by Lisa Jackson
Nevada was about to protest; Shelby sensed it. “Look, don’t even try to get out of this. It’s Lydia’s personal mission to see that anyone in a ten mile radius gets more than his or her required RDAs, calories and fat grams for the day.”
“But—”
“It is true,” Lydia admitted, smiling proudly, her gold caps reflecting the morning sunlight.
“So stuff it,” Shelby told him, and helped Lydia slap a couple of placemats onto the table. Within minutes two platters of powdered-sugar-dusted waffles, fruit and strips of bacon, as well as orange juice, water and an insulated carafe of coffee, covered the glass top. “Lydia, it looks wonderful,” she said as the older woman put place settings of silver wrapped in embroidered napkins near their plates. In the middle of the table she centered a bud vase with a yellow rose.
Nevada nodded. “It does—look great.”
“Gracias.”Glowing under the compliments, Lydia started for the kitchen, then spied the gardener on the other side of a trellis where a clematis trailed a profusion of purple blooms. With shears in hand he was busy pruning a hedge. “ ’Xcuse me,” Lydia muttered and bustled off, no doubt to give the poor man a tongue lashing for mistreatment of some of the shrubbery or flowers.
“It’s just safer not to argue with her about food,” Shelby explained as she sliced into the waffles covered with peaches and drizzled with a syrup that smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. “You know, I’m surprised to see you here.” She glanced up at him. “Because of Dad.”
“Don’t tell me I wouldn’t be welcome?”
“Would it break your heart?” she teased.
He hesitated. “Don’t have one.” His eyes held hers for a second. “Leastwise, so I’ve been told.” He leaned closer to her as she remembered the heated conversation, the angry words she’d thrown at him. “Not that it matters a whole hell of a lot. And even though the Judge and I, we have our differences of opinion, I thought I’d better get things straight with you.”
“Such as?” Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.
“Assuming we do find Elizabeth—”
“We will. I will.”
“And once you do, what then? What’re you plannin’ to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.
“Meet her.”
“You mean meet her parents.”
“I mean her adoptive parents,” she clarified, bristling as she cut into a waffle with the side of her fork and plopped the piece into her mouth.
“And then?” he asked, as he pronged a peach slice with his fork. “What if they don’t want to meet you? What if they want to go to court to keep you from seeing her? What if your presence would be damaging to her, or her family? Ever thought of that?” he asked as he took a bite.
The waffle turned to dust in her mouth. She forced down a swallow and felt her stomach begin to revolt as the very doubts that had kept her awake at night returned to plague her. “Of course.”
“But you’re going to do this your way.”
“Yes.” She set her fork down. “But you don’t have to be a part of it, Nevada. No one’s twisting your arm.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to look at all the angles.”
“I have. Dozens of times. Believe me. It keeps me awake at night. But this is something I have to do.” She hooked her thumb at her chest and realized that her coverup gaped, that the tops of her breasts were bare. Lord, this was ridiculous, sitting here half-naked, eating breakfast with her ex-lover and discussing the child she’d thought was long dead. She adjusted her lapels. “It’s time to set the record straight and I... I have to at least see her.” Her voice faded slightly as emotion gripped her throat. “Look into her eyes.”
“Hold her?” he asked, and she shuddered inside.
Oh, God, yes, I want to hold my baby. Hold her and never let go. “If ... if it’s possible.”
One dark eyebrow rose over the top rim of his sunglasses, but he didn’t comment. Shelby forced as much of her breakfast down as she could, but her appetite had waned and she had no choice but to face Lydia’s motherly reproach.
“What does your father say?” Nevada asked, after several long minutes when the only noises that disturbed the silence were the birds fluttering in the pecan trees and the clink of their forks against their plates.
“Not much. He started out denying knowing anything about it and now avoids the subject.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No!” she said vehemently, then bit her tongue when she saw the cords of his neck stand out above the open collar of his shirt. “I—I think I’d better handle it myself.”
“Okay, but I’m willing to step in.”
“Thanks.” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice but when it came to dealing with her father, she was certain she would make more headway than Nevada Smith, a man forever branded as a useless, uppity half-breed by the Judge. A man who, as a teenager, had worked hauling hay and rounding up cattle for the Judge before he’d been fired for getting into a fight with the foreman, a man who had stood before her father in the courtroom. “I’ll deal with Dad.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Nevada stretched out of his chair, took a long, slow look around the grounds and then hooked a thumb in a belt-loop of his jeans. “Keep me posted if you find anything out.”
“I will. And the same goes for you.” She stepped into her thongs and walked him through the gate. She couldn’t remember the last time Nevada had been to her house. Had he ever been?
He paused at the front of the house where his pickup, a dusty, dented reminder of his own lot in life, was parked facing the main gate. “And Shelby,” he added, turning and reaching up as if to touch her. But before his fingers grazed the skin of her bare arm, he let his hand fall to his side. “If Ross McCallum tries to contact you or bother you—”
“He won’t!” she said emphatically.
“Maybe not. But if he does, you let me know.” Nevada’s jaw was suddenly rock hard, his mouth a thin, unbending line.
“I can handle Ross.”
