Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (26 page)

“But—”

“I know you’ve been skimming,” he said bluntly to his son, and the pain in his heart ached all the more. He’d lost one boy and had found out that his other was a thief. His daughter, Toni, was already a hellion… .

Laura gasped. “No, that can’t be true.” Laura took a step toward her husband. “Brian—”

“Shut up, Laura.”

“But this is a lie—”

Brian’s face was flushed and the sweat on his forehead was drizzling down his chin. “I said, ‘shut up!’”

Brian swallowed hard and Laura looked positively stricken.

Thomas didn’t have time to worry about their emotions. “So now that we know where we all stand, let’s get down to it, shall we?”

“Dad, listen, I just needed a little extra cash for the house.”

Laura’s mouth dropped open.

“I know what you needed it for,” Thomas said tightly, his gaze cutting. Brian had a reputation. With the horses and with the women. No, he never should have trusted the boy to run the company. There were others who would have done better.

His son’s hand was on his sleeve. Tears glistened in Brian’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Pull yourself together.”

“Does Mom—”

“Does she know?” Thomas shook his head. “It’s our little secret.” He glared pointedly at Laura. “Let’s make sure it stays that way, but, if you ever need money again, I suggest you come to me.”

“I will. Oh, God, you know I will,” Brian said, blinking rapidly in relief. Thomas felt sick that this spineless man was his only legitimate son. Then he felt a deep pang of guilt. If Brian had turned into a common, even stupid, thief, who could he blame but himself? Maybe if he hadn’t lavished so much attention on his firstborn…

“Brian…” Laura touched him gently on the arm, but he shook off her fingers, just as he’d shaken off anything he had had to do with her since the wedding day. That, too, was probably Thomas’s fault. He’d insisted that Brian marry Laura when he’d found out the girl was pregnant. He’d lost a bastard son by Roy, and he wasn’t about to lose any more of his grandchildren.

He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Buck up,” he said. “Now, you can help with this. Roy had lots of people who didn’t like him. Jackson Moore was only the most visible. Who were the others?”

“Mom wouldn’t approve of this,” Brian ventured.

“Your mother is never to know. This conversation is private,” Thomas said, and the glint in his eyes was enough to convince both Brian and Laura that he meant business. “I’ve spent most of my life protecting her and I won’t let you ruin everything. So let’s start with everyone who had a grudge against Roy and then tell me about Rachelle Tremont.” He turned his gaze on his daughter-in-law. “You knew her. You were friends, weren’t you?”

Laura shrugged. “I only knew her a little while.”

Thomas thought about his encounter with Rachelle. “She’s as bullheaded as Jackson, and you can’t tell me she isn’t back here because of him.” Irritated, he rested his hip against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me everything you know about her.”

* * *

T
HE LAST PERSON
R
ACHELLE
expected to find camped out in her cottage was her sister. But Heather was waiting for her and the house had been picked up and cleaned. Heather was, and always had been, a compulsive neatnik.

With her five-year-old son, Adam, balanced on her lap, Heather swayed back and forth in the rocking chair near the fire. Adam’s head lolled against his mother’s shoulder and his eyes were closed.

Flames crackled over mossy logs and the scent of burning wood and clam chowder filled the rooms.

“Surprised?” Heather mouthed as Rachelle closed the door behind her. With one finger to her lips, she carried Adam into the spare bedroom.

“Shocked would be more like it,” Rachelle admitted, as Heather closed the door at the end of the hall and padded quickly into the kitchen. Rachelle slung her jacket over the back of a chair and ignored her sister’s pointed look of disapproval. They’d always been different, and Rachelle hadn’t discovered her sister’s need to keep a spotless house. Thank goodness!

Heather lifted the lid on the soup pot. The aroma of clams and spices escaped in a thick cloud of steam. Rachelle’s stomach grumbled.

“Hungry?” Heather asked.

“Famished.”

Heather grinned, showing off dimples. “Good.”

“So how long have you been here?”

“Just an hour,” Heather admitted with a chuckle.

“And in that time you washed the windows, scoured the sink, scrubbed the floors, changed the beds and had enough time left over to whip up a batch of chowder?”

