The Taming of Tyler Kincaid

by Sandra Marton

  Reality caught up, punched the breath from him like a fist to the belly.

  For God’s sake, man!

  What was he doing? Had he lost his sanity? Maybe. A man had to be nuts to stand in the Baron foyer and make love to the stepdaughter of the man he now knew always had been, and always would be, his enemy.

  And he’d done it all with an audience.

  The guy with the smarmy smile was still standing there, tucked into a corner as if he hoped nobody would notice him, only now his eyes were the size of saucers.

  “Let go of me, Kincaid.”

  He blinked, looked at Caitlin. Carefully, deliberately, he took his hands from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but he could tell, from the look she gave him, that “sorry” wasn’t going to do it. Her eyes weren’t dark with passion now, they were hot with anger.

  “You’ll do anything to embarrass me, won’t you?”

  “No. Hell, no. I didn’t kiss you to—”

  “Leighton?” Caitlin’s cheeks were still pink, but her composure was back. “Leighton,” she said again, without looking away from Tyler, “where are you?”

  Leighton, Tyler thought wryly, had gone from a man trying to squeeze into a corner to one trying to merge with a wall.

  “Leave him out of this,” he said softly. “It’s not his affair.”

  Wasn’t it? Caitlin wasn’t sure. For all she knew, Tyler had kissed her for Leighton’s benefit. To put his brand on her. To defeat her, maybe even to try to control her. He wanted something, something that had to do with Jonas and Espada.

  And he was dangerous to her.

  Every instinct warned her Jonas was right, that Tyler was trying to use her as a tool in some far larger plan—but it all flew out of her head when she was in his arms. Even now, when he wasn’t touching her, she could hear the roar of blood in her ears. The way he was looking into her eyes, his gaze so private and watchful. The shape of his mouth, and the knowledge of how it had felt against hers…

  Yes. He was dangerous, but if he reached for her again, she might—she might—

  Help me, Caitlin pleaded desperately of whatever gods might be listening, help me, please.

  “Leighton.” Years of dealing with Jonas had made her a hell of a good actress. Her tone was cool and steady, tinged with an unmistakable ring of authority. “Are you going to let this—this stranger insult me?”

  Tyler sighed. “Ah, Caitlin, Caitlin,” he said, almost mournfully.

  She stepped back. “Leighton?”

  “I’m here, Caitlin.” Leighton sounded so pathetic that she almost—almost—regretted involving him. “Mr. Kincaid.” He cleared his throat. “Sir, your presence isn’t—”

  “Stay out of this, Baron.”

  Caitlin stamped her foot. “How dare you tell him that! Leighton? Why don’t you do something?”

  “He is,” Tyler said, flashing Leighton a chilly smile. “He’s minding his own business. Isn’t that right, pal?”

  “Caitlin,” Leighton said, “my dear, perhaps…”

  Tyler took Caitlin’s elbow, held on to it even as she tried to jerk free.

  “McCord,” he said softly, “don’t drag him into this. This is between you and me.”

  “It’s between you and Jonas,” Caitlin said, and waited, oh waited, for him to tell her she was wrong.

  He didn’t.

  Tyler looked at her, then let her go. “You’re right,” he said gruffly. “It is.”

  He leaned down, brushed his mouth over hers. Then he walked down the hall toward the library, where her stepfather was waiting. After he’d disappeared around a corner, Leighton came scurrying up beside her.

  “Impudent bastard,” he muttered.

  Caitlin swung around, eyes snapping, but one look at his pale face and sweaty brow stopped her. This was Leighton. What did she expect? Everyone knew what he was. Leighton had to know it, too. Besides, in her heart, she really couldn’t blame him for what he’d done—for what he hadn’t done, when he saw Tyler kiss her. Oh, be honest, Caitlin! When he saw her kiss Tyler back.

  The scene must have been raw enough to send any onlooker scurrying for cover. Even afterward, when she’d pulled away and Tyler had talked to her, the power emanating from him had been almost palpable. She honestly couldn’t imagine any man standing up to him…well, with the exception of her stepbrothers.

