by Joanne Rock
An attraction he’d stupidly shut down too fast by letting Nicole glimpse his doubts. He regretted that his need to define the relationship—to make it clear she couldn’t expect more from him—had prevented them from enjoying each other again since that first time.
“Should I blame your engagement for this sudden intuitiveness? Or have you always been this full of sensitivity?” Desmond unbuttoned his suit jacket as he leaned an elbow on the bar, their seats swiveled to watch the pool game. Weston was on a run, calling his third shot. “And when I say sensitivity, I mean you’re full of—”
“Skip the protests,” Gage cut him off. The ice cubes clinked in his glass as he shook it lightly. “You know as well as I do you lose objectivity that way. I just finished walking that fine line myself, and I can tell you I’m glad to have come out on the other side of it.”
Desmond couldn’t question his friend’s insight, not after what he’d been through. Gage and Elena had been estranged after a bitter separation six years prior, due to Gage’s father’s interference. When Elena had come to Mesa Falls for a scoop on the notoriously reclusive owners about the Hollywood tell-all book linked to their ranch, she’d not only been looking for a way to pay her bills. She’d also been ready to throw Gage under the bus because of their unhappy past. But the mutual attraction had undermined the efforts, leading them to renew their former engagement.
The whole scenario had been over-the-top. And lightning didn’t strike twice in the same place. Although, looking around the room, where financial investigator April Stephens’s eyes tracked Weston as he played pool, and social media influencer Chiara Campagna sent a cheeky wink to Miles, Desmond amended that thought. Some Bermuda triangle kind of electrical storm must be hitting the Montana ranch to make three of his closest friends lose their heads over women in the last few months.
But he’d be damned if he’d follow their example.
“I’m not losing objectivity,” Desmond countered, tossing back half of his bourbon in the hope it would give him enough patience for this conversation. “If things seem strained between Nicole and me, it’s because we spend our time together talking about the past. About Zach.”
Which was partially true. Her revelation about one of Zach’s pictures belonging to her sister had circled around Desmond’s head every bit as often as memories of being with Nicole. She’d taken a photo of the framed sketch in the tree house and planned to share it with the group, starting with Chiara, who knew the most about Zach’s art. In fact, seeing the way Nicole pulled her phone from her narrow leather clutch, he guessed she was about to do just that.
Gage clapped a hand down on his shoulder. A brief, tangible commiseration. “No doubt, the memories can be rough. I’m hoping maybe, once we get through this mess and have more answers about the past, we can put the bad parts behind us for good. Focus only on what Zach gave us.”
Desmond lifted his bourbon glass in silent toast to that idea.
“I hope.” He took one more sip and then set the tumbler aside, needing to be clearheaded to get through this evening. After the dinner party, he’d be driving Nicole back to the main lodge. Just the two of them. And he couldn’t afford to make any more decisions based on the chemistry between them. “There was a time we thought Mesa Falls was going to do that—put the past to rest so we could focus on the good memories we all have of Zach.”
“Alonzo Salazar’s book being linked to Matthew Cruz made that impossible,” Gage reminded him. “What remains to be seen is whether or not Matthew is Zach’s son.”
“And if he is, what role do we play as Zach’s friends?” Nicole hadn’t wanted to hear about the possibility of Matthew being deeded a portion of the ranch, but he knew his friends would insist on it.
Hell, he’d insist on it.
But he couldn’t help a competing desire for Nicole’s happiness, too. And it bugged him to think that she would be upset about him and his partners being more involved in Matthew’s life. Just because he had no desire to be a parent himself didn’t mean he’d jeopardize Matthew’s future. Far from it.
He watched as Chiara took Nicole’s phone from her, clearly engrossed in whatever Nicole showed her. The other women leaned closer to peer at the screen over Chiara’s shoulder.
Nicole looked on, a tiny furrow between her auburn brows that made him want to kiss the spot to ease whatever worry put it there. And where the hell were thoughts like that coming from? He had thought—hoped—maybe acting on the heat between them would excise the tension between them. But if anything, taking her to bed had only added fuel to the fire, forcing him to acknowledge his fascination with her wasn’t going away anytime soon. No matter that he’d made it clear things could never move beyond the physical.
He wanted her with a hunger—a fierceness—that backhanded him. The thought was interrupted when Chiara rose to her feet, Nicole’s phone still in her hand.
“Gentlemen.” Chiara stepped up to the billiards table, her floor-length gold gown making her look like she’d just stepped out of her own Instagram. But although she was one of the most photographed women in the world, her looks didn’t compare to the redhead in emerald still seated on the love seat. At least, not in Desmond’s eyes.
Miles put down his cue stick as she neared him. “What is it?”
“You all need to see this,” Chiara announced before glancing back to where Nicole sat. “Right, Nicole? It’s okay to share?”
Nicole nodded, but that small worry line was still etched in her brow. Desmond fought the urge to cross the room and sit beside her. Tuck her under his arm. It didn’t matter that he’d made it clear their relationship had to be temporary.
