by Lisa Jackson
Somewhere not too far off, over the drum of the woodpecker she heard hoof beats. The mare snorted. Trent stiffened and lifted his head. “I think we’ve got company.”
She froze. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Terrific,” she muttered, scrambling for her clothes and feeling every inch of her skin turn red.
Trent rolled to his feet and tossed her clothes to her. She stuffed her bra into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled on her T-shirt. She didn’t have time to tuck in the hem. In an instant Garrett Kincaid, astride a painted stallion, rode out of the woods.
Gina was certain her face was the exact hue of her hair. The man wasn’t an idiot. It wouldn’t take him too long to figure out what had been going on as she stood barefoot, her hair mussed, her clothes wrinkled. Trent’s shirt was on, but not buttoned, its shirttails flapping in the breeze.
The expression on Garrett’s face said it all. He wasn’t pleased. Hard lines surrounded his mouth as his eyes narrowed on his newfound grandson. “Thought I might find you up here,” he said as he swung to the ground as easily as if he’d been forty years younger.
“You were looking for me?” Trent asked.
“Yeah. Rand said the two of you had headed up this way. You got a call from your secretary. Said it was real important. Talk of a strike.”
“Hell.”
“Thought you’d want to know.”
“I do.”
Garrett’s harsh, uncompromising gaze swung in Gina’s direction. “And Jack’s been calling for you.” If he noticed her disheveled state, which, unless he was blind he couldn’t have missed, Garrett had the good manners not to mention it.
“Guess we’d better get back.” Trent tucked the tails of his shirt into his waistband.
Garrett’s jaw slid to one side. With a curt nod, he walked back to the paint and pulled himself up into the saddle. “Might not be a bad idea, all things considered.” He kneed his horse and the rangy stallion took off.
Gina wanted to die. The last thing she needed was for Garrett to think she’d compromised her professionalism. “Well, that was certainly embarrassing,” she said, dusting off the seat of her jeans and walking to her mare.
“Nah. He didn’t think a thing of it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Trent snorted. “He’s Larry’s father, right? Garrett Kincaid’s already seen it all.”
But Gina wasn’t convinced as she felt her breasts swing free beneath her T-shirt. It wasn’t that she was a prude, not by any means, but she was bending her own rules of professional conduct a little too far for comfort.
The trouble was, she decided fatalistically as she mounted the mare, when it came to Trent Remmington, she didn’t seem to have a brain in her fool head.
Seven
“So what’s goin’ on with you and Gina?” Garrett asked as Trent, seated at a battle-scarred desk in the den, finally hung up from a long conversation with his secretary. Garrett had walked in, taken a seat in a folding chair wedged into the corner and waited for Trent to finish his phone call. Renovations were going on in the main house and the sound of saws, hammers and men talking between themselves could be heard as they worked to update the old Kincaid homestead.
“Between me and Gina? Not a whole helluva lot,” Trent hedged, not wanting to admit that from the moment he’d first seen her in the bar that night in Dallas, he’d wanted to go to bed with her.
“Don’t kid a kidder.” Garrett leaned forward, clasped his hands together between his knees and favored Trent with an eagle-eyed stare that was becoming all too familiar. “I’ve got eyes, you know, and though you might find this hard to believe, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“And you might find this hard to believe, but I’m a grown man, can make my own decisions and don’t need anyone to tell me how to run my life.”
“That’s just exactly what Larry told me years ago,” Garrett countered. He rubbed his hands together, pursed his lips and looked as if he had something more to say.
“What is it?” Trent asked, certain that he wouldn’t like the answer.
“I just hope you don’t turn out like him.”
“Ha!” Trent barked out a laugh. “Like Larry? No way.”
“You didn’t know him.”
“Sounds like that might have been a blessing.”
Guilt shadowed Garrett’s eyes and he stood, his knees popping as he walked to the window and gazed past the bunkhouse, stable, machine sheds and paddocks. But Trent guessed Garrett’s eyesight wasn’t focused on the vast acres of ranch land that swept up to the forested foothills. Nope. His grandfather—hell, that was still hard to swallow—was looking inward, to a time and space only he could see.