  They wouldn’t have been afraid to take him on. In fact, Gage, Travis and Slade reminded her of Tyler. Hard men, when they had to be. Gentle, when being gentle mattered.

  And Tyler could be gentle. His touch could be tender, and his kisses…

  His kisses.

  Caitlin closed her eyes, swayed a little as she remembered those kisses. If she and Tyler had been alone, he’d have finished what had begun the previous night. And she wanted him to. Yes, oh, yes, she wanted him to. She longed to lie beneath him, to watch that handsome, arrogant face lose its composure as she arched up to meet him, as she wrapped her legs around him, took him deep, deep inside her…

  “Catie?”

  She blinked. Leighton was staring at her, his face still pale under its year-round tan.

  “I should have beaten Kincaid to a pulp,” he said. “But I didn’t want to subject you to any further distress.”

  Caitlin sighed. “Of course.”

  “Are you—are you all right?”

  She laughed this time and looped her arm through his. “It was only a kiss, Leighton. I’m fine. Well, not really. I’m starving,” she said brightly. “Do you think we’re too late for brunch?”

  Leighton shot a glance down the hall, as if Tyler might suddenly materialize like an image from a bad dream.

  “Uh, yes. Yes, I think we probably are. Perhaps another time…”

  “Nonsense. I’m hungry as a horse. If we’ve missed brunch, I’ll settle for the buffet at the Hearthstone Inn. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds—it sounds fine.” He looked towards the library again. “That is, if you really think—I mean, if you really want—”

  Caitlin lost her patience. “Dammit, Leighton, isn’t that what I just said?”

  His feet dragged only a little as she hurried him out the door and down the steps, but he almost stumbled when she led him past the library windows, toward his car.

  Oh, hell, she thought, why was she doing this? The last thing she wanted was to spend the next hour in Leighton’s company.

  Her spine prickled.

  Tyler was watching from the window. She could almost feel his eyes on her, boring a hole between her shoulder blades just as she could still feel the imprint of his kiss on her lips.

  Suddenly, it seemed difficult to breathe in the hot summer air.

  “Hurry, Leighton,” she said gaily, and laced her fingers through his.

  * * *

  Jonas usually sat in the armchair that Marta laughingly called his throne.

  He always rolled his eyes when she said it but the truth was that he did like sitting in it. It was a high-backed wing chair made of hand-tanned, buttery soft leather. The Espada crest was burned into the back and arms, bull horns bound with rope and pierced by the ancient Spanish sword he’d found decades ago, when he’d sweated and strained to make this land his.

  The chair gave him an advantage, imagined or not. When his sons were growing up, he’d always begun disciplinary meetings seated in it with his hands firmly placed over the crests, and he’d helped anoint more than one politician with a word and a check handed over while he sat in that same chair.

  But he wasn’t sitting in it now.

  He was standing, shoulders and spine as straight as a man who’d seen so many winters could make them. Instinct told him it would be a mistake to sit while Tyler Kincaid stood.

  Not even his throne chair would give him the advantage, if this conversation were going where he figured it would. Where he feared it would, not because Kincaid had a case worth hearing but because all the old memories had come swarming back. They’d bee
n haunting his days and nights, ever since he’d laid eyes on the man the week before.

  It was early, way too early for bourbon, but Jonas poured himself one anyway, drank down half at one gulp, refilled the glass and then stood, waiting, for Kincaid to come in. The bastard took his time about it. And damned if he didn’t head for the window the second he walked into the room.

  Jonas cleared his throat.

  “You wanted to see me,” he said coldly, “I’m here, not out there.”

  Kincaid didn’t respond. He didn’t turn around, either. He just kept looking out that window, his posture every bit as rigid as Jonas’s, his arms at his sides.

