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The Millionaire and the Cowgirl
Lisa Jackson
Ten years ago, an innocent Samantha Rawlings had surrendered herself–body and soul–to a man whose blue-eyed gaze promised forever. But when the summer sun faded, Kyle Fortune was gone, and Samantha was left to raise their child alone–and in secret.Then fate intervened, bringing the restless millionaire back to Wyoming's wideopen spaces. Suddenly he was face-to-face with the willful beauty he'd never forgotten–and a blue-eyed daughter he'd never known….
Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry
My crash was no accident. And in order to find out who sabotaged my plane, I’m pretending to be dead.
In the meantime, I’m looking out for my family. I’m so pleased they’re enjoying the gifts I left them in my will. Take my grandson Kyle. As a boy, he used to come visit me at my Wyoming ranch. One summer he fell in love with that darling Samantha Rawlings. I’ll never understand why he impulsively up and left to marry a society girl.
Kyle needs to get away from the city and settle down. He’s a restless playboy because he’s forgotten what’s important. That’s why I left him the ranch. And to guarantee he doesn’t sell it, he needs to live there six months to offically inherit it.
That should be just enough time for him to reunite with Samantha and discover the secret she’s been keeping for ten years….
A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
Some things are just meant to happen. That’s what I thought when I was asked to contribute to FORTUNE’S CHILDREN. I was thrilled and honored to be a part of the group of authors creating stories about this very special family, and I was thankful that I was asked to do a story surrounding a ranch, a rich playboy and a secret baby.
I’m a fifth-generation Oregonian and grew up surrounded by cousins and grandparents, as well as great-aunts and uncles. My grandparents and great-grandparents lived on farms complete with cattle, chickens, sheep and hogs. My cousins and sister, Natalie Bishop (another Silhouette author), and I played on the banks of a small creek that wound through a thick stand of old growth timber, chased each other on deer and sheep trails, or swam in the Molalla River. It was a magical, special childhood. We weren’t nearly as wealthy as the Fortunes, of course, but we had that same sense of togetherness and love that wound through our generations, the common and tightly woven bond of family.
I felt it was fitting that this, The Millionaire and the Cowgirl, should be my fortieth book for Silhouette—a novel celebrating love and trust and the meaning of family. I’m thrilled to be able to contribute and hope you enjoy reading about Samantha, Kyle and Caitlyn.
I feel this is a special book, a milestone in the fifteen years I’ve written for Silhouette. Many of you have written me, asking for more stories with a Western setting, where the characters live on ranches, and this is for you. I hope you love this series as much as I do.
Enjoy!
Lisa Jackson
The Millionaire and the Cowgirl
Lisa Jackson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my dad, from whom I learned dignity and laughter
LISA JACKSON
lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. She has been writing for over twenty years. Her books have appeared on the New York Times, Publishers Weekly and USA TODAY bestseller lists. Her free time is spent with friends and family.
Meet the Fortunes—three generations of a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they unite to face an unknown enemy, shocking family secrets are revealed…and passionate new romances are ignited.
KATE FORTUNE: When the powerful matriarch of the Fortune clan is believed to be dead, she and a mysterious stranger play matchmakers in the lives of her children and grandchildren.
KYLE FORTUNE: Playboy millionaire. Can this city slicker turned cowboy rectify mistakes of the past…and make a future with the one woman he’s never been able to forget and the daughter he never knew he had?
SAMANTHA RAWLINGS: Feisty cowgirl. Could she ever forgive Kyle for breaking her heart and marrying another woman? Would he be able to forgive her for keeping a ten-year-old secret?
ALLIE FORTUNE: Gorgeous Fortune Cosmetics spokesmodel. Men want her only for her money and her body. Is her beauty a blessing…or a curse?
LIZ JONES— CELEBRITY GOSSIP
The rumors are true! Megamillionaire Kate Fortune, CEO of Fortune Cosmetics, has died in a tragic plane crash. Sources tell me Kate’s daughter Rebecca suspects foul play and is looking into hiring a private investigator.
Close friends say the family was devastated at the reading of her will. In addition to her major assets, Kate apparently left special mementos. To her grandson Kyle, the most eligible bachelor in town, she left her Wyoming ranch. So saddle up, all you bachelorettes! To hook this guy you’re going to have to play cowgirl, because Kyle has to stay on the ranch for six—yes, six!—months to inherit it. I wonder about this wild condition. But as everyone knows, Kate always had a trick—and a master plan—up her sleeve….
What impact will Kate’s death have on the massive Fortune empire? And if someone is out to get the Fortunes, who’s next on their target list?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Prologue
Clear Springs, Wyoming
June
Bbbbrrring!
The school bell rang sharply, announcing the end of the day for the students of Whitecomb Elementary in Clear Springs, Wyoming. Within minutes laughing, chattering children swinging lunch pails and book bags began streaming from the long, redbrick building. Two flags, one for the United States, the other for the State of Wyoming, snapped from a pole near the front entrance of the school. Yellow buses waited near the side entrance by the parking lot and spewed blue smoke from their tailpipes.
From a van parked in front of a small cottage on the opposite side of the street, a stranger, a man who didn’t belong anywhere near this elementary school, peered anxiously through the window. He stared past the caravans of trucks, cars and minivans that idled in the asphalt lot as parents waited to pick up their precious cargos.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered.
Surely he would catch a glimpse of the girl in question, the one on whose slim, nine-year-old shoulders his partner’s hopes rested.
What if she no longer went to school here? What if she and her mother had moved? His fingers curled over the steering wheel in a death grip. Damn, it was hot, even though he was parked in the shade of a solitary oak tree, whose branches stretched over the fence guarding the small house.
He cracked open the window just a bit and a breath of hot, dusty wind whispered through the van. A dog somewhere up the street barked, grating on his nerves, but still he waited. He’d promised that he would see this child for himself so that he could report back to his partner that she was alive and well.
Suddenly a blond girl with wild hair and big smile dashed from the building. Long legged, her teeth a little too big for her face, she was one of those children who would blossom with age, a cute girl who promised rare beauty in adulthood. Caitlyn Bethany Rawlings, only child of never-married Samantha Rawlings.
He felt a moment’s relief as he watched Caitlyn and the rest of the students in Mrs. Evelyn Johnson’s fourth-grade class join the other kids already climbing onto the buses or threading through the line of parked cars.
Caitlyn, chattering to a dark-haired, shorter girl, was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Tangled curls, so like her mother’s, framed a small, tanned face. Freckles dusted her nose, and her eyes, round and blue, squinted until she spied her mother’s sorry-looking pickup. With a frantic wave to a couple of friends, she dashed between two parked station wagons and climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle.
Caitlyn was jabbering excitedly to her mother. It was, after all, the last day of school. There was much to say, plans to be made for the summer, he supposed, though little did either female know that their carefully laid plans were about to change in light of his partner’s agenda.
He stared through the grimy back window of the Rawlingses’ truck.
Samantha, listening to her daughter as she flipped on her turn signal, drove out of the parking lot and followed the parade of cars and trucks that headed through the small Wyoming town for the last time this school year.
They passed the stranger’s van and he turned away, hoping not to be seen or recognized. Coming to the school in broad daylight was taking a big risk. There was always the chance that someone would catch a glimpse of a person who didn’t belong in this small, tightly knit community located at the base of the Teton Mountains. But some chances had to be taken. They were risky, but necessary, if this first part of the plan was going to work.
And come hell or high water, the plan was going to work. Lives depended upon it. Important lives. The lives of the Fortune family.
One
She hasn’t changed a bit.
The thought struck Kyle Fortune deep in his gut, bringing back memories best left forgotten as he eased his foot onto the brake of the old Chevy pickup. Bugs spattered the grimy windshield, and the interior was breathless—baked by the unforgiving Wyoming sun.
Samantha Rawlings. The girl he’d left behind. A woman now. Hell, who would’ve thought she would be the first person he’d run into here in Nowhere, Wyoming? So his luck hadn’t changed any. “Damn you, Kate,” he growled under his breath, as if his feisty grandmother—the woman who had arranged this little trek back to the family ranch at the base of the Tetons—could hear him even though she was dead. That thought almost brought him to his knees.
Bald tires rolled to a stop. “God help me.” In the flash of an instant, a memory long distant seared through his mind, and he saw Samantha as he had a long time ago, lying in a field of bent grass and wildflowers, her red-gold hair fanned around her face. Her body was tanned except for the most private parts, sweet breasts rising skyward, with pink nipples that pointed proudly up at him as he kissed her everywhere—loving her with the wild abandon of youth, never giving a thought to the future, only wanting to plunge himself into her warmth and make love to her forever.
He hadn’t seen her in over ten years, and yet his insides tightened and air already hot enough to blister the paint from the hood of his old truck and bleach the color from the grass seemed to sizzle a bit more as he crossed the gravel lot. A cloud of dust settled around his new, too-tight boots.
She didn’t even flick a glance in his direction. Too intent on the stubborn-looking colt on the other end of the short tether she held firmly in her hands, she didn’t seem to know he’d driven up. They stood eyeball-to-eyeball, a spirited mite of a flame-haired woman and a determined Appaloosa, all rippling muscles and gleaming, sweat-soaked coat.
