by Judy Duarte
The two of them were never very close, even though Clay had wished they were and craved a warm relationship with a father that never seemed to have time for him.
But that wasn’t the end of it. When Clay was twelve, his father’s wife had died, and his dad had started coming around to see his mom again. That’s when his mom got pregnant.
There was no second chance at a happily-ever-after, though. She’d lost the baby. And then they’d split up. Again. God, how that had crushed her, and she’d fallen apart.
With his memory returning, the pain of losing her was even more acute. A punch to the gut. A knife in his chest.
After she’d died, Clay had moved in with his father and his older half brothers, who weren’t happy about having a newfound sibling. One that had come as a complete surprise.
That’s about all he remembered. But it was enough to know that something about his sudden appearance at Rancho Esperanza hadn’t been purely to rekindle one night of passion. And he had a hunch that when he finally had all the pieces in order and Alana found out the connection Clay had to his father—and vice versa—all hell was going to break loose.
* * *
Adam Hastings sat at the polished cherry-wood desk in his private office on the Double H Ranch having his second cup of coffee while going over a portfolio from one of his investment bankers. He reached over to the calculator and ran a few numbers himself. He’d just hit Total when his phone buzzed, alerting him that Rosina, his private secretary, needed him for one thing or another.
It’d better be more important than the last time she’d interrupted him. “Yes. What is it?”
“Sir, a car-rental company in Montana is on the other line. It seems that your son leased a vehicle several weeks ago. He told them he only needed it for a few days, but he hasn’t returned it yet or called to extend the agreement.”
What the hell? Adam ran a hand through his thinning hair. Clayton had flown to Montana and asked Adam to trust him, to let him work things out on his own. And so he’d given his youngest son free rein.
It wasn’t like him to be irresponsible. He reached for his cell and called, only to learn Clay’s voice mail was full. Again, that wasn’t at all like him.
He pushed the intercom button and buzzed Rosina. When she answered he asked, “Have you talked to Clayton recently?”
“Not for a few weeks. Not since he told me he was taking a vacation to do some fishing.”
Clayton was a stickler for details—and honest to a fault. He wouldn’t have kept the car longer than he’d agreed to without contacting the rental company. Not unless something had gone wrong.
An uneasy feeling settled over him. As a kid, Clayton had been an inconvenience. But as an adult, he’d proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable. Unlike the other two boys—God love ’em—Clay had become an asset to the family rather than an embarrassment. And the thought that something might have happened to him...
Or had Clay gotten distracted by his latest assignment?
Adam grinned at the thought. He remembered the conversation they’d had four months ago, when he’d first sent Clayton to that cattle symposium in Colorado.
This land deal is very important to me. And to this family. Just make it happen. I don’t care how you do it. Hell, charm the pants off her.
At that, Clayton had gotten self-righteous and bent out of shape. I’ll close the deal, but I won’t resort to seduction.
Dammit, Clayton. Don’t get your hackles up. It’s just a figure of speech. The last thing I want you to do is hop into bed with that woman.
But hell, if that’s what it took, so be it. Maybe Clayton had more of the Hastings’s gumption running in his veins than he liked to believe.
“Mr. Hastings,” Rosina said, “do you want me to call the private investigator you’ve used in the past?”
“No, don’t bother. I’ll do the investigating myself. Just get me a first-class ticket to Kalispell, Montana.”
Chapter Eleven
By the time Alana woke up, Clay had already eaten breakfast, fed the animals and gone to work. She’d hoped to talk to him before he left. Something had been off last night, after he’d come in from the barn and before he’d gone to bed. Then again, she’d been so troubled by news of the lien on the ranch that she might have been mistaken about that.
She filled the teapot with water. One thing she did know was that she was going to tell him about the baby when he got home.
Just after eight o’clock, Katie and the boys joined Alana in the kitchen but only long enough to fix themselves three bowls of cereal. They had plans to attend an all-day scouting event in Kalispell and were eager to join their friends. The troop leader had even roped Katie into staffing one of the booths.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Katie asked Alana, as she and the boys prepared to leave.
“It sounds like it’ll be a fun day,” Alana said, “but I’ve got a lot to do. I have to go to the market, the laundry is piling up and I have some bills to pay.”
“That sounds boring,” Jesse said.
“Maybe. But it’ll feel good when I’m finished.” Actually, she was looking forward to having some time to herself. There were a few things she wanted to scratch off her to-do list—like organizing Grandpa’s weird filing system in the office. And, while she was at it, she would be looking for any paperwork pertaining to roof repair.
So that’s the first thing she focused on—finding something to help explain who’d filed a lien on the ranch and why it hadn’t been released.
She’d worked through the lunch hour and finally found a bill from Flannigan’s Roofing Company. It had been marked Paid and filed away. And when she went through the old bank statements, she found that the check had cleared the bank.
A phone call to the roofer didn’t provide any help, either. The bookkeeper was out of the office until next week, and no one else seemed to know anything.
