The Heir

by Joanne Rock

  He added another log from a basket off to one side, then laid a second at an angle to the first. The dry edge of one caught fire almost immediately.

  “In that case, thank you.” Nicole lowered herself to sit on the couch, leaving him three-quarters of the space for when he returned.

  She didn’t ask him about the shooting hobby, even though she was curious about that, too. She hadn’t come to Montana to make idle chitchat with Desmond Pierce, no matter how much he intrigued her. Withdrawing her phone as he left the room with her coat, Nicole pulled up her checklist of questions she wanted answered and things she needed to accomplish today.

  In the kitchen, she heard him rummaging through cabinets and turning a burner on the stove. One of the items on her list was to call Matthew to make sure he’d settled back into his routine after their trip, but she didn’t know how much time she had before Desmond returned.

  When it seemed quiet in the kitchen, she rose from the sofa to glance at his bookshelves until he returned. Because while she didn’t want to ask him personal questions directly, she couldn’t deny it would be helpful to learn more about him in order to help her decide if her sister, Lana, had ever pursued a relationship with him.

  It seemed impossible that her uptight step sibling who always did the right thing could have had an affair with a student her first year as a teaching assistant. Frankly, the idea flew in the face of every belief she’d ever had about high-achieving Lana.

  But who else could Alonzo Salazar have been covering for when he’d arranged to send that financial support to Matthew? Her gaze skimmed the titles on the shelves—business books, guides to interior design for consumer spaces, photo collections of famous casinos. No matter that Desmond said he hadn’t spent much time here, those looked like books he would have chosen. Her fingertip followed the movement of her eyes as she came to the end of a shelf and spotted a row of leather-bound volumes beneath it that looked older, the titles in faded gold leaf. A few early American playwrights, some histories of Montana, a biography of a regional artist.

  Her index finger came to rest on a copy of the Kama Sutra, and her mouth went dry. Not that it mattered one way or another that he possessed a copy of the world’s oldest guide to pleasure.

  Of course it didn’t. But that didn’t stop her cheeks from flaming when he stepped into the den with a stoneware mug in each hand.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Four

  Well, damn.

  Desmond stilled where he stood near the couch, watching the interesting play of color over Nicole’s lovely features. Pink flushed her cheeks. Her breath quickened between parted lips. He could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts through the fitted, ivory-colored sweater she wore with dark gray jeans. As he watched, her teeth sank into the fullness of her lower lip, holding it fast. And he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from that spot, certain he felt a phantom bite on his own skin.

  Apparently he hadn’t needed to bother preparing hot cocoa. This woman fired up his insides just being in the same room with him.

  “I was admiring your book collection,” she murmured finally, long after he’d forgotten what he’d asked.

  Thankfully, the words broke whatever spell her hectic color had aroused in him, forcing him to get his mind off her delectable mouth. And hell, he had no business thinking about her that way when he had a job to do as intermediary with her for the other ranch owners. He couldn’t put off talking to her about the DNA test results any longer.

  “I’ve forgotten what volumes I have here,” he admitted, setting down the two stoneware mugs on a marble tray resting on the coffee table. “I read most of them during the summer we spent hashing out the ranch mission. Other than that visit, I haven’t been in Mesa Falls in years.”

  She moved around the opposite end of the sofa from where he stood, taking a seat in the far corner. “I haven’t had enough time for reading since my sister’s death. My life changed so dramatically overnight.” With one hand, she slid a sofa pillow onto her lap, her fingers flexing in the burgundy-colored velvet. She kept her phone held tight in the other. “I’m only just starting to get my feet underneath me again.”

  He couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for her as he focused on her hands. Her fingernails were unpainted, and gold filigree bands threaded around two fingers on each hand. Chips of colored gemstones were woven into a few of them.

  “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.” He dropped onto the sofa cushion at the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd her. Needing distance for his own peace of mind, too. He slid the marble tray closer to her so she could reach her drink more easily. “I never lost a blood-related sibling, but the death of someone I thought of as a brother left me walking around in a fog of grief for the better part of a year.”

  Longer, really, since he’d felt responsible for Zach’s death. All his friends did in some way. They’d failed Zach when he needed them most, because whether or not he’d intended to jump to his death, he’d definitely been upset that weekend. They’d taken the trip to try to be supportive of whatever he’d been going through. Zach hadn’t wanted to discuss it, but he’d wanted to leave campus, and they’d all gone with him.

  The guilt was heavy. But Desmond wouldn’t keep failing him now. If there was any chance Matthew Cruz was Zach’s son, Nicole needed to know about him. He’d hoped to wait for that discussion until tonight, to gauge his conversations with her in case she had other ideas for whom her sister had been seeing nine months before Matthew’s birth. But with Nicole sitting in his den beside him, Desmond couldn’t wait any longer.

  She reached for her mug, staring at him curiously.

  “Lana wasn’t my sister by blood, either,” she confided. Surprising him. His private investigator had only just begun to search for answers about Lana Allen. They hadn’t known the connection to Nicole and Matthew until days ago, when Chiara Campagna had picked out Lana Allen in the background of a yearbook photo from Dowdon School. “Before I was born, my father married her mother to protect Lana and her mom from Lana’s abusive dad.”

