“Now, will you make love to me?”

He’d love nothing better. But he was still worried about her emotional scars. He’d never dealt with anything like that before.

“Willa, are you sure you’re ready for this? Do you need more time to trust me?”

Her gaze narrowed in irritation. He laughed reluctantly. Although the notion of her tearing his clothes off didn’t sound half-bad.

“Refill?” he asked her. Now that the moment was upon him, he had no idea how to proceed with her. Yet another first for him. He pressed a full glass into her hand and nudged the bottom of it toward her mouth.

“A little liquid relaxation first, Mr Dawson?”

“Something like that.” She was so damned open and forthright. It was disconcerting. Most women were so busy maneuvering into his pants by this point they weren’t stopping to talk about his tactics to achieve the same.

“I have faith in you, Gabe.”

And there it was. That damned trust of hers. What if he let her down? If she freaked out in the middle of sex and he did the wrong thing? Fear gripped his chest in sharp talons.

“Now what?” she asked.

Now what, indeed.

Vengeance in Texas: Where heroes are made.

About the Author

CINDY DEES started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan, where she grew up, to attend the University of Michigan. After earning a degree in Russian and East European studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include medieval reenacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing and Japanese gardening.

This RITA® Award-winning author’s first book was published in 2002 and since then she has published more than twenty-five bestselling and award-winning novels. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

A Billionaire’s
Redemption
Cindy Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter 1

“…We commend the soul of our brother departed, and we commit his body to the ground—earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

The preacher’s voice droned on, but Willa Merris’s heart hurt too much for her to hear the rest. Her father, Senator John Merris, was dead. Truly gone. Murdered. And even though his body had been discovered nearly two weeks ago, the finality of it had waited until this exact moment to slam into her like a ton of bricks.

Despair weighed on her until she could hardly breathe. What were she and her mother going to do? He had always been the center of their universe, the two of them pale moons orbiting his brilliant life.

A thud startled her. Her mother had just tossed a tightly balled clod of red Texas clay on top of the casket. The dirt in her own hand was cold and moist, squishing out of her clenched fist. Blinded by tears, Willa tossed her clod of dirt into the hole that contained her father’s mortal remains.

She shuddered as dozens of other mourners stepped forward to toss handfuls of dirt on her father’s grave. Some of them appeared genuinely sad, but the majority ranged from indifferent to covertly satisfied to bury the bastard. She had no illusions that her father had been a saint. Far from it. He’d been a mean man in a mean business—two mean businesses—a wildcat oilman carving a fortune out of the oil sands of West Texas, and a United States senator, brawling in the halls of Congress.

A comforting arm slipped around her shoulders. She leaned into the embrace for a moment, but then caught a whiff of the aftershave and stiffened. No. Surely not. Horror flowed through her. That, and sheer, frozen terror. She glanced up at the sympathetic face of James Ward, the son of her father’s longtime business partner.

“Get away from me this second,” she cried. “Don’t touch me!”

The people around her jolted, shocked by her outburst. She slipped out from under Ward’s arm as he stared at her, dumbfounded. Right. Like he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about.

Flashes of his big hands tearing her clothes… viciously slapping the fight out of her… shoving her to the floor of her living room… and, oh, God, the pain of his big body slamming into hers over and over. His grunts… the maniacal gleam in his glittering blue eyes… the humiliation and utter degradation of it.

She’d wanted to die. Right there where he’d left her on the floor like some piece of tossed-off garbage. She’d wished desperately to disappear, to just cease to exist. But no such luck. Instead, her father had checked out of his mortal coil and left behind the mess of his life for her to unravel in addition to hers.

“Honey,” Ward murmured, “you’re overwrought. Let me drive you home. Put you to bed.”

Overwrought? Something inside her cracked. She’d show him overwrought! “Get away from me!” she screeched.

Backpedaling from him with her hands outstretched to fend him off, she registered vaguely how everyone had gone stock-still around her. It was as if time had stopped with everyone in funny poses, staring at her slack-jawed as if she’d grown a second head.

“I swear, if you lay a hand on me again, I’ll kill you!” she shouted at Ward in rage she didn’t even know she had inside her. “Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”

The vignette unfroze all at once with a rush of reaching hands and concerned faces closing in on her like macabre, black-clad clowns. Camera bulbs flashed, cell phones whipped out to arm’s length, pointed at her. Even the local news reporter frantically gestured at her cameraman to get all this on film.

Appalled, humiliated and so irrationally furious she scared herself, Willa batted away the hands, shoved through the crowd and broke into a stumbling half run toward her car. The grass and her high-heeled shoes were a lethal combination and she nearly broke her neck before she fetched up hard against her car door breathing heavily. She felt dirty. A driving compulsion to wash away the feel of James Ward’s filthy touch overwhelmed her. She had to get home. Take a hot shower. Scrub herself clean.

Willa stabbed at the car’s ignition button and nearly ran down the news reporter as she accelerated away from her father’s disaster of a funeral, frantic to escape this nightmare from which there was no waking.

Gabe Dawson watched the slender, black-veiled woman race away from John Merris’s grave. What was that all about? He hadn’t been close enough to hear the commotion, but it had been hard to miss. An angry buzz of gossip hummed around him… something about the senator’s daughter threatening to kill someone….

Quiet little Willa Merris? Alarm blossomed in his gut. Was she in danger? The girl he remembered wouldn’t say boo to a mouse. But then, he hadn’t seen her in over a decade. She’d been a skinny, awkward teen the last time he’d visited the Merris home. Before his falling out with John Merris. Before the two of them became mortal enemies.

At least Willa’s outburst had drawn the attention of the rumormongers away from his arrival at the funeral. As it was, he was sure to be topic number one in the gossip columns for showing up at John Merris’s grave. He would probably be accused of coming here to gloat. In point of fact, he hadn’t wished the old man dead. Plenty of suffering and failure, yes. But not death.

The preacher mumbled a few more words into the suddenly circuslike atmosphere, but no one was paying attention. Seeming to sense it, the minister cut short and wrapped up the graveside service with unseemly haste. Gabe watched in sardonic amusement as the good ladies of Vengeance, Texas, wasted no time texting and calling their friends to report the latest scandal surrounding the lurid death of John Merris. Vultures.

He jolted as a microphone materialized under his nose. “Have you got any comment on Willa Merris’s outburst, Mr. Dawson? You’re Senator Merris’s former business partner, are you not?” a female reporter demanded.

She looked as avidly entertained as the vultures. More so.

“No comment,” he growled. He strode away from the woman, but she walk-ran beside him, continuing to shove that damned microphone in front of him.

“What do you have to say about John Merris’s murder? Some people are saying you’re more pleased than anyone that the senator is dead. Is it true you two had a violent argument just a few weeks ago?”

He stonily ignored the reporter and her sleazy innuendos.

“Is it true that the police have asked you not to leave town, and that you’re a person of interest in the senator’s murder?”

He stopped at that, turned slowly and gave her the flat, pitiless stare that had earned him his reputation as a hard man among hard men. The reporter recoiled from him with a huff. Smart girl.

“What did you say your name was?” he called after her as she stomped away from him.

She half turned and snapped, “Paula Craddock. KVXT News. Are you going to give me a statement?”

“Nope. Just wanted to know who to sic my lawyers on the next time you harass me.”

The journalist’s gaze narrowed to a threatening glare.

Yeah, whatever. Better women than she had tried to get a rise out of him over the years. But he wasn’t the founder and CEO of a billion-dollar oil conglomerate for nothing. He chewed up and spit out self-serving leeches like her for breakfast.

Meanwhile, the alarm in his gut refused to quiet. What had caused Willa Merris to blow up at her own father’s funeral? She and her mother were always the souls of decorum, quiet props in the background of Senator Merris’s many public appearances. Willa had been trained practically from birth how not to draw attention to herself. It was unthinkable that she would cause a scene, ever, let alone in public, in front of the press, and most definitely not at a somber occasion like this.

What had gotten into her?

Worry for the unpleasant conversation he had yet to have with young Willa flashed through his head. Maybe he should wait awhile to break his own bad news to her and her mother. But it wasn’t like there was ever going to be a good time to tell them John Merris’s last, nasty little secret.

He sighed. Lord, this was going to suck. He might as well go find Willa Merris now and make her misery complete.

Chapter 2

No matter how long she stood under the water, nor how hot the water was, Willa never felt entirely clean anymore. But as the shower went from tepid to icy cold, she reluctantly climbed out. She felt like the fragile little handblown glass horse figurine she’d gotten somewhere as a child. At the slightest touch, she was going to shatter into a million knife-sharp pieces.

She’d give anything not to have to face the world for a good, long time. Or better, to leave this place and never, ever come back. But duty drove that rebellious thought back into her subconscious nearly as quickly as it had surfaced. God knew why, but her father had named her executor of his estate, which meant she was trapped in this town for months to come.

The doorbell echoed far away in her parents’ mansion. Someone else would get it—Louise, their longtime housekeeper, or maybe Larry Shore, her father’s new chief of staff and right-hand man since the old one, Frank Kellerman, wound up in jail for covering up her father’s sins.

Despite the ninety-degree weather, an impulse to cover as much skin as possible overcame her. She pulled on a pair of light wool slacks and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater. She skipped her usual French twist and merely pushed her strawberry-blond hair off her face with a simple headband. My, my. More rebellion, Miss Merris? Leaving your hair down? Scandalous. Making a wry face at her reflection in the mirror, she put on just enough makeup not to look like a corpse, herself.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her. “Miss Willa. You’ve got a visitor,” Louise announced, her voice laced with heavy disapproval.

Willa allowed herself a mental groan. Decorum dictated that she receive each and every one of the endless stream of her father’s business associates offering condolences and, of course, the avid gossip seekers disguised as neighbors and family friends. But the strain of it was getting to her. The constant visitors never gave her a moment’s escape from the oppressive grief pervading the house.

