Читать книгу Storming Whitehorn - Christine Scott - Страница 8

Jasmine felt numb the next morning as she stared across the rolling green slopes of the Whitehorn Cemetery. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden behind a bank of storm clouds, making the white marble head stones and the simple lime stone crosses appear almost luminescent in the false twilight. A cool breeze swept the grounds, carrying with it the promise of the long winter ahead. She shivered in her simple black dress, wishing she’d remembered to bring a sweater.

Moodily, she blamed her lack of fore thought on Storm Hunter. Him, and his damned kiss. Since yesterday she’d been unable to think of little else. Thoughts of Storm and their encounter had left her restless and preoccupied. He’d come and gone in a blink of an eye like a fast-moving tornado, but the damage he’d left behind had been devastating.

Her womanly pride had been shattered.

Pushing the troubling thought from her mind, she concentrated on the ceremony taking place. Along with a small gathering of the Kincaid clan, Jasmine had come to pay her respects to a cousin she barely knew. For this was the day that Lyle Brooks was being laid to rest.

While they’d been close in age, only a year apart, Lyle had spent most of his life in Elk Springs. It wasn’t until recently that he’d made his presence known in Whitehorn. A presence that had spelled trouble from the start.

Though the details were still sketchy, Lyle’s fateful business dealings had rocked the small town of Whitehorn. He’d been a major player in the planning of the casino/resort that would encompass both the Kincaid property and the Laughing Horse Reservation. His grandfather, Garrett Kincaid, had entrusted him to oversee the family interest in the project. A decision that an obviously distraught Garrett now regretted.

For reasons unknown, Lyle had killed one of the construction workers at the building site by pushing him off of a forty-five-foot ledge. When Gretchen Neal, the lead detective on the case, uncovered his culpability in the crime, Lyle had tried to kill her to silence her. Before he could carry out his plan, Jasmine’s cousin, David Hannon, had shot and killed him in a gun battle.

Construction on the new casino/resort had been halted, its future in limbo. The business deal, which would have been profitable for both the town of Whitehorn as well as the members of the Laughing Horse Reservation, had been dealt a lethal blow. One from which no one was certain it would recover.

Now they were gathered here to pay their respects to a man who hardly deserved them. Even before they’d discovered the extent of Lyle’s evil, Jasmine had never felt comfortable around her cousin. He’d had such a dark aura, and there were always too many bad vibrations emanating from him.

Jasmine frowned. Dark aura? Bad vibrations? Good grief, she was starting to sound like her mother. She sighed. Mystical nonsense, or not, Lyle Brooks was one man whose spirit she wanted to see settled, not roaming free to cause more heart ache.

She scanned the group, looking for familiar faces. Her mother and her sister, Cleo, were nearby. As well as Aunt Yvette and Uncle Edward, with their daughter, Frannie, and her husband Austin, at their side. Noticeably absent, however, was their son, David, the man responsible for Lyle’s death, and his fiancée, Gretchen Neal, whom he intended to marry come spring.

Garrett Kincaid, with his distinctive head of silver hair, stood tall and straight at the front of the group, supporting his grief-stricken daughter, Alice Brooks, Lyle’s mother. Alice’s husband, Henry, hovered at his wife’s side, helplessly patting her arm, trying to ease her sorrow. Henry looked pale and hollow-eyed, devastated by the loss of his only son.

Across the way, Jasmine spotted her cousin, Summer Kincaid Night hawk. When Summer’s mother, Blanche Kincaid, had died, Yvette and Celeste had taken her under their wing, raising her as their own daughter. Inseparable since childhood, Jasmine and Summer were like sisters. Now, though Summer wore a somber expression and her long dark hair was gathered into a severe bun at the back of her head, Summer glowed with an internal happiness that couldn’t be dimmed even in the darkness that surrounded this day. Obviously marriage to Gavin Night hawk agreed with her.

Some of the new cousins were in attendance also. These were the illegitimate sons of Larry Kincaid, Garrett’s only son, who’d recently been united on the Kincaid ranch. While Jasmine barely knew this new batch of relatives, it felt good to have them gathered around her. It gave her hope for a new beginning, the possibility of a familial closeness yet to come.

The minister’s final blessing rose above the cry of the wind and Alice Brooks’s sobs of grief, signaling an end to the service. With a nod toward Garrett, the minister picked up a handful of newly spaded dirt and tossed it onto the bronze casket as it was lowered into the ground. In turn, Garrett and Henry Brooks followed suit, letting a fistful of dirt sift through each of their hands.

When it was Alice Brooks’s turn to perform the ritual, she stood beside the gravesite, shaking uncontrollably. Then, with an ear-piercing scream of anguish, she threw herself onto the casket, wailing in consolably. The winches holding the coffin shuddered at the added weight. The grounds keeper operating the lift fumbled with the switch, cutting the power. A communal gasp of surprise arose from the crowd.