Heather laughed. Her culinary talents left a lot to be desired. Rachelle often joked that her sister didn’t cook in order to keep her kitchen spotless. Aside from cleaning, Heather’s talents were limited to sculpting, painting and interior decorating. Her expertise, or lack of it, in the kitchen was an old family joke.

“Very funny,” Heather responded, her blue eyes twinkling. “Actually, I bought the soup at a little bistro near Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“Ahh. You had me worried for a while there.”

“And all this time, I thought I was the only one who worried.” Heather tossed a lock of honey-blond hair over her shoulders. “Mom called yesterday and she sounded really upset, so I let my assistant handle the gallery and I packed Adam up and here we are. But we’re not staying here. Mom wants us to camp out over at her place.” Heather tasted the soup and winced. “Too hot.”

Snagging an apple from the basket on the counter, Rachelle asked, “Is Mom still upset about the separation?”

“That’s a big part of it,” Heather hedged. She put the lid back on the soup kettle.

“But there’s more,” Rachelle guessed, knowing her mother’s concerns about Jackson.

“Tons,” Heather admitted with a nervous little shrug.

“Meaning Jackson Moore and yours truly.”

“She mentioned you’d been seeing him.”

Rachelle polished her apple on the edge of her blouse. “We’ve run into each other a couple of times.”

“Oh.” Heather sat at the table, propped her chin in one hand and said, “Spill it, Rachelle. Jackson Moore didn’t travel over two thousand miles for no reason. Did he come back because you’re here?”

“No.”

Heather raised a skeptical brow, and Rachelle took a large bite of her apple. She’d never really dissected Jackson’s reasons for returning; he’d said he had come back to close an open door on his past, clear his reputation—and she’d believed him.

“It’s sure a coincidence that you and he are back here together.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Rachelle snapped, her patience worn thin. “He’s back in New York right now.”

“Permanently?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“How long has he been gone?”

“A couple of days, I think,” she hedged, because it seemed like an eternity, though she hated to admit that fact to anyone, including herself. She frowned thoughtfully. “Everyone I’ve talked to in this town, and that includes Mom, seems to think that Jackson’s primary purpose in life is to make trouble for me. I just don’t think that’s the case. Sure, the first article in my series was catalyst for returning to Gold Creek, but that doesn’t mean anything—”

“Has he seen you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Once?” Heather asked with innocent guile.

“At least.”

“Twice? Three times? Four?”

“I haven’t kept count.”

Heather leaned back in her chair in order to survey her sister. “And what does David have to say about all this?”

Rachelle steeled herself, but decided to tell Heather everything. It was going to come out sooner or later anyway. “David and I broke up.”

The “I told you so” forming on Heather’s lips didn’t get past her tongue because at that instant the sound of a motorcycle engine split the night. “Oh, don’t tell me,” Heather whispered, walking to the window and peering through the blinds. “I don’t believe it!”

Rachelle’s heart soared. He’d come back. Just when she’d convinced herself that, like before, he wasn’t going to return, he was back! “Believe it.”

“But a motorcycle? Is he going through his second childhood or what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mommy?” Adam, his eyes glazed, a tattered blanket wound in one chubby fist, walked groggily into the room.

“Oh, sweetheart. You woke up.” In an instant all thoughts of Jackson disappeared as Heather picked up her son and clung to him with a desperation that seemed out of proportion to the circumstances. She nuzzled his neck and he ducked her kisses. “Are you hungry? I’ve got soup and bread and salad.”

“I
hate
salad!” Adam said. He had one arm thrown around his mother’s neck and he peeked at Rachelle over Heather’s shoulders. His skin was paler than usual, Rachelle thought, and she was surprised that he was napping at this time of day. His light brown hair was sticking up at all angles and his gray eyes didn’t hold their usual sparkle. Maybe it was the change in his routine.

Rachelle’s thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.

She didn’t know if she had the stamina to deal with Jackson at this moment, but, obviously, she had no choice. She opened the door and he entered with the scent of fresh air and pine. His hair was windblown, his cheeks red, his gaze touching hers for an instant before landing full force on Heather. “I heard you talked to Fitzpatrick—”

“This is my sister, Heather,” Rachelle cut in. “You remember?”

