by Jane Porter
But when Jet emerged from her room a half hour later to make dinner, Troy and Cormac were gone, and Kara was already in her bedroom, door closed, and didn’t come out for the rest of the evening.
The old Sheenan homestead was quiet at night. But not empty.
Dillon Sheenan had warned him there was a spirit hanging around the place, and Shane had smiled grimly, wondering if the youngest Sheenan brother had been jesting, but after nine months at the ranch, living in the family ranch house, Shane had come to believe.
But Dillon had been wrong about one thing.
There wasn’t one spirit here. There were several, although the dominant energy was feminine and nonthreatening. But even nonthreatening, Catherine Sheenan made herself known, determined to connect with him.
Usually Shane ignored her. He told himself he wasn’t punishing her, but rather, he didn’t know what to do with her. He told himself he wasn’t angry with her, or his biological father, but that wasn’t true. He was angry. He was deeply resentful as well.
Never mind hurt.
Maybe that was why his mother’s ghost hovered around him.
Maybe that was why tonight she wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d felt her from the moment he entered the kitchen to make dinner. She was weight and energy in the kitchen, filling the emptiness as if she were still alive and in human form.
“Go away, Catherine,” he said, turning the heat off from under the cast iron skillet before plating his steak. “Not in the mood.”
He carried his dinner—steak and a microwaved potato—to the family room, the only room with a TV, and dropped onto the old couch and turned the television on. He’d paid to have cable put into the house when he moved in last spring. He wasn’t a big television guy but after two weeks of uneasy silence, two weeks of being watched by Catherine and friends, he decided cable was needed. And it had helped. It helped now.
Shane ate in front of the TV, flipping through channels, watching first David Muir cover the news, and then a recorded episode of Last Week with John Oliver, and then turned the TV off, giving up on entertainment for the night.
In the kitchen, he washed his dishes and the hair on his nape rose, followed by a ripple down his spine. She was here.
Watching.
Waiting.
But waiting for what? For him to acknowledge her? He’d done that.
Waiting for him to forgive her?
He didn’t think he could do that.
Exasperated, he turned the water off, reached for a dish towel, and dried his hands. “Yes, Catherine?”
Silence greeted him. The silence felt unbearably sad.
His chest tightened. He swallowed hard. “Don’t blame me,” he muttered, tossing the now damp towel onto the counter. “You were the one that left me. Not the other way around.”
But as he took the stairs to his bedroom, he could taste tears. Tears he never shed. He’d waited years for her to come back. She’d promised she’d come back and get him.
She never did.
Jet woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and it got her out of bed immediately. Stepping into slippers, Jet pulled a sweatshirt over her flannel pajamas and headed to the kitchen where Kara was pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Jet nodded gratefully when Kara gestured to the pot. “Would love some,” she answered, smothering a yawn.
“You’re up early,” Kara said, handing Jet a steaming mug.
“Didn’t sleep well,” Jet admitted, wrapping her hands around the glazed mug, saving the warmth. “Weird dreams.”
Kara pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down. “What about?”
“The Sheenans.”
“Why is that weird? Your sister is married to one.”
“But this was different. This wasn’t a dream where we’re eating popcorn and watching a movie. The dream was intense. Stressful.”
“How so?”
Jet splashed flavored creamer into her coffee and crossed the floor to sit down at the table across from Kara. “It’s hard to explain, but in the dream they were in trouble, or there was trouble, and there was all this drama and worry. Even Harley was upset and she was running around, trying to fix things, or fix something, and I remember just feeling awful in the dream, and I woke up blue. And worried.” Jet frowned. “I think it’s because Troy and Cormac were here last night, and I know they were upset.”
Kara wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Right. That makes sense.”
“I know you can’t talk about it, but Cormac was definitely not happy last night, and Troy was Troy…charming and friendly…but it was obvious something wasn’t right.”
Kara sipped her coffee, taking her time replying. “They’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“But there is something…wrong.”
“You’re right. I can’t say anything. But if you’re concerned, ask your sister. Or Brock. Maybe one of them will fill you in.”
That wasn’t going to happen, Jet thought, taking another sip. Harley was a great big sister but she was notoriously tight-lipped about all things personal, which was probably why she and Brock worked so well together. Neither of them were particularly touchy-feely, or into the baring of the souls. Jet doubted either of them would tell her anything, and she wasn’t going to risk getting shot down. It was bad enough being the baby of the family without having the oldest family members put her firmly in her place.
Or what they perceived as being her place.
“Let me ask you something else,” Jet said, hesitating a moment to pick her words with care. “Do you have a problem with Shane Swan?”
Kara’s head lifted abruptly and she gave Jet a searching look. “I don’t. No.”
“You haven’t heard anything sinister or bad. And knowing you, you’d be aware if he had a criminal past and you’d tell me if you thought he was a dangerous person.”
Kara’s stare became more pointed. “What’s this about?”
