Disclosure: The McCaffertys

  With a groan, he’d thrust into her. Deep. Hard. Pain had seared through her and she’d jolted, her eyes flying open as he’d begun to move. No! It wasn’t supposed to be like this!

  But he’d plunged into her again and she’d felt a tingle of something new. Pleasure and pain. But the pain faded and she’d moved with him, sweat breaking out on her body, desire flooding through her veins. Her mind had spun wildly; she’d gasped for air, wanting more, fingers digging into strident, straining shoulders as he’d shuddered and she’d convulsed.

  He’d fallen against her, gathering her in his arms as if he’d never let go. Which, of course, he had. In a big way.

  They’d spent the next three or four weeks together...then Sue Ellen Tisdale had decided she wanted him back.

  And that had been that.

  Until now. She heard the rumble of a truck engine and watched as a van emblazoned with Grand Hope Electrical slid to a stop in the drive.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  But she was disappointed. She’d half expected to see Slade’s truck parked outside.

  The paunchy repairman carrying a clipboard with a work order was a sorry replacement for the man she wanted.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered at the realization. No way. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—want Slade McCafferty.

  Not unless she wanted her heart broken into a thousand pieces.

  Again.

  Chapter 8

  “I’ll look into custody rights when the father isn’t around,” Felicia Reynolds promised from the offices of Jansen, Monteith and Stone, hundreds of miles away, “but it would make my job a lot easier if I knew the father’s name and how to contact him. From the sounds of it, he may not know he has a child, and there’s always the chance that if he gets wind of it later, he could petition the court.”

  “I figured that.” Jamie cradled the telephone receiver between her shoulder and ear as she pushed one hand through the sleeve of her coat. “But I doubt if that will happen unless Randi McCafferty contacts him or someone else spills the beans—you know, either a friend or a friend of a friend. Grand Hope is still a small town. Anything the McCaffertys do is big news around here. If the father of Randi’s baby is a local guy, he would have put two and two together by now.”

  “But no one’s stepped forward.”

  “Right.” Shifting the receiver to her other shoulder, she stuffed her free arm into its sleeve.

  “So either he doesn’t know or doesn’t want anything to do with the kid.”

  “Looks that way.” Jamie’s heart twisted when she thought of Randi’s baby. All dimpled smiles and playful gurgles, with big, curious eyes and fuzzy reddish hair, the newest member of the McCafferty family had already gotten to her.

  What idiot of a man wouldn’t want to claim the baby as his son?

  “I’ll check all the angles.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “It’s a weird deal, though, don’t you think? I mean, the buzz here at the office is that someone’s trying to kill her and maybe the baby, too. God, how awful! Do you think... I mean, some people around here think the killer could be the baby’s father, or even one of her half brothers, since she’s inheriting the lion’s share of the property.”

  Jamie bristled. “I don’t know about the baby’s dad, but it’s not one of her brothers. I’ve seen them with Randi and her son. Thorne, Matt and Slade are extremely protective.”

  “If you say so,” Felicia agreed, but wasn’t quite done fishing. “What’s this I hear about Chuck coming to visit you in Grand Hope?”

  “Business. He wants Thorne McCafferty to transfer all his legal work to the firm.”

  “I think it might be more than that,” Felicia suggested, and Jamie could envision the petite blonde sitting at her desk, looking out the window and twiddling her pen as she usually did when the gears were turning in her mind. “Chuck’s got it bad.”

  “Bad?”

  “For you. Don’t play dumb with me, Jamie, because I know better, okay? I wouldn’t be surprised if he popped the question when he got there.”

  Inwardly Jamie groaned. “You think?”

  “He’s been walking around the office whistling, for God’s sake. Can you imagine that? Chuck Jansen whistling?”

  “That is a little out of character.”

  “A lot. It’s a lot out of character, so I expect you to come clean with me and tell me all about it, every minute detail! You know I get all my thrills vicariously through you.”

