by Tina Leonard
After all, she hadn’t been on the pregnancy medication that long. He’d finally realized that it was probably just plain ol’ Callahan testosterone and good fortune that had brought him four babies. And the fact that he’d always known he was more manly than his brothers. If nothing else, he’d decided that finding himself pregnant with multiples had to confirm he was part of the Callahan family tree. He preferred that thought to the alternative, so he was staying with it.
Sam grinned at his wife, who regarded him with suspicion. “I bet those drugs you were taking were about the same as when doctors used to prescribe ketchup and sugar for things. Useless.”
She raised a brow. “I’m sure it was all you, cowboy. The fact that I can’t zip up any pants I once loved is a testament to your amazing virility.”
He nodded, feeling buffered now. “I’m ready to hear your latest bomb, doll.”
Seton rolled her eyes, then shook her head. “I can’t find any records regarding your parents’ deaths. None. I’ve called several offices in different counties, even checked with some places in Ireland, just in case for some reason their deaths had happened over there, since you boys don’t remember. There are no records anywhere.”
Sam frowned. “Are records from that many years ago easy to find?”
“Yes.” Seton nodded. “Even handwritten death certificates are computerized in most cases, and files are available in all counties. Something should have turned up.”
Sam absorbed her statement, puzzling over the implications. “Why would two people—people married to each other—have no traceable records?”
Seton shrugged. “That’s a question you’d have to ask Fiona. Possibly they died in such a remote location that records weren’t made. The only thought that comes to mind, which would be impossible, is that your parents never died.” She looked at Sam with compassion in her eyes. “I’m sorry not to have more concrete information. I’ll keep looking.”
“Thanks,” he said, feeling numb and somehow unsure how to take what he was hearing.
“The only other thought is that your folks weren’t who they said they were,” Seton said slowly.
Sam grunted. “Which doesn’t make sense, because Fiona is definitely our aunt, and though I wasn’t born yet, Jonas knows that Fiona was the next of kin. So she came to raise us. Now, come over here and sit in my lap so I can ponder this mystery more fully.”
Seton looked at him. “How would that help you think?”
“It’s a theory I have. If you’re sitting on my lap,” Sam said, reaching for her and drawing her to him, “it’ll relax me.” He put his hands over her stomach, enjoying feeling the roundness where his babies were. “Something about having all five of my babies right here with me has to help the cogs and wheels turn.”
Seton relaxed against his chest. “Your cogs and wheels seem to turn pretty quickly, anyway.”
“Yeah.” He put his face in her hair and nuzzled her neck. “But having you this close helps me think better, I just know it.”
“It’s helping you do something,” Seton said. “I feel like Mount Saint Helens is rising underneath me.”
“About that—” Sam said, but Seton fled.
“Nope, that’s not thinking,” she said, sitting back down at her computer. “And you’re paying me to think.”
“I’d pay you to sit in my lap and take care of the Mount Saint Helens problem,” Sam said, “but you’d probably accuse me of being shallow. Which I am, I must admit.” He watched his pretty wife frown at the screen, and realized she was paying zero attention to his attempts to woo her into bed.
“It makes no sense that no one in this town knows what happened to your parents,” she mused. “This is not D.C. We’re a small community, and everybody is always in each other’s business, 24/7.”
“Yeah.” Sam rubbed at his stubble, and tried to focus on what Seton was saying and not how gorgeous she was with the late-afternoon sun spilling in on her. They probably couldn’t have sex much longer, and that alone was going to kill him. “Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy making love with you?”
Seton turned her head and smiled at him. “The feeling is returned, cowboy.”
“Any chance—”
“No,” Seton said, quashing his hopes. “Because you said you’d think, and you’re not.”
He closed his eyes, willing himself to concentrate so Seton might favor him with her body. It was a pretty neat trick a woman had, this business of making a man want her so much that he wasn’t entirely opposed to going without football, cigar nights with buddies, brawling.... Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Bode knows.”
She turned to look at him again, her brows arched. “Bode?”
“He has to.” Sam’s thoughts were running a mile a minute. “He knows exactly what happened to them. It’s why he tried to get our ranch.”
“Wait,” Seton said. “This isn’t making sense.”
“No, it’s not.” Sam stood. “I’m going to go talk to Rafe.”
“Why Rafe?”
“Because he’s Bode’s son-in-law. He’s been spending time with the old coot, playing cards and dominoes and sharing a few toots of whiskey from time to time. Rafe’s a softie,” Sam said, knowing exactly how a man went from being a hard-ass to a softie at the hands of a woman. “He couldn’t stand Julie not being on good terms with her dad because of him. Couldn’t bear his daughters not knowing their grandfather, even if he is an old fart. Rafe’s a thinker,” Sam said. “Sometimes he thinks too much. However, in this case, he’s probably right.”
Seton blinked. “So what does all that mean?”
