The Maverick's Christmas Homecoming

by Teresa Southwick

  Gianna knew he meant himself. He didn’t want to look back and hate himself for leaving even one stone unturned.

  “I guess we’re going to the jail,” she said.

  He lifted one eyebrow. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?”

  “You don’t think I’m letting you go alone, do you?”

  There was a fiercely rebellious expression on his face. “This is my problem. More important, I don’t want you in a place like that. Yes, I’m going alone.”

  “Wrong. I’ll be there with you.”

  “I won’t allow it,” he said.

  “At the risk of sounding childish...” She lifted her chin. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Actually, I am,” he reminded her.

  “Only at work. This is different.” It was personal.

  Her track record proved that when things got personal she was the queen of perseverance.

  Chapter Twelve

  Shane wasn’t sure what he’d expected of the county correctional facility half a day’s drive from Thunder Canyon. Even at the holidays, or maybe because it was closing in on Christmas, this place was grim. No decorative lights on the outside. Not a Santa, sleigh, or reindeer in sight. Just a series of buildings enclosed by high concrete walls and law-enforcement personnel dressed in navy pants with contrasting light blue shirts.

  With Gianna beside him they walked from the parking lot, then stopped at a guard station to show identification and declare their purpose for being there. Visiting was all Shane said and the guard directed them to the visitor center where they followed signs to a room with scratched tables and battered chairs. There was a surveillance camera mounted on the wall and a big window allowed guards to monitor everything that went on.

  A few people were there talking to inmates wearing orange jumpsuits. A sad-looking artificial Christmas tree with a handful of red and green ornaments and tacky gold garland stood in the corner. This was where they’d been instructed to wait while someone went to get Arthur Swinton.

  Shane walked to an empty table with three chairs in the farthest corner of the room. Gianna sat beside him and glanced around, blue eyes wide, looking curious and a little apprehensive.

  “Scared?” he asked.

  “No. You’re here.”

  In spite of this surreal situation, he felt himself smile. “As good as I am with a knife in the kitchen, I’m not sure my skill set would be of much help in a jail riot.”

  “You’ve been watching too many prison shows on TV. I don’t think this is that kind of place. It’s not maximum security.” She looked around at the dingy, institutional-green walls. “But we’re not in Thunder Canyon anymore.”

  “I tried to talk you out of this. Are you sorry you came?”

  She shook her head and slid her hand into his beneath the table. “Not even a little.”

  “That makes one of us.” He listened to the low murmur of voices and glanced at the two prisoners with multiple tattoos, each talking to a wife or girlfriend. There was a hardness in the eyes, a toughness in the posture and he didn’t doubt for a second that either or both could lead a prison uprising. These felons were his father’s peer group and social contacts.

  “I’d rather be anywhere else,” he said. “If only I were cooking a five-course meal for a thousand pompous and pretentious food critics who don’t know marjoram from parsley. That sounds like a warm and happy good time compared to this.”

  “Which is why I couldn’t let you come here alone.”

  As much as he’d wanted to protect her from this toxic environment, Shane was grateful for the stubborn streak that made her dig in and defy him. “Thank you. I appreciate it very much...”

  Then the door opened and a uniformed guard walked in with an inmate wearing the same orange jumpsuit that would make it difficult to blend into a nonprison population should Arthur Swinton escape again. Shane’s stomach knotted as he studied the prisoner.

  His father.

  The man was shorter and less significant than he’d expected, slightly built with gray hair. He was probably around sixty, but looked much older.

  Since he and Gianna were the only other visitors without an inmate, the man walked over to them and sat down on the other side of the table. His blue eyes were sharp with suspicion.

  “Are you Arthur Swinton?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah. Do I know you?”

  “We’ve never met. I’m Shane Roarke.”

  Gianna held out her hand. “Gianna Garrison.”

  He ignored it. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

  He sniffed dismissively. “Another reporter. I don’t—”

  “It’s not like that.” Shane knew Swinton was referring to the private investigator’s cover story when he’d posed as a journalist to get a DNA sample. “Actually I’m a chef in The Gallatin Room at the Thunder Canyon Resort. Gianna is a server there.”

  He was aware that she hadn’t said anything since introducing herself, but knew she was studying both of them, comparing. Searching for a family resemblance. As far as Shane was concerned they looked nothing alike.

  “What do you want?” Swinton asked again. The introductions hadn’t done anything but deepen his distrust.

  “I’d like to know about you and Grace Smith—you might know her as Grace Traub.”

  “She’ll always be Grace Smith to me.” Something that sounded a lot like sorrow took the sharp edge out of his voice. “What about her?”

  “Obviously you knew her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you date her?”

  “Yeah.”

