Skye didn’t look at him.
“Babe,” he whispered as he leaned over to kiss Grace on top of her head.
“Let’s go,” Skye said. “I want to go home.”
“Everything okay?” He looked back at Keaton. The man wasn’t acting guilty—but there was definitely something off about Skye.
“Fine,” Keaton replied as he stood and came to take Grace from Skye. “I’ll put her down. You guys coming back tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Skye said, and again, Jake heard the stiffness in her voice.
He didn’t say anything about it until they were in the car. “You okay?” he asked without starting the engine. If he had to go in and beat the hell out of Keaton, he didn’t want to leave the car running. “Everything okay with you and Keaton?”
“Oh, sure. You know, same old same old.” She crossed her arms. Then, catching sight of the envelope on the dash, she asked, “What’s that?”
“Actually,” he replied, trying to sound calm—even though he felt nothing like calm at the moment. “I was hoping you could tell me that. It was just delivered—and it’s addressed to you. From a private investigator.”
He watched her as he told her this. What kind of reaction would she have? Recognition? Confusion? Desperation?
Skye cocked her head to one side and picked the envelope up. She opened it and pulled out a typed letter and an odd-looking piece of paper that had been folded many times and was in a protective plastic envelope.
She read the letter and then looked at him. “Did you do this?” she demanded, thrusting the letter at him.
“No,” he said reflexively, even if he didn’t know what it was yet. “I’m not the one who hired a private eye.” He took the letter and read.
Ms. Taylor,
I have located the original land deed in the Texas General Land Office that shows the property line between the Taylor and Holt lands as set 114 years ago. The deed had been misfiled at some point, possibly intentionally. This deed conclusively proves that the Taylors relocated the fence line, probably at some point in the 1920s.
I have included a copy of the original deed for your records.
Please advise as to how you’d like me to proceed with the deed. I’m sure both parties involved would like to get a hold of this original. Would you like me to forward it to the Holts or the Taylors?
Regards,
Reggie Matthews, P.I.
Jake sat there, blinking at the letter. This was it—the smoking gun that showed the Taylors had cheated the Holts out of all that land. This was what Keaton needed—independent proof of the Taylors’ treachery.
But as monumental as this information was, his eyes were drawn not to the deed but to the header on the letter. Ms. Taylor. Skye had already gone back to her maiden name by the time she’d hired this guy. “You hired a PI to dig up the land deed?”
“I...must have?” Skye didn’t sound sure.
“Well, you did.” When she flinched, he realized it had come out harsh, but what the ever-loving hell? Here he was, doing everything to win her back and she was—what? “Who were you going to give the deed to, Skye? Your family—or mine?”
Because that was the question. Had she been working to end the feud—or looking for a way back into Tyrone and Vera Taylor’s good graces?
Her face was creased in concentration as she stared at the copy in her lap. “I don’t...I don’t remember hiring him. I don’t remember what I wanted him to do.”
“You don’t? Or are you just conveniently forgetting, Ms. Taylor?” She flinched again, but he didn’t care. Here he was, ready to give up control of his company for her—and she was working against the Holts. Even if she didn’t remember, she’d been willing to hurt not just him, but his family. “You were going to go back to your parents, weren’t you? You always wanted to come home. You said so all the time.”
Something in her seemed to snap and her confusion disappeared. “Oh, and I suppose you were going to take that job without even telling me? How did your interview go—the one where you’re going to be gone three weeks out of the month?”
Jake froze. “What?”
“You had an interview for a job that’s three weeks on and one week off, right? Or did you forget to tell me that?”
“What? How did you— Keaton.” Damn it all to hell, that man would always, always stab Jake in the back.
“Yes, Keaton. I told him I was getting things back and he asked me how we were going to deal with this job you wanted. Jake, I thought you...” Here her voice broke. “I thought you were going to stay with me. I thought we were going to be a family. Because you loved me.”
“I do love you,” he shot back. “But—”
She cut him off. “Don’t you dare say you’re doing this for me, Jacob Holt,” she snapped. “Don’t hide behind that lie.” She began to cry, but these weren’t weepy tears of sadness. These were mad streaks of water that seemed to cut into her face. “And here I thought you wanted me—you wanted our family. I can’t count on you, can I?”
“What are you going to do—have me investigated?” he said. Okay, shouted. “Try to dig up more information you can take back to your father so you can be Daddy’s little girl again?”
“Go to hell.” She opened the door and got out.
“Skye—wait!” He yelled after her, scrambling to get out of the car. She didn’t turn around. An old panic flooded his system. Once, he’d lost her because he hadn’t fought for her. That’s not how he was going to go down this time. There’d be no words left unspoken, not this time. “Skye, dammit—wait. I’m not going to take the job. I don’t even know why we’re arguing over it. Things have changed. I’ve changed. Remember?” He tried to get in front of her, to make her listen, but she was pretty darned fast for a woman in her condition.