Sam wasn’t giving an inch. Mule-headed as ever, Kyle decided. Her chin was a little more pointed than it had been at seventeen, her lips, now set in a determined line, fuller and her breasts, hidden beneath the faded gingham of her Western-cut shirt, seemed larger than he remembered. But that hair—blond with fiery red streaks—was still the same, still scraped back into a ponytail, with a few wayward locks framing her sweaty face. “You listen to me, you miserable, overpriced piece of horseflesh,” she growled, barely moving her lips. “You’re going to—” She stopped short as her concentration was broken by Kyle’s shadow, stretching past the rail fence and over the hard, dry ground to crawl across the toes of her boots. Her eyes sliced a glance in his direction and she audibly gasped, her fingers losing their tenacious grip. “Kyle?”
Sensing his advantage, the horse twisted his great black-and-white head and stripped the reins from her hands. With a triumphant whistle, he reared and pivoted, a magnificent stallion who had won again. “Hey, wait, you blasted, miserable…” But the stallion was already gone, kicking up dust as he raced to the far end of the corral and the shade of a solitary pine tree.
“Great! Just great! Now look what you’ve made me do!” Stalking to the fence, she stripped the rubber band from her hair and stuffed it into the pocket of her tight, faded jeans. “Thanks for messing me up!”
“It’s not my fault you lost control of the horse.” So her tongue was just as sharp as ever. It figured.
“Sure it is.” Squinting against the sun, she eyed him up and down. “So the prodigal grandson has returned. What happened? Lose your Ferrari in a poker game? Take a wrong turn on your way to Monte Carlo?”
“Something like that.”
Leaning over the top rail of the fence, she blew her bangs out of her eyes. “You know, Kyle, you’re the last person I ever expected to see again. Ever.” Hot color caressed high, sculpted cheekbones and sweat dripped from the tip of her nose.
“I guess you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?”
He felt a grain of satisfaction to be the one to break the news. “Believe it or not, I’m the new owner of this place.”
“You?” She stared straight into his eyes, as if checking for lies, as if she expected him to disregard the truth or stretch it to his own advantage. “You own the Fortune Ranch? Just you? No one else?” Was there a note of disapproval in her steady tone?
“The whole spread.”
“But—”
“You didn’t know?”
She actually paled, the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose becoming more visible. “I—I knew that one of Kate’s children or grandchildren would probably end up with the…” Her eyes moved from his face to the vast acres of rolling pastureland, dry and brown in midsummer. Clumps of sagebrush were scattered along the fence line and a tumbleweed rolled lazily past the weathered barn. Sam swallowed hard as her gaze settled on him again. “I mean, someone was bound to inherit it, but I never once thought… Oh, for the love of Mike, why you?”
“Beats me.”
“You’re a city boy now, aren’t you?” Her chin rose a little bit, as if she were suddenly defiant. “You haven’t set foot here in years.”
“About ten,” he agreed, and saw her gaze shift away, as if she, too, didn’t want to think about that last summer they’d shared. It seemed a lifetime ago, though his blood still raced a little at the sight of her. That would have to change.
“So you’re here…why? To live?” she asked, wrinkling her brow as if she couldn’t believe it.
“For the time being. There’s a catch to my inheritance.”
“A catch?”
“Kate left the ranch and everything on it—well, almost everything—with the condition that I can’t sell the place or even one item of equipment until I’ve lived here for six months.”
Six months! Kyle was going to be her neighbor for the next half year? Sam’s knees hitched a little. “But you don’t intend to really stay here,” she said, panic chasing through her innards.
“Haven’t got much of a choice.”
There had been a time when she’d hoped to see him again, had planned the day, been ready to tell him off, nail him and call him the bastard he was. But she didn’t want it to happen like this, not so unexpectedly, blindsiding her when she wasn’t ready. “You’ll be here through Christmas?” she asked, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
“That’s the plan.”
He looked so cocky, so damned citified in his starched jeans, new hat, polo shirt and polished boots. He had no place being here. Oh, God, now what? Trying to regain her equilibrium and think clearly, she blurted, “But, but what about Grant?” He was the only one of Kate Fortune’s grandchildren faintly interested in ranching. Sam reminded herself that Grant McClure wasn’t a blood relative, but a stepbrother to Kyle and stepgrandson to Kate. Not that it had mattered during Kate’s lifetime. She’d treated Grant as if he were blood kin, though he’d spent little time with the Fortune family.
“Grant inherited a horse.” Kyle’s gaze traveled to the muscular stallion who was eyeing the intruder with interest. The beast had the audacity to snort at him. “Fortune’s Flame.”
“Joker.”
“What?”
She nodded toward the stallion. “That’s him. They’ve called him Joker from the time he was a foal. Always in trouble, and with his odd markings—” she motioned to the splashes of white on the animal’s coal black face “—it just seemed to fit.”
“And what do you call him?”
“Today?” she said with a twisted smile. “Demon, for starters. I have other names, but they’re not fit for mixed company.” Again she blew a stubborn strand of hair off her face as Kyle laughed, the sound rich and deep, like the first crack of thunder in a spring storm.
Why hadn’t Kyle aged poorly? Why was he trim and fit, his face more chiseled now that all trace of boyishness had disappeared? Where was the hint of a belly? The graying of his hair? The softness of a rich man who didn’t have to raise a finger? Instead he was all hard angles and tight skin, slim in the waist and hips, wide across the shoulders. If anything, time had been inordinately kind to Kyle Fortune.
“I haven’t met a horse yet that you couldn’t handle.”
“Joker, here, just might be the one,” she said, though her mind wasn’t on the conversation, not when there were so many raw emotions racing through her, scraping against her heart. “He’ll be the death of me, I swear.”
“I doubt it, Sam. The way I remember it, you liked nothing better than a challenge.”
“Funny. That’s not what I remember.”
All the laughter disappeared from his eyes. “No? Then what?”
Oh, Lord. Her heart squeezed painfully. “You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
“Already have. It didn’t work out.”
His lips flattened over his teeth and his jaw turned to granite. “You know, Sam, we don’t have to start out this way.”
“Sure we do.” Oh, Kyle, if you only knew. Naked, gut-wrenching emotions tore at her and she could barely breathe. Life just wasn’t fair. Why was Kyle Fortune, the one man on this earth she’d sworn to despise, so damned sexy, even in his pressed Levi’s and the Ralph Lauren shirt that stretched a bit over his shoulders? He probably worked out in some gym, lifted weights until the sweat ran down his body as he eyed the women in their leotards, thongs and bodysuits. Kyle had always attracted females—like horse dung attracted flies. Including you, she reminded herself grimly.
Dusting off her hands, she climbed to the top rail of the fence. “Since you’re here and all, I guess I can go home. I was just watching the place, playing overseer until Kate could hire a new foreman. Then she…” Sam couldn’t say the word, couldn’t believe that Kate Fortune—feisty, fun-loving, full-of-life Kate—could actually be dead. Though the woman had to be in her seventies, she’d been nowhere near the grave when a hellish plane crash over the rain forests of Brazil changed everything and snatched away Kate Fortune’s life.
“How’s your dad?” Kyle asked, and Sam’s heart felt as if it were suddenly filled with lead.
“Gone. He died about five years ago.”
“Oh. Sorry. I…” He lifted his hands. “I didn’t know.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me. You don’t know much about anything here in Clear Springs, do you?” His eyes, blue as the summer sky, clouded a bit, and though she knew she was being cruel, she couldn’t help but ask, “Why in the world would Kate leave you this ranch when you’ve made a point of avoiding it for so long?”
A muscle came to life in his jaw. His fingers clenched, then straightened, and his gaze drilled into hers as if he was offended that she would be so direct. Finally he shrugged and looked away. “Beats me,” he admitted, and she believed him. He squinted as he took off his new hat, showing off thick brown hair that was streaked by the sun. It ruffled in a breeze that swirled through the paddock and bent a few long weeds clustered near the fence posts.
“You know, I really liked your grandmother,” Sam said, thinking of the strong-willed woman who ran a cosmetics company in Minneapolis with an iron-fisted grip and yet was known around these parts for her rhubarb pie. An independent woman of many talents, Kate loved her family fiercely and had been determined throughout her life to make her mark, not only in business, but with her children and grandchildren as well. She’d loved her ranch nearly as much as she loved Fortune Cosmetics. “I can’t believe that I’ll never see her again.”
His head jerked up, as if she’d hit a painful nerve.
“Look, what I’m trying to say,” she added, tongue-tied for one of the first times in her life, “is that I’m sorry she…she’s gone.”
“Me, too,” he said with a heartfelt sigh, then scowled, as if talking about Kate’s death was too painful a topic. Clearing his throat, he hitched his chin in the stallion’s direction. “So what were you doing with the horse?”
“Trying and failing, thank you very much, to teach him to walk on a lead. He’s the most valuable stallion on the spread, and several ranchers in the area have been asking about hiring him as a stud. The problem is he’s got a mind of his own and, like a lot of men I know, doesn’t much like being told what to do. He hates the lead, refuses to be loaded into a trailer and is a general pain in the backside,” she added, but smiled. Truth to tell, she admired Joker and his fierce independence. Though his bloodlines were pure, it was his attitude that often teased a grin from Samantha’s lips.
As if on cue, the stallion lifted his head, flared his nostrils and let out a neigh as a mare, her spindly-legged foal prancing behind, grazed closer to the paddock where Joker was penned.
“He does like the ladies,” she observed.
“A mistake.”
Shooting Kyle a sharp glance, Sam felt her smile disappear. “Experience talking?”
