“I have business here, and I wanted to see you, after you left so abruptly in L.A.,” Bryce said from behind her.
Morgan bit her tongue to keep from reminding him that it had been his behavior that had made her leave the restaurant at their last meeting. She moved further into the room, glancing at the pictures and trophies.
She set Logan on the ground, pulling several of his toys from the diaper bag she had draped over her shoulder. Bryce came up beside her, and reached for her hand.
“Remember the last time we were here?” He leaned forward, and whispered against her cheek.
Morgan pulled away, and glanced at Logan, who’d crawled toward the fireplace. She quickly snatched him up into her arms, and set him back with his toys.
“How could I forget?” she asked coldly. “I won’t call it a mistake because I have Logan, but us being together was a mistake I don’t plan to repeat. If this is all you asked me here to talk about, I need to leave.”
“I didn’t tell your mother where you ran off to, but it’s only a matter of time before she finds out. She’s threatened to take Logan away from you if you don’t cooperate.”
Morgan’s heart slammed against her ribs at his words. Then she quickly shook them off.
“That’s ridiculous. My mother can’t take my son away from me.”
“I could petition for custody,” he said casually.
Adrenaline made her limbs go weak. It had crossed her mind on many occasions that Bryce might ask for custody of Logan. Dread consumed her, now that he’d brought it up. She laughed in an effort to cover up her apprehension.
“Are you kidding me? At best you’d get joint custody, Bryce.” Morgan glared at him. “There is no way a judge would grant you full custody. You haven’t even been involved in Logan’s life. And if it comes to that, you have my word that if I find even a hair out of place on his head when he’s with you, I will have the police on you faster than flies on a manure pile.”
Bryce laughed. “Barely in Montana, and already talking like a country girl,” he mocked.
“I can use more colorful language, if you’d prefer,” she retorted.
Proper women don’t swear, Morgan.
Gabe’s teasing words echoed in her mind. She sure felt like swearing now. Her eyes narrowed, staring straight at Bryce.
“What is my mother promising you? I know she’s only pressuring you to marry me because she’s not in control of my life anymore.”
Bryce ran his hand through his hair. “She did promise to back me financially in a business venture I’ve got my eye on,” he conceded. “Being married and a family man has its appeal with investors. That, and, despite what you may think, I find you incredibly hot.”
“There are a hundred other women who would marry you at the drop of a hat.”
“But you’re the mother of my son. It would simply look better to be married to you.”
Morgan laughed, and rolled her eyes. “Every girl’s fairy tale proposal. Sorry, Bryce. You and my mother can just forget it. I’m sure you can still wheel and deal without me hanging dutifully from your arm. Any number of women would gladly have your child, along with the rock on their finger.”
She moved away from him, pretending to study the paintings on the walls. Any last shred of hope she’d had that Bryce wanted to have a relationship with Logan flew out the window. This visit, along with all the others over the past year, had been futile. If he asked for joint custody of Logan, it would not be because he wanted a relationship with his son, but to manipulate her.
“Your family has such a rich history with horses,” she said, turning back to Bryce. “Yet you want to sell this place?” This was a safer topic of conversation than talking about her mother and marriage. She opened a large, leather-bound book on the coffee table, which looked to be a pictorial history of the ranch.
“I have no use for this place,” Bryce said, a cold note in his voice. “My father was the last person who even did anything with the ranch. My mother didn't want to keep it up after he died, and my other relatives are scattered all over the country. None of them have an interest in a Montana horse ranch, and neither do I. I’m a businessman, not a horseman.”
Morgan leafed through the pages of the book, which started with a photo of the painting that hung over the mantle. The caption under the photo read “Rhapsody’s Prince, Foundation Sire.”
“I bet there are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on this ranch. I can’t imagine someone not wanting all this. It’s a shame to sell off so much family history, though.”
Morgan turned the pages in the book, skimming over early, nineteenth century photos of the ranch. The two barns she’d passed while driving to the house looked almost new in some of the pictures.
Next to her, Bryce scoffed. “Apparently there was joint ownership on the place back around the time it was founded, but for some reason, my family has always run the ranch. There is a distant line of relatives no one has been able to locate, who hold ownership of half of everything here, and first rights of refusal on the other half.”
Morgan turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”
Bryce gritted his teeth. “It means I can't legally sell this place until someone from that family’s been contacted. My lawyers tell me it’s legitimate, that there’s no way out of the clause. I’ve had P.I.’s trying to find any descendants with no luck. I can't sell anything except some of the horses without their approval. I’m getting ready to petition the courts to have the will challenged, since the only living relative left doesn’t even seem to exist. There are birth records, and other documentation, but no sign of the actual person.”
“How odd,” Morgan said absently. She turned another page in the book, and had to blink to look twice at the photograph. It looked much too familiar. Her heart began to pound in her chest.
Staring at the image of Gabe, sitting on a horse with a wide smile on his face, another rider next to him, and five cowboys standing off to the side, she cleared her blurred vision to read the caption under the photograph.