Before he could stop her, she wrenched Keaton’s front door open and stepped inside. “I don’t want to hear it.” She turned and gave him a look full of heartache and pain. “You didn’t even tell me about the interview. You lied to me, Jake. What is it about this damn job—this damn company of yours—that means more to you than I do? Than our baby does?”
“It doesn’t,” he insisted, closing the distance between them.
“This is why I wanted a divorce, isn’t it? This is exactly why. We got a second chance and what did you do? You made me think you’d changed. But you haven’t. You haven’t. And it’s clear you won’t change for me. Not now, not ever.”
She slammed the door shut in his face. The lock clicked.
Hell. He rang the doorbell, but no one answered; all he heard was that dog howling. He had no choice here. He grabbed his phone and called Keaton.
“Damn your hide,” he snarled when his brother picked up. “Why did you tell Skye about that interview? I’m not even going to take the job!”
In the stunned silence that followed, he was pretty sure he heard crying in the background. God, it just went from bad to worse.
“Damn—Jake, I didn’t mean to set her off.”
“You never mean it, do you?” He couldn’t even talk to his brother. Jake hung up. He was done with that man. Done with him. This was why Jake didn’t want to come back to Royal—his family would always fail him when he needed them most.
Part of him wanted to go after Skye, try to talk some sense into her. But another part of him knew that would be a bad idea. She was already upset. He wanted her to calm down first. Which left only one thing to do.
Jake punched up Lark’s number. “Skye’s upset,” he began when she answered the phone. “She doesn’t want to stay with me right now. She’s in your house with Keaton.”
Lark gasped. “What happened?”
“She’s remembering,” Jake said. He knew that Skye would probably tell Lark everything, but he couldn’t bear to throw himself under that b
us. “I’ve got to try and fix this, but if you could keep a close eye on her until she calms down...”
“Of course. My shift is almost over, anyway. I can be home in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Lark. I owe you.” He hung up again and stared at his damn phone.
Had he changed? He wanted to think he had. He was a father now, after all. That alone changed a man.
But...
He jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to think. What was it about this damn company? That’s what she wanted to know. Why did it mean so much to him?
Because it was his. He’d started it on his own, with no help from his family. He’d been free of them.
Except he hadn’t been, not really. Everything he’d done had been a reaction to them, to the way they’d tried to keep him from Skye.
Something poked him in the finger. He pulled out the small baggie with an earring and a half in it. A single diamond was all that was left of the jewelry he’d bought for Skye.
He knew what he had to do. He wasn’t going to like this, but it had to be done.
He got in the car and headed toward the Taylor place.
Thirteen
“What are you doing here?” was how Tyrone Taylor answered the door.
“I need to talk to you.” When the older man didn’t move, Jake added, “It’s about Skye and Grace.”
Tyrone didn’t give much—but he gave enough. His eyebrows shot up in barely concealed concern and he didn’t slam the door in Jake’s face.
The man was a tyrant and a bully, but Jake had to hope that maybe—just maybe—he could convince him to make the right call on behalf of his daughter. Jake wasn’t even going to attempt to sway Vera Taylor. Tyrone was his target.
“Are they—are they okay?” Tyrone’s voice sounded soft, which was unusual enough.
“Doing good,” Jake said. No need to torture the older man. “That’s not why I’m here, though. There are some things you need to know. I married your daughter four years ago. And you know what? The one thing she wanted was the one thing I didn’t want to give her—that was you. She wanted you to walk her down the aisle. She wanted to know that you and Vera still loved her. And I didn’t think you two deserved to know how much she still loved you.”
That—that was the heart of the matter. Their families didn’t deserve them because they’d always put the damned feud before Jake and Skye.
Which was what Jake had done with his job and Skye.
Well, no more. Those days were over.
Tyrone’s face reddened, but again, he didn’t slam the door. “She made her choice. You.”
“Don’t you even want to know your grandchildren?” That was the only leverage that Jake had and both men knew it.
“Now, you listen here, Jake Holt—”
“No, I’m done listening to you.” He thrust the copy of the land deed filed in the state office a hundred and fourteen years ago. “A Taylor moved the fences. You’ve been on Holt land your entire life.”
“Your brother forged that document,” Tyrone sputtered. “He didn’t find it at town hall. He made it up.”
“Even if that were true, how do you explain this one? Skye hired a private detective who found this in the Texas General Land Office. They have the original on file.”
“Lies,” Tyrone spat. “Another fake.”
“The original has been rediscovered,” Jake said. “On file. For anyone—and their lawyers—to see it.” Tyrone almost dropped the folder, as if the reality had burned him. “Here’s the deal, Taylor. I’m going to move back here with Skye. Keaton’s going to marry Lark. The land will stay in both of our families. You can either dig in your blowhard heels and never see your granddaughter ever again or you can suck it up, admit that your ancestor was a thief and do what’s best for your family.”
The older man’s mouth opened, shut, opened and shut again.
And the truth shall set you free, Jake thought. “I want to make Skye happy. I want to give her the one thing I could never give her before—her family. Even if you and your wife don’t deserve it, Skye loves both of you and she wants our daughter to know you both.”
