by Lisa Jackson
“And you knew who I was. An advantage, I’d say.”
“It wasn’t a game.”
“No?” He scowled and rubbed his chin. “Sure feels like one now. One that I somehow lost.” His gaze drilled deep into hers. “Believe it or not, I’m not used to losing.”
The man was damned irritating, but someone she had to deal with, like it or not. “I understand.”
“That’s right. You know all about me.” He stood and crossed the few feet separating them, looming over her to the point that she nearly backed into the open window, but somehow stood her ground. “And I know nothing about you, do I?”
“Except what I’ve told you.”
“Exactly. So let’s get one very important thing straight, shall we? I don’t like anyone snooping into my life. Period. And I don’t trust people who lie to me. So you already have two strikes against you in this little ‘non-game.’ The way I see it, three strikes and you’re out.”
She told herself not to lose it. To grab on to the rags of her temper and hold tight. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t her nature. “Look, Trent—I can call you that, right, considering the circumstances. ‘Mr. Remmington’ seems a little formal. Yes, I was hired by Garrett to find you, not to pry into your personal life, but to locate you and determine that you were one of Larry Kincaid’s sons. That’s all. I lied to you that night in Dallas because I—I—”
“Didn’t want to blow your cover?”
“Well, yeah, that’s kind of a TV-cop way of describing it, but I’d told myself I wasn’t going to meet any of the Kincaid heirs, that I would keep this as professional as possible and then…okay, I blew it. I have to confess, when I stumbled into you that night and you started flirting with me, I couldn’t resist. I guess you’re just too damned irresistible. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe a word. Neither could she, but she couldn’t stop herself and she was far from finished.
“So, in answer to your question—” she closed the gap between them to mere inches and glared up at him as if she wasn’t shaking inside “—meeting you wasn’t part of some nefarious scheme or shakedown or whatever you want to call it. It was, as I said before, a mistake. Maybe it’s one that we should just get over, okay?”
A huge hand snaked forward to clamp possessively over her forearm. “Get over? I don’t know about you, lady, but that kind of thing doesn’t happen to me every day of the week.”
“Oh, save me.” She glanced down at the hand encircling her arm. “And remove that now. I’m not going for any of your Neanderthal tactics.”
His fingers released and she walked around him, picked up her laptop computer case and unzipped it. “Was there anything else you wanted to grill me about?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she placed the sleek little computer on the desk near her bed.
“I just wanted to clear the air.”
“Consider it cleared.” She found the outlet and plugged in her machine, then, ignoring the drumming of her heart, looked around for a phone jack.
As if he understood her dilemma, he said, “There aren’t any connections in the rooms. I already checked.” With a thumb hooked toward the wall, he added, “I’m in the next room.”
Her stomach tightened. He was close, too damned close. Just one door down the hall? In a house that had seven bedrooms. Just…great.
“I’ve already talked to Garrett and placed a call to the local phone company to have a few more lines installed, but it’ll take a while.” He walked to the door and swung it wide, then strode through and said over his shoulder, “As I said earlier, ‘This ain’t exactly L.A.’”
So it was true, Jordan thought as he shoved his plate to one side of the table. He’d eaten a long, late lunch, listening to the gossip buzzing around him like a swarm of mosquitoes on a stagnant swamp. Garrett Kincaid had, with the help of a private investigative firm from somewhere in California, located Larry’s illegitimate brood. He’d also managed to get control of the ranch that Jordan considered his own private legacy. Of course, he’d been screwed out of it. All those promises his uncle Cameron had made weren’t diddly squat. Once again, the Kincaids had kicked the Baxters.
Hell.
Frowning darkly, Jordan stirred his coffee and his blood boiled, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue. He’d learned a long time ago it was better to get even than to get mad, but that took considerable self-control.