If they would all just give her a minute to breathe, to blank her mind and forget everything, maybe she could get her mental feet under her. Start tackling the mountain of decisions piling up around her. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength and replied, “Show our visitor into the library. I’ll be right down.”

She checked her appearance in the mirror and drew up short. She looked… haggard. Father wouldn’t approve at all. Her train of thought derailed. Her father was dead, and she was no longer obligated to look like a poster child for his endless political campaigns. A surprising and overwhelming sense of relief flooded her. She could go without makeup if she wanted. And wear sloppy T-shirts and jeans. She could say what came to mind without first checking the comment against her father’s political platform. So giddy she almost felt ill, she giggled a little hysterically.

Pull it together, girlfriend. There were still a few social boundaries she would not cross. Like not acting properly bereaved at her father’s passing.

She hurried down the grand, sweeping staircase to the marble-tiled foyer. Her parents’ house was designed for maximum “impress the guests” factor. Personally, she found it gaudy and overbearing. But then, that had been her father. She much preferred her sweet two-bedroom cottage across town by the college.

She opened the oversize walnut doors into the library and stopped cold as she spied her visitor. She would recognize those broad shoulders, that rugged profile, the casual confidence anywhere. Gabe Dawson.

It had been years since she’d seen him. A wash of memory heated her cheeks. As a teen, she’d had the mother of all crushes on this man. He had been by far the most handsome and dashing male she’d ever laid eyes on. And good golly, Miss Molly, he still was. Of course, he’d never given her the time of day. When he had bothered to speak to her at all back then, it had been to ruffle her hair like she was an amusing puppy, and call her something demeaning like “squirt.”

But that had been a long time ago. She wasn’t that innocent kid anymore. And he—he wasn’t that impetuous, up-and-coming geologist who dared to challenge the established rules for how oil was explored.

He was standing with one elbow propped on the mantel, staring down into the cold, gray ashes of the fireplace. A half-consumed glass of bourbon dangled in his other hand. In this unguarded moment, he looked sad. Worried. Lonely, even.

Her heart went out to him before her conscious mind registered the irony of this man’s presence in her father’s inner sanctum. Gabe Dawson and John Merris had been like matter and antimatter. Any time they crossed paths, they erupted in a fiery explosion that consumed everything and everyone around them.

She stepped farther into the room, clearing her throat as she did so. Gabe turned sharply to face her with the barely contained energy she remembered. Being in the same room with him was still like standing next to a hurricane.

She registered a few changes, though, as he met her in the middle of the spacious library. His clothes were more expensive, and fit better these days. His hair was shorter but still looked tousled like someone had just run a hand through it. His eyes… oh, my. They were still that dark, mysterious shade of green that looked right through her. Although at the moment, she saw reticence in them.

An urge to stutter and blush like a schoolgirl nearly won out over a lifetime’s worth of ingrained manners, but she only fought it off by dint of long years of concealing her true thoughts and feelings.

“Gabe Dawson. What a pleasant surprise,” she said smoothly. “Can I get you a refill on your drink? Is it still Kentucky bourbon, neat?”

He waved off the drink offer and set down his glass on a side table. His gaze slid down her body to her toes and back up to her face quickly enough not to be offensive, but with enough thoroughness to send a wave of heat coursing through her—and a shiver of apprehension. He always had skirted the edges of impropriety in the most delicious way. Rhett Butler, move over.

“How are you doing?” he asked, his voice every bit as potent as she remembered. The passing years had given it a richness, a maturity, that tasted good on her tongue. Oh, my.

She sank onto the edge of one of the big leather wing-back chairs and gestured him into the matching one. He leaned forward in it, propping his elbows on his knees to study at her intently. It was unnerving being the subject of such intense scrutiny. But then he’d always had that effect on her. She restrained an urge to pat her hair and tug at the neck of her sweater. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and nearly crushed her own fingers.

The monstrous impropriety of his being here occurred to her. How dare he intrude upon her family on this day of mourning and loss? He’d hated her father. Done his damnedest to ruin John Merris. Abruptly, his presence grated like sandpaper on her skin. He had no right to be here.

She gritted her teeth, her training in being polite to everyone in all cases rubbing raw against an urge to scream and rail at this man. Although truth be told, her need to scream at the top of her lungs wasn’t all about him. She risked a glance at him, and felt awkward heat bloom in her cheeks. Lord, this man discombobulated her.

She stared down at her tightly twined fingers and very belatedly answered his question. “My mother and I are doing as well as expected after such a shock,” she said automatically, for the hundredth time. “Thank you for coming.”

“You don’t have to put on a show for me, Willa.”

Her gaze snapped up to his. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not here to pay my condolences. I wouldn’t insult you or your mother by pretending to be sad your father is gone.”

She leaned back hard, shocked at his bald honesty. This was the deep South. Old-school Texas. People didn’t admit to being delighted that their archrival had kicked the bucket. The rules of polite behavior were observed. Leave it to Gabe Dawson to flout even the most basic societal convention.

“I need to speak to you and your mother about a business matter. Is she up to joining us?” he asked.

Minnie Merris had been so doped up on tranquilizers before the funeral, it was a miracle she’d been able to stand. Willa had no doubt her mother had added a handful of sleeping pills to the cocktail of medications by now and was passed out cold in her bed.

“I’m taking care of all business decisions at the moment,” she answered smoothly.

“Minnie dumped it all on you, huh?” he asked sympathetically. “She never was much for taking care of herself.”

Willa’s spine went rigid. He might be absolutely correct, but she didn’t need this man pointing out her mother’s flaws to her. “If you’ve come to gloat over our loss, Mr. Dawson, you can leave now.”

He threw up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Willa noted wryly that he didn’t apologize for calling her mother weak and unable to care for herself; he’d merely apologized for saying it aloud. She waited, irritated, as he took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts.

“No matter what your family thinks of me, I am sorry your father was murdered. Even he didn’t deserve an end like that.”

She pursed her lips. “Even he? Mr. Dawson, are you bent on offending me?”

He exhaled hard and shoved a hand through his hair, standing it up in a sexy mess all over his head. An urge to reach out and smooth it crossed her palm. She dismissed the impulse with dismay.

He swore under his breath. “I’m going about this all wrong. Please let me start over.”

She settled deeper into the embrace of the leather chair, waiting to see where Gabe was taking this. She kind of enjoyed watching him squirm. She’d had to spend most of the past decade listening to her father rant about how this man had stolen Merris Oil’s future, and done his best to run her family into the ground. And while her father had been a hothead, prone to making generalizations, he also got things right, sometimes.

“Willa—Miss Merris. I truly am sorry your father has passed away. No matter what our disagreements might have been, I did not wish the man ill personally.”

She blinked, studying him anew. His sincerity surprised her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I do have another reason for coming to see you today beyond expressing my sympathy for your loss.”

“Indeed?” Curiosity stirred in the midst of her caution. What on earth could he want here? She flashed back for a second to her teen years when she’d nightly dreamed of him sweeping her into his arms and eloping with her. The absurdity of the notion now almost made her smile. Gabe Dawson was a well-known playboy and self-avowed bachelor. He’d been divorced for many years, in fact. Plenty of time had passed for him to find a wife if he was planning on having another one. Not the marrying kind, obviously. Just as well. He’d probably be a completely insufferable control freak in a relationship.

She tuned back in to what he was saying so earnestly. “…tried to speak to your father about a sensitive business matter a few weeks ago, but that conversation… didn’t go well. Unfortunately, the underlying issue remains unresolved.”

A snort escaped her. The way she heard it, the two men had engaged in a violent shouting match that ended with her father throwing a punch at Gabe in the middle of the prestigious and private Petroleum Club in Dallas. What on earth could have provoked her father so horribly? John Merris had been a highly intelligent man, and he knew darn good and well not to make such a scene in the middle of a tough re-election campaign.

Gabe continued doggedly, “As you may recall, I started life as an oil geologist. And as such, I have more than a working knowledge of assessing oil fields.”

Her brows knit in a frown. Where was he going with this? Assessing oil fields? “Mr. Dawson, I have nothing to do with the day-to-day operation of Merris Oil. Perhaps you should be having this conversation with Larry Shore. I believe he’s going to take over as temporary CEO in my father’s place. Or you could speak with the Ward family. They hold a significant minority share in my father’s company.”

“Please. Hear me out.”

She nodded her somewhat confused assent and he continued. “I happen to own the mineral rights to a parcel of land next to Merris Oil’s Vacarro Field.”

Even she knew what the Vacarro Field was. It was Merris Oil’s cash cow—a stretch of oil field about an hour’s drive west of Vengeance that churned out millions of barrels of oil each year and was the main source of her family’s income.

“Dawson Exploration just completed a survey of the Vacarro II parcel, and it so happens that the seismic data from my land also paints a fairly complete picture of your father’s field.”

“And?”

“And I took a look at it,” he announced heavily.

She frowned. Okay. Seismic data wasn’t classified or secret. It wasn’t illegal to survey anywhere if a person felt like paying to look at mineral rights they didn’t own. When Gabe didn’t continue, she said, “I fail to see why you felt obliged to share this with me.”

His frown deepened. “I gather, then, that your father didn’t speak with you about the state of the Vaccaro Field before his passing?”

“What about it?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them again and pointed their pained green depths at her. “The field’s played out. In another year at most, Merris Oil’s Vacarro wells are going to run dry. All of them. Frankly, I’m shocked they’re still producing.”

Played out? Dry? Blank shock closed in on her, much like it had when she’d gotten the call two weeks ago that John Merris was dead.

