Bryn gathered the letters with shaking hands, tucked them back in the box and went downstairs to her room.
Would there be any point in letting Mac see them? Best to hide them. Until she could decide what to do with them. Surely he had long since become immune to his wife’s defection.
The more she thought about the letters, the more confused she became. She had seen pictures of Etta, though they were few and far between. Trent, Gage and Sloan were all carbon copies of their dad—big, strong men with dark coloring.
Jesse was blond and slender, the spitting image of his mother. Was it simply a quirk of DNA, or was there any truth in those letters?
By the time the men returned in the late afternoon, Bryn had almost made herself ill. She excused herself after dinner and hid in her room. After a shower and a long phone call with Aunt Beverly, she curled up in bed and read for hours until she fell into a restless sleep.
Trent’s immediate anxieties were eased considerably by the doctor’s glowing report on Mac’s recovery. The heart attack had been a serious one, but Mac’s overall health and fitness had mitigated some of the long-term damage. Mac Sinclair was a tough old bird.
Which emboldened Trent on the way home to press gently for some answers. He kept his voice casual. “Was it really necessary to invite Bryn to come out here? She’s bound to cause trouble. You know what she did six years ago. I doubt she’s changed.”
Mac wrapped his arms across his chest, gazing pensively through the windshield. “I handled things all wrong back then. She deserves a fair hearing. That’s why I asked her to come.”
Trent was stunned. “But she lied.”
Mac shrugged. “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But it still does my heart good to see her again.”
Trent opened his mouth to protest, but choked back the words with effort. His tough father had never been prone to sentimentality. Trent feared that in this vulnerable state his father might be fooled by a woman who was beautiful, charming and had a not-so-secret agenda.
He spoke carefully. “It would be human nature if Bryn wanted a piece of the pie.” Trent’s job, like it or not, would be to ferret out the truth and protect his father from doing anything rash.
“Bryn is not a threat,” Mac insisted. “She’s the same girl she always was.”
“That’s what worries me. I can’t forget what she tried to do to Jesse.” Trent, too, felt the pull of Bryn’s charisma, acknowledged the presence of nostalgic memories and emotions. But he was not so easily swayed by soft smiles and sweet words. He’d been in business long enough to know that people were not always what they seemed.
“Jesse played a part in what happened six years ago.”
“All I’m asking, Dad, is that you don’t promise her anything. Bryn might look like a dark-headed angel, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t out to get what she wants by fair means or foul.” Trent would be wise to remember his own advice the next time he had an urge to taste those lush lips.
Mac moved restlessly in his seat, clearly exhausted by the outing. “You’re paranoid, boy. Don’t be so suspicious.”
“I’ll try, Dad. For your sake.” Trent lived by the adage “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Whether or not Bryn was an enemy remained to be seen, but in the meantime, he’d keep an eye on her. She wasn’t the only one who could put on an act. He would pretend to be the gracious host, and if she let down her guard, he’d be able to circumvent any mischief she might have in mind.
Tension and stress threatened to turn Bryn into an insomniac. After one particularly restless night, there was a knock at her bedroom door, and she realized with chagrin that the sun was shining brightly through a crack in the draperies.
She cleared her throat. “Come in.” She expected the cleaning lady. But it was Trent.
The grimace that crossed his handsome face might almost have been a lopsided half smile. “I owe you a thank-you for coming so quickly when Mac called.”
She sat up in bed, covers clutched to her chest, and scraped the hair from her face. Trent was clean shaven and his hair was still damp from his shower. In contrast, Bryn was decidedly rumpled.
He’d brought scrambled eggs and toast. It was all arranged on a tray with coffee, jam and a napkin.
He set it on the dresser and kept his distance.
She tried to clear her sleep-fogged throat. “Thank you.”
His brooding gaze studied her. “One of Mac’s old college buddies is coming to visit today. I thought you and I should make ourselves scarce. It’s a beautiful day. We could take a hike…like we used to.”
“A hike?” Her coffee-deprived brain was slow to catch up.
He nodded, still unsmiling. “We got off on the wrong foot this week, Bryn. I appreciate what you’re doing for Mac.”
“So this is an olive branch?” Her heart leaped in her chest.
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. But it bothers him when we’re at each other’s throats. We can at least put on a good front when we’re around him. So maybe we need to clear the air.”
The breakfast was delicious, but Bryn chewed and swallowed absently, still pondering Trent’s final cryptic statement. He’d left her bedroom abruptly, and he didn’t sound like a man who was suddenly convinced she was telling the truth. If anything, he wanted to brush the past under the rug.
She couldn’t do that. She had Allen to consider.
She dressed rapidly in light hiking pants and a short-sleeved shirt. She hadn’t brought her boots with her on the plane, because they were heavy, so a sturdy pair of sneakers would have to do.
Sunshine must be strong medicine, because she found Mac in good spirits. She smoothed his sheets absently. “Are you sure you’ll be okay while we’re gone?”
Mac nodded. “I’m fine. No need to hover. You’ve been in Minnesota a long time. Get out and enjoy the ranch.”
