It didn’t fit her pattern. And, unfortunately, it meant Sawyer had just lost some of his leverage. He couldn’t threaten to out Niki with Reed and Caleb if they were truly her brothers. That got him wondering if they knew who she was. Were they playing along with the ruse to protect her, or had she kept her true identity a secret from them?
If they knew the truth, then he was working against the entire Terrell clan, not just Niki. He scrambled to wrap his mind around that possibility. If they were all on alert, then a single misstep on his part would be a disaster.
He quickly caught up to her as she climbed the small rise toward the house. “You must have been excited to find them,” he probed.
When she answered, there was a tightness to her tone.
“You mean because I went from being all alone in the world to having two of the greatest brothers in existence? Yes, I was excited to find them.”
He tried to decipher her meaning. Were they great brothers because they were protecting her secret? “So, no other siblings?”
“None,” she answered briskly, skipping into a jog.
She paused by a blue-and-white cooler, flipping the lid, dipping in to pull out a soft drink.
Sawyer hung back, pausing at the edge of the crowd.
“Travis Jacobs.” Another cowboy stepped up and offered his hand.
“Sawyer Smith.” Sawyer shook, forcing himself to regroup. More than ever, he knew he had to take his time with this. Finding the diary was going to be a marathon, not a sprint.
“I hear we’re neighbors,” said Travis.
“Word gets around fast.”
“I’m Mandy and Katrina’s brother. We have the spread that borders southeast of the Terrells.”
“Mandy and Katrina are sisters?” Sawyer’s research had told him as much, but the two women certainly didn’t look anything alike.
“Jacobs, both of them.”
And both married to Niki’s brothers, which tied Travis to Niki, as well. If the Terrells and the Jacobs were anything like the Laytons, family was family, and they’d protect their own.
“Beer?” Travis asked, filling the temporary gap in conversation.
“Sure.”
Travis crossed to the nearest cooler and extracted two cans of Budweiser, returning to pass one to Sawyer.
“The Raklin place?” Travis asked.
“That’s the one.”
“Good graze in the high country. Water issues in late September, but I expect you’ve looked into that.”
Sawyer popped the top of his beer, letting his gaze focus on Niki as she spread mayonnaise on a hamburger bun then layered on slices of pickles. Katrina was beside her, laughing and chatting one moment, then talking low into her ear the next. He hadn’t expected this much of a shield around Niki. In fact, he hadn’t expected anyone to be close to her at all.
“I hear the water-license issue is going to be resolved soon,” he said to Travis.
Travis laughed. “Anybody define ‘soon’ for you?”
Sawyer couldn’t help but smile at Travis’s skepticism. Truth was, the long-term viability of the Raklin place as a working ranch was the least of Sawyer’s worries. He only expected to own it for a few months. Dylan Bennett, the ranch manager’s son from the Layton family’s Montana ranch had agreed to come out and run the spread in the short term to keep up appearances.
But as soon as Sawyer was done with Niki, his lawyers would put it back on the market. And, if the water license proved a stumbling block to selling, Sawyer could solve it with a single phone call. Charles might be the senator from Maryland, but he golfed with the senator from Colorado, and he had a whole lot of D.C. markers he could call in.
Assuming, of course, Gabriella’s diary didn’t get him kicked out of office and thrown in jail first.
“We’ve been fighting that particular war for a couple of years now,” said Travis.
“Need any help?”
Travis arched a brow.
Sawyer took a swig of his beer, realizing it had been foolish of him to offer. “I know a couple of politicians,” he explained.
“My brother was elected Mayor last year. I think he’s got the political angle covered.”
“Good enough, then.”
There was no sense in taking on somebody else’s fight. Sawyer’s attention strayed back to Niki. He obviously had enough trouble on his hands.
* * *
“Since there is no earthly reason you would buy yourself a cattle ranch in Colorado,” Dylan Bennett opened as soon as Sawyer came in through the front door of the Raklin place.
