Texas Heat

by Barbara Mccauley

  Texas Heat

  Barbara McCauley

  To Barbara A., Stephanie, Terry and Jolie. Thanks for making this one so much fun.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Prologue

  The lawyer’s office smelled of money. Old money. Leather armchairs, dark polished woods, plush hunter green carpet. A bronze statue of a horse and rider, silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun, adorned a tall marble stand and stared solemnly out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking downtown Midland. Silence dominated the room, except for the soft ticktock of the grandfather clock and a woman’s muffled whimpering.

  Four chairs faced the lawyer’s desk. Jake Stone sat in the first, his sister, Jessica, beside him and on the end Myrna Stone, their stepmother. The fourth chair sat conspicuously empty.

  Norman Woodard, the lawyer, ran a manicured hand over the silver streak of hair above his left ear, then glanced at the clock. “Mr. Stone, it’s already twenty minutes past the hour. We really can’t—”

  “We wait.”

  “But—”

  Jake lifted his gaze sharply to the man. “I said, we wait.”

  Woodard’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.

  Jessica laid a hand over Jake’s and he felt the tension slowly ease from his shoulders. His baby sister was no baby anymore, he realized with a note of regret. He could still clearly remember twenty-six years ago, the day his parents had brought her home from the hospital. He’d been only eight at the time, and all he’d seen sticking out of that pink blanket were two huge blue eyes and a crop of shining black hair.

  The memory of that day and the happiness in his parents’ eyes brought reality crashing back down. They were both gone. His mother twelve years ago, now J.T. Jake closed his fingers tightly around his sister’s. At least he still had Jessie. Jessie and... He stared at the empty chair.

  “Mr. Stone,” the lawyer tried again, “your brother was given sufficient notice of the day and time of this meeting. I suggest we—”

  Tipping back his Stetson, Jake straightened in his chair, knowing that his height had intimidated more than one man. “I just buried my father two days ago, then drove three hours for this meeting. I have two hundred head of cattle to feed, fence to ride and a hay trailer with a flat tire. If I can wait—” he settled back in his chair “—then so can you.”

  “Mr. Woodard.” Jessica leaned forward, and Jake noticed the weary tone in her voice. “These past few days have been difficult, and I’m afraid we’re all a little tired. I’m sure my brother will be here any minute.”

  “Maybe Mr. Woodard is right,” Myrna said, worrying the handkerchief in her hands. “After all, it is getting late.”

  Jake turned to his stepmother. A former Miss Houston, she still looked pretty good at fifty-two. Her blue suit hadn’t a wrinkle, nor was one bottle-red hair out of place. Not even a smudge of mascara, though she’d been sniffling and dabbing at her eyes for the past forty-five minutes.

  “Maybe Mr. Woodard here,” Jake said, narrowing his eyes, “doesn’t know that flying in from South America isn’t exactly a trip to the corner store. And maybe if you hadn’t insisted on a funeral that took less time than picking up hamburgers at a drive-through, my brother might have made his father’s burial, too.”

  Myrna’s jaw went tight at the sarcasm, but she said nothing, just turned away and stared blankly out the window. For once, Jake thought, the woman knew when to quit.

  The clock chimed the half hour.

  They waited.

  He’d show up. Jake knew he would. It didn’t matter that Jared had been gone for three years. It didn’t even matter that he hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral. All that mattered was that when Jake had finally managed to get a hold of his brother in Venezuela, Jared had said he’d be here. And if it meant camping out in this stuffy lawyer’s office until he showed up, then by God, that was what they’d do.

  When the three-quarter hour chimed, Mr. Woodard stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said curtly, tugging on the jacket of his precision-cut, tailor-made suit, “I’ll go see about having something brought in. Some sandwiches, perhaps, and some drinks—”

  “Make mine a rare roast beef” came a deep voice from the back of the room, “and a tall cold beer.”