“It means that Rafe is the one to weasel any information Bode has out of him,” Sam said with satisfaction. “I’m going to go explain to my brother what he needs to do.”
“And then,” Seton said, “tonight I’ll reward you for thinking so hard.”
Sam smiled. “And I’ll reward you for being such a studious P.I. Obviously, you’re going to be worth every penny, sweetheart.”
He laughed as she shook her head at him, and went off to corner his brother.
“NOT ME,” RAFE SAID, when Sam found him in the tack room. “I’m not going to pump my father-in-law. He’ll think I’ve been sucking up to him. And I have been, but for far different reasons. You want your info, you go get it.”
“It affects all of us,” Sam pointed out.
“Yep,” Rafe said, slinging a saddle across a wooden horse for oiling. “And you’re the legal beagle married to the gumshoe who thought up this angle. You take care of it. That’s why we pay you the big bucks.”
“You don’t pay me anything,” Sam said, and Rafe laughed.
“Well, we got you at the right price then.” He whistled as he began rubbing the saddle. “You’ll find Bode enjoying his evening meal right about now. Afterward, if you offer him a whiskey, he’ll likely not shoot you on sight. Wave the bottle in clear view of the windows when you set foot on his property. That’s my advice.”
“Great.” Sam went off to find a bottle of whiskey—thankfully, Burke kept a generous cellar of necessary libations—and drove next door to Bode’s. He held the bottle up over his head and strode to the front door.
“Leave it on the porch!” Bode yelled from inside the house. “And get off my property!”
“I’m not leaving it unless you let me in!” Sam yelled back. Two could play at being crotchety neighbors.
Bode flung open the door. “Why are you bothering me at dinnertime?”
Sam pushed his way in, knowing he wouldn’t get a ready invite. “Because I’m hungry, and no one should eat alone, not even you.”
Bode muttered what sounded like a curse word—although Sam preferred to think it was just an effusive greeting at his sudden appearance—and led the way into his study. “I know why you’re here.”
“No, you don’t.” Sam sat in a leather wingback chair and relinquished the bottle. “You don’t know anything. Quit acting like you do.”
“Yeah
, I do.” Bode begrudgingly handed him a plain glass that looked as if it had been purchased at Walmart. “That’s my best crystal. Don’t get your paw marks all over it.”
“It’ll wash.” Sam sniffed. “Unlike the marks you’ll leave on your glass, Jenkins. The devil doesn’t leave anything behind that soap can fix.”
“All right,” Bode said. “With customary greetings out of the way, you want to talk about why I chose to fold on getting you off your property.”
“Well,” Sam said, momentarily distracted, “that would be interesting. It’s a story you can share with me another day. Right now, I want to hear what happened to our parents. I’m sure you know something, because you mentioned it to Rafe at one point. I filed it in the back of my brain at the time, when you told him to ask Fiona about everything, but it’s finally blown out of my mental filing cabinet.” Sam raised his glass. “So, let’s have it.”
“You ain’t gonna get it from me,” Bode said, staring straight at him, “because I promised your no-good father I wouldn’t say a word.”
Sam blinked. “My no-good father?”
“That’s right. Jeremiah Callahan. Who’d you think your dad was?” Bode glared at him. “You’re supposed to be the brains of the outfit.”
“No, that’s Rafe,” Sam murmured. “Sometimes it’s Jonas.” His gaze shot to Bode’s. “But I came after our parents died. How can Jeremiah Callahan be my father?”
Bode looked at him. “How do you think, bright boy? Your mother was pregnant with you. I remember it.”
“Jonas said I came later.”
“Aw.” Bode blew out a breath. “A six-year-old boy doesn’t know whether his mother’s expecting a baby or not. He just remembers that they left, and one day, you arrived. That’s an interesting enough event that even a young kid would marvel at it, sort of like the tooth fairy.”
Sam hesitated. “Are you saying Mom didn’t die when Fiona said she did?”
Bode remained silent, his eyes glittering.
“That doesn’t make sense. If Mom was alive, she’d be here with us. She would never have given us up,” Sam said slowly.
Bode took a long drink of whiskey. “Unless she had to. And that’s all I’m going to say.”
Sam swallowed more spirits himself. The idea that their mother might still be alive tantalized him. He wondered just how cruel the old buzzard, Bode, could be. Sam had never known Molly Callahan. Over the years, he’d hungered for whatever details he could learn about his parents from his brothers and friends in town. “Bode, here’s the thing,” he said finally. “I don’t care what promise you made. You can either tell me now or tell me after I’ve done you a physical mischief, but trust me when I say that I’ll pound your head in if you don’t start talking.”
“That’s against the law,” Bode told him, and Sam shrugged.
“We’re not in court anymore. Your daughter’s not the judge on the case, and she’s married to my brother. You want to keep things nice and smooth between our two families, neighbor, because as I understand it, you really like those three little granddaughters of yours.”
