Texas Heat (15 page)

It was a stupid fantasy. He was only human, and he was tired. Damn tired. He'd lose this ranch whether Savannah was here or not. He wouldn't drag her—and Emma—down with him.

“Thanks, but I'll manage.”

He saw the sharp hurt in her eyes. “I'm sure you will.”

“Savannah—”

She turned her back on him and stared out the window again. “I think it's a good idea to let Emma rest today. There's another flight out tomorrow morning. I've already booked us on it.” Her words were clipped and terse.

They'd been through this once today. He wouldn't have thought it could possibly hurt more than it already had. But it did. It hurt a hell of a lot more.

He turned and for the second time that day, walked out of Savannah Roberts's life.

J
ake stared at the letter in his hand, read it for the third time, then crumpled the stiff white paper between his fingers. He threw it across the room.

Dammit, dammit,
dammit!

Fists clenched, jaw tight, he stood at the kitchen table, dragging in a deep breath to control the rage pouring through him.

Foreclosure.

The word was like a steel band closing around his chest, shutting off the air. There were other words, too. Like
We regret to inform you...policy of the bank...vacate in ten days.
Or the last line of the letter and the final insult—
If there's any way we may help...

They could all take a flying leap, that might help, he thought angrily.

He moved stiffly to the sink, turned on the faucet full force and doused his face with cold water. He was hot and dirty and tired and in no mood to do battle with the bank.

Battle?
he thought bitterly. Who was he kidding? He'd lost the battle more than a month ago when the barn had burned down.

When Savannah had left.

He would come in at night after working all day almost expecting to see her in the kitchen, humming along with the radio as she fixed dinner, or Emma's excited conversation as she related her day with Betsy or some other animal she'd managed to befriend.

Then he'd hear the silence and remember that they'd left, gone back to Atlanta, and a loneliness so intense would come over him it nearly strangled him.

God, how he missed them.

He wondered what they were doing right now. It was Friday, almost dinnertime. Was Savannah in her kitchen, humming? Was Emma telling her about her day?

Or was Savannah getting ready for a date, maybe slipping on some sleek sexy dress and high heels like the ones he'd seen her wearing the first time he'd met her? Unwillingly the image came of Savannah sitting in a fancy restaurant with some high-powered executive, laughing, smiling...then later, after dinner...

You're a damn fool, Jake Stone. You've already shot yourself in both feet. Why not go for the knees now?

Swearing, he splashed his face again, then shut the water off, nearly ripping the towel holder out of the wall as he dried his hands.

The wrinkled ball of paper glared at him from the counter where he'd thrown it.

Foreclosure.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the counter and sighed. He'd known it was coming, of course. It had been like waiting to hear about the friend who's been terminally ill. You wait and you hope. You deny. But the phone call comes and reality hits.

It's over.

He'd spent the last month applying for every loan conceivable in every bank imaginable. Money was tighter than a bobcat's tail, and the few banks that had talked to him had taken one look at his financial statement and shown him the door. The back door.

Ten days.
He had ten days to get out. Ten days to gather up four generations of belongings and get the hell out before the vultures descended. Myrna would probably be the first bird of prey, he thought sourly.

At least the woman had been bright enough to stay out of his way for the past month. But good things never last, he told himself.

At least they never had for him.

He thought about Savannah again. Her green eyes fierce with determination when she'd defended Emma to Myrna, those same eyes wide with shock when she'd landed in the mud hole. And those same eyes again, heavy with passion when he'd made love to her.

And all he had left of her was the peach shampoo she'd forgotten in the shower. He'd left it there, whether to torture or comfort himself he wasn't sure. But the scent would drift up to him as he showered and he'd draw the fragrance into his lungs as if it were an invisible lifeline. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine she was still there, working beside him during the day, in his bed at night.

He turned to stare out the window, across the sweep of land that was his father's legacy to him. The land that once upon a time Jake had hoped would be his legacy to his children.

