Long Tall Texans: Justin Part 1

Long Tall Texans.

Justin.

Diana Palmer.

SWEET DREAMS...

Sweet dreams had been all that lovely Shelby Jacobs had ever given Justin Ballenger. He'd loved her, wanted to marry her....and his sweet dreams had blown away. A Ballenger wasn't good enough for Shelby...she'd broken their engagement and flaunted her rich society lover in Justin's face. He vowed never again to be vulnerable to his beautiful Texas rose.

Shelby had never stopped loving dark, intense Justin, and seeing him only deepened her feelings. She was sure he despised her, but she knew he needed to hear the truth about the past. She was risking everything, but the heart of her lonesome cowboy was more than worth it...

Chapter One.

It was a warm morning, and the weatherman had already promised temperatures into the eighties for the afternoon. But the weather didn't seem to slow down the bidders, and the auctioneer standing on the elegant porch of the tall white mansion kept his monotone steady even though he had to periodically wipe streams of sweat from his heavily jowled face.

As he watched the estate auction, Justin Ballenger's black eyes narrowed under the brim of his expensive creamy Stetson. He wasn't buying. Not today. But he had a personal interest in this particular auction. The Jacobs's home was being sold, lock, stock and barrel, and he should have felt a sense of triumph at seeing old Ba.s.s Jacobs's legacy go down the drain. Oddly enough, he didn't. He felt vaguely disturbed by the whole proceeding. It was like watching predators pick a helpless victim to the bone.

He kept searching the crowd for Shelby Jacobs, but she was nowhere in sight. Possibly she and her brother, Tyler, were in the house, helping to sort the furniture and other antique offerings.

A movement to his left caught his eye. Abby Ballenger, his sister-in-law of six weeks, stood beside him.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she remarked, smiling up at him. She'd lived with him and Calhoun, her almost-stepbrothers, since the tragic deaths of their father and her mother. Their parents were to have been married, so the brothers took Abby in and looked after her. And just weeks before, she and Calhoun had married.

"I never miss an auction," he replied. He looked toward the auctioneer. "I haven't seen the Jacobses."

"Ty's in Arizona." Abby sighed, and she didn't miss the sudden glare of Justin's dark eyes. "He didn't go without a fight, either, but there was some kind of emergency on that ranch he's helping to manage."

"Shelby's alone?" The words were almost wrenched from him.

"Afraid so." Abby glanced up at him and away, barely suppressing a smile. "She's at the apartment she's rented in town." Abby smoothed a fold of her gray skirt. "It's above the law office where she works..."

Justin's hard, dark face went even tauter. The smoking cigarette in his hand was forgotten as he turned to Abby, his whipcord-lean body towering over her. "That isn't an apartment, for G.o.d's sake, it's an old storeroom!"

"Barry Holman is letting her convert it," Abby said, her guileless pale eyes the picture of innocence under her dark hair. "She doesn't have much choice, Justin. With the house being sold, where else can she afford to live on what she makes? Everything had to go, you know. Tyler and Shelby thought they could at least hold onto the house and property, but it took every last dime to meet their father's debts."

Justin muttered something under his breath, glaring toward the big, elegant house that somehow embodied everything he'd hated about the Jacobs family for the past six years, since Shelby had broken their engagement and betrayed him.

"Aren't you glad?" Abby baited him gently. "You hate her, after all. It should please you to see her brought to her knees in public."

He didn't say another word. He turned abruptly, his expression as uncompromising as stone, and strode to where his black Thunderbird was parked. Abby smiled secretively. She'd thought that he'd react, if she could make him see how badly this was going to hurt Shelby. All these long years he'd avoided any contact with the Jacobs family, any mention of them at home. But in recent months, the strain was beginning to tell on him. Abby knew almost certainly that he still felt something for the woman who'd jilted him, and she knew Shelby felt something for Justin, too. Abby, deliriously happy in her own marriage, wanted the rest of the world to be as happy as she was. Perhaps by nudging Justin in the right direction, she might make two miserable people happy.

Justin had only found out about the estate sale that morning, when Calhoun mentioned it at the office at their joint feedlot operation. It had been in the papers, but Justin had been out of town looking at cattle and he hadn't seen the notice.

He wasn't surprised that Shelby was staying away from the auction. She'd been born in that house. She'd lived in it all her life. Shelby's grandfather, in fact, had founded the small Texas town of Jacobsville. They were old money, and the ragged little Ballenger boys from the run-down cattle ranch down the road weren't the kind of friends Mrs. Ba.s.s Jacobs had wanted for her children, Tyler and Shelby. But she'd died, and Mr. Jacobs had been friendly toward the Ballengers, especially when Justin and Calhoun had opened their feedlot. And when the old man found out that Shelby intended to marry Justin Ballenger, he'd told Justin he couldn't be more pleased.