  All heads jerked around at the unexpected order. Jared Stone stood in the doorway, his hand on the knob. His denim jacket was worn, but clean, his thick black hair ruffled as if he’d been in a windstorm. A half smile deepened the creases beside his mouth and his eyes—Stone trademark blue—widened with pleasure as he stared at a brother and sister he hadn’t seen in three years.

  Jessica jumped up from her seat and flew at him, pouncing into his arms as she had when she was a child. Laughing, he lifted her, then spun her around. Jake watched, feeling a strange swelling in his chest as he walked toward his brother. He waited for Jared to put Jessica down before he stuck out his hand.

  Jared stared at Jake’s hand and his smile slowly faded. The brothers’ eyes met, held for one long moment, then, not knowing who moved first and not caring, slapped their arms around each other in a fierce hug.

  Jessica circled her arms around both of them and the three of them stood there, sharing the joy of their reunion and the grief that had made it happen.

  “Welcome, Mr. Stone,” Mr. Woodard interrupted the homecoming. “We’re so glad you were able to join us.”

  “My flight was canceled twice,” Jared explained, pulling away from his brother and sister. He noticed his stepmother then and walked over to her. “I’m sorry, Myrna. It must be hard for you.”

  Myrna’s lip quivered as she hugged Jared. “He was fine when I went to town. I came home four hours later and found him in the garage. His heart...it just—” She choked back a sob and wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “Well, now.” Mr. Woodard cleared his throat. “Since we’re all here, perhaps we can get started.”

  Nodding, Jake took his seat. Right now, all he wanted was to be alone with his brother and sister, and the sooner they got this over with, the better.

  Jessica sat between him and Jared, and Myrna sidled back into her chair. Mr. Woodard, already seated, leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. “As you may know, your father—” he looked at Jake, then Myrna “—and your husband, came to me six months ago to have a will drawn.”

  “Why you?” Jake asked. “Cactus Flat is a lot closer to Stone Creek than Midland. Why would he drive all this way just to have a will made?”

  “Your father was well-known in Cactus Flat,” the lawyer responded. “And because the nature of his requests were somewhat...delicate, he thought it best to seek legal counsel elsewhere.”

  Delicate, my behind, Jake thought dryly. There hadn’t been one thing about J.T. that anyone would have called delicate. “If you’re trying to say that small towns talk, why don’t you just spit it out?”

  Woodard frowned at the expression. “There was a concern on your father’s part for privacy, Mr. Stone.”

  Myrna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Jessica looked at Jake, then Jared. A heartbeat of silence filled the room like a lead weight.

  Jake stared sharply at the lawyer. “Why don’t we just get on with it.”

  Nodding, the lawyer straightened his glasses as he lifted the document from its folder.

  “‘I, Jeremiah Tobias Stone,’” he began, “‘of Cactus Flat County, Texas, declare that this is my Will and revoke all prior wills and codicils...’” He droned on, “
‘...and I name Jake Stone, my eldest son, as Executor of this Will...’”

  Eyes narrowed, Myrna turned to Jake, clearly unhappy at J.T.’s choice of an executor. At the mention of her name, she turned back to Woodard.

  “‘...to my spouse, Myrna Stone, I leave my home and its furnishings, plus the surrounding three acres.’”

  Myrna’s mouth dropped open. Stone Creek was a total of one hundred thousand acres. “But—” She started to protest, but the lawyer moved on.

  “‘...to my son Jake Stone I leave the sixty thousand acres that constitutes Stone Creek ranch, including any existing cattle and assets of that property...’”

  Stone Creek Ranch. Jake felt his heart slam against his ribs. He had thought for sure Myrna would get the ranch that he’d run for his father for the past twelve years. Jessica took hold of Jake’s hand and squeezed. He knew she understood how important the ranch and Stone Creek were to him.

  “But—” Myrna opened her mouth again.

  “‘...to my son Jared Stone, I leave a parcel of fifteen thousand acres containing a closed-down oil well, plus any and all oil-drilling equipment on the property...’”

  Jake looked at his brother. He sat stiff in his chair, his hand tightly clasped on the arm, staring straight ahead. The oil well. Jared’s oil well. Three years ago, J.T. had taken it away. Now, in his death, he was giving it back.