“He’s asked me to dinner Friday.”
“Oh, Jet…”
“I said yes,” she added quickly.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Kara’s brow creased. “Actually, I’m positive it’s a bad idea. I think you need to tell Harley and Brock and get their input.”
“They’re not going to dinner.”
Kara gave her a look.
Jet grinned. “I can imagine you cross examining people. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“This is me being nice, Jet, and you and I both know that the Sheenans are not friendly with Shane Swan. They wouldn’t be happy about you having dinner with him.”
“Harley is married to the family, not me.”
“You were just telling me last week how much you love those guys. That the Sheenans are so good-looking and smart and kind and that Troy is practically James Bond—”
“Stop. That’s embarrassing. And I’m sure I only said it because I’d had a beer or two.”
“You did say it.”
“Then let’s forget I said it, and this is just a talk about books and teaching and stuff like that. I’m sure he’s not viewing it as a date—” She broke off as she saw Kara’s arched brow. “He’s not, Kara. Trust me.”
“Where are you going for dinner?”
“Gallatin Steakhouse in Livingston.”
“It’s a date.”
“It’s not. Neither of us have ever been there and we thought it’d be fun.”
“How are you getting there?”
She opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together without answering.
“He’s picking you up,” Kara said. “And I can tell you’re determined to go, so don’t say I didn’t warn you when all hell breaks loose later.”
“No one needs to find out.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “This is a small town. Everyone will find out. Trust me.”
Chapter Three
Jet was waiting in Kara’s living room a few steps from the window when Shane pulled up in a burgundy Range Rover with lots
of expensive, shiny chrome. The SUV looked new, and was nothing like the four-wheel drive trucks and SUVs most people drove in Marietta.
Shane’s SUV shouted money, and Jet didn’t know why his choice of car bothered her. All six of his books had been runaway bestsellers. One of his books had been turned into an HBO series and another one was in post-production for a big feature film. If he had money, and was successful, why couldn’t he look it?
But she didn’t like it, and the flashiness disappointed her. Her family was by no means poor. They were one of the largest dairy families in Central California and had weathered a lot of storms in the agricultural valley’s challenging and changing economy, but her family’s thrifty, practical values had apparently rubbed off on her whether she liked it or not.
Shane, dressed in dark jeans and a navy, wool coat open over a thin, gray sweater, was heading up the walkway even as she opened the front door. He looked effortlessly stylish and very New York. She couldn’t help smiling. “You look very chic,” she said.
“It’s the buttons on the coat, isn’t it?” he answered, holding one edge of the jacket out and inspecting it.
Her smile widened. “I think it’s the hip length, and the stitching and buttons…all of it. But it’s a good look.”
He walked her to the Range Rover, opened the passenger door for her. “Sorry I’m late. Had car troubles. Just returned from picking up this loaner.”
“So this isn’t yours?” she asked.
“No. I’m more of a black truck no chrome kind of guy. Although I do have a weakness for cars made in the 1950s, my favorite being the 1957 Corvette. That’s the next car I buy.”
“What do you own now?”
“A 1958 Chevy truck. Matte black. Lowered.” He flashed her a wry smile. “It does have a little chrome, but nothing like this rental.”
She climbed into the Range Rover and he shut the door behind her before coming round the side to get behind the steering wheel. “What do you drive?” he asked.
She pointed to the silver-gray car parked just in front of the truck. “It’s actually my sister’s car. She’s loaning it to me while I’m here. It’s a Trax.”
“A what?”
She laughed. “I know. I said the same thing when she handed me the keys. It’s a new compact SUV. Handles the roads great and gets even better mileage.”
“If you have your sister’s car, what is she driving?”
“Brock’s big SUV, and he’s driving his old truck again.” Jet made a face as she smoothed her wine colored sweater dress over her thighs. She had tights on under, and knee high boots, but she suddenly felt a little naked. Shane was just so polished and sophisticated that she couldn’t help feeling gauche, and so she kept talking, trying to cover her nerves. “I feel bad about that, but Harley says Brock never leaves the ranch, so it works out just fine.”
“Why doesn’t he leave the ranch?”
“He has his family there, and his ranch hands, and that’s enough for him, I think.”
“So you get a car. Pretty good deal for you.”
“It is. I try to show my thanks by babysitting once a week for them—free of charge, of course—but I still feel guilty. Harley’s my oldest sister and she’s used to taking charge so at a certain point you just…give up…and go with the flow.” She drew a quick breath, tried to slow her crazy pulse, as well as her chatter. “How about you? Do you come from a big family? Where are you in the birth order?”
He hesitated for a second. “Most of my childhood was spent in the foster care system.”
She shot him a swift glance. “What happened to your parents?”
He laughed, a low, mocking sound. “Good question.”
Jet couldn’t look away from his darkly handsome profile, his firm lips twisted. She couldn’t tell if it was a slash of anger or pain. “Are they still alive?” she asked hesitantly.
