by Lisa Jackson
They walked through a half-open door to a charming room filled with a canopied bed, stuffed animals and a box of toys. A lacy dust ruffle matched the curtains that framed a view of the side yard. Katie’s heartstrings tugged a bit. She’d always wanted a little girl, a sister for Josh, but, of course it wasn’t going to happen. Having a daughter was part of a pipe dream—one she’d given up long ago. Now, she had to concentrate on her son and her career. Period.
In the next twenty minutes, Tiffany showed her through the living quarters on the first floor of the house, then pointed out two apartments in the basement, and an upper and lower unit in the old carriage house.
The boys were shooting baskets near the garage and Christina was chasing Charcoal across the lawn by the time the tour was over.
“So, what do you think?” Tiffany asked as Katie slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
“It’s definitely a possibility.” The truth of the matter was that she wanted to say yes right then and there. “I’ll think about it,” Katie promised, but she’d already half made up her mind. She could rent out her house and save money, spend more time with Josh and concentrate on her career without constantly worrying about making the mortgage payment. She might even be able to trade in her car for a slightly newer model.
“Right now all the units are occupied except for the third floor that J.D.’s using as his office. I’ll start advertising the space as soon as we move. Uh-oh. Chrissie! Watch out!” Tiffany raced across the backyard. Her daughter had tripped and tumbled over an exposed root. For a second there was no noise as Christina’s tiny face screwed up and turned a deep shade of purple. The scream was next, a pained wail loud enough to cause the boys to give up their game.
Tiffany scooped Christina up off the ground. “It’s okay,” she said, brushing bark dust from the little girl’s tangled black curls.
Tears streamed down Christina’s cheeks and she cried, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” over and over again.
“I think it’s time for us to leave,” Katie said. “Josh! Let’s go.”
“Oh, Mom, can’t I stay a little longer?”
Christina was sobbing and gulping air now.
“Nope. It’s time.”
“But—”
“Hop in the car, bud. Now!” Josh cast her a I-can’t-believe-you’re-so-unfair look, but she ignored it and turned back to Tiffany who was brushing aside Christina’s tears with a finger. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll talk to Josh and give you a call.”
“Good.”
The back door of the house burst open, then slammed against the side of the house. J.D. hurtled down the steps. His face was a mask of concern and his eyes focused hard on Christina. “What happened?” he demanded, sprinting across the backyard with long, athletic strides. At the sight of J.D., the child brightened visibly.
“A minor catastrophe.” Tiffany was holding her daughter close and Christina, who had been quieting down, started crying hysterically again.
“Is that right? Looks pretty major to me. Come here, dumpling,” he said, prying Christina from her mother’s arms. “Let’s make sure you’re gonna live.”
Christina’s tears stopped and she offered J.D. an impish smile that made Katie think her injuries weren’t quite as painful as she’d let on. But then, she was only three.
“I’ll see you later,” Katie said as Josh climbed into the passenger seat. She waved to the small family as she climbed behind the steering wheel. She tried to start her car. The ignition ground and she pumped the gas before the convertible coughed twice, then sputtered. She swore under her breath and said a quick little prayer. Again she twisted the ignition. With a sound like the crack of a rifle, a spurt of blue smoke shot out of the tailpipe and the engine caught. “Good girl.” Katie patted the dash. At least the darned thing was running. She only hoped that the temperamental car wouldn’t die as she backed out of the drive.
“Can we stop and get a hamburger?” Josh asked. He adjusted his seat belt and leaned his seat into a half-reclining position.
“I suppose. I was planning pasta salad for dinner but”—she glanced his way and saw the expression of distaste on his oversize features—“I guess a bacon cheeseburger and a basket of curly fries sounds better.”
“And a milk shake.”
“Chocolate.”
“Good deal, Mom.” Josh gave her a thumbs-up. “I hate pasta salad.”