His jaw tightened a bit. “Look, Sam, I know I—”
“Forget it,” she said, cutting him off swiftly. “Ancient history. Let’s not discuss it, okay?” But you’ll have to, won’t you? You can’t just ignore the past—not now, not when he’s back in Wyoming, not when he deserves to know the truth. Her conscience was sometimes a royal pain in the neck. Sure, she had no choice other than to confide in him, but not yet. Not now. “Let’s just take care of the horse.” With that she stalked across the paddock, and Kyle followed. She talked in soft tones to Joker, and he responded as he always did, by bolting to the far end of the corral. Sam’s nerves were stretched tight as she approached the beast again, but this time the fire was out of him, and as quickly as a dime flips when tossed into the air, Joker gave up and allowed Sam to lead him back to the stables, where she unsnapped the tether and fed and watered him.
To her consternation, Kyle didn’t leave her side. As if he were fascinated by her handling of the horse, he followed her into the stables and eyed the old building that was now his—concrete floor, rough cedar walls, hayloft stretching over the row of stalls and tack room where saddles, bridles and halters gave off the warm scent of oiled leather.
“You live in your folks’ place?” he asked, peering around curiously. Sunlight filtered in through windows thick with grime. Dust motes played in a few feeble rays of sunlight that pierced the interior.
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“With my daughter,” she said, closing the stall door. The latch clicked into place and seemed to echo in the stillness, broken only by a frustrated fly buzzing near the window and her own wildly beating heart.
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh.” He probably thought she was divorced, and for now, until her equilibrium was restored, she’d let him think what he wanted. He could bloody well leap to whatever conclusions his fertile mind conjured up.
She was used to speculation. Raising a child alone in a small town was always grist for the ever-grinding gossip mill. Over the years people had made a lot of wrong assumptions about her—assumptions Sam never bothered correcting. “Mom moved into town when Dad died, but Caitlyn and I—”
“Caitlyn’s your daughter?”
She nodded tightly, afraid of giving away too much. “We wanted to stay out here. I was raised in the country and I thought she should be, too.”
“What about her father?”
A roar like a wind through the mountains in the middle of a winter storm surged through her brain, creating a headache that pounded behind her eyes. “Caitlyn’s father,” she repeated. “He’s—he’s out of the picture.” Silently calling herself a coward, she grabbed a brush to stroke Joker’s sleek coat.
“Must be tough.”
If you only knew. “We manage,” she said, throwing her back into her work as nervous sweat began to slide down her spine. Tell him, Sam, tell him now! You’ll never have such a golden opportunity again. For God’s sake, he deserves to know that he’s got a child, that he’s Caitlyn’s father!
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted, moving to the other side of Joker and sending a cloud of dust from the animal’s rump. She worked feverishly, her mind racing, her mouth as dry as Sagebrush Gulch in the dead of July.
“If you don’t watch out, you’ll rub the spots right off of him.”
She realized then how intent she’d been on her work. Even Joker, usually never distracted from feed, had crooked his long neck to look at her. “Sorry,” she muttered and tossed the brush into a bucket. Kyle was making her nervous, and the subject of Caitlyn’s lack of a father was always touchy. Today, in the hot, dark stables, with the very man who was responsible for impregnating her and leaving her alone, Samantha felt trapped. She let herself through the stall door and tried to ignore the way he sat upon the top rail, as he had ten years before, jeans stretched tight over his knees and butt, heels resting on a lower rail, eyes piercing and filled with a sultry dark promise as he watched her. But that was crazy. Those old emotions were gone, dried-up like Stiller Creek in the middle of a ten-year drought.
“Sam…” He reached forward and touched her arm, his fingers grazing her wrist.
She reacted as if she’d been burned, drawing away and throwing open the door. A shaft of bright summer sunlight pierced the dim interior and a breath of hot, dry air followed along. Hurrying outside, she heard his footsteps behind her, new boots crunching on the gravel of the parking area, but she didn’t turn around, didn’t want to chance looking into his eyes and allowing him to see any hint of what she was feeling, of the bare emotions that surged through her just at the sight of him. Damn it, what was wrong with her? “I—I’ve been coming over here, doing my dad’s old job, acting as foreman ever since the last guy, Red Spencer—he’d been here for seven years or so, I guess, before Dad retired—anyway, Red took over for Dad when Dad couldn’t handle the job, but he left a couple of months ago. Moved to Gold Spur, I think it was, to be close to his son and daughter-in-law. Kate asked me to keep an eye on things and I agreed, but now that you’re back you won’t be needing me—”
“Sam!” This time his fingers found her wrist, clamped tightly and spun her around so fast she could barely catch her breath. “You’re rambling, and near as I remember, that’s not like you.”
“But you don’t know me anymore, do you?” she said, her anger, ten years old and instantly white-hot, taking control of her tongue. “You don’t know a damned thing about me, and that’s because it’s the way you wanted it!”
“For the love of—”
She yanked back her hand. “All the records are in the den.” Making a sweeping gesture toward the house, she kept walking to her truck. “It looks like your tractor might need a new clutch, there’s a buyer from San Antonio interested in most of your cattle, I’ve got a list of people who want Diablo—er, Joker—as a stud. The hay’s in early this year and—”
“And you’re running scared.”
“What?” She whirled and faced him, fury pumping through her bloodstream, hands planted on her hips.
“I said you’re—”
“I heard what you said, I just couldn’t believe it. You,” she said, eyes narrowing in silent, seething anger as she pointed a furious finger at him, “of all people have no right, no right to accuse anyone of running!” Throwing her hands into the air, she looked up at the blue sky with its smattering of veil-thin clouds. “You’re unbelievable, Kyle. Un-be-liev-a-ble!” Turning on a well-worn heel, she stormed to her truck, threw the rig into gear and ripped out of the parking lot, leaving Kyle in his fancy new boots, tight jeans and designer shirt to eat her dust.
“Is somethin’ wrong?” Caitlyn, sitting on the far side of the old pickup, pinned her mother with blue eyes so like her father’s as the truck sped into town.
Tar oozed on the shoulders of the old country road. Hot air blew threw the open windows, catching Caitlyn’s already tangled wheat blond hair.
“Wrong?” Samantha’s heart tightened as she shifted down for a corner. The sun was sitting low on the horizon and waves of heat shimmered from the asphalt, distorting the false fronts of the Western-looking buildings. Clear Springs paid homage to the latter part of the nineteenth century with its architecture.
“Yeah, you’ve been acting funny ever since you picked me up.” Caitlyn wasn’t having any of her mother’s double-talk.
“I suppose I have,” Sam admitted, remembering how Kyle had rattled her cage. She’d been still fuming as she’d retrieved her daughter from a friend’s house.
“Why?”
“I just saw an old…friend today. It took me a little by surprise.”
“So?”
Yeah, right. So? “And I have a headache.” That wasn’t a lie. From the second she’d laid eyes on Kyle Fortune, her head had been pounding.
“Your friend gave you a headache?” Caitlyn shook her head, still not buying her story. “You look mad.”
“Mad?”
“Uh-huh. The same way you looked last year when you found out that Billy McGrath had his birthday party and invited everyone but me and Tommy Wilkins.”
Sam’s blood boiled at the memory of that incident. “Well, that was wrong and Billy’s mother knew it was wrong and… Oh, well, it’s all water under the bridge now.” Samantha reached toward the dashboard and grabbed her sunglasses. At the time she’d wanted to throttle bratty Billy and his snob of a mother, who had decided that two kids out of a class of twenty-one weren’t good enough to attend the birthday swimming party. The two kids who were whispered to be illegitimate.
“So why’d your friend make you mad?”
“He didn’t…he just showed up unexpectedly and it surprised me,” she hedged, then tapped Caitlyn’s smudged nose. “I’ve got to stop at the bank and the post office, but then we can get an ice cream at The Freeze.”
Caitlyn’s eyebrows smoothed. “How about a sundae?”
“Why not?” Sam exclaimed as she passed the sign welcoming visitors to Clear Springs, Wyoming. Maybe it was time to celebrate. It wasn’t every day that her daughter’s father landed back in town. Oh, God, how would she ever tell him that he was Caitlyn’s dad? What would he do? Laugh in her face? Call her a liar? Be so stunned that his lying, silvery tongue would be finally stilled? Or would he see the naked truth with his own eyes and decide that it was time to become a father? If he wanted even partial custody, there was no way she could fight him. Against the Fortune family money and bevy of lawyers, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Sam’s throat was suddenly dry as sand. She pulled into a parking space and told herself not to overreact, that Kyle was only here for six months, that even when he found out that Caitlyn was his daughter, it wouldn’t matter. He would be reasonable, wouldn’t he? He had to be. But what about Caitlyn? How would she feel about the man who was her father?
Samantha couldn’t lose her child. Not to anyone. Not even to the man who had sired her.
Two
“What a mess.” With a snort of disgust, Kyle eyed the handwritten ledgers. The musty journal was spread open on the old oak desk that had been in this den for all the years he could remember. The oaken behemoth had belonged to Ben Fortune, Kyle’s grandfather and Kate’s husband, though Kyle couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen Ben sit in the timeworn leather chair. No, this ranch had been Kate’s haven from the fast pace of the city, but these damned journals were a mystery. Why no computer system? No link to the Internet? No modem? No accounting program? This wasn’t like his grandmother, a woman who had lived her life ahead of her time, who’d used a cell phone and fax machine as easily as she splashed on perfume. Kate Fortune had been connected by computer to all of her late husband’s companies, including factories as far away as Singapore and Madrid. Though she’d spoken the language of the wildcatters working for Ben’s oil company, she flew her own private jet. If any ranch out in the wilds of Wyoming should have a damned PC and modem, it was Kate’s spread. The lack of telecommunications just didn’t make sense. Unless Kate came here to get away from the rat race and preferred the leisurely pace that had worked for ranchers for decades.