Tyler Monroe and crew, ca 1871
“Who is this?” she asked, her voice shaky.
Bryce leaned forward. “That’s my great, great grandfather, Tyler Monroe. He's the one who built this place into prosperity. He’s also the one who wrote up that will,” he added, annoyance in his voice.
“Who is the man on the horse next to him?” Morgan’s hand trembled when she pointed at Gabe.
“I don't know.” Bryce shrugged with disinterest. “I guess one of his ranch hands.”
Morgan stared at the image of the cowboy who’d stolen her heart over the past several weeks. Any shred of doubt she’d had that Gabe had come from the past vanished. The proof was right in front of her. Her palms began to sweat, and she turned to the next page in the book. A smiling Tyler Monroe stood in front of a barn, a woman next to him, wearing denims. His arm was around the woman’s waist, and she held the bridle of a gray horse that stood next to her. She smiled brightly up at the animal.
Tyler and Laney Monroe, 1873
Laney Monroe!
Gabe had asked her if she knew someone named Laney Monroe the day after she’d found him in the desert. Why would he ask her about a woman who lived in the past? The name had jolted her at the time, simply because it was Bryce’s last name, but she’d dismissed it as coincidence then.
“I have to go,” she said, slamming the book shut. Her pulse pounded at her temples. All these weeks, she’d felt a strong connection with Gabe. She finally understood why. Another suspicion nagged at her, the thought nearly knocking the air from her lungs.
There was a connection between Gabe and this ranch. She glanced at Bryce. There were no similarities between the two men, not immediately, but if her hunch was correct . . .
“You just got here. What’s gotten into you now?” Bryce held her arm when she bent to pick up Logan.
“I have something important I forgot to do,” she stammered. “I need
to get back to the Trails End.”
Scrambling to pack Logan’s toys in the diaper bag, she picked up her son, and rushed to the door.
“You can’t keep running from this, Morgan. I’m going to file for custody.”
She ignored Bryce’s warning, and rushed out the door, nearly tripping on the wooden steps on her way down the porch. She inhaled a deep breath to calm her nerves when she buckled Logan into his seat, then sped away from the ranch.
* * * * *
With trembling hands, Morgan rummaged through her suitcase. She’d asked Rachel if she wouldn’t mind watching Logan for a while. She didn’t need the distraction of her son just now. Her clothes had long been unpacked, but she still kept some personal items in the suitcase, including the large manila envelope the reverend had given her back in Hinkley.
Finding what she was looking for, she carefully opened the envelope, and removed the two photos. She glanced quickly at the one of the woman – Gabe’s mother. Her provocative clothing made sense now. She’d been a prostitute. Setting the photo aside, Morgan held up the other one. There was no question that it was the same photo she’d seen in the book at Bryce’s Double M Ranch.
She reached into the envelope again, and withdrew a birth certificate, and several documents that made Gabe a modern citizen, just as the reverend had said. Opening the envelope wider, she noticed another envelope nestled at the bottom. Morgan turned the manila envelope upside down, and shook out the remaining contents.
Several coins that, at close inspection, came from the nineteenth century, spilled onto the hardwood floor of the room. Morgan slapped her palm over one that nearly rolled under the dresser. She picked up the battered envelope, and turned it. It simply had the name Gabe McFarlain written on one side. It wasn’t sealed.
Morgan hesitated.
Gabe hadn’t looked at any of the contents in this manila envelope except the photos she’d shown him. He’d been so angry all those weeks ago, he hadn’t wanted to see anything.
Tentatively, she opened the envelope, and pulled three thick, folded pieces of paper from it. With a pounding heart, she unfolded them. Guilt nagged at her. She should be giving this to Gabe, not looking at his personal items, but he’d clearly shown no interest. The two bottom papers looked to be some kind of official documents, with a stamp from the Territorial Governor of Montana Territory, dated 14 October, 1872, and signed by Benjamin Potts, Territorial Governor. One was some sort of registration, the other a deed or title to the Double M, but the words were difficult to read.
Morgan set the documents aside, and picked up the letter.
10 November, 1872
Gabe,
If you read this, I will assume you've safely met the Reverend Johnson in the future, and he has helped you to get settled. Laney tells me it will be quite a change, living in the future, but if I know you, you're a fighter, and someone who doesn’t give up easily.
I'm sorry for deceiving you when I came to see you at Ian Frazier’s place, but it was the only way I knew to save your life and at the same time insure that I’d get my wife back. I have no hard feelings, and although I haven’t walked in your boots, I understand your anger and hatred.
As I told you that night, I wish you had come to me and told me the truth. Together, we could have turned the Double M into the best ranch in the territory. I stand by what I said - the Double M is rightfully half yours, and it will be yours, in your future life.
I'm trying to make amends for what our father did to you. I know he intended the name of the ranch and the brand to imply a partnership between him and me, but from hereon, Double M will stand for Monroe-McFarlain. I’ve registered the brand with the territorial governor, and listed you as co-owner. I’ve included copies of the certificate and title of ownership for you with this letter.
