During her childhood Jody realized that her daughter was not going to be a raving beauty. Rather than finding this regrettable, she was glad and had done everything possible to guarantee Janellen’s homeliness. She’d never dressed her in anything bright or sassy and she had styled her hair in the least becoming way.

She firmly believed that desexing her daughter was the best thing she could do for her. Wishing to attract a man was a weakness inherent to women. Jody aimed to see that Janellen never fell into that trap.

Compliantly, Janellen had conformed to the mold her mother designed for her. She’d become an intelligent, competent woman who could never be accused of frivolity or flirtation. She’d been too reasonable to fall in love. Her plainness had spared her the deviousness of playboys, fortune hunters, and men in general. In that respect, Jody considered her daughter most fortunate.

There was one major drawback. Janellen had the Tackett eyes. His eyes. He’d been dead for years, but that living legacy, which all her children had borne, never failed to disconcert her. It was as if Clark Junior were in the room with her, watching her from behind their daughter’s face.

“Mama, what is it? Are you feeling all right? Is anything wrong?”

“Of course I’m feeling all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Janellen’s curiosity was understandable. Jody never sought her daughter’s company and certainly not at this hour. It was almost midnight. Janellen had tucked Jody in hours ago, but she’d been unable to sleep. Smoking heavily, she’d paced the floor of her bedroom. Her body was tired, but her mind wouldn’t relax and allow her to rest.

She’d always been an insomniac, even as a girl when frustration over her family’s poverty had affected her sleep patterns. Night after night she had lain awake between two snoring siblings, scheming ways to free herself of poverty’s stranglehold.

The tornado that had destroyed her house and killed her family had been a godsend.

Once she began working for Tackett Oil, the challenge of the job kept her clever mind too energized for sleep. Later, she’d spent years pacing the floor of her solitary bedroom while conjuring up infuriating, devastating scenarios of Clark Junior with other women.

Pushing that embittering thought aside, Jody said, “Where is your brother?”

“Key?”

She shot Janellen a retiring look. “Of course Key.”

“He’s out of town.”

The problem with Janellen was that she’d learned her lessons too well. She’d conformed, she’d done what was expected of her, she’d never been rebellious, never created unpleasantness of any kind, but she was a titmouse. Sometimes her eager-to-please expression was too much to stomach. This was one of those times. Jody wanted to shake her hard.

“He’s gone to Central America, hasn’t he? He took that bitch down there just to show me that he didn’t give a damn how I felt about it.”

“Yes, he went to Montesangre with Dr. Mallory, but not because—”

“When did he leave?”

“Today. They planned to arrive tonight. He said he would call if he had a chance, but he didn’t think it was likely.”

Jody’s posture remained rigid. The folds of her housecoat hid her hand from Janellen. Otherwise her daughter would have seen how hard she was gripping the crystal doorknob.

“He’s a goddamn fool. She crooked her finger at him and he went running.” Her lips curled contemptuously. “Just like your father, he can’t resist a chance in a woman’s bed, no matter who she is or what it costs him.”

“Key went because Dr. Mallory wants to bring back her baby girl’s remains.”

The sentimental implications didn’t soften her. “When are they due back?”

“He didn’t know.” Janellen’s eyes filled with tears. “He left some papers with me. I’m supposed to open them if he doesn’t… if they don’t…”

If she hadn’t been holding on to the door with such determination, Jody might have collapsed from the impact of her emotions. She had to get out of there before she made a fool of herself.

Without a word, she backed into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a decisive click. Only then did she give vent to her inner turmoil. Her shoulders slumped forward. Bowing her head, she raised her fist to her lips and mashed them hard in order to keep from uttering an anguished sound.

After a time, she returned to her bedroom, feeling alone and very frightened.

Reaching between the front seats of the jeep, Key thrust the Magnum against Lara’s side. “Take it,” he whispered. “Don’t be skittish about using it if you have to.”

She didn’t argue. The guerrilla fighters had completely surrounded them. Their expressions were menacing. She clutched the revolver and placed it in her lap, hiding it in her voluminous skirt.

“Buenas noches, señores.” Father Geraldo spoke pleasantly to the band of armed men. Key counted a dozen. Three times that many were probably keeping cover in the foliage. He didn’t like the odds.

Tags: Sandra Brown Romance
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