“What’s going on out here? I heard—”
Owen pivoted and felt the hairs rise on his neck as he watched his sister shove her way past the broken screen door, tucking the tails of her Western shirt into her skintight jeans as she came. She jerked to a stop when she noticed him.
“What the hell are you doing here, Summer?”
“That’s none of your business, Owen.”
Owen shot a look at Billy Coburn that would have flattened him, if it had been a blow. The lanky cowboy took a step closer to Summer, and Owen was astonished to see his sister back herself up until her shoulder was wedged against Billy’s broad chest, so they provided a solid front of defiance. He waited for Billy to put his arm around Summer, cementing the picture of a happy couple, but it didn’t happen.
“Would you mind explaining what you’re doing here at this hour of the morning?” Owen asked his sister. Billy’s father had died driving drunk about a year ago, but Owen realized he hadn’t seen or heard Mrs. Coburn or Billy’s teenage sister Emma since he’d arrived. Then he remembered it was Sunday. They were probably both at church. Which was why Summer was here now, so she could be alone with Billy. He frowned, as he remembered how she’d been tucking in the tails of her shirt.
Summer opened her mouth, then shut it again, before she finally spoke. “I’m here visiting my friend.”
“Billy Coburn doesn’t have any friends,” Owen said. “He told me so himself.”
“I told you I didn’t need any friends,” the dangerous young man corrected. “Your sister is just what she said. A friend.”
A frown of confusion creased Owen’s brow. “What could you and Bad Billy Coburn possibly have in common?” he asked his sister.
“His name is Billy,” Summer replied heatedly. “Plain Billy.”
They’d had this argument before. Owen nodded curtly, conceding the point. “Answer the question.”
“You’re not my father, Owen.”
“Does Dad know you hang out here?”
She made a face. “What I do in my free time is none of Daddy’s business, either.”
Owen noticed that Billy edged protectively closer to her, although his hands remained at his sides. If they had been intimate, Owen felt sure Billy would have touched her. So they must be “just friends.” But Owen couldn’t imagine why Billy was keeping a respectful distance. He was reputed to be as wild in his dealings with women as he was in the rest of his life.
God knew, Summer had a mind of her own. He’d be wasting his time telling her to stay away from Bad Billy Coburn, that he was a good-for-nothing, hell-seeking wastrel, who’d never amount to anything. But he could make his position clear to Billy. He met the other man’s taunting gaze and said, “If you lay a hand on my sister, I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”
Summer shook her head in disgust. “You’re wasting your threats, Owen. I told you, Billy and I are friends.”
“I don’t think much of your choice of friends, little sister.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed at the insult, and the same muscle flexed in his cheek. He took a half step forward, but Summer laid her hand gently on his forearm.
Billy stopped. But he vibrated with rage.
“I think you should leave now, Owen,” she said.
Owen resisted the urge to grab his sister out of Bad Billy’s clutches and haul her away with him. But the days were long gone when she’d been a toddler learning to walk, and he’d been her big brother, holding her hand, making sure no harm came to her. At twenty-one she was an adult, able to make her own decisions, no matter how ill-considered he thought they were. He made himself back off.
“Shall I tell Dad you’ll be home for Sunday brunch?” he asked.
“Dad won’t be there himself. He’s gone to Three Oaks to see Mrs. Creed.”
Owen felt acid rise in his throat. Eighteen months ago, when his father had heard from his mother’s own lips that she’d been unfaithful to him with his segundo Russell Handy, Blackjack had vowed to divorce her. His mother had said she’d make him sorry if he tried. She was doing her best—from the sanitarium where she’d been caged—to prevent the dissolution of their thirty-three-year marriage.
Owen hadn’t expected his father to start courting the Widow Creed before the divorce was final. To be honest, even though Blackjack had said he wanted out of the marriage, Owen hadn’t really believed his father would go through with a divorce. Texas divorce laws didn’t necessarily divide things fifty-fifty. They allowed the judge to give either spouse as much of the marital property as the judge deemed fair. With the right lawyers, his mother could skin his father alive.