“For God’s sake, Alice. What are you doing?” Garrett called, reaching for his daughter.

At first Henry Brooks stood frozen to the spot, his eyes wide, his mouth dropping open in surprise. At the sound of his father-in-law’s gruff voice, he gave a visible shake, ridding himself of his stupor. Quickly he grabbed for his wife.

Alice clung to the casket, stubbornly refusing to relinquish her death grip. Jasmine’s heart went out to the woman. Though Alice had a reputation for being shrewish, no one deserved to suffer such grief. After a few agonizingly discomfitting moments, the two men finally coaxed her to loosen her hold. They pulled her away, half carrying, half leading her from the gravesite.

The crowd dispersed amid murmurs of shock at the dramatic scene they had just witnessed.

Shaken by the unexpected events, Jasmine turned to leave. As she did so, she spotted a tall figure at the fringe of the gathering. He stood apart from the group, almost hidden beneath the shading branches of one of the many pine trees that stood sentry over the hallowed grounds. But she had no trouble recognizing him.

It was Storm Hunter.

Her heart skipped a beat as she stopped and stared at him, wondering why he’d come. Though he saw her, he didn’t move, nor did he look away. Instead he held her gaze without flinching.

In deference to the day’s event, he wore a black, double-breasted suit. His starched-white shirt complemented the darkness of his skin. His long hair was slicked back GQ-style, emphasizing his high cheekbones and the sculpted line of his jaw. Despite his grim expression, he looked breath-stealingly handsome.

Memories of the kiss they’d shared flooded her mind, warming her skin with a sensual flush of heat. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against hers, could still taste his lips. Desire still pulsed through her body.

Though her pride had taken a blow when he’d left her without a word of explanation, she found herself drawn to him like a willow branch to water. She stepped toward him, her mouth curving into a tentative smile of greeting.

But the cold, prohibitive look in his eyes stopped her. Jasmine stumbled to a halt, shivering beneath his frosty glare. Holding her gaze for just a moment longer, he turned away, spurning her once again.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think what to do next. An unfamiliar chill of rejection enveloped her, stiffening her limbs, numbing her mind. Never before had she been rebuffed by a man twice in as many days. The experience was as humiliating as it was crushing to her ego.

Until now she’d thought of herself as a desirable woman. At least, the men in town had certainly made her feel that way. She’d never wanted for a date, not since she’d turned a sweet sixteen. But with all their clumsy attempts to woo her, none of the local men had ever come close to arousing in her the earth-shattering sensations she’d experienced with Storm’s single kiss. What made his rejection even harder to understand was that she could have sworn Storm had felt the same way.

“Jasmine?” Summer’s soft voice interrupted her pensive thoughts. She linked arms, pulling Jasmine close to her side. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

Jasmine watched Storm’s departure through the cemetery while trying to focus on her cousin’s words. “It’s just the wind, the cold. I’m fine, really.”

Summer frowned. “You don’t look fine. You look as though you’ve lost your best friend.”

No, just a chance at something wonderful.

Summer followed the direction of her distracted gaze, her frown deepening. “Do you know that man?”

Jasmine bit her lip, hesitating before answering, uncertain what to say. Storm Hunter was Summer’s uncle. Though Storm had left Whitehorn long before her birth, and had never bothered to contact her since, he was still her closest living relative on her father’s side. She wasn’t sure what Summer’s reaction might be to his appearance.

Unable to lie to her cousin, Jasmine said, “That man was Storm Hunter, your uncle.”

Summer flinched at the words. Her gaze startled, she looked across the cemetery grounds to the chapel’s parking lot where Storm was climbing into his car. Pain and confusion filled her eyes. And Jasmine realized she wasn’t the only woman feeling rejected.

Jasmine muttered an oath beneath her breath. Damn the man. Since arriving in Whitehorn, Storm Hunter had caused nothing but trouble for every single person his presence had touched.

Hadn’t he done enough damage?

For her sake, as well as her family’s, perhaps it would be best if he returned to where he’d come.

One hand clenching the steering wheel, Storm put the cemetery far behind him. With his free hand, he loosened his tie and wrenched it from the collar of his shirt. Fumbling blindly with the top button, he breathed a sigh of relief as it popped open. A suit and tie were his daily lawyer’s uniform, but today the outfit felt as though it were choking him.

At least, that was the excuse he allowed himself for his agitated state. He refused to blame his foul mood on his reaction to seeing Jasmine again. He told himself that the white-hot flash of desire he’d felt had nothing to do with his quick departure from the cemetery. Nor did it have anything to do with the lingering conviction that somehow he and Jasmine were fated to be together. No, he wasn’t running away. He’d merely accomplished what he’d set out to do—see for himself the family that had destroyed his life. The Kincaids.