  Thoughts of Zach faded as this new information came to light. Desmond had more in common with Nicole than he ever would have suspected—the death of a sibling figure, for one thing. Domestic violence for another.

  He went cold at the possibility of anyone hurting Nicole.

  Or, hell, Matthew.

  The idea of someone like Desmond’s dad getting anywhere near this woman and the vulnerable kid she guarded, who could be Zach’s son, had him shooting to his feet.

  “Is he still in the picture? The abuser?” Desmond’s voice hardened. He heard it but couldn’t help it as he walked woodenly to the fireplace and tossed more logs on the fire. Even though he’d already done that when they first came in the room.

  The twitchy need to move was too strong to ignore.

  “No.” Nicole set her mug back down. “God, no. Lana never saw him again. And I kept an eye out at her funeral just in case her dad could have somehow heard about her passing, but there was no one.”

  “You’re sure?” He ground his teeth, hating the way his own past with his father could still freeze him from the inside out.

  He used one log to move the end of another one already in the fireplace, sending sparks onto the stone hearth. The scent of burning applewood intensified.

  “Positive. My father was deep in his own grief at the memorial service, but if Lana’s father had been in attendance, Dad would have recognized the guy.” She scooched forward on the couch, her auburn hair spilling over one shoulder as she moved. “Why?”

  He had no intention of bringing up his own past with his father. Sebastian Pierce had moved on long ago, leaving Desmond’s mother once he’d taken as much of her estate as he could get his hands on. If only the guy had been just a thief and not a violent thug. Desmond had more than made up for her financ
ial losses, but he couldn’t give her back the emotional security and sense of self his father had stolen. With an effort, he tamped down the old anger to refocus their conversation.

  “I’m just thinking of Matthew’s safety.” Rising again, Desmond paced around the den, pausing in front of a small, leather-topped wooden desk. He opened the center drawer to retrieve an envelope. “And in regard to your nephew, I’ve heard back about the paternity tests.” Withdrawing the envelope, he laid it on the marble tray between their mugs. “We already had the results from Alonzo Salazar’s heirs, and there is no genetic tie between Salazar and Matthew, either.”

  “I never suspected Mr. Salazar. Lana looked up to him, but he was much older than her.” Nicole lifted her drink, pursing her lips to blow gently across the hot surface.

  His mouth went dry as he imagined the cooling stream of air over his heated skin. For a moment, he simply stared at her, wondering what was happening to him that this woman could make him lose perspective so fast.

  When she raised her warm-chocolate eyes to his, he realized he’d been quiet too long, lost in thoughts of her. Steeling himself, he forced his brain back to the painful task to come.

  “We’re in agreement there. None of my partners thought Alonzo would have violated a professional code of conduct that way.” Desmond would forever be grateful to the only teacher at Dowdon to have an inkling of what they’d been through after Zach’s death. “But I have the other paternity test results, as well. There were no genetic matches between Matthew and any of the Mesa Falls partners, either.”

  Confusion clouded her gaze before her focus went to the documents he’d placed before her.

  “You’ve already heard back?” Setting the mug down, she thumbed through the papers briefly, then huffed out a breath as she set them on the couch. “What am I even doing here if none of you are Matthew’s father? I’m back to square one in my search.”

  “Not exactly.” He braced himself for the pain of what had to come next—talking about Zach, whose death had rewritten his whole life and everything he knew about himself. “The friend I mentioned earlier—the one I said wasn’t related by blood, but he was like a brother to me?” At her nod, he continued. “Zach Eldridge went to Dowdon with us. He died in a cliff-jumping accident fourteen years ago, but we’ve heard recently that he might have had a relationship with Lana.”

  For a long moment, Nicole stared at him blankly. “Fourteen years ago?”

  “He died the autumn before Matthew’s birth.” Desmond knew the boy’s birth date from the private investigator’s files. It was seven months after Zach’s death.

  Blinking fast, Nicole shifted aside the sofa pillow. “Do you have a photo of him? Of Zach?” She rose to her feet, still appearing a bit dazed as she hugged herself with her arms. “Was this friend your same age?”

  Leaning a shoulder against the stone fireplace surround, Desmond withdrew his phone to search for an image while the flames in the hearth popped, the logs shifting.

  “I have a photo somewhere. He was in the same grade as me, although he was a year older.” Desmond had never spoken about his friend to anyone outside the group he’d attended school with. “Maturity-wise, however, he was light-years older than all of us.”

  “It just seems entirely out of character for my perfectionist sister to have an affair with a student.” She twisted one of the gold rings around her pointer finger, an agitated gesture as she came to a stop in front of him. “No matter how mature your friend was, it’s tough to imagine Lana being tempted into a deeply unethical relationship that could have resulted in prison time. I couldn’t get past that part whenever I thought about one of the Mesa Falls owners as being Matthew’s father either. It doesn’t seem like something Lana would have done.”

  “I understand. A relationship like that is upsetting to consider. But it could explain why my friend was so upset that last weekend before he died.” Desmond continued scrolling, wishing he had better answers for her. Answers that wouldn’t bring Nicole more pain in a year that had already been beyond difficult for her.

