by Jill Shalvis
“I have something on the inheritance case,” he said, cursing himself for forgetting, even for one moment, how important this would be to her.
“What?” She took a step toward him and grabbed his shirt in her fists. “Tell me! What did you find?”
Her eyes were wide. Eager. And his heart ached again. “I finally got my hands on a copy of your mother’s death certificate. There’s an address listed.”
“Okay.” She processed this, then, still holding on to him, gave him a little shake. “What else?”
“I was able to locate the owner of the property, who told me an old friend of your mother’s still lives in the building. Dottie Owens. I’m going to go see her—maybe she’ll know something about your father.”
“In Los Angeles?”
Her fierce determination made him wary. So did the death grip she had on his shirt, which also involved a few chest hairs. “Yes.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Delia—”
“Don’t even try to stop me.”
He remembered when he’d accompanied her on her trip to see Jacob, remembered how, in spite of her anger, she’d appreciated the company, whether she admitted it or not.
Somehow, in reverse, he didn’t think he would appreciate her company, not when everything about her—her hope, her warmth, her independence, her strength—was packaged into one beautiful willowy desirable woman who drew him as no other had in far too long. “No,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes.”
So much for getting away from her.
Chapter 7
The outdoors had never attracted Delia before. That it did now was a source of wonder. Normally the land was rich with vibrant colors, but now, facing the onset of cold weather, a sort of hush had fallen over the land.
Delia pulled on a heavy coat and gloves, drawn by something she didn’t understand, and made her way to the bluff overlooking the river.
There she stood, staring down at the awesome sight of the rushing water, thinking how this land didn’t seem so alien now. That maybe it had started to worm its way into her resistant heart.
You’re coming back…to see me?
The words echoed in her head from the phone conversation she’d just had with Jacob. He’d been taken off guard and, being so young, had been unable to hold back his first reaction, which had been hopeful joy.
Then he’d caught himself and had reined in his emotions. “Didn’t think you’d come back home,” he’d stated.
“I’m coming back,” Delia had said, her voice a little thick with emotion, “over and over again. But my home…is here in Idaho.” And for the first time she really believed that, and it felt good. Into his bleak silence, she’d said, “Maybe you’ll want to come here someday.”
More silence.
“We have animals here,” she said desperately.
“Like horses?”
“Lots. You could ride one if you like.” It was pure bribery, but she’d use whatever it took.
“That’d be fine,” he’d said casually, but he hadn’t fooled Delia. It wasn’t indifference he felt, only fear, which broke her heart. He was testing her, making sure she was going to stick around.
Which she was, through thick and thin. He’d never be disappointed by family again.
She heard a horse approaching from behind, and thinking Zoe had come seeking her out, she turned with a smile meant to assure her sister she was all right.
And met Cade’s gaze, instead.
He was still fifty feet back. Would he actually acknowledge her, she wondered, or ignore her as he’d done his best to do these past few days?
Granted, they’d all been busy with their guests, but it was more than that. For whatever reason, ever since he’d told her of his lead, Cade had backed off.
She told herself that was just fine with her, but she still tensed at the mere sight of him.
A gust of icy wind blew, loosening her hair so that it whipped her face. Below them the roar of the water blended with the sound of the wind and the rustling trees, producing a symphony only Mother Nature could create.
Delia shivered, but it was more from a heightened sense of awareness than the actual cold. Still, she was grateful for the sun beaming down on them, weak as it was.
After a long moment, Cade nudged his horse closer, then closer still, and her breath caught in a vexing sort of anticipation, because no matter how she tried to put it out of her mind that only this man could make her ache and burn, her body would never let her forget.
Only the knowledge that he could obviously turn the heat on and off, that he could plan on leaving and not worry about coming back, kept her cool.
Cade swung down from the saddle, murmured something to his horse and came closer still.
“You look at home,” he said.
She shrugged, having finally found her mental distance. “Tell that to Zoe, who thinks I’ll never give up my city ways.” Delia didn’t have to admit she still missed the city—the malls, the grumpy crowds, the restaurants. The culture. She missed it all, but much in the way one missed school once it was out. It was with a sort of fondness, not any real ache.
In spite of herself, this place was becoming home. Tilting her head back, she studied the sky. No smog. No planes. Just glorious brilliant blue sky.
“We need to leave in an hour,” he said.
“I’m packed and ready to go.” They’d go together, investigate the address he had. Then she’d see Jacob and come back to the ranch, to her home.
As for Cade, he’d be off. She had no idea when she’d see him again, but she considered that a good thing.
Their guests had gone, and when they’d left, they’d been full, content, happy and thrilled with their experience.
Delia was happy, too, and knowing she had until Thursday before the next group of guests arrived helped ease her guilt at leaving her sisters for a few days.
They didn’t need her, she reminded herself. They’d function fine without her. Fact was, neither Zoe nor Maddie resented her trip in the least, but she felt a moment of shame that she’d expected them, too.