I know the ranch will be in good hands and will continue to prosper. I have taken steps to insure that the Double M will still be around when you arrive in the future, and I know you'll do the place proud.
Live well, my friend, my brother.
Tyler Monroe
Morgan read the letter several more times. She stared at it for countless minutes. Gabe was Tyler Monroe’s brother? Gabe had told her that his father had chosen one son over another . . . Tyler was that son? That also meant that . . . Gabe was related to Bryce . . . and to Logan. A very distant relationship, but still . . .
What had Gabe done that Tyler felt he had to deceive him? And what had he meant by getting my wife back? One question after another surfaced with each read-through of the letter. Finally, she carefully folded it, along with the certificate and title, and stuffed the papers back in the envelope. She sucked in a deep breath, and left her room. There would be no more skirting around. It was time to face Gabe head-on, and this time he would have to talk to her. She wanted answers, and he needed to know that he wasn’t some vagrant horse wrangler, but apparently the half-owner of a very prosperous horse ranch.
Chapter Twenty
Gabe stepped out of the shower and quickly dried with a towel. This was definitely one amenity the future had to offer that he thoroughly enjoyed. He pulled on the new pair of denims he’d bought while he was in town with Jake the other day, then slipped his head through the t-shirt. A slow smile spread across his face. How would Morgan react when she saw him in new, modern duds?
He glanced at his worn clothes that lay in a pile on the bathroom floor. He wasn’t ready to part with these articles, a reminder of his old life, just yet. At least now he’d have something to change into. The old clothes could sure use a good cleaning. The last time they’d been washed properly had been the night Morgan kissed him, and he’d nearly lost control.
“Hell.” Gabe raked his fingers through his damp hair, forcing the memory from his mind. No such luck. Why did everything have to stir up images of her, and especially of her in his arms?
He stomped barefoot from the bathroom toward his bunk as if he could outrun his thoughts, lifted the mattress, and reached for the stack of money he kept hidden away. He looked at the bills, and shook his head. He’d never held so much money in all his life, even if it looked different from the bills he was used to. A dollar wasn’t worth as much as it would have been in his time, though. Glancing at the new denims he wore, he was realizing that mighty fast.
Jake had come to the barn to pay him his wages personally the other day, handing him an envelope.
“We pay our employees by check, but until you’ve got a bank account set up, I’ve made arrangements to pay you directly in cash.”
Gabe counted out five hundred dollars, and returned the rest to his hiding place. He’d never had a use for keeping money in a bank, but if he was going to live in this time, he had to start doing things he wasn’t comfortable with, and one of those things had been taking Jake’s advice and . . .
He turned his head at the unexpected pounding at the door. Gabe frowned at the interruption to his plans. He’d seen Morgan’s truck pull up to the ranch house a short while ago, and he wanted to see her before work would keep her from talking to him. It was time he paid her back the money he owed her, and he couldn’t put off a meeting with her any longer.
A small . . . no, a large part of him longed to see her. He couldn’t continue to lie to himself anymore and say he didn’t miss her. He’d stayed away from her, avoided her, for nearly a week since the day she came to the barns and watched him work with that boy, and every day, he pined after her more than the day before.
The look of tenderness in her eyes that day had haunted him relentlessly. What did she see in him? Perhaps it was a good thing that the buzzing of her phone had interrupted them. He might have spilled his soul to her at that moment, told her that he . . .
Told her what, McFarlain? That you can’t stop thinking about her, and that you love her?
The word scared the hell out of him. His feelings for that woman scared the hell out of him, yet he couldn’t deny what his heart and mind were saying. She hadn’t come right out a
nd called him a coward, but she’d accused him of being scared. He might have crazy notions of being in love with Morgan, but once he told her what he’d done that had ultimately been the reason he was here in this time, she’d no longer be so caring. He’d tell her the truth, something he should have done already, and maybe then she’d stay away from him, for her own good.
He crossed the short distance from his bunk to the door, intent on getting rid of his unexpected visitor. Gabe stuffed the money into the front pocket of his denims, then pulled the door open. He stepped back in surprise.
“Morgan?” he stammered.
He devoured her with his eyes, as if he hadn’t seen her in months. Her denims curved around her legs almost like a second skin, the simple red t-shirt tucked into the waistband. Her cinnamon hair was tied back, some stray tendrils framing her slightly flushed cheeks, begging for his touch.
All those stolen glances over the last week hadn’t been enough to satisfy his need to see her, and now she was here. An overpowering urge to pull her into his cabin and kiss her the way he’d done that night at the motel slammed into him. One hand gripped the door handle, the other bunched into a tight fist at his side.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. There was an edge to her voice, and her eyes held an uncharacteristic look of apprehension.
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “Is everything all right? The boy?”
Morgan shook her head. “Logan’s fine. I . . . you look good.” Her eyes, etched with surprise, roamed over him. “I see you bought new clothes.”
Diamond in the Dust (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Book 3) Page 19