He slipped off the bar stool, needing to see whatever Chiara had indicated. Gage followed him, and soon all eight of them crowded around the pool table as Chiara laid Nicole’s phone next to her own. Nicole remained on the opposite side of the table from him, though her gaze landed on his once before flitting away again.
On the green baize–covered surface, Nicole’s screen was lit, displaying the image of Zach’s framed drawing in the tree house.
“When Nicole recognized one of Zach’s sketches in Desmond’s tree house earlier,” Chiara began, “she had her father photograph a similar one that had been in her sister’s possession.” Chiara swiped a finger over Nicole’s phone screen, revealing a second image almost identical to the first, except there were more background details and shading around the central image of the horse. “I think we can all agree the artist must be the same, especially put in context of the time they were drawn. Nicole knows Lana framed the drawing to hang in her son’s bedroom, so she had it in her possession before Matthew’s birth.”
There was a murmur through the group.
Desmond’s gaze darted to Nicole’s face, wondering if he’d see any hint of guilt for not sharing the information with him first. Impatience simmered along with irritation that she’d kept quiet.
Chiara hit the home key on her own phone, bringing the next screen to life with an image of the box for Alec Jacobsen’s most popular video game—Hooves of Thunder. The game box featured the main equine character prominently, and no doubt there was a resemblance between Zach’s drawing and the now-iconic figure.
“We knew about that, though,” Miles reminded his girlfriend, slipping an arm around Chiara’s waist. He spoke gently, but somehow the tone brooked no argument. “And Alec gives Zach credit in the game.”
“Right,” Chiara acknowledged. “Posthumous credit for one character.” She tapped Nicole’s screen to brighten it once again and then swiped to change the image. A fox, a boar and a rooster appeared in quick succession, each one taking up a page in a sketchbook. “What about all these?”
Desmond sucked in a breath even before she tapped the second screen and swiped through those same characters as they appeared in screenshots from the popular video game. The resemblance was marked. Obvious.
Weston swore under his breath. Gage leaned closer to the table, blocking Desmond’s view.
Instead, he looked to Nicole to gauge her expression, wondering if she’d made those connections. But her dark eyes were shuttered, leaving him to keep on wondering.
“What’s the source of the sketchbook images?” Desmond asked, his attention still on Nicole.
She seemed to become aware of being everyone’s focus, and she folded her arms around herself. Her chin lifted as she answered him. “I found a sketchbook in Lana’s things when I cleared out her apartment. I boxed it up along with a few other important items because I recognized the style from the framed image she’d hung in Mattie’s nursery.”
Miles reached for Nicole’s phone, stretching one of the images and scanning the borders of the paper. “None of the drawings are signed?”
Nicole’s dark gaze shifted toward Miles. “No. My dad made a special trip to my house to photograph these things, and I asked him if he’d ship them all here tomorrow so you can examine them for yourselves.”
The tension in the room was palpable, and not just because of the awkwardness between him and Nicole. Meaningful looks passed between all of the couples. A new uneasiness crept through Desmond.
He shared it with the group because it had to be on everyone’s mind. “We’re going to have to discuss what it means for us—for Mesa Falls—if Matthew Cruz is Zach’s heir.”
That didn’t mean he wanted to have that discussion now, in front of Nicole. But they needed to acknowledge the likelihood. Prepare for it. Alec and Jonah would need to be roped in for a conference call since they weren’t on-site.
Miles replaced the phone on the table. Nicole recaptured the device, squeezing the cover in a tight grip.
When she spoke, her tone was knife’s-edge sharp. “Will you discuss what it means if your friend stole Zach’s intellectual property? Or are you going to sweep that under the rug the way you’ve conspired to cover up Zach’s whole existence?”
No doubt the accusation insulted every man in the room. But to Desmond, it sure felt heaped on him.
“That’s not fair,” he began, but she didn’t seem interested in the explanation, because she swept up her leather clutch from the arm of the sofa and walked out of the room.
* * *
A few minutes later, Nicole stood alone in the front foyer of Miles Rivera’s huge house on the ranch property, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the horseshoe-shaped driveway illuminated solely by landscape lights. She heard someone coming up the stairs from the billiards room and tensed.
She wasn’t ready to talk to Desmond.
But the light tap of high heels on the tile floor made her turn around.
Chiara Campagna strode toward her, so beautiful she looked like her own personal filter followed her around at all times. With her perfect skin, rosebud lips and sheet of long, dark hair, she had fairy-tale princess beauty. Add in the flawless fit of her gold gown, the tasteful—and no doubt hugely expensive—accessories like the red-bottom shoes, sapphire cocktail ring and a bag by one of France’s most coveted designers, and it was easy to see why the woman turned heads everywhere she went. And why her Instagram following rivaled the biggest celebrities in the world. Nicole couldn’t help feeling underdressed by comparison.