“Larry had more than his share of faults, I can’t deny it,” Garrett said as a skill saw screamed from another wing of the house, “but I loved him nonetheless. Yeah, he was a womanizer, a hard drinker and a gambler. He gave me more white hairs than any son should, but he wasn’t all bad. At least, I can’t believe he was.”
“Or you won’t.”
Garrett lifted a shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s probably more like it. Anyway, just be careful. Gina’s a nice girl.”
“No, Garrett, she’s a grown woman.”
The older man turned on the well-worn heel of his boot and leveled a blistering blue glare at his grandson. “A nice grown woman. Now, listen, I’m offering you some sound advice here—”
“I don’t remember asking for any,” Trent interjected.
Garrett ignored him and barreled on. “Don’t do anything stupid. That’s all I have to say. Use your fool head and keep your pants zipped.” With that, he left.
Trent, still seated at the desk and holding a pen, clicked it several times in frustration. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, and for the first time in years he felt like a schoolboy who’d just been chastised by the principal. He hadn’t liked it then, he didn’t like it now. Probably because his own thoughts had taken the very same path.
He swivelled in the creaky chair and stared through the watery panes of glass. Outside, about to climb into his truck, Rand Harding had paused at Suzanne’s appearance from the back of the house. One booted foot propped on the running board of his pickup, he leaned against the open door, as if he was about to climb behind the wheel. Suzanne stood in the shade of a live oak, holding their baby on one out-thrust hip. Smiling and laughing, she winked at her husband as he moved toward her. Trent couldn’t hear their conversation but witnessed their expressions—amusement and deep-seated affection—so evident in the curves of their lips and sparkles in their eyes. The discussion was short and when it was finished, she leaned forward and he kissed her, hard. As if he meant it. Even though they were married. She blushed like a schoolgirl, the baby put up a wail, and Rand, his cowboy hat pushed back on his head, grinned widely, as if he was the bad boy in high school who’d just stolen a kiss from the prom queen.
Trent dragged his eyes away. He’d never been a romantic, never seriously considered settling down. Well, maybe once, when he’d thought a girlfriend had been pregnant. Beverly, a willowy blonde, had told him about the baby, then suddenly, the next week, informed him that it had all been a mistake.
He’d had conflicting emotions at the time. Beverly had been a stockbroker and was used to making her own decisions. Sophisticated and hardheaded, she’d been exciting and clever, but he’d never been in love with her. When she’d said she was carrying his child, Trent had felt an odd mixture of emotions: an elation he hadn’t expected, a surprising sense of propriety and protection. He’d decided to be a part of the baby’s life, either by marrying Beverly or by demanding joint custody, but he hadn’t had the chance. Though she denied it vehemently, even laughing at his discomfiture, he suspected Beverly had either lied about being pregnant in the first place, to manipulate him, or had decided on her own to have an abortion. Either way, he’d ended the short-lived affair because he’d been certain she’d put her caree
r above her child. In his scope of the world, that just didn’t pan out.
Oh, sure, he’d heard a lot about quality time, about how a woman these days could have it all, but he didn’t think there was enough of one person to go around when the demands of husband, kids, job and house were thrust upon her. He’d seen enough of that firsthand. His own mother, a career woman who hadn’t had time for her twin sons, had convinced him that he never wanted to tie the knot—especially not with some woman already bound to her job.
So he’d had his share of flings and one-night stands. No strings attached. He’d been careful—except for the night with Gina. That night had been different on so many levels. Truth to tell, he was more than irritated that Gina—well, Celia at the time—had summoned the gall to slip away from him while he was sleeping in that hotel room in Dallas. Loving and leaving had usually been his M.O.
But then, she’d been different from the get-go. He’d seen her, wanted to seduce her, and managed to pull it off. That accomplished, he hadn’t been satisfied. He wanted more. Now, it seemed, he couldn’t get enough of her.
