by Jill Gregory
She couldn’t do that to Ricky—not now. Not when it was almost over.
“I don’t see why you’d think anything so silly.” She shrugged. “Maybe your suspicious nature is getting the best of you.”
“You think so? I happened to be in Bessie’s Diner yesterday the same time as Maggie Cartright.”
Josy froze. “So?” she asked, striving to sound unconcerned. But it was difficult to appear calm with Ty’s razor-blue eyes fixed relentlessly upon her face.
“So she was talking to Katy Templeton, who had stopped in to see Bessie. Maggie asked her if she knew you. For some reason, she thought you and Katy might have known each other when Katy lived in New York.”
“Katy . . . lived in New York? I didn’t know that.” She added quickly, “But I’m from Chicago. I told you that—”
“Yes, you told everyone that. And that’s exactly what Katy said. But Maggie told her she must be mistaken. You see, Maggie had seen your driver’s license and she distinctly recalled that it said you lived in New York.”
Damn it. Couldn’t a person get away with any stupid fib in a small town? And weren’t there privacy laws involving librarians?
Not that she was in a position to file a lawsuit. But now Katy, Bessie, Roberta, Ada—everyone—would think she was a liar. Just as Ty Barclay did.
“She’s mistaken.” Desperately, she tried to brazen it out.
“Yeah? She seemed pretty sure. You know, Katy owned a restaurant in New York for a while, the Rattlesnake Cafe. Ring a bell?”
Josy’s throat went dry. The Rattlesnake Cafe. She knew of it. She’d even dined there a number of times.
“Never heard of it,” she said crisply. “Maggie Cartright must be mixed up. And why she was gossiping about me I have no idea . . .”
“She wasn’t gossiping. She just seemed to think that maybe you and Katy had become friends, seeing as you had something in common. You’d both lived in New York and had successful careers there. But for your information, if you did live in Chicago, Josy, you’d know about the Rattlesnake Cafe too. That’s where Katy opened her first restaurant, the original Rattlesnake Cafe. It put her on the map, led to her going national. You’re sure you never heard of it—on Michigan Avenue?”
He’s good, Josy realized. Painfully good. And she was still the most pathetic liar in the world.
“Is this an inquisition now? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time and accusing me of . . . what? Lying? And something else? The next thing I know you’ll have me arrested for being a rustler,” she cried.
But Ty shook his head and took hold of her shoulders.
“I’m asking you to level with me, Josy. That’s all. Because I know that’s not the only lie you’ve told.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You said you’re an interior designer. Corinne says you’re decorating some penthouse for a big shot with a condo in the Loop. But these sketches aren’t of sofas and end tables, are they?”
The blood rushed into her cheeks. She couldn’t move for a minute, couldn’t speak, but she knew without glancing down that her latest batch of lame sketches of women’s cocktail suits and party frocks were spread across the wooden coffee table, right beneath Ty Barclay’s nose. And he was too good a cop not to have noticed.
He sees everything, she realized, and that was a hell of a lot more than she wanted him to see.
“Do you want to level with me?” he asked quietly.
“What I want is for you to leave. Now.”
He stared at her. His face no longer reflected sympathy and concern. His eyes had narrowed and they looked flat. And hard.
The eyes of a professional cop.
Fear shot through her. Why had she let herself become involved with him in any way, shape, or form? He was dangerous to her and to Ricky. He could put them both in jail.
She tried to school her face, to keep the fear and the guilt from showing. She threw her shoulders back, stiffened her spine, and tightened her lips.
“I’d like you to leave right now,” she repeated, when what she really wanted more than anything else was to throw herself into those strong, capable arms.
It was no longer possible to see the man who had kissed her with such passion in the hard-eyed stranger who stood before her.
As she held her breath, afraid he’d actually tell her he wanted to take her down to the sheriff ’s department for questioning, he suddenly dropped his hands from her shoulders, turned away, and strode to the door.
“Whatever it is, I might be able to help—if you’d level with me. In the meantime, remember what I said about Chance.”