The man had parked himself in the living room of the ranch house, boots up on a worn, leather ottoman. “And since you’re calling yourself Smith—unimaginative as hell, by the way. I’m guessing somebody’s in trouble.”
“We’re the Laytons,” Sawyer responded drily, pausing to plunk his Stetson on a wall peg in the entryway and rake a hand through his short hair. “Trouble is our middle name.”
Dylan glanced around the expansive, recently updated living and dining areas of the big house. It was roomy and nicely finished, with gleaming hardwood, freshly painted walls, and a myriad of high ceilings, hewn wooden beams and panoramic windows.
“Pretty deep trouble,” he drawled. “Judging by how much this place must have set you back.”
“You always were smarter than the average cowboy,” Sawyer drawled, moving into the living room.
“You want to catch me up?” Dylan stretched back in the worn armchair.
By contrast to the house, the furnishings were grim. They consisted of the leftovers the Raklins hadn’t bothered to pack up, a worn brown sofa, a creaky armchair and a dated, arborite table with four mustard-yellow, vinyl chairs with spindly metal legs.
“You bring any beer?” Sawyer asked Dylan before sitting down.
“Stocked the fridge.” Dylan cocked his head toward the kitchen where the Raklins had left four high-end, fairly new appliances. “Didn’t make much sense to waste a trip through town.”
“Good thinking,” Sawyer approved, carrying on through the dining room to the kitchen.
He liberated a couple of bottles of Coors from the refrigerator door then made his way back to Dylan.
“It’s Charles, isn’t it?” asked Dylan as he accepted one of the icy-cold beers.
“What makes you say that?” Not that Sawyer had any intention of denying the truth to Dylan. Dylan was on their side. He’d been loyal his entire life.
As teenagers, the two men had run pretty wild together whenever Sawyer visited the Montana ranch. They stole liquor from the cook’s pantry, borrowed more than one ranch pickup truck, got into fistfights and picked up girls. Their exploits had cemented a friendship, and Sawyer would trust Dylan with his life.
Dylan looked pointedly around the ranch house. “You bought yourself ten-thousand acres of prime land. As cover stories go, it’s the very definition of overkill. I figure the only reason you’d go to this much trouble is to protect Charles’ Senate seat.”
“You nailed it,” Sawyer agreed, dropping onto the old, lumpy sofa and taking a swig of his beer. It was cool against his throat, dry from breathing in the dust of the construction site.
“You’re blending,” Dylan stated.
“In with the locals,” Sawyer confirmed. He and his uncle had concocted the plan together.
“What the hell did Charles do to warrant this level of complexity?”
Sawyer knew he shouldn’t smile. It was a serious situation. But Dylan was right, they were cleaning up a big mess with high stakes, and that situation inevitably involved Uncle Charles.
“You ever heard of Gabriella Gerard?” Sawyer asked.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“She was a D.C. legend, infamous around the town. Nobody knew where she came from, but everyone agreed she could have launched a thousand ships with one crook of her baby finger.
Word on the street is that she had affairs with some very powerful men. She
accepted their gifts and their money, used their stock tips to get rich. She apparently squirreled away their secrets in a tell-all diary. And then she died. And the diary is nowhere to be found, neither is her daughter Niki.”
“I take it Charles is featured in the diary?” Dylan guessed.
“And the daughter is featured in Colorado, in Lyndon Valley to be precise, in hiding.”
“Is she Charles’ daughter?”
“No chance of that. The dates were way off.” Plus, Sawyer now knew she was Wilton Terrell’s daughter.
Dylan gave a single nod of understanding, peeling at the corner of the beer label with his thumb. “You’re here to get the diary.”
Sawyer responded with a mock toast. “Indeed, I am. Charles would prefer his wife not find out he cheated.”
“Understandable.”
“He’d also prefer the Elections Commission not know about certain campaign contributions.”
“Also understandable.” Dylan took a swig of his beer.
“And he’d prefer to be the guy who learns everyone else’s secrets, instead of the other way around. Whoever gets their hands on that diary will own the district.”