The phone rang, and Kyle snatched up the receiver, half expecting to hear Samantha’s husky voice on the other end of the line. He tensed. “Kyle Fortune.”
“Well, whaddya know!” Grant’s voice boomed across the wires as Kyle settled back in his chair. “I heard a nasty rumor you were back in town.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Especially in this family.”
Amen, Kyle thought. The Fortunes had always been a close-knit lot, but ever since Kate’s death, Kyle had felt a newfound kinship with his cousins and siblings—a camaraderie born of shared grief for a loved one lost.
“Mike called and said you’d taken a company jet to Jackson, so I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”
“Just in time to get a look at that beast you inherited.”
Grant chuckled. “Fortune’s Flame.”
“Fortune’s Folly, if you ask me.”
“I’ll take him off your hands as soon as he’ll ride in a trailer. I know Samantha’s been working with him.”
“Seems as such.”
Sam. Why couldn’t he quit thinking about her?
“I suppose you know that Rocky’s thinking about moving out here?”
“Rocky? As in Rachel?”
“Your cousin and mine.”
Kyle hadn’t seen Rachel since the reading of the will in Kate’s lawyer’s office. Usually adventurous, with a quick smile, Rocky had been as sober as the rest of the family that day. Dark circles had shadowed her brown eyes and she’d nervously fingered the charm her grandmother had bequeathed her. She’d seemed lost at the time, but then they all had.
“So my horse is okay?”
“I ran into Sam as she was working with him. The stud looked full of the devil.”
“He is.” Grant chuckled.
Glancing out the window as twilight caressed the land, Kyle said, “Sam’s got a kid.”
“Yep.”
“Said the father was out of the picture. I didn’t know she’d been married.”
“Wasn’t.”
“So where is the guy?”
“Beats me. I never asked. Wasn’t any of my business,” Grant said. Unspoken but implied was the message and it’s none of yours, either.
Kyle heard the quiet reprimand in Grant’s tone but ignored it. “No one knows?”
“Well, I suppose Sam knows, and Bess, her mother. Some of the gossips in town try to point the finger at Tadd Richter. You remember him?”
“Yeah. Never met him, but heard he was a local hood.”
“He ran with a fast crowd, rode a big motorcycle, drank and was always in trouble with the law. His folks split up and he ended up in jail, or a juvenile home somewhere near Casper, I think. Anyway, Sam had hung out with him right before he left town and then…well, she turned up pregnant. Not that it’s any of your concern. She’s kept quiet about it all these years and I figure she’s got her reasons…. Anyway, I just called to welcome you to Wyoming.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not a bad place, you know.”
“Never said it was.”
“But you weren’t too happy to have to move here.”
Kyle stared through the panes to the stand of aspen guarding the banks of Stiller Creek. “I don’t like being told what to do. Not even by Kate.”
“It won’t be so bad. You might find you like it out here, discover what it is you’re running from or looking for. You never know.”
“Nope, you never do.” Kyle felt his temper flare a little. Never one to mince words, Grant had let it be known that he hadn’t approved of Kyle’s rootless lifestyle in Minneapolis.
“Maybe you need to slow down a mite.”
“Maybe,” Kyle drawled, though his jaw tightened. He didn’t need a lecture. He knew that he’d thrown away a few years of his life, dabbling at this business and that, making a little money, sometimes losing a lot. Marrying the wrong woman. Working for the family and getting fired was the latest disaster. He didn’t want to be reminded of that failure, nor could he explain the restlessness that had chased after him since boyhood, the feeling that he couldn’t stay in one place too long. And, he suspected, six months in Clear Springs with Samantha living next door was going to be far too long.
“I’ll be by in a couple of days and see that you’re not mistreating Joker.”
“Yeah, more likely that stallion will be the end of me.”
“Or Sam will.”
Amen.
“She’s a bossy one. Likes to run things her way.”
“I figured that much out already.”
“Just remember, she might bug the hell out of you, but she knows a lot more about ranchin’ than you do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that. See ya tomorrow.”
Kyle hung up, scowled at the ledgers on the desk and slammed the book closed. Sam. He hadn’t thought about her in years, wouldn’t let himself, but ever since he’d set foot in Wyoming, he couldn’t get away from her.
“Damn it all to hell.” Rotating his neck, he winced as a vertebra near the top of his spine popped. Tadd Richter—what had Sam seen in that lowlife? And why did Kyle care? It was old news.
His coffee, bad instant stuff when it was hot, was now cold and looked as if it might gel. Kyle ignored the cup. The old chair groaned as he stood and walked to a cupboard where, once upon a time, Ben had kept his liquor. Empty. “Strike two.” No computer and no liquor, not in this den with its yellowed, knotty pine walls, faded prints of rodeo riders and braided rug tossed over an ancient plank floor. It was as if life out here in godforsaken Wyoming hadn’t changed in the past fifty years. “Thanks a lot, Kate,” he grumbled, though the ranch in summer had always held a special spot in his heart—a spot he’d rather not remember.
Jet lag hadn’t settled in and probably wouldn’t. The plane ride from Minneapolis to Jackson hadn’t been all that bad, nor had the trip out to the ranch in his hastily purchased, used pickup. No, it wasn’t the travel that bothered him so much as the feeling that he was being manipulated. Again. By his grandmother. From her damned grave.
Snapping off the desk lamp, he walked in his stocking feet through the long hall that ran the length of this rambling, two-story house, the place where he’d spent many of his summer vacations. Sometimes the family had taken trips to faraway and exotic places—Mexico, Jamaica, Hawaii or India. But the summers he remembered best, the ones he cherished, weren’t when he was ensconced in some opulent hotel boasting five-star restaurants, mineral springs and connecting pools. No, the best summers of his life he’d spent here, learning how to rope calves, saddle horses, brand the stock, skinny-dip in Stiller Creek and sleep under the blanket of stars in the vast Wyoming sky.
Kyle walked up the steep, uncarpeted stairs to the second floor, where a warren of attic rooms was housed. At the end of the hall was the bunk room in which he and his cousins had slept. He felt the worn wood of the door and touched the gouge where Michael had broken the lock when Kyle and Adam had locked him out. Kyle had been about twelve at the time. Michael, a year older and full of piss and vinegar, wasn’t about to let a little latch keep him from breaking open the door and seeking some kind of vengeance for his brother catching him off guard and nailing him with a stream of ice-cold water from the garden hose.
Smiling, Kyle remembered Michael, dripping from head to toe as he’d crashed through the door and sprawled into the room, clunking his head on the end of one of the bunks and nearly knocking himself out.
It seemed like a lifetime ago. Before he’d started shaving, before he’d really noticed girls. Before Sam.
Snapping on the light, he walked into the room and eyed the bunks, three sets now without sheets, mattress ticking faded, tucked under the eaves and in the dormers. Nowhere in sight was the carton of cigarettes they’d swiped from their grandfather, the Playboy magazines that one of the ranch hands had “loaned” the boys or the bottles of booze they’d hidden deep in their dresser drawers when a local cowboy had, for a stiff fee, bought them whatever kind of rotgut whiskey they could afford.
Running his hand over one of the bed frames, he stopped at the window they’d used for escape. The ledge was located close to an ancient apple tree with wide branches, and the boys had rigged an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys to lower themselves to the ground or climb back up. They’d thought they were so smart, but, Kyle suspected, their grandmother probably knew everything that was going on. She was just too clever to have missed all of their shenanigans.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, his fist curling in grief. To think that she was gone—really gone—caused a raw emptiness deep in his soul. What had she been doing, flying alone in the damned plane, looking for some rare plant in the Amazon rain forest? She’d never made it. Her plane had exploded over Brazil somewhere, falling to earth in a horrifying ball of flames. Her charred body had been shipped back to the States, where her stunned children and grandchildren had fought their disbelief and dealt with the fact that the most influential force in their lives was suddenly gone.
Opening the window, Kyle let in a late-evening breeze and stared across the rolling acres—his acres now, he reminded himself. Well, they would be in six months, if he could hack it here that long. It wasn’t as if he was unhappy to leave Minneapolis; his life there had stagnated and he’d never really found himself, never settled down, never held a job long enough to count. No, he’d been restless by nature, and maybe that’s why of all her grandchildren, Kyle had been picked by Kate to inherit this ranch. It was probably the old lady’s way of forcing him to put down roots.
Hell, he remembered the funeral and the closed casket covered with floral sprays, the church packed with mourners, the family members draped in black and fighting tears. Then later, stunned, barely able to speak, they’d sat around a huge table in Kate’s attorney’s office and listened while Sterling Foster, seated at the head of the table, his hands folded on Kate’s last will and testament, had eyed them all. “Kate Fortune was a remarkable woman, mother of five children—though only four were raised by her,” he began, his gaze moving slowly around the table. “Grandmother of what—twelve? And a great-grandmother as well.” He smiled sadly. “Though widowed for ten years, she was still the driving force behind Fortune Cosmetics. She survived the death of a husband, Ben, as well as the loss of her child…well, you know all this. First, she instructed me to give everyone the charms she’d collected at the times of your birth. I’ve taken them from the sculpture in the boardroom that displayed them all.” He passed a silver tray with white envelopes around the table, and when the platter reached him, Kyle found his name typed neatly on one of the packets. Oh, Kate, he thought sadly as he tore open the envelope and withdrew a silver trinket.
