“This better be good, man,” he grumbled, “because it might be six in the morning in New York but here, in the real world, it’s—”
“What do you know about the theater in Dallas?”
There was a few seconds of numbing silence.
“I said—”
“I heard you. What’d you do, hit your head? What the hell would I know about the theater? And why would you give a damn?”
“You’re dating that redhead. The actress. Did she ever say anything about, you know, acting jobs?”
“I was dating her. She’s not an actress, she’s a singer. And what in hell are you talking about?”
What, indeed?
Caleb turned his back to the kitchen door. The last thing he wanted was for Sage to catch him making plans. Or not making them. This was just what he’d called it: an exploratory conversation. He had exploratory conversations all the time….
Legal ones.
Never one that involved asking a woman he’d only just met to move to the town where he lived.
Hell.
What was he doing? Great sex and not enough sleep. A bad combination.
“Caleb?”
Travis sounded worried. Caleb snorted. Why wouldn’t he?
“Yeah. I’m here. Look, forget what I—”
He heard the sound of the toilet flushing through the thin walls. Sage was awake. Dammit, he had to end this call—
“Who the crap are you?”
Caleb swung around. A man was standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him. The guy was a couple of years younger than he was, smaller, but trim.
“Caleb?” Travis said.
“Later,” Caleb said, and disconnected.
Great. Somebody had broken into Sage’s apartment while he’d been playing pie-in-the-sky, and now he was going to have to take him on half-dressed—and, apparently, with only half his brain functioning.
“Take it easy,” he said as calmly as he could. “Do the smart thing. Turn around, walk out the door—”
The intruder took a step forward.
“I asked you a question. Who are you? And what are you doing in my apartment?”
Caleb blinked. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, your apartment?”
“I mean exactly what I said, pal.” The man’s gaze swept over Caleb, taking in his naked chest and bare feet. “Where’s Sage? What have you done to her?”
“You know Sage? And you live—you live—”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“No. Wait a minute—”
“David?”
It was Sage. She stepped around the intruder, her eyes locked on Caleb.
“Caleb. Don’t hurt him.”
“You know this guy?”
“I told you, pal, I live here.”
Caleb’s gaze went to Sage. “Is that true?”
“Yes. It’s true. But—”
“Sage,” the intruder said, sliding his arm around her shoulders, “you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” She paused. “Caleb. This is—”
“David,” Caleb said, his voice flat and cold. “I heard you the first time.”
“No! It isn’t what you’re thinking—”
Caleb gave an ugly laugh. “You don’t know the half of what I’m thinking.”
“Sage,” David said, “what’s going on? I go away overnight, I come back and I find a—a naked guy in our kitchen.”
“Caleb,” Sage said urgently, “there’s a simple explanation for—”
“I’ll bet there is,” Caleb said through a tight smile. “You and lover boy here, you have an arrangement.”
“No!”
“Yes.” David gave an embarrassed laugh, let go of Sage and moved toward Caleb. “Hey, dude, I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise. Arrangement or not, I probably should have phoned before I barged in.” Smiling, he held out his hand. “We okay now?”
Caleb narrowed his eyes.
Hatred pumped through his veins. For this smiling SOB. For Sage. For himself, most of all, for having been such a fool.
“We’re just fine,” he growled, and for the second time in fewer than twelve hours, he put everything he had into a hard right hook.
Sage shrieked. Her boyfriend went down like a stone, eyes rolled up, feet in a mess of milk and glass. She dropped to her knees beside him.
“David! David, talk to me!” She looked up at Caleb, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You—you hit him. How could you do that?”
Caleb’s lips drew back from his teeth.
“Hell,” he said, “how could I not?”
He strode past her, got his shoes and shirt from the bedroom, his jacket and his sanity from the living room, and went straight out the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRAVIS Wilde stood just outside the double glass doors that led into the Dallas offices of Wilde and Wilde, Attorneys at Law.
Beyond those doors, a sea of antique red-oak flooring led to a handmade glass desk, the province of the silver-haired, always-dressed-in-black, stern-faced woman who sat behind it.
Edna Grantham—Miss Edna, unless you wanted your head sheared off—had been his brother’s keeper-of-the-gate since the start of Caleb’s firm.
She reminded Travis of his fourth-grade teacher, a woman with an icy disposition and little tolerance for the occasional foolishness of nine-year-old boys.
He was a grown man now, still occasionally foolish, though only when he chose to be, but old memories died hard, and Miss Edna could quell him with a look, especially when she thought it was in defense of her boss.
Travis knew, in his bones, he was not her favorite person.
Her icy looks and monosyllabic responses made it clear that she blamed him for being the guy who’d lure Caleb out of his office to go over to the Arts District for lunch at a new taco truck, for getting Caleb to leave early on Fridays for a beer at the bar around the corner, for luring him into playing hooky when Jacob was in town.
The truth was, Travis wasn’t entirely guilty.
Yes, there were times Caleb could be a little stuffy. Hey, he was a lawyer.