Then the door slammed behind him and she was alone.
Chapter 15
“OH, MY LORD.” TWO DAYS LATER, ADA STARED at the finished gown in wonder.
Corinne didn’t say a word. She touched the satin fabric, brushed a finger along the seed pearls swirling across the strapless bodice, raised her gaze in mute awe to Josy’s face.
“I can’t believe it. This . . . is the same dress?”
“More or less.” Josy smiled. The sun shone gloriously through the windows of Ada’s house and set the ivory dress shimmering in a halo of pearlescent light. She was pleased with the results of her efforts, pleased with the sophisticated flair of the train, the glamorous strapless cut, and the rich sparkle of the seed pearls. She was even more pleased because in working on Corinne’s gown, the lock inside her brain had somehow unlatched, and she’d almost magically envisioned and sketched four ball gowns and one knockout cocktail dress. All sexy and elegant and fresher than anything she’d seen on a runway in the past two years.
And they’d simply flowed onto the sketch pad, like wine pouring sweetly from an uncorked bottle.
“Don’t you want to try it on?” she asked a still stunned Corinne.
“Do I ever,” the woman breathed.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Ada prodded. “Don’t start crying now, because then I’ll start too and I’m too old to cry.”
Corinne turned to Josy, still holding the dress. She hugged her and whispered, “I can’t thank you enough. You’re like . . . my fairy godmother.”
Josy laughed. “Try it on, Cinderella, and see how you like it before you thank me. Maybe you’ll hate it.”
But Corinne didn’t hate it. She loved it, loved the way it fit her curves, hugged her breasts, the way it shimmered and moved with her when she walked or turned.
The gown needed only a final adjustment here and there. “I’ll finish this up in two seconds tonight and bring it over to Roy’s place for you tomorrow,” Josy said.
She didn’t mention that the next day she’d be disappearing from Thunder Creek, on her way to meeting Ricky. When that meeting was over, when the diamond was safely out of her hands, and Ricky told her it was safe to go home, she would be ready to leave Thunder Creek.
And a good thing too, she told herself. Her money was running low. She needed to get some sketches to Francesca.
And she had a life waiting for her in New York.
She glanced at Ada, her sweet lined face filled with pleasure as Corinne posed and twirled in the gown. Her heart ached suddenly. There was so much about Ada she still didn’t know, had never had the chance to ask. And now she never would. She thought of Corinne’s wedding, of missing it.
And then Ty Barclay’s blue eyes and lean jaw swam into her mind.
She had so much unfinished business here.
But maybe it was best left unfinished. She sighed, not quite willing to explore why that idea made her unhappy.
“After tomorrow,” she said as brightly as she could, “you’re going to be good to go. Right down the aisle.”
“Wait until Roy’s family gets a load of this dress.” Corinne struck a dramatic fashion pose. “Not that I need to impress them or anything,” she added hurriedly, “but I sure won’t feel like a freak who’s getting married in a short, tight navy suit. I’ll feel like a fricking princess!�
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After Corinne changed out of the gown and left to meet with Roy and the minister, Ada poured two glasses of lemonade and handed one of them to Josy.
“You’re a very talented young woman,” she told her. “I can imagine what kind of marvels you do as a decorator. Hmmm, now. I wonder how you’d spruce up my old place if you put your mind to it?”
“This house?” Josy shook her head. She took a moment to answer, taking in all the little knicknacks on the coffee table, the rose-patterned rug, the fresh crisp white curtains. She glanced at the faded needlepoint cushions on the chairs, the stately oak grandfather clock near the staircase in the hall.
“I wouldn’t change a thing.” A lump rose in her throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a homier, cozier house in my life. It’s perfect.”
“Hah, you don’t know about the leaky roof I just had fixed last year, or the threadbare carpet in the upstairs hall. There’s always something to do in an old house.” Ada set down her glass of lemonade on a lace coaster.
“What was your home like when you were growing up?” she asked.