“I know,” she said and swallowed a smile as she reached over to rumple his stick-straight hair. Right now, staring out the bug-spattered window, he reminded her of his father; a man she hadn’t seen in eleven years, a man who probably still didn’t know he had a child. Her hands started to sweat against the wheel. For years she’d told herself that Dave didn’t need to know he had a son, that he’d run out on her and left her pregnant without a backward glance, that he didn’t deserve Josh’s attention.
Lately, however, seeing all the mistrust and damage that had occurred because of her own father’s lies, she doubted the wisdom of a hasty, emotional decision made when she was a scared, pregnant teenager. Wouldn’t it be better for Josh to know his dad? To understand where he’d come from?
Wouldn’t she, as a teenager growing up, have given her right arm for the truth? She owed that much to her son.
Chapter Two
“I hate to say it, Katie, but what you need is a man.” Jarrod Smith, Katie Kinkaid’s oldest half-brother, slammed down the hood of her old convertible and swiped at a mosquito that had hovered near his head. The minute she’d arrived home after dropping Josh at soccer practice, she’d called her brother to check under the hood. But she hadn’t wanted or needed his advice on the sad state of her love life.
“I think what I need might be a new car.” Katie frowned at her ancient two-door—a gem in its day—and wondered how she could possibly afford the payments on a newer model. Her gaze traveled from the single-car garage to her little bungalow, the place she and her son had called home for nearly a decade. Two windowpanes were cracked, the dryer was temperamental and the carpet should have been replaced years before. No, she couldn’t swing buying a new car right now.
“This”—Jarrod thumped a greasy finger on the faded finish of her convertible—“is the least of your worries.” Wiping the oil from his hands onto a soiled rag, he shook his head. Sweat dampened his brown hair and slid down the side of his face. “You’ve got Josh and—”
“And I don’t need a lecture. Least of all from you,” she said, irritated that the subject of her being a single parent was a matter for discussion. Just because their mother had married for the fifth time this summer and her two half-sisters were planning to “do the aisle-walk thing,” as the media now called it, didn’t mean that she needed to hook up with a man. Independent to a fault, she supposed people thought her, but she couldn’t imagine being tied down to one man. Not that she didn’t have a fantasy now and again. Raising a boy alone was no picnic, but she wasn’t sure a husband and stepfather would help the situation. In fact, she was certain it would do more damage than good. “No one ever needs a man, Jarrod,” she said, leveling a gaze at him that she hoped would burn into his hard-edged heart. “Least of all, me.”
“I’m just telling you that it wouldn’t hurt.” He glanced around the backyard where a rusted basketball hoop hung at an odd angle from the garage and the dandelions battled it out with the crabgrass for control of the lawn. Weeds choked the flower beds and the patio furniture needed to be treated for a severe case of rust. Yep, the whole place needed a makeover—and badly. Even her old hound dog, Blue, who was lying in the shade of the porch, one silvering ear cocked though his eyes were closed, could probably use a flea bath, a teeth cleaning and a “buff and puff ” from Elsie, the local dog groomer.
It didn’t make Jarrod’s suggestion any more palatable. She was a woman with a mission, imagined herself launched into a career in high-profile journalism. It was coming her way, and soon. She might already have been sent her one-way ticket to fame and f
ortune—if the anonymous letter she’d received in this morning’s post was to be believed.
“A man, Katie,” her brother repeated.
“You’re like a broken record or CD, these days.” Planting both fists firmly on her hips, she asked, “So what do you suggest? That I take in a roommate so that I don’t con my lazy, no-good self-serving half-brothers into doing odd jobs like fixing the dryer or the dishwasher or the car for me?”
A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Jarrod’s mouth. “Now, that’s an idea.” He swiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead and left a grease stain on his brow.
“Or should I just take out an ad in the personals, hmm? ‘Wanted: Handyman and part-time father. Must do light housework. References required.’”
“Maybe you should just get married,” he said, and Katie bristled at the thought.
