“Kathy,” he said softly, “was a terrible mistake.”
His words jolted Jessica. Then she recalled Fiona’s reference to Kathy as a disaster and realized that she shouldn’t have asked. She felt like an interloper into the McGarrett family secrets. “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me this.”
“I need to talk to someone,” he said. “The only other person who knows the whole truth is Fiona.”
Jessica took a deep breath and resigned herself to hearing his story. If Ross needed to get something off his chest, maybe she was the logical choice, like travelers who share secrets on a journey, then part, never to meet again.
“I’m listening,” she said.
He sat up, leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. His gaze never left the fireplace, and the dancing flames were reflected in his eyes.
“Courtney isn’t my daughter.”
“What?”
Nothing he said could have surprised her more. Jessica had never witnessed more fatherly love and devotion than Ross had shown for the little girl.
“I’m her legal father,” he explained. “My name is on her birth certificate. And I couldn’t love her more if she were my own blood, but I’m not her biological father.”
“I see.” But Jessica didn’t see at all. She’d have to wait for Ross to explain.
“As long as I can remember,” Ross said, still staring at the fire, “I wanted my own family, a wife and children to fill all the big, empty rooms at the Shooting Star with laughter and love.”
“And that’s where Kathy came in?”
“Not at first. I spent years looking for the right woman.”
“Your soul mate?” Jessica couldn’t keep the irony from her voice. She’d lost track of her father’s and mother’s “soul mates,” none of whom had lasted very long.
If he heard her sarcasm, he ignored it. “Crazy as it sounds, yes. I always felt there’s a woman out there who was meant to spend the rest of her life with me.”
“And then you found Kathy?”
He shook his head. “Remember Jack Randall? You met him at the Chandlers’ last night.”
“The tall, lanky man who wants to contest your northern boundaries?”
“He’s Kathy’s father.”
“Your father-in-law?”
“I remember when Kathy was born. Watched her grow up on the neighboring ranch, a skinny, irritating kid who was crazy about dogs and horses. She was always hanging around. Any excuse to get away from home.”
“And when she grew up, you fell in love with her?”
“There was never any love between Kathy and me.”
“Oh.” Jessica didn’t know what else to say.
Ross leaned back, stretched his long legs toward the fire and crossed his boots at his ankles. “Jack and Margaret Randall are about as straitlaced and uptight as any people I’ve ever met. Pious to the extreme. Everything is black and white with them. Kathy was their only child and they kept her on a short leash. Rarely allowed her out of their sight. Had a list of dos and don’ts a mile long the poor kid had to follow or there was hell to pay.”
“Doesn’t sound like a Norman Rockwell childhood.” Jessica had never stopped to think that having parents around all the time might be worse than not having them there at all.
Ross grimaced. “Kathy was bound to rebel.”
“By marrying you?”
His expression saddened. “She had barely turned eighteen when she came to see me. She was in a horrible mess and needed my help.”
Jessica considered the strong, competent man before her. If she was ever in a mess, she’d want a man like Ross McGarrett to go to.
“She was three months pregnant,” Ross said. “The father was an itinerant cowhand who’d worked at their ranch, then disappeared two months earlier. Kathy wanted me to find him so he could marry her. Otherwise, she said, her father would kill her for dishonoring him.”
“You couldn’t locate the cowhand?”
“I found him all right,” Ross said grimly.
“But he wouldn’t marry her?”
“Couldn’t. He was dead. Killed in a logging accident in Kalispell four days before I tracked him down.”
“How awful.”
“Maybe not as awful for Kathy as if he’d married her. The man had rap sheets in three states. He would have made a terrible husband—and an even worse father.”
“So you married Kathy out of pity?” Jessica found that concept hard to accept.
“More like selfishness. I’d given up on finding the woman of my dreams. I wasn’t getting any younger, and I’ve always wanted children at the ranch. Kathy was a sweet kid. If marrying her provided me with an instant family and got her out of a jam… Well, it seemed a good idea at the time.”
“But I’m guessing it didn’t make Jack Randall happy,” Jessica said, remembering the man’s angry attitude toward Ross at the party.
“Jack, being Jack, immediately assumed the worst. That I’d gotten his young daughter pregnant as part of some master plot to take over his ranch.”
“She didn’t tell him about the real father?” Jessica asked in disbelief.
“We decided not to. We didn’t want any stigma attached to the baby.”
Jessica had already recognized that Ross was brave and competent. Now she added noble and unselfish to his list of attributes. “Is your feud with Jack why you called Kathy a terrible mistake?”
“Jack’s the kind of man who’ll always find a reason to fight with his neighbors,” Ross said. “No, the mistake was both of us marrying without love.”
“But you knew that going into the marriage.”
Ross nodded. “In some cultures, all marriages are arranged and love isn’t an issue. But often love grows out of those arrangements. It didn’t in our case.”
“But you had Courtney.”
His expression softened, and Jessica wished for one fleeting moment that someone somewhere someday would look like that at the mention of her name.