Tyrone’s mouth continued to open and shut as he turned from a tomato red to an eggplant purple.
“I’m going to throw a little party for her,” Jake went on. “A reengagement party.”
He could get the diamond from her earring set into a ring mount in a day or two—sooner, if the price was right.
This was what he had to do to show her that she meant more than the job. He had to marry her all over again—this time, with both of their families’ approval. “I’d appreciate it if you and Vera,” he went on, struggling to get the name out without scowling, “could come and be happy for our family. For your family.”
Tyrone looked at the folder, then at Jake.
Yeah, they were done here. Jake didn’t think he could pin the old man down to a yes, not when he’d put Tyrone on the spot. So he just said, “Friday night, at the Holt ranch, if you decide to come.” Then he turned and went home.
He had a marriage proposal to arrange.
* * *
At several points, Skye found herself on the verge of asking Lark if Jake had said anything to her. Lark’s phone was certainly ringing a lot. Plus, when Lark answered it, she’d shoot Skye a nervous smile and immediately leave the room. Something was clearly up.
But the moment Skye would start to find the words, Lark would suddenly notice something very interesting that Grace was doing that Lark had to just gush over.
Had Jake taken the job? Had he picked the company over her again?
It was almost too much to bear. Because if the answer was yes, what was she going to do?
Divorce him? She didn’t remember what she’d been thinking when she’d filed the first time. Had she hoped that the papers would be a wake-up call? Or had she been completely serious about it? It didn’t even appear that she’d told him about her pregnancy. Maybe she had been serious.
She didn’t know. What was worse, she didn’t know when she’d know—or if she ever would. Those ten months were nearly blank and there was no one who’d been around to fill in the blanks for her.
Did she want a divorce?
She thought about how Jake had been the one to take her home from the hospital, to take care of her even when he knew she’d filed for divorce.
She knew now that all of that was radically different from how he’d been for a while—maybe as long as a year, even. And the things he’d said to her, while he was waiting for her to remember?
Whatever happened in the past isn’t as important as what happens in the future, Skye.
Maybe...maybe she was asking for too much. He’d poured his heart and soul into his company. Obviously, the work made him happy. Who was she to ask him to give that up?
She was his wife. The mother of his child.
God, she just didn’t know what to do.
Jake kept calling, talking to Keaton or Lark. They always asked if she’d like to talk to him, but she didn’t know what to say. He’d asked questions—good ones—about whether she’d been planning on giving the deed to her father or to his family. And she just didn’t have an answer for him. She might never have one.
Lark tried to keep her occupied with Grace. Skye didn’t see much of Keaton, but she figured he was probably steering clear of her. It wasn’t as lonely as it had been when Jake had left her the last time—she had Lark and Grace—but it was uncomfortably close.
Then Gloria came over Friday afternoon. Skye was so happy to see the older woman that she started to cry again. “Oh, now,” Gloria said as she wrapped Skye up in a motherly hug. “Everyone fights, dear. It’s not the fight that matters so much as how you make up.”
“But how? I don’t know wha
t I don’t know. Oh, God,” she sobbed onto Gloria’s shoulder.
Gloria sighed. “Jake and my David got on like oil and water, but they’re more alike than either of them realize—both set in their ways and too stubborn for their own good. But,” she went on, striking a hopeful note, “they just need a little space to regroup.”
“Have you talked to him?” Skye demanded tearfully.
“I have,” Gloria said. “Don’t give up on him, Skye. He hasn’t given up on you. Now,” she added in a more forceful tone before Skye could question her further, “sitting around moping isn’t going to help anything. I think we should have a little outing, don’t you? It’s warmer today. We could bundle Grace up and go out to the ranch. Won’t that be fun?” Then she got up and bustled out of the room, describing all the ways that such an outing would be “fun.”
Which was a crock, as far as Skye was concerned. Something was up.
“What’s going on?” Skye demanded when Lark and Gloria came back into the room.
“Nothing!” both women said at the same time. There was no missing the look the two of them shared.
“I’ve got Grace,” Gloria said with a smug smile. “You two girls go on.”
“What’s going on?” Skye demanded again as Lark led her to the bedroom and pointed out a bright blue sweater that Lark had apparently picked out on her own. “I mean, this is lovely, but seriously? The last time you brought me clothing, I had a baby shower.”
“Sit,” Lark commanded, leading Skye into the bathroom and pointedly avoiding the question. “I’ve almost figured out how to use a curling iron. This will be nice!”
“The more you and Gloria say that, the less I believe you,” Skye mumbled. “Easy on the sore spot!”
Lark ignored her complaints. Instead, she said, “Can I tell you something?” as she wielded the curling iron like it was a weapon.
“Always,” Skye said, resigning herself to her lot in life.
“I’m pregnant.”
Skye sat up so fast she almost caught her forehead on the curling iron. “You are? Oh, Lark!”
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