by Lisa Jackson
“It looks different,” Tiffany said as she eyed the parlor and foyer. “And yet the same.”
“It’ll take some getting used to.”
“For all of us.” Tiffany showed Katie a file she’d left in the front-hall closet. Inside was information on the house, rental agreements, application forms and extra sets of keys. “I’ll get you started and show you how this works,” she said,
“but it’s not all that tough once you get the hang of it, and you can always call me.”
“Hey, now that the phones are hooked up, how about ordering pizza?” Trevor called down from the second floor.
Katie grinned. “You think you deserve to be fed?”
“At least. It wouldn’t hurt if you stocked the refrigerator with some beer, too.”
“Okay, okay. You guys are in charge of the kids. Come on, Tiffany, let’s run down to Papa Luigi’s and figure out what we need for this crowd.”
“Pepperoni!” Josh yelled.
“With double cheese,” Jarrod added.
“Naw, get the all-meat special.” Trevor was reaching for his wallet. “An extra large and—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Katie said. “It’s on me.” She ignored Trevor’s offer of money and found her purse wedged between half-filled boxes on the kitchen counter. As she and Tiffany headed outside; Katie glanced up at the upper story of the carriage house, the place Luke temporarily called home. How would it be to live so close to him, to know that he was only a few short footsteps away? She thought again for a second about making love to him on the parlor floor and decided she couldn’t dwell on the future or what, if any, kind of relationship she had with him. Only time would tell.
* * *
“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. How’s it going out there?” Ralph Sorenson’s voice was loud, and filled with anticipation.
Luke had steeled himself for this phone call—a call he hadn’t wanted to make. “It’s going,” he replied, hedging. “Renovations on the ranch house have started and I should be moving out to the spread in a month or two.”
“So what about the other? Have you found out if Dave had a kid like he hinted at?”
Luke heard the note of eager enthusiasm in the older man’s voice, could almost see Ralph’s aging fingers curl, white-knuckled around the receiver. “I’m not certain yet,” Luke admitted, “but I’ve got a couple of leads. Good ones. As soon as I know for sure, I’ll let you know.”
“It means a lot to me,” Ralph said. “It’s all I have left of my boy.”
“I know. I’m working on it. Trust me.” Luke heard the old man sigh and felt like a heel. How had he gotten himself roped into this mess? He turned the conversation to the weather, the price of feed, a new virus that was infecting cattle herds in west Texas—anything but the topic of David Sorenson’s child. Stretching the telephone cord so that he could look out the window to where Josh Kinkaid and Stephen Santini were playing one-on-one at a basketball hoop hung on the garage, he leaned his shoulder against the window.
The older kid was winning by a lot, but Josh, even though he still hobbled a little, wasn’t a slouch. Luke hated the thought, but he would bet dollars to doughnuts that the kid was Dave’s. His age was perfect, and Katie acted so oddly—like she couldn’t wait to change the subject—whenever the question of Josh’s paternity came up. She’d also been blown away when she’d learned about Dave’s death—had turned white as a sheet. Hell, what a mess.
But he couldn’t prove it. He suspected only one person knew the truth.
“I’ll call in a couple of days,” he promised and hung up. It was time for a showdown with Ms. Kinkaid. As soon as her half-brothers and the Santini clan cleared out, Luke would have to confront her.
For a second the image of her lying beneath him, her eyes wide and verdant green in anticipation, her lips parted in passion as he made love to her, flashed through his mind.
His gut clenched.
He’d never felt so completely satisfied in his life as he had with her; and he’d never felt so guilty for seducing someone. Katie Kinkaid was different from any of the other women he’d had in his lifetime. Very different. And that was a problem. A big problem.
