by Linda Turner
His last thought should have been about his father. Instead, a whisper of the night breezes drifted in through the open window, teasing him with a sweet, faint scent that reminded him inexplicably of her. Like it or not, she was his last thought before he fell asleep.
When Phoebe came downstairs the next morning, dawn was still nearly an hour away. It was her favorite time of the day. There were no telemarketers calling on the phone, no TVs or radios blaring, no trucks shifting gears as they made their way down Main Street. Quiet echoed like a sigh, and for a while, at least, Phoebe could almost believe she was the only one in town awake. She loved it.
Unfortunately, this time she had to herself couldn’t last. Although her guest hadn’t told her what time he would like breakfast, she had a feeling he was an early riser. She’d be lucky if she had another two hours to herself. She planned to enjoy it before she had to deal with Mr. Personality.
A grin tugged at her lips at the unexpected nickname her psyche had come up with for Taylor Bishop. She didn’t mean to be mean. After all, she didn’t even know him. Like everyone, he was bound to have some good qualities. And she had to admit, he was an incredibly good-looking man. Looks, however, weren’t everything. She’d never met anyone who could push her buttons so easily. And he planned to stay the entire time her grandmother was gone!
If he’d been anything other than a writer, she might have been groaning at the thought. But she doubted that she would see much of him. If he wasn’t off somewhere doing research, he would, in all likelihood, be holed up in his room writing. If she was lucky, the only time she’d have to deal with him was at breakfast. And once the other guests arrived, she’d spend most of her mornings in the kitchen.
The cooking, more than anything else, was what she was really looking forward to. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, and as she stepped to the pantry to pull out her baking supplies, she could already taste the Virginia ham, apple strudel, and hot, homemade croissants that were planned for part of the morning menu. Mr. Personality hadn’t blinked twice when she’d showed him to his room. She’d like to see similar restraint when he sat down to breakfast. If he was expecting ordinary bacon and eggs, he was in for a surprise.
Grinning at the thought, she’d just stepped out of the pantry, her arms laden with ingredients, when she thought she heard a cry in the predawn quiet. Surprised, she stopped in her tracks, listening. Then she heard it again.
“Oh, my God!” she said softly, “that sounds like puppies!”
Hurriedly dumping her supplies on the kitchen table, she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer by the refrigerator, then quickly unlocked the back door and rushed outside just as what sounded like an entire litter of puppies started to whimper and howl from under the porch.
The hems of her nightgown and robe trailing behind her, she flew down the steps, only to laugh when she peered under the porch and found six lab-mix puppies staring up at her warily. “Oh, poor babies! Are you hungry? Where’s your mama?”
For an answer she got wagging tails, puppy grins and a couple of brave woofs. Just that easily, they stole her heart. Murmuring soothingly, she held out her hand to them. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to take you inside and find you something to eat. C’mon, that’s it. Oh, aren’t you sweet!”
Hungry and lonely, they cautiously came out from under the porch, and within seconds, little tails were wagging in greeting. Laughing, she scooped them all up and carried them inside.
His head buried under a pillow, Taylor came awake to the sound of yapping puppies and a woman’s delighted laughter floating on the morning air. Disoriented and still half asleep, he found himself fascinated by the sweetness of the sound. Had someone new moved in next door? he wondered sleepily. She had a laugh like an angel. Who was she? He hadn’t seen anyone new….
She laughed again, but this time, the fog of sleep clouding Taylor’s brain parted and images of last night came rushing back. The wreck, Liberty Hill, Phoebe Chandler. She was the one downstairs, the one laughing, the one who fascinated him.
He swore softly, unable to believe he was thinking of her again. He kept waking up during the night because of her—every time he’d closed his eyes, all he could see was Phoebe, standing in the light of the entry hall in her old-fashioned gown and robe, her hair flowing around her shoulders as she opened the door to him. And now here she was, back again, walking out of his dreams into his waking thoughts.
And it was damn irritating! he thought, scowling. He didn’t have time to lie around thinking about the old-fashioned lady downstairs. He had work to do. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed his clothes and stepped across the hall to the bathroom. Once he had a shower, he’d get on the phone, order a rental car from Colorado Springs, then get to work finding his father.
Ten minutes later, when he headed downstairs, he was all business. He’d ordered the rental car and decided to start his search for his father by paying a visit to the two McBrides listed in the phone book. No addresses were listed but he didn’t expect that to be a problem. He’d call both McBrides at nine, and if he couldn’t track them down, he’d walk over to the sheriff’s office and see if he knew the McBrides. Surely in a town the size of Liberty Hill, the sheriff had to know just about everyone.
His thoughts on what he would say to the McBrides when he finally found them, he had no intention of eating breakfast. The scent of baking apples and cinnamon was incredible, but he intended to skip the traditionally elaborate meal that came with the cost of his room. He just didn’t have time.
Considering that, he should have headed for the front door the second he reached the bottom of the stairs. But in the kitchen, Phoebe laughed softly and murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, and with no conscious decision on his part, he found himself following the sound of her voice.
