“Late,” he said, succinct to the point of bluntness.
Her forehead creased as his tone registered through her morning drowsiness. She sat up. His gut knotted as she moved, baring the long, slender lines of her back down to the gentle flare of her hips to his gaze. The images flooded him again, her breasts in his hands, her hips cradling him so sweetly, her hot, slick flesh coaxing him to a climax more powerful than any in his life. He closed his eyes, swallowed tightly, and turned his head away. Only when he was safely facing the window that looked out over the yard did he open his eyes again.
“Grant?”
“I need to go check on the foal,” he said, rather abruptly, and sat up himself.
“Is something wrong?”
He swung his feet over the side of the bed and reached for the jeans he’d discarded so hastily last night.
“If I’m supposed to be reading your mind,” she said quietly, “I’m afraid I’m not doing very well.”
He twisted around to look at her. She had clutched the covers in front of herself, hiding the body she’d given him so freely last night. Her eyes were wide and troubled, but she was looking at him steadily. Facing this as she faced everything—head-on. He owed her at least that much in turn, he thought. Just because he’d found so much more than he ever expected to, that was no reason to change the rules now. At least she’d been honest from the beginning; she’d never led him to believe anything other than that she would go straight back to the city as soon as she could.
“It’s all right, Mercy,” he said. “I know that last night didn’t…change anything.” Her eyes widened further, and he hurried to get it all out. “You’ll still go back to where you belong. And I’ll stay here where I belong.”
“I…see.”
He couldn’t read her tone, couldn’t decipher the odd look that had come across her face. Doubt suddenly assailed him. In his effort to make things easier, had he somehow done the opposite?
“We knew that all the time, right? You have your world, I have mine, and they don’t meet or mix.”
“So you’ve said.”
She sounded a little stiff, and he wasn’t sure why. He was only trying to reassure her that he didn’t expect anything more than what they both knew would happen. What they’d found together had been…incredible, but it didn’t change the basic facts, that he couldn’t live in her world and she couldn’t live in his.
“Mercy—”
“We’d better get going,” she said. “The ranch doesn’t know it’s a holiday, isn’t that what you said?”
Something was wrong, he could feel it, but her expression was utterly neutral. She was reaching for her own clothes, and she had the sweatshirt pulled on before he could think of another word to say.
He was barely into his own jeans when she stood up and turned to face him.
“So,” she said brightly, so brightly he wondered if it was for real, “let’s go check on the new arrival. Is it all right to take Mom an apple?”
He blinked, taken aback by her sudden cheer. “A piece of one, no more. Mercy, listen, if I said something—”
“Forget it, country boy.”
He wondered if the words were a jab, but she said them so cheerfully it didn’t seem possible. Then she headed for the door. She stopped as she pulled it open, and looked back over her shoulder at him.
“I’ll say one thing, McClure. You sure know how to show a city girl a memorable morning after.”
And then she was gone, and Grant found himself unable to move until long after the echo of her footsteps faded away down the hall.
It would be easier, Mercy thought as she hunched into her jacket and tried not to shiver, if she could write the whole thing off as a mistake. But how could she? How could what had happened between them be a mistake? She might not have had much experience, but she wasn’t so naive that she believed everyone found such pleasure.
Or perhaps they did; perhaps she was that naive. Perhaps it had been nothing special, at least to Grant. How else could he have said what he’d said?
You’ll still go back to where you belong. And I’ll stay here where I belong. You have your world, I have mine, and they don’t meet or mix.
And he’d said it so…so reassuringly. As if he expected her to take comfort in the fact that he still expected her to go home. As if he were reminding her that once a city girl, always a city girl, still applied. As if he’d been afraid she would think…think what?
Perhaps that was what his words had been, a warning. A warning she was supposed to heed, a warning that since he apparently expected nothing from her, she should expect nothing from him in turn.
Well, she didn’t. She didn’t expect a darn thing from Grant McClure, she thought angrily, swiping at eyes that threatened to brim over, adding to her inner tumult. You’re a fool, Brady, she muttered to herself. You knew this was the way it would be. You said it yourself, before last night, and surely you’re not stupid enough to really believe that one night would change it?
But she wasn’t going to be one of those weepy females who claimed to have been led down the garden path. She hadn’t been led anywhere, she’d been a willing—more than willing—participant. She was a grown-up, a woman, not a child. She’d made her decision, and now she would live with the results. She had no right to be upset, simply because Grant had voiced what they both already knew. He was just being honest, something she’d always claimed she wanted, so it was rather hypocritical of her to resent it.
At least he didn’t know how hurt she’d been by his words. If she’d learned nothing else in five years as a cop, she’d learned how to conceal her emotional reactions. And she wasn’t about to let Grant know she really had been foolish enough to think, if only for a moment, that one night together meant anything more than just that. She knew now, in the morning light, that no matter how incredible, how earth-shatteringly passionate, it had been, that it didn’t change a thing. And she’d been bright, chipper and, she hoped, convincingly blasé, never mind that it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. If Grant could walk away from what had happened between them, then so could she.
