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“What?” Cadde wasn’t sure where the old man was headed with the conversation.
“I’m not asking you to marry Jessie. I’m telling you.”
That took a moment for Cadde to digest.
“I’ve always been a gambler. You know that. Tomorrow I’m taking the biggest gamble of all…they’ll remove the tumor from my brain. The doctors say I have a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the surgery and I’m willing to take that risk. I’m damn tired of the headaches and losing my eyesight, but I can’t go under the knife until I know Jessie’s future is secure.”
“Sir…”
“Okay, boy,” Roscoe interrupted, not willing to listen to anything he had to say. “I’m gonna make this easy for you. Marry Jessie and I’ll give you half of my shares in Shilah Oil. Jessie gets the other half.”
That sent Cadde’s heart galloping like a wild steed.
“The papers are there on the nightstand. They require your signature to become the CEO of Shilah Oil.” Roscoe took a labored breath. “Sign it, boy, because I’m not giving you any other choice. You’ve got integrity. I’ve known that from the start, and you’ll keep Jessie safe.”
Fear choked the man’s voice. Roscoe’s paranoia was never more evident than it was that day, but Cadde had to ask, “How does your daughter feel about this?”
Jessie walked into the room in a brown pantsuit and heels. Her dark hair was coiled into a knot at her nape. She looked elegant, sophisticated and uptight as any woman could be. The only sign she was nervous was the false smile on her face.
“Here’s my baby,” Roscoe said, and held out his hand.
She grasped it. “Daddy, I’m hardly a baby. What are you doing talking business with Mr. Hardin? You should be resting.”
“I can’t rest until I know your life is secure.”
“Oh, Daddy.”
“I’m serious, Jessie. Marry Cadde.” Roscoe took another tortured breath. “We’ve talked about this and it’s the right thing to do. Cadde knows the oil business and he’ll keep Shilah profitable so you’ll never want for anything. Please, baby.”
Jessie met Cadde’s eyes for the first time and their depths bore right through him. “Has Mr. Hardin agreed to this?”
“Yes,” Roscoe said before Cadde could answer.
She turned back to Roscoe. “Daddy, you do realize I can take care of myself? I’m twenty-nine years old.”
“Don’t argue with me, Jessie. Please let me die in peace. I have to know you’re safe.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and Cadde felt a sucker punch to his chest. She hugged her father tightly and then straightened. “Okay. I guess I’m getting married.”
They had the ceremony that afternoon by Roscoe’s bedside and Cadde signed the papers that gave him a large interest in Shilah Oil. The next few hours were tense as they waited for news that Roscoe had survived the surgery. He hadn’t. He’d died on the operating table.
Losing Roscoe had been a big blow. He thought the old man could win at anything, but the stakes were too high this time. Pushing aside his grief, he tried to comfort Jessie by offering to take her home. That was a huge mistake. She lit into him like a dog in a chicken coop.
“Contrary to what my father believes, Mr. Hardin, I can take care of myself and deal with Daddy’s death…on my own.”
That’s when the iceberg set in—big-time.
She was stoic at the services. At the grave site, she stumbled and he caught her. She leaned on him for a second before she’d pushed away, thus setting the tone for their eighteen months of marriage.
The reading of the will was an eye-opener. Everything Roscoe owned was equally divided between him and Jessie, except Shilah and the Murdock estate. The house belonged to Jessie, and Roscoe’s shares in the oil company were split twenty-five percent to Cadde and twenty-six percent to Jessie.
Roscoe omitted mentioning that little tidbit, which gave Jessie the upper hand. She used it every time she could—like today. Roscoe’s cronies, who owned the remaining percentage of shares and sat on the board, always voted her way.
He never understood why Roscoe had done that. Jessie didn’t know anything about the oil business, yet she was the one calling the shots—not him. That irritated the hell out of him on a good day. On a bad day he cursed a lot. If Shilah Oil was going to succeed, he had to find a way to reach Jessie.
Cadde sped down the paved road leading to the Murdock estate. Climbing Mount Olympus might be easier than reaching Jessie. And definitely less painful. But today he was angry and he was having his say. She wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder and walking out of the room as she usually did. If he had to tie her to a chair, they were discussing their farce of a marriage, and most definitely her sabotage of Shilah Oil.
He drove up to the double wrought-iron gates leading to the house. As he touched a button on his windshield visor, the gates swung open. An eight-foot steel fence surrounded the entire property and was held in place with brick cornerstones every twelve feet. Razor wire curled across the top. The entire structure was linked to a state-of-the-art security system. To say Roscoe was paranoid about Jessie’s safety was putting it mildly. But Cadde knew he had good reasons.
