She’d driven off with her friends and taken his heart with her.
Afterward, Trey had gone home and gotten soundly drunk.
The first year after she’d left had been the worst. He’d made a dozen or more excuses to visit the Lancasters and ask about her. He’d been tempted to write her but had promised himself he wouldn’t. She was out of his life now and would soon be a big shot on Broadway.
Only it hadn’t happened quite like that. By the second Christmas she was away, he’d been semisuccessful in pushing the memory of her to the back of his mind. He still asked about her occasionally and was surprised to learn that her name wasn’t lighting up any marquees. It was then that he’d begun to hope Jenny would throw in the towel and move home to lick her wounds.
It was the small quiver in her voice when he’d phoned that had first alerted Trey to the fact that something was wrong. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. After all this time, he didn’t expect Jenny to be the same person she’d been when she’d left Custer. He wasn’t sure now what he had expected. Instead of sounding happy, she’d seemed sad, and he’d sensed in her a deep pain she couldn’t hide.
He’d mulled that over for a number of days, and then it seemed everyone he knew on God’s green earth started talking about New York. Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he’d booked the flight to New York and subsequently learned the truth. He wasn’t relieved or glad at her lack of success. His first reaction had been anger that those fancy, worldly men had been blind to her talents.
Trey wanted to take Jenny back to Montana. He wanted to love her, comfort her, and take care of her. More than that, he wanted to wipe away the frustration and disappointment.
He hadn’t meant to ask her to come home so abruptly, but the words had refused to remain unsaid. The first time he’d asked, her response had been quick and sharp.
No.
That had been before he’d kissed her. When he’d asked a second time, she hadn’t answered.
Someone slipped a tape inside the cassette player, and a fresh batch of Christmas music filled the room. Several started to sing, and soon Trey heard three distinct parts, blending in perfect harmony.
Within a few moments everyone had stopped chatting to sing along. Jenny drifted over to Trey’s side. He’d never tire of hearing her sing. This, he decided, was what angels must sound like. Her voice conjured up that image for him.
The old Christmas carols were his personal favorites, and when the first introductory notes of “Silent Night” played, Trey sang along himself. It surprised him how well his deep voice blended with Jenny’s.
Pleasure lit up her eyes when she turned to smile at him.
He returned the gesture and draped his arm around her shoulder. A couple of the men in the group glanced his way and frowned. Trey didn’t blame them for being jealous. He had battled down the affliction every time Jenny so much as glanced at another man. In the beginning it had damn near eaten him alive, but time and effort had helped him master his feelings.
Soon the music faded, taken over with small talk. The crowd was beginning to get to him, so he decided to step outside for some fresh air. To his surprise, Jenny grabbed her coat and followed him.
“Come with me,” she said, and led him to the fire escape. She sat down and patted the space next to her. “I used to sit out here in the hottest nights of summer,” she said. Her breath produced clouded puffs in the cold night air. “Out here with the sky bright with stars was as close as I could get to feeling like I was in Montana again,” she admitted.
It was hard for Trey to hold his tongue. He’d already asked her twice to come back to Custer with him. He wouldn’t do it again.
“I wondered if you ever thought about home,” he said.
“Every day.”
“Did you think about me, Jenny?” He braced himself, fearing he wouldn’t like her answer. He had never said a solitary word about his feelings for her.
When she looked up at him, Trey noticed that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I thought about you a lot, Trey. I don’t know why, but in the last six months it seemed you were on my mind nearly every day.”
“You never wrote me,” he reminded her.
Her smile was weak at best. “You didn’t write me, either.”
That he couldn’t argue with.
“Did you . . . did you think about me, Trey?”
“Every damn minute of every damn day you’ve been away,” he admitted huskily. He kissed her then, simply because he needed her so badly. He’d loved her for so long, he didn’t know what it was not to love her.
Her ready response left him lightheaded. The kiss went on and on until they were both desperate to breathe.
“Oh, Trey,” she whispered, and buried her face against his neck.
It was heaven to hold her and the purest form of torture he had ever experienced. Heaven and hell.
The door abruptly opened behind them, and a couple stumbled out, giggling.
“Sorry!” the male voice charged. “We haven’t interrupted anything, have we?”
“Modesto’s been shot.” Shirley landed on the fire escape with such an urgency that she nearly unseated Mercy.
“My goodness,” Mercy said, gasping.
“Did someone call for me?” Goodness asked, joining her two friends.
“Modesto’s in the hospital,” Shirley blurted out in a dither. “It was a gang shooting . . . someone he didn’t even know. We’ve got to get there.”
“What about Brynn?” Mercy asked, following her friend.
“She’s already at New York General with Roberto and his brother. Emilio’s in a bad way.”
“Oh my.”
Together the three of them left Jenny and headed across town. They soon descended into the hospital waiting room where the situation was tense.
Emilio sat in the corner of the room, bent forward, his elbows braced against his knees. Shirley couldn’t remember ever seeing the teenager look more stricken. Roberto sat next to his brother, and Brynn couldn’t seem to hold still. She paced from one side of the room to the other.