“I don’t remember much about my home with my parents before they died,” Josy said slowly. She searched her memory, trying to see past the foggy brown veil of the past. “I remember my mother played the piano, and my father . . . he would sing. Off-key. It made her laugh. And I begged her to teach me how to play, and she did. When I was around six I learned ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’—but then I lost interest. As children do,” she added.
“So you had a piano,” Ada prompted.
“Yes—and my bedroom had a cabbage rose comforter and matching curtains.”
“Oh, that sounds nice. So cheerful and feminine.”
A memory returned to Josy, one she hadn’t thought about for years. “When I was about to turn twelve, though, I decided I wanted something more grown-up— fit for a teenager. I had my eye on a striped comforter and tons of throw pillows in red and black and purple . . .” She broke off. “But I never got it.”
“Why was that?”
“My parents died in a car accident. And I . . .”
“You what, dear?” Ada was watching her, her eyes keen, despite their faded color.
“I . . .” Josy spoke slowly, her gaze still locked on Ada’s face. “I was placed in foster care.”
There was a silence. Ada nodded, her face oddly still and suddenly looking pale, but in her eyes Josy saw a sheen of sympathy.
“And was it . . . very bad?”
“I got through it.”
“You certainly did, child. You’re a beautiful, talented young woman. Even in the short time you’ve been here, folks in Thunder Creek have taken to you, some of us even feel like you’ve been here all your life. Which,” she added softly, “you should have been.”
“I . . . what?”
“You should have been here all your life.” Ada’s voice was low. “Since the time your parents died.” She reached out a tiny, blue-veined hand toward Josy, then let it drop into her own lap with a grimace.
“You should have been living in this house with me. I am your grandmother, after all.”
Ada’s expression was calm as Josy’s gaze flew to her face in shock.
Ada nodded. “Yes, child. I know.” Her voice was quiet, almost matter-of-fact. “I’ve known since you first arrived. You’re my granddaughter. Isn’t that what you came to Thunder Creek to tell me?”
Chapter 16
CHANCE ROPER THREW SOME MORE WOOD ON the campfire and winked at the bright-eyed brunette in the tightest blue jeans he’d ever seen.
“If you think this is a pretty view, wait until the stars pop out in the sky,” he told Shannon Monroe, the twenty-nine-year-old advertising executive who, along with two other young women from her San Francisco firm, was dude ranching it for the very first time.
“I can hardly wait.” Shannon slanted him a smile as she added a few twigs to the fire. The three other Crystal Horseshoe hands escorting the party of twenty guests up Cougar Mountain were all busy setting up for the barbecue and seeing to the horses, while Cooky unloaded pots and skillets and equipment from the Crystal Horseshoe van, a literal kitchen on wheels.
“Save me a seat by the campfire, will you, darlin’?” Chance said softly, and her gorgeous brown eyes lit up.
“If you promise to roast me a marshmallow.”
“Honey, I promise to do a whole lot more than that for you tonight.” He winked at her, then laughed. “Be right back, ladies,” he called more loudly to Marisa and Julie, Shannon’s traveling companions, as he strode over to where the twelve-year-old Adams twins were scrambling up rocks, trying to get a closer look at some mule deer perched on a ledge high above the camp.
“Hold on, guys. Don’t climb too high or we’ll have to send out a rescue posse.” At the sound of Chance’s voice, Dale and Seth Adams both turned back, grinning.
“Are there mountain lions up here?”
“Might be.”
“Is that why you’ve got a rifle in your pack?”
“Yep. You never know, we could meet up with a big cat, a grizzly, a snake, anything. Hey, your mom’s waving at you. Better hustle over there and see what she wants.”
As the twins ran off, Chance strode past the other families, couples, and the clusters of single women who were all busy enjoying the view and munching on the bags of trail mix that Slim was handing out. He passed the grazing horses and slipped down a path winding behind a boulder.
He walked about fifty feet down, out of sight and out of earshot, then punched buttons on his cell phone.