Chapter Nine
That night, after most of the stuff had been packed away, Katie opened the door to Josh’s room and smiled as she saw him spread-eagled across the bed, snoring softly, dead to the world. Her heart swelled as she brushed a wayward lock of hair from his forehead, leaned down and kissed his smooth brow. He had been warmer to her today, as if he was getting over the shock of realizing that she had lied to him, as if he were finally forgiving her. Thank goodness. She didn’t know how much more of the cold shoulder she could take. As she left the room she snapped off the TV and lights, then softly closed the door behind her.
In the next room over, her new office, she rearranged some files on her computer, edited an article on the new Santini winery and vineyards, and went through her notes on Isaac Wells. It had been over a week since she’d received the letter, and she’d never been contacted again. The police had told her nothing and she was starting to believe she’d been the target of some kind of hoax, though she couldn’t begin to think why. “Live and learn,” she said, frowning and catching a glimpse of her pale reflection, blurred over the words of her article in her computer monitor.
A truck roared into the drive and Katie’s heart jumped. The engine died as she opened the blinds and peered through. Luke’s truck was parked near the garage, the glow of a security lamp reflecting on its hood. Stretching as he climbed from the cab, he strode across the backyard. His expression was stern, his demeanor that of a man with a mission. Her pulse jumped of its own accord.
He cast a quick look at the house and upstairs to the lighted window. Katie’s throat caught. She couldn’t look away. He didn’t so much as smile, and quickly disappeared from view beneath the roof of the porch. Her porch. Oh, God, he was coming to see her.
Katie was down the stairs in a flash, her bare feet skimming the wooden steps and hallway into the kitchen. She opened the door and found him in the shadows, as taciturn and unfriendly as she’d ever seen him. “Something’s wrong,” she guessed.
“You could say that.”
Her heart went wild. “Come in, come in. What is it?”
Once inside, he grabbed one of the chairs positioned around the table and straddled it. Folding his arms over the back, he stared up at her. Dread did a slow crawl up her spine. In a moment of intuitive divination she knew what this was about.
“I want to talk about Josh’s father.”
“I figured as much.” Her voice sounded strangled, even to her own ears. “Why?”
“It’s time.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him it was none of his business, but the truth of the matter was out. Now that Josh knew his parentage, there seemed no reason to lie. “I don’t see why it could possibly matter to you,” she began, rubbing at a spot on the counter with one finger, “but you may as well know that Josh was Dave Sorenson’s son. We . . . we knew each other in high school, got involved and then, just before he left, I got pregnant.” Her cheeks burned and for a second she thought she might break down altogether, but she managed to keep her voice steady and look Luke in the eye.
“You never told him that he had a son.”
“Nope.” She shook her head and couldn’t hide the regret in her voice. It seemed Luke was determined that she face all her demons. Tonight. “I should have. For Dave. For Josh. I . . . I was young and stupid and naive and hurt. I had explained to Dave before he moved away that there was a chance that I was pregnant, but he didn’t seem concerned and then, when I knew for sure, I found out that he’d already hooked up with another girl in Texas. I guess I had too much pride to run after him and give him the news he didn’t want to hear—that he was going to be a father.” She drew in a long, shaky breath. “So the only person I confided in was my mom. No one else knew and she kept my secret. I didn’t even tell J
arrod who Josh’s dad was and I felt badly about it, because Jarrod saw me through some pretty dark hours. Stood by me and didn’t ask any questions or give me any lectures.”
Luke raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.
“I’m not making excuses. I should have told Dave the truth. I thought I was protecting my son and myself, but really I only ended up hurting Josh.” She managed a thin, frail smile. “I made a mistake. A big one.”
“Everyone does.” Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to judge her.
Folding her arms under her breasts, trying to maintain some semblance of poise, she fought tears. “So, cowboy from Texas, what does it matter to you?”
“I already told you that I knew Dave. Worked for years for Dave’s father, Ralph.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t like the way this was heading.
“And you know I bought my place from him.” Luke seemed as tense as she. His shoulders were rigid, his eyes watching her every move.