“Courtney made it all worthwhile,” Ross said. “For me, at least.”
“But not for Kathy?”
“Kathy was too young, too emotionally scarred as a result of her parents’ abuse to bond with Courtney. The child only made her nervous. All Kathy wanted was to escape. From Montana. From Courtney. From me.”
He sighed, sat upright and pushed his fingers through his hair. “She escaped all right.”
Jessica caught her breath. “You don’t think she tampered with her own brakes?”
“Suicide?” Ross shook his head. “She was looking forward to a different life too much to take her own. If she’d lived, we could have worked something out. An amicable separation. Even a divorce, if she’d wanted. Now…” His voice trailed off sadly.
“Have you investigated Jack Randall?” Jessica asked.
“For his daughter’s death?”
“You said Kathy was afraid he’d kill her for dishonoring him with her out-of-wedlock pregnancy.”
“I’ve considered that possibility,” he admitted grudgingly.
“And?”
“Jack’s a pain in the ass, but he wouldn’t murder his own daughter.”
Jessica recalled the anger seething in the rancher she’d met at the Chandlers’. “But a man like that wouldn’t think twice about coming after the person he sees as the source of all his problems, would he?”
“Everyone’s a suspect until we find our would-be killer,” Ross said, “but as much as Jack irritates me, I’d hate to think it’s him. He’s Courtney’s grandfather, after all.”
“So you still believe someone killed Kathy to get at you?” Jessica asked.
“It fits the pattern. The home invasion at the judge’s house, a burglary at the mayor’s office, the intimidation of the county clerk. All are government officials.”
“But has an official or a member of their family been the object of every crime?”
“No.” Ross’s voice heavy with frustration. “Nothin
g’s that clear-cut.”
“So you could be looking for freedom fighters—”
“SCOFF,” Ross said with a scowl.
“Or several different criminals?”
Ross tossed her a wry smile. “If we knew who we were looking for, we’d just go get them.”
“It must be a frustrating job,” Jessica said with sympathy. “At least in my work, all the facts I need are there. I just have to wade through them, not go find them. Are you certain you don’t want to stick with ranching alone?”
“Alone?” He raised her head and stared at her with a look she couldn’t fathom. “Not alone. I’m still searching for a woman to share my life, to help me fill the Shooting Star with children.”
Jessica resisted the urge to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m sure you’ll find her someday.”
“I believe I already have.”
The impact of his words jolted her to her feet. “I hope you’re not talking about me.”
She started to move away, but he grasped her hand and held her fast. “Something clicked the day I met you.”
“Yeah—” She tried to pull away again. “That maniac Santa’s shotgun.”
“It was more than that,” he insisted in a low, firm voice that didn’t sound crazy. “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known.”
“But you don’t know me.” Her voice rose an octave in desperation. She wasn’t sure what was happening. Her heart was beating like a rock band’s drummer on speed, and the rush of blood to her head was making her dizzy. “You can’t know me. We only met three days ago.”
The tenderness in his expression threatened to melt her defenses. “I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.”
With a gentle tug that she was too weakened by surprise to resist, he pulled her onto his lap. His face was inches from hers. His scent filled her nostrils, an exhilarating mix of leather, sunshine and masculinity. Before she could react, Ross slid his arms around her and drew her against the hard muscles of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, even through several layers of clothing. His lips claimed hers, and with dismay, she found herself opening her mouth to his.
Trembling with delight, as if every nerve ending in her body was connected to that kiss, she arched against him, absorbing his heat. He threaded his fingers through her hair to hold her close. Long before she was ready, he pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. His brown eyes, smoky with desire, peered into hers.
“Tell me you didn’t feel anything,” he challenged her.
“I…I’m not sure,” she hedged, unwilling to admit even to herself how much his kiss had shaken her.
The lips that had sent her senses into chaos seconds before lifted in a broad grin. “Then we’d better try it again, until you’re certain.”
Too befuddled by the emotions that flooded her, Jessica didn’t protest when he lowered his mouth to hers. And she couldn’t hold back the soft moan of pleasure that escaped her when he slid his hands beneath her sweater and caressed the bare skin of her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, molding her body to his.
He tugged her sideways until they lay side by side on the sofa, their legs entwined. Desire exploded inside her, a seething cauldron of need.
Again, Ross pulled away, propping himself on his elbows to look down at her. “Feel anything yet?”
His eyes held a twinkle, but his voice was breathless, as if he’d been running long and hard.
Jessica couldn’t deny the effect he’d had on her, but she refused to succumb to her emotions. She’d spent too much of her life protecting herself from feelings that could lead to love. And loss.
“It’s just sex,” she insisted, avoiding his eyes. “Touch the right buttons, and you’ll get the same result from anyone.”
“Okay,” he said, entirely too agreeably, “we’ll take sex out of the equation. How about I just hold you and we talk?”
Disappointment cascaded through her. Her body ached for him. No, not for Ross, she assured herself. Just for the release of sexual tension. Sexual excitement wasn’t the same as love.