Sterling cleared his throat and lifted the neatly typed papers before him. “I, Katherine Winfield Fortune, being of sound mind and body…”
Everyone’s attention was on the lawyer, and Kyle felt his muscles tense. This was all so wrong. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped and shifted beneath his feet.
His sister Jane sat next to him, her fingers tightening over the sleeve of his coat, the antique lace of her cuff smudged with mascara where she’d wiped her eyes. She’d tried to be brave, but her lower lip continued to tremble and she’d clung to him for support. A single mother, she was supposed to be able to stand on her own, to face the challenges life threw at her. But none of them—sons, daughters, grandchildren—could believe that they’d lost someone so dear and integral, the foundation of their lives.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, a strand of cinnamon-colored hair falling out of its barrette.
He placed his hand over Jane’s and met Michael’s somber gaze. Michael’s eyes reflected his own misery. Michael. Always responsible. Where Michael had always done the right thing, Kyle had been the screwup. Michael shouldered responsibility; Kyle ran from it.
Jane seemed to gain some starch in her spine. Blinking and straightening her shoulders, she reached for the water pitcher on the table and poured herself a glass. At a signal from Allison, she poured a second glass. Allie the beauty, a model and spokesperson for Fortune Cosmetics, the rich girl with the thousand-watt smile. Now her pretty face was drawn and pale as she sat wedged between her brother and twin sister, Rocky. Even Rocky’s normally animated expression was lifeless in her grief.
Rocky seemed to gain a little strength from her only brother, Adam, who, as Sterling droned on, absently patted her shoulder. Adam was the oldest child and only son of Jake and Erica Fortune. Surrounded by sisters, Adam was someone Kyle used to look up to, a kindred spirit—a rebellious son. Adam had turned his back on the family fortune, knocking about the country for a few years before he joined the military, only to give it up when his wife died. Now Adam was a single father with three children and trying to cope.
Kyle didn’t envy him. Hell, he didn’t envy anyone here today. Tugging at his collar, he tried to concentrate.
Sterling, catching his eye for a brief instant, flipped the page and kept reading in his soft-spoken drawl. Kyle liked the guy. He seemed to shoot from the hip and rarely minced words. Reading glasses were propped on the tip of his nose, and his white hair, impeccably combed, gleamed silver in the gentle light thrown by brass fixtures.
“And to my grandson Grant McClure, I bequeath Fortune’s Flame, a registered Appaloosa stallion….”
Kyle watched for a reaction from his stepbrother, but Grant continued to stare out the window, never once flinching at the sound of his name. Grant seemed as out of place here in his jeans, Western-cut jacket and Stetson as a dusty pickup in a parking lot filled with BMWs, Cadillacs and Porsches. Kyle silently wagered with himself that his cowboy stepbrother couldn’t wait to climb on a plane, shed the lights of the city and fly back to the harsh life he loved in the middle of nowhere—Clear Springs, Wyoming.
Next to Grant, Kristina, the only child of Nate and Barbara, Kyle’s father and stepmother, fidgeted in her chair and bit her lower lip nervously while trying to appear interested. Spoiled beyond belief, she tossed a strand of blond hair over her shoulder and looked like she wanted nothing more than to flee from the stuffy attorney’s office. She caught Kyle’s eye, sent him a silent message, then glanced away.
He didn’t blame her. They’d suffered through the funeral, graveside service and a catered buffet afterward for the closest friends and family of Kate. Hundreds of sympathy cards, a veritable garden of flowers and sprays and tens of thousands of dollars in checks to Kate’s favorite charities had been arriving in a steady stream. Then there was the press and the speculation about her death, how she’d flown the company jet alone over the jungles of South America, somehow lost control and perished a horrible, mind-numbing death….
Kyle ground his teeth together.
“…And to my grandson Kyle, I leave the ranch in Clear Springs, Wyoming, with all livestock and equipment, aside from the stallion, Fortune’s Flame….” Kyle had barely been listening until the stipulation was read: “…Kyle must reside on the ranch for no less than six months before the deed and all other necessary paperwork is transferred into his name….”
It was just like his grandmother to bequeath him the ranch—the one oasis of his childhood—with strings attached. He heard his brother Michael’s swift intake of breath, probably because of the value of the ranch and the fact that Kyle had never made anything of himself—not really.
Later, Michael had spoken to him alone, given him some speech about responsibility, taking control of his life, making the most of the opportunity Kate had given him.
Kyle hadn’t listened much. He didn’t need lectures. He knew he’d fouled up and he didn’t figure it was any of Mike’s damned business what he did with his future. It was his to gild or ruin.
But his brother was right about one thing. Now Kyle had a chance to prove himself by living here on the ranch, making the necessary repairs and eventually selling it all for a tidy profit, though that probably wasn’t what the old lady wanted.
“What did you expect?” he said to the empty room, as if his grandmother could hear him. “Did you really think you could control me from the grave? Did you? Well, you’re wrong. I’m gonna sell this place like that….” He snapped his fingers and reached for the latch of the window, but as he closed the pane, he glanced out at the starry night, past the old orchard to the neighboring ranch, where a lamp glowed brightly in one of the windows.
Sam.
An unexpected jolt of emotion caused his heart to kick. For a fleeting instant he wondered if his grandmother had planned to place him in such close proximity with the one woman who could make him want to strangle her one instant and make love to her the next. But that was impossible. No one, but no one, had known about his affair with Sam—well, only Sam and himself—and that was the way it would always stay.
He stared at the warm patch of lamplight, a welcoming beacon, it seemed, and gritted his teeth as he realized he’d like nothing better than to walk across those moonlit fields, pound on her door and take her into his arms. He’d kiss her as he used to, with the same passion that had steamed through his blood and brought his manhood springing to attention years ago.
But crossing the fence line to the Rawlings place was the last thing on earth he planned to do.
Turning on his heel, he nearly slammed his head on a low-hanging crossbeam before he stalked out of the room. He felt cornered and manipulated and frustrated as he thought about Sam. As if his grandmother was listening from her spot on the other side of the pearly gates, he grumbled, “Okay, Kate. You’ve won. So I’m here. Just tell me one thing. What the hell am I supposed to do about Sam?”
Three
“Great, just great.” Sam kicked off her boots on the back porch, where a moth was beating itself senseless against the exterior light. She stole a glance past the barbed-wire fence to the few visible acres of the Fortune spread and wondered again what Kyle was up to.
All afternoon and evening she’d been fighting a blinding headache that had developed when she’d first set eyes on Kyle Fortune after ten long years. Throughout her chores she’d thought about him, wishing she’d never have to deal with him again, while knowing deep in her foolish heart that she had no choice.
Why had Kate—a woman Sam had admired for her courage and clear vision—seen fit to leave the place to him, when she had more than a dozen descendants to choose from? Kyle was the least fit to run the ranch, the most unlikely candidate for adopting Wyoming as his home. Why not Grant, who had never left Clear Springs? Or how about Rachel, who many people in town thought was so like her grandmother? Rocky, Kyle’s cousin, was adventurous, a pilot, for crying out loud, and she’d always loved Clear Springs. But no, Kate had chosen Kyle and then strapped him to the place for six long months—right next door to Sam.
Padding to the kitchen sink, she muttered under her breath, cranked on the faucets, then splashed cold water on her face, letting it drip onto her blouse. “Criminy,” she said under her breath before taking a long swallow from the faucet. If she had any brains or courage, she’d call Kyle, tell him she needed to talk to him, and then, once she was face-to-gorgeous-face with him again, admit that they had a daughter, a beautiful tomboy of a girl.
“Oh, right. And then what?” she wondered aloud as she wiped her sleeve over her mouth. Kyle would either turn tail and run—if history served to repeat itself—or he’d demand proof of paternity and then, once the results of the blood tests were announced, probably expect no less than partial custody. “Damn it all to—” She stopped short when she caught a glimpse of Caitlyn’s reflection in the window over the sink. “What’re you doing up?”
“What’re you doing cursing?”
Sam sighed and straightened the sleeves she’d pushed up over her elbows. With the special smile she reserved for her daughter, she lifted a shoulder. “Okay, you caught me,” she admitted. “I’m upset, I guess.”
“Because of your friend?” Caitlyn was eyeing her oddly. Her nine-year-old face was puckered in concentration, her Fortune blue eyes silently accusing.
“Yeah, because of him.”
“You tell me not to let other people bother me.”
“Good advice. I guess I’ll take it. Now, why don’t you explain why you’re up so late? I thought you went to bed an hour ago.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Caitlyn said with a shrug, but the lines of concern didn’t smooth from her forehead.
“Why not?”
“It’s hot.”
“And…?” Sam prodded, walking up to her daughter and, with gentle hands, turning her toward the stairs leading to her bedroom.
“And…” Caitlyn worried her lip.
“What is it?”
“It’s Jenny Peterkin,” Caitlyn finally admitted with a scowl.
“What about Jenny?” Samantha didn’t like the topic of the conversation. Jenny was a spoiled ten-year-old who had been the bane of Caitlyn’s existence since second grade.
“I think she called me.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. While you were in the barn, the phone rang and someone asked for me and said they were Tommy Wilkins, but it didn’t sound like him and I heard laughing.” She swallowed and looked at the floor.
“What did Tommy or Jenny or whoever it was say to you?”
