The desk on the other side of the room, the one assigned to Michael, was cluttered with folders, files and candy wrappers. But so was his primary office at the lodge. He preferred a bit of disorder. It was his rebellion, his supposed. His way of not quite conforming.
Other than that, he was pretty damn responsible. Okay, so maybe he was notoriously late for meetings. And on long, dark, lonely nights, he watched dirty movies and got drunker than a celibate skunk. But at least he hadn't turned out like Reed.
Michael removed his hat and tossed it on his desk. Bobby's Stetson shielded his eyes, and his hair was plaited into its customary braid.
He'd taught Michael and Reed about being Cherokee, but neither had welcomed the older man's spiritual teachings. They'd thought it was Indian bull, a bunch of warrior crap. Both had been sired by Cherokee cowboys who hadn't given a damn about them, and their resentment ran deep.
But little by little, Bobby's lessons had begun to penetrate their thick skulls. Even Reed started following the red road, for all the good it had done.
"Do you have a minute?" Michael asked.
Bobby glanced up again. "Sure. What's on your mind?"
"Heather's back."
His uncle's expression froze. "She's home?"
"Yep." Home.
"And?" Bobby came around and sat on the edge of his desk.
"She … we…" How in the hell was he going to lie to his uncle, the man who'd taken care of Michael's dying mother, built this ranch, treated him like a son?
"What's wrong? Where has she been?"
"With Reed. They…" He stalled, unsure how much he was allowed to reveal. He should have asked Heather. He should have—
"Michael," Bobby pressed.
"Reed was hiding out from some criminals, and Heather was with him. She wasn't able to come back until now."
"Is Reed all right?"
"As far as I know." Eliminating the Mafia details, he continued, "The main thing I wanted to tell you is that Heather had a baby while she was gone. My baby."
There. He'd done it. He'd spouted the lie, said it with as much conviction as he could muster.
"Wow." Stunned, Bobby could only stare. "A boy or a girl?"
"A boy. He's ten months old, and his name is Justin."
"That's incredible."
"Yeah."
For a moment, they both fell silent, then his uncle said, "Are you okay with all of this? It's got to be a shock. And I know how uncomfortable you are about—"
"Illegitimacy?" Michael provided, before Bobby could finish. He knew damn well that would cross his uncle's mind. Michael had sworn long ago that he would never impregnate a woman without marrying her. That he wouldn't do what his dad had done.
But now Heather had put him in a position to defend himself. "Heather and I are trying to work things out, but it's a little tense right now."
"I understand."
Michael nodded. Bobby's child had been conceived out of wedlock, and at the time, he hadn't intended to marry his pregnant lover, Of course, this situation was different; it wasn't even real. "Do you think you could spread the word? Let folks know Heather is back. And mention Justin. I don't want to have to tell everyone myself." He paused to take a much-needed breath. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd ask them to give Heather and I some space. I'm not ready to have people stopping by with cakes or pies or anything."
"No problem. I'll take care of it."
"Thanks. I'm going to take off. I've got some things to do at the lodge."
Bobby reached around for the coffee on his desk. "Will you let me know when I can see your son? And Heather?"
Michael nodded, and then grabbed his hat and ducked out the door, dreading the deception he'd already begun to live.
* * *
Heather didn't know what to do. The big dog continued to scratch and bark at the door. He even howled a few times, a war cry that would wake the dead.
Or a sleeping baby who'd fussed before his nap.
Heather made a face. Now the dog had taken to yapping, and his choppy, high-pitched barks pierced her eardrums.
She'd gotten a good look at him through the screen door and had locked herself in. He was the ugliest, mangiest beast she'd ever seen. He probably had fleas and ticks and Lord knew what else.
Rabies?
That does it. It was time to call Michael. She still remembered his cell phone number.
While the dog yapped and whined and attempted to claw his way into the house, she punched out the digits.
