by Lisa Jackson
“I hope you’re wrong about this,” he said, straightening his tie.
“Me, too.” She held his gaze for a second. “I don’t want to see you get all crazy about it.”
“I won’t.” Well, not crazy, but his blood did curdle at the thought of even one more Kincaid in the area. Jeremiah had been a half cousin to Garrett, or something like that. The way those Kincaids screwed around it was hard keeping ’em all straight. Not that he really wanted to.
“So, Larry fathered six kids out of wedlock. It figures.” He chuckled without a hint of mirth as he squared his hat on his head and reached for the doorknob. “I bet that just about killed Garrett when he found out.”
“The way Lily Mae tells it, Garrett’s planning to divide up the Whitehorn ranch among the heirs. To make amends or something.”
That stopped him short. He let the doorknob go, and faced his daughter. “I thought you said Janie Austin had the information.”
“She did, but Lily Mae put her two cents in.”
Jordan’s back teeth ground together as he thought of the Kincaid ranch—the place where he’d worked his tail off as a kid, the ranch that had been promised to him. “You know that spread is supposed to be mine. Ours. It used to be called the Baxter place before the Kincaids swindled it from us.”
Hope sighed and a sadness settled in her eyes. Once again he felt an incredible urge to protect her, for she was the light of his life.
“Why don’t you give it up, Dad?” she asked. “What’s your fascination with the Kincaid place, anyway? I know when Uncle Cameron owned the ranch he promised it to you, but that was years ago. And you’ve got so much already.”
That much was true. Jordan had made his own fortune years ago working for an investment firm in New York. Young, fresh out of college, and determined to put his poor roots behind him, he’d taken to investment banking like a fish to water. But his roots were here. In Whitehorn. Though he now owned thousands of acres in the county, none meant anything to him. The old Baxter place did. When times had been tough, it had been his home. He felt a lump rise in his throat and steadfastly swallowed it back.
“You know, Dad, you could buy and sell a dozen places around here. All of them would put the Kincaid ranch to shame.”
“It’s not about money, darlin’,” he said, wishing his only child understood, but then, she hadn’t experienced the grinding poverty he had, nor endured the taunts from some of the wealthier kids in Whitehorn that he’d heard while growing up. The worst had been the disparaging remarks and mean-spirited gibes that had been cast his way by the Kincaid boys. “Nope, it’s not about money at all, Hope,” he repeated, his voice a little rough. “It’s about pride. Family pride. That’s all that matters in this world and it’s time you knew it.”
“When did you say Garrett was due back?” Gina asked, wondering how she could possibly make small talk with this man.
“I didn’t. The foreman—”
“Rand Harding,” she said automatically.
Trent nodded. “He wasn’t sure, but didn’t think it would be long.”
Gina mentally crossed her fingers. The less time alone she had with Trent, the better.
“So, I guess this would be a good time for you and I to get to know each other,” he suggested, resting a hip against the railing. “If I recall correctly, we have some unfinished business between us.”
More than you know, she thought, her mouth suddenly desert dry. She decided it would be best to keep her secret to herself. Until she was certain.
“You’re talking about Dallas.” Her heart kicked into overdrive as she thought about that night. He stared at her so hard she found it difficult to take a breath. Oh, Lord, why wasn’t she immune to him? Why hadn’t she forgotten him after that one star-spangled night they’d shared? Why was she such an idiot where he was concerned? “I don’t think we should go into that.”
“Why not?”
Unspoken accusations fairly crackled in the warm spring air. “Because there’s no point to it. We had a night together, it was a mistake, and that’s the end of it.”
He grabbed her arm as if he expected her to flee. “Not exactly the end. We’re both here now.”
“So we are,” she said, wishing she was anyplace else on earth other than standing toe-to-toe with him, sandal to scruffy boot, feeling his work-roughened fingertips on her skin and smelling the faint seductive scent of the aftershave he’d been wearing when she’d first met him. For a second she thought he might kiss her the way he had in Dallas. Her throat caught and it took all her strength to yank her arm free of him. “But I don’t think we need to go into all that.”
