by Judy Duarte
“Like I said, son, I was worried.”
About Clay? Or about the deal he’d been sent to close? Before either of them spoke, a snippet of a past conversation came to mind.
That particular ranch is the key to my new real estate venture. The state is very likely to build a new highway through that area. And if that happens, a couple more towns are bound to pop up and the land values are going to quadruple—at the very least.
Damn. Was his father trying to cash in on the deal before the news leaked? If so, it sounded like political corruption. Surely Clay hadn’t gone along with his father’s scheme.
“If you were Artie or Phil,” Dad said, “I wouldn’t have been as worried. Shoot, they ended up being disappointments in the long run. But you turned out to be a nice surprise. You’re a lot more like me than they are.”
Several weeks ago, before the tire iron knocked him senseless, that was just the type of acceptance and praise he’d wanted to hear. Now that, he could remember.
But now? The fact that he might have more of his father’s DNA than his half brothers churned in his gut.
“I thought you would have convinced her to sell by now. What’s the holdup?”
“Are you really that thickheaded?” Clay sent his father a disbelieving glance. “I already told you I’ve had amnesia. And that someone tried to kill me. Isn’t that reason enough for a delay?”
His father let out a grunt. “Sure. Of course it is. I’m glad you’re okay, son.”
“On top of that, Dad, I’ve come to respect Alana. She’s not only attractive, she also has a good heart. I really like her.” That was true, although his feelings for her ran a lot deeper than that. And if she was carrying his baby, like he’d come to suspect, she’d be a part of his life for a long time, which pleased him
“At any rate,” Clay said, “she’s not going anywhere. No matter how much you offer her. That ranch isn’t for sale. And your plan to buy it is dead in the water.”
His old man slowly shook his head, his disgust evident in the look on his face. “I take it back. You’re not as strong as I am.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“I think it is.” His father gripped the wheel and stared out the windshield, his plan to gain the title to Rancho Esperanza apparently as strong as ever. “Especially when you don’t have a backbone.”
Somehow, that didn’t ring true.
“You know what I do remember?” Clay asked the man. “Doing my best to make you proud, to prove myself worthy of you and my new family. I learned everything I could about cattle and ranching. And I busted my butt on the ball field and in the classroom. I always knew I’d never earn your love, but I settled for your respect and acceptance.”
“You’ve always had it.”
He’d never felt it.
His father let out a sigh. “Your early years were complicated, Clayton.”
Marital infidelity certainly was. So was introducing an illegitimate son to his older brothers, teenagers who’d never known he existed until his father brought him home one day and told them their new brother was here to stay.
“Did you ever stop to realize that I loved ranching?” Clay asked. “I would have given anything to work on the Double H, but you insisted I get a law degree. So I did it, even though I never really had any interest in being an attorney.”
“You may not have the interest, but you’re a damned good one.”
Clay supposed that was true. But he would have made a good rancher, too. And he would have been a lot happier. He was tempted to tell his father that he was done trying to gain his love and respect, that he wasn’t going to be the family attorney any longer, but this wasn’t the right time. His brains were still a little scrambled, his thoughts still too disjointed. When he broached a subject like that, he needed to be clear minded.
He also needed to talk to Alana, to explain himself—and to tell her he’d come to care for her. Deeply. And he’d come to think that way about the baby, too, even if it wasn’t his. The baby wouldn’t have to know that. As far as he was concerned, it was theirs.
“Listen,” Clay said. “Go back to Texas. Let me work things out here.”
“But you just told me she’s never going to sell.”
Clay looked out the window, at the passing scenery, the green fields, the stacks of hay. “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I just need more time.” More time to think. More time to actually come up with a strategy.
As they continued on a drive to nowhere in particular, Clay cut a glance across the seat. “How’d you get here, Dad?”
“Ryan borrowed the company plane and took some of his friends to attend a bachelor party in Vegas. So I flew commercially. Why?”
“Because I’m going to drop you off at the airport. If you can’t get a flight back to Texas tonight, you can charter a plane. I’m going to need to keep this car for a few more days.”
“Oh, yeah? You got it all worked out, huh?”
Not really. But he was working on it.
“Okay,” his father said. “But speaking of cars, the rental company you used in Kalispell called the office and told Rosina that you hadn’t returned their Range Rover. And you didn’t contact them to extend the contract. Where’s that vehicle?”
Clay sucked in a breath and blew it out. “The amnesia. Remember? I was carjacked. Have Rosina give the company a call and report it stolen. And since I wouldn’t have left home without my personal credit card, it’s safe to assume that ended up in the wrong hands, too.”
“We’d better file a police report, too.”
“I’ve already got that on my to-do list. Will you ask Rosina to contact Visa for me? In the meantime, I’m out of cash and could use a loan.”
His father chuffed, a frustrated sound, but at the same time, a crooked grin crinkled his eyes. “Damn, Clayton. You’re beginning to sound like your older brothers did back in their college days.”