Jordan took a long sip from his cup, eyed the desserts that were slowly cooling in a rotating display case, and eased back in his booth. He was alone, which was fitting, he supposed. Since returning to Whitehorn a millionaire several times over, he’d collected a lot of “friends,” but he didn’t trust any of them. He knew they only liked him for his money and what he could do for them. Yep, he was becoming a powerful man here in Whitehorn and he’d been feeling pretty good about himself until Wayne Kincaid hadn’t accepted his offer to buy back the ranch he should have inherited.
“How about a piece of pie?” Janie asked, dragging him out of his vengeful thoughts. She was a cute thing and efficient as all get-out. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her perennial smile was tacked neatly in place. Head waitress and would-be manager, she ran the Hip Hop Café these days. “We’ve got fresh strawberry-rhubarb, and isn’t that your favorite?”
“Yep, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Your loss,” she teased, and refilled his cup.
“Hey, what’s this I hear about Garrett Kincaid buying the ranch from Wayne and fillin’ it up with the grand-kids that Larry left all over the country?”
Little lines formed between Janie’s eyebrows and she hesitated. She wasn’t one prone to gossip, unlike most of her clientele. “That’s the word. I haven’t talked to Garrett myself about it, though, so, I guess it’s still just hearsay.” She slapped Jordan’s check onto the table as the front door opened and a group of teenagers walked in. “If you reconsider about the pie, flag me down.”
“Will do.” He reached for his wallet and eyed the crowd. There was Lily Mae, the town’s premier gossip, dressed to kill, as usual, in a tight lavender sweater and matching slacks. At another table Winona Cobbs’s graying head was ducked low as she engaged Christina Montgomery, the mayor’s younger daughter, in a quiet conversation.
From different tables of the packed café he heard the name Kincaid mentioned several times.
“Six of ’em, can you believe it?” Lily Mae was saying. “All with different mothers, aside from the twins, that is.” She was spouting off to a woman Jordan didn’t recognize. “And there’s talk of another one. I tell you, say what you will about Larry Kincaid, he was certainly a charmer.”
Jordan snorted and finished his coffee.
He’d heard enough. Larry Kincaid’s bastard sons were about to descend upon the town. He left several bills, including a healthy tip, and tossed his napkin onto the table. That’s just what the town needed. More Kincaids, and bastards at that.
Well, really, he thought bitterly as he jaywalked, dodging a sports car that was speeding down Center Avenue, weren’t they all?
Why did he let the woman get to him? Trent wondered as he helped unload a sack of feed and stacked it in the stables. So she’d sneaked around, so she’d lied to him, so he hadn’t been able to resist her that one hot night in Dallas. So what? Forget her. He just had to put up with her for a few days here in Whitehorn and then he’d fly out and leave her forever.
Right?
He gritted his teeth and using his body, slammed the sacks of feed nearer the wall, straightening each stack. He tried to ignore the feeling that Gina was different, that she wasn’t just the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of woman he associated with one-night stands. His jaw clamped tight. Years ago he hadn’t thought one way or the other about meeting a woman and bedding her. But as he’d aged, he’d become more selective, more careful, restraining himself. He’d learned that people, women included, always wanted something from him, some
thing more than he was willing to give.
So he’d been cautious. Until that damned night in Dallas.
“Something wrong?” Garrett asked as he dragged the last sack from the truck and flung it on top of the pile. For an old man he was strong, a hard worker, though Trent did detect a hint of a limp and glimpsed the sweat that ran down the back of his neck. Garrett yanked off his battered leather gloves and set them on top of a barrel of oats. “You look like something’s eating at you.”
“Got a lot to think about.”
“Don’t we all?” Together they strode through the fading sunlight to the main house. They kicked off their boots on the back porch and walked into the kitchen where a pretty woman with dark upswept hair was overseeing boiling pots on the stove and peering into the oven. “The chicken’s about done,” she said, looking up at Garrett with dark, shining eyes. “I’ll just whip these potatoes and you can gather in the dining room. Oh, hi.” She spied Trent, wiped a hand on her apron and extended it. “I’m Suzanne.”
