What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(69)

Laurel continued to sit silently, helplessly, waiting for the final blow to fall.

“This is too much. I’m sorry, Laurel, but I can’t handle it. I’ve got to get out of here.” He reached for his jacket. Something fell out of a pocket and rolled across the floor, but he snatched it up and stuffed it back in his pants pocket before she could see what it was.





Chapter Sixteen



So, it was over.

Just like that, she was alone again. Sure, Jase’s belongings were strewn all over the house, but that was only temporary. Maybe he’d take back the dishwasher repair too.

She trudged upstairs and exchanged the sexy fuchsia dress for a chaste white cotton nightgown, then returned to the den. There was no way she could sleep in the bed tonight that she and Jase had shared. Instead, tucking her feet under herself, she curled up in a chair and pulled an afghan over her shoulders to keep herself warm, then flicked the remote at the TV.

The programs seemed even more banal than usual, but the real performance was in her brain as it continuously reran the Betsy Simcek show. And she hadn’t been the only audience. By the time Betsy finished, everyone in the building must have crowded into the room to find out what the ruckus was about—the waiters, Dave’s new wife’s family, Art Sawyer, Mrs. Atherton, Kel, Pendleton Swaim (where had those two come from?)—people she knew and people she didn’t. Everyone.

Dear God, she’d almost made it, almost gotten out of the club scot-free, and then Jase’s minion appeared with Larry Traylor and Rick Simcek right behind him.

She understood Aunt Betsy’s reaction to seeing Edward Harlow’s daughter all dressed up and enjoying an evening out. The Simceks didn’t have any children, so Betsy lavished all her attention on her sister’s only son. Laurel was still writing monthly checks for his psychotherapy, although she suspected his problems went far beyond her father. Still, she didn’t begrudge him. How could she? What Daddy had done was unforgivable.

There was no getting around the fact that she was her father’s daughter, and, as far as Betsy Simcek was concerned, if Daddy wasn’t what he should have been, his daughter wasn’t either. Apparently Jase felt the same way.

The glare from the television screen began to bother her, and she closed her eyes for a moment’s rest. This was absolutely the worst day of her life, even worse than when Daddy had made his confession.

*



Jase had no particular destination in mind when he left Laurel’s house. He just needed to get away. Everything was too much—a bad dream, a nightmare. If only the world would reverse course and go back to the way it was sixteen years ago, when Laurel was princess of Bosque Bend, and Reverend Ed its virtual king.

Sexual abuse—molestation, probably other things he didn’t want to think about. He couldn’t believe it.

Damn. How many times had he daydreamed about Growler dying and Reverend Ed adopting him?

The psychologist had told him that sexual predators seemed to have an instinct for children deprived of affection. That’s why Marguerite Shelton had zeroed in on him, because he’d been vulnerable. Was that what Reverend Ed had seen in him too, his vulnerability? What might have happened if he had stayed around town another year or two?

Halfway through an intersection, he realized he’d run a red light. Who cared? It was night, there weren’t any other cars around, and he could buy his way out—just pay the ticket and be done with it. In fact, he could buy almost anything he wanted. Not like Laurel, who apparently was stone-cold broke.

Well, at least now he knew where the Kinkaid fortune had gone. And why she hid herself away in that big house all the time. And why she wanted to leave Bosque Bend. All his questions had been answered, just as he’d wanted, but the answers hadn’t been anywhere near what he’d expected. If only he’d left well enough alone. Maybe he and Laurel could have slipped out of town, flown up to Nevada and married quietly, then appeared in Dallas as man and wife, and no one would be the wiser—least of all him.

But ignorance is not bliss. He would have learned about Reverend Ed sooner or later, and if he couldn’t deal with learning the truth now, how would he have felt learning about it after he’d brought her into his house as his wife?

He hit the wheel with his hand in frustration. Damn! He’d governed everything he did by Edward Harlow’s precepts, and so much of his feeling for Laurel was bound up with his admiration for her father…

He was careful to stop at the next light. Bosque Bend didn’t have that many traffic signals, but he was hitting them all wrong. Fuck! Must be bad timing. Just like with Laurel.

The ring felt heavy as lead in his pocket.

Maybe they could still do Vegas. He could make a U-turn right now, pick Laurel up, and whisk her out of town to a new life. They’d lock all this—this sordidness in a closet and never talk about it again.

But would it be that easy to forget? Every time he looked at Laurel, he saw her father in her—her gray eyes and dark hair, something in the shape of her face, the way she carried herself. She even sounded like him—calm, soothing, concerned. He snorted. Maybe her concern was as false as Reverend Ed’s must have been.

No, he knew better than that—didn’t he? Oh God, what did he know? His whole world had just been blasted to smithereens.

He deliberately ignored a stop sign.