Thankfully, the old dog ambled up the steps to lay at her feet. “Some watchdog you are,” she said, grateful for an excuse to not stare into Trent’s silently accusing eyes. She reached down and scratched the mutt behind his ears. His dark eyes regarded her warmly, a wet, pink tongue slid out of the side of his mouth and he rolled over, offering her his belly to be rubbed.
“Seems like you’ve made a friend for life,” Trent observed.
And right now I need each and every one, she thought.
The sound of a truck engine reached Gina’s ears and she turned to see a big pickup lumbering down the lane. Piled high with sacks of grain, the bed sat low over the tires. Behind the wheel, aviator sunglasses in place, was Garrett Kincaid, the patriarch of a brood of six, maybe even seven, illegitimate grandchildren. Gina had never actually met any of the grown men and women who had Kincaid blood running through their veins.
Except for Trent.
And that meeting had proved a disaster of monumental proportions. In his case—and in his case only—she had let her personal curiosity overcome her self-imposed rule to distance herself from her clients.
“See, now, you didn’t have to wait so long, after all,” Trent said sarcastically. “Let’s go have a chat with Gramps, shall we?”
He grabbed her wrist, making her pulse jump. With long, ground-eating strides he half dragged her as he made his way toward the stables where Garrett had parked beneath a solitary pine tree.
“Just wait a minute,” she said as she jogged to keep up with him. She jerked her arm free. “I, um, I think it would be best if Garrett didn’t know anything about what happened between you and me in Dallas,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks stain with color that had nothing to do with the intensity of the sun. He didn’t say a word, just waited, eyes narrowed, cords at the back of his neck standing out above the sun-bleached collar of his shirt.
“He wouldn’t approve?”
“It’s not that, but—”
“Don’t worry about me, darlin’. I’m not the kind to kiss and tell.” Trent’s smile was pure saccharine.
She felt like a damned fool. “Good, because what happened between us had nothing to do with you being Garrett’s grandson. You’re the only one I ever met and…well…” She let her voice trail off; there was just no reason to go into it any further.
“Only one. You mean, you didn’t meet Blake?”
She nodded. “Nor any of the other brothers.”
He froze. “’Other brothers’?”
She hesitated. “Garrett didn’t tell you?”
His jaw slid to one side. “Why don’t you?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, she supposed. He’d learn soon enough. “Larry Kincaid fathered six sons out of wedlock, quite possibly seven.”
Trent’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you trying to tell me that, besides me and my twin, there are five others? That I’ve got five half brothers?”
“Well, actually, you have six half brothers, excluding your twin, and a half sister. Larry had a son, Collin, and daughter, Melanie, with his wife Sue Ellen. The rest were the result of his affairs with several different women.”
Trent stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “That’s impossible,” he said as the conveyer loading the hay bales rumbled and a calf in a nearby field bawled plaintively. “No one’s that stupid. Not
in this day and age.”
“It would be better for Garrett to explain this,” she said, realizing she’d said too much. “He can tell you about your father.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said slowly, his nostrils flaring just a bit as he leaned down to drill her with those incredible blue eyes. “Larry Kincaid is not my father. It takes a helluva lot more than a one-night stand for a man to earn that title.”
“I suppose.” She swallowed hard at the irony in his words.
He glanced to the parking area near the stables where Garrett was climbing out of his truck. “And as for what happened in Dallas, I’ll keep it to myself. For now.”
“Good.”
“Now I think it’s time to get a few things straight with the old man.” With that he strode toward the truck and left Gina behind, feeling like an utter fool.
Trent zeroed in on the man who claimed to be his grandfather as the older man walked around a dented fender of the truck.
“You must be Trent.” Garrett removed his sunglasses, stuffed them into a pocket of his faded plaid shirt and extended his hand. “Here a bit early, aren’t you?”
“I guess I just couldn’t wait.”
