Sandra Marton - Taming of Tyler Kincaid

by The Taming of Tyler Kincaid

  Tyler figured it had to do with all the emotions hanging in the air.

  Marta sat in a corner of a long beige sofa. Her shoulders were straight, her expression calm, but her hands trembled when Gage handed her a cup of coffee.

  Caitlin was with Marta, holding her hand, talking quietly to her. Every once in a while she looked up and her eyes sought Tyler's, as if to be sure he was still there.

  Yes, his eyes said in return, I'm here, Cait. I'll always be here, as long as you want me.

  Slade, Travis and Gage looked at him occasionally, too. Their faces were taut with anger and he knew it wasn't be­cause of anything they thought he'd done to Jonas; it was because they believed he'd hurt their stepsister. He knew it was crazy, that all three of them would try to beat him sense­less first chance they got and that he'd undoubtedly take at least two of them with him before he went down, but he liked them.

  How could he not like men who loved Caitlin so deeply?

  Looking at them gave him an eerie feeling. They were his brothers. Well, his half brothers. They carried his blood, just as he carried theirs. He could see bits of himself in them, too. Travis's green eyes. Slade's dark hair. The shape of Gage's nose and even the way he walked...

  And none of them would ever know it.

  He wasn't going to tell the Barons who he was. What for? Jonas was old and broken, perhaps dying. Only a coward would see any sense in inflicting pain on a broken man. The truth would only fall like a yoke on the necks of the old man's wife and sons. No. No, there was no reason or purpose in inflicting pain on innocent people.

  Tyler jammed his hands into his pockets and looked out the window.

  Someday, he might tell Caitlin, but only because he didn't want any lies between them. There was no need to tell her now. Let her keep her memories of her stepfather. Let her inherit the ranch she loved without his doing anything to sully the process. He knew he'd have to tell her something but he'd come up with an explanation that would explain why he'd come to Espada in the first place, something she'd accept in lieu of Jonas's poisonous lies.

  "Mrs. Baron?"

  Tyler turned around. The doctor had entered the room. Marta and Caitlin had risen to their feet and stood facing him; Gage, Travis and Slade gathered around the women.

  Tyler stayed where he was.

  "Mrs. Baron... Marta." Esteban O'Connor took her hand. "Jonas had a heart attack."

  Marta nodded. "Is he—will he survive?"

  "Yes, I think so. It was a mild attack, and your husband is a strong man." O'Connor cleared his throat. "But he fractured his leg when he fell, and severed a blood vessel. We've stopped the bleeding but he's going to need a transfusion."

  "Well, give him one, man," Gage said impatiently.

  "We will. The lab's searching our rare blood donor list right now."

  Slade frowned. "Your what?"

  "Jonas needs blood from a special donor. He has a rare blood type. He had surgery before, years ago, and a transfu­sion."

  "His gallbladder," Marta said.

  "Yes. The transfusion saved his life, but because he has a rare blood type, he received an incompatible transfusion and made an anti-k antibody..." O'Connor shook his head. "Look, it's complicated. The bottom line is, Jonas needs blood from a donor who is negative for the k antigen."

  The brothers looked at each other. "Well," Travis said, after a minute, "don't those things run in families?" He held out his arm, as if there were a needle and a technician waiting. "You got all three of Jonas Baron's sons standin' right in front of you, Steve. Just take what you need."

  "I wish it were that simple, but it takes twenty-four hours to run the tests to check for the antigen and to test the safety of the blood."

  "I have the blood you need, Doctor." The little group stared at Tyler as he walked slowly toward them. "My name is Tyler Kincaid. I've been a blood donor for years, and they typed me as being k antigen negative."

  O'Connor grinned. "Son of a gun. You'll be on our rare blood list."

  "I know I am."

  Slade cleared his throat. "Steve? I thought you just said­—I thought you said this k negative stuff is rare."

  "It is. Only three people out of a thousand are k antigen negative."

  The room fell silent. Tyler hesitated, but he knew it was time for the truth. "Jonas Baron is my father," he said quietly.

  "It's a lie," Gage said, but Slade motioned him to silence.

