Tender Absolution

  Rediscover this emotional favorite by #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson, previously published as He’s My Soldier Boy

  Carlie Surrett has never been able to forget the love of her life, Ben Powell. But after a terrible falling out, Ben leaves to join the army, and leaves Carlie heartbroken.

  Now, Ben is back in town, and both he and Carlie are older and wiser. And despite a lifetime of hurt, will an old flame prove to burn just as hot as before?

  Originally published in 1994.

  Tender Absolution

  Lisa Jackson

  Contents

  Prologue

  BOOK ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  Whitefire Lake, California

  The Present

  CARLIE SURRETT!

  That woman had been the bane of Ben Powell’s existence for over eleven years and he’d thought…no, he’d vowed he would never lay eyes on her again.

  “Yeah, and you’re a damned fool,” he said to himself as he brushed off the snow that had collected around his collar. Still cursing his luck, he yanked open the door of his secondhand pickup and reached inside. A six-pack of beer was on the worn seat, and he slipped one of the longnecks from the carton. With a frown, he opened the bottle by placing the edge of the cap on a rusted fender and snapping down hard—a trick he’d learned ages ago when he’d first enlisted. The cap spun off into a snowbank and foam spewed over the lip of the bottle to run down his fingers as he lifted the beer to his mouth and took a satisfying pull.

  Why couldn’t he get Carlie out of his mind?

  Muttering oaths under his breath, he kicked the door shut and stared at the rubble that had been his sister Nadine’s lakeside cabin. Once charming, the cottage was now only twisted black metal, charred beams and a sagging soot-covered chimney. Ash and debris. Nothing worth saving.

  Nadine had asked him to rebuild it. His eyes narrowed on the snow drifting on the cold pile of ash. Did she really want to give him a job or was her offer merely a handout to her only surviving brother, a man who had to start over in this shabby little town? After her wedding today, Nadine would be able to build a damned palace on this side of the lake. She could hire a bevy of architects, builders, and yes-men who would bow and fawn over the new Mrs. Hayden Garreth Monroe IV.

  Damn! He should be pleased, he told himself. Nadine had struggled for years. But was marrying Monroe, that class-A bastard born with a silver spoon wedged firmly between his teeth, the break she deserved? Why not just sell her soul to the devil?

  And why invite Carlie to the ceremony?

  “Son of a bitch.” Angry at himself and the world in general, Ben picked his way over the frozen path to the dock. His knee hurt like hell, compliments of embedded shrapnel from that skirmish in the Middle East, and his pride had been bruised and battered over the course of the past decade, starting over a decade ago in this very town. With Carlie Surrett. Beautiful, seductive, treacherous Carlie. She’d managed to destroy Ben’s brother as well as rip Ben’s world apart in the bargain.

  And now he’d have to face her again. All because of his sister and her insistence that it was time to let bygones be bygones. “Thanks a lot, Nadine.”

  Through the snow swirling to the ground, he shot a glance across the angry gray waters of Whitefire Lake where lights glowed warmly from the windows of Monroe Manor—Hayden’s mansion on the lake. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney and twinkling Christmas lights, still glowing though the holiday season was long over, glimmered in the gloomy day. I hope you know what you’re doing, Nadine, he thought anxiously. She was the only person left in the world that he really cared about. He’d never forgiven their mother for turning her back on the family when the going got tough, and his father…well, the old man had never gotten over Kevin’s death…which brought Ben’s thoughts back to Carlie again. Always Carlie. He scowled darkly, then took another long swallow from his bottle.

  A north wind, raw as January, blew across the choppy surface of the water and sliced through his dress uniform.

  Today was the big day—the day of reckoning, or rejoicing, of ignoring decade-old feuds and, in Ben’s opinion, of doom. He should be on his way to the wedding, but he couldn’t stomach all the small talk, gossip and curious stares his presence was bound to inspire. No, he’d wait until the last minute, then stand in the back and watch his sister make one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

  He glanced at his watch. The ceremony was scheduled to start in less than an hour. His guts twisted just thinking about the fact that he’d probably see Carlie there. He’d been furious when Nadine had told him that Carlie was on the guest list.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Ben had demanded of his sister. “It’s bad enough you’re going to marry Monroe—” He’d caught the mutinous set of his sister’s jaw and held up a hand in surrender. “Sorry, Nadine, but I never did like the guy and you know it as well as I do. I’m not gonna stand here and tell you that all of a sudden I think he’s a wonderful choice—”

  “Enough, Ben,” she’d warned.

  He’d plowed on. “But if that isn’t bad enough, you invite Carlie Surrett?”

  “It’s time to bury hatchets, Ben. All of them.”

  “You’ve really lost it, Nadine. First marrying Monroe, that’s… Well, it’s damned unbelievable. But inviting Carlie…”

  “Just behave yourself,” Nadine had said, her green eyes glittering with an impish light that meant she was scheming again.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m the model of civility.”

  “Yeah, right. And I’m the pope. Save that one for someone who’ll believe it.”

  She’d turned the conversation back to rebuilding the cabin. The topic of her wedding had been effectively closed and she was going to have her way come hell or high water. Ben, like it or not, would have to abide by her whimsical, I’m-the-bride-and-I’ll-do-as-I-damned-well-please wishes.