“Maybe you should tell me what I don’t already know.” She was careful. Wary. Where was the warm man to whom she’d made love only a few days before?
“As I said, I didn’t buy the place with cash, really. I worked for him, he withheld part of my paycheck with the understanding that I’d one day use that money as a down payment on a place outside of Dallas. However, that didn’t work out and he offered me full ownership out here instead. It was a deal I couldn’t pass up.”
He’d told her all this before, but nothing he’d said so far explained the rigid set of his jaw or the lines of silent anger that bracketed his mouth. “So?”
“He asked a favor of me before I headed west.”
Here it comes. “What kind of favor?” she asked, not really sure she wanted to know. Her pulse thundered through her brain.
“Ralph asked me to do some checking when I came into town. Before his death Dave had mentioned that he might have fathered a child back here and Ralph wanted to locate that grandchild if he had. That’s why I came over here tonight. To get this all out in the open. It’s been a secret too long.”
Katie’s chest was as tight as if it had suddenly been strapped in steel bands. “I had already decided to talk to the Sorensons,” she said, though she still felt cornered, as if tracking hounds had been put on her trail and she had no place to run to, her back against the face of a sheer cliff. “But first I had to talk to Josh.”
“He didn’t know?”
She shook her head and felt beads of sweat collecting at her nape and forehead. “As I said, no one did. Whenever the subject of his father came up, I told him that the man was in my life for a very short period, then gone, that I didn’t know much about him anymore. I promised to tell him the whole story some day, but, for the most part, I hedged. I didn’t want Josh to hear things about a father who had left him before he was born, and I thought that if I kept the guy anonymous, and if there was no speculation, no gossip, it would be okay. Of course, that was a mistake. People talk and kids are cruel.” She swiped her bangs from her eyes. “You have to understand I was little more than a kid, myself. I’d been teased all my growing-up years because my mom was forever getting married and divorced. It seemed like everyone else’s family was stable and mine was this ... this chaotic mess.
“I know now that it wasn’t true. All families have their little secrets.” She laughed at the irony. “And of course, I had no idea that the man who was supposed to be my father, wasn’t. My mom lied to me, too. I would have died if I’d guessed that I was the product of a . . . an illicit affair. That I would be called ‘illegitimate.’ It was bad enough as it was, and I was determined that I wouldn’t put my kid through the same kind of pain.”
She leaned a hip against the kitchen island and glanced out to the backyard where moonlight was casting the dry grass in soft shades of silver. “Anyway, of course it was probably worse for Josh to not tell him the truth, but I was young and convinced I was doing the right thing. The trouble with a lie is it feeds on itself and keeps growing. Any time the subject came up, I evaded the issue and told myself he was too young to understand. I thought there would be plenty of time. It wasn’t as if Dave had shown any interest in my possible pregnancy, anyway. But then you landed in town with the news that Dave was dead and I . . . I couldn’t stand it. I knew I had to level with Josh. I finally talked with him a few days ago.”
“How did he take the news?”
“He was stunned. No. Horrified would probably be a better word. Then, once the disbelief subsided, he was angry—I mean, really angry with me.” She swallowed hard and reached into the cupboard for a glass. “Can’t say as I blame him. I was mad that my mom lied about who my father was, but at least I had the chance to meet him and decide for myself how much I wanted John Cawthorne in my life. Josh has no options. I took them away from him.” She flipped on the tap, filled her glass and drank to quench the dryness at the back of her throat.
“You did what you thought was best.” Luke’s voice was low, a balm.
“Yeah, and it blew up in my face.” She lifted her glass. “You want some?”
“Naw, I’m fine.” Getting to his feet, he went to her and wrapped solid arms around her torso. “You can’t beat yourself up for this.”
“Oh, no?” Turning to gaze up at him, she saw the sweet seduction in his eyes, heard his sharp intake of breath as her breasts brushed against his shirt.
“Nope.” His gaze slid down her face. “Besides, we have other problems.”