At least the back property taxes Grandpa had owed were no longer hanging over her head, but that lien and any interest or fines could be a major problem. And then there was the news that Olivia was contesting the will. Talk about being backed into a corner. But she’d find a way out.
She needed to talk to someone—and before her appointment with the woman lawyer on Monday. Too bad Henry Dahlberg wouldn’t be any help. Did she dare dump it on Clay when he got home tonight?
He might not mind. And he could have some solid advice. He seemed to like living here. He’d also been helping out a lot. Maybe he’d feel bad if she didn’t ask his opinion. Besides, he claimed to be an attorney, even if he seemed more like a rancher. And a wealthy one at that.
For the rest of the day, Alana kept herself busy, doing one chore or another. But she couldn’t help wandering out to the barn to check on Bailey and Buttercup, the name she’d chosen for the foal. At one time, she’d thought she might sell the filly, but in less than twenty-four hours, she’d become too attached to the sweet little thing to let it go.
Speaking of sweet little things, she’d definitely have to tell Clay tonight. She placed her hand over her baby bump, which had grown considerably over the past couple of weeks since Clay’s arrival. Only trouble was, which news should she give him first?
As she puttered around the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients she’d need to make spaghetti, Rascal and Licorice began to bark. She glanced out the window and spotted an unfamiliar white car pulling into the yard. A man dressed in shiny black boots and a Western-style suit got out of the driver’s seat. He reached back inside, pulled out a fancy cowboy hat and placed it on his head.
“That’s odd,” she muttered, as she walked outside to see who the guy was and what he wanted.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The rather handsome gentleman, who appeared to be in his sixties, flashed her a charming smile. “I hope so.” He approa
ched with an outstretched hand. “You must be Ms. Perez. We’ve never met in person, but I’m Adam Hastings.”
Alana nearly rolled her eyes at the guy. As if her life couldn’t get any worse. But then again, she’d come to expect it to throw a curve ball her way.
“I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing, Mr. Hastings. I’m not interested in selling my ranch.” Heck, she wasn’t even sure how long she’d even have a ranch.
“So you’ve told me on several occasions.” Again, he smiled as if that’s all it would take to make her see reason. “I find that surprising since I’ve offered you considerably more than it’s worth.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You see a run-down ranch, a house that needs repair and an almost nonexistent cattle herd, but I see a gold mine.” What she didn’t say was that it was going to kill her to give it up and hand it over to Olivia.
“Actually,” he said, “I didn’t come here to up my offer. I came looking for my son. I thought you might tell me where I can find him.”
His son? How the heck would she know? “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You should,” he said. “Clayton Hastings. You met in Colorado. At the cattle symposium.”
Alana’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and ground against the inner lining like a ceramic pestle crushing a pill in a mortar, a pill that was too bitter to swallow.
There had to be a mistake. Clay wasn’t, couldn’t be... But then she saw it. The older man had the same color eyes, the same cut of the chin.
As the familiar sound of a battered pickup engine grew louder, she tore her gaze from the wealthy Texas jerk who’d been determined to buy her ranch and looked down the graveled drive.
She stood statue still, her arms at her sides, her hands clenched, fingernails sharp against her palms. If her Clay turned out to be Adam Hastings’s son, and it certainly appeared that way, then he’d been up to no-good when they’d met in Colorado. She couldn’t believe theirs had been a chance encounter. A fluke.
Time would tell, she supposed. And the clock had run out on the lies.
All of them.
* * *
Clay couldn’t wait to get back to the ranch. He hadn’t slept worth a damn last night, and he’d been at work since dawn, so he was exhausted. He wasn’t especially hungry, though. Sam’s wife had stopped by and brought him lunch—homemade tacos, refried beans and rice—which had filled him up. So after a hot, invigorating shower, he might pass on dinner altogether.
But he needed to talk to Alana, to tell her that he’d begun remembering things, even if they were still pretty confusing. Maybe it would be an easier conversation for them to have if they were sitting at the kitchen table.
As he pulled into the yard, he spotted a late-model white Mercedes and a man facing the front porch, where Alana stood, her eyes on him, her expression somber.
Something was clearly wrong, although he’d be damned if he could figure it out from here. He’d no more than climbed out of the pickup when Rascal and Licorice came running up to greet him, tails wagging. He gave them each a half-hearted scratch on the head.
The man turned and broke into a grin. “There you are, Clayton. I’ve been worried about you.”
Who...? The question had barely registered when familiarity snuck up on him. Those eyes that lit up with pride. The pride young Clayton had always sought. Still, he voiced a tentative question. “Dad?”
“Something wrong with your eyes?”
Recognition slammed into Clay, stealing the air from his lungs as memories bombarded him like pelting rocks.
Riding fence on the Double H with the hands. Raul. Sonny. Jimbo... Roping contests. Horse races. Titan, the gelding he kept in the Double H stables, was fast.
His father strode toward him and scrunched his brow as he gave him a once-over. “Whoa. You really got into the part, didn’t you, son? Where’d you get those clothes? The Goodwill? That old pickup is a nice touch, too.”
