Texas Heat (2 page)

T
he town house was expensive. White wrought iron, beveled windows, shiny brass mailboxes. The taxi slowed, then pulled to a stop in front of a small brick security building nearly engulfed by a creeping vine with pink flowers. The guard behind the polished glass window glanced over his newspaper at the taxi and frowned slightly.

The driver turned to his passenger. “You want me to wait?”

That was a good question, Jake thought. He might be here thirty minutes or thirty seconds. Hell, the woman might not even open the door, in spite of the fact she knew he was coming. It had taken five months after J.T.'s death to track her down, and according to the private investigator, she'd been less than welcoming. Getting her to agree to this meeting had been about as easy as branding a loose steer.

“So how ‘bout it?” The cabbie grew impatient. “You want me to wait or not?”

Jake grabbed the small duffel bag on the floor beside him and shook his head. “I'll call.”

The guard watched carefully now as Jake paid the fare. It wasn't as if Jake didn't understand the man's concern. This section of Atlanta, Georgia, was much more accustomed to CEOs in tailored suits than a six-foot-four cowboy in a black Stetson and blue jeans.

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Jake approached the wary guard. “Afternoon.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I'm looking for number 312, Miss Roberts's place.”

The man lifted his bushy gray eyebrows and set his paper aside. “And you are?” he asked, pulling out a clipboard.

“Jake Stone.”

The guard scanned his daily list of permitted admittances. “Yes, Mr. Stone. Miss Roberts is expecting you. Second sidewalk, turn left. She's the third place in.”

He pushed a buzzer and a huge gate opened. Jake stepped inside, then turned to look back when the gate clanked shut behind him.
Damn.
He felt as if he'd just stepped into prison. What the hell kind of place was this that needed high gates and security guards? No place he'd want his kids to grow up. But then, he thought with a frown, since he had no kids and remarriage was definitely not in his plans, where his children were or weren't raised was hardly something to consider.

Shaking his head, Jake followed the guard's directions. Magnolia trees shaded the walkway and bright pink flowers filled the beds. Everywhere he looked was green. A lush deep green that one rarely saw in west Texas. Jake had forgotten there were so many shades of green.

Carolyn, his ex-wife, would have loved this place. The thought made Jake instantly hate it. He wanted out of here, and the sooner, the better.

But he was here for Jessie, Jake reminded himself. He knew that his sister would skin him alive if he didn't come back with some kind of good news. Even Jared had seemed anxious, Jake recalled, remembering the smile in his younger brother's eyes when they'd said goodbye at the airport. It had been a long time since Jared had smiled or seemed enthusiastic about anything, and there was nothing Jake wouldn't do to keep that smile there.

Number 312. Jake stood in front of the door and stared at the shiny brass numbers. A knot began to form in his gut, and though he never would have admitted it, not even to Jessie, a sudden rush of excitement swept through him. Emma Roberts Stone.
J.T.'s child.

His sister.

* * *

“Is he really my brother?” Emma asked for at least the third time in the past half hour. “Is he really?”

Savannah pulled a brush through the child's shining black hair and felt the same twitch in her stomach she'd felt every time her niece asked that question. “We don't know that for sure, Pecan. That's why he's coming over, so we can talk about it.”

“It's almost time,” Emma said excitedly, twisting her head to glance at the clock. The neat ponytail Savannah had just pulled together disintegrated.

Frowning, Savannah straightened Emma's head and tried again. “Sweetheart, if you don't stop fidgeting, we'll never get your hair done.”

The truth, Savannah realized, was that it was her own shaky hands causing the ponytail's demise. He'd be here any minute. Any second.

And she was about to tell the biggest lie of her life.

Forget the ponytail. It didn't matter. But what happened in the next few minutes did matter. More than life itself. Savannah set the brush on the armchair and turned her niece around to face her. Kneeling in front of the child so their eyes met, Savannah touched Emma gently on her cheek.

“Emma, you know I love you more than anything in this world, right?”