“That I’m—I’m a bastard.”
Oh, Lord, give me strength. “You know better than that, Caitie girl. As for the people on the other end of the phone line, they’re just a pack of cruel ninnies,” Sam said, aching inside for her daughter. “They don’t know a thing about you.” She bent down and wrapped her arms around Caitlyn’s shoulders. This wasn’t the first time her daughter’s lack of a father had been brought to her attention and it probably wasn’t going to be the last, but each time it hurt a little more.
“Is it true?”
“What?”
“I looked up the word in the dictionary and—and I am one. I don’t got no daddy.”
“It’s true I wasn’t married to your father, but you’ve got one, honey. Everyone has a daddy.”
“Where’s mine? Who is he?” Caitlyn’s lower lip trembled slightly and fat tears filled the corners of her eyes.
“He’s a man who lives far away. I told you that.” Why now? With Kyle so darned close, why did those little snots have to bring up Caitlyn’s lack of a father now?
“You said I could meet him someday.”
“And you will.”
“When?”
With a sad smile, Sam said, “Sooner than I want you to, I’m afraid.”
“Will I like him?”
Sam nodded. “I think so. Most people do.”
“But not you.”
“It’s more complicated than liking him or not. You’ll see. Now, would you like a snack before you go back to bed?”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew that she was being manipulated. At nine she wasn’t as easily distracted as she had once been. “But, Mom—”
“The next time Jenny or Tommy or whoever it is calls, you tell them they’re to leave you alone. No, better yet, don’t say anything, just give me the phone. I’ll handle them. Now, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She sniffed back her tears and the trauma, at least for the moment, seemed to have passed. Sighing loudly, Caitlyn walked to the window and looked in the direction of the barn. She ran her finger along the sill. “I was thinking.” She slid her mother a sly look.
“About?”
“You promised me a horse for my birthday, remember?”
“That I did, but your birthday isn’t until next spring.”
“I know, but Christmas is before that.”
“Still half a year away.” Six months—the same amount of time that Kyle had to spend in Wyoming.
Together mother and daughter walked up the narrow flight of wooden stairs to Caitlyn’s tiny bedroom, the very room where Sam had spent her childhood years. She shoved open the window. A slight breeze lifted the faded curtains, carrying with it the scents of dry hay and roses from the garden. Crickets chirped, their soft chorus interrupted by an occasional moan of a lost calf or the mournful howl of a coyote high in the mountains.
Caitlyn tumbled into her bed—the canopied twin that Sam had slept in—and tried to stifle a yawn. “Love ya,” she murmured into her pillow, in that moment looking so much like Kyle that Sam’s throat ached.
“Me, too.” Sam kissed her daughter on one rosy cheek, but before she could snag a pair of dusty jeans and a T-shirt from the floor and depart, Caitlyn stirred.
“Leave the light on.”
Sam grabbed the dirty clothes, but didn’t move from the room. “Why?”
With a lift of her shoulder, Caitlyn sighed. “Don’t know.”
“Sure you do. You’ve slept in the dark since you were two.” The hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck lifted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, “Something more than Jenny Peterkin’s phone calls?”
Caitlyn bit her lip, a sure sign something else was troubling her.
Still holding on to the wrinkled laundry, Sam lowered herself to the foot of Caitlyn’s bed. “Okay, honey, stop pussyfootin’ around. What is it?”
“I—I don’t know,” Caitlyn admitted, her face drawing into a worried pout. “Just a feeling.”
Sam’s throat went dry. “A feeling? Of what?”
“Like—like someone’s watching me.”
“Someone? Who?”
“I don’t know!” Caitlyn said, pulling the hand-pieced quilt to her neck, though it was over ninety degrees in the little room.
“You saw someone?” Oh, dear God, was someone stalking her child? It happened to famous people in the city, but sometimes perverted creeps followed children…. Please, please, God, no!
“I didn’t see anyone but…it’s just like, you know, when you feel that someone’s staring at you. Sometimes Zach Bellows looks at me funny, and even though his desk is behind mine and I can’t see him, I know he’s watching me. It’s creepy.”
“Of course it is,” Sam said, her heart pumping wildly. “But if you didn’t see anyone… When did this happen?”
“A couple of times at school, and then once when I was at the store.”
“Was anyone with you when this happened? A friend or a teacher or someone who might have noticed who was watching you?” Sam asked, trying like hell not to panic, when her stomach was twisting into painful knots.
Caitlyn shook her head.
“So why are you…worried tonight?”
Caitlyn chewed on her lip. “I—I just feel weird.”
“Well, that does it!” Sam pasted a smile on her lips, though her insides were churning. “You’re sleeping with me. And don’t worry about anyone watching you. We’ve got the greatest watchdog in the world and—”
“Fang?” Caitlyn laughed, the concern disappearing from her eyes.
“Yeah, and I lock all the doors and windows at night. This is all probably just your imagination, anyway. Come on.”
Dragging the quilt with her, Caitlyn scurried into the bedroom across the hall and jumped onto Sam’s double bed. She burrowed deep in the covers. “Can we watch TV?” she asked, a glint in her eye.
“I thought you were tired.”
“Please?”
Wondering if she’d been conned by the youngest flimflam artist ever to walk the planet, Sam agreed. She double-checked the locks on the doors, made sure that Fang was in his favorite position near the base of the stairs, then stole a glance through the kitchen window to the Fortune ranch. The night, illuminated by a quarter moon, was serene, not sinister; the only immediate problem looming in their future was Kyle Fortune. Sam climbed the stairs, listening to the third step creak as it always did, but knowing that her life and Caitlyn’s would never be the same.
Kyle swatted at a pesky horsefly with his clipboard as he walked through the stables and eyed the barrels of grain, tack, veterinary supplies, tools and bales of hay. Though it was early morning, not yet nine, he’d already been to the barn, three sheds, the machine shop and pump house. He intended to compare the notes and figures he’d scribbled down to the ledgers in the den, then input the data into the computer he’d ordered over the phone. Laptop, modem, software and printer were supposedly on their separate ways. The Fortune Ranch was finally going to join the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
The stables seemed musty and close, the thick air already gathering heat. Sharp odors of horse dung, sweat, urine and oiled leather mingled with the familiar scent he’d always associated with this place. Aluminum buckets, pitchforks, shovels and rakes hung from hooks on the walls. Along with the fire extinguisher was a kerosene lantern, ready to be lit should the electricity fail.
He heard Joker, the only stallion fenced near the buildings, let out a piercing whistle. The stud was bad news, Kyle had determined, but he would miss the spotted beast when Grant decided to haul him to his place. Kyle would always associate the Appaloosa with seeing Sam again.
With that nagging thought clogging his brain, he slid his sunglasses from his pocket and onto the bridge of his nose as he stepped outside. Harsh sunlight glinted off the metal roof of the machine shed.
The stallion neighed again.
“It’s okay, boy,” a kid’s voice intoned.
Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. Balanced on the top rail of the fence was a girl—somewhere between eight and twelve, near as he could guess—talking to the damned horse. Fiery blond hair sprang from the restraint of a once-upon-a-time ponytail, and her arms and legs, sprouting from cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt, were tanned and long. Boots covered her feet, and dust and grime spattered her clothes. He couldn’t see her face, as she was turned the other way, concentrating on the horse.
“What’re you doin’ here?” Kyle asked, and she visibly started, nearly toppling from her perch as she glanced over her shoulder.
“Who’re you?” Blue eyes over a spray of freckles were indignant.
“I think that’s my line.” He walked forward, studying her, and realized in an instant that she was Samantha’s kid. She had the same proud tilt of her chin, the same full lips and straight, slightly upturned nose.
“I’m Caitlyn,” she said with an edge of defiance, as if he dared challenge her. Like mother, like daughter. “Caitlyn Rawlings.”
“Glad to meet you. I’m Kyle Fortune.” She stared at him without so much as flinching, holding his gaze fast, unlike most kids he knew. “I know your mom. Is she here?” he asked, his eyes scanning the parking lot for Sam’s truck.
“Nah.” The kid squirmed a little, as if she either didn’t trust him or knew she was somewhere she shouldn’t be.
“No?” He leaned against the fence, staring at the imp who was so like her mother. “But she does know you’re here?”
Caitlyn gnawed on her lower lip, as if contemplating a lie. Instead she hedged. “Kinda.”
“Well, either she does or she doesn’t.”
The girl’s eyes, a shade of summer blue, slid away. “She thinks I walked over to Tommy’s house. He lives over there….” She pointed a finger to the west. “But I took a shortcut through the fields and…”
“Ended up talkin’ to Joker.”
“Yeah. I’d better hurry,” she said, as if she suddenly realized she might be in trouble. She hopped to the ground and dusted off her hands, then hesitated. “Fortune? Like Mrs. Kate?”
“She was my grandmother.”
The kid grinned. “You were lucky.”
He couldn’t argue the point. “She left me this ranch.”
“So you live here now?” Her mouth rounded in awe and those blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on a mountain lake. “Wow, you are lucky.”
“You think so?” He glanced around, noticed the weather vane mounted over the roof of the stables—a running horse—as it turned with the wind. “I guess so. Anyway, I’ll be here for a while. Until Christmas.” Why did he feel compelled to tell her his life story? Probably the clarity of her eyes. And deep down, he’d always liked kids.
“What then?”
“I’ll probably sell the place.”
“Why?”
“It’ll be time.”
“If I owned it, I’d never sell it. My mom says it’s the best ranch in the valley.”
