the wound as if it were real.

A shutter descended over his eyes, masking his pain. He pivoted on his heel and headed for the door.

“Whip, wait,”  she called.

He halted midstride and turning gave her a blank stare. No, a contemptuous one.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her sight beginning to blur.

“Save it.” His derision was tangible as he marched out without another word.

A single wrenching sob escaped her. To pitch face forward onto the tabletop, crumple into a heap, and wallow in her own misery would have been luxury, but she was made of sterner stuff. If there was one thing the accident had taught her it was she had a wealth of untapped  inner strength, and now she mustered as much of that courage as she could. Later, at home and in private, she might lapse into meltdown, having just ripped her own heart from her chest - but not here, not now.

“Everything okay?” Rosemary Potter’s mellow voice barged into her misery.

Jessica stiffened her spine and looked up at the proprietor. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, brushing at her eyes with her fingertips. “A bit tired, that’s all. But I really must get a move on. I have an appointment I can’t miss, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” It was abrupt, rude, and a lie, but she couldn’t help it.

Whip’s face swam before her, a mixture of hurt, contempt, and injured pride. Injured pride was good. Now that he believed she’d only been using him, he’d go away angry, lick his wounds for about a minute and a half and then never give her another thought for the rest of his life. She, on the other hand, would carry the memory of contempt and loathing on his handsome face to her dying day.

She was a little awkward as she rose to her feet, but once upright, she collected her belongings without any fuss, and made for the car. Now that she was used to the prosthesis, her limp was not nearly as pronounced as when she’d first had it fitted. She’d rejected it at the time, but Trish, God bless her soul, had bullied her into giving it a go, and she would forever be grateful for that. It gave her mobility and independence that crutches and a wheelchair didn’t, and the calf-length skirt and black boots she was wearing today camouflaged it admirably.

Her car was parked right where she’d left it in the handicapped zone. The one advantage of being disabled, she joked with friends, was that you always got the prime parking spaces. Fighting back a self-pitying sob, she pressed the automatic unlocking mechanism attached to her keychain, opened the door, and settled in behind the steering wheel. She didn’t switch on the ignition right away but gave herself a minute to relax. Her mind was still on Whip and the scene in the shop.

She’d been expecting to see another fan, but when she’d looked up and saw him standing in front of her in all his magnificence, it was both a dream and a nightmare come true. She’d wanted to leap up and throw her arms around him and hang on so tight he’d have to pry her off with a tire leaver. She’d also wanted to run a mile and hide. A rush of feelings had tornadoed inside of her, and then love had surged to the forefront. It had given her the strength to push him away, so he could leave and not look back to go on and lead the life he deserved with a whole woman, not some damaged imitation.

With a turn of the key, the engine fired and she steered the car into the late-afternoon traffic and toward the hotel where she was staying. The sooner she was locked safely behind her hotel room door, the better she would feel.