It was up to Jared and Jessica now to hold what was left of Stone Creek together. Jake had no doubt they'd succeed. He was proud of his brother and sister. They'd stood by each other, shared the pain of tragedy and the joy of happiness. They'd always been there for each other. They always would be.

So why did he feel so damn alone?

Let me stay and help you.
He could still hear Savannah's quiet offer after the barn had burned down. He'd seen the hope in her eyes that he'd say yes to her. She'd truly wanted to stay, to help him rebuild.

God, how he'd wanted to say yes. For one foolish moment he'd actually thought that with her by his side he could do anything. Slay any dragon, overcome any obstacle.

Even hold on to this ranch.

Did she have any idea what she was asking? She'd be giving up her comfortable life in Atlanta to battle the weather and drought and a hundred other difficulties that were the way of life for ranchers. She'd been eager to help in the month she'd been here, and Lord knew she'd certainly survived the worst of storms. But how long would it be before that look of hope turned to disappointment, then disillusionment? The thought scared the hell out of him. How could he take that chance?

How could he not?

Jake stared at the letter from the bank, then thought about the bottle of whiskey he kept in his desk drawer. He'd planned on mending the fence between his and Sam's place this afternoon, but what the hell? There was no possible way in ten days he could come up with the kind of money he needed to keep the bank from moving in, so what was the point? The fence could stay down for all he cared.

He started for his office, then stopped suddenly.

The fence could stay down.

Maybe there was a way.

A strange calm settled over him. For the first time in a very long time, it became overwhelmingly clear to him what he had to do.

* * *

The office smelled of leather and dust and horsehair. The oak desktop was scarred from years of being used as a boot rest, and the walls were covered with family pictures. The finish had worn off the arms of the chairs, but the cushions were comfortable and designed to easily fit the long legs and arms of a tall man.

Jake sat in one of those chairs and looked at the man across from him.

“It's been a long time, Jake,” Sam McCants said.

Jake nodded. “Too long, Sam.”

Sam pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind him, then two shot glasses. “Business or social?”

“Both.”

Sam filled the glasses and handed one to Jake. Without a word, both men downed the whiskey. The liquid burned Jake's tight throat.

“Let's start with social.” Sam refilled the glasses.

Jake took the glass and stared at it. A big slice of pride took a while to chew, let alone swallow. “I owe you an apology.”

Sam said nothing.

Jake's fingers tightened around the glass. “I know you never slept with Carolyn.”

Sam's brows raised a fraction. “Took you almost four years to figure that out?”

Jake shook his head. “I knew it then. I just needed someone other than myself to be angry at.”

“You mean someone you could hit?”

Jake closed his eyes. “I'm sorry about that, too.”

Sam grinned and rubbed his chin. “You pack a hell of a right hook.”

“You didn't deserve that.”

“Yeah, well, you didn't deserve what you got, either.”

Sam held his glass out and Jake touched it with his. The whiskey went down smoothly this time.

“So,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair, “now that we have that out of the way, let's get on to the business.”

* * *

“‘We hold these truths to be self-evident,'” Savannah said, reciting the Declaration of Independence to the classroom, “‘that all men are created equal...'”

She paused here, as an image of Jake popped into her mind.
Equal, yes,
she thought,
but certainly not the same.
She'd never met a more virile man than Jake.

Realizing that the children were staring at her, she blinked back to the present and continued, “‘that they are endowed—”

Good grief, yes, he most certainly—'”

Stop that! She frowned and shook the thought from her mind.

“‘...by their creator,'” she moved on, “‘with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.'”

The pursuit of happiness.
Savannah turned toward the blackboard and began writing the lesson so that sixteen nine-year-olds, including her own niece, wouldn't see a grown woman cry. When it came to her own life, the pursuit of happiness had wound up in a dead end.

The past month had gone by with painful slowness. Emma had been miserable since they'd come back from Texas. She'd picked at her food, neglected her friends and had been as sluggish as molasses on a cold day.

Which pretty much described herself, Savannah thought with a sigh.