Gabe leaned forward and took her hand in his. She supposed hers must be cold, because his fingers felt like a warm, gentle vise around hers. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“The Vacarro Field is done. And the way I hear it, most of Merris Oil’s income is derived from that field. Very soon, your family’s primary revenue source is going to disappear. I couldn’t in good conscience withhold this information from you and your mother if, as I suspected, John failed to share it with you.”

The glass horse in her soul did shatter then. It was too much. Every direction she turned, another disaster ambushed her. Any one of them was overwhelming, but in combination, they were drowning her.

First, the completely shocking attack by James Ward. Her father’s insistence that she not go to the police, not make a scandal that could kill his chances for re-election, that she cancel all her public appearances until the swelling in her face had gone down and the bruises faded. John Merris had hidden her away like she was the one at fault, and not the victim of a vicious attack.

And then there’d been her father’s horrifying and unsolved murder, part of a triple homicide for goodness’ sake, followed by her mother’s complete mental collapse. And now this. Her family was teetering on the verge of financial ruin.

Pulling her hand away from his, she folded her arms across her middle and hung on for dear life, so sick to her stomach she thought she might throw up.

How could Gabe do this to her? Why now? Was it some sort of plot by fate to destroy her? Or maybe… a terrible thought occurred to her… maybe this was Gabe’s final revenge. He might not have managed to ruin John Merris, but he could finish off the man’s family.

Gabe probably couldn’t wait to rush right over here, her father’s body barely in the ground, to spill this devastating news to her. She’d heard he’d been summoned from somewhere halfway around the world when his ex-wife had been reported missing two weeks ago. No one knew if she was dead, too, as part of the murder spree, or maybe kidnapped. Supposedly, he’d been in an all-fired hurry to get back to Vengeance over the news. But concern for the woman he obviously still loved wasn’t enough to keep him from gloating over his archenemy’s grave.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I thought better of you, Mr. Dawson. I can’t believe you would be so crass as to tell me this on the very day I buried my father. I hope you are happy. Not only did you outlive my father, but now you’ve gotten to fire the final shot in your feud with him. I guess you win.”

Gabe’s jaw went slack and he leaped to his feet. Instinctively, she matched the gesture and stood up, which had the effect of bringing them chest to chest. She was nearly five-foot-eight, but he still towered over her.

Her voice gained a little strength. “What have my mother and I ever done to you to deserve you taking your hatred for my father out on her and me in this way?”

“It’s not hatred,” he sputtered. “I thought you ought to know before you make any major financial decisions….”

Before she realized what he was going to do, he took a quick step forward and wrapped his arms around her. His body was big and strong and so very masculine against hers… and scared the living hell out of her.

She tore away from him in ill-disguised panic and squawked, “I’ll thank you, Mr. Dawson, never to darken my family’s doorstep again.”

His hands fell to his sides and he looked bewildered as she cleared her throat and gathered herself to announce more strongly, “While I have no intention of continuing my father’s feud with you, neither will I disrespect his memory by entertaining you any longer under his roof. I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

Gabe looked deep into her eyes, and she forced herself not to look away, not to blush, not to reveal her terror at being this close to a man. She noted that her entire body was trembling. She hated being this afraid. But Gabe Dawson frightened the living daylights out of her.

“I swear, Willa. I meant no harm. I just thought you ought to know, and there never was going to be a good time to tell you. I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” With that, he turned and strode out of the library, leaving her standing and staring at nothing.

Was he telling the truth? Was the entire house of cards that was her life about to come crashing down around her and her mother? She’d caught a few whispers of her father pulling a lot of cash out of Merris Oil to make up shortfalls in his campaign fund-raising. If he’d gutted the company and the Vacarro wells weren’t going to replenish the coffers, what was she going to do?

She wasn’t worried about herself. She had her job as a kindergarten teacher and she lived relatively modestly. But her mother? What would Minnie do? The woman hadn’t worked a day in her entire pampered life and wouldn’t have the first idea how to rein in her lavish lifestyle. The family name would be ruined. And Lord knew, in a town like Vengeance, Texas, appearances were everything.

Forty miles outside of Dallas, it was a hidden enclave of North Texas’s social elite, rife with sprawling ranches and rustic mansions for when folks wanted to “get away” from the Big D. Which was to say, Dallas’s bored and rich came to Vengeance to play. Longhorn cattle roamed their pastures and expensive quarter horses stood in their barns. They wore designer cowboy boots and thousand-dollar-a-pair jeans, hosted lavish, catered barbecues and called it the simple life.

She much preferred a classroom full of noisy five-year-olds to the social rat race. However, her father’s business and political position made being a mere schoolteacher an impossibility for her. She was expected to make campaign appearances, do the social circuit of parties and fund-raisers, smile in the background of television commercials and never, ever cause a scandal.

Even if the son of an old family friend raped her, she thought bitterly.

The dark-paneled library walls closed in on her all of a sudden, and she hurried out of the room, through the foyer and grand dining room and burst outside through the French doors. The broad, covered patio, with its deeply cushioned sofas, lazily turning ceiling fans, and flat-screen TV mounted high under the eaves mocked her with their casual display of wealth. Wealth that was evaporating even as she stood here.

She ran down the wide steps into the garden—the one thing on earth her mother seemed to truly care about. It was as lush and gorgeous as any botanical garden, with winding walkways through raised beds overflowing with roses and late-season daisies, re-blooming azaleas, and even a few of Willa’s favorite gardenias blooming out of season.

How George, the gardener, managed to coax the white, elegant gardenias into bloom for months on end, she had no idea. It probably helped that her mother had built him a commercial quality greenhouse at the back of the nearly two acres of backyard, hidden behind a tall fence covered with Carolina jessamine. The jessamine bloomed in the very earliest spring in a splash of sweet-scented yellow. But even now, a faint hint of its perfume clung to the vines.

What was she going to do? Willa was the executor of her father’s estate, much to everyone’s surprise, and Larry Shore’s immense chagrin. She was supposed to take care of all this, to safeguard it for her mother and for any hypothetical offspring Willa might produce someday. Although at the rate she was going, a boyfriend wasn’t in her near future, let alone children.

She sank onto a concrete bench tucked beneath the spreading boughs of a chinquapin oak and hugged her middle, curling in on herself in misery at the thought of dating ever again. She was damaged goods. James Ward might not have taken her virginity, but the bastard had certainly taken her innocence. Her ability to trust men.

The whole world was caving in on her. John Merris was gone, her financial security ruined, her personal life destroyed. She had no one to turn to, nowhere to go, no escape. The vultures were circling, all right.

An inhuman scream, shrill and panicked, shocked her out of her pity party. The noise cut off sharply, which was almost more alarming than the scream itself. Willa jolted to her feet. That sounded like it had come from near the koi pond. She raced toward the far corner of the garden, her heart in her throat. It sounded like a woman had just been murdered. Was her mother okay?

She skidded to a stop as George waved her back. He was bent over something in the rocks above the pond. Water tumbled merrily through the jumble of stones and into the pool below, masking his raspy voice. “Stay back, Miss Willa. You don’t wanna see this.”

“What is it, George?” she asked frantically.

“Rabbit. Dead.”

She frowned, looking around the otherwise serene garden. “How did it die?” There was too much tree cover here for a hawk to have gotten it, and coyotes wouldn’t show themselves at this time of day, let alone this close to a human habitation.

“Head’s ripped off,” he answered shortly. “Nasty piece of work.”

There’d been a predator in the garden? Where was it now? This side of the garden was bordered by a forest of nearly ten acres’ sprawl. It would be easy to disappear into the trees from here. “Why would some critter sneak into Mom’s garden in broad daylight to kill a rabbit?” she demanded. “That makes no sense, whatsoever.”

“I dunno, Miss. I’m just sayin’ it ain’t got a head, and it looks like somethin’ tore it clean off. You go on back to the house now, Miss Willa. I’ll get a shovel and clean this up.”

“You’ll hose down the spot? It would upset Mother to see blood.”

“Of course,” he muttered, frowning down at the mess at his feet.

God, even the safety of her mother’s garden had been destroyed! She walked toward the house, her steps getting faster and faster until she broke into a shambling run. She felt eyes staring at her, malevolent and evil. Creeped out beyond belief, she sprinted the rest of the way to the house.

She burst into the kitchen, panting, its pickled pine cabinets and cheery yellow walls incongruous in the face of her terror. She dashed away the tears streaming down her face.

Louise looked up from unloading the dishwasher as Willa came to a stop. “Oh, there you are, Willy girl. The sheriff called a minute ago. He wants you to come down to the station in the morning.”

Great. Now what?

Chapter 3

Gabe took a deep breath and reminded himself yet again not to lose his temper. But the young police officer seated across the steel table from him was doing his level best to drive Gabe crazy. This was the third time they’d called him down here to ask him the exact same questions as the first two times he’d been here.

“Tell me one more time, Mr. Dawson, what you and Senator Merris argued about at the Petroleum Club.”

He sighed. He knew what they were doing. Get a person to tell the same story three times, and if it changed each time, the person was lying. If it stayed exactly the same, the person was probably telling the truth.

“I went to the club because I knew John Merris would be there. I offered to buy his company from him.”

“And that’s why he lost his temper and slugged you?”

Gabe shrugged. “More or less. He seemed insulted at the amount I offered him.”

“Was it your intent to insult him?”

“I offered him more than a fair price for Merris Oil. He just didn’t happen to agree with me on what constituted a fair price.”

“And that’s why he hit you?”

“I honestly don’t know, Officer Radebaugh. You’d have to ask him.”

“Senator Merris is dead.”

Duh. “I’m aware of that,” Gabe replied drily. The cop stared at him, and Gabe didn’t bite on the tactic to get him to babble to fill the silence. The stalemate stretched out for close to a minute, ending only when the door to the interrogation room burst open.