Only, until he saw her standing alone amid the mourners, he’d forgotten that one of the Kincaids included a member of his own family. Summer Kincaid, his brother’s only child.

Storm drove slowly through Whitehorn’s downtown area, passing the police station and the movie theater. Down the street from the court house, he spotted the Hip Hop Café. Though it was too early for lunch, he didn’t think he could face the four silent walls of his hotel room. He needed a place where he could go to unwind and not have to listen to the sound of his own guilty conscience.

He pulled into a space and parked the car. Tossing his suit coat into the back seat, he headed inside the café. A country tune by Garth Brooks greeted him at the door. A handful of patrons were scattered around the café, some at the counter, others in booths. Heads turned at his entrance. Curious glances followed him as he made his way to a booth in the back. Whether they were staring at him because he was a Native American or because he was over-dressed for the lunch time crowd, he wasn’t sure.

Since arriving in Whitehorn, he hadn’t felt an open hostility from any of its residents. Though he couldn’t say he felt welcomed, either. Bigotry was alive and well across the country. Whitehorn was no worse or no better than any other town. No matter how much he’d like for it to be different, he would never be able to convert everyone to a world of complete acceptance.

A waitress with a bright smile and long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, joined him at his booth. She plunked a menu down onto the Formica-topped table and set a coffee mug next to it. Without asking, she filled his cup to the brim with the steaming brew. “If you’re looking for break fast, you’re half an hour too late. We’ve already got the grill set up for lunch.”

Storm shook his head. “That’s okay. Coffee’s fine for now.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a nod. “My name’s Janie. If you need anything else, just holler.”

Storm watched as Janie made her way to the front counter. His mind drifted back to the haunting scene he’d witnessed at the cemetery. Other than Alice Brooks’s histrionics, he had to admit the Kincaid family had seemed normal. They weren’t the monsters he’d remembered them to be as a child.

For years he’d clung to his hatred of the Kincaid family like a lifeline, finding solace and strength in bitterness. He’d blamed them for Raven’s unexplained disappearance, not wanting to believe that his brother would have abandoned him unless he’d felt he’d had no other choice. While Raven had talked little of his affair with Blanche Kincaid, Storm knew he’d been disturbed by Blanche’s older brother, Jeremiah. Jeremiah had been the devil incarnate. He’d belittled Raven in public and had threatened him in private. There was little doubt in Storm’s mind that Jeremiah Kincaid had played a role in Raven’s death.

If only he could get the police to agree.

Storm picked up his mug, blew the steam off the top and took a sip of the hot coffee. Once the mystery behind his brother’s death had been officially solved, he intended to be on the first plane back to Albuquerque. There was nothing here to keep him in Whitehorn.

Nothing but a family he’d turned his back on.

And a niece he did not know.

Storm set the mug back on the table. He stared at the clouds swirling across its cooling surface, as though searching for a way to soothe his guilt. In the days since he’d returned to Whitehorn, he’d seen Summer a handful of times. Always from a distance, never face-to-face.

He’d told himself he was waiting for the right moment to approach her. Only that moment had yet to come. Today he’d been just a few feet from finally meeting her. But as was too often the case, when it came to facing up to his personal responsibilities, he’d chosen the easy way out. He’d run.

Storm closed his eyes and took in a painful breath. For thirty years he’d lived with the thought that his brother had abandoned him. Wounded and betrayed, he’d purposefully distanced himself from the town and the people that had reminded him of his loss.

But now he knew the truth. Raven had died all those years ago.

Storm had run out of excuses to hide. His brother was gone for good. But Raven’s daughter was still alive and well. And she was his last link to the only person he’d ever loved.

With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes. Glancing around the café, he caught the eye of the blond-haired waitress.

Smiling, she strolled over to his booth. “Did you change your mind about lunch?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d just like to pay the bill.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, tearing a page from her receipt book and placing it on the table in front of him. “Fried chicken’s the special today. The cook fixes a mean bird.”

Storm gave a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Maybe you could help me with something, though. I’m looking for someone. Summer Kincaid. Do you know her? Or where I might find her?”

“Summer? Sure, I know her. She’s a doctor. Your best bet at finding her would be at the Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, or the clinic she runs at the Laughing Horse Reservation. If you can’t find her at either of those two places, she’s probably at home taking care of her baby step daughter, Alyssa. Her number’s in the phone book. Only look under the name Night hawk.” The waitress winked as she turned to leave. “She’s a married lady now.”

Night hawk. So Summer had married a Cheyenne. Despite being raised by the Kincaids, she’d chosen to live her life with a Native American. He felt vindicated by the thought.