“That all sounds like the Charles we know and love.”
Sawyer silently agreed. He’d never had much time for the games played in D.C. politics, but Charles lived and breathed it. And he’d certainly done well by the family by being tapped in.
“This Niki might have plans of her own,” Dylan noted.
“I expect she does. If she’s anything like Gabriella, there’s every chance she’s planning some sophisticated blackmail scheme.”
“So, here you sit,” said Dylan. “Her brand-new, innocuous, cowboy neighbor, without a single, visible tie to D.C.”
“That’s the plan. Though we’ve hit a snag.”
“Already?” Dylan glanced pointedly at his watch. “Is that a record?”
Sawyer ignored the man’s sarcasm. “Those Terrell brothers I mentioned? Caleb and Reed. Successful men, smart from what I can see, a reasonable level of power on their own, particularly Caleb. It turns out, they really are her brothers, her half brothers, Gabriella was sleeping with more than just D.C. power brokers.”
“Do the brothers know she’s in hiding?”
“Haven’t yet figured that out,” Sawyer admitted. Though he was leaning toward them not knowing. “They didn’t seem particularly suspicious or jumpy. They were happy to welcome me, feed me a burger.”
Dylan rested one booted ankle on the opposite one. “So, what’s your next move?”
Sawyer took another mouthful of the crisp beer, letting it slide its way down his throat. “Get to know them. See if I can find a way in. Getting her to confide in me would be best.”
“Is she plain? Is she mousy?” Dylan gave him a critical once-over. “You’re a decent-looking guy, maybe you can romance the information out of her.”
“She’s a bombshell. At least, she was in D.C. She’s downplaying it out here. But I’m sure she still has plenty of offers.” It occurred to Sawyer that one of the resident Colorado cowboys might already have his eye on her. That would add yet another barrier.
“Might be your best bet,” said Dylan.
Sawyer frowned at his friend. Romancing a woman to get information from her? “That’s pretty callous, even for a guy with my genetic make-up.”
“Plus, if she’s a knockout, what chance would you have?”
Sawyer gave a snort. “I can get dates.”
“Sure, in D.C., where they know you’re a Layton. I’m talkin’ about out here, on your own, where women don’t know you’re a rich, connected guy.”
“I’m not worried.”
Not that he had any immediate interest in testing the theory with Niki or anyone else. His only goal was the diary. That would be his laser focus.
* * *
Niki knew she had to come clean with her brothers. She couldn’t fool herself any longer, pretending it was okay to keep such an important secret. Though her mother would turn over in her grave at the thought of Niki taking such an unnecessary risk. In fact, Niki could actually hear Gabriella’s voice inside her head, calling her a fool for giving up her advantage.
“Shut up,” she said out loud, briskly rubbing her freshly washed hair with a towel.
She tossed the towel on a chair in the corner of the bedroom, then ran a comb through her short hair, scrutinizing herself in the mirror above the dresser as she worked. She had to admit, this was the easiest cut she’d ever worn. A quick comb through, and it dried on its own. It was just wavy enough to have body, but stayed pretty much in place through humidity or rain showers.
She stepped into a pair of comfortable jeans, then slipped her arms into a flannel shirt. She didn’t even bother with a bra or socks. The lifestyle in Lyndon Valley was exceedingly casual.
The weather was sultry warm tonight, so she knew she’d find Caleb, Mandy, Reed and Katrina relaxing on the back deck.
If Caleb and Mandy were lucky, little Asher would be asleep, and there’d be time for an iced tea and some adult conversation. The river would rush by, and the crickets would chirp, and the scent of pine would flow down from the hillsides. On nights like this, Niki couldn’t seem to imagine going home.
As the picture bloomed in her mind, her resolve to come clean began to waver. Maybe the confession could wait. After all, it had been three months already, what was another few days or weeks?
She had a deep-down fear of being rejected by her brothers, and she hadn’t formulated a plan of what she’d do if Reed and Caleb kicked her out. Returning to D.C. and resuming her studies at GW was out of the question.
