You, And No Other. Lynda Sandoval

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СКАЧАТЬ back in the Gulch brought forth the kid he used to be, and the problem was, it shook him. He never thought he’d end up being the kind of man who’d seek retribution, but prom night—that deep betrayal—had killed something innocent inside him. His heart had shattered and his soul hardened in one fell swoop, and he’d vowed to show them all one day that Jonas Eberhardt couldn’t be shoved aside like so much trash.

      Every single decision he’d made in his adult life had led him toward this day, this place, this chance to subtly smack down a few people and set the record straight. He’d lived for this goal, worthy or not, so he’d better quash the unexpected doubt immediately or he’d miss out on the glory moment.

      Reaching into his jacket pocket, he wrapped his hand around the talisman he always carried. In previous times of self-doubt, it had always given him strength of purpose. Power. Now it fueled him for what lay ahead. An eye for an eye, just as it should be. He’d make his point—one only Cagney would fully grasp—and then he’d hightail it out of Troublesome Gulch for the second time and never look back.

      Score: even.

      This town had made it abundantly clear what they thought of him twelve years ago, and his current financial status wouldn’t change that—at least not for him. Today, despite his unexpected maelstrom of feelings and no matter how many millions it cost him, the last word would be his. The awkward feelings would dissipate eventually, and money had never mattered to him anyway.

      Cagney mostly tuned out Walt Hennessy—master of verbosity—as he dragged out the introduction until it made the worst of Oscar-night speeches seem like breezy, witty blips.

      Get on with it, she wanted to yell.

      The table in front of the podium held some large lumpy thing covered with billowy, red fabric, and she could see most eyes focused on that rather than Hennessy. No doubt it was an architect’s rendering of the proposed supersecret wing. Surely that would be more interesting than old Walt’s incessant prattle.

      After several more minutes of pointless effusing, Hennessy nodded to his four underlings, who were poised to unveil the model. They moved into position, each grasping a corner of the red cloth.

      “Without further ado, I’d like to bring out the man who is making this all possible, one of Troublesome Gulch’s own.”

      Wait a minute—a Gulcher? That was an unexpected twist. Cagney’s curiosity was piqued, and she angled a bit closer. Who could it be? More importantly, how had this mysterious Gulcher walked amongst them and still kept the secret? Everybody knew secrets were impossible in the Gulch.

      “Before that, however, I’d like you all to take a look at what will be the crowning jewel of High Country Medical Center.” He paused dramatically, then spoke in a booming voice, arms spread wide. “The Ava Eberhardt Memorial Art Therapy Wing. Gentlemen?”

      The cloth billowed back, and everyone erupted into applause and cheers and excited conversation. Cameras flashed. People shouldered closer, craning their necks and jockeying for a better view.

      All Cagney could do was stand frozen and replay Hennessy’s incomprehensible words in her brain.

      Ava Eberhardt?

      Memorial?

      Art therapy?

      The thud of her heart literally hurt; she couldn’t feel her extremities. Her mind raced and her blood chilled. Jonas’s mother hadn’t exactly been an icon of Troublesome Gulch society—far from it. So, who could the benefactor be but—

      “And, the man making it all possible, Troublesome Gulch’s own prodigal son, Mr. Jonas Eberhardt.”

      Cagney gasped. Stars filled her vision until she feared she’d pass out.

      The curtains behind the elaborate outdoor dais opened revealing none other than the boy she saw in her dreams every single night. A boy life had chiseled into an incredibly gorgeous—and apparently filthy rich—man. A boy who had listened to and encouraged all her dreams of creating art and helping people, of combining the two into a career, yet who’d left her in the hospital after the devastating prom night crash without so much as a phone call or a get-well balloon. A boy who’d broken her heart, and yet, despite that, the one person she’d never stopped loving.

      Jonas had returned.

      Her knees melted to nothing. She wobbled toward the nearest parked vehicle—a Ford pickup—and sank onto the front bumper, sucking air and trying to regain her equilibrium. A myriad of emotions swirled through her. Excitement. Fear. Wonder. Resentment. Anger.

      Why?

      Why had Jonas come back after all these years? Why—and how—was he funding, of all things, an art therapy wing at the hospital when that career field had been her dream, not his? More importantly, why hadn’t he cared enough to tell her?

      The big part of her that would always love Jonas wanted to believe this grand gesture was somehow for her, which warmed her soul. But it also made no sense. Another more resentful, less logical part felt as though he’d intentionally stolen her dream. Or worse, as if he were rubbing the failures of her life in her face. Bringing into sharp relief the fact that she hadn’t been able to cut it, had abandoned her art and settled for a job she never wanted in the first place.

      But why would he do that? How would he even know?

      She hadn’t seen nor heard from him in twelve long, empty years.

      Every one of her stuffed-down regrets boiled to the surface. She wanted to run. Hide. Scream. She wanted to tear off this stupid uniform and demand a life do-over.

      With considerable effort, Cagney pulled herself together.

      She needed to talk to Jonas privately before her wild imagination created yet more scenarios that didn’t exist, before she did something rash that she’d regret. Because, more than anything else, she wanted a second chance at the conversation that should have happened more than a decade earlier.

       Chapter Two

      Jonas addressed the assemblage much more quickly than Hennessy had introduced him, or at least it felt that way. He fake smiled his way through a ceremonial groundbreaking, mostly for the media, then made himself and the architect who’d designed the new wing available for one-on-one questions during a meet-and-greet reception.

      That part only took about an hour, but by the end, he was emotionally drained and ready to retreat to his hotel room in nearby Crested Butte. The whole day had been … weird. A letdown. Not at all what he’d expected. The glow of smug satisfaction he’d anticipated over the years simply hadn’t materialized.

      Confused and lost, he said his requisite goodbyes as swiftly as possible, then made his way down the ramp to where the limo waited in the underground garage. His handmade Italian leather shoes echoed on the pavement in the cavernous and largely empty concrete structure. He loosened his tie as he walked, then said to hell with it and whipped the thing off altogether.

      After inhaling deeply, he blew out a long breath, ran his hands through his hair—and that’s when he saw her.

      Cagney. Standing next to his limo.

      He stopped dead as—much СКАЧАТЬ