But unless he was in court or in an important client meeting, Caleb was almost always agreeable to a little diversion.
He’d even been known to suggest them.
Miss Edna might not want to believe it but behind Caleb’s lawyerly demeanor beat a true Wilde heart.
But not lately.
Lately, he was too busy to do anything. Anything that involved being with other people.
That was the reason Travis had come by this morning.
It was time to confront Caleb and ask him what the hell was going on.
He had changed.
Travis and Jake had both noticed it. So had Addison, Jake’s wife, who was the second Wilde in Wilde and Wilde, Attorneys at Law. She was in the Dallas office three days a week, which meant she often saw Caleb more than they did, and she, too, said Caleb seemed different.
“He’s very quiet,” she said. “And a little short-tempered.”
Last night, Travis had driven out to Jake and Addison’s ranch for dinner.
Caleb had, of course, been invited.
“He said he’s too busy,” Jake said, when Travis asked if he was coming.
Too busy was Caleb’s constant reply lately. That, and I don’t have time.
Not for anything.
Dinner. Weekend barbecues. The monthly poker game that had, for crissake, been Caleb’s own idea since the ice age.
He was too busy for all of it or any of it, and if you pushed, he’d get a leave-me-alone kind of look in his eyes that was as unpleasant as it was new.
The question was: Why?
Travis didn’t have a clue. Neither did Jake. The one thing they did know was that the change in their brother had started right after he’d flown to New York a couple of months ago.
He’d returned a different man.
Which was, of course, just plain crazy.
So, somet
hing was wrong, but what?
“One of you has to ask him,” Addison had said last night.
The Wilde brothers were close. Always had been, always would be—but they’d always respected each other’s privacy. And, of the three of them, Caleb was probably the one who’d chew on a problem longest before talking about it.
Travis got all that.
But he was getting worried. They all were. And that was the reason he was standing outside the door to his brother’s office this morning.
He’d come prepared. He didn’t want to seem too obvious, so he had something in his Italian leather briefcase, a set of documents, a letter …
A job, one that was different from Caleb’s usual forays into corporate warfare. Luck had dropped it into his lap yesterday—and, dammit, the longer he stood out here thinking, the tougher this was starting to seem.
Travis straightened his tie. Cleared his throat. He was nervous, and he was a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Hell. Miss Edna was staring at him through the glass doors.
Okay. One last deep breath. One long exhalation. Here we go, he thought, and he pulled the doors open and marched across the sea of polished oak, took the million-mile walk to the reception desk.
“Good morning,” he said briskly.
Miss Edna glanced to one side, then to the other. She halfrose from her chair and leaned forward until her face was inches from his.
“Oh, Mr. Travis,” she whispered, “I am very glad to see you!”
“It’s Travis. Just Travis,” he said automatically. He’d been telling her that for years, to no avail. “You are?”
She nodded. “It’s Mr. Caleb.”
Travis’s heart rate soared. “What happened?”
“Well, that is the problem, Mr. Travis. I don’t know. I only know that he is not himself. It’s got worse and worse and today—”
“Today?”
“Mr. Caleb had an appointment with Judge Henry. He spent weeks trying to get that appointment. And when I reminded him of it, he told me to phone the judge’s clerk and cancel. Cancel, can you imagine?”
Travis could not. Caleb might goof around outside work but never, ever when it came to his practice.
“Okay,” he said, even more briskly. “Please tell him I’m here.”
Miss Edna blushed. A definite first.
“Perhaps it’s better if you just walk in, unannounced.”
“You mean, if you tell him, he’s liable to say—”
“He’ll say he’s busy.”
“Or he doesn’t have the time.” Travis nodded. “You’re right. Okay. I’m just going to walk in on him. I’ll tell him you were away from your desk.”
“Tell him what you like, Mr. Travis. Do whatever it takes, but do it.”
Travis nodded again. “Worry not,” he said, trying for a light touch, but it didn’t work. That Miss Edna was worried enough to confide in him was the clincher.
Something bad was going down.
Caleb’s office was at the end of a long hall.
Travis hurried past a big conference room, a small conference room, a library, clerks’ offices, a fax and printing room and an office Travis knew belonged to his sister-in-law, who wasn’t in today.
He was glad she wasn’t.
If things got loud, if Caleb and he reached the shouting stage, better for her not to witness it.
Caleb’s door was shut. Travis counted to five, then knocked and turned the knob without waiting for a reply.
The door opened onto a room that was pure Caleb. Contemporary glass walls. Traditional Oriental carpet. Contemporary leather sofa, chairs and coffee table. Traditional—and enormous—antique wood desk.
Caleb stood at the longest wall of glass, his back to the door.
“I’m busy, Edna,” he said. “Whatever it is—”
“Well, that clears up one thing,” Travis said. “You don’t have to call her ‘Miss.’”
Caleb swung around.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you, too.”
Caleb nodded, forced a smile about as real as the one Travis was flashing.
“Yeah,” he said, “well, it’s good to see you, Trav, but—”
“But you’re busy.”
