She pulled on the sweatpants he’d already loaned her and tugged the second tie-dyed hardware shirt over her head. Sugar was still lying on the bed, so after returning the robe to the door hook, Ariana left the door ajar in case the dog wanted to leave.
Then she climbed in bed with her notebook and tried concentrating enough to expand on her notes with the Ybarras. It was difficult. Because she would never be able to think of the couple without also thinking about Jayden.
She flipped to a fresh page and drew a line across it. At the left end of the line, she wrote “Jerome.” At the right end, she wrote “Gerald.” Then she made little hash marks along the line, dividing it into segments. She marked the point when Jerome had faked his demise. Then at the midpoint of the timeline, she wrote “Charlotte.” After that, she filled in the names of all the children so far accounted for.
It made for a busy, congested timeline to the right of Charlotte.
And like it always had before, it made the area to the left between Charlotte and Jerome’s supposed death look very, very empty.
She bit the end of the pen, her gaze roving around the bedroom. Then she made another hash mark in the bare zone and wrote Deborah’s name above it. Quickly scrawled in Jayden and his brothers.
She sighed as she circled Jayden’s name a few times.
Then she scratched her pen back and forth across the entire page as if to erase it and turned back to her notes from the Ybarras.
* * *
He couldn’t sleep.
And lying there in bed, tossing and turning because he couldn’t sleep, was just pissing him off.
He threw back the sheet and got out of bed, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans before stomping down the steps.
Ever since Ariana had challenged the facts as he knew them about his family name, he’d been angry. And he didn’t much care if he disturbed anyone else in the house.
Petty? Maybe.
But wasn’t a man’s house supposed to be his castle? Or some such thing?
At the base of the stairs, he looked toward the end of the hallway where his mother’s bedroom was located. The door was ajar and a triangle of gold light shone onto the hallway floor.
Ariana was still awake.
His jaw tightened and he turned away, heading into the kitchen. Sugar’s bed was empty, but as soon as he yanked open the refrigerator door hard enough to make the bottles inside rattle, he heard the dog’s paws on the hallway floor.
“Hey, Sugar.” The dog walked over to him and leaned against his leg. “Where you been, huh?” Usually, the second he went to bed, the dog followed right on his heels. Not tonight.
He fed her a treat, then grabbed a beer and twisted off the top, tossing it onto the counter.
She followed him when he went out onto the patio and threw himself down on one of the old chairs. She propped her head on his knee, working her wet nose under his hand, and flopped her tail against the stone porch. “I wish everything was as simple as pleasing you, mutt.” He patted his knee and she gathered herself, hopping nimbly onto his lap.
She was too big to be considered a lapdog. But she didn’t know it. She just propped her front paws on his shoulders and stuck her nose in his face. He tolerated a few messy kisses across his forehead before angling his head away. “Yeah, I love you, too.” He patted her back and she gave a sigh, finally settling her head on his shoulder where she breathed noisily against his ear. “What’re we gonna do about her, huh?”
Unfortunately, his dog gave him no helpful answers.
He finished his beer and nudged at Sugar until she reluctantly hopped off and allowed him to stand. Back in the kitchen, he refilled the water bottle that kept her bowl always full and then started for the stairs.
Instead of following him, though, she trotted confidently to the end of the hall, passing through the triangle of light and nosing her way into the bedroom.
Jayden wasn’t a man accustomed to hesitating. But he found himself doing so, one bare foot on the first stair tread and one bare foot still on the scarred wood floor as he looked toward his mother’s bedroom.
He’d been too harsh with Ariana at the Ybarras’. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to swallow what she’d suggested.
Or swallow the fact that he had his own sliver of doubt.
He was thirty-damn-six years old.
He didn’t want to think about the man his mother had always refused to discuss. Deborah Fortune was made of leather and steel. She’d had to be to raise three sons on her own in an area of Texas that people tended to forget existed.
And the only time he’d ever seen tears in her eyes had been when he was little. When he’d complained once too often about Nathan and Grayson and him not having a dad the same as other kids around Paseo did.
He exhaled roughly and pulled his foot away from the stair tread and soundlessly followed Sugar’s path to the triangle of light. The dog never slept in his mom’s room.
“Ariana.” He pushed lightly on the door, opening it wider.
She was sprawled on her back, sweatpants hanging low over her golden-hued hips and a pad of paper lying on her belly. She didn’t move even when Sugar, who’d hopped onto the bed, circled a few times as she sniffed her way around and knocked the pad aside before settling on the pillow next to Ariana’s head.
He gave the dog a look. Even though she couldn’t see him, he knew she’d interpret his vibes. But she only turned her head and flopped her tail a few times.
He put his fingers together, intending to snap them.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he walked into the room. Silently he picked up the notepad. It was covered in almost indecipherable handwriting, but Ybarra was clear enough. He set it on the nightstand.
