by Lisa Jackson
“One step at a time,” she said, refusing to melt under his harsh glare. “First I find her.”
“You’re playin’ with fire here, Shelby.”
“Well, it never stopped you, did it?” She forced herself to remain cool. “Now, either you help me, or I go at this myself, but believe me, I am going at it.” She finished her iced tea and set the glass aside. “Who would send me that picture?”
“Don’t know.” His eyes didn’t leave hers and not one of his graying hairs was out of place. His suit, shirt and string tie looked as fresh and crisp as if he’d just donned them while she was sweating buckets in a T-shirt and shorts. His ivory-handled cane lay across his lap, more an adornment than a crutch.
“Okay, then who adopted my baby?” She wasn’t going to leave this alone.
“Still don’t know.”
“How can you sit there and tell me a bald-faced lie? You had to know.”
Slowly, his words dropping out of his mouth syllable by syllable, he said, “I don’t know what happened to the baby. I didn’t ask.”
“But you knew she survived.”
“Nope. I only knew that she wasn’t born dead. Other than that, I didn’t see any reason to do anything more.”
“She’s your granddaughter!” Even though Shelby had expected the truth, it hit her hard.
“And you’re my daughter. I’ve always done what I thought best.”
She couldn’t believe her ears and then wondered why she was even trying to reason with him. He’d always been a man who played by his own rules, bent the law to serve his own purpose and rationalized his actions. “Oh, God, I can’t believe this.” She flopped back against the meshed caning of the patio chair. “You’re insane.”
“Practical.”
“Manipulative. Oh, Lord.” Grabbing her tumbler, she pressed the sweating glass against her forehead as the ice cubes melted. How could this man, this self-important ogre, be her father?
“What about Smith? Did you tell him about the baby?”
“I had no choice.”
“You always have choices.”
“Not when someone you trust manipulates you.” She dropped the glass onto the table.
The judge’s jaw slackened. A sudden sadness crept into his eyes as he watched the flight of a flock of starlings taking off from a cypress tree on the far side of the pool house. “Oh, Shelby,” he sighed, running big-knuckled hands through his hair. The wrinkles lining his brow and etching his mouth deepened and he seemed suddenly an old man. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she said firmly, refusing to be shaken. “What I’ve done is the right thing.”
“You find out anything today?”
“Not enough. But I will,” she promised as she scraped her chair back. And in a sudden inkling of insight, she knew just where to start.
Chapter Five
Nevada notched the ear of the last calf, slapped it hard on its dusty rump and sent it bawling and running toward the herd. Yanking off his gloves, he glared at the setting sun and wondered why he stayed here, barely scraping out a living in a place where even in these politically correct times he’d heard himself referred to as a half-breed.
Not that he cared. It wasn’t the fact that his mother was part Cherokee that bothered him; nope, it was the simple notion that she’d taken off when he was three and he couldn’t remember her to save his soul. He’d never known what had become of her; he hadn’t felt the need to find out.
Yet he’d decided to stay here, on the outskirts of Bad Luck. He had never fit in, and didn’t really give a damn. In the back of his mind he knew that someday things would be easier.
And besides, this was home. Such as it was. He glanced to the north edge of the ranch and the land that he’d bought two years before, doubling his acreage and picking up a rock quarry and a peach orchard in the process. It had cost him big-time, but it was starting to pay off and the red ink he’d been drowning in was ebbing a bit, bleeding into black.
At the watering trough, he stopped long enough to twist the faucet and duck his head under the water, warm from the pipes. It cooled down and he splashed it over his neck and shoulders before taking a long drink. Yeah, this place, such as it was, was home.
Shaking the excess drops of water from his hair, he walked into the machine shed. There his tractor, four years older than he, lay idle, the rubber on its big tires cracked, its headlights dim. The rig’s coat of paint had long since lost its luster in the endless hours of chugging up hills and pulling equipment under an unforgiving Texas sun.
But there was still life in the John Deere and he checked the oil, knowing that he’d keep the tractor until it died in a field. Wiping his hands, he considered the fact that he was now—if Shelby Cole could be believed—a father. He’d never thought he’d have any kids. Probably because he’d never found a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Wouldn’t put a kid through the pain of growing up the way he did.
Now he had a daughter. Shelby’s child. He’d spent a day digesting the news, even gone so far as to phone an old Army buddy who had become a PI in Houston.
He’d tried to keep his mind from straying to Shelby. She was trouble just waitin’ to happen. Always had been, always would be. But then, he’d never been one to back away from trouble; in fact there was a time when he’d gone lookin’ for it.
Years ago.
He’d thought he was long over her, that he’d gotten her out of his blood.
But some things never changed.
One look at her and he’d felt that same old heat in his loins, that gut-wrenching tug deep in his soul. His jaw tightened, and he headed back to the house. No woman, not even Judge Red Cole’s sexy daughter, was going to get to him again the way she’d done ten years ago.
Whistling to Crockett, he climbed up the back porch, kicked off his boots, took off his half-drenched shirt and used it as a towel, then downed a beer. He was about to step into the shower when he heard the sound of an engine and saw a plume of dust through the front window.
