Feeling every one of his aches, he hurried down the stairs, rounded the foyer and strode into the kitchen.
And last night’s anger came roaring back. Catherine Marshall was sitting at his table, wearing the same clothes she’d had on last night and drinking his coffee. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a kind of soft bun, and wispy blond strands fell around her determined blue eyes and prominent cheekbones.
“You just don’t give up, do you, lady?” Jess strode toward her, skipping the question about how she’d gotten back inside the house, because the answer was obvious. Apparently, Ross had returned, and was still under the mistaken impression that this woman deserved his interest. “On your feet,” he ordered brusquely. “I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you again today.”
Before he could reach her, she slapped a document on the table in front of her. “Then I suggest you find the time and energy, because I’m not leaving until you read this agreement. After that, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Every muscle in Jess’s body tightened. She had guts, he’d give her that. Sending her a blistering look, he snatched up the document, read it, then threw it back on the table, instantly sick to his stomach. The damned thing looked authentic. “Any hacker with a decent computer software package could do this,” he snapped. “And who are these so-called witnesses, anyway? Rich doctors who owed your husband a favor?”
Casey answered him calmly. “No, one of them is legal secretary to the attorney who drew up the loan agreement, and the other is a notary public in the same building. I have addresses and phone numbers, if you’re interested in reaching them.”
He watched a pulse flutter in her neck, the only hint that beneath her controlled exterior she was nervous.
She moistened her lips. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you call?”
He stared at her in utter bewilderment. “No, Mrs. Marshall, I would like for you to get out of my home. And seeing that it’s Sunday, I seriously doubt I’m going to find your bogus lawyer and your phony witnesses in their offices.”
“I’m aware of that. I have their home phone numbers.”
“I’ll just bet you do.” Jess stalked to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup, the combined feelings of fear and dread making his hand shake. If Ross’s signature at the bottom was a forgery, it was a damn good one. He tipped his mug at an angle, studying the coffee inside. “Where’s my brother?”
“I don’t know,” she answered quietly. “I haven’t seen him.”
Jess slashed her a surprised look. “Then how did you—”
“Get in?” She sighed. “When you threw me out last night, the keys to my car were upstairs in the guest room—along with my jacket. You wouldn’t answer the door, I couldn’t leave, and after a while—” she plucked at the thin, silky blouse she wore “—it got pretty cold.” She molded both hands around her coffee mug. “I... I remembered your saying that you didn’t usually lock your doors. The back was open.”
Jess sighed raggedly. Last night’s temperature had dipped below the forty-degree mark. And while he’d wanted her out of his house, he hadn’t wanted her to freeze. Still, he couldn’t make himself apologize for her discomfort. It had been her choice to lie her way into his home—and into his life.
“I spent the night on the sofa in your den,” she said uneasily. “I hope that was all right.”
Jess expelled a short, humorless laugh. “All things considered, I guess it has to be.” At least she’d called it his den, not our den. Jess picked up his coffee and carried it to the table, wondering if she’d been snooping around in his files, looking at the ranch’s ledgers. If she had, she knew they were in sorry shape. Eyeing her coolly, he sat down, remembering the threats she’d tossed around last night. “Have you contacted the sheriff this morning?”
“No.”
“Your lawyer?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“All right, then let’s talk. I already know Ross’s version, let’s hear yours.”
She looked up at him, her clear blue eyes hopeful. “Are you saying you believe me?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I’m saying that I pride myself on being a fair man, and I’d like to hear your side of the story. From the beginning, please.”
Casey rose and walked around the kitchen, gripping her coffee mug in a stranglehold. She wasn’t exactly sure where the beginning was. She also wasn’t sure she’d be able to give him the information in anything close to a clear, concise manner with him sitting there in nothing but a pair of jeans. Especially after looking in on him last night. Color stung her cheeks, and Casey pushed aside the shadowy memory of tangled blankets, lean, sloping buttocks and long, muscular legs.
“All right,” she began. “About a year and a half ago, my husband went to a medical convention in Las Vegas. From what my lawyer has been able to piece together, while Dane was there, he met your brother, who’d apparently had a run of bad luck at the poker tables. Dane offered to help Ross—”
Jess’s expression hardened, and he interrupted sarcastically. “Gee, how nice. And while he was helping Ross, I’ll bet it never crossed Dane’s mind that it would be impossible for most men to repay that kind of debt in one year. Pretty tight time frame. Whose idea was that?”
“I...don’t know.” She didn’t want to believe it could have been Dane’s. That would mean he’d taken advantage of Ross, capitalized on his weakness.
“Go on,” he prompted grimly. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”
Basically, the rest of it was information Casey felt he’d already gathered by looking over the loan agreement. “That’s pretty much it,” she murmured. “Without Dane’s input, that’s all I can tell you for sure.”
Jess leaned back in his chair, studying her with his arms folded across his broad, well-defined chest. Casey pulled her gaze away from the soft black hair that covered it, and took a long swig of her coffee.
“So why did you consult a lawyer only now, if this document was drawn up sixteen months ago, and it stated the loan was to be repaid in one year?”