Cell phones were a security hazard, with or without a bug. But did it matter? The mob wouldn't care about this call. It rang several times, and she prayed Michael's voice mail didn't pick up. Tracking him down at the ranch would be next to impossible. The man never kept a schedule.
"H'lo?"
"Michael, it's Heather."
The line went silent, and she cursed his wariness. You'd think she had a mouth-foaming disease. Speaking of which…
"There's this huge creature at the door, and he won't go away. He's barking and howling and scratching—"
"That's Chester."
"What?"
"Chester. My dog."
That ratty, flea-bitten canine was his pet?
"How does he look?" Michael asked.
Was he kidding? "Like the hound from hell."
A chuckle came across the line. "Yep. That's Chester all right. He's been out carousing. He always does that. Then after a few days, he drags his sorry ass home looking for a warm bed and a tasty meal."
"You let that beast run wild? Mate with other dogs?"
"Naw. He's fixed. He just thinks his equipment is still intact."
Heather twisted the phone cord, wrapping it around her wrist. "He better not be a leg humper."
Michael had the gall to laugh. "I've never seen him do that. Of course, he did stick his nose up this hot chick's dress."
She glared at the phone. What hot chick?
"He only did it once, though."
"Once is enough."
"Yeah, but you can't blame a guy for trying."
Wanna bet? "Just what am I supposed to do? I'm locked in the house with a napping baby, and your loyal pet is trying to dig a hole through the front door."
"So let him in. He won't hurt you."
"You can't be serious. He's big and ugly. And filthy," she added.
"He must have been playing in the mud. Running around in the rain and all. Hold tight, I'll come by to clean him up."
Hold tight? While the dog tunneled his way into the house? "You better get here soon."
"I will."
They hung up, and she waited.
Then waited some more.
The baby woke with a wailing cry, so she picked him up and brought him into the living room to wait with her. His sleepy eyes grew wide and bright. When he waved his hands, flailing them in front of her face, she tried to settle him down.
"It's just Daddy's dog, honey."
"Da…da…da…da."
"Yes. Daddy's dog." Cujo, she thought.
Finally she heard Michael's truck, and after she was certain he'd gotten the bound under control, she opened the door and peered through the screen.
Justin made an excited sound, and she balanced him on her hip.
In the front yard, Michael was attempting to bathe the creature. As he lathered and hosed and cursed his way through it, Justin laughed.
Heather laughed, too. Finally Cujo, or Chester, or whatever his name was, shook his big, black body and sprayed his master with water.
Justin clapped, and Michael and the dog appeared at the screen door.
"Who gave who a bath?" Heather asked.
"Very funny. Will you grab me some towels?"
She left and returned with a small stack. Opening the screen a smidgen, she slid them through the narrow space. He dried himself first, then went after the dog.
"Come on out and meet him," Michael said.
Heather hugged the baby. "What if he tries to bite Ju
stin?"
"He likes kids."
"He'd better."
"He does. I swear."
"Fine." She crept outside and held fast to her son, the baby she'd vowed to protect.
Justin flapped his arms, and she hoped the strange dog didn't mistake him for a bird. The beast wiggled and whined.
Michael guided Heather and Justin to the porch swing, and the dog followed.
"Chester, say hello to Heather."
The dog plopped his butt down and stuck out his paw.
"Oh, my." She hadn't expected such manners. She shook his paw, and Justin squealed in baby delight.
"Da…da…da…da."
"You want to meet the doggy?" Michael asked. "Come on." He placed a dry towel on his lap and took the boy from Heather.
He let Justin pat the pooch, and the dog nuzzled the child's hand.
"Oh, my," Heather said again. Chester was as gentle as a lamb. An ugly lamb, with a pointed snout, droopy eyes and enormous ears. "Where'd you get him, Michael?"
"At the pound. I was … it was…" He paused and cleared his throat. "I got him a few months after you left. I needed somebody to keep me company. The house was so damn quiet, and Chester livened up the place."