  So he was stuck. “Hell,” he ground out. He didn’t want to think about Carlie. Not now. Not ever. He’d planned on avoiding her the rest of his life. That woman was trouble. No two ways about it. Beautiful, headstrong, kick-you-in-the-gut trouble.

  Telling himself that she probably had more sense than to show up at Nadine’s wedding, he finished his beer. Certainly she wouldn’t want to cause all the old speculation again. Or would she? Carlie Surrett had been a woman drawn to the spotlight, a woman the camera loved, a woman whose brush with celebrity, though fleeting, had been real.

  Frowning, he slipped a small pair of binoculars from his pocket and held them to his eyes. Monroe Manor loomed larger than before. With snow clinging to the eaves, the three-storied Cape Cod looked like something from Currier and Ives.

  Charming, he thought with a sardonic sneer. Well, he hoped his mule-headed sister knew what she was getting into by saying “I do” to the likes of Monroe.

  Give it up, Powell! He’s marrying her and she’s happy. As for seeing Carlie again, you can handle it. Couldn’t be much worse than what you went through in the action you saw in the Middle East. Or could it?

  Ben allowed himself a grim smile. He’d willingly return to combat rather than stare into
Carlie’s erotic blue eyes ever again.

  Through the magnification of the binoculars, his gaze skimmed the banks of the lake, past frozen, empty docks, ancient sequoia trees, stumps and rocks to land on the shoreline by the old church camp. He saw a movement, a flash of deep blue and he adjusted the glasses.

  His heart nearly stopped. His muscles tightened as she came into focus: a long-legged, beautiful woman staring across the water. Her black hair was braided loosely and coiled around the back of her head, but a few strands whipped across a face that was branded in his memory forever. She looked as if she could grace the cover of a fashion magazine in her long black coat, thrown open to reveal a gauzy blue dress that skimmed her ankles and offered a view of her elegant throat.

  His fingers tightened over the binoculars as she turned, staring straight at him, her cornflower blue eyes as warm as a June day, her cheeks pink from the cold, her full lips glossy and turned pensively down at the corners. Drawing in a frozen breath, Ben waited for a wave of disgust to sweep through his blood, but instead of revulsion he felt a pang of regret for all the could-have-beens that would never be.

  “Fool,” he ground out, though he kept the field glasses to his eyes.

  Model slender, she stood in heels, her long coat billowing in the breeze. She shivered and tightened the belt as snow melted against her cheeks and turned to jewellike drops in her ebony hair.

  “Great.” He forced the binoculars from his eyes. No doubt about it. From her getup it was obvious that she was going to the wedding. So much for hoping she had the brains or common decency to decline.

  So, whether he liked it or not, he’d have to face her within the hour in front of a hundred guests. His stomach knotted at the thought of his father and how the old man would react to seeing Carlie Surrett, the woman who, in George Powell’s rather prejudiced estimation, had brought nothing but agony and disgrace to the family, the woman he blamed for the death of his first-born son.

  There would be a scene and Nadine’s wedding would be ruined. “Damn,” Ben swore at the world in general. He knew what had to be done. It meant facing her alone. Dealing with the infamous Ms. Surrett would be best accomplished without a crowd of wedding guests peering over his shoulder and whispering behind his back.

  It wasn’t that he wanted to see her alone, he half convinced himself; he had no choice.

  Jaw set, he stalked back to his battle-scarred pickup and climbed inside. Throwing the rig into reverse, he told himself that he was just going to talk to her and set her straight on a few things before they squared off at the wedding.

  He owed it to his father. He owed it to Kevin. And most importantly, he owed it to himself.

  * * *

  CRAZY. THAT’S WHAT SHE WAS. Certifiably nuts! Showing up at Nadine Powell Warne’s wedding to Hayden Monroe would be more than asking for trouble; she’d be begging for it!

  Carlie shivered, rubbing her arms as she followed the snow-encrusted path that rimmed the rocky banks of the lake. Snowflakes caught in her lashes and her braid was loosening. She should just go to the wedding and get it over with or turn tail and run. Instead, she was out here, in the middle of nowhere, second-guessing herself.

  This was all Rachelle’s fault. Her best friend had insisted that Carlie put the past to rest and accept Nadine’s olive branch to bridge the gap between the two families. But it wasn’t Nadine who worried Carlie. Nadine was happy, content with her life, ready to forgive and forget; that much was evident by the fact that she was marrying Hayden Monroe, a sworn enemy of the Powell family.

  But Ben was a different matter. A different matter entirely. Carlie’s heart squeezed a little when she thought of him, but she closed her mind to such traitorous thoughts. She’d see him today, try and be pleasant and that would be the end of it.

  An icy blast of wind ripped through the thick wool of her coat and she shivered. The sounds of muffled traffic on the road winding around the perimeter of the lake reached her ears, and for a second she thought she heard the sound of a truck’s engine much closer than it should have been, as if someone else had seen the open gates to the old church camp and pulled into the long-abandoned property. Silly. She was alone.