Justin tried never to think about the night Ba.s.s Jacobs and young Tom Wheelor had come to see him. Now it all came back. Ba.s.s Jacobs had been upset. He told Justin outright that Shelby was in love with Tom and not only in love, the couple had been sleeping together all through the farce of Shelby's "engagement" to Justin. He was ashamed of her, Ba.s.s lamented. The engagement was Shelby's way of bringing her reluctant suitor into line, and now that Justin had served his purpose, Shelby didn't need him anymore. Sadly, he handed Justin Shelby's engagement ring and Tom Wheelor had mumbled a red-faced apology. Ba.s.s had even cried. Perhaps his shame had prompted his next move, because he'd promised on the spot to give Justin the financial backing he needed to make the new feedlot a success. There was only one condition-that Shelby never know where the money came from. Then he'd left.

Never one to believe ill of anyone without hard evidence, Justin phoned Shelby while Ba.s.s was still starting his car. But she didn't deny what Justin had been told. In fact, she confirmed all of it, even the part about having slept with Wheelor. She'd only wanted to make Tom jealous so he'd propose, she told Justin. She hoped he hadn't been too upset with her, but then, she'd always had everything she wanted, and Justin wasn't rich enough to cater to her tastes just yet. But Tom was...

Justin had believed her. And because she'd pushed him away the one time he'd tried to make love to her, her confession rang with the truth. He'd gone on a legendary bender afterward. And for the past six years, no other woman had ever gotten close enough to make a dent in his heart. He'd been impervious to all the offers, and there had been some. He wasn't a handsome man. His dark face was too craggy, his features too irregular, his unsmiling countenance too forbidding. But he had wealth and power, and that drew women to him. He was too bitter, though, to accept that kind of attention. Shelby had hurt him as no one else in his life ever had, and for years all he'd lived for was the thought of vengeance.

But now that he saw her brought to her knees financially, it was unsatisfying. All he could think of was that she was going to be hurt and she had no family, no friends to comfort her.

The apartment above the law office where she worked was tiny, and it didn't sit well with him that it was in such proximity to her bachelor boss. He knew Holman by reputation, and rumor had it that he liked pretty women. Shelby, with her long black hair, slender figure and green, sparkling eyes, would more than qualify. She was twenty-seven now, hardly a girl, but she didn't look much older than she had when she and Justin became engaged. She had an innocence about her, still, that made Justin grind his teeth. It was false; she'd even admitted it.

He paused at the door to the apartment, his hand raised to knock. There was a m.u.f.fled noise from inside. Not laughter. Tears?

His jaw tautened and he knocked roughly.

The noise ceased abruptly. There was a sc.r.a.ping sound, like a chair being moved, and soft footsteps that echoed the quick, hard beat of his heart.

The door opened. Shelby stood there, in clinging faded jeans and a blue checked s.h.i.+rt, her long dark hair disheveled and curling down her back, her green eyes red-rimmed and wet.

"Did you come to gloat, Justin?" she asked with quiet bitterness.

"It gives me no pleasure to see you humbled," he replied, his chin lifted, his black eyes narrow. "Abby said you were alone."

She sighed, dropping her eyes to his dusty, worn boots. "I've been alone for a long time. I've learned to live with it." She s.h.i.+fted restlessly. "Are there a lot of people at the auction?"

"The yard's full," he said. He took off his hat and held it in one hand while the other raked his thick, straight black hair.

She looked up, her eyes lingering helplessly on the hard lines of his craggy face, on the chiseled mouth she'd kissed so hungrily six years ago. She'd been so desperately in love with him then. But he'd become something out of her slight experience the night they became engaged, and his ardor had frightened her. She'd fought away from him, and the memory of how it had been with him, just before the fear became tangible, was formidable. She'd wanted so much more than they'd shared, but she had more reason than most women to fear intimacy. But Justin didn't know that and she'd been too shy to explain her actions.

She turned away with a groan of anguish. "If you can bear my company, I'll fix you a gla.s.s of iced tea."

He hesitated, but only for an instant. "I could use that," he said quietly. "It's hot as h.e.l.l out there."

He followed her inside, absently closing the door behind him. But he stopped dead when he saw what she was having to contend with. He stiffened and almost cursed out loud.