  “Of course you do,” Jamie mocked. Who was kidding whom? In the three years that Jamie had known her, Felicia had been through half a dozen boyfriends and dated men in between. Gorgeous and clever, with a wicked tongue, Felicia Reynolds was never at risk of spending a Friday or Saturday night at home.

  “Talk to you in a few days.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely.” Jamie hung up and snagged her briefcase. Thorne McCafferty had called earlier, requesting a meeting, so she was on her way. Back to the Flying M. And probably Slade McCafferty.

  * * *

  “If you break him, you can have him,” Matt said, nodding toward Diablo Rojo, the orneriest horse on the spread.

  Two and a half years old and full of fire, the Appaloosa snorted as if he’d heard his name; then, tail hoisted high, he ran lickety-split from one end of the paddock to the other. Snow churned from beneath his hooves and he whistled loudly, searching for the rest of the herd, and, Slade suspected, showing off. The colt knew he had an audience.

  “Red Devil. Never was there a horse more aptly named,” Slade said. “I thought you’d already broken him.”

  Beneath the brim of his Stetson, Matt’s dark eyebrows slammed together. “I tried everything. I’ve never seen a horse so damned stubborn.”

  “More stubborn than you?”

  Dark eyes flashed. “Maybe.”

  “I didn’t think a horse existed that you couldn’t break.” Propping a boot on the lowest rail, Slade leaned over the top of the fence. He eyed the colt who was prancing and bucking, tossing its head and snorting proudly.

  “Fine. I take it back. You can’t have him. I’ll finish the job.” Matt slapped the top rail of the fence with a gloved hand, then pointed a damning finger at the horse. “You and I, Devil, we aren’t finished.”

  The wide-eyed colt pawed the snow and stared at Matt as if he’d understood, as if he couldn’t wait for another showdown with the man who was determined to be his master.

  “Yeah, he’s scared to death, isn’t he?” Slade said as they turned toward the house, where, though there was still some daylight left, interior lamps glowed through the windows. Smoke curled skyward from the chimney and as they watched, strings of Christmas lights blazed to life, only to quickly die. A second later the eaves flashed with pinpoints of light again, then snapped off. Again the lights blinked.

  The brothers glanced at each other as the door flew open and one of the twins barreled out of the house, down the steps, and plowed through the snow as fast as her tiny legs would propel her. She beelined straight at her uncles and as she closed the distance in her stockinged feet, Slade recognized Molly—the bolder of Nicole’s girls.

  “Dumb Buandita won’t let me turn on the lights,” Molly cried, throwing herself on the mercy of her uncles. Her lower lip protruded and she had to blink rapidly to keep snowflakes from catching on her eyelashes.

  Slade lifted the little girl into his arms. “Juanita is giving you a hard time? I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true!” Molly insisted, scrunching up all her features and folding her chubby little arms over her chest. “She’s mean!”

  “Mean? Juanita? Nah!” He touched his nose to hers. “But when she figures out you ran out of the house in the snow in just your socks, she’ll probably skin you al—er, she won’t be happy.”

  “She yelled at me.” Molly’s face was suddenly angelic, the picture of four-year-old innocence.

  Slade hugged her more fiercely
to his chest as he carried her up the rise toward the house, Matt close behind. “Why do I have the feeling that you yanked Juanita’s chain?”

  “She’s got no chain!” Molly insisted as Juanita, eyes round, lips pursed, gray hair springing from its usually neat coil, appeared in the open front door.

  “There you are! Dios, muchacha, it’s freezing out here and you without a coat. Or shoes!” She made the sign of the cross over her ample chest. “You’ll catch your death.”

  Molly squirmed ever tighter to Slade.

  “She seems to think you’re abusing her by not letting her turn on the Christmas lights,” he explained.

  “Forever she is with the switch. On, off. On, off. The fuse will blow, and then Thorne, he will be upset because of his computer. You, little one,” she said, wagging a finger at Molly, “will leave the lights alone. And you will not go out without boots and a coat.” She looked pointedly at the four-year-old before a timer started chiming from deep inside the house. “My pies!” Turning quickly and muttering under her breath in Spanish, Juanita hurried down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  “She’s an old crab,” Molly stated.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I want Mommy.”