  "It's the truth." Tyler gave a bitter laugh. "Believe me, I'm no happier about it than you are." He turned to Caitlin. "I didn't know it, when I came here," he said softly. "I only knew that I'd been born on Espada. Then I learned I was Jonas's son. And when I did, I was determined to destroy him."

  Caitlin jerked back, as if he'd struck her. "By seducing me," she whispered, and Tyler wanted to take her in his arms, tell her she was wrong, that he loved her, that what had hap­pened between them had nothing to do with vengeance...

  But the doctor was already asking him questions, drawing him aside, clapping him on the back and telling the stunned little group gathered around him that patients like Jonas owed their lives to voluntary blood donors like Tyler.

  "It's the gift of life," O'Connor said, and Tyler wondered if only he saw the bitter irony in those words.

  By the time he broke free and turned around, Caitlin was gone.

  Everything went quickly after that.

  They hustled Tyler away to be poked, prodded and ques­tioned. Finally, in a small, quiet room, he lay back and let a technician draw his blood. When she'd finished, she gave him a bright smile and slapped a gauze pad over the vein in his arm.

  "There," she said briskly. "That's it, Mr. Baron."

  "Kincaid," Tyler said. "My name is Tyler Kincaid."

  The woman colored. "Of course. Sorry, Mr. Kincaid."

  He nodded, did his best to make it look as if he was paying attention to her instructions, but all he could think about was that he'd reached the end of his journey. He'd found his iden­tity, found his brothers, found the only woman he'd ever love—and lost them all, the instant Jonas fell down those steps. By now, they all knew the whole truth. He'd tossed his keys to Travis, just before he'd headed down the hall with the doctor.

  "There's a briefcase in my truck," he'd said. "You might as well know everything."

  Tyler slipped from the examining table. The room spun a little; he shut his eyes, waited a couple of seconds, then opened them again.

  It was over. His search for his identity, his quest for his roots—it was over, over and done with, and he wished to God he'd never embarked on it in the first place.

  What had he learned, that could possibly make his life bet­ter? That his mother hadn't abandoned him? Well, yeah, that was good to know—but was it really better to know he'd been abandoned, instead, by his father? That his mother had died, knowing her baby was going to be given away?

  She'd died thirty-five years ago. A lifetime ago, and nothing he could do now, nothing he'd intended to do now, could change that.

  Tyler walked down the silent hospital corridor.

  He'd come to Texas determined to find answers, and he'd found them.. .but he'd found something else, too, something he'd never even known he was looking for. And he'd lost it.

  His footsteps slowed. They were still in the waiting room, the Barons and Caitlin. He paused just outside the doors. He could see them, all of them. The perfect family. Marta was seated on the couch again, smiling up at Travis and Gage and Slade. Caitlin was sitting beside her but suddenly she looked up and saw him...

  Looked at him as if he were a stranger, then turned away.

  Tyler began walking. His steps quickened, his shoulders straightened. What in hell was the matter with him? He hadn't lost anything. He hadn't found anything, either, except an old man who didn't want him any more today than he had thirty­-five years ago. As for love... Love? He laughed as he stepped out into the heat of the afternoon. What was love, anyway? A man saw a woman he wanted, he played the g
ame, said the right things, hung around and, eventually, he took her to bed. That was exactly what he'd done with Caitlin.

  If it weren't for the stress of the last couple of weeks, he'd never have deluded himself into thinking he felt anything more than desire for her. If he ever loved a woman, it would be someone like Adrianna. Someone sophisticated. Urbane. Someone who knew the real Tyler Kincaid, the man in the Armani suits, not the guy in jeans and T-shirts and boots.

  Not the guy who'd once sat watching the sun rise over the gentle Texas hills, while he held a soft, sweet woman in his arms.

  Tyler cursed, climbed into his truck, threw it into gear and shot away.

  His home in Atlanta was just as he'd left it. The marble foyer gleamed; the chandelier glittered. There was a stack of mail on the hall table and he sorted through it but none of it seemed important, and after a couple of minutes, he tossed it aside.