There were only two rooms in the makes.h.i.+ft apartment. They were bare except for a worn sofa and chair, a scratched coffee table and a small television set. Her clothes were apparently being kept in a closet, because there was no evidence of a dresser. The kitchen boasted a toaster oven and a hot plate and a tiny refrigerator. This, when she was used to servants and silk robes, silver services and Chippendale furniture.

"My G.o.d," he breathed.

Her back stiffened, but she didn't turn when she heard the pity in his deep voice. "I don't need sympathy, thank you," she said tightly. "It wasn't my fault that we lost the place, it was my father's. It was his to lose. I can make my own way in the world."

"Not like this, d.a.m.n it!" He slammed his hat down on the coffee table and took the pitcher of tea out of her hands, moving it aside. His lean, work-roughened hands held her wrists and he stared down at her with determination. "I won't stand by and watch you try to survive in a rattrap like this. Barry Holman and his charity be d.a.m.ned!"

Shelby was shocked, not only by what he was saying, but by the way he looked. "It's not a rattrap," she faltered.

"Compared to what you were used to, it is," he returned doggedly. His chest rose and fell on an angry sigh. "You can stay with me for the time being."

She blushed beet-red. "In your house, alone with you?"

He lifted his chin. "In my house," he agreed. "Not in my bed. You won't have to pay me for a roof over your head. I do remember with vivid clarity that you don't like my hands on you."

She could have gone through the floor at the bitter mockery in the words. She couldn't meet those black eyes or challenge the flat statement without embarra.s.sing them both. Anyway, it was so long ago. It didn't matter now.

She looked at his s.h.i.+rt instead, at the thick mat of black hair under the white silk. He'd let her touch him there, once. The night of their engagement, he'd unb.u.t.toned it and given her hands free license to do what they liked. He'd kissed her as if he'd die to kiss her, but he'd frightened her half out of her mind when the kisses went a little too far.

Until that night, he'd never tried to touch her, or gone further than brief, light kisses. His holding back had first disturbed her and then made her curious. Surely Justin was as experienced as his brother, Calhoun. But perhaps he'd had hang-ups about the distance between their social standing. Justin had been barely middle cla.s.s at the time, and Shelby's family was wealthy. It hadn't mattered to her, but she could see that it might have bothered Justin. And especially after she jilted him, because of her father's treacherous insistence.

She'd gotten even with her father, though. He'd planned for her to marry Tom Wheelor, in a cold-blooded merger of property, and Justin had gotten in the way. But Shelby had refused Tom Wheelor's advances and she'd never let him touch her. She'd told Ba.s.s Jacobs she wouldn't marry his wealthy young friend. The old man hadn't capitulated then, but just before his death, when he realized how desperately Shelby loved Justin, he'd felt bad about what he'd done. He hadn't told her that his guilt had driven him to stake Justin's feedlot, but he'd apologized.

She looked up then, searching Justin's dark eyes quietly, remembering. It had been hard, going on without him. Her dreams of loving him and bearing his sons had died long ago, but it was still a pleasure beyond bearing just to look at him. And his hands on her wrists made her body glow, tingle with forbidden longings, like the warm threat of his powerful, cologne-scented body. If only her father hadn't interfered. Inevitably, she'd have been able to explain her fears to Justin, to ask him to be gentle, to go slow. But it was too late now.

"I know you don't want me anymore, Justin," she said gently. "I even understand why. You don't need to feel responsible for me. I'll be all right. I can take care of myself."

He breathed slowly, trying to keep himself under control. The feel of her silky skin was giving him some problems. Unwillingly, his thumbs began to caress her wrists.

"I know that," he said. "But you don't belong here."

"I can't afford a better apartment just yet," she said. "But I'll get a raise when I've been working for two months, and then maybe I can get the room that Abby had at Mrs. Simpson's."

"You can get it now," he said tersely. "I'll loan you the money."

She lowered her eyes. "No. It wouldn't look right."

"Only you and I would know."

She bit her lower lip. She couldn't tell him that she hated the thought of being in this place, so near Barry Holman, who was a nice boss but a hopeless womanizer. She hesitated.

Before she could say yes or no, there was a knock on the door. Justin let her go reluctantly and watched her move toward the door.

Barry Holman stood there, in jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt, blond and blue-eyed and hopeful. "Hi, Shelby," he said pleasantly. "I thought you might need some help moving...in." His voice trailed away and he saw Justin standing behind her.

"Not really," Justin said with a cold smile. "She's on her way over to Mrs. Simpson's to take on Abby's old room. I'm helping her move, although I knew she appreciated the offer of this-" he looked around distastefully "-apartment."