"Oh." Guilty, she watched the dog drop his head onto Michael's knee. Justin leaned forward, anxious to pet Chester again.
"See, they like each other."
"Yes." She blinked, hoping she wouldn't cry. Michael looked so right with an adoring baby on his lap and a loyal dog at his feet.
He rocked the swing, and Justin snuggled against his chest. Chester settled down to let his damp fur dry.
"It's nice out," Michael said.
She nodded. The afternoon air was warm and the flowers were rich and blue. "It's always pretty after a storm. After the rain nourishes the ground."
Justin closed his eyes and began to drift off, but he hadn't finished his nap earlier.
"Did you get your clothes out of my room, Heather?"
"No. Not yet." She'd seen them in his closet when she'd swept for bugs. "But I will." She was surprised that he hadn't given them to charity. Or burned them.
"Your old lingerie drawer has some stuff in it, too."
"I know. I saw them. Is my car still in the garage?"
"Yes. But the battery's dead."
"I have to return the rental by Friday," she said. "I can't afford to keep it."
"I'll make sure your car gets a new battery. That it's running right again."
"Thank you," she whispered. "I appreciate all of your help."
Their eyes met, and her stomach fluttered with girlish little wings. In the silence, she watched as he stroked Justin's back, soothing the baby with a gentle motion, lulling him into a deeper sleep.
A moment later, he stopped rocking the swing and stilled his hand, as though suddenly aware of the tenderness, of the family setting.
Man, woman, child, dog.
"I need to go back to work."
He handed Justin to her, and she took the boy with a heavy heart. The child stirred and went back to sleep.
"You can deal with Chester now, can't you?"
"Yes." She glanced at the dog, and he looked up and perked his big, floppy ears. "What should I feed him?"
"Anything. He eats table scraps."
"I'll give him some leftovers for now, then offer him whatever I fix later. Maybe chicken. I noticed some drumsticks in the freezer."
"That's fine, but don't count on me for dinner. I'll probably be late again tonight." Michael rose and dusted his jeans, leaving the dry towel on the swing. "Don't wait up."
"I won't," she said, even though she knew she would lie in bed and think about him.
The man who didn't want to stay home.
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
Heather couldn't sleep. She'd tried to, but her mind wouldn't shut down. She couldn't stop thinking about Beverly and Reed, about Michael and herself.
She missed Reed and Beverly, but somehow she missed Michael even more. Missed being his partner, his lover, his friend.
She sat on the couch in the living room, a low lamp burning, and drew her knees up. Chester snuggled beside her. He was half asleep, his droopy eyes sagging even more.
"You're such a good dog." She rubbed his ears, and he scooted closer and put his head on her lap.
"Are you lonely?" His master wasn't home yet, and the DVD clock read 1:04 in bright red numbers.
"You sleep in Michael's bed, don't you?" She stroked his thick, coarse fur. "I used to sleep there."
And she missed every moment of being near him, of waking in his arms.
Another digit turned on the clock, then another. Time passed in slow motion. She remained on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her.
Then she heard Michael's truck. Chester perked his ears, and Heather's heartbeat slammed against her chest. Should she feign sleep? He'd told her not to wait up, yet here she was, waiting up.
Not purposely, but she was up just the same.
A key raffled in the doorknob.
Too late to feign sleep. The dog thumped his tail, then whined.
Michael entered the house and spotted her and Chester immediately. The dog jumped off the sofa to greet his master, and Heather smoothed her nightgown.
Nerves jangled in her stomach, and an ocean pounded in her ears. Why did he always affect her that way? Why couldn't she stay calm at the sight of him?
Michael bent to return Chester's affection, but his eyes were on Heather. "I didn't expect to see you," he said.
"I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to disturb the baby."
He rose to his full height and sent her hormones tripping and stumbling.
