“Liza?” Jay asked. “Her bruise didn’t look that bad.”
“It was the bullet in her gut that killed her, but not before she talked.”
“Henry,” Jay said bleakly, remembering what his foreman had said about cleaning up after Barton.
“That’s what she said, along with enough other stuff to make me want to kick some sociopathic ass. What the hell happened, Jay?”
“It’s a long story,” he said. “I’d just as soon only tell it once.”
“M-Me too,” Sara said.
Shivers wrought havoc on her equilibrium, but they had little to do with cold.
“Adrenaline overload,” Jay said softly against her ear. “Hold on to me.”
He lifted his head and said to Cooke, “Can we take care of the formalities at the Vermilion suite? Sara spent too long running through the snow wearing only a blouse and jeans and was dunked in ice water twice along the way. She needs a warm bath, hot soup, and a chance to come down from the terror of being hunted like an animal and then having a gun held to her head. Send a deputy along with us if you have to.”
“After what Liza said, you’re the last one I’m looking to arrest,” Cooke said, glancing at Henry. “Son of a bitch. I wouldn’t have expected it from him.”
“They were going to sell the ranch after Barton inherited, using my blood for the DNA test.”
“Barton isn’t a Vermilion?” Cooke asked, startled.
Behind him, his deputies talked in excited whispers.
“No,” Sara said. “Custer was Barton’s sperm donor.”
“I’ll be damned,” Cooke said. “Liza didn’t say anything about that. Now it makes more sense, in a twisted up kind of way.”
Jay closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about the irretrievable past. Then he tilted Sara’s face up and kissed her gently.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
He only wished it was her home, too.
CHAPTER 30
Six Months Later
THE JACKSON GALLERY was filled with swirls of well-dressed people holding champagne glasses and munching canapés. Beautiful color catalogs of previously unknown paintings by Armstrong “Custer” Harris were stacked on an elegant table. For those who actually had bought a painting at the auction earlier, there was also a complimentary, and very expensive, illustrated coffee-table book describing Custer’s life and paintings. Studded throughout the text were anecdotes of his life on Vermilion Ranch.
Sara circulated through the crowd wearing a black sheath and the antique Indian jewelry that Vermilion women had worn for well over a century. In an irony that still burned as much as it amused, Jay had inherited Liza’s and Barton’s “material goods.”
In addition to the jewelry, Sara wore a professional smile over the turmoil churning in her mind. The Edge of Never had become one of the most talked-about and nominated movies of the year. That, and the buzz around the newly discovered Custers—to say nothing of the scandal of JD’s ex-wife and her child by Custer—had driven the price of the paintings higher than Sara had expected.
Once the press began to breathlessly report on stories of murder and mayhem in the well-heeled Wyoming resort town of Jackson, the resulting perfect storm of publicity meeting notoriety had made the furor around Wyeth’s Helga paintings look like the kind of teenage hair-pulling that might occur when two girls wore the same dress to their small-town junior prom.
The effects of all of those factors combined had seen the restored Muse sell for over a million dollars.
Every one of the other Custers Jay had chosen to liquidate at auction had a sold sticker beside it. The cheapest painting, a small study of intersecting wooden fences that had once been stored in a cardboard box, brought seventy thousand dollars.
Nothing like a hot auction to wring out wallets, Sara thought.
Despite the unqualified success of the last six months, leading up to the gala evening, she felt like she was being torn apart. Though she and Jay had alternated flying between Wyoming and San Francisco, saying good-bye had become harder each time—for both of them.
Tomorrow it would be the same.
Suddenly needing to touch Jay, she looked around the room, searching for a man with black hair and the muscular ease of an athlete or a predator. She spotted him trapped between two svelte matrons in designer clothes.
They reminded her of Liza. From the tension beneath his polite veneer of interest, Sara knew that Jay felt the same.
Even now, sometimes she woke up at night with her heart beating too fast and screams throttled in her throat. When Jay was with her, she curled into his heat and held on until the worst was past. When he wasn’t with her, she got up and worked until she was tired enough to sleep again.
Get over it, she told herself. It’s past. Nobody is hunting us now.
“You put together a first-class auction,” someone said to her.
“Thank you. Custer is a first-class painter,” she said automatically, smiling and moving on.