  There were only a few messages on his answering machine. He'd checked it while he was away so he didn't expect much that was urgent to be on it now. He was right. There wasn't. The only message he listened to, in its entirety, was from Adrianna.

  "Darling," she said in her soft, upper-class drawl, "I called your office and your secretary told me you were away. Now I understand why you haven't phoned. You must be terribly busy, but do get in touch, when you have a minute. You missed the Forsythe's party but there's one coming up at the Hutchinsons' that sounds like fun."

  Tyler went into his kitchen, took a bottle of ale from the refrigerator, opened it and went back into his study. He hit the replay button and listened to Adrianna's message again while he tilted the bottle to his lips.

  She wasn't just beautiful and bright, she was clever. She knew how to handle a man. He hadn't called her in almost three weeks but you'd never know it. She'd managed to make it sound as if there were a perfectly reasonable explanation for his silence.

  Caitlin would probably have marched up to his door and demanded to know if he was deliberately trying to avoid her. Caitlin would...

  Tyler frowned.

  What did it matter what Caitlin would do? She wasn't in his life anymore. She'd never been in his life, not in the life that mattered. Even trying to imagine her here, in this house, in his circle of friends, was laughable.

  He was Tyler Kincaid. He didn't belong on a Texas ranch, with manure on his boots and dust on his jeans. He belonged here, in a world he knew. A world he'd created, with his own two hands. And Adrianna fit into that world, perfectly.

  Tyler picked up the telephone. Adrianna was right for him. Or someone like Adrianna. A woman he could think about when he was with her, not think about when he wasn't. One who'd never intrude, get into his head when he didn't want her there. One who wouldn't expect him to carry her, naked, into the dawn of a new day; who wouldn't look at him with her heart and her soul visible in her eyes...

  "Dammit," he said, and slammed down the phone.

  He was tired. Of course he was tired. He'd driven from Texas to Atlanta, done it damned near straight through with only a couple of bathroom breaks and endless cups of strong, black coffee.

  Tomorrow, he thought as he went up the stairs, tomorrow, he'd phone Adrianna. He'd phone his vice president and his secretary, tell them he was back and that things were returning to normal. Better than normal. That deal in Stockholm was probably still on the table. He'd tell his people to set up a meeting, fly to Sweden, make an offer.

  Maybe he'd take Adrianna with him. Maybe not. Tyler smiled as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Scandinavian women were spectacularly beautiful. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Just what he needed, just the thing to stop him wondering, as he had from the start, if Caitlin's eyes were gold or brown or green, and how her hair could look like autumn and feel like silk as it drifted over his naked skin...

  His mouth thinned.

  "Stop it," he said sharply.

  He finished showering, fell into bed ...and dreamed of sun­rises and soft sighs when he finally managed to fall asleep. He awoke before dawn and worked out in his private gym until his mind felt clear. Then he showered, phoned his of­fice—and Adrianna.

  By five o'clock, he'd held three meetings, spoken with Stockholm, lunched with his broker and talked with his travel agent about spending a few days in Sweden. By six, he'd showered and shaved in his private bathroom, changed into a tux and climbed into his Porsche for the trip to Adrianna's apartment.

  "Tyler, darling," she said when she opened the door, and she went into his arms. He knew, as he held her, that she didn't really want to go to the Hutchinsons' party, that what she wanted was for him to strip her out of her black silk gown and out of the black lace garter belt and bra she was probably wearing underneath. His hands went to the zipper at the back of the gown, and all at once he thought of sundresses the colors of flowers, of scraps of white lace, and his hands stilled.

  "We don't want to be late," he said lightly.

  By seven, he was drinking vintage champagne from Baccarat flutes and wondering how red wine in plastic glasses could have tasted better.

  By eight, he was eating beef Wellington and wishing it were barbecue. .

  By nine, he knew it wasn't working.

  His body was in Atlanta but his heart and soul were in Texas. And, dammit, if Caitlin McCord was too stubborn, too pigheaded, too just plain impossible to admit that she loved him the way he loved her because, by God, he did love her, he always would, and he was tired of pretending he didn't. If she wouldn't admit it, well, it was up to him to make her acknowledge the truth.