Bryn and Trent left shortly thereafter, this time in one of the ranch Jeeps. Trent drove with the quiet confidence that was so characteristic of him.
Bryn wasn’t entirely comfortable with his silence. “Where are we going?” she asked.
Trent shifted into low gear as they wound partway up the side of a steep hill. “Falcon Ridge.”
There was no inflection in his voice, but Bryn felt a kick of excitement. Falcon Ridge was a family favorite. She and Mac’s boys had spent many a happy afternoon there over the years.
Trent parked the Jeep and got out. He attached the quilt like a bedroll at the base of his high-tech pack and stuffed their picnic lunch inside.
“I can carry something,” Bryn said.
His motions were quick and methodical. “I’ve got it.”
The trail was only a mile long, but it went up, up, up. Trent led the way, his stride steady, his back straight. Bryn’s leg muscles were burning and her lungs gasping for air when they reached the summit.
“Oh, Trent…I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here.”
The valley of Jackson Hole lay before them, breathtaking, magnificent, tucked against the backdrop of the Grand Tetons. A lone eagle soared on thermal currents overhead. Her throat tightened, and she wondered how she had stayed away so long.
“It’s my favorite spot on the ranch.” For a moment she saw vulnerability in his face and she wondered if he ever regretted moving away.
Trent spread the quilt, and they sat in silence, enjoying the view. Bryn was extremely conscious of him at her side, so close she could feel his body heat. He had leaned back on his elbows, and his flat stomach drew her attention. He was lean and fit and utterly masculine.
She had loved him one way or another for most of her life. When her parents died, it was nineteen-year-old Trent, more than anyone else, who had been able to comfort her. She had cried on his shoulder for hours, and finally, she had believed him when he said the hurt would get better.
If Trent said it, it must be so.
She tried to bridge the gulf between them, wanting some kind of peace. “You taught me
to ride a horse…to drive a car. I always wanted you to give me my first kiss. But instead, it was Jesse.”
Trent’s expression was bleak. “That was a long time ago. Things change.”
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She was not the same scared, devastated girl who left the ranch six years ago. She had borne a child, gone back to school, learned to deal with life’s disappointments.
But here on this mountaintop, she could feel the pull of emotion. And that was a recipe for disaster.
“What did the doctor say about Mac yesterday?”
Trent sat up, his shoulder momentarily brushing hers. “He was pleased with his physical progress. But he pulled me aside and said he’s concerned about Mac’s mental condition. There’s no real reason Mac needs you or anyone to babysit him anymore. Mac seems to think he’s more fragile than he really is. The doc says we need to coax him out of that damned bedroom and get him back to living.”
She flipped an adventurous ant from the edge of the quilt. “They say that even for a normal heart-attack patient that can be hard. But on the heels of Jesse’s death…” She trailed off. They both knew that Mac hadn’t dealt with either the reality or the circumstances of Jesse’s passing.
Finally, still without looking at her, Trent spoke. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to the prom.”
She was surprised that he would bring it up after all this time. “I was a silly girl. You were a grown man. That was bound to end badly.”
“Still,” he said doggedly, “I could have handled it better.”
What could she say to that?
At last he turned toward her. “I was attracted to you, Bryn. And that scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” She couldn’t meet his probing gaze. “I was so embarrassed. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Literally.” Thinking about that long-ago afternoon made her cringe.
He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’m serious, Bryn. When you started dating Jesse, I hated it.”
At last she found the courage to look at him. His eyes were sober, his expression unguarded. His small grin was self-deprecating. “He was my own baby brother, and I wanted to punch him in the face.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I never should have asked you to take me to the prom. But then Jesse found me crying behind the barn and he promised to take me to the dance. He made me feel better.”
“Because I had made you feel like nothing.”
A jerky nod was all she could manage.
“I’ve asked myself a million times if things could have turned out differently. If I’d taken you to the damn dance instead of Jesse. We might have ended up together.”
She rested her forehead on her bent knees. “I’ve questioned a million times why he asked me to be his girlfriend. And in the end, I’m pretty sure it’s because he knew I had a crush on you. And maybe he thought you had feelings for me. He wanted so badly to be like you and Gage and Sloan. He spent his whole life, I think, trying to measure up. But he was never big enough, tall enough, strong enough. He was always the scrawny baby brother, and he hated it.”
“Did he hate me?” There was a world of pain in that question.
She reached out blindly and squeezed his hand. “Maybe. At times. But only because he loved you so much.”
“Ah, hell, Bryn…” The choked emotion in those three ragged words made her ache for him, but she knew without looking that Trent would be dry-eyed. Stoic. He’d been the eldest, and as such, Mac had trained him in the art of keeping emotion under lock and key.
She turned to face him. “No one’s to blame for Jesse’s death. No one but Jesse. We make our own road in this world, Trent. He had every blessing, every opportunity.”
His jawline could have chiseled stone. “This might have been an isolated event.”