“Are we a go for tonight?” He spoke in a low tone, scanning the trail to make sure he hadn’t been followed.
Denny Owens’s voice rasped in his ear. “Damn straight. Midnight. You know the place.”
“Have you thought about what I said? Asking for a bigger piece of the pie?”
“Me and Fred talked it over. But if we even mention something like that to the boss, he’s likely going to shoot us right where we stand.”
“Hey, we’re the ones out here taking the risks,” Chance argued. “He’s cleaning up and we’re doing all the work. Those quarter horses we’re after tonight are some of the sweetest pieces of horseflesh I’ve even seen. They’re worth ten grand easy. Now you tell me why we should even give him a cut—he’s not out there with his butt on the line.”
“Hold on.”
Chance heard Denny repeating what he’d said to Fred Barnes. Then he came back on the line. “The boss is the one who owns the trucks and the horse trailers. He’s got the buyers, the connections.”
“That doesn’t entitle him to a full fifty percent of our haul. Look, if you’re afraid to deal with him, set up a meeting for me.” Chance tightened his grip on the phone. “I’ll talk to him. I’m telling you, we can do a hell of a lot better than this.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know the boss. He’s not the negotiating type.”
“Introduce me. I am. I’ll cut us a much sweeter deal,” Chance assured him.
“Yeah? Well . . .” Denny sounded almost convinced. “We sure as hell are due for a raise. Listen, let us think about it some more and we’ll talk strategy tonight when we meet up.”
Denny disconnected. Chance clipped his phone back in his belt.
As he headed back up to the camp, where Sonny had begun to twang out a tune on his guitar, he smiled to himself. The way he figured it, he’d have plenty of time to rustle up some action with Shannon Monroe before he left to rustle Tammie and Wood Morgan’s brand-new herd of quarter horses.
Shannon wasn’t quite as gorgeous as Josy Warner, but hell, what could he do? Josy had spotted him in Casper with Denny and Fred. That had been a huge mistake, and in his line of work, mistakes could be dangerous.
He’d have to steer clear of Josy for a while—he didn’t want her getting mixed up in this. It was true what they said—business and pleasure don’t mix. And while Josy was definitely a pleasure,
his rustling partners were strictly business.
Never the twain shall meet.
But they nearly had.
He’d have to be more careful. And cool it with Josy.
Besides, she’d told him she wanted to be just friends and so far, she’d stuck to it. Shannon Monroe sent out a whole different vibe.
Chance whistled as he tramped back up the path. Aside from that one near run-in with Josy in Casper, things had been going smooth as silk.
And soon he’d have the big boss right where he wanted him. The thought made him smile.
If there was one thing in life that Chance Roper loved, it was that moment of taking total control.
Chapter 17
“HOW COULD YOU KNOW?” JOSY’S CONFUSION showed on her face. “All this time—how could you possibly have known?”
Ada reached out and placed a small hand on Josy’s arm. “The question is . . . were you going to tell me? Were you waiting for the right time? I’m sorry if I spoiled it.”
“No, you didn’t spoil anything. I didn’t know how to tell you . . . or even if I would.”
“I guessed as much.” Ada sighed. Josy caught a flicker of pain in her eyes.
“I was afraid you’d decide not to say a word and you’d pick up and leave before I had a chance to say anything.” Ada looked at her closely. “But you were probably waiting for the right moment.”
“I guess I was. Perhaps I just didn’t know how to say it.” Josy shook her head, still stunned. “But you . . . how did you know? And . . . did you know from the beginning?”
“As soon as I heard your name. Josy Warner.” Ada’s hand fell away. She spoke quietly. “I’d done some research of my own starting about a year ago. I wanted to find my baby girl and see—oh, I don’t know—see how her life turned out, if she was happy.” She took a deep breath. “And I found out she was dead.”
Josy said nothing. She watched Ada, watched her eyes cloud with sorrow, her hands tremble in her lap. Her own heart suddenly felt heavy as a stone.
“I also found out she left a child behind her. My grandchild. You.”