Which left Owen with only one conclusion: the old man must really want that Creed woman.
“Daddy took his championship cutter Smart Little Doc over to Three Oaks this morning, to stand stud to Mrs. Creed’s mare Sugar Pep,” Summer explained.
Owen felt a surge of relief but managed not to sigh. “You mean he’s there on business.”
“Why else would he go to Three Oaks?”
Owen was grateful for his sister’s naïveté—or willing blindness—whichever it was. Although, even a blind man could have sensed the yearning between his father and Lauren Creed whenever they got anywhere near one another, even before Jesse Creed’s death. It had been a major source of friction between the Blackthornes and the Creeds over the past thirty-odd years, keeping the feud between their two families alive.
Owen wondered if his father was really at Three Oaks this morning to see Lauren Creed on business, or whether his business with her was entirely personal.
He focused his gaze on Billy and said, “If you think of anything that might help us find the man—or men—who took those VX mines, call me.”
Billy merely touched his hat brim, his dark eyes burning with resentment.
As Owen reached the door to his pickup, Summer called after him, “You won’t tell Daddy I was here, will you?”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder and saw how she was the one clinging to Billy, rather than the other way around. “You wouldn’t ask that, if you thought that being here was a good idea,” he said. Before she could protest further, he added, “I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He gave Billy a warning look and said, “Just be careful.”
Owen stepped into the pickup, turned the key, and gunned the engine, throwing up a cloud of dust as he left the Coburn ranch behind him, heading for Three Oaks. Maybe Bay had heard from her brother. Maybe she’d changed her mind about telling him what she knew.
And maybe you can see for yourself whether your father is making a fool of himself over the Widow Creed.
BAY HAD SPENT A SLEEPLESS NIGHT AND HAD WOKEN UP tired and irritable. Not a good combination for someone who had to start the day by confronting a ferocious beast with the coldest gray eyes this side of the Arctic. She’d been absolutely certain Owen Blackthorne would show up on her doorstep this morning. So when she heard the knock at the kitchen door on her way downstairs, followed by a gruff male sound of greeting to her mother, the slam of the screen door, and the mention of Luke’s name, she gave a mighty sigh of salute and marched into the arena.
And discovered Jackson Blackthorne kissing her mother.
Not just a peck on the cheek. Not just a brush of the lips. His large, workworn hands were splayed on her mother’s jean-clad rear end, and she was arched into his body, her breasts pressed flat against his broad chest. Their eyes were closed and their mouths were meshed and the way their jaws were moving it was clear his tongue must be halfway down her throat.
Bay’s outcry was totally involuntary. She fervently wished she’d simply backed out of the kitchen. Because what they did next was more revealing—and terrifying to witness—than the kiss itself.
While they both jerked when they heard her, they didn’t spring apart like guilty teenagers. His hands slid to her mother’s shoulders reluctantly, and her hands, which Bay only then realized had been thrust into Blackjack’s thick black hair, slid down to his sh
oulders, and they slowly separated until they were looking into each other’s eyes.
Bay couldn’t see her mother’s expression, but Blackjack’s gaze was tender … loving … and regretful.
Of course it was, Bay thought bitterly. Their secret was out. Bay was normally gone making rounds to see her animal patients long before her mother was up, and Sam lived in the foreman’s house. Her mother must not have realized Bay was still home. Otherwise, she might have been more discreet in greeting her lover.
But now Bay knew. And there was no putting this snarling cat back into the bag.
Bay felt a sharp, visceral pain when her mother turned within the circle of Blackjack’s arms and remained close to him, rather than moving away. She didn’t dare acknowledge the torment she saw in her mother’s eyes.
“Daddy’s barely cold in his grave,” she said in a raspy voice. She put her hand to her throat. It hurt to talk, but it was the ache inside, rather than the bruises outside, that was causing the problem.
