by Alison Kent
Dax’s father reached for her wrist and squeezed it. “You keep taking such good care of me, Miss Mari, I may never want to leave. But I’ll be fine. What man wouldn’t be with his son come to visit?”
She glared at Dax as she walked past, leaving them alone. Leaving Dax to fight the sting of the pins and needles firing in his legs and pushing him to flee.
Wallace Campbell waited for the door to close, sitting straight up in the bed, and smoothing the stiff white sheet over the bulk of his lap. Once he had everything to his satisfaction, he lifted his gaze and arched a thick bushy brow. “Hello, Dax.”
When Dax said nothing, he went on.
“You look… well, not quite as I’d pictured my son at thirty-four, but healthy at least. Maybe a little on the thin side, and you may want to have a doctor check the sun damage to your skin, but for sixteen years away, you look good.”
What a crock. “You say that like you care.”
The older man shrugged. “It’s what fathers do.”
Dax started to ask “Since when?” but that wasn’t the conversation he’d come to have. “I’m only here to get an answer to one question.”
His father reached for the pitcher of water on his bedside table, poured himself a glass and downed it. Then he poured another, returned the pitcher to the table, and held the plastic cup on the rail at his side—biding his time, making his opponent sweat.
A lawyer through and through. “If that’s the way you want to play this. Ask me anything.”
“Is Greg Barrett your son?”
After a slow lift of his brow, Dax’s father asked, “Did he tell you that he was?”
“He did. In this very room. Not more than a week ago.”
“Greg’s a man of his word.”
Unbelievable. Dax watched his father sip from his cup, staring into the water as if any second now it would turn a deep rich amber and burn its way down what was left of his gullet. “Can’t come straight out with it, can you? Can’t admit you’re an adulterous son of a bitch.”
“I’ve done a lot of things in my life I never plan to admit to.” The older Campbell’s gaze came up, held Dax’s as if it would take no effort at all to throw the connection away. “Greg’s not one of them.”
A piercing burn struck the center of Dax’s chest and bored its way to his spine. “Then it’s the truth.”
His father gave a single nod.
“A truth you’ve known from the beginning.”
Another nod.
“And you brought him into the firm because of it. He didn’t just show up and apply for the job.”
“Unlike… ranchers, attorneys don’t just apply for jobs.”
“Whatever.”
“Yes, Dax. I paid for my son to attend law school. I needed to have someone there with the firm’s best interests at heart. Someone to take over after I’m gone. To carry on the tradition you weren’t interested in.”
“You have Darcy,” Dax bit off, clenching his hands into fists.
“Darcy won’t always be a Campbell.”
Dax advanced, reaching the foot of the bed and slamming his palms against the mattress. He leaned forward, his chest heaving. “Darcy will always be a Campbell. Even if she marries and changes her name, she’ll be more of a Campbell than Barrett can dream of being.”
One heartbeat, two, then the older man asked, “And more of a Campbell than you?”
That one was easy. “Nope. She doesn’t have it in her to be that big of a dick.”
A grin stole over Wallace Campbell’s face, and he began to nod, a bobbing sort of knowing motion that Dax didn’t find funny at all. “A chip off the old block after all, are you? Good to know. I’d been wondering.”
“You never wondered. You probably haven’t thought about me since flipping me off when I drove away.”
“If telling yourself that makes you feel better…”
Dax shoved away from the bed, paced the length of the room and back, stopping in the corner where he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Did Mom find out about Greg? Is that why she left?”
His father looked down, swirling the water in his cup. “We had a fight. She wasn’t happy about it and decided she needed some time. A spa, I think she said.”
Goddamn pulling teeth. “A fight about Greg?”
“No. About your sister.”
Dax felt his hackles rise. “What about her?”
“Oh, the usual. Women. Your mother wanted me to give Darcy the partnership. I said no.”
Well, at least he knew his daughter’s name. “Why? She’s devoted herself to the firm since law school.”
“She runs on hormones. Look what happened over Henry Lasko,” he said with an expansive sweep of one hand. “She couldn’t even give the man the time of day.”
Someone somewhere was doing a whole lot of spin. “That’s not what happened at all.”
“According to you.”
“I was there. In the Blackbird Diner. I heard every word.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you? Over Henry? A friend who’s stood at my side all the years I’ve known him?
“Just like Darcy has, you mean?”
The other man snorted, looked away.
“Is this about the ranch? And the lease? You’re taking Henry’s side when Darcy knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“I’m not about to break client confidence to discuss a case with you.”
“Even when I own the ranch?”
“You own debt. You own nothing.”
“I own a piece of something valuable enough to cause your client to run to you with his tail between his legs.”
“Henry Lasko is a good man. A man of his word.”
“Like Greg? You know Darcy’s been here every day. Can you say that about your model son?”
His father said nothing.
“Was it worth losing your wife over? Because I have to guess that’s where the fight ended up. She wanted you to give the partnership to Darcy, while you had your bastard in mind. Left that part out, didn’t you?”
“Don’t talk about your brother like that.”