Roscoe’s brother, Al, who had started Shilah Oil with Roscoe back in the forties, had a six-year-old daughter who’d been kidnapped. The child had fought so vigorously that the kidnapper had broken her neck. The man had been a roustabout who Al had fired.
Al’s wife couldn’t handle the grief and died six months later. Al followed her the next year. After the tragedy, Roscoe made sure nothing would happen to Jessie. He had her guarded twenty-four hours a day, even when she went away to college. That couldn’t have been easy for her.
Usually, a guard was at the gate, but today no one was there. Jessie had dismissed them a week after the funeral. It was their first marital argument, if you could call it that. He told her he didn’t think it was wise and she told him to mind his own business. They went back and forth until she stormed out of the room, leaving him in no doubt what she thought of his opinions.
She never rehired the guards and neither did he. Somehow he felt he had failed Roscoe, but he knew if he hired new security, she’d fire them. So maybe for once in Kid’s life he was right. Jessie wanted her freedom.
The house loomed in front of him, and he had the same thought he did every time he visited—the structure resembled a fortress or a castle in England with its turrets, tower and mullioned windows with bars. It was impressive, but seemed out of place in Texas. That was Roscoe, though. He never did anything the normal way.
Cadde parked at the garages and got out. Two Dobermans ran to greet him, sniffed at his boots and trotted back to their spot at the door. At his first visit he almost had a heart attack when the dogs lunged at him, intending to take him down as if he was no more than a poodle. Roscoe had shouted, “Stay,” and they’d immediately backed off. He had the dogs sniff him so they’d know his scent. From then on the Dobermans never gave him a problem.
For the first time Cadde realized that Jessie virtually lived in a prison of Roscoe’s making. Why wouldn’t she want to spread her wings?
The stifling August breeze almost took his Stetson. Anchoring it with his hand, he headed for the house. The heat was almost suffocating, but soon the temperatures would drop as fall arrived.
It certainly was a time for a new direction.
JESSIE WENT THROUGH THE document once again. Hal, her lawyer, had drawn it up just like she’d asked. She paused for a moment, thinking over what she was about to do. A small shiver ran through her.
The small mixed Jack Russell terrier at her feet whined for attention. “What’s the matter, Mirry?” she cooed. She’d named her Miracle but she always called her Mirry. The dog sat on her foot as if all she needed was to know that someone cared. The poor thing looked pathetic with no tail or ears.
Jessie had found her on the side of the road and had taken her home and nourished her back to health. She couldn’t believe that some people could be so cruel, but no one was going to hurt Mirry again. She’d make sure of that.
The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. It was time. Cadde would be here any minute. She’d bet money on it.
She straightened the dark suit and white silk blouse she’d worn to the board meeting this morning. Her hands went to her hair to check for loose strands that had worked their way out of her knot. She didn’t want to appear vulnerable.
Rosa, the housekeeper, walked in. “Can I get you anything, Miss Jessie?”
“No, thank you. If I need anything I’ll get it myself,” she chided softly. “Besides, I have iced tea.” She held up the glass. “That’s all I need.” A shot of vodka wouldn’t hurt, she mused to herself. Rosa would faint at the mention of such a thing. But if courage came in a bottle, she could definitely use it.
Round and barely five feet tall, Rosa was like her mother. She’d raised Jessie since she was seven years old. Sometimes she felt suffocated by all the sheltering. Her father never saw her as anyone but his baby girl who needed protection, as did Rosa. Jessie was thirty now and she was determined to have the life and freedom that she wanted.
“You’ve been so sad since Mr. Roscoe’s passing.”
“I’m okay,” she said, and smiled at the woman who would do anything for her. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m really fine. When Cadde arrives, tell him I’m in the sunroom.”
Rosa frowned. “What’s Mr. Cadde doing here this time of day?”
“Now, Rosa, don’t pry,” she teased.
Rosa shook a finger at her. “You’re up to something, Miss Jessie, I know that look.” Rosa had called her “Miss Jessie” ever since she could remember. She’d often asked Rosa to just call her Jessie, but Rosa never heeded her wishes.
They heard the back door open and close.
Rosa clicked her tongue as she went to confront their visitor. Jessie held her breath as she listened to the stomp-stomp of his boots against the hardwood floor. In a few seconds he was standing in the doorway, fury etched across his strong features. His jacket and tie from the morning were gone, but the jeans, white shirt, Stetson and boots were the same. The shirt was opened at the neck, revealing tiny swirls of dark chest hair. Her stomach tightened.