“Because Dane was killed coming home from that trip to Vegas. On his way from the airport, his car was hit by a drunk driver.” Casey dumped the remainder of her coffee in the sink and rinsed out her cup. Jess hadn’t expressed his condolences, but then again, she hadn’t expected him to. “My mother unpacked Dane’s airline carry-on when his personal effects were released, and somehow the agreement was overlooked.” She swallowed the emotion in her throat. “I only found it eight days ago, when I was packing to move out.”
Something curious flickered through Jess Dalton’s expression. “And this was the first time you’d heard about this loan agreement? Your husband never mentioned it to you?”
“Dane took care of financial matters for us, so naturally I wouldn’t have—”
“But sixty grand is a lot of money,” Dalton pressed. “What kind of marriage did you have?”
“A very good one!” Casey snapped, hating to be put on the defensive. “He was a gentle, caring man, and a brilliant cardiologist.”
“And you miss him so much, you can’t bear living in the home you shared with him.”
Casey walked back to the table, her irritation escalating. “Are you implying something?”
His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You just said you were moving out of your home. Why is that?”
Because it had to be sold for back taxes. Because my husband was the most incompetent money manager who ever drew breath.
“Look,” Casey snapped, snatching up the loan agreement and brandishing it in front of him. “Why don’t we limit this conversation to something that actually concerns you? This piece of paper gives me one half of everything you’ve got. I don’t want it. What I do want is the sixty thousand dollars that’s rightfully mine.” Though nothing changed in his expression, surprise registered in his brown eyes. “To be quite frank, I have no interest in ranching, or spending any
more time with you. If you’ll just arrange to have a cashier’s check drawn up at your bank—”
Jess threw back his head and laughed, then grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. He polished it on his thigh. “A cashier’s check for sixty thousand dollars? You must be joking.”
“I’m not suggesting you do it today. Again, I realize it’s Sunday—tomorrow will be soon enough.”
Jess put the apple down. “Sunday isn’t the problem, Mrs. Marshall. I don’t have that kind of money lying around, and neither does Ross. Every spare cent we have has been invested in this ranch.”
“Then how do you propose to pay me?” she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I need that money.”
He obviously found that amusing. “Really? I have a hard time believing you’re destitute. You were married to a cardiologist, and those clothes you’re wearing didn’t come from a discount department store.”
“Believe what you like. The fact remains that half of this ranch is mine, and I will put it on the market if I don’t get the money I’m entitled to.”
A nerve leaped in his jaw. “The fact also remains that that document still hasn’t been authenticated to my saris-faction.” Standing, he ran his gaze over her wrinkled clothing. “I assume your things are still upstairs in the guest room. Would you like to shower and change before we leave?”
Instantly chilled at the prospect, Casey rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. “No, I’m not showering in this house, and what are you talking about? Where are we going?”
“Into town. Luckily, my attorney is in on Sundays—or at least he can be after I make a call. Get your phone numbers and any other pertinent data together.” He paused, his gaze lingering with interest on the front of her blouse. “You look cold. Maybe you should take a hot shower.”
Casey fought the color rising in her cheeks. He really was a bastard. “No, thank you,” she said, refusing to cover the pebbly points visible through her silk shirt. “And if you think you can insult or embarrass me into leaving, you’re wrong.”
Jess winced guiltily and looked away, his reaction telling her he’d embarrassed only himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was adolescent. Just let me grab a fast shower and find a shirt, then we can go.” He walked past her, heading toward the stairs. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to pick up my truck at Dusty’s on the way. I’ll be needing my own transportation, since I doubt you’ll be coming back here.”
“You’ve got that right,” she muttered when he was out of earshot. Casey waited until she heard the creak and shudder of old water pipes that told her he was in the bathroom, then hurried up the stairs, gathered her things from the guest room and took them out to her rental. She sat in the car, waiting. With the windows rolled up and the sun streaming through the windshield, it was warm now. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she felt as if she were in control again. The feeling didn’t last. Soon he was descending the porch steps and folding himself into the little compact again.
Jess Dalton sent her a saccharine-sweet smile, then slid down on his spine and pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Anytime you’re ready, Mrs. Marshall.”
Attorney Mark Walker was waiting in his office on historic Frontier Street when they arrived. They’d walked to the office, leaving their two vehicles in the lot on Prairie Street, since Frontier was closed to all motorized traffic. Jess saw Casey’s interest in the restored buildings as they walked the plank boardwalk to Mark’s, but he was in no mood to conduct an impromptu tour for the historical society. Not today. And not for her.
It took only a minute to make introductions and hand over the agreement and the witness information for Walker’s perusal. Walker scanned the loan document, then pulled Jess aside. “So what do you think?” Walker asked quietly. “Is it Ross’s signature?”
Jess sighed and answered in the same low tone. “It looks like his, Mark. He always swings the tail of his N up and back to cross the T in Dalton.” Reaching into his hip pocket, Jess pulled out a receipt from a feed store, signed with Ross’s trademark flourish. “See what I mean?”
Mark compared the two signatures, then frowned and nodded. “Yeah.” Keeping both papers, he lifted his voice to include Casey. “If the two of you would like to get comfortable—grab a magazine, or maybe a soft drink from the vending machine—I’ll make some calls. Be back as soon as I can.” Then he crossed the carpeted room and closeted himself behind his office door.