She’d wondered last night if he still hated city girls. She guessed she’d gotten her answer this morning.
A movement on the edge of her vision caught her eye, and she glanced to her right as Gambler trotted toward her. He fell into step beside her as she headed for the mare’s barn.
“On your rounds, fella?” she asked.
The little shepherd made a whuffling, satisfied noise that sounded for all the world like an affirmative answer that was also meant to convey that all was well. She glanced down at him; he was looking at her as he went, his parti-colored eyes regarding her steadily.
“How’s the baby?”
Gambler gave a short yip, and broke into a lope, headed toward the smaller barn, as if he’d understood perfectly and was deigning to show her the answer to her question. Despite her turmoil over Grant, she couldn’t help smiling at the clever animal.
“Tell me the truth now—you’re really in charge around here, right?” she said to the dog. “You just let everybody else think they’re running things.”
He yipped again, and waited with every evidence of impatience for her to reach the smaller barn’s door. She knew he usually got in through an opening left for just that reason in the equipment room at the far end, so Mercy had to assume—with a rueful grin—that he was not certain this witless human could find her way without his help.
She slid back the heavy door, and Gambler darted inside. He halted in front of the foaling stall and waited while she closed the door behind her.
“Such a gentleman,” she complimented him. “I wish your owner was a little more—”
She cut herself off. She was not going to do this. She was not going to blame Grant for her hurt feelings. She’d brought this on herself. He’d never made any secret about his feelings.
Her mouth twisted wryly. She’d never been one for recreational sex, but ap
parently she’d indulged last night, even though she hadn’t realized it at the time.
Or perhaps she just hadn’t wanted to realize it.
With a sigh, she walked over to the stall, wondering how the night that had seemed so perfect when she last set foot here had turned into such a mess.
Lady was on her feet, and she looked calmly at Mercy as she came up to the door. That was the hallmark of all the horses on Grant’s ranch, it seemed, this calmness that spoke of gentle handling.
Her heart gave a little skip. Where was the foal? She leaned over the open bottom of the Dutch door and peered around the stall. Nothing. Then a movement on the far side of the leopard mare turned her head that way. And a second later a tiny face peered back at her from the safety of her mother’s solid form.
Mercy smiled widely, relieved and utterly charmed. “Hello there, little one,” she crooned. “Merry Christmas.”
The little ears flicked madly at the new sound.
“You, too, Mama.” She held out the piece of apple she’d brought. The mare stretched her neck out to sniff it, then delicately nibbled it off Mercy’s palm.
She heard the big door slide open again. She didn’t look. None of the hands were due back until late, so she knew it had to be Grant, but the mare’s suddenly alert look and Gambler’s immediate defection toward the door proved her guess.
He said nothing, but she heard him moving around, then heard the water go on, and a stirring sound. A few more sounds, and then footsteps.
The mare whickered softly as Grant approached.
“Sorry I’m late, Mama,” he murmured as he opened the stall door. Mercy saw then that he held a large, heavy plastic tub with a thick layer of what looked like steaming oats or something in the bottom.
“Breakfast?” she asked, careful to keep her voice cheerful, and trying not to think about why he was late.
“Bran mash,” he said as he set it down. “She should be back on regular feed in about a week or ten days,” he said, a little absently, as he looked the mare and foal over for any sign of a problem, “but this is best for her now.”
“Oh.”
And just like that, she was out of things to say. How could two people who had what they had done last night possibly be acting like virtual strangers now?
They stood and watched the mare clean out the tub while the little filly watched with bright-eyed curiosity. The moment she was finished, Grant removed the tub so that neither mare nor baby could get hurt. He took it back to the sink that Mercy could now see was much more than a mere convenience, and cleaned it methodically. And silently.
He hesitated for a moment after he put it back in its place. For a moment, Mercy thought he was going to speak, but at last he left without a word. With a stifled sigh, she turned back to the stall. The sight of the foal nursing hungrily made her smile, despite her tangled emotions. There was so much of hope and peace and simplicity here that she could even set aside her confusion for the moment and enjoy the simple miracle before her.
“That family you married into is too much for me, Mom. Every day’s a new adventure.”
Grant shifted in the ladder-back oak kitchen chair, his feet up on the table. He had, however, pulled off his boots before doing so; his mother’s training was deep and thorough.
“It is that,” Barbara Fortune agreed with a good-natured laugh. “Can you believe that Monica’s son, Brandon, is really the kidnapped twin? All this time, we all assumed the missing twin was a girl, like Lindsay.”
“So,” Grant said wryly, “did that woman who tried to pass herself off as Lindsay’s sister.”
“That Ducet woman? Well, the resemblance was remarkable. Perhaps it was an honest mistake.”
Grant smiled, but it was a bitter expression. He didn’t mention that the fact that the woman and her companion had vanished so completely when Brandon Malone came forward with the letter from Monica made that likelihood remote at best. No, the Ducet woman had been after money. And he didn’t see much difference between her approach and that of the women who took one look at the size of the M Double C and decided he’d be a nice trophy to add to their walls.