A fleck of white flashed through the live oaks lining the drive. He recognized Shelby’s rented car. Long and sleek, the Cadillac sped past the copse of trees by the mailbox.
“Hell,” he muttered, sucking in his breath.
Within seconds he was through the front door.
The car rolled to a stop as the sun was just settling behind the western hills. Crockett put up a helluva ruckus, but one look from Nevada silenced the mutt.
Shelby emerged from the car.
He gritted his teeth.
In khaki shorts and a white sleeveless blouse, with her red-blond hair pulled back, she was as fascinating as any woman he’d ever set eyes on. Her tanned legs were long, her waist slim, her breasts big enough to fill a man’s hands, and it took all of his damned willpower to keep his thoughts where they should be.
Leaning a shoulder against a post supporting the overhang of the porch, he waited until she strode through the gate. “Back again?” he drawled.
“I need to talk to you.” She didn’t bother to smile and her lips were pulled into a hard, determined line. She shoved her sunglasses onto her head. Her blue-green eyes snapped.
“And here I thought you were just slumming.”
“I didn’t come here to crack jokes,” she said, climbing the steps and angling her face up to his. Her eyes were nearly turquoise and they reflected the last bit of sunlight.
“Shoot.”
“I need your help.”
He raised one eyebrow suspiciously and didn’t say a word, just waited.
“We need to find Elizabeth.”
“Is that so?” he drawled, ignoring the V of her blouse and a seductive glimpse of cleavage.
“Yes.”
“Funny. Now you want my help.”
“There’s nothing funny about it.”
“You’re right,” he said, his temper beginning to flare.
“Then we can get down to business an
d—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
His question must have caught her off guard. She winced. Her cheeks and neck, even that cleft of skin between her breasts, flushed an intriguing rosy hue. “Pardon me?”
“Years ago. You could have told me.”
She cleared her throat and he noticed the hesitation in her eyes—the lies—that she’d held fast to for so many years.
“There was no reason. I mean, it didn’t make any sense to bother you—”
“Bother me? You think telling me that you were gonna have my kid wasn’t something I should have been bothered with?” How could she stare up at him so brazenly? “If I was the father—”
“You were. Are.”
He snorted in disgust. “What were you hiding, Shelby?”
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and planting her hands on her hips. “There’s nothing to hide, not anymore. And I didn’t come here to argue.”
“I just want to know why you didn’t tell me.” He couldn’t let it go. Not that easily. They were talking about his kid, for Chrissakes!
“I thought the baby died.”
“But you must have known for at least seven or eight months that you were carrying a child.”
“I was scared,” she admitted, her chin jutting upward, her spine stiffening, a few strands loosening from the knot on her head to catch in the hot breeze.
“Scared of what?” he prodded.
She hesitated, and for the first time her mask of bravado slipped.
“I don’t remember you being scared of much. You were pampered and rich, but you had a wild streak and a sharp tongue that you weren’t afraid to use.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He cocked his head to one side. Waited.
She struggled, her cheeks still showing color.
“Spill it, Shelby.”
“Damn.” He saw her weighing a decision. “I didn’t come here to discuss this.”
“Discuss what?” he prodded.
“Oh, hell.” Her shoulders stiffened slightly. “Okay, I was scared of you. Of my dad. Of what people would think.”
“Why?”
“Because I was young.”
“And?”
She looked away for a second, and he noticed the drops of sweat on her forehead. “Okay, I was scared of you because—” Her gaze swung back to his. “Because I loved you, Nevada,” she admitted. Small lines puckered between her eyebrows and he wished he’d never pushed her, didn’t want to hear a ten-year-old confession. “That’s right. It was stupid. Foolish. Childish. But I loved you. There you have it and—oh. God, how I loved you. More than any sane woman should love a man, but ... but damn it, I could never count on you, could I? I never really knew where I stood with you and then ... and then I got pregnant and ... and ...” Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip, fighting some inner struggle. She rubbed her arms as if chilled, though the temperature was still pushing a hundred.
“Then,” she whispered, drawing strength from some invisible well, “before I could turn around, all hell broke out in town and I was just really scared. Of everything.”
There was more to it than that; he read it in the shadows darkening her eyes.
“I even tried to talk to you once,” she conceded, and he saw her lips tighten at the corners, her shoulders stiffen. “But when I stopped by your house... you...you were with Vianca Estevan.”
“Her father had just been killed.”
“I—I know, but...”
“She was a friend.”
“She was more to you than that and we both know it.” Shelby shot him a look guaranteed to ice over the gates of hell. “Don’t try any B.S. with me, okay? You and Vianca were lovers.”
“Once upon a time,” he allowed.
“And I was a temporary distraction.”
His temper snapped. Before he knew what he was doing, he shoved her against the wall near the door. Crockett gave off a startled bark. “That’s right, Shelby, you were one helluva distraction. And what was I to you? A way to get back at your old man? Someone to take pity on? One of those bad boys who were off limits?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“You—you were a deputy.”