“Deputy Green,” Gabe said evenly. Green was a good ol’ boy who’d been on the Vengeance police force ever since Gabe could remember. He’d hassled Gabe plenty as a teen, but then in fairness to Green, he’d hassled the police plenty back then, too. He was a little surprised Green hadn’t been named acting sheriff when Sheriff Peter Burris was found dead next to Senator Merris. The third victim was a young man, recently married, who’d been in town to visit his family. Although rumors were running rampant, no one had figured out yet how the three men—or at least their deaths—were connected.

“Dawson,” Green replied as surly as ever.

“Is there anything more I can do to help you with your investigation, gentlemen?” Gabe looked back and forth between the two cops, neither of whom would meet his eyes. They wanted him to be guilty so bad they could taste it, but the poor bastards couldn’t figure out for the life of them how to pin the recent murders on him. Particularly since he’d been in Malaysia when his assistant and then the cops called to tell him his ex-wife had been kidnapped. Pretty hard to commit murders when a guy was literally halfway around the world from the victims. As alibis went, it was pretty damned ironclad.

Green finally growled, “Don’t leave town, Mr. Dawson.”

“Until my ex-wife is found and released, I’m not going anywhere,” he declared. He’d been divorced from Melinda for nearly a decade, but she’d been his wife. He still felt responsible for her safety. Of course, she would scoff and call him a Neanderthal for thinking he had to take care of the little woman.

But he couldn’t help it. He’d been raised to open doors and hold chairs for ladies, and yes, to look out for their safety. Melinda could just get over it. Although, she pretty much had when she’d divorced him. The old pain of her betrayal of their marriage vows spiked through him again. Damn. He kept thinking it would get better. Hurt less. But it never did.

“If you’ve got nothing more for me, gentlemen, I’ve got a company to run.” No harm in reminding them he wasn’t some local punk from the wrong side of the tracks anymore. Gabe stood up and Radebaugh stood hastily as well, knocking over his chair. Deputy Green looked chagrined as the young cop clumsily righted the chair. Amused, Gabe watched Green beat a retreat.

Officer Radebaugh escorted Gabe into the main station, where a dozen messy, paper-laden desks were huddled. Gabe was startled to spot a familiar pair of slender shoulders and strawberry-blond French twist at the far end of the room. What was Willa Merris doing here? Probably getting an update on the investigation into her father’s murder, or maybe answering more questions. Of course, she didn’t get hauled into an interrogation room, and treated like a criminal. That pleasure had been reserved for him, apparently.

The cop opened the front door for him, and Gabe recoiled at the crowd of reporters clustered at the bottom of the steps. “What’s up with the mob?” he asked his escort.

Radebaugh glanced over his shoulder and then muttered under his breath, “They probably got wind of what Willa Merris is up to.”

“What’s she up to?” Gabe muttered back, not moving his lips.

“We asked her to come in to answer a few questions, but when she got here, she announced she wanted to file charges against James Ward.”

James Ward, as in the golden boy of Vengeance, Texas? Now that John Merris was dead, the Wards were the preeminent family in town, and James was the heir apparent to the family’s fortune, power and social position. Not to mention everyone loved the guy. Betting types were picking him to be the successor to John Merris’s political career. Gabe had always found Ward a little slimy in that friendly, politician way, but a decent guy, overall.

Surprised, Gabe asked, “What’s she charging him with?”

“Assault.”

Gabe’s jaw dropped. “As in he attacked her?”

“Yup.”

Well, that certainly explained the way she’d reacted when he’d tried to hug her yesterday. She’d yanked away like he’d tried to kill her instead of offer a little comfort.

“James Ward?” Gabe couldn’t help asking. He’d known the heir to the Ward fortune for most of his life, and he had a hard time believing that the fun-loving, charming young man had an angry side, let alone a violent side. James was always the center of attention and popular with all the girls. “When did this happen?”

“She says it happened a month ago. Not a shred of proof. Sheriff’s trying to talk her out of pressing charges because it’s gonna boil down to a he said-she said, and she’s gonna lose.”

“Why’s she going to lose?” Gabe asked.

Radebaugh stared at him as if the answer was so obvious, he couldn’t believe Gabe had bothered to ask the question. “Because he’s a Ward, and her father’s dead.”

“Since when does justice depend on power or social status?” Gabe snapped.

Irritated, he stomped down the steps and plowed through the phalanx of reporters who knew him well enough after the past two weeks to leave him the hell alone. He climbed into his Cadillac Escalade, grateful for its blacked-out windows. Gripping the steering wheel until his hands ached, he stared ahead at nothing. Willa Merris assaulted? The idea made him so mad he could hardly breathe. She’d been such a sweet kid. So innocent. Why the hell did life have to dump on her all at once like this? Although in his experience, life was rarely fair.

A commotion across the street drew his attention as the mob of reporters rushed up the courthouse steps. He swore as he spotted the source of the ruckus. It was none of his business, and his interference emphatically wouldn’t be appreciated. And yet, he leaped out of the vehicle and strode back across the street, swearing every step of the way.

Willa recoiled as a shouting crowd of reporters charged her, microphones brandished like swords. A cacophony of voices crashed into her. “Is it true… James Ward… what proof… publicity stunt?”

How on earth did these jackals already know that she’d filed charges against Ward? Someone in the police station must have leaked it. Wow, that had been fast. And then the gist of the questions registered.

“… provoke him… trying to catch a rich husband… how sexy were your clothes… entrapment.”

They thought she’d tried to get herself raped? Horror poured over her like a waterboarding until she choked and gagged on it. She reeled back from the vicious assault and looked over her shoulder for help from the police. But Deputy Green merely stood in the doorway observing the mauling, his gaze totally impassive.

She tried to shove through the crowd of reporters, but they weren’t about to let her slip away. They smelled fresh meat, and the feeding frenzy was on. As the press of sweaty bodies closed in on her, panic and bile rose in the back of her throat. Strangers were banging into her. Touching her. Oh, God. She felt light-headed, and then faint.

Without warning, the crowd parted, and like a dark, avenging angel, a furious Gabe Dawson loomed in front of her. He threw his arm over her shoulders, dragged her up against his side and with his free arm, commenced shoving reporters out of the way like pesky bugs.

He hustled her across the street, shoved her bodily into the passenger seat of his big SUV and slammed the door shut. In seconds, he was in the driver’s seat and the vehicle pulling away from the curb. Someone banged on the hood of the SUV and nearly got run down for his trouble.

“You almost hit that reporter!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure not to miss,” he retorted.

She grinned in spite of herself. And the release of tension felt good. Even though the devil himself had rescued her, she wasn’t complaining. She didn’t want to think about how ugly that mob of reporters could’ve gotten with her. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“No problem. Pissing off journalists is a favorite pastime of mine, and I just took away their new toy.”

She nodded and subsided, remembering a conversation with her father once, where he’d confessed to loving sparring with reporters. How could he possibly have relished that kind of attention? She shuddered. The public eye was definitely not her cup of tea.

“Where to?” Gabe asked.

“Umm, home, I suppose.”

“Your place or your parents’?”

He knew she had her own house in Vengeance? He’d relocated to Dallas nearly a decade ago, and yet he still kept tabs on where she lived? “My parents’ house, I suppose. I’m staying there to keep my mother company and help her deal with… everything.”

Gabe nodded and pointed his vehicle toward the south side of town. He drove in silence, and she didn’t interrupt the quiet that fell between them. What could she say to a man like him, anyway? He was smart and confident and powerful—totally out of her league. And she’d thrown him out of the house less than twenty-four hours ago.

The SUV turned onto the road that led to her parents’ estate, and she groaned aloud. Both sides of the tarmac were lined with cars and vans—all brightly painted with the call signs of various radio and television stations. Gabe accelerated, passing right by her parents’ driveway without slowing down.

“New plan,” he announced.

“Back to my place?” she replied glumly.

“Are you kidding? If the press has this place staked out, they’ll be crawling all over your house. We were lucky no one spotted us as we drove past, but we may not get that lucky next time.”

“Where will I go?” she asked in alarm.

“Relax. I’ve got it covered.”

She frowned. That wasn’t an answer. And she didn’t like the idea of turning over any more control to this man than she absolutely had to. She knew the type; after all, her father was one of them—rich, arrogant and accustomed to everyone around them kissing up and doing whatever they were told without question.

But what choice did she have? She’d accused a pillar of local society of a heinous crime, sullied a man’s reputation and attacked one of the richest and most powerful families in this part of Texas. Now, the gloves would come off, and the reporters would take whatever potshots at her they thought they could land. It would be a free-for-all. She’d seen over the years what the press did to her father at the slightest hint of a juicy story, let alone a full-blown scandal. They attacked like rabid dogs, tearing at every scrap of information and tossing it in front of the public no matter what the personal cost to her father or his family. And he’d been a rich, powerful politician with the ability to hurt the reporters’ careers, which had kept the press in check. She was neither rich nor powerful. They’d destroy her.

What had she been thinking, pressing charges against James Ward? It had been a foolish impulse. Insane. She’d gotten so carried away with the notion that now she could say or do whatever she wanted, that she’d forgotten the consequences the good people of Vengeance, Texas, would level at her.

The SUV rolled smoothly down I-35, its powerful engine devouring the forty miles between Vengeance and Dallas. She frowned as Gabe guided the vehicle into the jungle of modern skyscrapers that was downtown.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked.

“I thought you might like a bite to eat.”

Although it was a little early for supper, her stomach was roiling ominously. “I couldn’t possibly eat—” she started.

“Nonsense. You’re thin as a rail, and I bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks.”

It was kind of him not to mention her father’s murder. But Gabe was right. Neither she nor her mother had been able to eat much since John Merris’s death. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

“No, you’re not. You’ve had a lousy day and a big scare, and you’re pale. You look on the verge of fainting.”

“I don’t faint!” she retorted indignantly.