“Fair enough.” Garrett’s smile was rock-steady. “Glad to finally meet you. Sorry it took so long.”
Trent took the older man’s hand. Garrett’s clasp was strong and sure, his face weathered, his straight hair nearly silver. There was a trace of Native American in him, the coppery skin and high cheekbones giving testament to it, but his eyes were a startling blue. Intense enough that, Trent guessed, they could cut through any amount of bull slung in the old man’s direction. “So, what do I call you? Gramps?” He couldn’t hide the sarcasm in his tone. Trent had learned long ago not to rely on family. A man made his own way in the world. Period. He relied on no one.
“Garrett will do.”
“Good.”
“I guess I should start out by apologizing for my son.” Pain stole through the old man’s eyes. “I had no idea that you or any of the others existed.” He lifted his hands and from the corner of his eye, Trent noticed that Gina had joined them in the shade of the tree and the old dog had followed suit, ambling across the sun-dappled gravel to sit at Garrett’s feet.
“It’s not your fault.”
Garrett rubbed his chin. “No, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad or obligated to make it up to you and the others.”
“Maybe no one wants anything.”
“Maybe.” Garrett didn’t seem convinced, and Trent realized this was a sincere man, one who was embarrassed by his son. Trent’s biological father.
It seemed that Larry Kincaid was a far worse choice for being a father or role model than Harold Remmington, the man Trent’s mother had passed off as his and his twin’s father. Harold had been a decent enough guy, Trent supposed, if you liked wimps. Trent didn’t.
But, hell, Larry Kincaid?
“You’ve met Gina, I see,” Garrett said, hitching his chin in the woman’s direction.
“Just.”
Gina—if that was her real name—managed a smile that seemed well-practiced at best. Oh, she was a looker, he’d grant her that. He’d noticed her right off in the DeMarco Hotel’s patio bar. She’d walked into the bar, alone, and he’d felt something like the soft touch of a finger at his nape. He’d looked up and found himself staring at the most beautiful woman he’d seen in a long, long while. Her red hair, cut in soft layers, had framed a perfectly oval face of white skin dusted with a few freckles. Her eyes, a deep green fringed with gold-tipped lashes, had seemed to sparkle in the moon glow. A pouty little smile that he’d found absolutely fascinating had been his undoing. From the first second he’d laid eyes on her, he’d determined that he would seduce her.
Right now, he noticed the rosy glow that had come to her cheeks. So she was embarrassed. She should be. She’d lied to him. And gotten caught. Trent had no use for liars. They were worse than wimps.
“We’ve actually met once before,” she admitted, shaking Garrett’s hand with a familiarity that bothered Trent. It was as if they were in on a very private secret—one that involved him. “Briefly. In Dallas.”
Garrett raised a silver eyebrow, but didn’t comment.
“Maybe we should go somewhere and sort this all out,” Trent suggested, suddenly uncomfortable. He looked to the sky and saw a hawk circling and high above that, the fading wake of a jet slicing across the wide Montana sky.
“Good idea. We’ll meet up at the house,” Garrett suggested. “I suppose you both brought your things.”
“Mine are in the car, but I’ll take a room in town,” Gina said quickly.
Garrett scowled. “Nonsense. We’ve got plenty of room and I’d like you close at hand.”
She was moving in? Here?
“Let’s get your bags inside.”
“What about you?” He slid a glance at his grandson.
“I already talked to Rand. He showed me up to a room at the main house. He seemed to think it would be okay with you.” Trent glanced at the two-storied home sitting upon a slight rise.
“More than okay. Just as long as you’re all settled in.”
“For a while,” Trent said. He scratched his forearm and asked a question that had been bothering him. “I suppose you contacted Blake?”
“Yes. Talked to him this morning. Said he’d give you a call.”
“I guess he missed me.”
“And you didn’t call him?”
“No.”
Trent shook his head and didn’t elaborate as he, along with Garrett, walked Gina to her Explorer. No reason to get into his problems with his twin right now. He had a feeling it would all come out soon enough.