  “Dammit, Kincaid…”

  Jonas cocked his head. The windows were open; he could hear voices outside. He craned his neck, saw Caitlin and Leighton. What in tarnation had gotten into the girl today? She was hangin’ onto the arm of that spineless nephew of his, lookin’ up at him and laughin’ her head off.

  And Kincaid’s hands were knotting into fists, as he listened and watched.

  Jonas’s eyes narrowed. Did he really think he could have his way with Catie? She was a Baron. Well, she was the next best thing to a Baron, and the world would come to an end before he saw her in the arms of—of—

  “Kincaid.” Jonas crossed the room and stood behind Tyler. “You got business with me, get to it, otherwise get out of my house and off my land.”

  Tyler forced himself to turn away from the sight outside and turned, slowly, towards Jonas Baron. The old man looked as imperious as a Roman senator but there was a flicker in his eyes that said he wasn’t feeling quite as tough as his words, and his looks, suggested.

  “You’re good at making that threat, Baron.”

  “Ain’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

  Tyler smiled. What he really wanted was to wrap his hands around the old man’s throat, but what good would that do, after all these years? He wanted the answers he’d come for. It was too late for vengeance.

  Far too late.

  “You’re good at pretending you don’t know why I’m here, either.”

  “Business, you said.”

  “No, Baron, I didn’t. I said we’re going to talk about something that happened thirty-five years ago.” Taking his time, he strolled past Jonas to the cabinet where he remembered the liquor was stored and opened it. “It’s too early for me to drink bourbon. Have you something else to wet a man’s throat?”

  Jonas’s mouth turned down as he watched Tyler poke around inside the cabinet. “Makin’ yourself at home, ain’t you?”

  Tyler looked around and smiled. “Sure,” he said lazily. “Heck, you know what they say. ‘Better late than never.’”

  The men’s eyes met, and what Jonas saw made an icy fist close around his gut.

  “I ain’t much for homilies,” he said curtly. “You want somethin’ else, try that cabinet just underneath.”

  The cabinet was a small, well-disguised refrigerator. Tyler reached for a bottle, took his time opening it, lifting it to his lips and taking a long swallow. His throat felt parched, like the desert after an extended dry spell, and there was a cramp in his belly, which was dumb. He wasn’t nervous. What was there to be nervous about? He was about to confront his past. Put his demons to rest. Solve the puzzle, whatever in hell you wanted to call it, all thanks to an early-morning phone call from the private investigator.

  “I hope you’re sitting down, sir,” Crane had said, in a tone that conjured up a picture of him wringing his hands with delight. “I have some astounding news.”

  Tyler took another mouthful of ale.

  Astounding was the word for it, all right. And that was the way he was determined to treat it, as news that amazed him, not information that had set his gut churning and prompted another dozen questions that needed answering even more desperately than the original.

  He took a deep breath and turned to Jonas.

  “I asked you some questions, the last time we spoke.”

  Jonas shrugged his shoulders. “Mebbe.”

  “Questions about babies born to women on Espada, thirty-five years ago.”

  “Did you?” Jonas shrugged again. “My memory ain’t what it used to be, Kincaid, but if that’s what you say—”

  “Don’t screw with me, old man.”

  Tyler’s words fell like stones between them. Jonas started to answer, saw the tightly controlled fury in the younger man’s eyes, and decided keeping quiet might be a better plan.

  “I told you I was especially interested in a child born here on or about July 18, thirty-five years ago.” Tyler put down the bottle of ale and folded his arms over his chest. “Does that jog your memory, Baron?”

  “What if it does?” Jonas folded his arms, too. “Get to the point, Kincaid.”

  “We talked about a couple of your men whose wives were pregnant that summer.”

  “You talked. I listened. And I told you there wasn’t a way in hell I could remember details like who had a bun in the oven and who didn’t, that far back.”

  “You remembered that your housekeeper had given birth that summer.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s diff’rent. Carmen’s been here so long she’s part of the family. I put the boy she birthed that summer through medical school.” Jonas frowned and looked past Tyler to the grandfather clock in the corner. “I got things to do and places to go, Kincaid. You got somethin’ more to tell me, you’d best tell it.”