Jackson didn’t crack a smile, but then his contact with Heather had been minimal and only after the sordid mess with Roy had been exposed. “We’ve met.”

Heather’s smile was brittle. “I heard you came back to Gold Creek.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one.”

“Heather’s here visiting Mom,” Rachelle explained as the tension in the air fairly snapped. What was it about Jackson that made everyone bristle?

“And who’s this?” Jackson asked, spying the boy. His features softened as he touched Adam’s chin.

To Heather’s credit, she didn’t shrink away. “This is my son. Adam, this is Mr. Moore.”

“Heather was married to Dennis Leonetti. You remember him… .” Rachelle explained.

Jackson’s lip curled a bit. The Leonetti family, from Coleville, was associated with banking and money.

“We were divorced a couple of years ago,” Heather said, and then, as if to change the subject, she handed Adam to Rachelle and turned her attention back to the stove. “If you haven’t eaten…”

“Be delighted,” Jackson drawled, though his expression was about as far from delight as a person could get.

Rachelle sliced bread and poured each adult a glass of wine. They all needed to relax a little. Even Adam, usually animated, seemed out of sorts. He wouldn’t touch his soup and ended up curled on a corner of the couch, his blanket clutched tightly to his chest, an old quilt tossed over his slim shoulders.

The meal was tense, the conversation stilted and Rachelle poured herself a second glass of wine. Heather asked about Jackson’s work and his reasons for being back in Gold Creek and he responded quickly, admitting that a particularly interesting case had lured him back to Manhattan for a few days, but that he’d returned on the first possible flight. The glance he sent Rachelle turned her cheeks a vibrant pink.

Heather didn’t miss the exchange and, blowing her bangs from her eyes, shook her head. “So you came back,” she said to Jackson.

“I’ve got some unfinished business here.” Again his gaze touched Rachelle’s as he poured them each a final glass of wine. Her heart was thundering under his stare, and yet she tried to act calm and nonchalant in front of Heather. He shoved his empty soup bowl aside.

“Your business here?” Heather persisted. “Legal matters?”

He smiled a crooked half grin. “You could say that.” He studied his wine, rotating the glass between his fingers.

“Big client?”

He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on the table. “I’m working for myself.”

Rachelle explained, “Jackson’s decided to clear his name. He’s going to try to find out who killed Roy Fitzpatrick.”

Heather eyed him skeptically. “It’s been eleven years.”

“Twelve,” Jackson corrected.

“A long time to cover up the truth.”

“A long time to live with a lie,” Jackson replied, his gaze cutting as it moved from Heather to Rachelle.

Somehow they finished the meal. Heather made excuses about getting Adam to his grandma’s and putting him to bed, and Rachelle was relieved that the inquisition was over, at least for the time being. She hugged Adam thoroughly and promised that the next time she saw him, she’d have something special for him.

“Will ya really?” Adam asked, his eyes growing bright for the first time that evening.

“You betcha, sport.”

He kissed the crook of her neck and whispered that he loved her and even though he was responding to her bribe, she squeezed him all the tighter. “I love you, too,” she agreed, knowing that this special feeling she had with Adam was one of the reasons she couldn’t marry anyone who didn’t want children. There was just so much love she could give a child—her child.

“We’ll see Aunt Rachelle again tomorrow,” Heather said, peeling her son from Rachelle’s arms.

“And she’ll bring me a surprise.”

Heather’s gaze caught her sister’s. “If she remembers.”

“You’ll ’member, won’cha?” Adam demanded.

“’Course I will.” She rumpled Adam’s hair and he giggled, some of his color returning as Heather carried him outside.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Heather whispered to Rachelle as she carried Adam down the steps.

“Trust me.”

Heather cast a dubious look Jackson’s way, then bit her lower lip. “I know you haven’t asked for my advice,” she whispered to Rachelle.

“But you’re going to give it to me anyway.”

“Right. Don’t listen to Mom. Or Dad. Or anyone else in this town. I know I called and said some pretty horrid things about Jackson, but you can’t blame me. He
did
hurt you.” She touched Adam’s button of a nose. “But if you love him, and it’s my guess that you do,” she added quickly when Rachelle was about to protest, “then stick by him.”