Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,9
that I should stay here, with you, on this damned ranch.” Standing at his full height, using its advantage to stare down at her and drill her with his frosty blue gaze, he added, “I had no intention of staying.”
“I loved you,” she said boldly, the words ringing in the barn. “I might have been naive, but I did love you, Denver.”
Denver’s muscles tensed, the skin over his features stretching taut. “We were two kids experimenting, Tessa—finding out about our bodies and sex. Love had nothing to do with it.”
“You don’t believe that!” she cried, feeling as if he’d slapped her. “You couldn’t!”
“Time has a way of making the past crystal clear, don’t you think?”
Tessa’s chin wobbled, but she forced her head up proudly. He wiped the rain from his hair, and she saw his hand, the burns still visible. Suddenly she understood. “You were afraid to see me,” she whispered, her eyes widening with realization as they clashed with his again.
His face was unreadable and stony. “Think what you want.”
She walked toward him, her steps quickening as she closed the distance. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were afraid that because of your scars—”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe what happened between us just wasn’t that important?”
“No!”
“Oh, God, Tessa. You always were a dreamer.”
His words hit hard and stung, like the cut of a whip. As if to protect herself, she stumbled backward, wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against one cobweb draped wall. “What happened to you, Denver?” she murmured, staring at the bitter man whom she had once treasured. “Just what the hell happened to you?”
“I got burned.” Hiking his collar up, he turned and strode through the slanting rain. Ducking his head, he marched across the gravel yard, his boots echoing loudly as he disappeared into the house.
Tessa stared after him, her heart thudding painfully. Dropping onto the hay-strewn floor, she buried her face in her hands. For years she’d imagined running into him again, hoping deep in her heart that there might be some little spark in his eyes—a hint that he still cared. And even if he didn’t love her again, she’d told herself, she could be content knowing that he, too, felt a special warmth at the thought that she had been his first love.
She’d been practical, not harboring any fanciful dreams that one day they could fall in love again. But she’d hoped that after an initial strained meeting, she and Denver would eventually become close—not as lovers, but as friends.
It had been a stupid, childish dream. She knew that now. Denver had changed so much.
Surprised that her hands were wet, that she’d actually shed tears for a man who had turned into such a soulless bastard, she sniffed loudly, wiped her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Never again, she told herself bitterly. These were the last tears she would ever shed for Denver McLean!
Chapter Two
Determined to be as cool and indifferent as Denver, Tessa marched through the rain to the house. The nerve of the man! she thought. He’d waltzed back into her life only to tell her that everything they had shared had been lies. He had twisted the truth to serve his own purposes. Well, he could twist it all he liked!
She wasn’t afraid of Denver or his lies. He couldn’t possibly hurt her more than he already had.
Seething, she kicked off her boots on the back porch and stalked into the kitchen in her stocking feet. The mingled smells of warm coffee, stale cigarettes and newsprint filled the air. Illuminated by the one remaining low-watt bulb, the room was muted, some of its defects hidden.
Tessa half expected to find Denver at the table, but the kitchen was empty. She knew he had to be in the house—or on the grounds nearby. His rental car was parked near the garage, under the overhanging branches of an ancient oak, and she’d watched him storm into the house just minutes before.
“So who cares?” she asked herself angrily. He’d made himself perfectly clear. She meant nothing to him and so much the better. At least now they could get down to business. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a glass pot still warming on the stove, took a sip and grimaced before tossing the remaining dregs down the drain. She refilled the cup with hot water for instant coffee and placed it in the microwave.
She listened, but didn’t hear a sound other than the