  “She’s at work.”

  “Then I want Daddy!” As they walked up the steps to the front porch, Molly pushed herself out of Slade’s arms, slid onto the worn floorboards and scampered inside, off to look for Thorne. Though he was legally only their stepfather, both girls had dubbed him “Daddy” since their biological father, Paul Stevenson, an attorney in San Francisco, was out of the picture. Paul and his new wife just didn’t have time for two rambunctious four-year-olds. In Slade’s opinion the guy was a first-class jerk, but then, most lawyers were.

  His jaw tightened as he thought of Jamie, an attorney in her own right. She, he believed, was different. Though she tried to don the icy, all-business veneer of a corporate lawyer, he knew better.

  He stepped into the entry as Juanita’s voice rang clearly from the back of the house. “Leave your boots on the porch. I just cleaned the floors.”

  The brothers exchanged glances, then, grudgingly, used the bootjack before walking inside where the house smelled of roasting beef, fragrant pine boughs and cinnamon.

  Nicole, with the questionable help of the twins, had spent the past few days decorating the house. Garlands of greenery had been woven with silver and gold ribbons and punctuated with sprigs of holly before being draped along the railing of the staircase and across the mantel. Colored lights glittered around all the windows and the living room furniture had been arranged to make room for a Christmas tree that had yet to be cut.

  As Matt and Slade hung up their jackets, Thorne, limping slightly, ambled down the hallway. He was carrying Molly, and Mindy, the shyer twin, tagged behind them. “Striker called,” he announced. “He’s on his way over.”

  “Just Striker?” Matt asked.

  “I think so. Kelly will be here later. She’s over at the sheriff’s department talking to Espinoza.”

  Roberto Espinoza had been Kelly’s boss and was still in charge of the investigation into Randi’s accident.

  The front door opened, and Jenny Riley, a college student who looked after the girls, entered, causing Molly to scramble from Thorne’s arms and both twins to demand her attention. “Just in time?” Jenny asked with an arch of one eyebrow at the uncles. “These little angels haven’t been giving you any trouble, have they?”

  “Not a second,” Thorne lied, and Jenny laughed knowingly. “Come on, girls, I’ve got a surprise.”

  “What? What?” Molly asked, jumping up and down while Mindy tugged on the hem of Jenny’s jacket.

  “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?”

  “What is it?” Molly demanded.

  “I’ll tell the both of you when we’re alone, but it’s a secret. A Christmas secret!”

  “Oh.” Mindy held a finger to her lips.

  “That’s right.” Glancing pointedly at the McCafferty brothers, Jenny whispered, “We can’t tell your uncles. It’ll spoil the surprise.” She hung her jacket on a peg near the door, then, carrying a suspiciously large oversize bag slung over one shoulder, shepherded the girls upstairs. “Come on, now, but don’t say a word...”

  For the next fifteen minutes the brothers discussed the ranch, Matt’s upcoming wedding and, of course, the investigation into Randi’s accident.

  Kurt Striker, looking like a Hollywood interpretation of a rugged, lantern-jawed private detective, arrived half an hour later with the news that he’d located two maroon Fords that had been involved in accidents and had subsequently been repaired.

  “Unfortunately, neither vehicle was anywhere near Glacier Park on the day of Randi’s accident. The pickup was involved in a three-car pileup west of here—an old farmer was driving it on his way fishing. The other one, a minivan, hit a telephone pole when the owner’s fifteen-year-old took it out for a joyride behind his parents’ back.”

  “So we’re back to square one,” Thorne declared from his position on the couch.

  “We’ll keep looking,” Striker said, his jaw set in determination. “Either the car wasn’t repaired, we haven’t found the right shop yet, or the work was done under the table, in a shop where they don’t keep records. But we’ll find it.”

  “If it exists,” Matt said, as Randi, carrying the baby, walked into the room.

  “You don’t remember another vehicle?” Striker turned his attention to Randi and the baby, and if possible, his features hardened.