He flashed her a brief grin that knocked her indignation into the next county over. “I recall that about you. You’re a lot stronger than you look. I’ll never forget the way you and that crazy horse of yours ran me into the ground.”

He remembered that fox hunt? She’d been seventeen, so that would make it eleven years ago. He’d made some snarky comment about girls not being able to keep up with the boys, and she had bet him a dollar that she would beat him in the annual cross-country race.

“Speaking of which, you still owe me a dollar,” she declared.

“Double or nothing at next spring’s fox hunt,” he retorted jauntily as he guided the car through downtown Dallas.

She made a face. “I haven’t ridden a horse since I left for college. I’ll just take my winnings and call it good, thank you.”

He stopped the car and a valet opened her door for her. Good grief, where were they? She looked up and was shocked to see he’d brought her to the Rosewood Mansion Hotel on Turtle Creek, known locally as simply, The Mansion. Its restaurant was routinely selected as one of the top ten in the world. He handed over the keys and joined her, offering his wool-suited forearm to her.

“This is a bit more than a bite to eat, Gabe.”

“How better to tempt a reluctant eater than with the finest food on earth?”

She had to admit that every time she’d ever eaten here the cuisine had been nothing short of exquisite. “I’m not dressed properly—” she started.

“Balderdash,” he declared. “I’ll get us a private dining room, and no one will see or care what you’re wearing.”

She couldn’t decide whether to ask where he’d learned the word balderdash or if The Mansion really had private dining rooms, and ended up merely following him in disbelieving silence.

Of course, a billionaire with more money than sense was clearly the sort of customer who rated a private dining room, which was fine with her tonight. The main dining room was a place where people went to see and be seen. In spite of the city’s size, Dallas’s elite social stratum was actually a fairly small and tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone else. The last thing she needed was to be seen sharing an intimate meal at The Mansion with her father’s archenemy.

The maître d’ led them down a small, dim hallway. They passed briefly through the lobby of the hotel proper, and were ushered into a beautifully furnished room that looked like the parlor of a fine European estate. Floor-to-ceiling French doors overlooked a formal rose garden even her mother would envy, and beside the doors sat a linen-covered table set for two.

“Will this be satisfactory, Mr. Dawson?”

“It’ll do, thank you.”

Willa was startled when Gabe stepped in front of the maître d’ to hold her chair for her. She sank into the upholstered Queen Anne chair with a murmur of thanks. Gabe sat down across from her, and suddenly, she was vividly aware of just how frighteningly alone she was with this big, masculine man.

“Would you mind if I were completely frank with you for a moment, Willa?”

“By all means. I always prefer honesty.”

“You look a little apprehensive, as if I’m about to leap across the table and devour you.” He added wryly, “And if we’re being honest, I feel obliged to add that, contrary to your father’s opinion of me, I’m not a raving lunatic.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied tartly, embarrassed that her trepidation showed.

“Hey, I’m the good guy. I rescued you from the press, remember?”

“You’re the guy who abandoned my father’s oil company and rubbed salt in my family’s wounds when he died.” She was a little shocked she’d said that. But they were being honest with each other.

Gabe planted both elbows on the table and glared at her. Immediately, fear spiked inside her. Why had she provoked a big, strong man like him? In a similar situation, her father would have started drinking. The old, frozen terror rolled through her. When Daddy was drinking, it was best to hide in her room and not come out. Not get in his way. Not even cross his path.

Who’d have guessed James Ward would turn out to be the very same way? Except now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember him drinking that night. What had set him off, then? Had she done something?

She watched with intense relief as Gabe visibly corralled his irritation. Maybe he wasn’t like James Ward, after all. James had lost control and never reined himself back in. And she’d been the one to pay the price.

When Gabe finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm. “Let’s address those accusations one at a time. First, I didn’t abandon your father. He fired me from Merris Oil. I showed him what I believed to be an entirely new method of discovering oil, and he declined to invest in my theory.”

“I’ve heard it all before. Believe me.” She’d lost count of how many times her father had ranted about Gabe’s disloyalty in taking his theories to someone else to profit from.

Gabe shrugged. “I lined up my own investors and proved my theory correct. Your father could’ve been in on it, but he made a bad business decision. That doesn’t make me the villain.”

She’d wondered that very thing in private over the years, but in her family’s household, nobody would dream of contradicting the word of John Merris. If her father had declared Gabe Dawson a disloyal bastard who’d ripped him off of hundreds of millions of dollars, so it was.

He continued, “And since we’re being brutally honest tonight, let me just say your father was not a nice man. His business practices routinely skirted the edge of outright illegality, and he didn’t hesitate to crush his competition not only professionally, but personally. He routinely used his political office for his personal advantage and for the good of his private oil business.”

“Those are serious allegations.”

“Admit it. You know they’re not just allegations. They’re the truth.”

Part of her agreed with Gabe. But loyalty to family and never giving a negative sound bite to anyone had been pounded into her for so long she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. “I stayed out of my father’s business and political affairs. I couldn’t comment on his ethics or lack thereof.”

Gabe snorted. “Take my word for it. Your old man had the ethics of a junkyard dog.”

She sighed and took a sip of ice water. “My father is dead. It no longer matters if he was good or bad, right or wrong.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Willa.”

She looked up sharply at the smooth timbre of his voice. He wasn’t mocking her, was he? His gaze was dark and direct and didn’t waver as she met it with her own startled stare. Nope. Not mocking. It looked like seduction, if anything.

Whoa. Gabe Dawson was putting the moves on her? There must be snowballs flying every which way in Hell at this very moment.

A frisson of delight rippled through her before memory caught up with it. Memory of fear and weakness and helplessness at the hands of a man not so very different from this one. A rich, privileged, handsome man whom women fawned over and society adored.

She stared down at her fingers, twined so tightly in her lap, they ached. A waiter came in to take their orders, but she hadn’t even seen a menu. Gabe murmured that they would have whatever was being served at the chef’s table tonight.

The waiter left and Gabe sighed. “Will you please talk to me? What are you thinking? I can’t read you.”

“I was thinking about how society loves you.”

That earned her a disbelieving grunt. “Hardly. I have committed not one, but two, unforgivable sins according to your people.”

Her people? Hah! They were her mother and father’s people, but not hers. She’d tried to break away from high society. To be a normal person. A kindergarten teacher, for goodness’ sake. But her father kept forcing her to come back. Insisting on political appearances. And dates with the sons of Dallas’s richest and most influential families. It had been nothing short of mortifying.

Gabe continued grimly, “Not only did I have the gall to get rich and not stay on my own side of the social tracks, but then I’ve repeatedly declined to marry some vacuous, shallow bitch and make her one of the richest women in Dallas.”

Amused in spite of herself, Willa tsked. “Scandalous, Mr. Dawson.”

He grinned and all but knocked her off her chair with that megawatt smile. His sex appeal had only magnified over the years, and it had been off the charts a decade ago. If only she were more experienced. More savvy about men. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so out of her league around him. It wasn’t that their twelve-year age difference was so great, but she’d lived a sheltered, awkward social life. And he… Well, he hadn’t.

The waiter brought their first course, and she looked over it at Gabe. “So what have you been up to with your life besides getting filthy rich and shunning the good ladies of Vengeance, Texas?”

“Work, mostly. Exploring for oil has taken me to every corner of the planet. For some reason, oil always seems to come from boiling-hot or freezing-cold places.”

“Favorite place you’ve visited?”

“While looking for oil? Malaysia. While just traveling? Gotta go with Paris.”

“Paris, huh? I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

That earned her a cynical look. “My ex-wife stripped out what little romance there was in my soul a long time ago.”

“Is there any news about her? A ransom note from kidnappers or something?”

Gabe’s facial muscles tightened in stress. “No. Nothing.”

He clearly cared deeply about his former wife. Willa’s natural empathy bubbled up in spite of her reservations about this man, and she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry.” But then shocking heat scalded her palm and she jerked her hand away.

“What have you been up to since you grew up?” he asked carefully.

She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a snot-nosed kid anymore, thank you very much. “I graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in elementary education. I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

“Kindergarten? So you have a death wish?”

She laughed. “Five-year-olds are actually pretty great as long as you draw clear boundaries for them and stick to them. I love my job.”

“Are you on a leave of absence from teaching right now?”

She sighed. “I am. And the school year was just getting started, too. But there was so much to do to arrange the funeral, and I’m the executor of his estate. I have no idea how I’m going to wade through all the business matters my father left behind. It’s a nightmare.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

It was nice of him to offer, but she didn’t trust the man any farther than she could throw him. Still, he’d rescued her from that mob of reporters and was feeding her in rather spectacular fashion. He hadn’t once behaved like a slimeball toward her. She supposed she should cut him a little slack.

“After Melinda, you never found another woman who turned your head?” she asked.

“Circling back to my love life, are we?” he murmured, amused. “Nope. I guess she ruined me for any other woman.”

The one time Willa had met Professor Melinda Grayson, the woman had intimidated her so badly, Willa had barely been able to form coherent sentences. So, he liked his women aggressive, huh? Count her out, then.

“Actually, no,” Gabe commented. “Aggressive isn’t my style in women.”

Oh, Lord. Had she asked that question aloud? She would just crawl under the table and hide now. Her cheeks fiery hot, she searched frantically for a distraction. “The garden is beautiful.”

Gabe looked outside, and she followed suit. Twilight had descended over the rose garden, softening its hues to muted tones of maroon and mauve.

“Shall I open the doors?” he murmured.

She nodded, and he rose gracefully to throw open the double doors. Even wearing jeans and a casual sport jacket, he cut an elegant figure. He must be, what? Forty? The man was in shockingly great shape for his age. His coat bulged with muscle and his face was smooth and youthful. He was going to be one of those incredibly annoying men who looked fantastic at sixty and beyond.