Barry Holman swallowed. He'd known Justin for a long time, and he was just about convinced that the rumors he'd heard were true. Justin might not want Shelby himself, but he was d.a.m.ned visible if anybody else made a pa.s.s at her.

"Well," he said, still smiling, "I'd better get back downstairs then. I had some calls to make. Good to see you again, Justin. See you early Monday morning, Shelby."

"Thanks anyway, Mr. Holman," she said. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, but Mrs. Simpson offers meals as well, and it's peaceful there." She smiled. "I'm not used to town living, and Mrs. Simpson has the room free right now..."

"No hard feelings, you go right ahead." Barry grinned. "So long."

Justin glared after him. "Lover boy," he muttered. "Just what you need."

She turned, her eyes soft on his face. "I'm twenty-seven," she said. "I want to marry and have children eventually. Mr. Holman is very nice, and he doesn't have any bad habits."

"Except that he'll sleep with anything that wears skirts," he replied tersely. He didn't like thinking about Shelby having another man's children. His black eyes searched over her body. Yes, she was getting older, not that she looked it. In eight or ten years, children might be a risk for her. His expression hardened.

"He's never said anything improper to me." She faltered, confused by the way he was looking at her.

"Give him time." He drew in a slow breath. "I said I'll loan you enough to get the room at Mrs. Simpson's. If you're h.e.l.l-bent on independence, you can pay me back at your convenience."

She had to swallow her pride, and it hurt to let him help her when she knew how bitter he was about the past. But he was a caring man, and she was a stray person in the world. Justin's heart was too big to allow him to turn his back on her, even after what he thought she'd done to him. Quick, hot tears sprang to her green eyes as she remembered what she'd been forced to say to him, the way she'd hurt him.

"I'm so sorry," she said unexpectedly, biting her lip as she turned away.

The words, and the emotion behind them, surprised him. Surely she didn't have any regrets this late. Or was she just putting on an act to get his sympathy? He couldn't trust her.

She got herself back together and brushed at the loose hair at her neck as she poured the tea into two gla.s.ses filled with ice. "I'll let you lend me the money, if you really don't mind," she said, handing him his gla.s.s without looking up. "I don't like the idea of living alone."

"Neither do I, Shelby, but it's something you get used to after a while," he said quietly. He sipped his tea, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from her soft oval face. "What is it like, having to work for a living?"

She didn't react to the mockery in the words. She smiled. "I like it," she said surprisingly, and lifted her eyes to his. "I had things to do, you know, when we had money. I belonged to a lot of volunteer groups and charities. But law offices cater to unhappy people. When I can help them feel a little better, it makes me forget my own problems."

His black brows drew together as he sipped the cool, sweet amber liquid. The gla.s.s was cold under his lean fingers.

She searched his black eyes. "You don't believe me, do you, Justin?" she asked perceptively. "You saw me as a socialite, a reasonably attractive woman with money and a cultured background. But that was an illusion. You never really knew me."

"I wanted you, though," he replied, watching her. "But you never wanted me, honey. Not physically, at any rate."

"You rushed me!" she burst out, coloring as she remembered that night.

"Rushed you! Up until that night, I hadn't even kissed you intimately, for G.o.d's sake!" His black eyes glittered at her as he remembered her rejection and his own sick certainty that she didn't love him. "I'd kept you on a pedestal until then. And all the time, you were sleeping with that boy millionaire!"

She threw up her hands. "I never slept with Tom Wheelor!"

"You said you did," he reminded her with a cold smile. "You swore it, in fact."

She closed her eyes on a wave of bitter regret. "Yes, I said it," she agreed wearily, and turned away. "I'd almost forgotten."

"And all the postmortems accomplish nothing, do they?" he asked. He put down the gla.s.s and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it without removing his eyes from her stiff expression. "It doesn't matter anymore. Let's go. I'll run over to Mrs. Simpson's and you can see about the room."

Shelby knew that he'd never give an inch. He hadn't forgotten anything and he still despised her. She felt as if the world was sitting on her thin shoulders as she got her purse and followed him to the door. She didn't look at him as they left.

Chapter Two.

Justin tucked a wad of bills into Shelby's purse when he stopped the Thunderbird on the side of the road near Mrs. Simpson's house. She tried to protest, but he simply smoked his cigarette and ignored her.

"I told you earlier that the money was between you and me," he said quietly, his dark eyes challenging as he cut the engine. He turned in the bucket seat, his long legs stretched out as he touched the power-window switch on the console panel. It was a rural road, and spa.r.s.ely traveled. He had stopped under a spreading oak tree. He hooked his elbow on the open window to study Shelby narrowly. "I meant it. If you want to look on it as a loan, that's up to you."