Frowning, he dropped the pen into a cup on the desk and slid one more glance at Rand and his wife. The foreman had taken his place behind the steering wheel, started the engine and had turned around, looking over his shoulder as he backed out. Suzanne, a wide smile across her face, waved and urged the baby to hold up his tiny fist and open and close his chubby fingers in a mimic of his mother’s goodbye.
Trent felt a heretofore unknown clench around his heart, as if he were actually envious. God, he was a fool, and yet he continued to stare voyeuristically at the tight-knit little family.
Rand’s truck disappeared in a cloud of dust, and Suzanne, usually serious from what Trent could discern, held little Joe up high in the air and twirled around, spinning them both. The baby threw back his head and mother and child laughed merrily, as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
For the first time in his life, Trent wondered if any part of that homey little scenario would someday be his.
Jaw clamped tight in disgust at the turn of his ludicrously maudlin thoughts, he snapped the blinds shut. He wasn’t a Peeping Tom, for crying out loud, and he had no interest in the seductive illusion of the Norman Rockwellian picture of family life. He had no time for envy, not in this lifetime.
Marriage and kids and the whole ball of family wax was fine for Rand and Suzanne. Hell, it was fine for most people.
Just not him.
Ever.
Running down blind alleys. Barking up the wrong trees. Winding up at dead ends. Every one of those clichés proved true as Gina shut down her laptop and winced against a headache that was building behind her eyes. Positioned on her bed with a long phone cord connected to one of the three lines running into the house, she rotated her neck and hated the thought that she’d been defeated.
That baby was out there. Somewhere. She just had to find him. Ever since she’d ridden back to the heart of the ranch yesterday, she’d avoided Garrett and spent hours at the keyboard, searching the Internet, using every available source, hoping for some clue as to Larry’s seventh illegitimate son.
There was another reason she’d holed up in her room, she admitted reluctantly. She’d needed time to pull herself together. How had she let herself fall victim to Trent’s charms all over again? Hadn’t she learned anything?
She turned her attention back to the problem at hand—that of finding the elusive Kincaid. So far she’d come up dry. Rubbing her temples, she turned to the small metal box lying open beside her on the bed. All she had was a notation in Larry’s handwriting indicating there was a possibility of another baby—a boy, but nothing else. Just a supposition because the timing was right. Nowhere did he indicate the name of child or mother, not even the date of birth. Gina had looked through all of Larry’s belongings, hoping for a letter, a birth announcement, a copy of the birth certificate…and she’d ended up empty-handed.
“It’s impossible,” she muttered under her breath, then caught herself. She had to find the baby.
So much for being an ace detective, she chided herself. Think, Gina, think! She flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes, but instead of clearing her thoughts as she’d hoped, resting only muddled her head with images of Trent dressed in a killer suit in the Dallas hotel, in jeans and a T-shirt on the ranch, with nothing but a sheet draped over his naked body. “Oh, you’re hopeless,” she said out loud, and decided it was time to face Garrett again. She couldn’t very well hide in her room forever.
Besides, she had some other business to attend to—a little matter of purchasing a pregnancy test. She was about to grab her purse and keys when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Within seconds Trent was standing in the door frame and her stupid heart jolted at the sight of him. Handsome, rugged, and sexy as all get-out.
“Something I can do for you?” she asked as he stepped into the room, which seemed to shrink.
“I just wondered how long you were planning to stay here at the ranch.” His eyes were dark. Unreadable.
“I—I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Probably not.”
“I hadn’t planned to stick around, but I’ve got this problem,” she admitted, climbing to her feet. “I don’t like leaving a job undone. Until I can figure out if Larry had another child, I’ll probably hang out here. Is that a problem?”
“Could be,” he admitted, folding his arms across his chest and frowning. “You and I…we got off on the wrong foot in Dallas.”
Oh, Lord, where was this going? Her pulse began to pound. “Yes, I know, that was my fault—”
“Both our faults.” His tone was sharp.