The sound of crickets chirping swirled into the room on the perfume of roses and the day’s spent warmth. The light of the twin candles on their table began to take over as night fell around them. The waiter brought the main course—spit-roasted quail, crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside, that literally melted in Willa’s mouth. The wine was smooth, her companion smoother, and the combination relaxed her in spite of herself.

For his part, Gabe spent an inordinate amount of time studying her over his meal. Finally, she couldn’t resist asking, “Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just strange to see the little girl all grown up. It’s like I’ve walked into a time warp where you aged overnight.”

“I got old when you weren’t looking, huh?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “You are emphatically not old. You’re stunning. That’s what’s got me staring at you. The promise of this kind of beauty was always there, but it’s impressive to see it in full bloom. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Uhh, thank you,” she mumbled, flummoxed. He thought she was pretty? Well, then.

“The boys must have been all over you in high school and college,” he commented. “Any of them still around?”

Was he actually fishing to find out if she had a boyfriend? Shock made her choke on a sip of water. She eventually recovered enough to croak, “I’m the only kid in my high school who went up to Lover’s Point to be alone.”

He laughed lightly, disbelievingly even, at her quip. Little did he know how dull her love life had truly been.

She’d taken one ecstatic bite of the most incredibly delicious crèe brûulée she’d ever experienced when Gabe’s cell phone rang, shattering the quiet between them. She raised her eyebrows at the sappy country tune of his ringtone. Not a romantic, huh? He was such a liar.

“Hello,” Gabe said. He frowned, listening in silence for a few seconds and then startled her by saying, “She’s right here, sir. Of course, sir.”

Who would Gabe Dawson call “sir” in that tone of respect? Even God probably didn’t rate that tone of voice from him. She took the phone Gabe held out to her. “Who is it?” she mouthed. He merely grinned and wiggled the phone at her. She took it cautiously.

“Hello?” she said even more cautiously. “This is Willa Merris.”

“Good evening, Miss Merris. This is Wade Graham. I’m sorry to disturb your evening. My people had quite a time tracking you down.”

As in Governor of Texas, Wade Graham? Holy cow. “Uhh, hello, Governor Graham. What can I do for you?”

The governor wasn’t of the same political party as her father, and the two men hadn’t been close, to her knowledge. It was decent of the man to express his condolences. Except she recalled her mother making some vague reference to having received a sympathy call from the governor last week. Why was the man tracking her down, then?

“I spoke with your father’s attorney this morning,” the governor explained. “As part of Senator Merris’s will, he left a letter expressing his preference for how his senate seat should be disposed of in the event of his death.”

“What does this have to do with me, sir?” she asked, confused.

“As you may know, it’s not unusual in the event of a senator’s untimely demise for the senator’s surviving spouse to take the seat until the end of that term.”

Horror blossomed in Willa’s gut. Her mother was flighty at best, and when she’d been hitting the pills hard, Minnie was barely conscious. Her mother wasn’t remotely fit to fill her father’s senate seat.

“In a few cases, however, the senator may request that someone else fill the seat. A trusted colleague or staff member, for example.”

Larry Shore was going to be thrilled. The guy was ragingly ambitious, and barely containing his fury that John Merris, whose coattails Larry obviously had planned to ride to the top, had had the ill grace to go and get himself murdered. Larry had briefly been a suspect in his boss’s murder, but he’d been released on bail and was supposedly no longer a primary suspect.

“… his letter, your father recommended that I appoint you to serve in his stead until a special election can be held. Of course, the regular election is in six weeks, and Congress is in recess so its members can return home to campaign. So, this will be mostly a ceremonial appointment….”

Her? A United States senator? “But, sir,” she blurted, interrupting the governor. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

“Nonetheless, your father thought you were the best person for the job. He named you in his sealed letter as his choice to finish out his term.”

Frantic, she blurted, “But I’m only twenty-eight. You have to be thirty to be a senator.”

“I’ve already spoken to the president. He’s given permission under these special circumstances for you to finish out your father’s term. The White House Counsel says there have been two senators seated at age twenty-eight in spite of the Constitutional mandate, so there’s a precedent.”

She didn’t know what to say. Shock barely scraped the surface of how she was feeling.

“I’m going to fly up to Dallas tomorrow for a press conference at around noon to make the announcement and formally appoint you. My assistant will give you all the details. You’ll need to prepare a brief statement. Given your recent loss, I doubt the press will expect to grill you too hard. Your father’s chief of staff can help you draft it.”

The line disconnected, and she stared at the cell phone like it was alien technology. A tanned male hand lifted it gently away from her.

“What was that all about?” Gabe asked quietly.

She looked up at him, stunned as the reality began to sink in. “My father requested that I fill his Senate seat until the next election. The governor’s going to appoint me to the position tomorrow.”

“Congratulations!” Gabe exclaimed.

She frowned. “But I don’t want it.”

“There’ll be nothing to it. You raise your hand, take an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, and then you sit tight until next January.”

“Next January?”

“The election is in November, but your successor won’t be sworn in until next January. You’ll get to serve in a lame-duck session of Congress if you want to.”

Appalled at the size of the task her father had just thrust upon her, she exclaimed, “But I don’t know anything about being a senator!”

Gabe leaned back in his seat and took a sip of brandy. “That’s not true. You’ve lived around a senator for years. You know how to handle yourself in a crowd, and you’re smart.”

She snorted inelegantly. “And as soon as the national media gloms on to the fact that I accused a man of rape today, the scandal will dwarf my father’s murder.”

“Rape?” Gabe echoed ominously.

“What did you think I was doing at the police station? You heard the questions the reporters were shouting at me.”

“I thought Ward assaulted you. Like he hit you and you fought him off.”

“Oh, he did hit. And I did fight,” she replied bitterly. “Not that it helped one bit.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked seriously.

“Nope.” At the end of the day there wasn’t much to talk about. She’d been dumb. Trusted someone she’d known for a long time. Let down her defenses. And he’d turned out to be a rapist.

Gabe’s eyes narrowed to a deadly glare. “Remind me to show you some self-defense moves,” he commented grimly. “There are a few things all women should know about how to take out a bigger, stronger assailant than them.”

She studied him with interest. He looked really mad. Why did he give a darn about what happened to her? She was the enemy. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

His spoon stopped in midair. It paused for a long moment, then reversed course and landed lightly on his plate. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

“Because I’m my father’s daughter. And let’s be frank. My father hated your guts and went out of his way to cause you trouble. He loved nothing better than making you spitting mad.”

The corner of Gabe’s mouth quirked up. “The feeling was mutual. I’m gonna miss the old bastard.”

She sighed. Was it just her father and Gabe, or were all oil wildcatters this cussed? Maybe someday she’d find a nice, pleasant guy who knew nothing about the oil business to settle down with. These force-of-nature-personality men were so not her thing.

But then a flash of blond, charming James Ward made her blood run cold. Everyone thought he was a nice, pleasant guy, too. He would never hurt a flea, let alone viciously attack a woman, right?

“Are you done with your dessert?” Gabe asked, startling her out of her grim recollections.

“As delicious as this crèe brûulée is, that phone call killed my appetite.”

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Gabe came around the table to pull back her chair. The old-fashioned gesture surprised her. The young man she’d known had been brash and unpolished, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who certainly hadn’t held chairs for ladies.

Since when had she become such a snob? So, somewhere along the way, he’d picked up a few points of etiquette. Probably his wife had taught him. Polite behavior did not make the man.

Lord knew James Ward had been plenty polite up until the part where he tried to kiss her and then went crazy on her. She would never forget that strange and violent look that had come into his eyes. He’d tried to kiss her neck and she’d stepped back from him, and he’d done a no-kidding Jekyll and Hyde before her very eyes. It had been, bar none, the scariest thing she’d ever seen.

“Willa? Are you all right?”

She realized that she’d just been standing there like a zombie, staring at nothing. “Sorry. Went wool gathering for a second.”

“Good wool?”

Her throat too tight to answer, she shook her head. Gabe held out his forearm to her and waited expectantly until she looped her hand around it. Wow, he really had gone old-school in the past ten years.

He led her out to his SUV, which a valet had pulled around for them, and Gabe handed her into the vehicle. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. A United States senator. Her. The thought just wouldn’t compute. Even if the title was purely for appearances and she never did a darned thing, she would still go down in the history books as having served in the United States freaking Senate.

In a few minutes, Gabe slowed his car and turned a corner. Her eyes snapped open to see an underground parking garage. Panic tightened around her chest. “Where are we?” she forced out.

“I keep a place in Dallas for when I have business in town. Since you have to be here for a press conference tomorrow, I figured it would save you hassle to stay in town tonight. And, it has the fringe benefit of foiling those pesky reporters camped out waiting to pounce on you in Vengeance.

“But my clothes are at home—”

“You have power suits befitting a U.S. senator in your closet at home, Ms. Kindergarten Teacher?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, no.”

“Exactly. And that means you have to go shopping in the morning. Here, in Dallas. Correct?”

“I guess.”

He parked the SUV and came around to open her door. “Then you’re staying at my place tonight.”

She couldn’t argue with the logic of it. But to spend the night at a man’s apartment? Alone with him? Fear tightened her entire body.

Gabe Dawson was not James Ward. Not all men were scary monsters who leaped on unsuspecting women. Her brain could believe it, but her gut wasn’t even close to convinced. Her brain also said that if she was ever going to have any semblance of a normal life, she was going to have to face, and get over, her fear of being attacked by every man she came into contact with.

Yeah. Her gut wasn’t buying that one, either. Besides, her father would croak—

Oh, wait. She was Senator Merris now. She could do whatever she darn well pleased, scandal be damned. Scandal—She groaned aloud.

Gabe froze in the act of reaching for the elevator button. “What?”

“I filed charges against James Ward today. Now that I’m getting this stupid job, it will be splashed all over the news by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Honey, it was splashed all over the news within five minutes of you leaving the police station.”