She wasn’t interested in marriage with anyone. Wasn’t even dating. For a second her thoughts skipped to Luke Gates; then, horrified, she cleared her throat as well as her mind. “Our family has enough of that going around,” she grumbled as they walked toward the back porch where several wasps were busily constructing a muddy nest in the corner of the ceiling. Blue struggled to his arthritic legs and his tail whipped back and forth. Katie couldn’t let the subject drop. “If you haven’t noticed, Jarrod, I don’t have time for another man in my life. Believe me, Josh is enough.”
“He’s one boy.”
“And a great kid,” she said automatically as she tugged open the screen door. A jagged tear in the mesh was getting bigger by the day, but she ignored it as she always did. She had bigger worries, but she wasn’t about to tell her older brother that she was concerned as all get-out about her son, that it was hard as hell to raise a boy alone, that sometimes it scared her to death. Nope, she’d somehow deal with Josh and whatever challenge he came with. He was worth it.
The interior of the kitchen was sweltering—nearly ninety degrees according to her indoor-outdoor thermometer. Though the window over the sink was ajar, no summer breeze slipped through to dissipate the smells of maple syrup and bacon that hung in the air from the breakfast she’d made hours before. Whining, Blue lifted his nose toward the sink where the frying pan was soaking in greasy water.
“Trust me, boy, you don’t want it,” Katie advised.
Swinging his gaze around what he called “a thousand square feet of chaos,” Jarrod asked, “Where’s Josh?”
“At soccer practice. Earlier he was at Tiffany’s. He and Stephen have kind of bonded, I guess you’d say.”
“Better than you and Tiffany?”
“Actually, Tiff and I are getting along just great,” Katie said. “She wants me to rent out this place and take over hers.” She explained quickly about Tiffany’s offer earlier in the day. “So Tiffany and I don’t have a problem.”
“Real sisters, eh?”
“Half-sisters.”
“Close enough.” He winked at her and she grinned. “Like you are to me.”
“Right.”
“So John’s getting his wish.”
“Not completely, but this ragtag family is finally coming together a little, I think. Tiffany has agreed to be in Bliss’s wedding and I never would have thought that was possible.” There was still some envy on Tiffany’s part because Bliss was John Cawthorne’s only legitimate daughter, but things were working out.
Katie snagged a peanut from a bowl on the table and plopped it into her mouth. “I would never have thought that Tiffany would agree to be in Bliss’s wedding.”
“See? Finding a man didn’t hurt Tiffany’s disposition, did it?”
“Oh, get over yourself. So now men help women’s personalities? Come on, Jarrod, that kind of thinking went out with hula hoops.”
“I’m just pointing out a simple fact.”
“I’m not getting married, okay?” Biting her tongue before she said anything she might really regret, Katie took up her scratchy sponge and scrubbed the frying pan so fiercely, she wondered if she’d scrape the Teflon right off the metal. Though she relied on her brothers from time to time, they—especially Jarrod in his current older-brother mood—could be worse than irritating. “My marital status is, as they say, none of your business.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “But your car is.”
“Touché, brother dear,” she said with a sigh. “Want something to drink?”
“Got a beer?”
“Nope. Bottled water, tomato juice and grapefruit juice.”
“Thanks anyway. Too healthy for me. I think I’ll pass.” He grabbed a handful of peanuts and tossed them one by one into the air, catching them in his mouth—a trick he’d perfected before Katie had even entered grade school.
“Thanks for helping out,” she said over her shoulder.
“Any time.” He was out the door and it slapped shut behind him. Katie rinsed her hands and dried them quickly. Since Josh was at soccer practice, there was just enough time for her to do some research for a story she was investigating—the biggest news story in Bittersweet in years. She found her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder as she breezed out the back door. Someone had to solve the mystery surrounding Isaac Wells’s disappearance and she was determined to get the ball rolling. One way or another, her byline was going to be on the story when it broke.