“Do we?”
“Mmm.” His arms tightened, holding her close, and she was pulled snugly to him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hips pressed intimately to his. Gazing into her eyes, he lowered his head to hers. “This,” he said, his breath warm against her face, “is a much bigger issue.” His mouth slanted over hers and her blood turned to fire.
So this was the way it would be with him, she realized. Each and every time they touched, passion would ignite. Her arms wound around his neck and he lifted her off her feet. When he started for the stairs, common sense ruled. “We can’t,” she whispered, struggling to get down. “Not with Josh here.”
Luke’s eyes were the color of midnight, but instead of releasing her, he carried her outside, across the moon-washed lawn and up the stairs to the carriage house. “If he wakes up, we’ll know,” he assured her as he kicked open the door and crossed the hardwood floor to the bedroom. He paused long enough to flip the lock behind him, then laid her on the bed and kissed her as if he would never stop.
* * *
“So I thought we could have lunch and catch up,” Bliss suggested a few days later. Katie, working at the office, balanced the receiver between her shoulder and ear.
Bliss, home from her short honeymoon, was calling from her cell phone and still sounding breathlessly in love. She and Mason had just gotten back to Oregon and were living at Cawthorne Acres, the ranch John Cawthorne had called his own until his marriage to Brynnie. Brynnie had insisted he give up ranching for fear of his having another heart attack and he’d reluctantly sold the ranch to Mason and Bliss. John and his wife would move into town as soon as Brynnie’s house was remodeled to suit them. Meanwhile, Bliss and Mason shared the place with them.
“Sounds great.” Katie stretched the cord of her phone around the computer monitor glowing on her desk and reached into a drawer for her pen. Her cubicle, or “office,” as it was sometimes referred to, was situated in the middle of a huge room that was divided by soundproof barriers that didn’t quite do the job. The conversation of other reporters, the clacking of computer keys, even noise from the street filtered through the maze of desks.
“Let’s meet at Claudia’s at one and I’ll call Tiffany to see if she can join us.”
“I’ll be there,” Katie promised, making a note to herself. She had an interview with Octavia Nesbitt, Tiffany’s grandmother and president of the local garden club, this morning; then she wanted to talk with the police department and Jarrod about the Isaac Wells
case.
Each day, she’d riffled eagerly through her mail, hoping for another missive from the mystery person, but there had been nothing at work or at home. She’d even checked her mailbox at the cottage, on the off chance that the mail hadn’t been forwarded. No such luck.
“Face it, Kinkaid,” she grumbled to herself, “you’ve been led down the garden path.” Lately, it seemed, her life had been bedlam. The move had been exhausting, but finally, most of her possessions seemed to have found new places of their own. Josh’s ankle was fine and he was back at soccer practice, but the car was still a problem; she’d gone to the local dealer and hadn’t been able to locate a used vehicle that suited her. Nor did there seem to be the perfect car in the “Autos for Sale” part of the classified advertisements in the paper. She was still using her father’s Jeep, and though John assured her that it was better she be driving the rig than it be gathering dust in the garage, she wasn’t comfortable without her own set of wheels. Her convertible, if not all that reliable, had been an old friend. She punched out Jarrod’s number with the eraser end of her pencil and prayed that she wouldn’t have to leave a message if he was out.
Her oldest half-brother had the decency to answer on the fourth ring.
“Hello?” His voice was curt, all business.
“It’s me,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for helping with the move.”
“No problem. And I will fix the screen door at the cottage. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to it. Now, what’s new with the Isaac Wells case?”
“Ah, the real reason you called.”
She grinned. “You always could read me like a book.”
“Why don’t you tell me about Mr. Wells, Katie. You’re the one getting the letters.”
“Letter. Singular. No more.”
“Good. You know I don’t like you involved in that mess,” he admitted, not for the first time. “Stick with writing about the schools, and recipes and obituaries before your name is in one.”