01 - The Heartbreaker (31 page)

And if Madeline wanted to discuss how he’d failed in his bargain with her by not keeping Sloane safe—well, he didn’t need that particular lecture either. He’d beat up on himself enough.

He rose and paced his office, determined to get this discussion over with as quickly as possible. “What can I do for you?”

“First, I’d like to thank you for keeping your end of our agreement. I respect a man of integrity and honor.”

Chase stopped in his tracks, turned, and stared at the woman, certain he’d lost his mind and his hearing. When he caught sight of what seemed like a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips, he figured his sight had gone too. Yet, he detected no sarcasm to Madeline’s words or expression.

“Excuse me?” He narrowed his gaze, attempting to figure out what was going on. “Have you forgotten that your daughter is lying in a hospital room right now because of me?”

She placed her purse on his desk and leaned against the old wood. “Unless you fired the gun, and I know you did not, I suggest you get rid of the blame you’re carrying. Robert and Frank
were determined to get to Samson. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done to prevent what happened. Including you.”

Easy for her to say, Chase thought. She obviously didn’t have all the facts. Sloane had probably spared her.

“Now let’s get down to business before the rest of the journalists figure out what’s really happening. I owe you an exclusive and I’m determined to keep my word.”

His stomach cramped with guilt that she’d still want to give him their family story after all he’d done. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t feel right accepting the exclusive,” he said.

Had those words really passed his lips? Had he just turned down the story of a lifetime? The story he’d wanted at any expense? And why did doing so feel so damn right?

Madeline shook her head, determination blazing in her eyes. “Don’t be a fool. There are dozens of reporters who’ll take this story and run with it, no questions asked. This is a career-making opportunity and you’ve earned it. Why turn it down now?”

Chase walked up beside her, taking her hand. “You’re a kind woman, Madeline, but you know as well as I do,
I
should have been with Sloane when she was shot. At best, I might have been able to prevent it. At least, I would have been there.”

She arched one delicate eyebrow. “Did I ask you to glue yourself to Sloane’s side or merely to look out for her? Which I hear you did quite well.”

Was that a sly smile she possessed? And why did it remind him so much of Raina at her meddling best? Chase shook his head. “I blew it.”

“Guilt is a wasted emotion in a lifetime of uncertain duration,” Madeline said as she expelled a frustrated breath. She picked up a yellow legal pad and pen, then turned, handing him the writing utensils. “Right now I suggest you listen and take notes. Then later you can examine why you’re so hard on yourself. After which, you’d better damn well get over it. My daughter deserves more than a man who’s wallowing in the past.”

Despite it all, Chase wanted to applaud her performance.

“Now.” She sat down and crossed her legs, her feminine movement at odds with her harsh, determined words. “My husband will be here soon to add his side to the story, so it’s time for you to take notes.” She leaned back in her seat, glancing his way. “Unless you’d prefer a tape recorder?”

Chase chuckled. “You ought to meet my mother.”

“I’m sure we’d get along extremely well. And there’s plenty of time for introductions. Another day.”

Hours later, after Chase had secured the story from Madeline and the senator himself, the revealing details that would provide an exposé and journalistic opportunity of a lifetime, he sat down to write the story.

It was a story of love and loss—Samson’s, Michael’s, Jacqueline’s, Madeline’s, and now Sloane’s. It was a story that would either sway voters to side with Senator Michael Carlisle, a good, decent man who’d done right by a young woman in need, or convince them he’d used that same woman for political gain. In the end, Chase believed that whatever Michael’s political reasons for marrying Jacqueline, he’d loved her too. And in the end, he’d saved her from her father, who would have emotionally destroyed her.

Chase’s slant was unbiased, but even in the unbiased version, Chase felt Michael’s side was not just well represented, but understandable. Samson had contacted Chase too, backing up the senator’s story and supplying his own painful tale for the world to read. But he no longer resembled the sad, misunderstood man the people of Yorkshire Falls had come to know.

Just as Chase no longer resembled the heartbreaker his brothers jokingly called him. And they both had Sloane to thank. The difference was, Samson had Sloane in his life, while Chase was still alone, ironically finding no satisfaction in the story of a lifetime or the career he’d insisted was so important.