She was dressed as she had been last night, in the soft, flowing gown and robe that had made his sleep so restless, and for a moment, he cynically wondered if the lady always cooked breakfast in her nightclothes or if she had just done so this morning for his benefit. Then he realized she didn’t even know he was watching, and he felt like an idiot.
All her attention was focused on the puppies, who were climbing all over each other, tumbling into her lap, their little tails wagging happily as they tried to get to her. Squirming and wiggling, they licked her on the face, making her giggle, and for the first time since his mother had died, Taylor found himself fighting a smile.
No woman had a right to look so pretty in the morning. She’d piled her hair up off her neck with a clip, but other than that, she’d done little to make herself beautiful. Her face was free of makeup, and she hadn’t even bothered with shoes. From where he stood, Taylor could see her bare toes peeking out from under her gown and robe. Her nails were painted with a delicate pink polish, matching the natural blush of her cheeks, and with no effort at all, he could see her sitting in the old-fashioned bathroom, her foot propped against the clawfoot tub as she painted her toenails by candlelight.
A cynical man, Taylor readily admitted that he liked women who were sophisticated and politically well connected. From what he’d seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. He shouldn’t have found her the least bit appealing. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. As he watched, she picked up each puppy, kissed it on the nose, and placed it in the cardboard box she’d used to make them a bed. With a will of their own, his eyes lingered on the curve of her mouth. Would her lips taste as soft as they looked?
Caught off guard by the direction of his thoughts, he would have sworn that he didn’t make a sound, but suddenly, Phoebe glanced up and found him standing in the doorway. Not the least bit self-conscious, she smiled. “Good morning. I’m sorry I’m not dressed yet. I had a few unexpected guests under the back porch this morning. I hope they didn’t wake you.”
“I’m an early riser,” he said gruffly. Nodding at the puppies, he said, “Where’s the mama?”
“I don’t
know,” she said with a shrug as she gave the last puppy a kiss and placed it in the box before rising to her feet. “I’m afraid she’s abandoned them. There was no sign of her, so I called Merry McBride. She’ll be by later to pick them up.”
Surprised, Taylor couldn’t believe his luck. When he’d taken the room last night and learned this woman was handling the bed and breakfast for her grandmother, he’d never dreamed she would know a McBride. “Who’s she? Does she own the local animal shelter or what?”
“Actually, she’s the vet,” she replied. “She’ll take care of the puppies and find them good homes.”
Taylor opened his mouth to grill her about what she knew about the McBrides, only to remember just in time that he was supposed to be a writer, not a lawyer. He could ask as many questions as he wanted—he just couldn’t cross-examine her as if she was on the witness stand.
So with a casualness he was far from feeling, he frowned and said, “McBride…that name sounds familiar. Is her husband a rancher in the area?”
Phoebe laughed. “McBride is her maiden name. Her husband’s Nick Kincaid, the sheriff. Her family ranches, though. In fact, there’s been a McBride ranching in Liberty Hill for over a hundred years. You definitely need to talk to them for your book.”
Stunned, Taylor couldn’t believe she’d given him so much information so quickly. Were the McBrides she spoke of his father’s family? His mother had said his father was a cowboy. How was he related to Merry, the vet? And how did Phoebe Chandler know so much about the family?
Curious, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and asked her just that. “How do you know the McBrides? Are you friends with them or what?”
She smiled. “I’ve known them all my life. My grandmother and Sara McBride are best friends.”
“And Sara McBride is…”
“Merry’s mother. She and Myrtle have known each other forever. They were in first grade together, went to college together, and were in each other’s weddings. I can’t think of any major event in my grandmother’s life that Sara wasn’t there for. They’re like sisters.”
“So what about Mr. McBride? What’s his name?”
“Gus.”
She said his father’s name so casually and didn’t have a clue what she’d given him, Taylor thought. He’d found the son of a bitch! And he hadn’t even been in Liberty Hill an hour. Never in a million years had he dreamed finding his father would be this easy. Now he just needed his address.
He couldn’t, however, come right out and demand it, not without raising Phoebe Chandler’s eyebrows. So he swore silently, clamped a lid on the anger that always boiled in him whenever he thought of Gus McBride, and reminded himself that he had a role to play. “If Sara’s your grandmother’s age, Gus must be getting up there in age, too. Is he still ranching? Or don’t ranchers retire? What’s his story?”
Surprised, she blinked. “Gus? Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I tell you? He died years ago.”
Chapter 3
Stunned, Taylor stood as if turned to stone. Gus was dead? He couldn’t be, not now that he was so close to finding the jackass. God couldn’t be so cruel.
But even as he tried to convince himself that Phoebe had to be mistaken, he only had to look at her face to know that there was no question she was telling the truth. She knew the McBrides. She had no reason to lie.
And that’s when it hit him. There would be no revenge; Gus wouldn’t have to account for his misdeeds. The bastard had used his mother, then walked away from her, leaving her pregnant and alone, with nothing but years of hardship and poverty ahead of her. And what punishment had he received for that? A life of wealth and privilege on one of the largest ranches in the area, a wife and children who’d never known what a skunk he was, happiness.
