Jared's Texas Homecoming. Patricia ThayerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“If we decided to get married, how soon do you think…?”
Dana didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jared had already thought through their marriage of convenience.
“As soon as possible,” he said firmly. “I don’t receive the money from the trust fund until I have a marriage certificate.”
“Of course, it wouldn’t be a real marriage.” Dana gave him a questioning look. “I mean, you can’t expect me—us…”
Jared bit back a groan. Oh, he wanted her all right, and if she were honest, she’d admit she wanted him, too. The two times they’d kissed diminished any doubt of that. They’d been nothing less than explosive. “To consummate the marriage,” he finished for her.
She nodded as a blush covered her cheeks.
“Dana, if you’re worried I’m going to jump you, I’m not. If you want to take the relationship further, I’ll leave that up to you.”
Jared’s Texas Homecoming
Patricia Thayer
To Tyler
My buddy, I’ll miss sharing my office with you.
To Hence,
Your knowledge is invaluable to me; so is your friendship.
PATRICIA THAYER
has been writing for the past sixteen years and has published seventeen books with Silhouette. Her books have been nominated for the National Readers’ Choice Award, Virginia Romance Writers of America’s Holt Medallion and a prestigious RITA® Award. In 1997 Nothing Short of a Miracle won the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Special Edition.
Thanks to the understanding men in her life—her husband of thirty-two years, Steve, and her three grown sons and two grandsons—Pat has been able to fulfill her dream of writing romance. Another dream is to own a cabin in Colorado, where she can spend her days writing and her evenings with her favorite hero, Steve. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 6251, Anaheim, CA 92816-0251, or check her Web site at www.patriciathayer.com for upcoming books.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Prologue
He only came back because of his brother.
Jared Trager Hastings stepped into his father’s office. The musty-smelling room looked dull and gloomy with its dark-stained paneling and opaque drapes. The heavy oak desk and chairs were the same pieces his grandfather had used years ago.
With his brother, Marshall’s, death, Jared knew that he had just moved to the head of the line to take over the family business, Hastings Development. That was never going to happen. Jared had always been a major disappointment to his father, unable to live up to Graham Hastings’s high standards. Marsh had been the perfect son. Now he was gone, dead at thirty-one from leukemia.
A strange numbness claimed Jared. Two brothers couldn’t have been more different—one doing everything to please his father, the other doing whatever possible to alienate the man, including running off at twenty. The one regret Jared had was that he’d missed knowing his brother. Now it was too late.
Jared checked his watch. He needed to get on the road. It was a long drive to Nevada. Suddenly the door opened and Graham walked in, along with Marsh’s wife, Jocelyn. She was slender to the point of looking frail. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a bun and her eyes seemed too big for her face, but she appeared to be the one helping GH into the room.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” his father said.
Graham had aged rapidly. At fifty-nine, he easily looked an extra ten years older with his deeply lined face and thinning gray hair. Today, his back was bent and his gait shaky.
Jared refused to let the man rile him. “You asked me to stay so we could talk.”
“Since when did you care what I wanted?”
“Like you ever wanted me around,” Jared threw back.
“Please, no fighting today,” Jocelyn pleaded. “Marsh wouldn’t have wanted this.”
Jared felt ashamed. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn.”
She nodded her appreciation. “I’m the one who wanted you to stay, Jared. To tell you how grateful I am you could be here today. If we could have gotten word to you sooner—”
“Hell, boy,” Graham snapped. “Your own brother was dying and no one knew where the hell you were.”
Jared clenched his fists to keep from saying anything. He turned to his brother’s widow. “You were saying, Jocelyn?”
She looked at her father-in-law. “If you’ll excuse us, Graham…”
“As if anyone here cares what I want….” the older man grumbled as he walked around his desk and collapsed into the chair.
Jocelyn went to a far corner of the room and Jared followed. “I need to give you something.” She spoke in a hushed voice as she reached inside her purse and drew out an envelope. “Marsh wrote you a letter just days ago.” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “Jared, your brother struggled with himself for a long time, but he felt you deserved to know some things.”
Jared tensed. “Know what?” He took the envelope from her and began to open it.
Jocelyn stopped him and glanced at his father. “Not here. When you’re alone, read it.” She released a long breath as if a weight had been lifted off her. “Marsh wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes like all of us, but I loved him.” She brushed the tears from her cheek. “And I know it gave him comfort to be able to say what he had in his heart. He did love you, Jared.”
Jared took the letter, then he pulled his sister-in-law into a tight parting embrace. Unable to speak, he nodded his goodbye and left.
Later, sitting in his truck, Jared opened the envelope. There were several papers clipped together. On top was Marsh’s letter.
Jared,
I know it has to be strange to hear from me like this. It’s been a long time, and no one is sorrier than I that we lost touch. I used to think if things were different, maybe if Mother had lived, you wouldn’t have left home.
I’ve always envied you, Jared. You never felt the need to live up to the rigid Hastings standards. You set your own. Of course it’s easy now to look back and see our mistakes. And I’ve made many, which leads me to what I have to say.
Nearly six years ago, while going through Mother’s things, I discovered a picture and an old letter that led me to San Angelo, Texas, searching for a man named Jack Randell. A