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Caleb’s ominous threat hung in the hot summer air and nagged Chase as he drove away from Johnson’s spread. What had the old man meant? His mouth compressed tightly and he squinted through the dust and grime on the windshield and wondered what the devil Caleb was up to. The sun had already set and lavender shadows had begun to stretch over the farmland, but Chase was oblivious to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. His fingers were coiled tightly around the steering wheel and his shoulder muscles were bunched, as if he were spoiling for a fight.
“Relax,” he told himself as he switched on the lights and radio and tried to think of anything but Johnson’s greed or Dani’s precarious position. “Caleb couldn’t have anything to hold over Dani.” But he couldn’t forget the glint of satisfaction in Caleb’s pale eyes or the older man’s knowing smile. “ Don’t let him get to you,” he told himself.
He drove recklessly toward Martinville and the noisy raucous anonymity of Yukon Jack’s. All he needed was a couple of beers, some loud music and the smoky oblivion that the bar offered so that he could forget about Caleb Johnson, Summer Ridge and Dani Summers.
However, forgetting about Dani wasn’t all that easy. As some of his anger dissipated and he eased up on the throttle, his thoughts swirled back to her. Now that Chase knew that Caleb had tried to buy the Hawthorne place for much less than it was worth, he was furious.
And so was Caleb. Chase knew that the old man had wanted to tear him apart after the confrontation with Dani in Johnson’s study. Caleb had been just sly enough to rein in his temper and that worried Chase—a lot. Because whether he liked the fact or not, his concern wasn’t for himself, or his company. Not any longer. Right now, he was worried sick about Dani.
Dani.
Just at the thought of her, unwelcome emotions surfaced and the image of making love to her burned in his brain. In his mind’s eye he saw her skein of honey-brown hair, loose and wild in carefree sun-kissed curls, her face flushed with desire, her green-gray eyes warm with excitement and longing. “Get a hold of yourself,” he said, stepping on the gas again and heading into town. “Forget her.”
He drove straight to the bar, parked the Jeep, stuffed his keys into his pocket and walked into the dimly lit room where he took a table in the corner and ordered a beer. He sat alone, ignoring speculative glances from some of the women patrons, and nursed his beer while pretending interest in a dull game of pool.
The conversation around him didn’t spark his interest until he overheard one brawny, bearded man—one of the two men shooting pool—trying to convince his friend that Caleb Johnson’s Summer Ridge was the best thing that had happened to Martinville in years.
Chase heard only snatches of the conversation over the clink of bottles, click of billiard balls and spurts of laughter.
“Yep. Think of the value of your old man’s farm,” the bearded man was saying. “. . . double in price within the year. Same with the price of mine. A few years ago, I couldn’t give that rock pile away. Now, thanks to Johnson, it’s worth a fortune!” He grinned, showing off a gap in his teeth, while he chalked his cue. “No more cleaning barns and fixin’ fence for me, no-siree-boy. I plan on spendin’ my time in the Bahamas countin’ my money!”
His friend laughed and offered a quiet reply that Chase couldn’t hear.
“Oh, she’ll sell, all right,” the brawny man insisted, signaling to the barkeep for another beer and finally getting off his shot. “Six ball in the corner pocket.” He waited until the ball had rolled across the green felt into the appropriate hole. “The way I see it, Dani hasn’t got much of a choice . . .”
Chase’s every muscle tensed, but he continued to lean back in his chair and eye the two men from beneath the brim of his hat.
“. . . no one’s yet managed to stop Johnson. Remember Red Haines? He fought Johnson, too, and look what happened. One minute Red’s all set to fight the zoning commission and what-have-you, insisting that Johnson’s a crook and the next thing ya know, he’s changed his tune. If ya ask me, Red was just holdin’ out for more money—same as Dani Summers . . . nine ball in the side—”
Chase scraped his chair back just as the ball banked away from the pocket.
“Damn!”
“So you think Dani’s just waitin’ for a better price,” the skinny friend prodded as he eyed his shot.
“’Course she will. She always was a smart one, y’know. She’ll come around to Johnson’s way of thinking, you wait and see. And then watch out!”
His teeth clenched, Chase left some change on the bar and walked outside, taking in the clear night air. As he walked back to his Jeep he uncurled his fists and relaxed the muscles that had tightened while he had listened to the conversation at Yukon Jack’s.
“You’re losing your grip, old boy,” he told himself as he drove out of town. When he reached the rutted lane leading to Dani’s house, he slowed the Jeep and with a curse at himself, yanked on the wheel at the last minute. The wheels slid a little on the sparse gravel, but Chase held the Jeep steady up the rutted lane to Dani’s house.
* * *
Dani was still sitting on the back porch when the sound of an engine cut through the night, disturbing the gentle drone of insects. Her heart started to pound expectantly when she realized the engine probably belonged to Chase’s rig and that he was driving up the lane toward the house. She took the final swallow from her glass just as she heard the engine die.
Please, Chase, go away, she prayed, though her pulse raced with excitement. She heard him knock loudly on the front door of the cabin. Steadying herself, she stood and walked around to the front of the house.
He was standing under the porch light. His face was taut, his lean features harsh under the soft glow from the solitary lamp. His shirt sleeves were rolled up his arms and he held his hat in one hand.
“You don’t hav
e to wake the neighbors,” she said, climbing the two steps to the porch.
“Neighbors?” His gaze cut across the ghostly fields. In the distance, lights winked from houses positioned across the main highway. Somewhat closer, the lights from Caleb Johnson’s large house burned in the darkness. Chase’s lips drew together in a thin, determined line. “Impossible.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, leaning one shoulder against the house.
“And if you’re talking about Caleb, I don’t really give a damn if I wake him or not. Besides, he’ll probably drink himself to death before the night is over.”