* * *
Astride a tired sorrel mare, Luke squinted against an ever-lowering sun. His bones ached from over six hours in the saddle, and sweat had collected on his back. Dust covered his hands and face and all he wanted was a cool shower and a cold bottle of beer. As the horse eased down a steep cattle trail, Luke eyed the rough terrain of rocky cliffs, narrow ridges and scraggly stands of oak and madrona. The place wasn’t exactly Eden. Not by a long shot.
He’d spent the afternoon following deer and cattle trails that fanned across the hilly, sun-dried terrain. Thickets of scrawny trees offered some shade, but for the most part the earth was covered with brittle, bleached grass, rocks and a sprinkling of weeds. There wasn’t more than five acres of level land, and not much more of rolling hills. Most of the spread was mountain-goat country, with craggy hillsides, narrow ravines and a slash of a creek that zigzagged its way through the canyon floor.
But it was perfect for trail rides and the small cattle drives he planned to organize as part of the working dude ranch he envisioned. Better yet, the eastern flank of the spread abutted a huge parcel of national forest service land that was open for the type of backpacking, hunting or camping he was going to offer to his clients.
He frowned and wondered if, for the first time in his thirty-six years, he would finally find some peace of mind. “Not a prayer,” he said to the mare, a game little quarter horse who, he’d been told by Max Renfro, the onetime foreman of the place, was named Lizzy.
Especially not until he found Ralph’s grandson or granddaughter. If there was one. Just because Dave had mentioned ten years after the fact that he thought he might have fathered a kid, didn’t necessarily mean it was true. Luke could be chasing after the gossamer fabric of an old man’s dreams—nothing more.
He clucked to the horse and nudged her sides. They started down the south slope.
A glint of metal flashed in the distance.
“Whoa.”
From his vantage spot on the hill, he had a full view of the Isaac Wells place. It had been unoccupied since the old guy had disappeared but it had attracted its share of curiosity seekers despite the lengths of yellow police tape that had been strung across the main gate. According to Max Renfro, the sheriff’s department was always having to run someone off the place.
Sure enough, there was a car in the drive—a convertible, he realized—and Luke felt an uneasy sensation stir in his gut. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of binoculars.
Lifting the glasses to his eyes, he spied Katie Kinkaid, as big as life, climbing over the fence and ignoring not only the police tape but the No Trespassing sign posted on the gate.
Luke’s jaw grew hard as he watched her shade her eyes and peer into the windows of the dilapidated old house. Luke had never met Isaac Wells, but his mysterious disappearance a while back was well-known. So what was Katie Kinkaid doing, nosing around the neglected spread?
“She’s a snoopy thing,” he remarked to the horse, then remembered that she was a reporter of some kind or other. She leaned over to look through one window as if she were trying to see beneath a half-lowered shade, and Luke’s gaze settled on her rear end, round and firm beneath her shorts. His mouth turned to sand and he suddenly felt like a schoolboy for staring at her. Who cared if she was wandering around the abandoned farm? It wasn’t any of his business.
But the rumors he’d been hearing in the taverns and coffee shops—talk of possible kidnapping, burglary and murder—cut through his mind. What if Isaac Wells had been the victim of foul play? What if he’d been killed and the murderer was still on the loose?
It’s not your problem, he told himself and decided he was only borrowing trouble. If there was a culprit involved in the Isaac Wells mystery, he was long gone. There probably wasn’t much danger anyway. The whole Isaac Wells mess was probably blown out of proportion, grist for the slow-turning gossip mill in this part of the country. He took one final look at the fiery redhead. She was standing now, one hip thrown out the way it had been earlier and as she turned toward him, he noticed the now familiar pucker of her full lips, the arched eyebrows pulled together in concentration.
He swallowed hard as his gaze skated down the column of her throat to the gap between the lapels of her blouse, to the hint of cleavage he’d seen earlier. He gritted his teeth and looked away in disgust. He wasn’t used to the earthy pull of this woman, the desire that singed his mind every time he looked at her. “Come on,” he ground out, clucking to the horse and urging her back down the steep grade.