Her mother’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Your father’s been dead for more than a year. I’ve been worried about Luke, and Jackson’s been a great comfort to me.”
“When did you start sleeping with him?” Bay demanded, snapping her chin in Blackjack’s direction.
The blood left her mother’s face in a rush, and if Blackjack hadn’t been holding her, she might have fallen. “Bay—”
“Your mother and I never came near one another before your father’s death,” Blackjack said.
“So you say!”
Bay watched as he exchanged a poignant glance with her mother, before he added, “I love your mother. I plan to marry her.”
“You’re already married!” Bay wrapped her arms around her midriff to keep her jangled insides from flying apart. “What about your wife?”
“I’m getting a divorce,” Blackjack said in a voice Bay found annoyingly calm.
“When?”
Blackjack’s eyes turned bleak, and he exchanged another glance with her mother. “Soon.”
“That’s not good enough. When? A year? Two years? Ten years? Never?”
“Stop that, Bay!” her mother commanded.
The authoritative tone halted Bay’s tirade long enough for her mother to say, “We love each other. We want to be together. And when we can marry, we will.”
“But he’s a Blackthorne!” Bay protested, as though her mother had decided to take a venomous snake to her bosom. And this was the biggest, baddest snake of them all, a rattler with fangs that could bite deep and leave poison to fester.
“It’s about time this feud ended,” her mother said.
“Does Sam know?” Bay demanded.
Her mother shook her head.
“What about Luke?”
Her mother winced. “He …”
“He caught you. Like I did,” Bay said.
“He saw us kissing in the barn a couple of weeks ago,” her mother admitted.
“Is that why Luke was fighting with Clay on Friday night?” she asked, focusing her anger where it belonged, on Jackson Blackthorne. “Has Clay been persecuting Luke because of this … thing … between you and my mother?”
“My sons know I plan to divorce their mother,” Blackjack said.
“But do they know you’re having a sordid affair with mine?”
“Bay!” her mother said. “That’s enough.”
The screen door screeched open, then slammed closed. Bay leaned around her mother to see who’d arrived, praying it was Luke, hoping it wasn’t Sam. And gasping when it turned out to be Owen Blackthorne.
“I couldn’t help overhearing.” Owen’s voice was hard, his powerful body restless. He had the haunted, hunted look of a wolf caught in a steel-jawed trap.
Blackjack had taken a step back from the kitchen door, but kept Bay’s mother in the circle of his arms. The two of them turned to face their children.
Bay had never thought she would side with a Blackthorne on anything. But she was in perfect agreement with Owen that their parents had no business being together. Bay saw how her mother clung to Blackjack’s strong, encircling arm, her bastion of safety in the coming storm. There was a recognizable current that ran between them, something so blatantly sexual that it made Bay uncomfortable.
She glanced at Owen to see if he had picked up the same signals. His gray eyes told her nothing. They were so very cold. So very remote. So detached from what was happening.
Maybe that was how he stayed in control. She could see his body quivering. His hands had balled into fists so tight his knuckles were white.
“How long has this been going on?” Owen asked through tight jaws.
“Like I told Bay, Ren and I never went near one another until after Jesse was dead,” Blackjack replied with that same annoying, unruffled calm he’d exhibited since Bay had discovered him kissing her mother. As though he could not be judged. As though he could do no wrong.
Owen’s features revealed so little, Bay had no idea what was going on inside his head. When he spoke to his father at last, she was horrified by what he said.
“Maybe Mom isn’t guilty of killing Jesse Creed after all. Maybe you’re the one who arranged his murder.”
“You know better than that!” Blackjack said, his calm shattered at last.
“Do I?” Owen challenged. “Mom wanted Mrs. Creed dead. Somehow, it was Jesse who got killed.”