Dax snorted, shook his head, jammed his hands to his hips. “You really are a piece of work. That man is not my brother any more than you’re my father.”
“Then you won’t mind that I’ve written him into my will and you out.”
As if he gave a shit. “As long as Darcy’s still there. Nothing else matters.”
“She is. She may have walked out on the firm, but she didn’t walk out on her family.”
He had Dax there. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“Are you going to tell your sister?”
“About Barrett?” Dax shook his head. “No, I’ll let you be the one to disappoint her. And while you’re at it, go ahead and tell her that you ran off your wife, and caused your own heart attack in the process. That is what happened, isn’t it? The shock of her leaving you was too much for the old ticker to take?”
The other man shrugged. “Doctors are still doing tests.”
“Waste of time, don’t you think? Shit you’ve pulled in your life? Are you really worth saving?”
“Guess we all have our youthful mistakes. How we live up to them makes us men.”
“If you’re what it means to be a man, count me out. My only mistake was coming here today.” And it only took a half dozen steps to correct it by walking out the door.
THIRTY-FIVE
DARCY WAS SITTING in the middle of the ranch house living room, stacks of oil field surveys and handwritten correspondence, of nuts and nails and small tools, of half-empty pouches of tobacco and unfinished needlepoint projects on the floor around her, when the kitchen door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.
Since she’d been listening to the rumble of Casper’s and Boone’s voices as they pan-fried steaks and potatoes, the culprit had to be Dax. And in typical Dax fashion—which, she supposed, was typical male fashion—he had to blow off steam physically instead
of voicing whatever emotion had him running so hot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” This from Casper along with a string of more colorful words that had Darcy cringing. What was it with men? And was she ever glad she’d given up the idea of living in this house of testosterone, though if it weren’t for Josh rescuing her unemployed ass, she might not have had any choice.
She really did need to stop with the dawdling and figure out what to do with her life. Going through the Daltons’ things wasn’t going to keep her busy forever, and it certainly wasn’t bringing in a paycheck. Her savings would hold her for a while, but staying in Crow Hill meant giving up the attorney gig, since Campbell and Associates was the only game in town.
She supposed she could move, join a firm in San Antonio or Austin, though that would mean leaving Josh. Or she could stay and learn the Hellcat Saloon’s bar-top dance routine. Or she could open her own firm…
“Campbell? You gonna say your piece, or you gonna stand there all night taking up space?”
At Casper’s prodding of her brother, she grew still, leaning forward and cocking her head to hear. She could picture him with his hands on his hips, his hat brim pulled low, breathing like a bull about to charge, and her own heart began to pound because the silence in the kitchen told her this wasn’t typical Dax at all. Maybe with her, sure, but not when it came to being goaded by his boys.
“I just came from the hospital,” he finally said.
“That’s right. I heard your old man had returned to the world of the living.”
At Boone’s eye-rolling comment, Darcy got to her feet, brushing the house’s ever-present dust from the seat of her jeans.
“He won’t be there long,” Dax offered in response. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Boone gave a snort. “You going to start pulling plugs?”
“Too late for that, though he does still have an IV.” Dax bit off more words Darcy couldn’t hear, then said, “Antifreeze should do the job.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tough talk. Now what’s going on?”
She crept closer to the kitchen door, waiting for Dax to answer Casper’s question.
“When I went to see him…” A pause. “Back when he was in a coma…” Another longer pause. “Greg Barrett was there.”
“Doing what?” Boone asked. “Waiting for ol’ Wallace to flatline and the firm to fall into his lap?”
“That’s not as far off the mark as you might think.”
“What do you mean?” Casper was the one to voice Darcy’s question, but Dax didn’t answer right away.
He stayed quiet, and the house grew still, tension twanging like a high wire in the air. She heard the scrape of chair legs, the bang of an iron skillet on the stove, smelled the seared beef and hot oil and potatoes. She was a half second from walking into the fray when Dax spoke.
“Greg Barrett is my brother. Half brother, anyway. My father’s true bastard son.”
Boone said nothing. Casper went back to cursing. Darcy didn’t move. Blood rushed to her head, pounding there, and she reached for the back of Dave Dalton’s worn recliner to keep from falling. Greg? Her brother? She couldn’t believe The Campbell would’ve kept such a secret… except she could.
As Casper and Boone started lobbing questions at Dax, the conversations she’d had with Arwen and Luck and other friends rushed back in a nauseating wave. Greg Barrett’s the hottest thing to hit Crow Hill since the Dalton Gang left. Agreed, but what the hell is he doing here? He’s as out of place as tits on a boar hog. Or as out of place as the Buck Off Bar would’ve been in New York.
It all made sense. Every bit of it. Just like that, a switch flipped and the light came shining down. Greg getting the juiciest cases while she busted her ass on the most mundane. The Campbell’s refusal to hire a clerk to handle the office’s overflow and using her instead. Her eating salad for lunch at the Hellcat Saloon while the men lived it up at the country club. Her firing.
Most of all, her firing.