“Possibly,” she said, trying to keep all judgment out of her voice. “But knowing what I know of Jesse, probably not. He had a dark side, Trent. You never saw it, because you never looked for it. He was your brother and you loved him. I understand that, I do. But Mac protected him and covered for him, and I think that only made things worse.”
“You make him seem like a monster.”
“Not a monster. But a pathological liar and a user. I know that sounds harsh. But Mac has done you no favors by hiding the trouble. You and Gage and Sloan should have known.”
Trent felt the breeze on his hot face. He wanted badly to believe her, but what she was telling him was tough to swallow. Bryn had a young child to support. And she’d had six years to work on a story that would tug at all their heartstrings and open Mac’s checkbook.
If Mac hadn’t summoned her, she would have found another way to reinstall herself at the Crooked S. He was sure of that.
Suddenly, he wished his two brothers hadn’t left already. Between the three of them they would have been able to determine if Bryn was telling the truth or not.
He let himself look at her, really look at her. A man could lose himself in those eyes. She seemed utterly sincere, but given what he knew, how could he take what she said at face value?
God, he wanted her. And he despised himself for the weakness. She was like a bright, beautiful butterfly, dancing on the wind. But if he reached out and grabbed for what he wanted, would the beauty be smashed into powder in his hand? Would he destroy Bryn? Himself? Mac?
He put his hands on her shoulders and the world stood still. Her eyes were wide. Shallow breaths lifted her chest, drawing his attention to the gentle curve of her breasts.
He laid her back on the quilt…slowly, so slowly. Her gaze never left his. And she didn’t protest.
A wave of lust and yearning and exultation swept over him. She was his. She had always been his. Everything in the past was over and done with. There was no Jesse. No death. No suspicion. Only this fragile moment in time.
He shifted over her, resting on his hip and one elbow, leaving a hand free to trace the curve of her cheek, the slender column of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone.
When his fingers went to the first button on her shirt, she didn’t stop him. “Bryn.” His voice was a hoarse croak in his own ears.
Finally, she moved. She linked her hands behind his neck and tugged. “Kiss me, Trent.”
The invitation was unnecessary. Nothing short of an earthquake could have stopped him. His lips found hers, gentle, seeking. But when she responded, he lost his head.
He plundered the softness of her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her teeth desperately, shaking helplessly when she responded in kind. He was practically on top of her as he yanked her shirt from the waistband of her thin pants.
The skin of her flat belly was soft as silk. His hand moved upward, shoving aside her bra and cupping one bare breast. His head swam. His vision blurred. Her nipple peaked between his fingers, and when he tugged gently, Bryn cried out and arched closer.
Her response went to his head. He was so hard, he ached from head to toe. Ached for her. For Bryn. He hadn’t been with a woman in several months…and hadn’t really noticed the omission. But now he was on fire, out of control.
As she worked at his belt and found the zipper below, her slight clumsiness tormented him. He groaned aloud when her small fingers closed around his erection and squeezed lightly. God. He was in danger of coming in her hand.
What kind of man put sexual hunger ahead of loyalty to his family? What kind of man betrayed the memory of his brother? He panted, counting backward from a hundred, anything to grab a toehold of control. In that brief instant, his ardor chilled and his stomach pitched. Bryn was either a sensual witch or a self-serving liar. And all she had to do was smile at him and he was her slave.
He lurched to his feet, sweating. She stared at him, her cheeks flushed, a dawning misery on her face. With dignity, she straightened her clothes and buttoned her blouse.
She rose with
more grace than he had managed and faced him across the rumpled quilt.
He saw the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Trent. Something important. Something significant. I don’t think you’re the kind of man to be deliberately cruel. Why start something with me and then back away as if I’m about to infect you? For God’s sake, Trent. What is it?”
He told her what he should have said from the beginning. The words felt like stones in his dry mouth. “On the day Mac put you on a plane to Minnesota, Jesse came to me and told me the truth. He said that you had been in his bedroom repeatedly…begging him to have sex with you to make me jealous. But he refused. He told me you probably slept with one of his friends until you were sure you were pregnant, and you planned all along to say it was Jesse’s.”
Bryn stared at him, frozen, her eyes blank with shock. She wet her lips. “That doesn’t even make sense,” she whispered.
He gazed at her bleakly. “The damned thing is, Bryn, it worked. I wanted you so much, I was sick with it. And if you had left Jesse alone, you and I might have ended up together. But you made that impossible. And then you tried to make Jesse take responsibility for another guy’s kid. You disgust me.”
She swayed, and he reached forward instinctively to catch her.
But she backed away, the look in her eyes difficult to see. He felt a lick of regret, a jolt of shame. It was partly his fault. If he had stayed away from her when she arrived in Wyoming, they could have avoided this unpleasant encounter.
She backed up again, her hand over her mouth. Suddenly, his pulse raced. She was too close to the edge of the drop-off.
“Bryn!” He reached for her again, urgently.
He was almost too late. Her foot hit the loose scree at the edge of the steep hillside, her body bowed in a vain attempt to regain her balance, and she cried out as he grabbed for her.
Four
The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO Page 4