Yeah, well, Clay felt like a college kid right now—living and learning. Yet when it was all said and done, he hoped he’d have a second degree, this one in dealing with life’s bigger problems.
Without batting an eye, Dad reached inside his custom, tailor-made jacket, felt around for the pocket and pulled out a wad of bills held in a solid-gold money clip. “Will a thousand bucks do?”
For starters. “Thanks.”
After peeling off ten one hundred dollar bills, his father whipped out a platinum Visa. “Take the company card. Don’t lose this one.”
“I won’t.” Clay slipped it into his pocket. Then, using his father’s smartphone, he found a late-night flight to Houston. “There aren’t any first-class seats available.”
His father swore under his breath. “I hate flying coach. I just might charter a flight.”
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled into the airport and stopped at the curb. While the car was parked and the engine was idling, his father got out from behind the wheel, opened the trunk and pulled out a small Louis Vuitton bag. Clay circled the vehicle, climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down the window. “Have a nice flight, Dad.”
“Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
His father turned to go, then stopped. “When do you expect to be home?”
Clay remembered now. He had a home. A condominium in downtown Houston with white walls, leather couches and chairs. A few pieces of brightly colored Southwestern art. Not much more. But it no longer felt like a place to permanently hang his hat.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It depends.”
His thoughts drifted to Alana, to the angry expression she’d worn when he’d left her without an explanation. And he couldn’t blame her. The revelations had to have rocked her world entirely—especially that he was Adam Hastings’s son. And she’d probably assumed that he’d come to see her under false pretenses.
She didn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge. Hopefully, she wouldn’t feel like holding one now.
But nearly an hour later, when Clay arrived at Rancho Esperanza, the headlights illuminated the yard where a cardboard box sat, halfway between the house and the barn. The sleeve of the blue plaid Western shirt he’d worn yesterday was draped over the side.
He got out of the car, expecting the dogs to greet him, but apparently they were with the boys—or in the ranch house with Alana. He strode over to the box and peered inside. A bar of soap. The shampoo from his shower. His toothbrush.
Damn. Alana had certainly let him know where he stood. Up to his knees in it.
He headed for the porch, climbed the steps and tried to open the front door, only to find it locked. So he knocked, loud and firm.
From inside, the dogs barked, alerting Alana to his arrival. He waited for her to answer, but as the seconds ticked out, he realized she wasn’t in any hurry to let him in.
Still, he stood patiently, doing his best to tamp down a growing sense of guilt and remorse.
Finally, the porch light came on. Then the door cracked open. Her body, draped in a pale blue robe, blocked his entrance. One look at her puffy tear-stained face, her red-rimmed eyes and turned-down lips and his efforts to ease his remorse failed miserably.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I hurt you, but it was unintentional. Can I come in and explain?”
Her hand gripped the side of the door, the knuckles white. “No, Clay. There’s nothing more for you to say. I’ve heard enough already.”
He raked a hand through his hair, as if that might clear his somewhat muddled brain and help him dredge up the right words. “I should have told you that my memory was coming back to me, but it came in pieces I had to sort through. Trust me, I never expected my father to show up here. But I didn’t know he was my father—or what my name was—until today. And actually, I’m still trying to make sense of things.”
“I don’t have anything to sort out,” she said. “You and your father are in cahoots.”
“Not really. I mean, our relationship isn’t like that. At least, I don’t think it is.”
She nodded toward the driveway. “I see you have a vehicle at your disposal. So please get off my property and go back to wherever you came from.”
“All right,” he said. “But I’m not going very far. I’ll be back. We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do. But not tonight.”
He took that as a sign that she’d eventually listen to what he had to say. “Tomorrow, then.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Clay, as much as I’d like to shut you out of my life forever, I don’t think I can.”
That was another good sign. Right?
“I’m having your baby, Clay.”
He’d known that. Or at least, strongly suspected it. But the revelation now nearly floored him. Unnerved him. Scared him, too. He couldn’t help thinking about his mother and the baby she’d lost.
“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked. “I mean, is everything okay?”
“Yes, I have. And everything is as it should be.”
With her pregnancy, maybe. But things weren’t okay as far as the two of them.
He nodded and took a step back. He’d give her some space and time. Hell, he needed some time, too.
“As much as I would have liked to have kept my child’s paternity a secret, you deserve to know. But don’t worry. I don’t need you or your money. And I sure as hell don’t need your father’s, either.” Then she shut the door soundly and clicked the deadbolt into place.
Chapter Twelve
Damn. Could Clay’s puzzling life get any more complicated? Not that he doubted Alana. It’s just that this news, and oddly heartwarming as it was, meant that...
Oh, hell. He had no idea what it meant.
Up ahead, a red vacancy light flickered under a sign that read Marty’s Motor Inn. A café called The Wagon Wheel sat across the parking lot, where several big rigs were parked.