He knew her name and how to reach her. Now all he needed was the courage to call her.

Slowly, Jasmine replaced the receiver in its cradle. Frowning, she stared at the phone. Summer had just called. Shortly after Lyle Brooks’s funeral, she’d received an unexpected call from her uncle, Storm Hunter.

He’d asked to meet with her. Summer had agreed.

Only, Gavin was busy and unable to be with her. Summer felt the need for family support at this initial meeting with her long lost uncle and had asked Jasmine to join her.

Jasmine bit her lip. She’d do anything for her cousin, and she’d felt honored that Summer had turned to her in her time of need. As the baby of the family, Jasmine had spent most of her life being taken care of, not caring for others. She’d longed for the chance to prove herself to be mature and responsible in her family’s eyes. Finally she’d been given that chance.

If only Storm Hunter wasn’t a part of the picture.

She dreaded the thought of seeing him again. She didn’t know how much more humiliation she could take in one day. Even if he was Summer’s uncle, the man was unforgivably rude.

“Jasmine, who was on the phone?”

She looked up to see her mother approaching the front desk. This afternoon Celeste looked more like her old self. A healthy flush colored her cheeks and dressed in a tea-colored tunic and loose-fitting pants, she looked relaxed and at ease for the first time in days. Jasmine hated the idea of disrupting her fleeting moment of peace. “It was Summer,” she admitted.

“Summer? Is everything all right? The baby isn’t sick, is she?”

“No, nothing like that…it’s just—” She stopped, struggling to find the right words. Knowing there was no easy way to break the news, she said, “Storm Hunter called. He wants to meet with her.”

The healthy color drained from Celeste’s face. She sat heavily on a tapestry-covered chair. “Oh, my. I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d seek her out. I suppose there’s no avoiding it.”

“He is her uncle,” she reminded her mother.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Her hands shook as she brushed a strand of russet hair from her face. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. “I only wish Summer didn’t have to face him alone.”

“She’s not,” Jasmine said carefully. “I’m going over to her house now. She’s asked me to be with her when he arrives.”

Her mother surged to her feet. “Absolutely not. I don’t want you anywhere near that man.”

Jasmine blinked, stunned by the outburst. “Mother, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. The man’s a Hunter. He belongs to a family that has brought us nothing but heart ache. I forbid you to see him.”

“You forbid me?” Jasmine’s voice rose in self-righteous indignation. Since she had returned to the B and B and had taken over all of the kitchen duties, her mother had been treating her as an adult, with respect and admiration. Having Celeste now treat her like a strong-willed teenager was devastating to her ego. “Mother, I’m not a child. I’m twenty-three years old. You can’t send me to my room if I don’t want to do what you tell me.”

“Believe me, if I thought it would do any good, I’d try,” her mother said, releasing an exasperated breath. “When it comes to men, you haven’t paid attention to me in years. Not since you filled out your first training bra.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Mother, really, would you listen to yourself? Since when have you been distrustful? Storm may be a Hunter, but so is Summer. Are we supposed to abandon her, just because you don’t approve of the other half of her family?”

Celeste took in a sharp breath, seemingly shocked by the question. “You know I’d never abandon Summer. I’ve raised her since she was just a baby. I love her as much as I love you and Cleo.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “If Summer needs our support, then we will give it to her.”

Jasmine felt the tension ease from her muscles. Finally, she told herself, they were making progress.

The thought had no more than surfaced when her mother threw another curve at her self-esteem. With her brow furrowed into a tight frown, Celeste said, “But that doesn’t mean it has to be you, Jasmine. Surely David or Cleo could be with Summer.”

“Mother,” she said, her tone a warning note. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t suggest that.”

Jasmine was confused and hurt by her mother’s sudden lack of confidence. She didn’t understand what was wrong. Normally a very liberal, open-minded person, Celeste had raised her daughters to be free-spirited and independent. It wasn’t like her to be so overly protective. But then again, Celeste hadn’t been acting normal since the Hunter family had resurfaced in their lives. Jasmine truly doubted that, if she were to meet anyone but Storm Hunter, her mother would care.

“Mother, I love you,” she said, struggling to remain calm, “and I will always respect your concern and advice. But this time you’re wrong. Summer needs me. And I’m going to help her, whether you approve or not.”

Without waiting for a reply, she gave her mother a quick hug goodbye and hurried out the door. Midway to her Jeep Wrangler, her heart was still pounding and the muscles in her legs felt like jelly. She’d never felt so awful. This was the first major disagreement she’d ever had with her mother. A disagreement over a man, of all things.

But not just any man, she told herself as she rested her hand on the door of her Jeep. A man whose mutual history had had such a devastating affect upon their family. Storm Hunter.