  Tyler put his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “What you didn’t remember was that your own wife had a baby that summer, too,” he said. His voice was very soft; the look in his eyes flat and unforgiving. “How come you didn’t mention that, when I asked you who’d had babies on this ranch, on or about July 18, thirty-five summers ago, Baron? How come you managed to forget that Juanita Baron dropped a litter, too?”

  Jonas moved fast, much faster than Tyler would have figured a man his age could move. He shot out a hand, caught Tyler by the shirtfront.

  “You watch what you say about my wife,” he growled.

  “Take your hand off me, old man.” Tyler’s eyes flashed. “Take it off, or so help me, I’ll do what I’ve been thinking about doing ever since early this morning, I’ll pick you up by your neck and throw you through that damned window!”

  The men glared at each other, eye to eye, toe to toe. At last, Jonas let go of Tyler’s shirt and took a step back.

  “How come?” Tyler said, very softly.

  “I didn’t mention it ’cause it was none of your business.”

  “I asked you what you knew about babies born on Espada that summer.”

  “And I answered you.” Jonas walked around Tyler, picked up his glass and drank down the rest of his bourbon. His hand trembled; the realization made his stomach turn with self-disgust. “I don’t owe you the details, Kincaid, but since you’ve asked them, I’ll tell you. Yeah, my wife—my first wife—was pregnant back then.” He looked at his glass, looked at the bottle of bourbon, picked it up and poured another inch of the liquid. “She died in childbirth.”

  Tyler nodded. “I know that,” he said, and waited to feel something, just as he’d waited when the private detective dropped the news on him earlier, but he felt nothing. “She’s buried here, on Espada.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she is.” Jonas tossed back half his drink, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and walked to the door. “You happy now?”

  “Is that what you think I should be?” Tyler said, with a tight smile. “Happy?”

  “Why wouldn’t you be? You came here, bullied your way into my library, got me to talk about somethin’ still hurts me to remember…”

  “What does it hurt you to remember, old man?”

  “Why, what I just told you. About losin’ my wife.” Jonas drew a shuddering breath. “Juanita was—she was special.”

  He means it, Tyler thought, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the lined face. The old man had done what he’d done, but he’d loved his wife.

&nbs
p; For the first time since he’d begun his quest, Tyler wondered if he really wanted to push it any further. The deeper he dug, the more impenetrable things became. Maybe it would be better to leave here thinking he’d found the truth, but not certain of it.

  No. Hell, no. Tyler straightened his shoulders. He’d never backed away from anything in his life, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  “Special,” he said softly.

  Jonas nodded. “That’s right.”

  “So special that you plucked her baby from her womb and gave it away?”

  There it was, Jonas thought, the ugly secret was out, dragged from the darkness where he’d thought he’d buried it so many years ago and thrust into a merciless present. He was ready, though. He’d been ready ever since the day Tyler Kincaid had confronted him. Truth was, he’d been half expecting this moment for a long time.

  Thirty-five years ago, he’d still been young enough to believe a man with power and money could dig a hole so deep the secret he dropped into it would never be found. But a lot had happened since then. Governments had fallen. Presidents had tumbled. No secret was safe, really safe, anymore…not unless you were the only one who kept it.

  Jonas sighed. “Kincaid,” he said, “you amaze me.”

  “The feeling’s mutual. You amaze me, too, Baron. I once beat the crap out of a man I caught trying to dump a puppy in the river.” Tyler’s voice roughened and he took a step forward. “Just imagine what I want to do to you.”

  “You amaze me, boy, because you’ve got one hell of an imagination. ‘Plucked the child from her womb and gave it away?’ Is that what you’re accusin’ me of?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said coldly. “That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of.”

  “Well, I hate to derail this train from wherever you’re tryin’ to take it, Kincaid, but the simple fact of the matter is, my Juanita died and her baby died with her.”