  Her satin heels slid on the icy ground and she decided she should turn around, climb into her worn-out Jeep Cherokee and drive to Nadine’s wedding where she belonged.

  Ha! What a joke! Where she belonged! That was the problem. She didn’t know where she belonged. It certainly wasn’t in the town of Gold Creek, California, where she’d been born and raised, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that she didn’t really belong at Nadine’s wedding where she’d have to see Ben again.

  Her heart tripped a little and she bit down on her lip as she shoved aside a frozen cobweb dangling from a low-hanging pine branch. In her mind, she’d played the scene of meeting him again over and over again, silly fantasies of a love long dead. If it had ever existed at all.

  A thorn caught on the sleeve of her coat as she walked along a curtain of cedar and spruce trees rimming the shore. She paused, extracting the barb.

  On the day of Rachelle’s wedding the lake had been blue and serene, the mirrorlike surface reflecting the mountains that spired above the timberline. But this afternoon, with the winter wind ripping through the ridge of peaks to the north, the gray water was whipped to an angry froth, whitecaps rising and falling above murky depths. Tiny particles of ice had begun to form in the water that lapped along the rocky banks and the low-lying clouds were a thick mist, the same mist that was a part of the old Native American legend.

  The sight of the chilly water brought back memories. Some happy, others painful, all tracing back to her youth. It had been on these very shores where Carlie had first been kissed, where she’d tasted her first sip of wine, where she’d given away her virginity… She’d been young, naive, believing that she could someday change the world, trusting in true love and never once thinking that tragedy, shame and scandal could touch her.

  Fool! Drawing in a cold breath, she remembered running away from the small town of Gold Creek with its narrow minds and wagging tongues. The comfort and security of her home had crumbled, turned to hostility and pain, and all the joy she’d felt growing up in this small community had disappeared. So she’d left and put time and distance between herself and the pain, tried to forget that she’d ever heard of the Powell brothers.

  She’d run as fast and far as possible, to the bright lights and dazzle of Manhattan—to the noise, the bustle, the glitter—always hoping that she would leave the heartache and humiliation of this small Californian town behind her. Unfortunately the past had always been nipping at her heels. Dogging her. In New York. In Paris. In Alaska. The dark shadow of Kevin’s death clung to her tenaciously, never far away, never to be lost, always clutching at her subconscious.

  An icy blast of wind cut like a knife, and she shivered. If she’d learned anything in the past ten years it was that she could depend upon no one but herself and that she’d damned well better hold her head high.

  A twig snapped. Carlie spun, quickly searching the undergrowth. Probably just an animal, but she couldn’t stop the goose bumps from rising on her arms. She stared into the thickets of brush and trees, but saw no one. Skeletal berry vines clawed along the ground; oak trees, naked in winter, reached gnarled branches up to the steely sky; and overhead, a hawk circled in the falling snow, but no one appeared from the shadows of the trees.

  Just your imagination, she told herself. Just because you’re back at Whitefire Lake and caught up in memories you should have buried a long time ago. She turned, intent on hurrying back to the open area of the campground where she’d parked the Jeep. Her gaze landed squarely on the one man she had hoped to avoid.

  Ben Powell.

  A very real ghost of the past appeared on the shores of the lake. It was fitting, she supposed, and ironic. She tried not to gas
p and managed what she hoped would appear a confident smile.

  Dressed in his crisp military uniform, Ben Powell wasn’t a man to fear, just as certainly as he wasn’t a man to love. But he was definitely as hard and cruelly handsome as the pictures she’d tried not to conjure up in her mind for a long, long time.

  His sensual lips were compressed into a firm, uncompromising line, and his face, honed by years in the army, was angular and stern; not a single trace of his boyish features—the features she’d held dear in her heart—remained. Eyes, beneath flat dark brows, snapped with unrestrained hostility, and Carlie wondered how in the world she’d ever thought she’d been in love with him. Where was the kindness, the humor that had been such an integral part of the boy she’d once secretly hoped to marry?

  He stood ramrod straight, his dress uniform starched, his cap square on his head, and he glared at her with undisguised hatred.

  “All dressed up and no place to go?” he asked, his voice as sharp as the bite of the wind.

  So much for pleasantries.

  “I could say the same about you.” Her gaze drifted from his shoulders to his spit-and-polished shoes.

  His chest was still broad, his waist trim, his hips as lean as ever. He hadn’t even had the decency to start to bald. His hair was as thick and coffee brown as it had been all those years ago and his eyes, hazel, shot with silver, could cut right to her soul.

  “I don’t suppose you came here to escort me to the wedding?” she asked, deciding to give as much as she got.

  He snorted.

  “I didn’t think so.” She rolled back the cuff of her coat and glanced at her watch. “We probably should get going. We’re already late.”

  “I can’t believe you were invited.”

  Echoes from the past rippled through her mind as an old memory surfaced and she thought of the first night she’d been with him. She swallowed hard and kept her mind on the present. She didn’t think for a minute that Nadine wouldn’t have told him her name was on the guest list. No doubt Ben’s sister had warned him. So what was his game? “Believe it, Ben. I don’t show up where I’m not wanted.”