“Yes, but that would’ve just been the Vengeance newspaper and a few local television stations. Now it’ll go national.”

“So?” Gabe commented as he ushered her into the elevator.

“So!” she exclaimed. “The media will rake me over the coals!”

“Did you lie to the police? Accuse an innocent man?”

“No.”

Gabe took a quick step across the tiny space to loom over her. Abruptly, a wave of danger rolled off him. Who was she kidding? This guy was a whole lot more man than James Ward had ever been, and she hadn’t been able to fend off Ward. She wouldn’t stand a chance against Gabe if he ever decided to have his way with her. Complete and horrifying vulnerability slammed into her. She was alone and at Gabe Dawson’s mercy. Her knees all but knocked together in fear.

His voice was a velvet knife slicing her composure to shreds. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Willa. You’re the victim. James Ward is the one who ought to be squirming.”

He obviously didn’t know a blessed thing about shame. It sunk all the way down to a person’s bones and poisoned them from the inside out. She risked meeting his dark, angry gaze for a moment but he was too intimidating… and she was too humiliated. She looked away hastily, venturing only, “But the scandal—”

He cut her off sharply. “The scandal will be on his shoulders where it belongs.”

She forced herself to shake off the sick feeling gripping her stomach. The two of them were being brutally honest with each other, right? And it wasn’t like she was ever going to spend time with Gabe Dawson again. He was years older than she. Compared to him, she was a gawky kid. He dated sexy, sophisticated socialites, and he was her father’s archenemy. She couldn’t exactly be seen running around with him if she didn’t want to be the center of all the gossip in Vengeance for months to come.

“Face facts, Gabe. The press will come after me as hard or harder than they go after James. Women in these situations always have their reputations dragged through the mud. And now, I’m going to drag my father’s Senate seat through the mud, too. I owe it to his memory not to do that.”

“You don’t owe your father a damned thing. He’s dead.” The elevator dinged and the door slid open to punctuate his forceful statement.

Stunned at the blunt honesty of Gabe’s observation, she stared at his back as he stalked off the elevator and crossed a small lobby toward the lone door opening off it. She ought to be furious with him for speaking such a travesty aloud, but a tiny part of her couldn’t deny that the man spoke the truth. Her father didn’t care anymore about his Senate seat or his precious reputation.

Gabe grasped the long, tubular, metal door handle for several seconds. A red beam of light flashed out of an aperture in the stainless-steel door, startling Willa as it swept across Gabe’s face. A click, and the door opened under his hand.

“Latest in biometric scanning,” he commented as he threw the door wide for her.

She followed cautiously. Lights went on around them automatically as Gabe moved through the foyer and several steps down into a large living room. The first features she noticed were the floor-to-ceiling glass windows lining the entire far side of the open space. Drawn to the magnificent vista outside, she strolled over to take it in.

The Dallas skyline sprawled at her feet, like a steel meadow full of twinkling white lights. The narrow, modern arch of the Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge glowed white, spanning the Trinity River in the distance. Cool air blew down silently on her from vents overhead, and Willa hugged herself, chilled. As beautiful as it was, the view was distant and impersonal. Cold.

Her politeness as ingrained as always, though, she commented, “Nice view. But don’t you feel a little exposed with all these windows?”

“We’re on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city, and it’s one-way glass. We have complete privacy.”

The notion of having complete privacy with him unnerved her more than a little. Thankfully, he moved across the room to a white quartz bar to pour them glasses of ice water. The condo’s sleekness complemented his rugged masculinity, its smooth lines standing in stark contrast to his rough edges.

Leave it to Gabe Dawson to own a penthouse at the very pinnacle of this town, symbolically astride Dallas and everything in it. Although, with the amount of money he’d made, she supposed he had pretty literally conquered the town, too.

“Computer, warm whole house two degrees.”

“Yes, Mr. Dawson.”

Willa glanced over her shoulder at the sultry, female British-accented voice. “Your computer is a girl?”

“Of course.”

“And she controls your air conditioner?”

He laughed. “She controls just about everything. Never argues back, either. She’s better than any wife.”

Willa snorted and refrained from asking the obviously crass question about just what other wifely duties the computer performed for him.

“Computer, lower living-room ambient light to fifty percent. And how about a little Chopin? Piano nocturnes, I think.”

On cue, the lights dimmed to a sexy glow and the haunting strains of a concert piano came out of the walls in perfect surround sound. She whirled in alarm to face Gabe. He’d better not be trying to seduce her! Her fists fell back to her sides when she spotted him sitting on one of the sofas watching her.

“What?” she demanded, to cover her embarrassment at how her fists had flown up like that.

“You’re quite a beautiful woman, Willa.”

She shrugged, desperately wishing in that moment that she was as ugly as some warty old toad. “Don’t compliment me. My parents’ genes get all the credit.”

He stretched a disconcertingly powerful arm out along the top of the sofa. “It’s more than that. Beauty starts inside a woman. It breathes through her skin and shows in her eyes and the way she moves. It surrounds everything she does and everything she is.

“Are you sure it’s just not my overpowering perfume you’re describing?”

He laughed quietly. “What is that scent, anyway? I know it’s floral, but I don’t recognize it.”

“Gardenia.”

“It fits you. It’s old-fashioned. Soft. But with a note of mystery.”

“It’s all of that?” she asked skeptically.

“Definitely.”

Dammit, did he have to keep saying things that chipped away at her defenses like that? He was supposed to be a bad guy. Self-serving. Dishonest. Untrustworthy. But the man seated before her was nothing like the villain her father had painted.

She turned back to the window. Gabe let the silence lie between them and seemed content not to disturb it. As much as she tried to focus on the events of the day, and to gather her thoughts for tomorrow, she couldn’t get past her blazing awareness of the man behind her.

This room fit him. It was modern and sophisticated, and frankly, intimidating. She tilted her head and realized she could see his reflection in the dark surface of the glass. He was studying her with shocking intensity.

She spun quickly to face him, but his expression was bland, his eyes masked, by the time she got turned around. A shiver of apprehension chattered up her spine, rattling her bones. Who was this man whose home she was effectively trapped in? Which face that he showed her was the real one? What did she really know about him?

“You know, Gabe, I think I’d be better off just getting a hotel room tonight. If you’ll call me a cab, I’ll get out of your hair.”

He gazed at her for a long time and then finally broke the silence. “That bastard really did a number on you, didn’t he? How come your daddy didn’t kill him?”

Chapter 4

Gabe hung on to his temper by a thread. Only the undisguised terror on Willa’s face had him fighting to rein it in. But still, a need to do violence on her behalf roiled hotly in his gut.

“Kill him?” Willa whispered.

He couldn’t tell if it was dismay or hope vibrating painfully in her voice.

He answered roughly, “If someone hurt my little girl, they’d damn well be eating the business end of my shotgun.”

She shook her head, and he couldn’t contain the beast any longer. He surged to his feet. “Hell, Will. I’ll go kill him for you right now if you want.”

“No, no. The scandal.” Her hands fluttered in the air like the broken wings of a bird.

“When did Ward attack you?” he demanded.

“A month ago.”

“A month? Why in hell didn’t you go to the police before now?” Fury ranged freely through him, heating his extremities until they burned to damage someone. James Ward, specifically.

“The campaign…” she murmured in distress.

Of course. John Merris’s precious political campaign. The bastard had failed to protect his baby girl because his damned Senate seat was more important to him than his own family. Hot coals commenced burning their way out of Gabe’s gut by slow inches.

“That goddamned sonofabitch,” he snarled. “I’ll bet he made you stay home until the bruises faded, didn’t he?”

Her nod was so small, so stiff and unwilling, that he barely saw it. But it was enough. Gabe strode over to her and swept her into his arms, holding her tight against him. “I take back everything I said. I don’t care if he was your father or not, John Merris didn’t deserve to live. If he weren’t already dead, I’d start by shooting him first.”

“Gabe,” Willa mumbled from the folds of his dress shirt, “you can’t just run around shooting people.”

“Why the hell not? This is Texas. I wouldn’t be convicted in any court in the state for taking out either man after what they did to you. Juries in this state don’t take kindly to people who harm women, children or cops.”

Muffled words floated up to him. “You still could go to jail.”

“It would be worth it.”

“Don’t do it on my account. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re not okay,” he answered forcefully. “You flinch whenever I touch you, and that haunted look keeps creeping into your eyes. You’re scared. Admit it.”

She struggled weakly against his arms and he loosened his grip enough for her to lean back and stare up at him. Her blue eyes were huge in her face. Too big. Too scared. Too damned vulnerable. A surge of protectiveness swept over him so hard it almost knocked him off his feet.

“Okay, fine. I’m scared. Is that a crime?”

“Hell, no. So let me get this straight. Ward attacked you. You told your father about it, and he told you to suck it up. To pretend it never happened. Not to cause trouble with his business partner, to save the Merris family reputation and not make waves right before a tight election. Am I right?”

She nodded. Her gaze fell miserably.

“What happened to your clothes? Did your old man take some pictures of your scrapes and bruises or gather some evidence to corroborate your claim later? Or at least to blackmail the bastard with?”

Her lips quirked. “Blackmail, huh? You have a vicious mind, Mr. Dawson.”

“You have no idea. At this very moment, I’m trying to choose between several horrible and painful forms of death by slow torture for young James.”

A flicker of humor passed through her gaze for just an instant. It was gone almost before he saw it, but it was enough. A spark of the old Willa Merris, the one who’d dared him to a horse race, was still in there. Now all he had to do was find that spark again and nurture it into a flame.

“There’s no evidence,” she said, disrupting his train of thought. “My father destroyed everything. He took all of my clothes and burned them himself. And I wasn’t allowed out of the house until every last scratch and bruise was totally gone.”