“Does she?” Kyle couldn’t help but be amused. An interesting kid, this Caitlyn Rawlings. Precocious, smart and, he suspected, a little cunning.
She was already walking backward toward the lane. “I gotta git. Mom’ll be callin’ over to Tommy’s if I don’t phone her first and tell her that I got there.” Whirling on her heel, she made tracks down the lane, and Kyle watched her go. Instinctively he knew she was a tomboy who caught grasshoppers, splashed in creeks, probably shot a .22 and built forts out of hay bales. He doubted if she ever played with dolls, dressed up in her mother’s old clothes or hosted a tea party. Yep, he thought, watching her slide between two strands of barbed wire and start running across the western acres, she was definitely Sam’s daughter.
“Well, look at you,” Grant said as he stepped through the screen door and eyed his stepbrother half an hour after Kyle had met Caitlyn. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were an honest-to-goodness cowboy.”
“Right,” Kyle drawled, sarcasm dripping from the single word.
“Got any coffee?”
“Instant.”
Grant’s grin inched a little wider. “What? No espresso or cappuccino or whatever the hell it is you city slickers drink?”
Kyle snorted. He couldn’t argue. His day in Minneapolis had usually started with a double latte, though he wasn’t about to admit it here. But he had to concede that his damned cowboy boots pinched a little and his jeans, newly purchased at the local dry-goods store, were still stiff with sizing. “Look, insult me all you want. I’m just bidin’ my time until I can sell the ranch and move on. This is day one of the next one hundred and eighty.”
“Noble of you,” Grant observed.
“Who ever said I was noble?”
“No one. Believe me.”
“That’s what I thought.” He’d never been one to pursue noble causes, didn’t know why anyone cared. Oh, sure, he held a grudging respect for people who fought for something they believed in, but he wasn’t surprised when the fight backfired and the erstwhile heroes got their teeth knocked in. Kyle figured as long as he didn’t break any laws or step too hard on anyone’s toes, nothing else much mattered. His only regret, and one that he’d buried deeper than he cared to admit, was Sam. Seeing her again reminded him just how close he’d been to her. But that was a long time ago. They’d been kids. They’d been as wrong for each other then as they were now.
Grant hung his hat on a peg near the back door, then slid into a chair at the old maple table, the same ladder-back one he’d claimed as a kid, as Kyle poured them each a cup of the stuff he called coffee. “So you saw Sam again,” Grant said as Kyle handed him a mug that was hot to the touch.
“Yesterday. She was workin’ with that devil you inherited.”
“Only one who can handle him.”
“That so?”
“Sam’s become quite a horsewoman.”
Was there a note of awe in his stepbrother’s voice? For some unnamed reason Kyle experienced a jab of jealousy. Not that he had any reason to care. “I suppose she has.”
Grant took a long swallow of coffee and wrinkled his nose. “No one bothered to teach you how to cook.”
“Tell me about Sam.” Sitting on one worn, maple seat, he propped the heel of one boot on the chair next to him.
“She’s been a godsend. When Jim got sick, she took over. Stepped right into her dad’s shoes. He taught her everything she knows about ranchin’, which is one helluva lot, and when he died, she ran things here as well as at her own place.” He swirled the contents of his cup and frowned. “Kate depended on Sam to keep things going when she wasn’t around, even though she hired one guy—Red Spencer—as foreman. He wasn’t as sharp as Jim, and Sam helped out when she could. Then Red retired and everything fell on Sam’s shoulders. Kate paid her and tried to find someone else, but no one was as honest and straightforward as Samantha Rawlings. No one else really cared about the ranch and then…well, Kate died and Sam stepped in.”
“Sounds like she walks on water.” This time Kyle was certain he’d heard a hint of reverence in his stepbrother’s voice.
“Don’t tell her that.”
He twisted his cup in his hands. “Or else you’re half in love with her.”
Grant grinned and ran a hand through his short, sandy brown hair. “Me? No way, and I pity the poor fool who is. She’s one mule-headed lady. I like my women a little bit less short-tempered.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Kyle wasn’t convinced and didn’t bother hiding his feelings. Grant had been a bachelor for years, but he wasn’t immune to women—especially the smart, good-looking kind. Like Sam. “I met her kid today.”
“Caitlyn?”
“Mmm. She was here less than half an hour ago. Looks a lot like her ma.”
“Yeah. Same temperament, too. Kinda has a way of weaseling her way into your heart.”
“Like Sam does?”
Grant grinned and his eyes glinted. “Why would you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Well, speak of the devil,” Grant said at the sound of a truck roaring down the lane. A plume of dust followed the old Dodge as it rumbled to a stop near the house. “I think I’d better see how she’s gettin’ along with Joker.”
“The devil horse? Not too well, if yesterday’s exhibition was any indication.”
“You want to try a hand with him?”
“Hell no. The farther I am from that mean bastard, the better I’ll like it. If Kate hadn’t seen fit to let you have him, I would have probably sold him to the glue factory,” Kyle said, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Sure.” Grant finished his coffee, but his eyes never left the window and Sam’s truck.
“Look, I have to live here for the next six months, but I don’t think there was anything in my legacy about risking life and limb trying to train some self-important stud how to follow on a lead rope.”
“I assume you’re talking about the horse and not about me.” Grant was still staring out the window, and Kyle let his own gaze follow as Samantha hopped to the ground and blew her bangs from her eyes.
“Take it any way you want,” Kyle said. “You know, she looks mad enough to spit nails. I think I’ll go check on my horse.”
“Chicken.”
Grant reached for his hat. “You bet. I made a promise to myself years ago that I would never sit around and be chewed out by a woman before ten in the morning. It starts the day off on the wrong foot.” His eyes narrowed as he rammed the hat on his head. “You know the saying about someone getting a bee in her bonnet? This may just be a guess, but from the looks of her, I’d say Samantha has a hornet’s nest in hers.”
Samantha slammed the door of her pickup. Her jeans were tight and black, her shirt faded denim with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, as if she were ready for a fight. Her lips were compressed into a firm, determined line. Before Grant could walk out the back door, she stormed in, the screen door slapping shut behind her.
Kyle felt a smile stretch across his face, though he wished he could hide his amusement, because if looks could kill, he’d have dropped dead the second she swung her furious green gaze in his direction.
“Mornin’, Sam,” Grant drawled.
“Mornin’,” she offered.
“I was just leavin’.”
“Wait. I was gonna call you,” she said, laying a hand on Grant’s arm—so friendly and intimate it made Kyle’s teeth grate. “What do you want to do about Joker now that Kyle’s back?”
“I’ll move him in the next week or so. No hurry. By that time I assume he’ll walk docilely up the ramp into the trailer.”
Sam couldn’t help but grin, and Kyle felt an unwanted kick in his gut. How many times had she, a tomboy of seventeen, trained that smile on him?
“I guess that’s up to Kyle. He’s in charge now.” Her smile faded and was replaced by her original expression, the one plastered on her face as she’d marched grimly to the porch. Tiny white lines pinched the corners of her mouth, a deep furrow was wedged between her eyebrows and the skin over her cheekbones was stretched as taut as a hide ready for tanning as her gaze landed full force on Kyle again. Some of the starch seemed to leave her for a second before she said, “I just came by to pick up some of my things. Now that Kyle’s here, it doesn’t make much sense for me to hang around.”
She breezed past Grant.
“Samantha? Wait a minute. You’re not giving up on Joker, are you?”
“Maybe Kyle can handle him.”
“In his dreams,” Grant replied.
“No way.” Kyle lifted his hands. “I want nothing to do with that beast.”
She muttered something under her breath that had to do with spoiled brats and silver spoons.
“We had a deal,” Grant reminded her.
“Cancelled when Kate left the place to your brother.”
“Hey—this isn’t my fight,” Kyle proclaimed, and Sam pinned him with a look that all but called him a citified, useless, low-life coward.
“For the love of…” She clawed stiff fingers through hair that was pulled tightly away from her face. A few strands fell into her eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said to Grant. “I’ll handle Joker. It’ll take a couple of days, but then I’m outta here.”
“What’s wrong?” Grant glanced from Kyle to Sam. “Lovers’ spat?”
The color drained from her face. “I just have enough to do over at my place.”
“Fair enough.” Grant didn’t look like he completely bought her story, but he didn’t seem anxious to press the issue. “As long as I can pick up Joker before Clem James’s mare goes into heat.”
“No promises. I’ll do the best I can.”
“All I can ask.” Grant squared his hat on his head. “I’ve got to run into town for a part for my damned tractor. I’ll see ya around.” He slapped the side of the doorframe with a tanned hand as he sauntered out, then hesitated on the porch, the screen door propped open by one shoulder. “Oh, I meant to tell you, Kyle, Mom called this morning. Rebecca’s gone off on some toot about hiring a private investigator to look into the cause of Kate’s plane crash.”
“I thought it was all just an accident, faulty equipment or something.”
“Yeah, that was what everyone assumed, but you know our aunt. She doesn’t believe in letting sleeping dogs lie.”
Kyle felt a sensation akin to dread. Rebecca was the youngest daughter of Ben and Kate, and though she was technically his aunt, she was only a few years older than he. A mystery writer, Rebecca had earned her reputation of having a vivid, sometimes wild imagination. “So what does she think?”
“Who knows? If you ask me, she should quit working herself up over everything and settle down.”
“Oh, like you?”
Grant shot him an unreadable look. “Just don’t be surprised if she gives you a call. See ya around, Kyle. Sam.”