She’d joined the family firm expecting the impossible. No matter how many big dollar clients she landed, she would never, ever, have made partner. With Dax out of the picture, The Campbell had brought in his other son for that. His bastard son.
His only spawn with a dick and a set of balls, because God forbid a woman’s name sat beneath his on the Campbell and Associates letterhead. Not as long as he still had breath in his body. Oh, no.
She had been so stupid. So stupid. Believing she mattered to The Campbell. That she could win his approval with the hours she put in, by bringing him kolaches for breakfast and seeing to his stock of Glenlivet. No, she hadn’t been the one to land the Trinity Springs Oil account, but she’d brought in five new clients to Greg’s one.
Oh, my God. Seriously? Oh. My. God. She couldn’t decide between laughing and crying, and ended up hiccupping, the sound so loud that all the deep-voiced chatter in the other room stopped. Busted, she turned the corner and took in the scene in the kitchen from the entrance.
Dax looked exactly as she’d expected, hands at his hips, hat pulled low. When he saw her, his face went red. He yanked off his hat, tossed it to the table. “Darcy. Shit. I didn’t know you were here.”
Yeah, she’d figured that. “My car’s outside.”
He crossed his arms, shook his head, held her gaze. “I didn’t see it. Sorry. Really, I’m sorry. Shit.”
He looked pitiful, his face drawn, his eyes sad, though underneath was an anger he didn’t have to explain. She didn’t know how much of the rest was his fear of having hurt her, but that was the last thing on her mind. “Don’t worry about it. I needed to know, and this was as good a way as any to find out.”
“I guess but… Shit. I’m so so sorry,” he said, scrubbing both hands down his face.
Casper reached out to slap Boone on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah.” Boone turned off the burners on the stove and followed.
She watched as they walked out the back door, listened to their boots on the porch steps, then turned back to Dax. He really did look terrible, older and more worn than she’d seen him. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just found out you have a half brother.”
“I have a sister. I have the boys. That’s it.”
He could tell himself that all he wanted, but the truth would always be there. And now, of course, she couldn’t help but wonder if Greg was the only one. If their father had spread his seed far and wide and populated the state with little Campbells.
“Does Mom know?” she asked, crossing to the stove to salvage the food rather than letting it go to waste.
“I’m pretty sure her finding out was how this whole thing started.”
Whole thing? Her hands stilled, one holding a meat fork, the other wrapped around the iron skillet’s handle as she glanced back over her shoulder. “You mean The Campbell’s heart attack?”
Dax finally headed for the table, scraping back a chair and dropping into it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at his hands. “He’s such a dick. I can’t believe he’d do this to Mom. To you.”
“He did it to you, too, Dax.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why? Because you’ve been gone half your life? How does that change anything? Greg is our age. That means The Campbell was screwing his mother at the same time he was with Mom.” Emotion rose to choke her, and she returned to the food, flipping the steaks then doing the same with the potatoes and onions she guessed were supposed to be hash browns. “Now I want to know where Mom is. If she’s okay.”
“Have you talked to Aunt Marie?”
“She said she hadn’t heard from her.”
“Could she be lying? Covering?”
“It’s possible. Though I don’t know why she wouldn’t want us to know where she is. Especially you.”
“Why would that make any difference?”
“She sees me every day. She hasn’t seen you
in years.”
“Darcy—”
“No, Dax,” she said, though she couldn’t yet face him. “I may be slow, but I’ve figured things out. You’re the only one either of our parents ever cared about.”
“Fuck that. Neither one of them ever cared about anyone but themselves.”
That’s where he was wrong. “You were the firstborn. The son who was supposed to take over the business. Carry on the family tradition. They got what they needed first time out.”
She flipped the potatoes again, shoving the skillet off the burner with the spatula then dragging it back. “If I wasn’t an accident, I’d be surprised.”
“Darcy, shit. Don’t say that.”
“It’s okay. Really. It’s not like I haven’t thought it more than once, what with the way The Campbell has made it clear I mean nothing to him. Easy enough to put two and two together.” She slapped the steaks onto three plates, added the hash browns, waited for Dax to respond, to dispute her observations, but he said nothing, and finally she turned around.
He was still leaning forward, still looking down, his fingers laced, his thumbs tapping rapidly together. His answer was in his silence, and the sadness that rushed her was nearly debilitating. She caught back a sob, and Dax raised his head, and though his eyes were sober, they broadcast his struggle to keep all emotion stripped from his face.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“He didn’t say anything like that.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’s writing me out of his will, writing Greg in. And you’re safe.”
“Safe?”
“My words, not his. I just didn’t want you to worry about your inheritance.”
“Does it matter? Does any of it matter anymore?”
“You matter. He’s not worth the efforts it took to save him. But you…” He got to his feet, came closer, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned against the refrigerator door. “You matter to me, Darcy. You matter to Boone and to Casper. You matter to Josh. Look at the way he’s cared for you. The boy has made sure you’ve had a place to stay, that you weren’t at the hospital alone, and yes, I should’ve been there with you. But I wasn’t. And he was, so don’t ever ask if it matters.”