“Exactly.”
Travis shot a pointed look at the empty surface of his brother’s desk.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb said, his phony smile fading.
“You’re always busy lately.”
Caleb folded his arms.
“Some of us are. And did you ever hear of knocking?”
“I did knock.”
“What about waiting to be acknowledged? Did you ever hear of that?”
“Acknowledged,” Travis said solemnly, as he walked slowly toward Caleb. “Fancy word for decidin’ whether or not you’re gonna see your own flesh an’ blood, don’t you think?”
“I’m not in the mood for the down-home routine, okay?”
“You’re not in the mood for much lately.”
“Okay. Enough. I don’t know how you got past Edna but you did. And I’ve already told you, I’m—”
“Busy. Right.” Travis sank into one of the chairs facing the desk. “Mind if I sit down?”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Listen, man, this isn’t the time for fun and games.”
“Because?”
“Because—because I have a meeting with a judge in—”
“Bull.”
“Dammit, Travis …”
“Got a new client for you, bro.”
“I have more than enough clients already.”
“Corporate stuff,” Travis said lazily. “This is different.”
Caleb gave a thin smile.
“Shall I let you in on a secret?” His smile faded. “That’s what I do. Corporate law, in case you never noticed.”
Travis lifted his briefcase into his lap, opened it, took out a manila envelope and held it out. Caleb ignored it and Travis shrugged, aimed, and sailed it onto the desk.
“Take a look.”
“I’m not interested.”
“It’s from one of my clients. A Yankee, but I try not to hold that against him. Smart. Tough. More money than God, and a pedigree that goes back to the Mayflower.”
“Good for him. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“But he has a problem. Only one heir. A son. Never did anything to make Daddy proud and now he’s compounded things by dying.”
“A sad tale,” Caleb said coldly.
“It is, but it turns out that he did leave something for posterity. A baby, nice and snug in the belly of his pregnant mistress.”
“Trav, I’m sure this is fascinating to soap-opera fans everywhere, but—”
“No more soaps, Caleb, hadn’t you heard?”
Caleb took a deep breath. Something was going on here, something more than Travis’s tale about a client’s problems.
“Okay. Get to the point.”
“I am. See, the mistress won’t do what my client wants.”
“Not that. I meant—”
“He wants the child. Wants it to carry his family name. Wants to raise it. Better still, adopt it.”
“Adopt it?” Caleb said, caught up despite himself. Corporate law was his first love but there were times it seemed clinical. This, the situation Travis was describing, was as far from clinical as you could get.
“Exactly. He wants the lady to sign the kid over to him at birth.”
Caleb snorted. “Like a car.”
Travis grinned. “Exactly like a car. But she refuses. So my man wants to take her to court.”
“On what grounds?”
“He says she won’t be a fit mother. She has no money. No job. Lives in what he calls a hovel. Has loose morals.”
“And your guy has everything. Money. Status. Power. The morality of all those stiff-necked old Pilgrims.”
“Exactly.” Tra
vis paused. “The thing is, the lady does have one thing he hasn’t. Well, beside the baby in her womb, of course.”
“And that is?”
“She says the father wasn’t my client’s son.”
Caleb nodded. “Interesting. “Well, DNA testing will prove—”
“She won’t be tested. She won’t have anything to do with my client, won’t even take his calls anymore.” Travis smiled. “Which is why he needs a tough, smart attorney.”
“He needs a superhero.”
“Heck, man, how about a little modesty?”
“A superhero,” Caleb said, ignoring the joke, “not me. And, by the way, what’s he doing, looking for a Texan if he’s from the east coast?”
“Well, he’s not going by location, he’s going by instinct. I mean, he trusts me. And he knows of you.” Travis grinned. “Turns out you have quite a hot rep as a legal eagle. When he realized you and I were related—”
“Sorry, Trav. I’m not interested.”
“Too busy?” Travis said. “Haven’t got the time?”
Caleb glared at his brother.
“Thanks for stopping by. Next time, call first.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it. I’m not interested. I already said that.”
Travis rose to his feet. Walked to the door.
“You’re not interested in much lately.”
“Okay. I’ve had it. I don’t know what your problem is but—”
“Yeah. I think you do.”
Caleb stared at his brother. Travis had stopped smiling, and his tone had taken on a hard note. Caleb could sense the tension in him … and Travis was right.
He knew exactly what the problem was.
For weeks, ten weeks, to be exact, ever since he’d returned from New York, he’d kept both his brothers at a distance.
He’d told himself they wouldn’t notice.
Such a stupid lie.
Of course, they’d noticed. And now they wanted answers.
Too bad, he thought grimly, because they weren’t going to get them. How could they, when he didn’t have the answers for himself?
All he had was anger and disgust.
At Sage.
Hell. Be honest, Wilde, he told himself.
At himself.
He heard the door shut. Breathed a sigh of relief. Travis was gone. That was something, at least, though now it left him just where he’d been before, his head full of what he could not forget.
The Ruthless Caleb Wilde Page 5