“Rand’s wife,” Garrett said quickly. “My grandson, Trent Remmington. I called Suzanne in to pinch-hit with the cooking until I can find someone to take over. Suzanne, here, is an accountant in town.”
“That is when I’m not playing Julia Child,” she teased, then laughed at the pseudo-consternation twisting Garrett’s features.
“Actually, I don’t mind,” she said as she found a couple of pot holders and carried a kettle of boiled potatoes to the sink. She poured most of the water down the drain, saving a little in a smaller bowl. “Since my baby, Joe, was born, my career’s slowed down. I just do the books for a few people now. There.” She set the pot of potatoes on the counter and, opening the oven door, retrieved a couple of golden-brown chickens. “I’ll make the gravy, then serve up in about fifteen minutes. After that I’d better hurry home. I left Joe with my brother.” She rolled her eyes and grinned.
“Mack’s a good kid, but there’s only so much ‘quality time’ he can stand with his nephew.” She laughed brightly at the thought. “He’s seventeen and all thumbs around the baby, but I figure it’s time he learned about kids before he gets wrapped up in some girl and has one of his own.”
“Best form of birth control there is,” Trent observed.
Suzanne’s smile slid away and Garrett’s expression turned sober. “We’d better wash up.”
Realizing the old man was apparently having trouble with his son’s indiscretions, Trent didn’t say anything else. He walked through a long hallway to the main stairs but at the archway leading to the living room, his footsteps slowed. He heard Gina’s muffled voice.
“I said I’d be back as soon as this was finished, Jack,” she said hotly, then paused for a few seconds while the guy on the other end of the line had his say. “Yeah, I know, I know. I’ll wrap this up as soon as I can.”
Another pause.
Trent told himself to move on, that she deserved some privacy, but then he reminded himself that she hadn’t been all that interested in preserving his. For all he knew, she’d dug into the most intimate details of his life.
And didn’t you try to do the same to her? Didn’t you hire a private investigator to find Celia O’Hara and when that didn’t pan out, have him look into Garrett Kincaid’s life?
He ignored the attack of sudden conscience.
“I’m not sure, Jack,” Gina said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m still looking into it. But I’ll be back soon, I promise.” She laughed then, that deep, throaty laugh that had caught his attention in Dallas, and he felt a moment of jealousy. “Yeah, I miss you, too… Oh, come on, you know I do. What? …Now, listen, quit worrying! I can take care of myself.” He must’ve said something incredibly amusing again because this time she chuckled. “Fine, I’ll remember. If I’m not gonna be back in a couple of days, then you’ll just have to carry on without me, and yes, I’m sure it’ll break your heart, but believe me, Jack, you can handle it.” She listened again, then sighed theatrically. “Me, too. Okay, I’ve gotta run. I’ll call again.” Another minute’s hesitation while the guy on the other end of the telephone line said his goodbyes. “Love you, too,” she said as she hung up.
Trent, feeling like the eavesdropper he was, considered climbing the stairs and high-tailing it to his room. But that seemed a little sneaky and he’d always prided himself on being a straight shooter.
Jamming his fists into his pockets, he sauntered into the living room and found her nestled in the corner of a floral couch that had seen better days, staring at the cold grate of the fireplace. “Boyfriend?” he asked, startling her.
“What?”
He pointed at the phone. “I overheard the tail end of your conversation with your boyfriend. Sounds like he’s missing you.”
A smile tugged at the corner of those full lips. “Oh, he is.” She nodded, her green eyes flashing with amusement, as if she’d just pulled a fast one on him.
“Special guy?” He couldn’t help but ask and tried to ignore another jab of unlikely jealousy.
“Very.” He could see the pride in the way she held her head. She cared about the man very much. Sunlight pierced the windows and caught in the fiery strands of her hair.
“Known him long?”
“All my life.”