And still, Ariana didn’t waken. Her lashes looked darker than ever against her cheeks. Her soft lips were parted faintly. The rise and fall of her breasts beneath the T-shirt were even.
Much as he wanted to stay there and look at her, he reached out and shut off the lamp.
Then he turned around and went to bed.
Chapter Seven
She didn’t intend to oversleep. But once again, when Ariana opened her eyes, she was dismayed to see that it was already the middle of the morning.
Maybe it had something to do with the total lack of sunlight coming into the bedroom since plywood was still secured over the window. When she was sleeping, it was fine. But now that she was awake, it made the otherwise comfortable room feel more like a cell. And a warm one, at that.
She rolled off the bed, scrubbing her face, trying to remember how late it had been before she’d stopped working and turned off the light. But she couldn’t.
She picked up her notepad, feeling a little bleary-eyed as she read a few lines of her notes from the Ybarras.
Then she tossed it down on the nightstand and stuck her head out into the hallway.
She couldn’t hear a sound, so she ventured into the kitchen. The blue-and-white coffeepot was sitting on the unlit stove. It was half-full and barely warm, but she filled a mug from it anyway, then nearly choked on the first sip and hastily leaned over the sink, spitting it back out.
“Good grief.”
She rinsed out her mug with water, then did the same with her mouth. When Jayden had said Nathan’s coffee was the worst, he hadn’t been exaggerating. And obviously, the reason couldn’t be attributed to the cleanliness of the coffeepot, because she’d cleaned it to spotless herself only two days ago. And it had been just as clean when she’d made a pot the day before.
She dumped the coffee into the sink and was refilling it with clean water when she spotted Jayden and Nathan through the window, unloading bales from the same trailer they’d used to haul her car. They were both dressed in jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts, with heavy gloves o
n their hands. The sheen of sweat on their roped arms was visible. But even from her distance and despite the straw cowboy hats on their heads, she could tell them apart.
She’d been born and bred in Texas. Had been around men in cowboy hats and jeans all of her life. Some wore them as a fashion statement. Some wore them simply because it was who they were.
These two men—whether they’d spent years in military service or not—were definitely in the latter camp.
The shrill ringing of the telephone nearly made her jump out of her skin.
She looked at it and wondered if she ought to answer it. But given Jayden’s attitude the night before, she decided it probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
She left the coffeepot in the sink and turned away from the window. At the moment, the men were entirely occupied. She went down the hall and grabbed up her clean clothes, the toothbrush and comb, then dashed up the stairs. She was going to take a real shower while the taking was good, because she had no idea when the next opportunity would come.
Ten minutes later, after the fastest shower in her personal record, she was once more in the kitchen.
There was no sign of the guys through the window now, and she finished putting the coffee on the stove. The temperature in the kitchen was already excessively warm. She had no idea if the house came equipped with central air-conditioning, but it wasn’t her business if it did or did not. In any case, she still wanted coffee, even if she ended up putting it on ice. And when she’d fixed it before, Jayden and Nathan had finished off the entire pot. So they obviously didn’t reserve drinking the stuff for cooler temperatures, either.
She left the water to heat and returned to the bedroom and made up the bed. She found cleaning supplies and quickly cleaned the hall bathroom as well as the one upstairs. By the time she was done, the coffee water was boiling away. She mixed up the coffee grounds in a bowl the way her mother had described with an egg and a piece of the shell. She dumped the grounds into the pot, watching to make sure the water didn’t boil over. After a few minutes, she pulled the pot off the heat, poured in another cup of cold water and watched the mucky mess of coffee grounds that had amassed in a froth at the top of the water sink like magic to the bottom.
“Coffee makes everything better,” she murmured, standing over the pot and inhaling the aroma. “Please make some miracles now, too.”
The wind chimes outside the door jangled softly and she looked over her shoulder in time to see Jayden coming through the door.
He had one finger of his leather glove between his teeth as he tugged his hand free and he stopped short at the sight of her.
She leaned back against the sink because the impact of him pretty much in full-on cowboy mode was almost overwhelming. Her knees, quite literally, had gone weak.
“I made coffee,” she said stupidly, because of course he could see that. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He finally yanked his hand free and slapped the glove against the other that was clutched in his fist. He didn’t take off his cowboy hat. “Make it whenever you want. Already told you that.”
Yes, she thought. But that was before she’d dared to suggest that his mother had lied to him.
“It’s hot in here.” He sounded—and looked—peeved. “Why didn’t you turn on the air?”
“One, I didn’t know if you even had air-conditioning.” She spread her hands. “And two, I wasn’t particularly inclined to snoop in order to find out. Shocking to you, no doubt. I know you want me out of your hair at the earliest opportunity.”
His lips compressed. She could see a muscle work in his jaw, and for a moment, she thought he intended to say something, but then he just strode out of the room.