Emma nodded, her blue eyes narrowed at the serious tone in her aunt's voice.

“And you know that before your mommy went away she asked me to watch over you and take care of you, too?”

She nodded again.

“That's why you need to do as I asked. You've got to stay in your room and let me talk to this man first. I need to make sure that he is your brother.”

Emma drew her brows together. “How will you know?”

Savannah brushed the bangs from the child's face. “You let me worry about that, Pecan.”

“Is he going to want me to go live with him?” Emma asked quietly.

The fear in Emma's voice had Savannah pulling her niece into her arms. “Do you think I'd ever let anyone take you away from me?”

The child shook her head.

“Of course I wouldn't. You and I are a team. And I intend to keep it that way.” Savannah tightened her hug. “And don't you forget it.”

“Okay.” Emma hugged her back.

Smiling reassurance she didn't feel, Savannah set her niece away from her and looked into her face. “And stay in the bedroom until I tell you to come out.”

“Okay.”

The doorbell chimed and they both jumped.

Savannah's stomach tightened. She looked anxiously at the door, then back to Emma. “Go on now, sweetie. I'll let you know when it's all right to come out.”

Once her niece had left, Savannah took a deep breath and glanced at the window beside the front door. She saw the outline of a tall man through the partially closed blinds. Maybe he'd go away if she didn't answer. Just give up and go back to Texas. But she knew better. A man didn't spend months tracking someone down and fly all this way just to turn around and leave. He wasn't going to give up and he wasn't going to leave. She had to go through with this. Be done with it now.

He knocked this time. Loudly.

Heart pounding, she moved to the door and opened it.

His black hat was the first thing she noticed about the man, and it struck her how appropriate that seemed. And
tall.
Good God, he towered over her own five-foot-seven frame, and his denim-clad chest and shoulders filled the doorway.

“Miss...Roberts?”

He did not smile as he stared down at her with intense blue eyes. If anything, he was frowning. She watched as he removed his Stetson, revealing hair dark enough to be considered black and a small jagged scar by his right temple.

No doubt this man would try to use his size and menacing looks to intimidate her, Savannah thought with annoyance. He was probably used to women—and men—taking a step back. Resisting the temptation to do just that, she lifted her eyes and met his gaze squarely.

“Mr. Stone.” She offered her hand to him and he took it, closing his long fingers over hers. A working man's hand. Large and callused. She felt strength emanate from him. And determination. Two qualities that could make this meeting difficult.

She pulled her hand from his. “Come in, please.”

He dropped his bag on the front porch and stepped inside. His boots sounded heavy on the marble entry. Drawing in a slow, deep breath to steady herself, Savannah closed the door, then gestured to the living room sofa. “Why don't we talk in here?” she said, moving past him.

Confused, Jake stared after the woman. He thought for a moment he had the wrong place, or maybe she was the one who was confused. But she'd looked right at him with eyes as green as a spring meadow and said his name. She couldn't be Angela Roberts, he thought, narrowing his eyes.

Could she?

He watched as she walked away. From her tan high heels to the tips of her honey blond hair, she spelled money. And sex appeal. Definitely sex appeal. Her soft Southern accent flowed over him like warm silk and the faint scent of peaches drifted from her creamy white skin. Her legs were long and slender beneath her knee-length beige skirt, her breasts full and round under a long-sleeved white silk blouse.

Jake could understand how J.T. might have been tempted to take this woman to his bed. Lord knew,
he
certainly was.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and realized he hadn't moved. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

Something
was
wrong, he thought, and followed her into the other room. Very wrong.

She sat on a rose-colored high-back chair and he heard the soft whisper of her stockings as she crossed her legs. He sat on the sofa across from her and sank into the cushions.
Too soft,
he thought almost irritably. And
white.
He almost laughed at the thought of this sofa in his living room. He'd take his firm leather couch over this silly piece of fluff any day.