They loved her, and even after twenty years, the knowledge still thrilled her. What didn’t thrill her was the thought of yet another trip with the tall enigmatic man in front of her. But she couldn’t let him go without her. She had too much at stake, not to mention years of curiosity and buried hurt.
“I know you’re packed,” he said quietly. “But are you really ready?”
“Does it matter?”
He stared at her a moment before turning his too-intense gaze to the river. The wind continued to tug at them, at her clothes and his, at the long-sleeved shirt he wore, molding it to his chest and back.
“It matters,” he said grimly. “You matter.”
“But you don’t want me to matter.”
“No more than you want me to matter to you.”
Well, he had her there.
“I know why I resist this…this thing between us,” she said. “But why do you? What’s haunting you, Cade?”
His jaw hardened. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Nothing I’m willing to talk about.”
Fair enough, she supposed. And not for the first time, she realized it was almost comforting to know it would never go further than this, that sexual attraction was all they had. Lust could be ignored.
Their arms brushed lightly.
And she had to tell herself again that all they had was that lust, nothing more. But the truth was, his touch soothed her. His strength fed hers.
How could this happen when her own strength had always been enough?
“I don’t know what we’ll find,” he said. “But it might be rough on you—”
“I’m going.”
“Okay, but—”
“No. No buts.” She sighed, speaking her thoughts out loud, shocking herself with the weakness she couldn’t control. “Why do you think my mother didn’t want me?”
He looked at her wit
h a mixture of surprise and a compassion far too close to pity. She turned away and added quickly, “I was a pretty good kid, I was…just wondering, and…”
“Delia—”
“No, I’m sorry.” She let out a laugh that sounded pathetically close to a sob. “It’s nothing.”
“God, Delia,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Forever,” she whispered. Then, “Look, forget it,” she said. “Please, just forget I said anything. I’ll meet you inside when you’re ready—”
He stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Your mother wasn’t good enough for you, not even close. No mother should be able to walk away from her child.”
Delia was a tall woman, but he was much taller, so that her gaze fell directly on his wide, generous mouth, his square jaw, which at this moment was hard with anger.
Anger for her, she realized with some surprise and an odd little shiver.
“I don’t know if your father knew who you were,” he said, his tone intense. “Or even if he was Constance’s son Ethan Freeman, but I swear we’ll find out. For once and for all, you’ll know your past. You won’t have to wonder anymore.”
It would be a double-edged sword, the knowing. Her past would no longer be a mystery. And if her father turned out to be the no-good drifter, liar, user, Ethan Freeman, then she would have gotten what she needed—the inheritance necessary to get Jacob.
She’d know her own gene pool—and the fact she’d come from two complete losers.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
In Cade’s opinion, Los Angeles was a chameleon. Whatever one desired, it could be had, whether it was fun or serious, whether you were rich or poor.
A place to succeed or merely survive.
The heat was oppressive, unusually heavy and sticky. They drove to a seedy subdivision, long past its prime.
Delia looked shocked when he pulled up to a run-down apartment complex with neglected palm trees drooping in front of a wrought-iron gate half-fallen down.
“My mother lived here? Are you sure?”
“It’s her last known address, according to her D.M.V. records.” He hated knowing he was destroying whatever positive memories Delia had managed to retain, but to learn the truth about her father, it had to be done. “It’s been over twenty years. Things change.”
“Yes.”
She looked out of place as she got out of the car: tall, willowy, coolly beautiful. She wore a fitted sundress the color of a ripe peach, which looked elegant and sophisticated. Hard to imagine her fitting into this life, but Cade knew that was exactly what would have happened if her mother hadn’t taken her to the foster home.
She would have grown up here.
He wondered if Delia, staring at the building with an unreadable expression on her face, was thinking the same thing.
Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to care what the hell she thought. “Come on,” he said gruffly, and led the way. “Let’s go get your answers.”
The main door was unlocked. They entered and moved down the hall. When they knocked on the door, a woman answered. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair disheveled. On her face was at least day-old makeup. That hard prematurely aged face twisted into a frown at the sight of them. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Dottie?” Cade gave her a smile.
“Yeah.” She looked him over. “So?”
“Cade McKnight. I spoke with you on the phone regarding Evelyn Scanlon.”
Dottie glanced at Delia, then did a comical double take. “Lord, girl, you look just like your momma.”
Delia didn’t so much as blink, not the cool unflappable Delia, but Cade knew that bit of news had rocked her to the core.
“It’s like going back in time,” Dottie said, awed, shaking her head. “Just like her.”
“Can we ask you some questions?”
Dottie’s gaze slid back to Cade. “You a cop?”
“No, ma’am, a private investigator. Like I told you, we’re trying to locate Ms. Scanlon’s father.”
Dottie snorted indelicately. “Good luck.”
Delia broke her silence. “You knew him?”
“No one knew him.”