Bay’s heart was pounding a hundred miles a minute. Was Owen making this up because he was angry with his father? Or was there some truth to it? She’d assumed that Eve Blackthorne would never have been put in a sanitarium unless her husband and sons had positive proof that she’d been responsible for arranging Jesse Creed’s murder. Owen seemed to be suggesting there was room for doubt.
“Mom told us she asked Russell Handy for help getting rid of Mrs. Creed. It’s just as likely you asked Handy for help getting rid of Jesse. Especially after that last confrontation between the two of you at the Rafter S auction, where you threatened to kill him. Maybe Handy was really working for you instead of Mom.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Blackjack said flatly.
“We all figured the shooter was aiming at Mrs. Creed and missed—hitting Jesse by mistake,” Owen continued. “What if he hit exactly who he’d been told to aim at? What if Jesse was meant to die all along?”
“That’s enough,” Blackjack said, his voice ragged with fury.
Owen wasn’t done. “Handy never said anything one way or the other about who ordered him to arrange Jesse’s murder. Because you told him to keep his mouth shut.”
“You know damn well why I did that!” Blackjack said. “Your mother would have spent the rest of her life in prison. Is that what you wanted?”
“I remember being relieved when you said you’d make sure Handy never spoke to anyone about what he’d done. At the time, I believed you wanted to protect Mom from prosecution. I have to wonder, seeing you here with Jesse’s wife, whether that was a self-serving lie.”
Bay’s heart was beating so fast it hurt. Complicated as Owen’s reasoning was, it made perfect sense. She saw from the look on her mother’s face that she didn’t want to believe that the man she loved had arranged to have her husband murdered. It was equally clear, from the way her body had tensed within Blackjack’s embrace, that she couldn’t discount it entirely. And certainly, the argument between father and son was painful for her. She put her hands on the arm that surrounded her and pushed it away.
“This is all nonsense, Ren,” Blackjack said as he released her. Bay saw the anxiety in his eyes, the concern that Owen’s accusations might have found fertile ground.
“I’m sorry you’ve been hurt by seeing us together,” her mother said to Owen. “I love your father.”
Bay felt her heart skip a beat as her mother glanced at Blackjack with anguished eyes.
“I … I never meant to hurt anyone,” her mother said hurriedly, as she brushed past Owen and pushed her way out the screen door.
&
nbsp; The three of them stood frozen as the door slammed behind her.
Blackjack swore a string of epithets, before he bolted for the door.
Owen stepped in his way. “Leave her alone, Dad.”
“You crossed the line this time, Owen. You and your goddamned suppositions! I love that woman, and by God, I am going to marry her. Now get the hell out of my way!”
Bay saw Owen’s indecision before he stepped aside and let his father charge past him.
“Goddamn it all to hell!” Owen muttered. He looked up and their gazes met and she saw the naked pain in his eyes. Immediately, his lids lowered, and she felt shut out.
He yanked his Stetson down until his eyes were shadowed and said, “Have you heard from your brother?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell me where he is?”
“No.”
“I’m not taking you with me. And that’s final.”
Bay was desperate. She had to think of something that would force his hand. “Please—”
“No,” he said, his voice colder and harder than she’d ever heard it.
“Then I’ll go on my own!” she said fiercely. “And whatever happens to me will be on your head. If I get lost and die of thirst—”
“Damn you Creeds!” He jerked off his Stetson and swatted it against his thigh, then crushed it back down on his head. “Are you ready to go?” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes.”
“Then get your stuff, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 5
“HOW ARE WE GETTING TO THE BIG BEND?” Bay asked as the kitchen screen door slammed behind her.
“We’re flying,” Owen replied.
“I figured that. Flying from where? San Antonio or Houston?”
“Flying from right here. We’re taking the jet.”
Bay stopped at the door to Owen’s pickup. “The jet? You mean the four-million-dollar Cessna CJ1 Callie flew in when Trace took her to Houston? The one with the Circle B brand painted on the tail?”
He smiled. “That’s the one.”
The Texan Page 6