“Can you?” His eyes, behind their shaded lenses, found hers and she felt her body flush with unwanted color. “You couldn’t before.”
“A lot has changed in the past ten years, Nevada. Including you. And me.”
“Yeah, but McCallum has been in prison. My guess is that he didn’t improve with incarceration. If anything, he’s probably meaner.”
“Is that so?” she asked, forcing a smile and a light tone she didn’t feel. “Well, here’s a news flash for you, Nevada: so am I.”
He barked out a laugh as he climbed into his truck. “Oh, right,” he said sarcastically. Twisting on the ignition, he rested his elbow on the open window as the truck idled. “You’re as mean as a wounded mama grizzly who’s just been separated from her cubs.”
Her smile fell away. “Exactly.” How close he’d come to the truth. She’d been separated from Elizabeth for nine years, and as far as she was concerned, that was way too long.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” She heard the purr of her father’s Mercedes just as the car appeared at the end of the drive. Her stomach nosedived, and Nevada, seeing her expression, glanced through his windshield. At the sight of the Judge’s car, the corners of his lips pulled downward. “Just the man I was hoping to see.” He cut the engine.
“No—” She shook her head. This was no time for a showdown between Nevada and her father, but the door of the Ford opened and Nevada stepped onto the asphalt of the drive as Red Cole slowed and lowered his driver’s window.
“Judge,” Nevada said, nodding slightly and folding his arms over his chest.
“You lookin’ for me?” Red Cole clamped the stub of a black cigar between his teeth. The familiar scent of tobacco smoke vied with the fragrances of roses and honeysuckle from the garden.
Shelby recognized her father’s most patronizing grin.
Nevada stood next to her, nearly touching her but not
quite. “I came to see Shelby, but I think it would be a good idea if we talked.”
“Do ya now?” He glanced at his daughter, his smile flagging a little as he took in her state of undress. “Seems to me you shoulda been doin’ some talkin’ to me about ten years ago—some fast talkin’ when you were sneakin’ around with her.”
“That was my choice,” Shelby cut in.
But the Judge’s eyes were centered on Nevada, and as he spoke his lips barely moved around his cigar. “I have nothin’ to say to you, Smith. Never did have. My only regret was that I was too lenient on you when you were hauled into my courtroom. I shoulda thrown the book at you then. when you were a smart-assed kid with an attitude, sent you up the river instead of givin’ you probation for all the trouble you caused and even handin’ you a job at my ranch.”
“I guess I forgot to thank you,” Nevada drawled and the Judge’s face flushed.
“That’s right. With a record you never would’ve gotten that job with the Sheriff’s Department, never would have disgraced yourself and been thrown out on your ass, never gotten involved with Shelby!” He shot his daughter a condemning glance. “Then we wouldn’t be in this mess we’re in now.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t be in it if you had told the truth to Shelby way back when. You lied, Judge. About your own granddaughter.” The skin stretched tight across Nevada’s cheekbones. “I just wonder why.”
“I did what I thought was best.”
“Seems to me, if the word got out, you would be the one in trouble. Not only your reputation but your professional ethics up for review. There’re laws about falsifying legal documents such as birth and death certificates, Judge.”
“I’m no longer on the bench and I don’t practice law,” her father said, his eyes steady.
“But you could end up in jail.” Nevada didn’t cut the older man a bit of slack. “The way I hear it, there’s an empty cell, now that McCallum’s out.”
“You never did learn, did ya, Smith? All the trouble you were in and you never learned when to quit pushin’, when to keep your sorry mouth shut, when to—”
“That’s enough!” Shelby interjected. “Nevada just came by this morning because ... because he’s going to help me find Elizabeth.”
Her father’s nostrils flared, as if he’d just encountered a bad odor. He shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “You’re both makin’ a big mistake.”
Nevada nodded. “Could be. But I think we’d better try. I’d like to know if I have a daughter somewhere.”
The Judge’s eyes met Shelby’s and she swallowed hard, fighting the doubts tearing her up inside. Silently she pleaded with him not to bring up the horrid subject of Elizabeth’s paternity. Not here. Not now.
“So you haven’t told him, eh?” her father asked. Then some of his bravado slipped and a profound sadness settled deep in his eyes. “Hell, what a mess.”
Shelby’s spine stiffened. She’d never been one to back down from a battle, but this was tough. Damned hard.
“You should have told me what?” Nevada asked.
“Christ-a-mighty. You’re only working on half-baked information, Smith!” Shelby’s father pulled the cigar from his mouth. “But then, that seems to be your M.O. Bad information and unreliable witnesses.”
“You’re talkin’ about Caleb Swaggert,”
“Damned right.”
“He lied.”
“And now he’s found Jesus and the truth or some variation thereof. You hear that he’s sellin’ his story to the press?” His balding pate wrinkled.
“What’re you talking about?” Shelby demanded.
“Ol’ Caleb has himself an interview or some such nonsense with Lone Star magazine, leastwise that’s what I heard down at the coffee shop this mornin’.”
“Why would he do that?” Nevada asked.
“Money.”