She was genuinely afraid of the men who saw her as a potential blackmailer. Not that she’d even think of blackmailing anyone. Even if she needed the money, she’d never commit a crime. And she would have happily told them all that—if she’d had any earthly idea of who they were. She remembered a few first names, but otherwise her mother had kept her romantic entanglements to herself and never shared the details with Niki. Perhaps her mom had been trying to protect her even then?
Yes, Niki was safest if she kept silent. But on the other hand, she shouldn’t take the easy way out. Reed and Caleb had been so kind and so generous, they deserved to know exactly who they were helping.
She squared her shoulders in determination, leaving the bedroom and making her way to the staircase that led to the main floor. She tried to imagine how the conversation would go. Reed was a big, imposing man, but he was unfailingly fair and gentle. Certainly he’d been sympathetic to Niki so far, and she’d never once seen him raise his voice at Katrina or anyone else. Caleb was thoughtful, smart and doggedly determined. He worked hard and expected the same of the people around him.
Both of her brothers had high standards for themselves and everyone else. And she was fairly certain her behavior wouldn’t have met those high standards. Would they merely be disappointed? Would they understand on any level? Would they be angry?
She shuddered at the thought of making either of them angry. Nor did she want to disappoint them, either. But their understanding might be too much to hope for under the circumstances.
Maybe if she’d been honest with them from the start. But back then they’d been strangers to her. And she hadn’t dared share her secret with anyone in the world.
Now, as she cut the corner on the living room, she tried desperately to muster her courage. But as she pulled open the glass door to the deck, a heavy weight settled over her chest. Her heart struggled through deep beats, and her palms turned moist.
It was almost anticlimactic to find Katrina alone outside. She was lounging in one of the comfortable, padded chairs that overlooked a few lighted staff cabins near the river. The hills were black, and a million stars were scattered in the sky.
“Where is everybody?” Niki asked, half relieved, half distressed at having to wait even longer to bare her soul.
“In the barn. Lame horse. The vet’s out there.�
��
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s not serious,” said Katrina. “Just interesting.” She paused. “For them.”
Despite herself, Niki couldn’t help but smile at Katrina’s grimace. It was no secret that while the rest of the Terrell and Jacobs families were horse crazy, Katrina was afraid of the animals.
Katrina pointed to a bottle of merlot on the table in front of her. “Join me? I’m on Asher duty.” She glanced up at an open, second-floor window.
“Sure.” Alcohol sounded like a good idea. Maybe putting off the confession wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was every chance it would be easier after a glass of wine.
Katrina rose, selecting a second glass from the table and pouring the deep, red liquid.
Then she turned and paused on Niki’s expression. “Everything okay?”
Niki’s stomach tightened. “It’s fine. Why?”
Katrina handed her the glass. “For a second there, you reminded me of Reed.”
“You think I look like Reed?” Niki sure hoped not. While Reed was a ruggedly handsome man, he was all male, totally masculine.
“Every once in a while, I can see it around the eyes, and the way you purse your lips. He does that when he’s worried.” Katrina considered her for a long moment. “It reminds me that he inherited some things from his father.”
“I really don’t see a resemblance between us,” Niki responded honestly.
She’d searched each of her brothers’ features on more than one occasion, and she’d never been able to identify any similarities.
Katrina eased back down into her chair, gesturing for Niki to take the seat next to her. “It’s more an expression than a specific feature. But don’t tell Reed he looks anything like his father.” She tossed back her hair and took a sip of her wine.
Niki followed suit, letting the warmth of the alcohol flow through her stomach and send an almost instant shot of relaxation into her veins.
“I doubt I’d get the chance,” said Niki. “They never say much about Wilton.”
She hadn’t wanted to pry, and aside from pointing their father out in a couple of pictures, and having initially expressed their complete and utter disbelief that he might have cheated on their mother, both Reed and Caleb had kept their thoughts to themselves.
Millionaire in a Stetson Page 3