Even so, Chiara and all of the other women at the small dinner party had welcomed her warmly. Chiara in particular had shown real interest in Matthew, asking about his childhood and his school program, demonstrating an earnest desire to know more about the boy. By contrast, her kindness had brought into stark relief how little Desmond had wanted to know about Nicole’s nephew. The realization had been the first of two unhappy epiphanies over the course of the evening.
The way Desmond and his friends had hidden their dead friend’s life and achievements rather than celebrate them put into perspective why it had been so damned hard to learn more about Matthew’s connection to Mesa Falls. It was beginning to become clear to her now, however. Who could doubt Zach Eldridge had fathered her sister’s son?
As Chiara drew nearer, Nicole refocused her thoughts.
“I hope I didn’t offend you with my remarks,” Nicole offered with an apologetic smile. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”
Chiara took Nicole’s hand and squeezed it briefly before letting go. “On the contrary, you asked the same kind of hard questions I’ve been putting forward to Miles for weeks.”
Perhaps she didn’t conceal her surprise very well, because Chiara continued.
“Trust me, I want answers as much as you do about Zach.” A flash of pain streaked through the woman’s eyes before she blinked, and the hurt was gone again. “And I think Miles and his partners—Desmond included—all want that, too. But they’re torn and confused about what their next move should be.”
“Then why have they conspired to hide Zach’s life from the world?” Nicole had never seen a reference to him, making her question how the group would welcome his son. “If Mesa Falls is really their way of honoring Zach, where is the plaque in the lobby? Why no mention of him in the mission statement? They say they care, but it’s like he never existed.”
Chiara leaned a shoulder on the pane of glass overlooking the front yard, her golden gown reflecting the glow from a wrought iron chandelier in the foyer. “I think not talking about him is a habit long engrained. At the time, Gage Striker’s politically ambitious father intervened with the school administration to keep the news of the death out of the local papers, and Dowdon was only too happy to oblige. And since none of Zach’s friends had professional grief counseling as teens, they did a patch job on the trauma and somehow limped along with it, paying homage to Zach with the ranch.”
Nicole mulled that over, wanting to believe things could be easily resolved. She knew how difficult Lana’s loss had been for her. What might it have been like if something had happened to her when she’d been a teenager? She remembered Desmond’s words when he’d first told her about it.
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.
“What do you think they’ll do now? They can’t possibly deny that one of their own has been profiting off Zach’s talents.” Nicole had been stunned to see the images Chiara pulled up on her phone from Alec Jacobsen’s popular video game. The similarity to the drawings in the sketchbook were obvious.
Chiara’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the earliest date you remember seeing that sketchbook in your sister’s possession?”
“The year Matthew was born. I saw it in one of Lana’s drawers when I was babysitting Mattie.” She’d made the trip to Oregon for a visit, and to help watch her nephew while her sister worked.
“Good. That means no one can suggest the sketches were drawn after Alec’s game came out. Whoever drew those images—and I know for a fact it was Zach—was a huge contributor to the success of the video game series.” Shadows flitted through the other woman’s eyes. “But it might take some time for Desmond—for all of them—to come to terms with the idea that one of their own is a traitor.”
“I just hope the news doesn’t distract them from figuring out if Zachary Eldridge is Matthew’s father. It seems significant to me that my sister hung one of his drawings in her baby’s nursery, almost as if she wanted a connection to the boy’s father there. Finding out the truth about Mattie’s dad is my only reason for being here.”
The sound of footsteps preceded a man’s voice behind her.
“Nicole, are you ready to leave?”
Desmond stood just a few feet away. Close enough that he must have overheard at least some of their conversation. She’d been so engrossed, she hadn’t heard his approach. His steely eyes were cool now. His expression remote.
No hint of earlier intimacies lingered.
Which was just as well, right? He’d wast
ed no time making sure she didn’t “get the wrong idea” about what had happened between them.
She needed to focus on tracking down Mattie’s father, not indulge in a hot affair. So it didn’t matter what Desmond thought of her now. Although she couldn’t deny a sense of loss at the memory of his arms wrapped around her just hours ago. His kiss. His touch.
She blinked past the desire.
“Very ready,” she assured him, matching his coolness. “Let me just say my good-nights and we can go.”
Turning from him, she reminded herself it was for the best they break things off now rather than run the risk of someone getting hurt later. But knowing what was best for her didn’t make it any easier to distance herself from the most compelling man she’d ever met.
Eight
Desmond stared at the computer screen in his study, poring over the details of Zach’s drawings from the sketchbook that Nicole said she’d found in her sister’s things.
Desmond hadn’t wanted to wait until the actual book arrived. He’d asked her to send him digital copies of the photo images after the dinner party at Miles’s house. It had been the extent of their conversation on the ride home, since neither of them had been in the mood to talk.
Finding out the truth is the only reason I’m here, she’d told Chiara, referring to her search for Matthew’s father. The simple statement shouldn’t have been any surprise to him. He’d known as much. But considering what had transpired between the two of them—the desperate can’t-get-enough-of-each-other sex—maybe Desmond had hoped that he’d ranked somewhere in her reasons to be in Montana.