Breath of Scandal(104)

"You made it my business when you got me out of that L.A. jail." As he strained each rough word through his teeth, his mustache barely moved. "You led me to believe that everything was going to be peachy keen down here in Dixie, that all the townsfolk were behind this thing one hundred percent, and that I'd have people lining up to work for me. Obviously that isn't quite the way it is. I want to know what I'm up against."

"What you're up against at the moment, Mr. Burke, is me. " Despite the stragglers still ambling along the sidewalk, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. "Your responsibilities do not extend to public relations. That's my department. From here on, I'll thank you not to try and second-guess my motives. And I'll fire you if you dare try to interfere."

She ducked into the car and slammed the door. She didn't look back as she pulled out of the parking space and drove away.

Jade knew Dillon had every fight to be concerned about public support because it could radically affect his work schedule. Her dealings with the Patchetts, however, were none of his business and never would be. Besides, she didn't think he would welcome knowing that he was playing even a small role in a revenge plot. In any case, she wasn't going to tell him more than he needed to know.

As she entered her house, her recently installed telephone was ringing. "Hello?"

"Is the meeting over yet?"

"Mr. Stein!" she exclaimed. "Yes, it just now concluded. "



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Breath of Scandal



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"Why didn't you call me? I told you to call me." "I was about to. I'm barely inside the door." "Well? How did it go?"

"Splendidly. We couldn't have asked for a better response. " She briefly filled him in on what had transpired, omitting any mention of the Patchetts.

"So, you're still sold on the commercial potential of this area. I I

"Without qualification."

"Good. Then let me tell you about a few ideas I've been toying with. "

Jade sat down to listen.

"Are you still here? Can't you take a hint?"

With the toe of his new shoe, Dillon nudged the stray dog aside as he unlocked the trailer door. "Beat it!" The mongrel looked up at him with woebegone eyes, lay back down on the step, and rested his head on his forepaws. "Suit yourself," Dillon grumbled. "But don't expect me to keep feeding you."

He slammed the trailer door so hard that the structure shook. Taking a soda from the refrigerator in the narrow kitchen, he stood in the wedge of cool air and drank half the soda in one swallow. He rolled the cold can against his forehead. "Dammit."

He didn't welcome anything in his life that made him think or feel. Seven years ago, he had officially stopped feeling. More than his wife and son had been interred in those graves. He had buried his sentience, too. Nothing except his body had continued to exist. On the inside, he was hollow and empty. He liked it that way. He planned to keep it that way.

He had walked away from the house where Debra and Charlie had died, leaving everything behind. From that day on, he had kept himself detached from the world. He owned no property except for the few essentials that he could carry with him in his pickup. He remained indifferent to other



people. He hadn't stayed anywhere long enough to cultivate friendships. He hadn't wanted any.

He had learned the hard way that no matter how well you did what was expected of you, no matter how good a person you tried to be, you still got your teeth kicked in. You were punished for wrongdoings you weren't even aware of. Debts were always collected, and the tariff was the lives of the people you loved.

From this cruel lesson, Dillon had developed a logical philosophy: Don't love.

His life was a safe, painless void, and that's the way he wanted it to stay. He didn't need a sap of a dog forming an attachment to him. He didn't want to care about this job to the extent of being protective and possessive and to thinking of it as "his plant." He sure as hell didn't need a woman getting under his skin.

Cursing, he slammed the refrigerator door. Such was life. There was a dumb mutt curled up on his front step, licking his hand every time he went through the door. He was already as protective as a mama bear toward the TexTile plant, and ground hadn't even been broken yet. And he was angry at Jade Sperry. Anger was an emotion. He didn't want to feel any emotion where she was concerned.

After weeks of conferences and meetings in New York with men in Burberry suits, men who had never had blisters on their hands, he couldn't wait for the actual construction to get under way. Now, it seemed that, just when he had allowed himself to get emotionally involved in his work for the first time in years, the project might be scrapped.

A fool could have predicted that Patchett wouldn't roll over and play dead when another industry came to town, placing his business in a distant second place. Jade Sperry was no fool. She had known beforehand that she would make an enemy out of Patchett. After the words they had exchanged at the town meeting, Dillon believed that she had been enemies with him for a long time-with his son, too.

Old man Patchett had said, "Where in hell did you get



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the nerve to show your face in this town?" That suggested a scandal. Had Jade left Palmetto in disgrace?