“Willa, Willa.” He sighed. “You’re what, twenty eight-years old? Why did you let your father bully you like that?”

“Because he was John Merris. When did he ever not get his way?”

Gabe pursed his lips. “I told him to go to hell, and I’m still standing. In fact, I’ve done moderately well in spite of John’s best efforts to wreck me.”

That glint of humor flashed again in her eyes. But he understood her response. John Merris had been known for his frightening temper and razor-sharp tongue that flayed anyone who dared to gainsay him. Even as a teen, he remembered Willa having a talent for fading out of sight and out of mind almost at will. A useful skill for a person who had lived with her father.

“Would you like to see some of the cool tricks my house can do?” he asked her abruptly.

“Uhh, sure.”

He gave her a tour of his high-tech apartment ending with the high-definition media wall that took up one entire side of his home theater, projecting everything at life size.

“Wow!” Willa exclaimed. “I’d love to see a Longhorn football game on this monster.”

He laughed. She was a sports fan, huh? “You feel like you’re on the field with the players. Texas plays Oklahoma State next weekend. You’re officially invited to watch it here with me.”

“Deal.” Her expression was young and happy and warmed his soul. It made him want to pick her up and swing her around, and then make love to her all night long.

Startled, he examined the urge more closely. He had no trouble getting all the sex he wanted; a continuous stream of beautiful women hoping to snare him and his bank account threw themselves at him. But this feeling wasn’t just about sex with Willa. He actually liked her. He hadn’t liked a woman in longer than he cared to think about. In point of fact, he mostly felt contempt for the women who threw themselves into his path.

“You’ve got a big day tomorrow, Willa. I should let you get some rest.”

He showed her to the guest suite and made sure she knew how to operate its various gadgets, including the door locks, before he beat a hasty retreat away from the temptation she represented.

Gabe had seen John Merris’s campaign ads on TV where his wife and daughter stood in the background like smiling robots. They’d looked like scary freaks, actually. Gabe had always assumed that the overbearing bastard had stripped their souls clean away. But in spite of her father, Willa Merris wasn’t entirely broken.

And in spite of James Ward, too. Gabe’s gaze narrowed as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. That boy was going to pay for what he’d done to Willa. It was the least he could do for her. Gabe lay awake long into the night, plotting the destruction of one James Ward.

Willa stared out from the wings of the makeshift stage at the brightly lit podium that the governor would walk out to momentarily, and introduce her as the new junior senator from the great state of Texas.

“You okay?” Gabe murmured beside her.

She nodded, even though it was a lie, and smoothed her new charcoal-gray suit down her front. Gabe had fed her breakfast, helped her write her blessedly short speech and then driven her over to Neiman Marcus an hour before the upscale department store opened.

A personal shopper, makeup artist and hairdresser had been waiting inside for her. She’d stood like a patient doll while Nieman’s efficient staff took care of her, dressing, primping and painting her to perfection for this press conference. And not one bit of it felt real. It was all an elaborate dream. Were it not for Gabe’s warm, firm grip on her elbow, she would still be absolutely convinced that none of this was real.

“Remember, Will. You’re about to become a United States senator. You have nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of. Of all the people he could’ve chosen, your father thought highly enough of you to entrust this job to you. And you’re going to do great at it.”

She smiled ruefully at him, but the expression felt fake and plastic on her face. She was a fraud. And the whole world was about to see it for themselves. “Can I go throw up in the corner now?” she muttered.

Gabe laughed. “Don’t bother picturing them all in their underwear. Picture them naked.”

“If I can stand up in front of a bunch of five-year-olds and teach, I can talk to these folks,” she whispered back. “That’s not what I’m scared of.”

“What, then?” Gabe asked in concern that was so sweet, she almost forgot she wasn’t supposed to trust him.

“They’re going to eat me alive about the James Ward thing.”

“Screw them,” he declared. “Refuse to talk about it and move on with the press conference.”

She opened her mouth to retort that the reporters wouldn’t give up that easily, but the television camera lights popped on just then with a slight buzzing and a rush of hot, blinding light. Governor Graham walked out from the opposite side of the stage and gripped both sides of the podium as he read from a teleprompter. Too late for her to run away and hide.

“… would like to introduce my choice for the position, Willa Merris, daughter of the late Senator John Merris…”

Her feet stuck to the floor, and were it not for Gabe giving her a smile and a little shove, there was no way on God’s green earth she’d have walked out in front of that phalanx of cameras and reporters.

The next few minutes passed in a daze. She held up her right hand, repeated the meaningless sounds that were actually the Congressional Oath of Office and read the strings of words on the piece of paper in front of her on the podium that were her statement of thanks to the governor and her promise to the voters of Texas to do her best to represent them.

And then the governor’s press secretary uttered the phrase she’d been dreading worse than facing a firing squad. “Senator Merris will take a few questions, ladies and gentlemen.”

The shout that went up was worthy of spectators at a Roman gladiatorial bout. The cacophony held the same avid bloodlust. She recoiled from the aggression of the crowd, stunned at the hostility rolling off the room toward her. Had they all secretly hated her father so much or was this nastiness directed at her, specifically?

She gazed across the sea of faces, looking for anyone who didn’t appear openly eager to shred her.

No surprise, her mother hadn’t shown up today. Hurt, disappointment and anger swirled inside her. Minnie wasn’t a bad person, but forty years with John Merris had broken her. Willa got that. Still, she could’ve used a little support today from someone who didn’t hate her outright.

Larry Shore’s face caught her attention. He’d been singularly unhelpful this morning in the scramble to prepare her for this press conference. Truth be told, he’d been of little help to her or her mother since the murder, and no help at all since he got out of jail a few days ago.

At the moment, Larry was leaning against the wall off to one side of the circus, looking so pleased with himself he could bust. Had he given these jackals the scoop on her pressing charges against James Ward? Lord knew Shore was vicious and ambitious enough to pull a stunt like that. He was a chip off her father’s old block.

Impatient of waiting for her to call on one of them, the reporters started shouting questions at her. By rights, Shore ought to be up here beside her, telling the journalists to cool it and treat her with proper respect. But he stayed where he was, arms crossed, enjoying the show.

Without warning, a large, male presence materialized beside her. Speaking in a voice that brooked no shenanigans, Gabe growled, “If you all don’t pipe down, the senator’s not going to be able to answer any of your questions. This is a press conference, not a free-for-all. I’d remind you that Senator Merris has recently lost her father to a shocking and tragic murder, and she doesn’t need the likes of you jumping all over her. Do I make myself clear?”

The press pit subsided immediately. Gabe pointed at a reporter from one of the major networks who asked her a harmless enough question about who she planned to endorse in the upcoming election to replace her father. She assured the guy that she would review the candidates thoroughly, and make an announcement in the next week or so.

Another reporter asked whether she planned to go to Washington at all or if her appointment was purely a political favor to her family. She deflected the implied jab by reminding the reporter that the Senate was not in session and reiterated that she would serve in whatever capacity she was called upon over the next several months to the best of her ability.

That answer made Shore scowl. What was up with him, anyway? He’d been her father’s flunkie for as long as she could remember. Why was he even here today? He’d been absolutely furious when she’d called him last night to inform him of the governor’s appointment. Had he expected the governor to appoint him to her father’s vacant Senate seat?

“…verify that you accused the son of a prominent businessman of rape yesterday?”

Her attention snapped back to the brunette woman who’d asked the question. She recognized Paula Craddock from KVXT news. The room went dead silent as dozens of reporters stared at her expectantly, waiting for her answer and sensing the kill.

Honest to goodness, Willa thought she was going to throw up right then and there. Her stomach heaved as all her worst nightmares came true. Even the governor was throwing her a horrified look from the wings of stage left.

She’d been a senator for two whole minutes, and she’d already disgraced the office, disgraced her family and disgraced herself. Shame, hot and acid, bubbled up in the back of her throat all but gagging her.

“Courage, Will,” Gabe breathed from behind unmoving lips. “No shame. Chin high.”

She took a wobbly breath and answered the reporter, “You’re referring to a personal matter that has no bearing on my new position. The events under investigation took place well before my father’s death, and I have confidence the truth will come out over time. Until then, I have no comment on it.”

“But you’re wrecking a good man’s reputation and have no evidence to support your wild claims, both of which call into serious question your fitness to hold your father’s job,” Paula Craddock followed up.

Gabe leaned forward aggressively, but Willa surprised herself by placing a restraining hand on his arm. He yielded the microphone to her reluctantly.

Willa borrowed a page from her teacher’s playbook, and looked out across the sea of faces like a chiding parent addressing a room full of unruly five-year-olds. She spoke gently, but with unmistakable steel in her voice. “I said no comment. And I mean no comment. I will never comment on this matter, and I will blacklist any reporter who persists in questioning me about it. Understood?”

A disconcerted murmur rose, and she sagged in relief as the governor’s press secretary hustled forward to call an end to the press conference and make a few off-camera wrap-up comments about the governor’s schedule for the rest of the day.

Gabe’s arm went around her waist as her legs all but gave out from under her. “I told you, you should have eaten more breakfast,” he commented. “You’re going to look damned silly if you faint after putting them all in their place like that.”

She smiled up at him weakly. He told a hotel employee to bring the senator a glass of orange juice, and she remembered at the last second not to look over her shoulder for her father.

One of the governor’s aides hustled up to her. “The governor wanted me to let you know your Secret Service detail will arrive tomorrow. Would you like us to provide you with police protection in the meantime?”

“Heavens, no,” she exclaimed. She just wanted her life to remain as close to normal as possible.

The fellow scurried off as a hotel employee arrived with a pitcher of orange juice and poured her a glass of it.

While Gabe watched on, she drank up the refreshing liquid obediently.

“Now what?” he asked.

Now what, indeed.

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