“No.”
“That’s why you went into foster care?”
“No. I was given to my grandmother, and when she died, I went into foster care.”
Jet swallowed. “How old were you?”
“Four.” He leaned forward and turned on the radio. “What do you like to listen to? Pop? Jazz? Alternative rock?”
He was shutting down the conversation. She glanced uneasily in his direction, wishing she hadn’t probed as much as she had. “I noticed you didn’t mention country.” She was trying to be funny but it didn’t come out quite as light as she intended.
He laughed that dry low laugh again. “You could be an investigative reporter, you know.”
At least he didn’t sound angry. “I’ve been told I’m far too curious for my own good. My brothers and sisters used to remind me all the time that curiosity killed the cat, too.”
He shot her a swift glance, his jaw easing, dark eyes creasing at the corners. “And, no, I’m not really a country fan. But if that’s what you want—”
“No. I like some of the new country, but I listen to everything, so I’m good with whatever you want.”
He nodded, picked a classic rock station and drummed one hand on the steering wheel as he drove. Jet watched him from the corner of her eye, more fascinated than ever.
It was good he’d made a reservation. The dark wood-paneled restaurant was crowded, with nearly every table full, with clusters of adults waiting just inside the front door. Heavy, black iron chandeliers dotted the beamed ceiling, making the restaurant masculine and cozy at the same time.
Despite the line at the door, they were seated right away, and Jet couldn’t help glancing at the tables they passed, noting the big steaks and plates of ribs and prime rib. Everything looked good and just the sizzling aroma made her mouth water.
“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Shane asked, holding her chair out for her.
“No. But I’ve heard they have something for everyone here.”
The waiter was at their table almost right away to take their drink order.
Shane looked at Jet. “Cocktail, wine, beer?”
“I’ll probably have a glass of red.”
“Me, too.”
The waiter gestured to the wine list by the bottle. Again Shane looked to Jet. “I’m probably just having one glass,” he said. “But I can certainly order a bottle—”
“I’m the same. I know they say it’s a better value if you order by the bottle, but if you’re not going to drink it, what’s the point?”
As the waiter walked away, Shane leaned forward in his chair. “Are you thrifty?”
“I was raised to be.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I might be a good investigative reporter, but you’d be a good prosecuting attorney.”
His dark eyes shone. “And you still avoided the question.”
She made a face. “I was supposed to spend a year traveling in Europe but after six months my money was gone and I had to come home. Not sure if that answers your question, sir.”
“Are you always this feisty?”
“My parents would say yes.”
“That pleases you.”
Jet’s lips curved. “I’m definitely not Harley. She is really solid…a really good person. Mature. Dependable. Salt of the earth.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not unreliable, but I’m not ready for a family. Not interested in settling down and having kids…at least not anytime soon. I want to explore the world. Have adventures.”
“And Harley wanted to be a mom?”
“She was a mom. An amazing mom. Like the best. And then—” Jet broke off as her throat ached and her eyes burned, hot and gritty. She blinked hard and glanced away, staring across the dark restaurant until she was sure she could speak calmly. “She lost them in an accident. All three at once—” Jet reached up and swiped a tear before it fell. Her hand trembled as she wiped beneath the other eye.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She nodded, blinking fresh tears. After a moment she added h
uskily, “It broke my heart. I can’t imagine what it did to her.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Jet exhaled. “It was the worst. The worst,” she repeated. “That’s how she ended up in Montana. She couldn’t handle another Christmas at home without them, and so she took a temporary job on Copper Mountain Ranch and, well, the rest is history.”
He studied her intently. “And she’s happy now?”
“Brock and his kids love her. And they needed her. The twins had never had a mom. Their mom died when they were just babies, so Harley is really their mom now.”
“You like Brock?”
Jet’s brow creased as she suddenly remembered who she was talking to, and how Cormac and Troy were talking to Kara about Shane. There was definitely some bad blood between the Sheenans and Shane Swan and she was curious if it was one-sided, or if it was a mutual dislike.
“What do you think of the Sheenans?” she asked casually.
He shrugged. “I don’t know them.”
“You’re living in their house, aren’t you?”
For a split second his expression looked almost bleak, an odd light in his eyes, and then it was gone and Jet wondered if she’d imagined it.
“I rented the house from Dillon before he moved to Texas,” he said flatly. “The others have kept their distance.”
There was no change in his expression this time, but she felt a niggle from her sixth sense telling her something wasn’t right and, for the first time since meeting him, she doubted him. There was more going on here. She wondered what would happen if she called him on it.
“I don’t believe you.” But she smiled as she said it, her tone deliberately light, having learned from being the baby in her family that it was essential to be strategic and as nonconfrontational as possible. The older ones would always help her if they didn’t feel threatened.
Shane’s black eyebrows lifted. “You’re a very interesting young woman.”
“What is going on with you and the Sheenans?”
“Maybe you can tell me.”