Bode sighed. “I’m betting your parents are still alive,” he said, rocking Sam’s entire world, “because they were when they left. But you didn’t hear it from me, you heard it from your little fact-finding wife. Or someone else, I don’t care who. Maybe you figured it out on your own. More information than that you’ll have to dig out of your busybody aunt.”
Sam’s breath came in gulps. He wanted to believe what Bode was saying, but wasn’t sure he could trust him.
“Why would Fiona lie?” He shook his head. “Anyway, everybody in town probably remembers the same thing you do. How can you know what nobody else knows?”
“One—” Bode said, holding up a finger “—and you’re really trying my patience here ’cause my TV dinner’s getting cold and they only re-warm well once—my dear wife spent a whole lot of time over there helping your mother, especially after she got pregnant with you. Your mom had a helluva case of morning sickness, and with five other boys, she needed help.”
Sam knew something about bad morning sickness, because for a while Seton’s had lasted what seemed all night and all day. It had worried him sick to see her that miserable, and he’d been racked with guilt that she was suffering so much. “All right, I’m with you so far.”
“So my wife knew a bit more than other folks in town. And Fiona showed up one day with Burke, before your parents left. She spent a couple of days with them. My wife said your mother was showing her the ropes about caring for you kids.”
Sam blinked. “Dear sweet Jesus, you are a lying son of a bitch.” The idea that their parents might have deliberately left them chilled him.
Bode shook his head. “When they left, Fiona cooked up a tale about how your folks had gone on a long summer vacation together, before the new baby was born. Suddenly,” Bode said, drawing from his glass, “one day Fiona told folks in town that there’d been a tragic accident. People came rushing to help her and Burke, of course, and they never questioned—or never thought to question—the fact that suddenly Fiona had rearranged the details and was claiming that she was your father’s sister.” Bode laughed to himself. “I always thought that part was funny as hell. It was the bit that set off the alarm bells for me. I knew why she did it, of course. She wanted to bury the trail. Only we knew Fiona was really Molly’s sister, because my wife had spent so much time over at their place.”
“What trail?” Sam demanded.
“As I figure it, the trail leading to your parents.” Bode handed his glass over for a refill, and Sam poured generously.
“You tell one hell of a crazy tale, old man.”
Bode laughed, not taking offense. “It’s only crazy because of your aunt. Trust me, if anyone ever needed someone to cover their ass, their hide and their whereabouts, she’s the one to do it. I’ve never known a woman for such plotting.”
Now that, Sam knew, was a true statement.
“My wife swore me to secrecy, of course, because she was an angel,” Bode said, reminiscing, his TV dinner forgotten. “She didn’t want any harm to come to your aunt and you boys. I made that promise, and I kept it, until today.”
His eyes gleamed at Sam over the glass. “I knew one of you would come asking someday. I thought you had to start figuring things out. When you didn’t, I decided I might as well have your ranch. I figured I could beat Fiona. It should have been mine, anyway, but the Navajos considered your father family, even though he was from a different tribe. I don’t know which one.”
Bode set his glass down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I also underestimated you boys’ survival instincts. You put on a helluva court case, and I don’t mind saying getting my daughter knocked up was brilliant.” The older man shrugged. “Once Julie told me she was pregnant, I knew the game was up. You boys inherited your aunt’s skills.”
“Rafe did not get Julie pregnant on purpose,” Sam said, irritated as hell.
His neighbor laughed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re right. Those three granddaughters of mine are my wife come back to me, and I’m not about to screw up anything, even if that means sharing a drink now and again with you. Now get out, and next time, don’t bring the cheap stuff.”
“Cheap!” Sam glanced at the bottle. “You old buzzard, that’s some of Kentucky’s finest you put in that cheap glass you probably got at a gas station.”
Bode sniffed. “I prefer Crown Royal. Remember that the next time you want something from me.”
Sam stared at Bode, watching him close his eyes and prepare—or pretend—to nap. It was a fantastic fairy tale the old man told.
The old jackass didn’t have a reason to lie anymore. As he said, he’d do anything to keep on good terms, because now his goals had changed. Instead of their ranch, he was focused on little Janet, Julianne and Judith.
It didn’t matter. Sam had gotten a lot of what he’d come for.
He stood. “Thanks, Bode. It’s a
pleasure keeping neighborly relations so neighborly.”
The old man shrugged. “I’ll deny it if you ever breathe my name concerning anything you heard here today.”
“Don’t worry. No one would believe me.” Sam left, his mind whirling, his whole body tense as a guitar string. How? How could what Bode was saying be true?
But it made perfect sense. It explained so much—and now Sam knew.
He was one of the Callahans. He was family.
He belonged.
Chapter Twelve
Sam took a day to mull over what he’d learned, then decided not to think too hard about it anymore. They’d probably never know the whole truth, and he had more important things on his mind at the moment.