  Myrna clamped her mouth shut. Her gray eyes glistened with anger, but she said nothing.

  “‘...and to my daughter, Jessica Stone, I leave fifteen thousand acres that contain the remains of Makeshift, an abandoned town.’”

  Stunned, Jessica sat there for a moment, then as she glanced from Jared to Jake, a brilliant smile spread across her face. Jake knew that Jessica had spent half her childhood in the abandoned town. It had been like a giant playhouse for her. What she would do with it now Jake hadn’t a clue, but he had no doubt she’d think of something. In fact, based on the look in her blue eyes, the wheels were already turning.

  “What about my husband’s other assets?” Myrna asked expectantly.

  Woodard shook his head. “J.T.’s accountant sent me the past three years of financial statements, Mrs. Stone. It seems that all of his cash and liquid assets were drained to remodel his private residence. There’s only a few thousand left, and as stipulated in the will, that money will be equally divided amongst you and his children.”

  Jake watched Myrna’s face turn white at the lawyer’s unexpected news. The woman had spent the past ten years building and continuously remodeling a two-story, six-thousand-square-foot monument to herself, and now she had the nerve to sit here and look surprised because there was no more money. If he didn’t feel so damn ticked off about it, he might have actually laughed at the irony of it all.

  A sour taste rose in Jake’s throat. It would hardly affect Myrna, anyway. She not only had money from her first husband, but her own father, Carlton Hewitt III, owned half of Houston and was busy trying to buy the rest, as well. What the hell was a few thousand more or less to her, in land or money? Her father had always given her everything she’d wanted. To himself, and to Jared and Jessica, it was the difference between losing Stone Creek or preserving their father’s legacy.

  And that, above anything else, was what Jake intended to do.

  “Well, then,” Myrna said crisply as she dropped her handkerchief into her purse and snapped it shut, “if that’s all, then—”

  “I’m afraid it’s not, Mrs. Stone.” Everyone turned and looked at the lawyer. He appeared slightly uncomfortable. “There’s still one more bequest in the will.”

  “To the tune of ten thousand acres, I believe,” Jake said thoughtfully.

  Woodard nodded.

  “J.T.’s entire family is sitting in this room,” Myrna said sharply. “Who else would my husband leave anything to?”

  The lawyer glanced at the document and read, “‘To Emma Victoria Roberts Stone.’” He lifted his gaze as he stared at the Stone children. “J.T.’s nine-year-old daughter.”

  No one moved. It seemed as if no one breathed. Her face rigid, Myrna gripped her black leather purse so tightly it creaked. “Mr. Woodard, J.T. and I were married for eleven years. Surely I’d know if he had...that is, if there was an indiscretion of that nature. There must be some mistake.”

  “I realize what a shock this must be to you all, but your husband did, in fact, father a child, Mrs. Stone. While he was married to you.”

  “A sister?” Jessica whispered, leaning forward in her seat. “We have a sister?”

  “Yes, Miss Stone.”

  Disbelieving, Jessica glanced at both her brothers, then back to the lawyer. “But...how?”

  Jared looked at Jessica and raised a brow. “We’ll talk later.”

  Jessica frowned at him. “What I mean is, why didn’t we know? How could he not tell us?”

  Woodard adjusted his glasses. “It was only recently that your father himself found out. As of this time, I’m afraid our information on the child is extremely limited. We do know that she’s nine years old, and we believe she’s living in the South somewhere, but that’s about it. Your father hired a private investigator to find her, but unfortunately J.T. passed away before the man could locate the mother or the child. However—” the lawyer looked at Jake “—your father has requested in his will that Jake continue the search.”

  Ignoring Myrna’s incredulous look, Jake stared straight ahead. An affair. His father had had an affair.

  And I have a new kid sister.

  “This is ridiculous.” Myrna’s voice was tight with anger. “Even if there is a child—and I certainly don’t believe there is—what difference does it make now? J.T. is gone. There’s absolutely no reason to look for her.”