Sloane was his future, but how to convince her of his sincerity?
Irony came to play once more, as he decided that his mother’s matchmaking talents might be useful, after all.

Sloane awoke with a start. Considering she was still in the hospital, she’d slept well, or at least in between being woken up for temperature and IV checks. She wasn’t sure what had roused her from sleep, but something had. She opened one eye and realized she was facing the window and the aluminum blinds let a hint of sun slip through the horizontal slats. Morning already. She tried to move and winced, realizing how much of a beating her body had taken and how much pain she was actually in.

She buzzed for the nurse, determined to take only half the amount of painkillers they’d administered yesterday. She wanted a clear head for her last hours in Yorkshire Falls. Her parents were taking her home today.

A muffled sound caught her attention and she turned her head gingerly toward the door, expecting a nurse with a hypodermic needle. Instead, she saw an unfamiliar man wearing a dark suit, sitting in the chair beside her bed, watching her in silence.

“You’d better be more careful next time you pass by open windows, young lady,” he admonished in a gruff but familiar voice.

“Samson!” His rough outer exterior might have changed, but she’d know that gravelly tone anywhere.

“What’s the matter? You don’t recognize your old man?” he asked in that Samson-type language she’d come to know. But his expression softened as he continued. “I’m guessing this look is what you’d have preferred to find when you came looking for the man who sired you?” He gestured up and down, taking in the fitted suit, shirt, and tie. A deep crimson stained his clean-shaven cheeks, but to his credit, he didn’t glance away.

Sloane immediately noticed the gleam in his eyes, more apparent now that his face was visible and his hair freshly washed, cut, and styled. He accepted who he was—then and now. He was about to find out, so did she.

A lump settled in her throat, but she forced herself to speak over it. “I didn’t care what you looked like,” she said truthfully. “I just wanted to meet my father.”

He treated her to a warm smile and she was struck for the first time just how handsome and distinguished-looking he actually was.

Reaching over the blanket that covered her, he extended a shaking hand. “Your father’s right here.”

Sloane met him halfway, and using her uninjured arm, she placed her palm inside his larger, callused one. When she looked at him now, she saw a different man from the gruff one she’d met; she saw the one Jacqueline, her mother, must have fallen in love with, the one who’d sacrificed his entire life for his gambler father and sick mother. And though he had his share of regrets, he never admitted them to the outside world.

Sloane was scared to ask the question that hovered in her mind, because now that she’d found this man, she didn’t want to say good-bye. “Where do we go from here?”

“That’s up to you.”

She smiled, realizing that like Chase, he might be a man of few words, but also like Chase, Samson would, in fact, be okay. He wasn’t going to push her away anymore, which meant she now had this gruff, enigmatic man in her life. Relief and happiness washed over her, making her almost giddy.

A knock sounded at the door and a nurse walked inside, tray in hand. “I have your morning medication, Ms. Carlisle,” she said in an efficient voice that set Sloane’s nerves on edge. She wanted out of here.

“Can you come back in a little while, please?” Though she’d called for medication, she needed absolute clarity while she and Samson talked.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s no crime to accept a little weakness.”

Sloane laughed while the nurse hovered, waiting for an answer.
“I’m sure. And I promise that when we finish talking, I’ll take the painkillers. I’m not going to be a martyr. I just want this time with my father.”

Samson glanced over his shoulder at the nurse. “You heard my daughter,” he said with pride. He looked back to Sloane, the need for her approval so obvious in his eyes.

Happy, she squeezed his hand, giving him everything he’d asked for. But he hadn’t answered her question. They’d established a biological bond and had just begun to make an emotional connection.

Where
did
they go from here? she wondered. “Where will you live?” she asked him when the nurse walked out. She still vividly recalled the ashes and destruction that were the remains of his home.

His gaze darted back and forth, nervousness evident as he pulled his hand back and twisted his fingers together. “What I have to say is going to shock you,” he warned.

“I can’t imagine how,” she said. “Life’s thrown me so many curves, I’m used to them.”