The chalk squeaked across the board as she wrote, and the girls were restless in their seats waiting for her to finish. Joanie and Corrine were whispering and Sarah was giggling.

Savannah ignored the sounds, needing a moment to compose herself after letting Jake enter her thoughts. It was a constant struggle to keep the man out of her mind, a struggle that left her weaker with each passing day.

Damn him! The chalk broke against the board, but Savannah kept writing with the stub in her fingers. The giggling behind her increased and the whispers grew louder.

She had hoped that starting school would lessen the tightness in her heart, that keeping busy with classroom work would ease the pain of Jake's rejection. But it hadn't. If anything, the ache in her chest only intensified.

Before she'd met Jake, Savannah had vowed she'd never make a fool of herself over a man. And now she was the biggest fool of them all. She was in love with a man who would never love her back.

She suddenly realized that the room had grown quiet. Suspiciously quiet. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Emma who sat in the first row, corner seat. She was staring blankly at an open book in front of her. The little girl behind her leaned forward and tapped Emma's shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

Emma's eyes widened. With a frown, Savannah turned.

Jake!

Her six-foot-four cowboy, complete with a brand-new black Stetson, blue jeans and denim jacket, stood at the back of the room, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the wall. He grinned at her, then winked at a little redheaded girl who was staring intently at him. The whole class giggled.

Savannah's heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her throat.
This doesn't mean anything,
she told herself. He's just here to see Emma.

She quieted the girls, then straightened her shoulders as she looked at Jake. “Class, this is Mr. Stone, Emma's brother from Texas. It appears he's dropped in to visit with her.”

Jake's smile broadened. He pushed away from the wall and walked toward Savannah, every step laden with masculine sensuality and purpose. “Actually, Miss Roberts,” he said, “I came to see you.”

Her heart lurched and she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. What in the world was he doing? She was in a classroom, for heaven's sake!

Every little girl watched, eyes wide, as Jake moved lazily between the rows of desks to the front of the room.

“Perhaps you'd like to make an appointment to come back after class,” she suggested, twisting the stub of chalk in her hands.

“I've wasted enough time as it is,” he said, holding her gaze with his. He stopped in front of her. “I'd like an appointment now.”

“Jake,” she whispered frantically, her gaze darting from the children back to him, “we're having a history lesson.”

“You know what I like best about history?” he asked, moving closer to her. “It's not only in the past where it belongs, but it's a great way to learn about mistakes. If you pay attention, you learn a lot from those mistakes.”

What was he saying? The chalk suddenly felt damp in her shaking fingers.

“Now if you were having a math lesson, I could show you how the sum of one plus one is greater than two.” He stopped in front of her. “Or if you were having a science lesson, I could explain how the diamond is made of pure carbon and is the hardest substance known on earth.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. “In fact, I believe I have an example of that process right here.”

He opened the box and a brilliant solitaire sparkled from its satin holder.

Savannah gasped. Every child in the room leaned forward, watching with bated breath as Jake took Savannah's hand and slipped the ring on her finger.

She stared at the diamond in disbelief.

“Class dismissed,” she whispered hoarsely.

No one moved.

Jake smiled. “Then, if you had a spelling lesson, the first word would be idiot, the second, apology, and the third—” he took her chin in his palm and lifted her face to his “—marry. Used in a sentence it would be, ‘I love you. Will you marry me?'”

It was almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak. “But what about you...what about the ranch?”

He smiled at her. “I leased out half of Stone Creek for the next two years. I'll have to do some shuffling with the herd, but the income not only puts me in the black, I'll have enough to expand.”

“Leased out Stone Creek? To whom?”

“To Sam.”

“Sam?” Savannah's eyes widened. “You mean you're...”

“I've mended some fences, Savannah,” he said softly, “and tore some others down. Shoot,” he said with a grin, “his cattle were on my land half the time, anyway.”

He pulled her into his arms then, and the silence was so profound you could have heard a feather drop. “Will you marry me, Savannah? Without you in my life, nothing I've done or will do matters to me.”