“Blake will be here next week,” Garrett said as Gina opened the back of her car. “So will the others.” Trent was faced with half a dozen bags. This lady didn’t know the meaning of traveling light. “A regular family reunion.” Trent pulled out a medium-size bag.
“Or irregular,” Garrett corrected.
Trent’s eyes narrowed as he considered the man who had sired him. “Eight kids by six different women. Didn’t Larry know anything about birth control?”
“I guess not.” Garrett scowled as he grabbed a bag. “And I’d say it’s damned lucky for you that he didn’t.”
Three
Gina dropped her suitcase onto the bed and mentally kicked herself from one side of the sparse room to the other. Trent Remmington—why was he the one who’d shown up unannounced? What kind of cruel irony was that? Any of the other heirs she could have dealt with, but not Trent. Not until she was ready to face him again…and then again, maybe not ever. But all that had changed.
She hung up her few dresses in a closet about the size of a coffin, then refolded several pairs of jeans and T-shirts and placed them in a tall oak bureau. Glancing at her reflection in the cracked oval mirror attached to the bureau, she saw the wild state of her hair and the remainder of what had once been her makeup.
“Great,” she groaned. She was cranky and out of sorts—probably just because she’d had to face Trent again. Certainly there was no other reason, right?
Biting her lower lip, she touched her tight, flat abdomen.
Was it possible? Could she be pregnant? Seeing Trent again only reinforced her worries. She’d never been one of those women whose menstrual cycle was like clockwork, but even she was overdue for her period.
“It’s just your nerves,” she said, picking up her brush and working it through the tangles in her hair. “This case has got you in knots.”
But she wasn’t convinced as she twisted her hair and pinned it with a clip, then applied a fresh sheen of lipstick and called it good. Sighing, she sat on the edge of the narrow bed and wondered how long she could stand to call this room her home. A sun-faded rug covered the wood floor and a small desk, shoved into a corner, doubled as a nightstand. The room smelled faintly musty, so she threw open a window, letting in a breeze that billowed ancien
t lace curtains.
From her vantage point on the second story, she watched the old dog sniff his way to an oak tree where he stopped to eye a squirrel scrambling in the overhead branches. On the other side of the fence, sedate mares grazed in one pasture, their coats shining in the sun while spindly legged foals frolicked and scampered, sending up puffs of dust. Not far off, in a field so large she couldn’t see the fence line, a herd of cattle lumbered along the banks of a creek that sliced through the lush grassland.
Gina wondered about the men and women who lived here, so far from a large city. She watched as Garrett and a strapping man in a cowboy hat and dusty jeans unloaded the sacks of feed from the back of the pickup. The conveyer had stopped moving and one of the hands had hopped back onto the tractor. With a growl and plume of black smoke, the old John Deere headed through an open gate.
Horses nickered, cattle lowed, and a wasp buzzed as it worked hard on a muddy nest hanging just under the eaves. Gina inhaled the fresh air laced with the scents of spring flowers and new-mown hay, then sighed.
“Heaven on earth,” she heard, and whipped around to find Trent standing in the doorway, one shoulder propped insolently against the jamb, his arms folded across his chest.
“Looks like it.”
“Even to a city girl?”
“Especially to a city girl.”
To her surprise, he strode into the room and swung the door shut behind him. “I think we’d better talk,” he said, grabbing the desk chair. He swung it around backward, straddled the seat and leaned his arms across the back. “You start.”
“By?”
“By telling me what’s going on. With the old man, with you—whoever you are. Let’s start with Dallas.”
“That was a mistake,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly. “I think we both know it.”
“It wasn’t a setup?”
“Excuse me? A setup? What…?” She stared into his angry blue eyes and suddenly understood. “You think I planned meeting you and…and what?”
“Seducing me.”
She nearly laughed. The man was out of his ever-lovin’ mind. “Don’t flatter yourself, Remmington. I’d had too much to drink, so had you. I had no idea you’d be in that hotel bar that night and—”