“He’s dyin’.” Nevada’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t matter. He ain’t dead yet and now his pack of lies, the ones that sent McCallum up the river, are gonna be turned into gold.” He scowled. “This is another one of your messes, Smith.”
“Mine?”
“You helped nail McCallum, and now it’s all fallin’ apart. That’s what happens when you count on derelicts and whores as witnesses. It’s a wonder Ross McCallum was ever found guilty in the first place. No murder weapon ever found, and he was drivin’ your truck that night.”
“It was stolen,” Nevada said.
“So you said.”
“I filed a report.”
“Easy to do when you worked for the law.”
Nevada’s lips thinned menacingly. “So you think Ross McCallum’s innocent?” Nevada’s skin was tight, the muscles beneath his shirt bunched.
“Innocent? Hell no. He’s guilty as sin, but it doesn’t matter now, does it, because ol’ Caleb is singin’ a different song and hopin’ to get through the Pearly Gates. Unless I’m forgettin’ the statutes, I believe a man can’t be tried for the same crime twice. In the eyes of the law, Ross McCallum’s a free—if not innocent—man. Hell’s bells, what a mess.” With that he rolled his window up and gunned the engine. The silver car eased around a final laurel-flanked curve as the garage door, clicking loudly, slowly began to open.
Nevada didn’t say another word, but the brackets around his mouth were white in his tanned skin and he looked as if he could spit nails as his eyes followed the path of the Mercedes. “What did he mean, I only have part of the story?” he demanded, turning on Shelby.
“He’s just mad about Ross McCallum getting out of jail,” she hedged.
“Don’t jerk me around.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Your father thought you were keeping something from me.”
“My father thinks a lot of things.”
Nevada seemed about to argue, but glanced at his watch and scowled more deeply. Frustration etched his features. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime try and come up with a list of people who might have sent you the package about Elizabeth.”
“Already working on it,” she admitted. In fact she’d spent all her time on the airplane wondering who would have contacted her and why after all these years—on the very week that Ross McCallum became a free man. “I’d like to talk to your friend—the private eye you hired.”
“I’ll have him call you.”
She swatted at a yellow jacket that hovered near her head. “I think it would be better if I called him,” she said staunchly.
Nevada hesitated. “I said I’ll have him call you.”
“You don’t trust me.” She was thunderstruck at the thought.
“You’re right, Shelby, I don’t. And I really can’t think of one good reason why I should. I said I’d have him call you, and I will.”
“But—”
“As you so eloquently told me earlier, ‘stuff it.’ ”
She shook her head and glared at him. “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“And probably the most irritating man in the entire state.”
“Probably.” He climbed into the cab, started the engine and rammed the truck into gear. “But if it’s any consolation, it’s taken years of practice to claim the title.”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there.” He slashed her an irreverent grin that made her temper blister. “Matter of fact, more than one time.” With that he stepped on the accelerator.
She watched as the old Ford gathered speed down the shaded lane, then, fists clenched impotently, turned on her heel. He can’t get to you, Shelby, not if you don’t let him, her mind taunted as she strode into the house and headed straight for her father’s den—the sanctuary she was taught long ago not to invade. Well, the old rules were out now.
Judge Red Cole was seated at his desk, one booted foot propped on a comer, his chair tilted back as he talked to someone on the telephone.
“ ... I don’t care what you have to do, just
sell the rest of the yearlings or ...” He glanced up and found Shelby staring at him. “Listen, I’ll call you back.” Replacing the receiver, he waved her into one of the cushy leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat.” Folding his arms across his ample middle, he asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“I realize that this is kinda like beating my head against the wall, but I wanted to give you one more chance to come clean with me,” she said. “It would be so much easier if you would tell me everything you know about Elizabeth.”
“I already did.”
“So where’s Doctor Pritchart?”
“Retired. Last I heard he was in the Florida Keys. Fishing and looking for a place to settle down. He had all sorts of wild notions about a tropical paradise.”
“And he never told you who adopted my daughter.”
“No.” The judge was firm.
“But then, you never asked him, did you?”
“Seems to me we’ve had this conversation before,” he said, dismissing her. “You need to move past this—get on with your life. You just heard me talking to my foreman about selling off part of the herd. There’s a reason. I’ve been talking to my attorneys about my will, and since you’re here anyway, I thought you might want to know what’s in it.”
“What? No. I mean, you’re going to live a long time, and I don’t want to even think about what will happen if you die.”
“Well, missy, you’re just gonna have to,” he said, “because I’m not going to live forever.” He reached into a drawer and she was on her feet. “I have a copy here somewhere—”
“I don’t need to see it.”
“Hell, where is it anyway? I guess it really doesn’t matter. There are a few people who I want to take care of, you know, people who’ve worked for me or helped me get elected and a couple of charities that your mother was involved with ... damn it all, where is that thing?” He sighed and pursed his lips before slamming the drawer shut. “Well, the gist of it is this—you inherit everything. I know you expected that as you’re my only child, but there is a hitch.”
“I don’t care.”
“Just listen, okay?” He was getting angry all over again, his face reddening. “I don’t want you to sell this house or any of the property and—” He leveled his stern gaze on her. “I expect you to live here.”