  “No, and I think I’ve told you that before. If and when I do, you’ll be the first to know,” she said, sarcasm lacing her words. She sat in the old rocker, the bottom of her foot resting against the coffee table as she cradled her son to her shoulder.

  “What about the guy Nicole saw at the hospital? The one dressed as a doctor, any news there?” Randi asked, as if to prove to her brothers that she was trying to be helpful. Matt propped himself against the windowsill and Slade sat on the end of the piano bench. Kurt sat in the recliner, but he was leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes focused hard on Randi. She returned his stare and Slade thought, for just a second, that he saw more than anger in Randi’s eyes...it was almost as if...nah! She wouldn’t be interested in Striker, wouldn’t find him attractive...

  “Kelly and I have been talking to some of your acquaintances in Seattle,” Striker said.

  “I thought you already did that.”

  “We widened the circle.”

  “To include?”

  “Anyone you had any dealing with in the past couple of years.”

  “That’s quite a task, considering how many people I come in contact with in my job.” Gently she pushed the rocker, her hand rubbing her baby’s back.

  “We even got hold of your agent in New York. He said you were working on a book about relationships, that you were using information you’d gathered while working at the Clarion, maybe some actual case histories, that kind of thing.”

  “I don’t remember authorizing you to contact my agent.”

  “You didn’t. I did,” Slade volunteered. “Since your memory is so iffy, I figured it would be the only way to piece what happened together.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I did. But you were in a coma. And I asked Kurt to dig deep, Randi, to turn your life upside down. I figured you’d be upset, but I decided that was just tough. It’s time to nail the bastard.”

  “But my book has nothing to do with it. Or my job...”

  “Then what?” Slade demanded. “What does have something to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, and some of the starch left her spine. Slade was reminded of her as a little girl, trying to gain approval from older brothers who didn’t want anything to do with her. Now, it seemed, the tables had turned.

  From his spot at the window, Matt shot Slade a glance. “Jamie Parsons is here.” He
couldn’t help but grin widely, which irritated the hell out of Slade.

  “Good.” Thorne straightened. “I asked her over.”

  “Now what?” Randi mumbled suspiciously.

  “Actually, it’s not about you this time. I’m going to contract the law firm to work on another property transfer here in Montana, but I’m sure your name might come up.”

  “Perfect, just what I need, all my brothers trying to run my life.”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea,” Slade suggested, pushing himself upright as the doorbell chimed. “’Cause from where I stand, it looks like you could use all the help you can get.” He walked to the door and cursed himself for wanting to see Jamie again. Tiny footsteps pounded, and the twins careened down the stairs.

  Jamie was standing, briefcase in hand, on the porch. God, she was beautiful, her cheeks tinged pink from the cold, some strands of sunstreaked hair escaping from the knot at the back of her neck. “Come on in,” he invited, offering her an easy smile and noticing the wariness in her hazel eyes.

  Because of the kiss.

  “Thanks.”

  “Get the furnace going?”

  A smile touched her lips. “Finally. The thermostat was shot.”

  “Are we getting a Christmas tree today?” one of the girls asked, tugging on Slade’s sleeve.

  “Maybe later.”

  “You promised!” Molly charged.

  “I know, but we have company now.”

  Molly glared pointedly at Jamie as if wishing her to evaporate.

  “You said we could get one today,” Mindy, the shyer girl, reminded her uncle.

  “Okay, then we will.” Squatting to be at eye level with the girls, he said, “As soon as I’m finished. Now you get bundled up, okay? No more running outside in stockings!” He looked up at Jamie. “Don’t ask.” Then he touched Molly’s dark curls. “We’ll take General out with the sleigh and get the tree.”

  “Promise?” Molly asked, her little face screwed up in disbelief.

  Slade lifted a hand. Held up two fingers. “On my honor. Now, have Juanita pack us a thermos of hot chocolate and maybe some cookies, then get Jenny to find your snowsuits. And boots. But don’t bug me anymore. When I’m done here, I’ll take you. We’ll find the best Christmas tree on the ranch!”