Neither of them moved from the empty waiting room. Neither of them grabbed a book or a soft drink. Neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, avoiding each other’s eyes and feeling the tension and uncertainty in the air.
It didn’t take long for Walker to make a tentative confirmation of Casey’s claim.
“Of course, we still have to talk to Ross,” Walker said apologetically to Jess. “And a handwriting expert could find that the signature on this document is a forgery. But I’m sorry—after speaking with the man and woman who witnessed the agreement, and the lawyer who drew it up...I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Jess felt something die inside him. “I see.” He glanced briefly at Casey, who was standing a few feet away. He’d expected Ms. Chicago Socialite to look smug in her victory, and he’d been hating the prospect of dealing with it. But her blue eyes were almost pitying. Suddenly, Jess hated that even more. Agitated, he turned back to Mark. “I need to discuss this privately with her. Do you have a room we could use?”
Walker hesitated, then glanced at his watch. “How long do you think you’ll be? Peggy and I have reservations for—”
Jess waved him off, only now remembering that he’d taken his friend away from his wife and family on what should have been Mark’s day off. “That’s okay. I appreciate your coming in and doing this much.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for everything.”
Walker shook it, then handed back the loan agreement and the feed-store receipt. “Anytime. Actually, you could stay, then lock up when you’re through.”
Jess demurred and walked to the door, then opened it and gestured grimly for Casey to move outside ahead of him. “The café shouldn’t be too busy this time of the morning. We can talk over there. Thanks again, Mark.”
The street was quiet with all the shops on Frontier Street closed except for Aunt Ruby’s Café. Jess squinted down at Casey’s expectant expression, feeling the sharpness of the late-morning sun spear his eyes, despite the shading brim of his Stetson. He nodded toward the red brick café across the street, where lace-edged white café curtains hung from shiny brass rings in the wide front window. “Let’s get some breakfast, Mrs. Marshall,” he said coldly as he shoved the loan agreement into her hands. “It’s time to talk turkey.”
Casey welcomed the change of venue for their discussion. Hopefully, moving it away from the naturally confrontational setting of a lawyer’s office would alleviate some of the tension between them and make it easier to discuss terms. That hope was reinforced when she stepped inside the cheery restaurant ahead of Jess and heard lively country music and the low drone of laughter and conversation. She began to relax. It was a friendly atmosphere, definitely conducive to—
She felt the blood drain from her face.
A familiar sweet-faced, wrinkled little woman in red high-tops was scooting out from behind the lunch counter and heading toward them, two coffeepots swinging from her hands.
Casey darted a nervous glance at Jess. He was working hard to dredge up a smile, but even that tiny bit of civility wouldn’t last long when the elderly woman told him about Casey’s first visit to Broken straw last night. He’d be calling Casey a liar all over again for pretending to need directions.
“Morning, Aunt Ruby.” Jess bent low to kiss the skinny little imp on the cheek, just missing the stem of her wirerimmed spectacles. She wore a white waitress’s uniform, topped by a cherry red cardigan sweater, and a hair net squeezed her silver curls against her head. She couldn’t have been five fe
et tall. “So how’d your pie baking go last night? Was the oven at the ranch big enough?”
The old woman beamed up at him. “Worked slicker’n syrup down a glass tube. And Joe Foley’s boy was here already this mornin’ to put the new thermocouple in my oven, so I won’t have to use yers anymore.” She frowned briefly. “He’ll prob’ly try to charge me double fer Sunday, but I’m not payin’ it. He was s’posed to be here Friday.”
Suddenly, “Aunt Ruby” peered up at Casey, her brow lining and recognition dawning in her pale eyes. Casey held her breath. She was going to tell him. World War III was going to break out right here in the middle of Sunday-morning breakfast.
Then something shrewd moved through the woman’s quickly assessing expression, and she surprised Casey by grinning and turning back to Jess.
“Who’s yer lady friend?”
The meager light in Jess’s eyes dimmed. “Just a business acquaintance, Aunt Ruby.”
She sent him a stubborn look. “That mean she ain’t got a name?”
Jess sighed and made the introductions. “Ruby Cayhill, this is Casey Marshall. Mrs. Marshall, this is my great-aunt Ruby, possibly the nosiest woman on the planet.”
Casey found a smile somewhere, too, wondering why the woman hadn’t mentioned seeing her last night. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cayhill.”
“Call me Aunt Ruby,” she said. “Everybody does, even those that ain’t my kin.” She looked up at Jess again. “I need a hand, nephew—won’t take you long. Got a few cartons I need brought up from the basement storage. I dragged ‘em to the bottom step, but couldn’t get ’em much farther.”
Jess glanced at Casey, a combination of reluctance and impatience lining his brow. He obviously wanted to get on with their business, but he wouldn’t refuse his aunt’s request. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, then continued, in a concerned voice, to Ruby. “Didn’t I tell you not to drag those cartons around? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“So you’ve said,” Ruby answered in an airy singsong. “You tend to my cartons. I’ll get yer lady friend settled in a booth.”
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