He needed a place to spend the night, and this would have to do. At least it wasn’t too far from the ranch. So he turned into the driveway and parked next to a light blue minivan and a red Toyota pickup.
Then, after retrieving his box from the back seat, he carried it into the office, where he handed the ruddy-faced clerk the company credit card.
“Here you go,” the clerk said, as he gave Clay the key—the old style you actually had to stick into the lock on the door—to room ten. “It’s the one closest to the café. If you’re hungry, the food’s pretty good.”
Clay thanked him, then left the office. The Mexican feast he’d had at lunch, followed by his dad’s untimely arrival, Alana’s anger and her announcement that he actually was going to be a father, had wiped out any hunger pangs he might have had. So he went directly to his room.
Marty’s Motor Inn didn’t provide the kind of lodging he was used to when traveling for pleasure or business, but the room was clean and the bed was comfortable.
Hopefully, by the time morning rolled around, he’d be able to come up with the game plan he’d told his father he had.
Charm her. Do whatever it takes. Just convince her that it’s in her best interest to take the money I’m offering her and buy a nice place in town, something she won’t have to repair or renovate. I’ll be doing her a favor.
Is that why he’d been in Colorado? Had he gone looking for Alana to do his father’s bidding?
The possibility turned his stomach. That is, until his memory kicked into gear again.
Long wavy black hair tumbled over her shoulders. Big green eyes framed in thick dark lashes. A light scatter of freckles across her nose. A bow-shaped mouth, pink and glossy after a fresh application of lipstick...
Talk about instant attraction.
He bought her a drink and one led to another. He didn’t plan to get her drunk. He just enjoyed listening to the sound of her voice, the lilt of her laugh. The longer he sat across from her, the more she impressed him in all the right ways. And as the evening wore on...he found his loyalty, which had always been to his father, shifting.
As his memory of that night grew stronger, the clearer things became. Sure, he’d met up with Alana, just as his father had asked. But while he’d gladly taken her to his hotel room, making love with her had nothing to do with swaying her. It had been a mutual decision that hadn’t had anything to do with her selling the ranch.
Clay took a seat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face as he again pondered the evening in question, beginning with the first time he saw her seated at that cocktail table by herself and the slow realization he’d come to after hearing how important the ranch was to her.
And that shift in his loyalty that began that night was now complete. The more time he’d spent with her on the ranch, the more he’d gotten to know her, he’d come to realize just how much the property meant to her, no matter the shape it was in or the value placed upon it.
He would encourage her not to sell it to his father at any price, but she still stood to lose it, which would crush her. It would crush him, too, because he didn’t want to see her suffer what was sure to be a brutal emotional blow. So he would stand by her through it all and help in any way he could.
Bottom line? Despite his motives for coming to the ranch in the first place, he loved her. He respected her. He didn’t need to be hit in the head to know that. And now that she was having his baby, he was more determined than ever to stand by her side.
Oddly enough, coming up with a game plan hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he’d thought it would. From now on, he no longer had anything to prove to his father. Instead, he’d have to prove himself to Alana.
How hard could that be?
He had a strong moral code, even though his father seemed to challenge it at every turn, and from this night forward, he
would be more vocal when it came to calling his father’s business dealings as he saw them.
If the old man didn’t like it, he’d have to find another personal attorney. And if that meant he cut Clay out of the will, so be it. Some things were more important than money. Alana had taught him that.
He turned down the sheets and stretched out on the bed, a strategy finally coming together. When the sun came up, he was going to make things right.
* * *
After a morning shower, Clay checked out of Marty’s Motor Inn and headed into town. He grabbed a quick bite to eat at the café next door, then drove to Callie and Ramon’s house, which was located on a quiet street several blocks off Main.
Clay rang the bell, and Ramon answered. He frowned when he saw who stood on the stoop. “What do you want?”
“I see that Alana has already talked to you,” Clay said.
“She talked to Callie for more than an hour last night. So, yeah. We know who you really are. And why you came to Fairborn.”
“Listen,” Clay said, “I don’t blame you for being skeptical, but if you give me some time, I’ll prove myself worthy of Alana.”
“I hope you do.” Ramon folded his arms across his chest, clearly not about to invite him inside. “But what can I do for you now?”
“Do you know where Henry Dahlberg lives? I need to talk to him.”
“That’s probably going to be a waste of time,” Ramon said.
“So I’ve heard. But I’d still like to ask him a couple of questions.”
Ramon gave him the address, and ten minutes later, Clay was standing on the porch of a beige two-story house with white trim and a red door. He knocked, and a woman in her early seventies and using a cane answered.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so. I’m looking for Mr. Dahlberg.”
“I’m afraid he’s napping. He’s recovering from surgery and needs his rest. I’m Doris Dahlberg, his wife.”
Clay introduced himself. “I’m an attorney, but I’m also a friend of Alana Perez. Your husband prepared her grandfather’s will.”