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I am that I’m standing here wasting my time. He was a selfish pig. What do you want to know about him for?”
“Just for…me,” Delia said. “Thank you for your help.” Her voice was steady. Totally in control.
Cade knew a lot about hiding feelings. When Lisa and Tommy had first died, he’d hidden everything, not just from others, but from himself. All sadness, all grief, all fury at the injustice of it, everything. It had nearly destroyed him. Before he’d realized it, he was dead inside. A bad thing for an attorney, and a high-powered one at that. He’d walked away from his cases, had turned away from his family and friends. He’d not been satisfied until nothing of his former life remained. Now, years later, he didn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore. He didn’t have to. He hardly had any.
Or he hadn’t, until Delia. Beautiful stoic hurting Delia. So cool, so calm. He wondered how long she could sustain it. She’d been doing this for what…over twenty years now? When did she allow herself to break? To need someone?
Dammit, she was just a case to him. Nothing more.
As soon as he was done here, he was leaving, going back to his unfeeling self. He’d start with New York. He needed the big city, needed to get lost in it. He had another case with a lead that led there, so he would enjoy himself and take his time.
After that, he thought Florida might suit him.
He’d have to check on Constance’s inheritance and the ranch, but he could do that by phone, as well as any follow-up required.
As soon as this business was finished. “On the phone,” he said, “you hinted you might be able to give us some insight as to Delia’s father’s whereabouts.”
“Did I?” Dottie straightened away from the door and eyed their clothing with disdain. “Seems anyone that dresses as fancy as you two should be able to pay for whatever they want.”
Cade wasn’t wearing anything other than casual khaki pants and a tucked-in polo shirt, but he was clean and neat and, he supposed, far cleaner and neater than Dottie. Combined with Delia’s unmistakable presence, which she would have exuded even in a potato sack, he could see why Dottie felt they’d come from a different world.
With an outward smile and an inward sigh, he pulled out his wallet.
Dottie brightened considerably. “That’s right,” she said, rubbing her palms on her thighs, nearly drooling in the process. “Make me an offer.”
“Cade…”
Cade shook his head at Delia and offered Dottie several bills. She stuffed them down her top and smiled warmly. “What exactly was it you wanted to know?”
“For starters, his name,” Cade said. “Delia’s birth certificate doesn’t list him.”
“A name doesn’t mean anything.”
“It would be a start,” Cade said patiently.
“I’m not certain I can remember.” Dottie smiled, crossed her arms.
Cade stared at her, then took out his wallet once more and handed her another bill.
“Cade…”
Again he shook his head, holding eye contact with Dottie. Unfortunately he knew the type. Only money, and maybe intimidation, could reach her.
“I think it was…Eddie,” she said. “Eddie something. Eddie Kitze?”
She spelled it for him, and Cade wrote it down. “He said he was a cop. With which department?”
“Never said.”
“Never?”
“Just said so, didn’t I?”
“Tell us about him.”
Dottie rolled her eyes, popped her gum. “Delia’s mother was only staying here with friends on and off—she didn’t live here. She had a rich daddy, but he was real strict, always
kept her on a short leash that she was forever tugging at, you know?”
“You mean she’d run away?”
“No, she wasn’t stupid. She snuck out. She enjoyed slumming around.”
“Slumming?” Delia repeated, her voice still perfectly even, so much so that Cade narrowed his eyes at her.
It wasn’t natural to hide all that emotion.
“Slumming,” Dottie said again. “She liked fast cars and faster men. This Eddie, he’d led her to believe he was a real somebody, but when she got herself knocked up, he took off. Never saw him again.”
From inside the apartment, a rough male voice called out Dottie’s name.
She rolled her eyes again. “Gotta go.”
“Wait.” Delia took a step toward Dottie, one hand raised in entreaty.
Dottie stepped back. “That’s it, sweetcakes. I’ve gotta run.”
The door shut in their faces.
Delia stared at it, not moving, her hand still raised.
Cade’s heart twisted. “Delia—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, dropping her hand and turning away. “Just…don’t.”
She walked back through the building, down the steps and into the car, all in a terrible heavy silence. When Cade climbed in next to her, she was looking out the window, studying the building.
“Just drop me off at the car-rental place,” she said. “I’ll need my own car to go see Jacob. And you’ll need to get going, I imagine.”
Yes, he needed to get going. Wanted to get going. Couldn’t wait to get going.
“Delia—”
“Just drive, Cade.”
“We have a name now,” he said, not starting the car, needing to make her feel better somehow. He didn’t understand it, this urge he had to make her happy. “With it I can start an effective trace.”
She lifted a shoulder as if she didn’t care what he did. “The name probably wasn’t real.”
“I’ll find something,” he promised rashly, anything to break through that wall she’d erected. “You never know, it could lead us right to—”
“Don’t say it,” she said in a surprisingly harsh voice. “We’ve got exactly what we had before you spent two hundred dollars on a junkie. Nothing.”