The first time she’d met him she’d thought how handsome he was: strong, powerful and everything a woman could want. There was just one problem. He treated her like a piece of the furniture. Today she was going to change that. She was going to rock Cadde Hardin’s world.
Without speaking to her, he walked into the room and carefully placed his hat on the table, as if he was gauging his next words.
“Okay, Jessie, we need to talk.” His deep voice demanded her attention.
She looked up, trying to appear as innocent as possible. “About what?”
“You know damn well about what. We talked last night and you seemed in agreement that Shilah should explore drilling outside of Texas, especially the Louisiana leases that Roscoe kept up-to-date. But once again you did a flip-flop. Why?”
“I didn’t promise you my vote.”
“Oh, no, you’re way too smart for that.” Anger now edged his voice and she could see that he was keeping a tight rein on his temper. His muscles were taut and his brown eyes intense. She refused to squirm. “Do you get some kind of perverse pleasure out of blocking my every move?”
“Actually, no.”
“Then what the hell is it?” He waved a hand around the green-and-white room. “This is paid for by Shilah. If the oil company goes under, so will all of this. Do you understand that?”
“I’m not stupid.” She could feel her anger bubbling to the surface and that’s the last thing she wanted. She had to remain calm, but that was hard to do with a six-foot-plus all-male glaring at her and demanding answers.
“Then why are you keeping Shilah stagnant? It has to grow to succeed.” He didn’t give her time to respond. “It’s me, isn’t it? You’re not comfortable with me taking over Roscoe’s position so you’re trying to stick it to me every way you can.”
She shook her head. “No. I think you’re more than qualified to fill Daddy’s shoes.”
“Then what the hell is it, Jessie? What do I have to do to get your support? What do you want?”
She played with the pen lying on top of the document for a second and then raised her eyes to his. “It’s quite simple. I want a baby.”
CHAPTER TWO
A BABY!
Had he heard her correctly?
Cadde swallowed. “What did you say?”
“A baby. I want a family.” She stated each word clearly.
His brow knotted together so tightly it made his brain hurt. Was she out of her mind?
“You mean you want to adopt?” That was the only explanation he could think of. “You don’t need my permission for that.” Or maybe she did. He didn’t know.
Her dark eyes flared like charcoal being lit by a match. “It may surprise you, but I don’t need your permission for anything.”
“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “I can see that pushes a button, but I’m out here in left field. What the hell are you talking about.”
“I’ll say it one more time, slowly, so you’ll understand.”
He gritted his teeth at her condescending tone and kept a leash on the curse words burning his throat.
“I want a baby. I want to conceive, feel the life grow inside me and give birth to my son or daughter.”
“Oh.” That pretty much obliterated every response from his mind.
“Since Daddy died I’m all alone in the world. I have no relatives that I know of. I want someone to call my own…someone to love.”
He heard the sadness in her voice and he felt himself weakening toward something he didn’t even understand. “If you’re talking about being artificially inseminated, as you pointed out, you don’t need my permission.”
She slapped the folder in front of her, drawing his attention to the file. On it, he saw the words Jessie Hardin. He wasn’t aware she went by her married name.
“Good grief, are you dense or what?” The first sign of emotion flashed across her pretty face. “Why would I need to go to a sperm bank? I have a husband.”
The creases on his forehead became tighter. “You mean you’re asking me to donate…?”
“No,” she interrupted him. “I want to have my husband’s child the old-fashioned way.”
What! It took a moment for him to catch his breath.
“You want us to make a baby?” he asked, motioning from her to him.
“Yes. You asked what I wanted and that’s it.”
His brow was so furrowed now he could barely think. “You do realize we’d have to have sex to accomplish that?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever had sex?”
Resentment flashed across her face. “Of course. I’m thirty years old.”
“When, Jessie?” he probed. “When have you had sex? Your father had you guarded twenty-four hours a day even in college.”
“There are ways to escape the guards,” she said with a lift of a dark eyebrow. “I’ve learned every trick in the book.”
“Did Roscoe know?”
“Of course not. The guards didn’t want to lose their jobs.”
He placed his hands on his hips. “Who did you sleep with?” He had no idea why he was asking her this. It was none of his business, but for some unknown reason it seemed important.
“I resent that question.” Like a shade being drawn to block the light, her eyes shut out any emotion other than anger. How he wished he could see beyond that veil of darkness.