When he pulled her against him like nesting spoons, gently smoothed her hair from her face and held her lightly in his arms, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling of coming home, of being where she’d always wanted to be, in a place she’d been searching for all her life.
“Comfy?” he asked.
“Mmm.” She nestled against him, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in her head, warning that she was going too far too fast, and that she’d soon reach the point of no return.
“You should see the Shooting Star in the spring and summer,” Ross said. “Acres of wildflowers blooming on the prairies, miles of green grass, fresh air, warm breezes—”
“What are you?” she asked in a teasing tone. “Head of local tourism?”
“I’d like to show you the ranch in all its seasons. I know you don’t like winter, but it’s not always cold here.”
She wasn’t cold now. She was warm and relaxed in his arms, feeling as if she could stay there forever.
Had she lost her mind?
No emotional involvement, remember?
But these emotions felt so good, so right, how could she resist?
Luckily, fate stepped in to save her.
The radio on the sofa crackled to life with the no-nonsense female dispatcher’s voice Jessica recognized from the day of her accident. “Sheriff, we have a problem.”
Ross released her and sat up. Jessica stood and moved away as he grabbed the radio and depressed the key. “What’s up, Shirley?”
“That rifle you sent Deputy Greenlea to collect from Judge Chandler?”
“Is it a ballistics match?”
“We may never know. It’s been stolen.”
Chapter Nine
“Damn!” Ross muttered to himself, then spoke into the radio mike. “Get a Crime Scene Unit to the judge’s house.”
“They’re on their way, sir,” Shirley responded. “Deputy Greenlea already called them.”
“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Ross said.
He glanced across the room where Jessica was already tugging on her gear. The dispatch call couldn’t have come at a worse time. Ross had finally felt he was making headway, breaking through the barriers Jessica kept around herself. He’d even hoped to talk her into staying through Christmas.
And maybe forever.
The theft of Harry’s rifle blew that discussion to hell. It also pointed the finger directly at Dixon Traxler. Why else would someone steal the rifle the man had been using, if not to cover an attempted murder?
Remembering Jessica in his arms, the warmth of her body, the sweetness of her breath, the silkiness of her skin, Ross reached for his own gear with regret. At least he could console himself with the fact that he’d kept her safe.
So far.
If Traxler was after her, he could have followed her to Miami. The ex-con would have a hard time doing that when Ross threw him in jail. But the sheriff would need probable cause for any charges to stick. That’s why he hoped Traxler had screwed up at the Chandlers’ and left evidence of his theft. Not every criminal was as wily as the ones Ross had been tracking the past year.
He grabbed the radio. “Shirley, ask the judge for a warrant to search Traxler’s hotel room and vehicle. The sooner the better.”
“Ten-four, boss.”
Jessica looked at him wide-eyed. “You believe Traxler stole the rifle?”
“Seems too much a coincidence otherwise.” Ross grabbed the hamper. “You ready?”
She nodded and followed him outside. On the porch, she hesitated. “You think he might be tracking us, planning to shoot?”
Ross shook his head. “I doubt he’d use the rifle again. The whole point of stealing it is to break the connection to him.”
“You’re sure Traxler stole it?”
He shrugged. “Can’t be sure of anything until I have evidence to back me up. But my gut tells me that missing rifle
is somehow connected to the attempt on your life.”
She tilted her head and gazed up at him with a look that made him want to sweep her into his arms, carry her back inside and make love to her until his eyes crossed.
She was obviously unaware of the effect she had on him. “What if someone wanted to cast suspicion on Traxler,” she asked, “by stealing the gun he’s been using?”
Ross gazed at her with respect. “You’d make a good law officer.”
“I’m just an armchair detective,” she admitted. “I don’t have the stomach for the real thing.”
“I’d put you up against my best deputies,” he said without hesitation. “You’ve more than proven you have the guts for the job.”
“Then why are my knees shaking at the thought of riding back to the Shooting Star on an open snowmobile?”
He grinned, leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I said you were brave. I never said you were stupid.”
She touched her gloves to her lips and considered him with narrowed eyes. “I’m beginning to wonder.”
“Stupid would be standing out here in the cold continuing this discussion,” he said. “Let’s get back to the ranch.”
THREE HOURS LATER, Ross and Jessica were climbing the steps to the Chandlers’ front door. The Crime Scene van was parked out front, and every light in the house was ablaze.
Julie opened the door for them. “Come join the party,” she said with a rueful smile, “such as it is.”
Ross gave her a quick hug before shedding his coat. “You’ve been through enough already, Julie. I’m sorry you’re having to endure this, too.”
“Glad to see you again, Jessica,” Julie said. “Come in by the fire. Harry’s made mulled wine, and I’ve put together some sandwiches.”
“Thanks.” Jessica tugged off her coat, looking stunningly beautiful in spite of the ordeal she was experiencing.
Ross knew too well how it felt to be hunted by an unknown foe. He hoped tonight to put an end to her fears by locking Traxler up again, this time for life.
The Christmas Target Page 12