  Some women could be wooed with candlelight and flowers. Some could be persuaded with soft lights and softer music, but he knew damned well none of that would work with Caitlin. A man had to take a tougher stand with a woman like her. He had to show her who was in charge...

  Show her that she held his heart in her hands, that he couldn't live without her any more than she could live without him, and if he had to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to do it, by God, he would.

  He drew Adrianna into a quiet corner of the Hutchinsons' house and took both her hands in his.

  "Adrianna," he said softly, "Adrianna, I'm sorry. You're a wonderful woman. A beautiful woman—"

  "But you've found someone else."

  "Yes," he said, because she deserved honesty. "I have. Believe me, Adrianna, I didn't intend for this to happen."

  Adrianna smiled, cupped his face with her hands, rose on her toes and kissed his mouth gently.

  "You're a fine man, Tyler Kincaid," she said softly. "You're the best man I've ever known."

  "Am I?" he said, in surprise.

  Tears glittered in her eyes. "You are. And I'm sure the lucky woman you've fallen in love with knows it, too."

  Tyler smiled. "Thank you," he said, and kissed her mouth, as gently as she'd kissed his.

  He moved quickly after that, as if every second were urgent. He drove home, put on his jeans and his T-shirt and his boots, drove to the airport and chartered a plane. The pilot raised his eyebrows when Tyler said he had to be in Texas before sun­rise, but he said it was no problem.

  They touched down on the Baron airfield at some hellish hour of the early morning. Tyler half expected Abel or one of the men to come stumbling out of the bunkhouse as he made his way toward the main house but nobody did.

  He smiled grimly.

  Maybe the Baron cowpokes were accustomed to people fly­ing in at all hours but he was pretty sure they weren't accus­tomed to what came next.

  He rang the doorbell, rang it again, then pounded on the door with his fist. Lights blazed on inside but Carmen got to the door first.

  "Senor Kincaid?" She blinked blearily at him. "What is the matter, senor?"

  "Nothing's the matter," Tyler said, and moved past her, into the foyer. "I've come for Caitlin McCord."

  Marta came down the stairs, clutching a blue robe to her throat. "Mr. Kincaid?"

  "Yes," Tyler said. "I'm sorry to barge in on you this way, Mrs. Bar
on." His voice softened. "I called the hospital. They told me Jonas—they said your husband will be fine."

  "Thanks to you," Marta said, and smiled. "I'm so glad you came back, Tyler. May I call you Tyler?"

  "Yes. Of course. But—­"

  "Come in, please. Carmen? Make us some breakfast, will you? And tell my stepsons and my stepdaughter that we have a guest."

  "No need to bother," a raspy male voice said.

  Tyler looked further up the staircase. Gage, Travis and Slade stood one behind the other on the steps. They all looked sleep-tousled, cold-eyed and eminently likable, and Tyler sighed and wished to hell he could at least get to know them before he took them on.

  "No need to bother, is right," an angry female voice said, and his heart turned over.

  "Hello, Cait," he said softly, as the woman he loved came striding down the stairs toward him.

  She was wearing a long white nightgown sprigged with tiny blue flowers. Her feet were bare and peeped out from under the hem, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in a wild, glorious tangle.

  "You turn around and get your tail out of here, Tyler Kincaid!"

  Tyler smiled, leaned back against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest.

  "Get yourself dressed, McCord," he said calmly.

  "You're a crazy man, Kincaid. Do you hear me? A crazy man, if you think I'm going to take orders from you."

  Tyler lifted his hand, looked at his watch. "I'll give you three minutes."

  "You'll give me three minutes?" Caitlin tossed her head and laughed. "Funny as well as crazy, Kincaid." She stopped laughing, folded her arms in an unconscious imitation of him, and fixed him with an angry glare. "How about giving me one good reason why you think you can walk in here and order me around?"

  "Well," he said lazily, as he stepped away from the door and started toward the stairs, "well, McCord, actually, I could give you several, starting with the fact that it's almost dawn and I want us to get to my ranch in time to see the sun come up the way we did last time, both of us on my patio, naked as the day we were born."