Samantha watched him leave and felt a moment’s hesitation. She was alone with Kyle. Again. Which was what she wanted. Or was it? As Grant drove away, she was suddenly aware that the air in the house seemed thicker, dense with silent emotions, and she had trouble drawing a breath. Being this close to a man who had once had the ability to break her heart was just plain stupid.
“For the life of me I can’t figure out why Kate left this place to you,” she said, untying the knots that suddenly took hold of her tongue. “Grant or Rocky—”
“I know, I know. You’ve already pointed out that nearly anyone in the family would have been a better choice.”
She angled her chin upward and met his eyes. “I think so, yes.”
“Even Allison?”
Her lips twitched at the mention of Kyle’s beautiful and sophisticated cousin, Rocky’s twin, a woman who was meant for the glitter and fast pace of the city.
“Even Kristina.”
“Not Kris!” he teased.
“Absolutely! Your sister might be spoiled, but at least she knows what she wants in life!” Sam had never been one to keep her opinions to herself, especially not with Kyle. “I think your grandmother was out of her mind when she left this place to you.”
“I couldn’t have guessed.”
Damn his sexy drawl and drop-dead grin. “You know what else?” she asked.
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not, so let’s hear it.” His crooked smile stretched across his jaw and she had the urge to slap him. He was goading her, whether he knew it or not. Well, he’d asked for it. She would gladly give it to him with both barrels.
“You’re not gonna make it six months, Kyle. You’re gonna turn tail and run before your stint here is through. You’ve never suffered through a winter here, have you? Sometimes the electricity gives out, and if you can’t get the generator going you have to rely on firewood for warmth. You have to break a trail through hip-deep snow to the stables, melt water for the stock and live on oatmeal, canned beans, potatoes and apples that you’ve hopefully had the brains to keep in a fruit cellar. There’s no TV, no radio except for a transistor if your batteries aren’t low and no four-wheel drive big enough to get through to you. It’s just you and your wits, tryin’ to survive against Mother Nature, and in your case I’ll bet she’d win hands down!”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much are you willing to bet?” he asked, his eyes suddenly dangerous. He crossed the short distance between them and glared at her with an expression as stormy as a winter thundercloud. Hot breath fanned her face.
“I don’t need to put up a wager, because you’re already gonna lose. You’re not going to inherit this place because you, Kyle Fortune, never could stick with anything long enough to see it through. That’s why Kate attached strings to her bequest, and it’s a good thing she’s dead because you would disappoint that old lady the day the going got rough and you decided to take off.” She glared up at him, challenging him, and he saw it then—a shadow crossing her eyes, a tremble in the pinched corners of her mouth, an emotion she was trying desperately to hide.
“Is that what you came over here to tell me?”
“I just came for my things.” She started for the den, but he grabbed her arm, his fingers tightening over the crook of her elbow.
“I don’t think so.”
“Let go of me, Kyle.”
“There’s something more, Sam. Something that’s bothering you. Big-time.” No one had ever been able to get to him like Samantha Rawlings. One sultry look from her and he melted; a quick lash of her tongue and his temper rocketed into the stratosphere; pain showing in her green eyes and he wanted to kill the bastard who’d hurt her.
One side of her full mouth lifted in a sarcastic smile. “Gee, Kyle, how perceptive of you. Could it be—let me see—the fact that you took off from here ten years ago, left me without so much as a goodbye, didn’t call or write, just sent a formal invitation to my family to your wedding?”
His breath whistled through his teeth. “God, Sam.”
“You asked.” She yanked her arm from his fingers and stormed through the kitchen to the hallway. He caught up to her just as she was leaving, a jacket under one arm, an address book and coffee mug in her hand.
“I think we should talk.”
“Too late.” But again that shadow flickered in her gaze and her steps faltered for a second.
“It’s never too late.”
She let out a soft grunt of defeat. “Oh, Kyle, if you only knew.”
“Knew what?”
Whirling to face him, she dropped her mug. It crashed to the floor and splintered into a thousand pieces. “Oh, for the love of—”
“Forget it.” His fingers once again tightened on her arm.
“What?”
“I’ll sweep up the mess later.” He felt a second’s premonition, as if he were on the edge of a bottomless emotional abyss and the gravel he was standing upon was slowly crumbling beneath his boots. “You were about to confide in me.”
She swallowed. “This—this isn’t the time. There’s a lot to say. Most of it won’t mean a thing, but…well, some things are important.”
“What things?”
Oh, God, could she bring herself to say it? To tell him that he was a father? Come on, Sam, now’s the time. Quit being such a coward!
He was staring at her, waiting, icy blue eyes narrowed on her face. Her heart thundered in her ears. How many times had she envisioned just this moment, dreamed of telling him the truth, even gone so far as picking up the telephone or starting a letter, only to drop the receiver in disgust or wad the unfinished page in her trembling fingers?
“I know I left abruptly,” he said, prodding her.
She let out a sarcastic sound.
“You probably thought we had a future, and we should have, but—”
“Don’t!” She shied away from the truth again and ducked past him to the door.
“Sam—”
“Another time, okay? We can rehash the past some other time, but right now I don’t have a minute to spare. I’ve got to pick up Caitlyn and—and I’ll come back later to work with the horse.”
“I met Caitlyn this morning.”
“You what?” Whirling, she felt her face drain of all color. He’d met Caitlyn? Oh, dear God.
“She stopped by on her way to—to…”
“Tommy Wilkins’s house?”
“That’s right. Seems like a nice enough kid. You did a good job with her.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.” She could hardly speak. Licking her lips, she silently called herself a coward, but couldn’t find the nerve to tell him the truth. “Look, I’ve got to run.” She headed for the door again.
“You know, Samantha, I never meant to hurt you.” His words stalked her, trod across her soul. Her own footsteps faltered and her heart felt scraped bare. A huge lump formed in her throat. “Don’t worry about it,” she said over her shoulder. “You didn’t.”
She heard his boots ringing on the floor behind her. She dashed out the back door, ran across the porch and hurtled down the two dusty steps before he caught up with her. A huge hand clamped over her shoulder. “Samantha.”
Heaven preserve me.
“Help me out here.”
“I can’t.” She was dying inside, wanting to tell him, to wound him, to hurt him, and yet she couldn’t, not this way, not until she knew that both she and Caitlyn were ready. Oh, God, what a mess!
“You keep running from me.”
“I guess I learned well. Had a good teacher.”
He stepped in front of her, his shadow falling over her face. “What’s going on?”
“I just think it’s a sin that a woman as smart as Kate would leave this ranch to a citified playboy who doesn’t know the front end of a horse from the back end.”
“You’re a lousy liar.”
“And you’re a lousy lover!”
His mouth fell open and she bit her tongue. That wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but she wasn’t going to retract the words. Their brief affair had been hot, wild and breathless. She’d been a virgin, and he’d been eighteen, randy as a nearly-grown colt. She swallowed hard against the memories and the tingles to her skin. “Just leave me alone, Kyle.”
“No way.”
“I mean it. I’m not a naive, seventeen-year-old girl who worships the ground you walk on anymore.”
His jaw tightened.
“You want the truth? You got it!” Ten years of fury grabbed hold of her tongue. “I thought I loved you, Kyle, and you didn’t care a lick about me. Oh, sure, I was a lot of fun, a good time whenever you were in the mood for a quick one in the hayloft or down by the creek, but certainly not someone to marry or care about.”
“God,” he whispered.
“I wouldn’t have cared, Kyle, wouldn’t have given one good damn, but within three or four months, you got married just like that.” She snapped her fingers in his face, ignoring the old pain throbbing in her heart. “And you didn’t even have the guts to call. Because I meant so little.”
A muscle ticked in the corner of his eye.
“Just some stupid little country girl who was good enough to make it with, but not good enough to—to…”
“To what? Marry?” He angled his face toward hers. “Is that what you wanted?”
I just wanted you to love me. “I guess I did at the time. I believed in commitment. Lucky for me you were so fickle. Otherwise I might have made the biggest mistake of my life!”
“If you were so interested in commitment, what about Caitlyn’s father?”
“Don’t even ask,” she warned, backing up.
“You brought it up.”
“I think it would be best if we kept my daughter out of this conversation.” She didn’t wait for a response, just walked around him and climbed into the cab of her truck. A yellow jacket buzzed wildly over the dash, bouncing against the windshield, nearly tangling in her hair in its flight out the open window.
Sam’s cheeks felt hot and her pulse was dancing crazily as she glanced in the rearview mirror. Kyle hadn’t moved. He stood tall and rigid, his legs planted wider than his shoulders, his straight hair ruffling in the breeze as he stared after her.
Her heart gave a painful kick. Tears threatened, but she willed them away. Her fingers tightened over the wheel as she silently cursed the day she’d met Kyle Fortune and his too-damned-sexy smile.
Four
“Women,” Kyle grumbled, dusting his hands together, as if in so doing he could get rid of Sam and the way she’d already gotten under his skin. It was useless. Somehow, someway, in less than twenty-four hours, she’d managed to invade his mind and slip back into his blood. He had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to purge himself of her easily. He looked at the stallion, which was standing nearly motionless, staring at Kyle as if he were some sideshow attraction. “Women are the single most interesting creation God ever came up with, as well as the most infuriating. Especially that one.” Kyle glanced over his shoulder, but spied only the dust settling onto the gravel driveway. Samantha was long gone. He should have been elated, but wasn’t. Her barbs had stung.
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