A moment later, she heard the distinctive clicking sound of a central air-conditioning unit coming to life.
Then he came back and shoved the kitchen door closed.
“Thermostat is in the living room.” He slapped his gloves against his palm again. “Look. About last night—”
She shook her head quickly, raising her hand. “No, wait.”
His eyebrow went up.
“Please,” she added. “Let me say what I’ve, uh, got to say and then—” She broke off. They both knew what she’d been about to say. “And then you can kick me to the curb.”
His lips compressed again. He waved the clenched gloves. “Go ahead, then.”
He didn’t look particularly pleased and she wished at that moment that she were better at expressing herself verbally. But she’d always been better with the written word and that fact wasn’t going to magically change right now just by wishing it.
So she just dived in.
“I shouldn’t have pushed the issue about who your father is.” The words came out in a rush. “You told me from the beginning that I was on the wrong scent and I should have left it at that.” She wasn’t going to mention her book deal. She’d decided the night before that as long as she was under his roof, she had to forget any kind of research about Jerome.
“Because that’s what journalists do? Give up at the first roadblock?”
The accusation stung. “Do you want my apology or not?” Then she winced. “Sorry.” She looked away from his face, staring into the clear brown brew inside the coffeepot. It was the exact shade of his eyes.
She looked back at him. “Look, I didn’t come to Paseo specifically hunting for Fortunes to feature in my ‘Becoming’ series. Believe me or not, but it’s still the truth. I never expected to meet someone who actually had the name. And frankly, coincidences like that are pretty suspect in my line of work! So of course I was interested.”
“Except you didn’t come here to find Fortunes,” he scoffed.
“I didn’t. If I had been, would I have told you right up front about my series?” She pressed her fingertip to the pain that was suddenly throbbing in her temple. “All I came here to do was try and establish whether or not Jerome Fortune had ever been in Paseo. If he had any ties here.”
“Why don’t you just ask him? According to you, this Jerome guy is Gerald Robinson. You know where he is at. Hell, everyone in the country probably knows where he is at. The guy’s always in the news.”
“He refuses my requests for interviews.”
“Imagine that.”
Her lips tightened. She reminded herself that she was the interloper. This was Jayden’s home. Jayden’s space.
“Why do you think he might have been here, anyway?” His voice sounded grudging.
“I don’t necessarily think he was. Not for certain. I was trying to figure that out.”
“Sounds like you’re grasping at straws to me.”
“Maybe I am.” Maybe it was wishful thinking on Ariana’s part. But why would Charlotte have mentioned Paseo when the only thing in the article from the Austin History Center had been about Jerome’s new bride, Charlotte, healing his broken heart?
“Did you ask Hector or Paloma about him?” Jayden’s voice hardened even more. “They’ve lived in Paseo as long as anyone has. Is that what that interview was really about?”
“What? No!” The pain in her temple deepened. She still hadn’t gotten to the point of what she was trying to tell him. “That interview was exactly what I said it was. Nothing more. Nothing less.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t lie to people in order to gain their trust. And I don’t manipulate situations to my advantage. Not with you. Not with the Ybarras. Not with anyone. You couldn’t have shocked me more by telling me your name was Fortune than if you’d poked me with a cattle prod. I didn’t plan to get stranded here any more than you did. And the second I can leave, I will.” The phone rang again, making her jump.
His gaze pinning hers in place, he reached out a long arm and snatched the phone off the hook. “Fortunes,” he snapped.
Then he angled his head and she could no longer see his
eyes below the brim of his hat. “Hey, Mom.” His tone had turned neutral. “Yeah. No. Everything’s fine here.” The brim of his hat lifted an inch and his eyes fixed on hers. “Just still cleaning up the mess from the storm.”
She exhaled shakily and left the room.
* * *
Jayden’s grip tightened on the telephone receiver as he watched Ariana walk away, her head not ducking quickly enough to hide her pinched expression.
All he’d meant to tell her was that he was sorry for being too harsh the night before. But every time he opened his mouth, he seemed to dig himself in deeper.
His mom was still speaking—something about Grayson’s tour—and he focused in on her with an effort. “You’ll be gone another week, then? Yeah, no problem.” In fact, it was better than that. Because Ariana’s car should be fixed by then and she’d be long gone before his mother came back to Paseo.
There’d be no reason for Deborah to ever even know about Ariana Lamonte and her damn Fortune hunt.
After he hung up, he went in search of Ariana.
She was sitting on the front porch with Sugar in her lap. The dog was spread across Ariana the same way she’d been on his lap just the night before.
He shoved his gloves in his back pocket and stepped out the door.
Ariana looked warily at him over his dog’s head. “If you don’t mind me using your phone, I’ll call someone in Austin to come and get me.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not necessary.”
“Well, I obviously can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Seriously? You don’t want me here anymore. You were pretty clear about it, Jayden.”
Wild West Fortune Page 11