Only belatedly did she realize she had all but snubbed the man who was her newest client, a man who had bought three Custers—all of them among the artist’s best works. She thought about going back, but the lure of standing next to Jay was greater than any client, no matter how wealthy.
“Excuse me,” she said to the designer matrons. “There’s a call for you, Jay.”
“Ladies,” he said, nodding to the disappointed women.
He followed Sara as she wove expertly through the crowd, greeting half the people without inviting anyone to linger.
She’s good at this, Jay realized anew. Really good. She handled all the endless details and never lost patience or interest. Now she’s getting calls to do the same thing all over the country.
The realization that they would once again be saying good-bye tomorrow was a cold heaviness in him that had grown greater each time they separated, no matter how brief the trip.
Each time it became harder, tearing up both of them.
This has to end, he thought starkly. It’s costing too much.
For both of us.
Sara unlocked her office door at the back of the gallery. Moments later she locked it again behind herself, a new habit she saw no point in breaking.
“Is it about the ranch?” he asked.
“No. I just needed to hold you.”
He gathered her against him carefully, completely, letting her female warmth and fragrance drive away the sinking cold that thinking about tomorrow had brought.
“I love you,” he said against her cheek.
She brushed her lips over his neck and tightened her arms. “I love you so much it’s tearing me apart,” she admitted, her voice hoarse with pain at the thought of yet another separation.
“It’s the same with me.” The muscles in his arms flexed as he held her even closer. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure, but this week I talked to a big corporate cattle operation. They offered me a good price for the ranch.”
She pulled back to look into his navy blue eyes. “Do you want to sell?”
“I want a life with you,” he said simply.
“Don’t sell,” she said, pressing her face into his neck. “The city isn’t a place I want to be more than I need to be with you. San Francisco is lonelier than I ever imagined it could be when you’re at Vermilion Ranch.”
Sara felt his arms wrap around her until she could hardly breathe—or maybe it was fear of the unknown that made her breathing unsteady. When she heard Jay repeat her name and his love against her ear, it gave her the strength to meet him more than halfway.
She turned her head to brush Jay’s lips repeatedly with her own, breathing in his words and returning them with her own between hungry kisses. “Can I take over a room or two at the main ranch house for an office? The way my business is going now, I’ll have to hire an assistant.”
“You can have the whole damn house for an office,” he said roughly.
Sh
e smiled. “We have to leave room for our children.”
He put his cheek against her hair while emotion shook him. “You don’t have to have kids. I know you don’t want—”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “I didn’t want to be like my mother. I’m not. I want children, Jay. Your children.”
“Marry me.”
The raw need in his voice made her eyes sting. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
Jay lifted Sara into a kiss that sent heat racing through them, a fire that would grow through the months and years together, the future they would share.
And that fire was love.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
As always, the landscape of my novel is real, but within that reality, I create something wholly fictional. Thus, Jackson and the Tetons exist in all their glory, but to my knowledge, Vermilion Ranch exists only in my mind. It is the same for the characters, alive only in my mind.
And now in yours.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author ELIZABETH LOWELL has more than eighty titles published to date with over twenty-four million copies of her books in print. She lives in the Sierra Nevada Mountains with her husband, with whom she writes novels under a pseudonym. Her favorite activity is exploring the Western United States to find the landscapes that speak to her soul and inspire her writing.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
ALSO BY ELIZABETH LOWELL
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Innocent as Sin
Whirlpool
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The Secret Sister
Always Time to Die
Death Is Forever
The Color of Death
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Midnight in Ruby Bayou
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Tell Me No Lies
ROMANCE
This Time Love
Eden Burning
Beautiful Dreamer
Remember Summer
To the Ends of the Earth
Where the Heart Is
Desert Rain
A Woman Without Lies
Lover in the Rough
Forget Me Not
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Winter Fire
Autumn Lover
Only Love
Enchanted
Forbidden
Untamed
Only You
Only Mine
Only His
CREDITS
Cover design by Emin Mancheril
Cover photograph © by Shotshop GmbH/Alamy
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PERFECT TOUCH. Copyright © 2015 by Two of a Kind, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-232834-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-06-243106-6 (international edition)
EPub Edition JULY 2015 ISBN 9780062328359
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