Glancing around the room, Jake took in the feminine contents: lace curtains, crystal vase on the glass coffee table filled with fragrant pink flowers. Pastel watercolors of garden cottages. A floor-to-ceiling oak bookcase with hard-bound novels and floral-framed photographs. Based on the town-house exterior, everything on the inside was exactly as Jake would have imagined. He looked at the woman sitting across from him. Well,
almost
everything.

Savannah didn't like the way Jake Stone was staring at her. Scowling was a more appropriate word. She'd heard that cowboys were the silent type, but this was ridiculous. Other than her name, he hadn't said one word to her. And though she'd already acknowledged that the man had a rugged appeal, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps he'd been kicked by one too many horses.

“Mr. Stone,” she said curtly, “could we please dispense with the amenities and get right to the point of your visit? I have an appointment in a little while and I'm afraid I haven't much time.”

Jake's frown deepened. He'd nearly drained what was left of his savings to buy a plane ticket, left two hundred head of cattle and spent an entire day traveling just to get here, and
she
hadn't much time? He'd promised Jessie he wouldn't lose his temper no matter what, but this woman was sorely trying his patience.

“I believe Samuels Investigating has already explained in detail why I'm here, Miss Roberts,” he said dryly. “But just in case there's some confusion on your part, I'll explain again. I'm here to meet my sister.”

Savannah refused to even blink as she stared back at Jake. “And what exactly makes you think Emma is your sister?”

She was cool, aloof even, and except for the tightening of her fingers around the arm of her chair, Jake would have thought her bored. There was something going on under that enticing skin of hers, he realized, and though the idea of exploring that territory appealed to him on a physical level, logic refused to give him more than a passing fantasy.

“Nine years ago you had an affair with my father, J.T. Stone. You disappeared and, according to hospital records uncovered by the P.I., you had a baby seven months later.”

She lifted her chin. “That hardly proves your father is responsible.”

Jake raised one eyebrow. “Are you saying you were sleeping with two men at the same time?”

Savannah felt her neck, then her cheeks, grow hot. She'd known this was going to be difficult, but she hadn't counted on Jake Stone being so blunt. Damn the man! “Nine years is a long time, Mr. Stone. Whatever happened then has no bearing on now.”

The white silk blouse she wore contrasted sharply with the blush on her face, and her reaction to his question surprised Jake. He wouldn't have thought a question of standards would have bothered her. “What did happen?”

It wasn't so much the question he asked as the way he asked it that made Savannah nervous. He was suspicious, she knew it. And she wished to God she could answer him, but the truth was, she didn't know what had happened. Not once in nine years had Angela even hinted at Emma's parentage or the circumstances behind it. With both J.T. and Angela gone, perhaps no one would ever know for sure. “It was just one of those...situations,” she said carefully. “There was no reason to burden your father with my...condition.”

He was quiet for a moment, as if assessing her and her answer. “Did you love him?” he finally asked.

“I love Emma,” she answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. “That's all that matters now. She and I are very happy with the way things are.”

She followed his gaze as he looked around the room. “Things appear to be very good, Miss Roberts. Do you have a...roommate?”

Savannah bristled at the implication in his sarcastic tone. She realized an expensive town house like this one would be difficult for most single women to maintain. Lord knew, she never would have been able to afford it on her teacher's salary, but for Angela it had been no problem. The lease was paid up for another four months; then Savannah knew she'd have to move to a smaller place.

“No, Mr. Stone, I don't have a
roommate.
I don't need or want one.”

He raised one brow, and when his gaze settled on the hairbrush she'd left lying on the armchair, his eyes narrowed. “And Emma,” he said, staring thoughtfully at the brush, “what about her?”

Savannah gritted her teeth at Jake's question, but if answering a few questions would get rid of the man, then she was happy to oblige. “She attends a prestigious private girl's school, has piano lessons every Tuesday and soccer on Saturdays. Other than an occasional argument over eating spinach or picking up her dirty clothes, the two of us get along beautifully.”