She recalled every inch of his body: wide shoulders, sculpted muscles, lean hips. On his right biceps, he sported an armband tattoo, a tribal design inked in bold, black shapes.
As a girl, Heather had been fascinated by his rebellious sexuality. As a woman, he'd never failed to leave her breathless.
"I went to the Corral again," he said.
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"I can tell." She met his gaze, saw the waning, self-medicated look in his eyes. "You've been drinking."
"I'm not drunk."
She knew that, too. He didn't drive drunk.
He leaned against the entertainment center. "I don't know what to do with myself. This is so damn hard."
She tore at her damaged nails. "I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble."
"I'll get over it."
Would he? She wasn't sure.
But she'd never been sure about Michael. He could smile one minute and turn surly the next. Sometimes he was her best friend, and other times he seemed like a stranger. He kept corners of himself hidden; deep, dark places he wouldn't allow anyone to touch. She'd tried to light those corners, to slip into his soul the way he'd penetrated hers, but she'd fallen short.
Michael tossed his keys onto a shelf. "I wonder where he is. Do you know where he is?"
She knew he meant Reed. Odd that he should be thinking about her brother now. Reed and Michael were cut from the same rough, ragged cloth, with a love-hate relationship she'd never been able to grasp.
"No, I don't. But I expect to hear from him." He started. "How? When?"
"We agreed to a phone call. We have a specific date set aside. Near the end of the month." Reed needed to know that his son was safe, that the child he'd given up was healthy and happy.
Michael's voice turned bitter. "A phone call? He's going to call you, but you couldn't contact me all those months?"
She tried not to flinch, to react to his tone, to the chill in his eyes. "This is different. It'll be on a secure line."
"From where?"
"Here." She motioned to the desk, where the phone rested. "Reed gave me a scrambler like one he'll use. With a unit at the end of each telephone, our call will be encrypted."
"So it won't matter if the phones are bugged?"
>
"No, but I'd feel safer knowing the lines are clear before he calls. If the equipment malfunctioned, if we were found out…" She let her words fade, disappear into the stillness of the room.
"Where was he the last time you saw him?"
"Does it matter?" She watched Michael take off his jacket, toss it carelessly over a chair. "He's moved on by now."
"Good riddance, I say."
How could he be so cold? So callous? "I wish you didn't hate Reed so much."
"And I wish you'd stop defending him."
"I can't." Not after the grief they'd shared, the tears they'd cried. What they'd suffered as adults was far worse than the turmoil from their childhood. "He's the only family I have left. He and Justin."
"He screwed with our lives, Heather."
"Why? Because he kept us apart when I was younger?"
"First I wasn't permitted to touch you. And later he tried to muscle me into marrying you. He tried to dictate every aspect of our relationship. Every single thing that happened between us."
"He did?" She hadn't been privy to Michael and Reed's arguments, to the shoving matches they'd refused to discuss.
How could her brother humiliate her like that? And why did he claim that Michael was in love with her? What did he base that opinion on?
Tired of being hurt, she cursed both men. "He was wrong, but so were you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you." At least Reed cared. At least he was looking out for her. "You had no right to ban me from my brother. In spite of his brutish methods, he meant well."
"He was interfering in our lives."
"By hoping you'd marry me?"
Michael merely looked at her, but she could see that she'd struck a nerve.
"It was more than that."
"Was it?" she challenged, stung by the thought. She'd always suspected that he didn't want to marry her, that he scoffed at the notion of happily-ever-after, but to see it on his face erupted like a sudden slap across the cheek.
"Your brother is an ex-con. A thief."
"He's a good man, misguided but good. And you turned your back on him."
"Oh, yeah?" He moved closer. "You call claiming his son turning my back on him? I agreed to be that little boy's father. To tell everyone he's mine."
She blinked, stunned by the emotion in his voice. By the sheer impact of what he was saying. The child Reed had entrusted to him was a responsibility he couldn't deny, a gesture of Cherokee brotherhood.
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