  This was like pulling teeth, Shane thought, feeling frustration expand in his gut. Just then Gianna squeezed his hand, as if she knew what was going on inside him. It kept him focused. Allowed him to see that self-preservation was instinctive in a place like this. In navigating the criminal-justice system, offenders learned not to trust or give up anything that might incriminate them.

  “There’s no reason you should believe me,” Shane assured him, “but I’m not here to do you any harm. I just want information about the past.”

  “Me and Grace.”

  “That’s right.” He stared hard into blue eyes that seemed familiar. “Were the two of you close?”

  “You’re asking if I slept with her. Not that it’s any of your business or anyone else’s. No one believed it then, why should you now?” The man was nothing if not direct. There was a vacant look on his face, as if he were remembering something from a long time ago. And apparently he wanted to tell his story because he added, “I slept with her, but it wasn’t just sex. Grace is the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  The guy had no idea who he was. As far as Shane could see, he had no reason to lie about that, but the admission profoundly shocked him. Probably because every time Swinton’s name came up in Thunder Canyon it was in a negative context painting him as a heartless, unprincipled nut case who was incapable of deep feeling.

  “Why did you break if off?” Shane asked.

  “Of course I’m the bad guy.” That was an ironic comment since he was the one in prison, but Swinton’s gray eyebrows pulled together. “Who told you I did?”

  “No one. I just—” Shane figured he was a heartless nut job.

  “Gracie broke up with me. I tried to get her to reconsider, but she swore it was over.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Her folks didn’t like me much and Doug Traub was interest
ed in her. They thought he walked on water.”

  So far the man hadn’t said anything that convinced him Grace was his mother.

  “She started going out with Doug?” Shane prodded.

  “Not right away. At least not that I knew. I tried to see her, but her folks wouldn’t tell me where she was.”

  When Gianna’s hand tightened on his, Shane looked at her and knew they were thinking the same thing. Had she been sent away to hide a pregnancy? “She left town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But she came back.”

  “About six months later,” he confirmed.

  “Did she tell you why she went away?” His heart was pounding.

  “Hell, no. She wouldn’t even look at me, let alone be caught in a conversation.”

  Out of guilt? Shane wondered. Did her parents pressure her to keep quiet? Because it was sure looking like she was pregnant with Swinton’s baby and didn’t tell him.

  “What did you do?”

  “I kept trying to call her, see her, tell her I loved her. Then it was all over Thunder Canyon that she was dating Doug Traub. Next thing I knew she was engaged to him.” His hands clenched into fists on the table, right beside the word “hell” carved on the top. “She was making a mistake and I couldn’t get past her father or Traub to make her see what she was doing.”

  Shane could feel the man’s pain and didn’t know what to say. This part of the story was history. “She married him.”

  “Yes.” Swinton snapped out the single word. It was rife with bitterness, and sadness etched lines in his craggy face. “Then she died. So damn young. I hated that I didn’t get time with her. The Traubs had her all to themselves. I never got to tell her I’ll always love her. Never got to say goodbye.”

  “Mr. Swinton—” When Gianna finally spoke up, her voice was gentle. “Is that why you were trying to ruin the Traubs? To get even because you were shut out?”

  “They had everything. I had nothing. It kept eating at me.”

  “But they’re Grace’s children.”

  He looked down, miserable and unhappy. “She’d hate me for it and I’m sorry for that.” He looked sorry. “Grief does crazy things to a man. I was desperate for a way to get out from under it.”

  Shane studied the man. He looked alternately sad, angry and lonely, but not crazy. Loving a woman who didn’t return his feelings had started him down a path of bitterness that led to a series of crimes that were all about revenge against the family he blamed for a lifetime of unhappiness. But he wasn’t the only one with a black mark.

  Grace Smith never told this man that she was pregnant with his child. Shane couldn’t help wondering if knowing would have made a difference.

  Swinton shook his head sadly. “I thought being left out in the cold was bad, but it’s nothing compared to not having Gracie on this earth at all. Now I’ve got no one.”

  When Gianna squeezed his hand, Shane looked at her and saw a slight nod. He knew what she was saying and agreed. “It’s not entirely true that you have no family.”

  The suspicion ever present in the man’s expression now turned to bitterness. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m your son. Yours and Grace’s.”

  Blue eyes narrowed and turned angry. “If this is some scheme to get money out of me, you can just shove it—”

  “No.” Shane held up his hands in a take-it-down-a-notch gesture. Why was it that everyone accused him of a scam when his only goal was to get at the truth? “I had a DNA test.”

  “You didn’t get a sample from me.”

  “Yeah, I did. Remember that reporter who came to see you?” There was a slight nod along with an expression that said he was wondering how Shane could know that. “He’s a private investigator. I hired him to get a sample from you. The test results show to a ninety-nine percent certainty that you’re my biological father.”