“I shouldn’t have lied.”
“No, but neither should I have,” he admitted, and she noticed a tic throbbing near one eyebrow. “You weren’t the only one who stretched the truth.”
“No?”
His jaw slid to one side. “Nope. The fact is that from the moment you walked into the bar, I noticed you. Thought I’d like to meet you and…” He sighed through his nose. “Oh, hell, Gina,” he said, his eyes drilling into hers. “From the second I laid eyes on you I had one thing on my mind.”
“Which…was?” she asked, standing only a few feet from him and staring into the most erotic blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“That I wanted to go to bed with you.”
She swallowed hard. “Well…”
“I don’t think that’s a surprise.”
“Just that you’re being so…forthright…I mean, usually people don’t discuss this kind of thing.”
“It doesn’t usually happen.” He took a step closer. “At least not to me.”
His lips were thinned. Pursed. As if he were disgusted with himself. For a second she thought he would kiss her. For a second it was all she could think of, all she wanted.
“But you changed that, lady.”
Part of her was flattered, the other scared to death.
“I would have done anything,” he said, reaching forward, touching her arm with those warm strong fingers, “anything to get you up to my hotel room.”
Heat crawled up her neck. Invaded her cheeks.
She started to say something, but he placed a finger to her lips. “And so we both deceived each other. I’m coming clean because I think we should start over. With a clean slate. No lies.”
Oh, God, she wanted to fall through the floor.
Tell him, her mind nagged, tell him you suspect you’re pregnant! Now! But the words wouldn’t come to her lips. What if her worries were all just a false alarm, that her cycle was just messed up, that there was no baby?
“Deal?” he asked, so close his breath fanned her face. He dragged his finger down her lips and lower, over her chin and throat.
She could barely breathe. “D-deal,” she repeated, and a hint of a smile touched his eyes.
“Fair enough.” He hesitated a second, as if he was thinking about kissing her or pulling her close or
tossing her onto the bed and making love to her, but he didn’t. Instead he walked out the door and Gina was left with the fragments of another lie still hanging in the air. A much bigger lie.
There was a possibility that Trent Remmington was going to be a father. She leaned against the wall and bit her lip. If she chased after him now and breathlessly told him her fears, she’d look like a foolish, desperate woman. No, she had to wait.
Until she was certain herself.
Janie stared at the girl at table six. Seated all alone, reading a paperback while she waited for her food, she seemed out of place in the bustle of the dinner crowd. Nearly every table was full and there was so much conversation that the music from the jukebox, some old Patsy Cline song about heartbreak, was barely audible. Cutlery and glassware clinked, conversation buzzed and laughter rippled as the ceiling fans whirred overhead and the deep-fat fryer sizzled in the kitchen.
The girl, all of twenty-two or twenty-three, Janie guessed, was dressed in black slacks and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Thick glasses were propped on the end of her nose, wavy red-brown hair was clipped to the back of her head, and she wore little makeup. Every few minutes she glanced up from the novel that didn’t seem to be holding her attention, then took a quick look around the diner, as if she were sizing up the crowd.
Some of the Hip Hop regulars had shown up. Lily Mae Wheeler, Winona Cobbs and Homer Gilmore, the old guy with long gray hair and equally long beard who spent as much time in the hills spotting aliens as he did in town, had claimed their usual spots. Most of the patrons Janie recognized and called by name, but a few strangers were sprinkled about and more streamed in, filling up the booths and tables faster than the busboy could clear them.
Janie breezed between the tables, took orders, brought drinks and food and tried to ignore the fact that her feet were beginning to ache from the long hours she’d put in this week.
The girl with the paperback absently chewed on the edge of her lip and every once in a while eyed the Help Wanted sign taped to the front window. “Order up,” the cook yelled, and Janie scooped up four platters of steaming food. Balancing the plates carefully she wended her way through the tables to a booth in the corner. “Chicken-fried steak?”