  “I’m just surprised I haven’t even heard of him before now. Zach Eldridge,” she mused aloud, testing out the name.

  “He was in the foster system, and his death was problematic for both the state and the school. News of it was kept to a bare minimum, and never in connection with Dowdon.”

  Zach had taught Desmond how to fight. A lesson that had meant the difference between merely surviving his home life and getting rid of his bastard father for good. The only sad part of the day Sebastian Pierce packed up his bags forever was that Desmond hadn’t been able to share it with Zach.

  “Thank you for helping me,” Nicole said suddenly, her hand falling lightly on his forearm. “Especially now that you and all the other Mesa Falls owners can’t be Mattie’s father. It’s kind of you to continue to help.”

  Her touch affected him like a lightning strike. But damned if her deep brown gaze wasn’t just as compelling. Maybe even more so.

  “If my mentor risked his name and reputation to write a book that would support Matthew’s upbringing, then the boy is important to me. To all of us at Mesa Falls. Period. I just wish Alonzo was still alive so we could ask him what he knew.”

  He passed over his phone with an image of Zach standing next to a painting he’d done at a school art show. “Do you recognize him?”

  * * *

  Nicole took the device with unsteady hands.

  Part of her unease came from this latest development in her search for Matthew’s father. But a bigger share was the awareness that lit through her just from standing beside Desmond in the cozy room that smelled pleasantly of wood smoke. Touching him hadn’t been wise since her fingertips still hummed from the contact.

  Did he feel any portion of this electricity? Maybe if she had more experience with men, she would have a better answer to that. But seeing the way her sister’s plans for her future had evaporated once she’d gotten pregnant had had a dramatic impact on Nicole at an impressionable age. She’d avoided boys altogether, gathering none of the experience most girls had by the time they went to college. Even then, Nicole had focused on her studies. Afterward, her few dating choices had been purely practical, lacking any of the charged sensation she felt around the man beside her.

  Angling Desmond’s phone screen to see the photo better, she felt her breath catch at the sight of a young man she did indeed recognize. Brown eyes full of laughter stared back at her from an angular face with dark hair that swept over thick, straight eyebrows. He stood on a grassy hilltop flanked by a younger version of Desmond Pierce, whose gray eyes were as chilly and forbidding as his friend’s were warm and inviting. The contrast made her all the more curious about Desmond, even as she wondered how his friend figured into her sister’s life.

  “To think he’s only a few years older than Matthew is now,” Nicole murmured aloud, her brain full of questions about Lana’s past and the secrets she’d kept. “I don’t see a resemblance between them though, do you?”

  “Nicole.” Desmond’s voice was close to her. The lone word spoken like a demand. “You do recognize him, don’t you?”

  She was too rattled to think through potential consequences, too intrigued to be cautious. Besides, Desmond could apparently read her well, so she didn’t bother holding back.

  “I saw them together the summer before school started,” she admitted, her gaze veering between the two faces in the photo. “It didn’t occur to me he might be a student. I though he was a local.”

  “Zach went to an art program that summer.” The words sounded pulled from him as if by an effort, and she recognized that even now, talking about his friend was painful. “He was on campus then. Where did you see him?”

  “He walked her home once.” In her mind’s eye, she could still see Lana smiling up at the tall, broad-shouldered young man. “We lived off-campus even though
my father did gardening work for Dowdon. When the weather was nice, Lana liked taking walks into the nearby village.”

  At least, she assumed that’s where Lana had been coming from on the day Nicole recalled. She would have paid better attention if she’d ever guessed her sister’s life and the company she kept would be of so much importance now that Nicole had guardianship of Lana’s only child.

  “Did they seem...close?” Desmond asked, studying her face as if the clues he sought might be written there.

  “Maybe?” She bit her lip, wishing she could recall more than a vague impression of her sister flirting with the guy. “I was still young, so I might not have understood the nuances of their body language.”

  “And that was the only time you saw Zach?” Desmond pressed, forcing her to explain herself.

  He stood close enough to touch. Close enough that if she breathed deeply she could catch a hint of his sandalwood scent.

  “That was the only time I’d seen them together,” she insisted, wanting justice done. “But I saw Zach alone at an art show near the end of summer.”

  His eyes flicked to hers, stirring the uneasy interest again, the one that made her insides ache and her skin feel twitchy.

  “What does your gut tell you, Nicole? Do you think your sister had an affair with my friend?”

  Her stomach knotted. That actually would account for a lot of strange things that had happened that year. Lana had quit her college program without finishing her student teaching. Then she’d moved away suddenly, taking work in a library in Oregon. Once Nicole had learned about her sister’s pregnancy, she’d assumed that was why, although it hadn’t really accounted for not getting her teaching degree when she’d been so close to finishing. But if she’d had an illicit affair?

  It made her ill to think about it. And she wasn’t ready to share that with Desmond. Plus, as much as she wanted answers, she also feared what she might find out about the other side of Matthew’s family. What if another legal relation—someone with an actual blood tie to the boy—wanted to take Mattie away from her?