  “Is this some kind of sick joke, because I don’t think it’s funny.”

  “Tell me about it. You’re in jail. I have restaurants in big cities across the country. This is not the kind of thing that would help my business. What possible good would making up this connection do me? My reputation could be ruined. The fact is that you are my father.”

  After several moments the old man’s expression softened as the truth of the words sank in. “You’re my son? Mine and Gracie’s?”

  “That’s what I believe, yes.”

  “I have a son?” He stared across the table and didn’t look quite so old and broken. “I can’t believe it. I have a son.”

  Gianna looked at Shane, then his father. “You’re not physically alike, but the eyes are the same, in shape, color and intensity.”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant. So that’s why she went away. This is amazing. I don’t know what to say. You’re a part of me and Grace.” He started to reach for Shane’s hand, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do. What’s right. Sorry. I can hardly wrap my head around all of this.”

  Shane understood exactly what he was saying because he’d just confirmed the worst. He was the son of the man who was serving time in jail for crimes against Thunder Canyon and the Traub family.

  His family, although they would reject that.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  * * *

  “Shane, say something. You’re starting to scare me.”

  Truthfully, the dark expression on his face had scared Gianna twenty miles ago, when they’d driven away from the jail. Now his chronic silence had her approaching frantic. She glanced at him, then turned the radio volume down.

  He kept his eyes on the long, straight road. Most of the snow had melted, but there were still pockets of white where tree trunks and bushes shaded and protected it from direct sunlight. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly, she expected it to snap any second.

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “That’s impossible. You just met your birth father for the first time.” She didn’t add that it was in jail, but knew he was thinking it, too. “I’m not buying the fact that you’ve got nothing.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  Stubborn, exasperating man. If she were bigger and he wasn’t so tall, broad and muscular, she’d shake him.

  “I don’t have a script for you.” She studied his profile, the lean cheek and stubborn jaw. There must be feelings, impressions—something—rolling around in his head. From the look of his expression, the thoughts were pretty dark. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s a nice day for a drive.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “So, you do have a script. Or a list of acceptable subjects.”

  “Not so much that as a specific topic,” she said. Maybe questions would draw him out. “What did you think of him?”

  “Arthur?”

  Okay. He wasn’t going to call the man dad. “Yes. Arthur.”

  “He’s pretty intense.”

  So are you, she wanted to say, but decided he wasn’t in the mood for a DNA characteristics comparison spreadsheet. It might get him to open up if she shared her impressions.

  “I sort of expected him to look, I don’t know, edgier somehow. More convict tough. Kind of like a hardened criminal.”

  “He’s an old man.” That sounded like he agreed with her and there was the tiniest bit of pity in his tone.

  “Did it seem to you like he was telling the truth?
”

  “You mean do I think he’s crazy?” Shane glanced at her. “No. He’s a lot of things, but crazy isn’t one of them.”

  “So you believe he and Grace were involved? That she left Thunder Canyon to give birth?”

  He nodded without meeting her gaze. “Yeah, I do. I’m all but certain that Grace Smith Traub was my mother.”

  She was glad he knew the truth, but it also made her sad. After all his efforts to find his birth parents now he’d discovered his father in jail and his mother had died. It all seemed like a cruel twist of fate.

  “So you’ll never have a chance to know her.”

  “Not face-to-face.”

  She knew what he was saying. Grace had died when they were pretty young, but her sons, his half brothers, could share memories of their mother. “You could talk to Dax and D.J. about her.”

  “Not likely.” He pulled off the road when a service station, convenience store and diner came into view. “I’m going to get gas. Are you hungry?”

  Not really, but it was way past lunch and both of them needed food. “I could eat.”

  He nodded and parked by one of the pumps, then fueled up. Gianna watched his face as he worked and knew by the shadows swirling in his eyes that the surface of his feelings hadn’t even been scratched yet. When he opened the driver’s-side door and got in, cold air came with him and she shivered, but that was more about the emotional morning than winter in Montana.

  He started the car and drove around the building and parked in front of the Pit Stop Diner. The windows were painted with snowflakes, a Christmas tree and other traditional signs of the season, with a big “Happy Holidays” in the middle. There weren’t any cars in the parking lot, so it was no surprise when they walked in to find the place empty.

  A thirtyish waitress wearing jeans, a Santa Claus sweatshirt and jingle bell earrings greeted them. Her name tag read Jamee. “Merry Christmas, folks. Sit anywhere.”

  “Thanks.” Gianna picked a booth by the window and sat on the red plastic bench seat. The menus were tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder. “May I have a cup of tea, please?”