“Oh yeah? I’m wealthy.” As he made his statement, he locked his stare on her face.

He’d been right. He’d floored her, she thought, and sucked in a startled breath. He certainly didn’t live or act like he had money. “You’re
what
?”

“Wealthy,” he repeated. “I have money saved.”

“But . . . how? And what about the run-down state of your house before the explosion? The mooching sandwiches from Norman’s? The ratty clothes?” Her head spun.

But even as she asked the questions, she recalled Earl and Ernie discussing Samson’s money and who’d inherit after he was gone.

He sighed. “Remember how I explained it was easier to keep people away from me by being surly and nasty, by dropping refinement and pretending I was the low-class bum everyone wanted to believe I was?”

She nodded, still stunned.

“Once I established myself, people ignored me without guilt. The human psyche is an amazing yet sad thing.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I figured if I was going to use the poor-Samson bit as a pretense, why not live that way too? At the time, I didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. And who was left in my life to impress?”

Sloane wanted to answer, to say he should have wanted to impress himself, but she couldn’t. Through his slumped shoulders, his embarrassment was already clear. So she swallowed hard and remained silent.

“Much as I hate to admit it, I began to wallow in the truth I created. The truth the town accepted.”

“I understand the motivation.” And it saddened her. “But the money? Where did that come from?”

“A few months after your senator grandfather died, an envelope arrived at my house.”

Sloane’s eyes opened wide. “And?”

“Your grandfather had provided enough money to compensate me for my sacrifice. At least that’s what the low-life snake’s letter said. Fat good the money did me after he stole your mother and ruined my life.” Though he sounded bitter, he’d also accepted the way life had turned out.

Which, Sloane supposed, was the story of his life. “But you refused to spend his money?” she guessed, since he said he was wealthy.

Samson shrugged. “Why give the man any satisfaction? He thought he could rule the world, even from the grave. Sent me blood money when it was too late, when your mother was already gone. It certainly wasn’t like I could go after her then. So I just invested and let it build up.”

“So Grandfather Jack had a conscience,” Sloane said bitterly. “One he defined by his own terms, as usual.”

“Exactly.”

Tears filled her eyes, yet she couldn’t waste time worrying about the past. “But you’re willing to use his blood money to rebuild your house?” she asked Samson.

He nodded. “I want a place my daughter can come visit and be proud of. A place she can bring her own family,” he said, hope lacing his gruff voice.

She glanced down, unable to face him, knowing she’d be disappointing the man who’d already suffered so many letdowns. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up on the family angle,” she told him. She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

He squared his shoulders, obviously upset. “Does that Chandler boy have rocks in his head? I told him to get off his ass and see what’s in front of him before it’s too late. I told him life’s too short to waste with regrets and could-have-beens.” He let out a low growl. “He doesn’t have a lick of his mother’s sense, that much I can tell you.”

“Whoa,” Sloane said, realization dawning. “Back up. You
told
Chase to go after me?”

“Of course I did. Do you think I want you or him suffering the same fate as me? I told him what it’s like to live life wishing things could have been different,” Samson said, clarifying, his eyes glittering with satisfaction that he’d done his daughter a good turn.

She didn’t want to know when he and Chase had had this conversation. Nor could she bring herself to tell him that he’d merely played on Chase’s innate guilt and white-knight complex. Samson had helped push Chase into Sloane’s arms, offering proclamations of forever, but Chase needed to come on his own, without being prompted. Without guilt. He needed to opt for a future with her because it was what he wanted, not what he thought he owed her, or what he thought she needed.

But Samson had performed his first parental duty on Sloane’s behalf and she loved him for it. She crooked her finger and Samson came forward, and this time, no bullet flew as she received her first father-daughter hug from Samson.

C
hase paced the floor of the hospital waiting area, along with the rest of the family. Charlotte’s water had unexpectedly broken, nearly a month early, and she was inside, in labor. Thank God all signs indicated nothing was seriously wrong except for the baby’s rush to join the Chandler clan on its own schedule. Charlotte’s parents were on their way back from L.A. and the rest of the Chandlers were gathered here together. Waiting.