That bothered Trent. This guy Jack had watched her grow up while he’d only met her a few weeks earlier. “So, he’s kind of a boy next door?”
“You could say that.” She was more than amused now, he thought. Curled up on the faded sofa, her bare feet tucked beneath her, a notepad on her lap, she looked cozy and warm, as if she belonged in this rambling old house with its out-of-date, yellowed wallpaper and odd collection of memorabilia. There were all manner of guns mounted on the walls, antlers and animal heads, trophies from long-ago kills now collecting dust in the den and even, down one hallway, a showcase of old Western costumes and Native American paraphernalia.
Trent walked to the fireplace. “This guy—Jack,” he said, nodding toward the phone. “Does he know about me?”
“He’s heard of you, yes.”
“About Dallas?”
She blushed and shook her head. “Nope. And I hope he never finds out.” She set her notebook aside, hesitated, and finally said, “I thought we were going to let what happened go.”
“Can you?”
She bit her lip. All hint of amusement left her face. “I don’t know,” she said, and it was the first statement she’d made that he believed. “But I’m going to try. Hard. It might be difficult the next couple of days since we’ll both be here, but I’m going to see if I can rise above it.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “That is, if you would quit throwing it up in my face. You know, it wasn’t as if what happened was all my fault. As the old saying goes, ‘it takes two to tango.’”
“But one of us didn’t lie about it.”
“So flog me with a dozen cat-o’-nine-tails, or toss me in the pillory, or blaze my shirt with a scarlet A…or, oh—” She snapped her fingers and shot to her feet. “I know something even better! Why don’t you keep bringing it up and trying to throw some guilt on me, huh? How about that?” With that she turned on a bare heel and stormed out.
He started after her and she sent him a look over one stiff shoulder that was guaranteed to freeze mercury. “Don’t, okay? Don’t run after me, don’t say anything more, and next time I’m on the phone, don’t put a glass to the window or listen at the keyhole. It’s really none of your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, darlin’,” he drawled. “You were the one who started poking into my life. Remember? Not the other way around. So I think whatever you do here just might be my business.”
“Just stay out of my way.”
“That might be impossible.”
“Give it a try, okay?” She was out of the room and up the stairs like a shot.
Trent wondered where a man kept his whiskey around this house, and cringed when he heard Suzanne Harding call, “Okay, dinner’s on. Come and get
it.”
Garrett had no idea what had gotten into Trent and Gina, but he didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it one bit. All through Suzanne’s tasty meal of chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, applesauce and green beans, they’d both picked at their food, tried their damnedest to ignore one another, and forced smiles onto faces that were both strained and drawn.
Something was up.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were having themselves some kind of lover’s spat. For that’s sure what it looked like. But that was impossible. They hardly knew each other.
Trent, shoving his plate aside, finally said, “Okay, so tell me about these other ‘brothers’ that I’ve got. How’d you find out about me and them?”
Garrett pushed his chair back from the long table and walked the few steps to the sideboard where Suzanne had left a pot of coffee. Filling three cups, he set them on the table and said, “I was going to explain all this to everyone at the same time, but being as you’re here now, I guess I may as well get down to it.” He settled into his chair again, felt a pinch of arthritis in his hip and ignored it. This was the tough part, trying to explain his only son’s irresponsible actions. “Let’s go outside, and sit on the back porch.”
Though the two hadn’t said a civil word to each other all night, they followed Garrett through French doors to a picnic table and benches. Gina took a seat at the table with Garrett. Trent stood on the porch, bracing his back against a pillar that supported the roof.
“Okay, so shoot,” Trent suggested.
Garrett cradled his cup in his hands. This was the hard part. Trying to explain about his son. It pained him. When Larry had been born more than fifty years ago, Garrett had been proud enough to pop. A son. A healthy, good-looking, robust boy. But as the years had passed, Larry had proven to be wayward and ornery, selfish and lazy. Even worse, he’d never been able to keep his hands off women, even as a teenager. But that had been a long time ago.