  Jessica put her hand on Jake’s arm. “Of course we’ll look for her. Won’t we, Jake?”

  Jake looked down at his sister. “She’s a Stone, isn’t she?”

  Jessica hugged him, knocking off his Stetson.

  “Never a dull moment,” Jared said, shaking his head and smiling.

  “You sure as hell can say that again,” Jake replied, returning his sister’s hug. “Welcome home, little brother.”

  One

  The town house was expensive. White wrought iron, beveled windows, shiny brass mailboxes. The taxi slowed, then pulled to a stop in front of a small brick security building nearly engulfed by a creeping vine with pink flowers. The guard behind the polished glass window glanced over his newspaper at the taxi and frowned slightly.

  The driver turned to his passenger. “You want me to wait?”

  That was a good question, Jake thought. He might be here thirty minutes or thirty seconds. Hell, the woman might not even open the door, in spite of the fact she knew he was coming. It had taken five months after J.T.’s death to track her down, and according to the private investigator, she’d been less than welcoming. Getting her to agree to this meeting had been about as easy as branding a loose steer.

  “So how ‘bout it?” The cabbie grew impatient. “You want me to wait or not?”

  Jake grabbed the small duffel bag on the floor beside him and shook his head. “I’ll call.”

  The guard watched carefully now as Jake paid the fare. It wasn’t as if Jake didn’t understand the man’s concern. This section of Atlanta, Georgia, was much more accustomed to CEOs in tailored suits than a six-foot-four cowboy in a black Stetson and blue jeans.

  Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Jake approached the wary guard. “Afternoon.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’m looking for number 312, Miss Roberts’s place.”

  The man lifted his bushy gray eyebrows and set his paper aside. “And you are?” he asked, pulling out a clipboard.

  “Jake Stone.”

  The guard scanned his daily list of permitted admittances. “Yes, Mr. Stone. Miss Roberts is expecting you. Second sidewalk, turn left. She’s the third place in.”

  He pushed a buzzer and a huge gate opened. Jake stepped inside, then
turned to look back when the gate clanked shut behind him. Damn. He felt as if he’d just stepped into prison. What the hell kind of place was this that needed high gates and security guards? No place he’d want his kids to grow up. But then, he thought with a frown, since he had no kids and remarriage was definitely not in his plans, where his children were or weren’t raised was hardly something to consider.

  Shaking his head, Jake followed the guard’s directions. Magnolia trees shaded the walkway and bright pink flowers filled the beds. Everywhere he looked was green. A lush deep green that one rarely saw in west Texas. Jake had forgotten there were so many shades of green.

  Carolyn, his ex-wife, would have loved this place. The thought made Jake instantly hate it. He wanted out of here, and the sooner, the better.

  But he was here for Jessie, Jake reminded himself. He knew that his sister would skin him alive if he didn’t come back with some kind of good news. Even Jared had seemed anxious, Jake recalled, remembering the smile in his younger brother’s eyes when they’d said goodbye at the airport. It had been a long time since Jared had smiled or seemed enthusiastic about anything, and there was nothing Jake wouldn’t do to keep that smile there.

  Number 312. Jake stood in front of the door and stared at the shiny brass numbers. A knot began to form in his gut, and though he never would have admitted it, not even to Jessie, a sudden rush of excitement swept through him. Emma Roberts Stone. J.T.’s child.

  His sister.

  * * *

  “Is he really my brother?” Emma asked for at least the third time in the past half hour. “Is he really?”

  Savannah pulled a brush through the child’s shining black hair and felt the same twitch in her stomach she’d felt every time her niece asked that question. “We don’t know that for sure, Pecan. That’s why he’s coming over, so we can talk about it.”

  “It’s almost time,” Emma said excitedly, twisting her head to glance at the clock. The neat ponytail Savannah had just pulled together disintegrated.

  Frowning, Savannah straightened Emma’s head and tried again. “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop fidgeting, we’ll never get your hair done.”