Clay frowned. A part? His father thought he was playing a part? Damn. He’d wanted to believe that he’d come to Rancho Esperanza looking for Alana for his own reasons, personal ones. But it was sounding as if... As if he’d been sent on a mission.
His gut clenched at the thought, twisting upward until it squeezed the air from his lungs and the words from his mouth.
Dad’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, and he slowly shook his head. “You look like a ranch hand.”
He’d said it as if it was a bad thing. But it didn’t feel like that. Should it?
His father chuffed. “Hell, I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Clayton, but you failed to check in, so I had come on up here to Montana. But what do you know? Before I even found you, I ran into Alana here, and she’s informed me that she still doesn’t want to sell.”
No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t.
“And I was just about to tell her that she’d be able to purchase a nice home in town—free and clear,” his old man added. “No mortgage hanging over her head. No repairs to make.”
Clay cut a glance at Alana, her green eyes ablaze, her lips drawn tight.
I can explain, he wanted to say. But how could he do that when he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here or why he’d come in the first place? Oddly enough, as the seconds ticked on, and the puzzle pieces began to fall into place, it all began to make sense.
This land deal is very important to me. And to this family. Just make it happen. I don’t care how you do it. Hell, charm the pants off of her.”
Bile in Clay’s belly churned. Is that what he’d done in Colorado? Had he seduced Alana in order to get her to sell the ranch?
No, that didn’t feel right. But he couldn’t very well stand here gaping at Alana and his father, unable to explain or defend himself—assuming there was a defense to be had.
“Dad,” Clay said, “let’s go for a drive. You and I need to talk.”
Then he looked at Alana, who seemed utterly aghast.
“I’ll be back,” he told her. “And I’ll explain everything.” But could he? The claim seemed feeble at best.
She didn’t say a word. She just watched him circle the car and climb into the passenger seat. Then she walked back into the house and slammed the door.
And right now, he couldn’t blame her.
* * *
Alana stood just inside the house, her back to the door. A sense of betrayal swept over her, making her sick, and she bit back the nausea.
How could she have been so stupid, so gullible? She swore under her breath. And she never swore. But if a day ever deserved a string of four-letter words, it was today.
Clay didn’t seem to have any memory issues now. At least, he hadn’t had any problem recognizing Adam Hastings, who just happened to be his father.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back to no avail. She’d once thought their meeting in Colorado had been serendipitous, but she’d been wrong. He’d been looking for her to do his father’s bidding. And he’d found her.
She had half a notion to march down the hall, pack his bags and place them in the yard. Only thing was, he didn’t have any things. No wallet, no suitcase, no clothes that would do him any good on a ranch. She’d given him Grandpa’s shirts and jeans. She’d even bought him a toothbrush.
Damn him. She marched to the mudroom, where she found an empty cardboard box, then she carried it to his quarters. She threw everything into it: his stupid toothbrush, the nearly new bar of soap he’d been using, Grandpa’s razor, shaving cream—all of it. Even the borrowed clothing. And when she had everything packed away—and not the least bit neatly—she toted the carton out the front door and left it in the yard.
He’d get the picture. He wasn’t welcome here. Not anymore. And not ever again.
Then she strode back to the house and locked the door.
It felt good to be rid of him. Real good. But as the anger began to subside, a searing grief took its place. He’d broken her heart, but what did she expect? A fairy-tale ending?
She was too trusting. And stupid. She should have known better. All Clay had wanted was to buy her ranch. And neither she nor Rancho Esperanza were for sale.
Only trouble was, would Clay want to claim her baby as his? And if so, how would that play into the scheme of things?
* * *
“Where are we going, Clayton?”
“Just drive.”
His father gunned the engine, hightailing it away from Rancho Esperanza. “Suppose you tell me what’s going on.”
“That’s not going to be easy to explain, so you’ll have to bear with me. To be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure why I’m in Montana. But shortly after I arrived in Fairborn, I was carjacked. Someone damn near killed me, but as you can see, I survived.” He fingered the scar on his head. “Unfortunately, I’ve had amnesia for the past couple of weeks, although things are just now beginning to come together.”
“Seriously?” His father shot a glance at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. At least, physically. I’ve still got some confusion to sort through.
“Am I supposed to believe that you’ve been living with that woman and that you forgot why you were here?” His father clucked his tongue. “I hope that doesn’t mean you dropped the ball.”
Clay slowly shook his head in disbelief. “Dad, I couldn’t even recall what ball I was supposed to be holding.” Until today, he hadn’t remembered enough yet to know whether he’d screwed up or not. “I’ve been staying on the ranch with her, but I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s what you mean.”
His father snorted, clearly skeptical. And Clay couldn’t really blame him. If Clay were to stay much longer, the sleeping arrangements could easily change.
“I’ve gained her trust,” Clay added. “Or at least I had, before you showed up.” But whose trust did he really want to gain? He wasn’t entirely sure.