But his mother was always looking for the good in people, whether it was there to find or not.
“So Monica was behind it all?” he asked. “Even Kate’s death?”
Barbara Fortune sighed, and Grant wondered if she was having trouble finding any good to ameliorate what the bitter, obsessed woman had done.
“According to the letters found in the safe-deposit box and what Gabe Devereax, the family’s detective, has discovered, she was obsessed with gaining control of Kate’s company. She thought it was Brandon’s birthright. And she hated Kate, because Ben would never leave her.”
“So Monica paid her back by engineering the hijacking that killed her. Charming.” He shifted in the chair uncomfortably. He didn’t know how his mother lived in such a world. He didn’t even like hearing about it, although he certainly welcomed the distraction this morning. “I suppose she was behind all that trouble at the lab, too?”
“She wrote about that, as well. She was hoping the sabotage would throw things into chaos and she could take advantage of it.”
The Fortunes were always in chaos, Grant thought wryly. “I wish Brandon Malone luck,” he said. “He’s going to need it, to deal with that family.”
“They’re my family, too, Grant.”
He let out a compressed breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“And yours, as well.”
“I’ve never felt like they are.”
“I know. But they admire you, in their own way.”
“Me?” Grant asked, startled.
“Nate’s always said he liked your backbone. And you know Kate thought of you as family. She left you that horse, after all.”
Joker. Yes, she had. She’d left him the stallion, the horse that could turn the ranch from just a profitable operation into a gold mine. The horse who had been charmed by a petite lady cop. The same small but potent package who had turned his life upside down.
“I still don’t know why she did it,” he said, dragging his mind away from a subject he wasn’t ready to deal with at the moment.
“Kate was a generous woman.”
Something in his mother’s voice made him speak quickly. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you cared a great deal for her. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just…still amazed, I guess.”
“I’ve always been afraid that you’ve felt a bit…left out.”
“Not like that,” Grant assured her. “If anything, I’m grateful to be so far removed from all this melodrama. I’m just a simple cowboy. I can’t handle all these machinations.”
“Simple cowboy, my boots,” his mother said, but Grant could almost see her grinning. Then he heard her sigh before she said, “I just wish Kate could have lived to see this. She would have rejoiced to know her baby was alive and well.”
“Baby? Isn’t he pushing forty by now?”
“Well, you know what I mean. Everyone’s always referred to him that way, since he was kidnapped practically before Kate even got to hold him. Besides, when it’s your child and you love him, he’s always your baby.”
“Yes, Mother,” Grant said dutifully, but he was smiling in spite of himself, reading her obvious message. He’d never doubted his mother’s love, because she took every opportunity such as this one to remind him it would never fail him. “So, was Ben really in on the kidnapping plot all along?”
“So the letter Monica left Brandon—I still can’t believe he’s Kate’s son—says. Monica couldn’t have kids, and when she heard Kate was having twins, well, she blackmailed Ben into giving her Brandon. I can’t believe he hurt the family that way.”
Grant grimaced. “I wouldn’t mind being related to Kate, but I’m not sure I’d want to claim Ben Fortune even if I had to.”
His mother was silent. For too long. Grant’s feet came down to the floor. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
“We
’ve…found out something else. It was all over the news here a few months ago, but you probably never heard how come Jake was giving in to Monica’s demands. It came out when Jake was arrested for Monica’s murder.”
Grant muttered under his breath; he’d had about enough of the Fortune family’s dramatics. They were worrying his mother, and he didn’t like that. Maybe he could get her to come to the ranch for a visit, to get away from all the turmoil that seemed to follow the Fortunes like vultures following a potential meal. But he held back for now; she had enough to worry about, with her brother-in-law in jail, facing a very high-profile murder trial.
“Now what?” was all he said.
“It’s about Jake.” She hesitated. He didn’t push; he’d learned long ago that his mother would get to it in her own way. “We found out…he’s not Ben’s son.”
Grant went still. “What?”
“Kate apparently was pregnant when she and Ben married. But it wasn’t Ben’s child. Jake’s real father was killed in the war.”
Grant let out a low whistle. “So what does that mean? Jake’s not the heir to the Fortune…fortune?”
“I’m not certain. Things are…a bit confused.”
“I’ll bet. How’s Nate taking it? He was always trying to go Jake one better, but this…”
“He’s…acting very odd. He’s been to see Jake, but he hasn’t told me yet what they’ve talked about.”
“Mom—”
“Oh, he will. Eventually. Your stepfather has his own way of doing things.”
Your stepfather. Funny, even though his mother had been married to Nate for twenty-five years, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to consider the dynamic, powerful and just a bit too hungry Nate Fortune as his stepfather.
“Jake and Erica look like they’re reconciling.”
Grant’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“This has really drawn them back together. I think Jake realizes now that he really needs her. And they do love each other.”
“I’m…amazed.”
He was also glad, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He’d never quite understood why Erica had put up with Jake’s demanding personality as long as she had. But the news that even through the current adversity they were still fighting to make it work made him feel inexplicably cheerful.
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