Bitterness coiled like a snake in Taylor’s stomach. It just wasn’t fair, dammit! He didn’t care for himself so much, but for his mother. She’d come from a well-to-do family who’d lived by high standards. When she’d gotten pregnant without the benefit of a wedding ring on her finger, they’d shunned her, thrown her out, shut the door in her face. She’d never seen her parents again, never had any contact with her family at all. All because of Gus McBride.
“What do you mean…he died years ago?” he asked harshly. “When? Five years ago? Ten? He must have been a young man!”
“Oh, he was,” Phoebe assured him. “If I remember correctly, it seems like Joe had just graduated from high school, so Gus was probably in his mid forties—I was just a kid at the time, so I don’t really remember the particulars, except that he had a heart attack. It was a shock to everyone. He just dropped dead out on the ranch one day.
“The whole family was devastated, especially poor Sara,” she continued. “She was devoted to Gus—from what I remember, they had a wonderful relationship. No one thought she would ever marry again, but I guess time really does heal all wounds. She and Dr. Michaels had been friends for years when they suddenly realized they were in love. They’re in Mexico right now on their honeymoon.” Smiling fondly, she said, “They had a wonderful wedding. The whole town turned out for it.”
Taylor almost told her he couldn’t have cared less about Sara McBride or her wedding. She was the woman his father had left his mother for, and for no other reason than that, he wanted nothing to do with her. Phoebe Chandler would no doubt be horrified by that, but dammit, the truth of the matter was, his mother’s life would have been a hell of a lot happier if it hadn’t been for Sara. Considering that, who could blame him for disliking her, sight unseen?
He thought, however, that he was hiding his hostility well. He wasn’t. Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his expression because Phoebe’s smile suddenly faded, and her eyes searched his. “What is it?” she asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
Wrong? he wanted to growl. What wasn’t wrong? When he’d taken a leave of absence from the firm to track down his old man, everything had seemed so simple. Unfortunately, the joke was on him. Gus was dead, and that was that.
Angry, bitter, his plans all shot to hell, he had to get away, had to think. “Nothing,” he lied. “I just realized that I left my notes at home, and I need them for the book.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there someone you can call to send them to you?”
“No,” he replied shortly. “I’ll just have to redo the research. Is there a library around here? I can probably get what I need from the local history books.”
There was no research, of course, no work he had to do except figure out where he went from here. Phoebe, however, accepted his story without so much as a blink. “It’s down the street on the right,” she said. “Across from the post office. You can’t miss it. It’s in the only redbrick building on Main Street.”
Gruffly thanking her for her help, he turned to leave, but he’d only taken two steps when she cried out, “Wait! What about breakfast? I can have it ready in ten minutes.”
“Save it,” he growled. “I’m not hungry.”
He was gone before she could stop him, leaving her staring after him with her mouth hanging open. That was it? He wasn’t hungry? After she’d gotten up before the crack of dawn to cook breakfast for him? He couldn’t be serious!
But the front door slammed behind him, and just that quickly, she was alone. Glancing at the apple strudel, Virginia ham and croissants she’d already made for breakfast, Phoebe didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Why, out of all the people she could have had for her first guest, had Taylor Bishop landed on her doorstep? Did the man know there was a reason the inn was classified a bed and breakfast? Breakfast was included with the cost of the room! What was she going to do with all this food?
It was a beautiful summer morning, cool and clear, and under other circumstances, Taylor would have enjoyed a brisk walk. But as he strode quickly down the street toward the library, every step he took echoed the anger seething inside him. Damn Gus McBride! For as long as Taylor could remember, he’d hated the faceless, nameless man who hadn
’t been there for him as other fathers were for their sons. He’d only wanted the answer to one question—Why?—and now he wasn’t even going to get that. Because Gus McBride was dead and had been for a long time.
And that, more than anything, was what infuriated him the most. For years, he’d resented a man who was already dead, and he hadn’t even known it. He felt like a fool. Somehow, he should have known, dammit. But not even his mother had guessed that Gus McBride was dead. If she had, she would have been devastated, and for the life of him, Gus didn’t know why. The man had never loved her or he wouldn’t have walked away from her. As far as Taylor was concerned, the jackass hadn’t respected her, either, or he wouldn’t have had sex with her without protecting her.
He should have had to answer for that, if nothing else, Taylor thought grimly. It was no more than he deserved. But, no! In this, too, he’d somehow managed to escape the repercussions of his behavior. Taylor knew he was being unreasonable—Gus hadn’t died deliberately so he wouldn’t have to face his illegitimate son—but that’s what it felt like. And it infuriated him that Gus had that much control over his emotions, that this man that he had resented for as long as he could remember could tie him in knots from the grave and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
What the hell was he going to do now?
Fuming, unsure what his next move would be, he almost walked right past the library. There was, he thought grimly, no longer any reason to keep up the charade that he was a writer. He might as well go back to the Mountain View Inn, pack his bags, and head back to San Diego. There was nothing he could do here.