“But not for long.” He tried not to notice the way her bare skin felt in his hands. “And I had a reputation—one I was trying to erase. You were with me just to rebel and get back at the Judge.”
“No! I mean—”
“Oh, hell!”
Shelby gasped, and he did one of the most stupid things he’d ever done in his life. He kissed her. Hard. His lips crashed over hers, and he molded his body along the length of hers. His dusty, jean-clad legs pressed into bare calves and thighs, his hips felt the softness of hers and her mound melded naturally against his fly. He sensed her hot skin beneath the thin layer of cotton separating them and silently cursed himself for his weakness.
Pressing his tongue between her lips, he felt her tense, but she didn’t stop him, nor did she kiss him back.
Perspiration dotted his back and slid down his spine. Though he was just making a point, desire fired his blood. Deep inside it sparked, then sizzled through his veins. His cock swelled, becoming thick and hard, and it was all he could do to lift his head and stare into aquamarine eyes that didn’t so much as blink.
“Don’t,” she said with all the warmth of a Siberian winter. “Whatever you were trying to do to me, it didn’t happen, okay?”
“Like hell.” He pressed both palms against the rough siding on either side of her head, trapping her, but she pushed against his bare shoulders.
“Neanderthal tactics don’t work with me, Nevada. Neither do Cro-Magnon, so give it up.”
He almost believed her. She seemed so cool and impassive, but the pulse at the hollow of her throat was throbbing, and her fingers were curled against the cedar planks. He glanced at the curve of her neck and remembered how she had reacted when he’d kissed her there.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “You’ve made your point, okay, but I don’t have any time for ... for any nonsense like...”
“Like what?”
“Like getting involved in any way, shape or form with you.”
“No?” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he felt one side of his mouth lift in a mocking half-smile.
“No.” She was firm. “I came here because I thought you might want to help me.” Her breasts were rising and falling a little too quickly, but he stepped back, giving her some breathing room. “Now listen,” she said, her voice more breathless than it had been. “Either you’re in or you’re out. It’s that simple. I’m going to find Elizabeth come hell or high water. With or without you. I—I thought I should let you know. So what’s it gonna be?”
He sized her up. She’d matured over the years but was still just as bullheaded and tunnel-visioned as ever. Just like her old man. “I’m way ahead of you, Shelby.”
“I doubt it.”
“I already called in a PI.”
“Without consulting me?” She had the audacity to look offended as she stood on his dusty porch.
“Yep.”
“But didn’t you think I’d want to know ...” Her voice faded away and she cleared her throat, glanced toward the blaze of sunset—vibrant pink and gold—silhouetting the western hills. “Oh, I get it.”
“Thought you might. It’s not a great feeling to be cut out of the loop, is it? Now”—he backed up a couple of steps and rested his buttocks on the edge of the rail—“let’s get one thing straight. We help each other out and work together to find her. That means we share information. No one goes off on a wild-goose chase alone.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat. “Fair enough.”
“Good. So where are you? Are you living up at the house with your old man?”
“For now.”
That bothered him, but he let it slide. “Find out what you can from the Judge.”
“Bel
ieve me, I’ve tried.” She walked to the edge of the porch and eyed the field where his three best broodmares, their sleek coats shining in the last rays of light, were plucking at tufts of grass.
“And?”
“Oh, it’s the old snowball’s chance in hell adage.”
“Then we’ll have to try something else.”
“I’m game.”
He slid a lazy glance in her direction. “I remember.”
Shelby’s heart slammed against her rib cage. What the hell was he doing, flirting with her, kissing her, coming on to her? “Then let’s get to it,” she said, pretending not to notice the corded muscles in his shoulders, his tanned, bare chest and tight washboard of an abdomen. Nor would she react to the thatch of dark hair that arrowed down past his navel to burrow beneath the waistband of jeans that hung far too low on his hips. “And put something on, would you?”
“Bothered?” he asked, his mouth an irreverent slash of white.
“In your dreams, Smith.”
“Often.”
Oh, God. Her gaze found his. Sunlight was fading. Dusk crawled through the mesquite and cedar. Crickets had already started their night song. And in his eyes she saw seduction—raw and real and powerful. “Let’s not go there,” she said, wishing her voice was a little less rough, her throat not suddenly as dry as a West Texas wind.
His jaw slid to one side as he eyed her. For a second she thought he would kiss her again. She caught her breath in anticipation. Her lungs were suddenly tight.
He crossed the porch and held open the shabby screen door. It creaked in protest. “Come on in, Shelby. I’ll buy you a beer and we’ll talk this out.”
“I’ll pass on the beer. Let’s just come up with a game plan to find our daughter.”
“Whatever you say.”
She doubted it. Nevada never had been one to follow orders; that’s what had gotten his badge stripped from him. She walked inside and Crockett, tongue lolling, tagged after her. Nevada followed with hardly a sound. “I’ve got Black Velvet or Jack Daniels,” he offered, opening an antique-looking cabinet by the front door.
“Forget it.”
