The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO (5 page)

She backed up again, her hand over her mouth. Suddenly, his pulse raced. She was too close to the edge of the drop-off.

“Bryn!” He reached for her again, urgently.

He was almost too late. Her foot hit the loose scree
at the edge of the steep hillside, her body bowed in a vain attempt to regain her balance, and she cried out as he grabbed for her.

T
rent cursed. In the bare seconds it had taken him to get to her, a dozen horrific scenarios filled his brain. But thank God she hadn't fallen. There would have been little to have stopped a precipitous descent—a small ledge here and there, a few low, scrubby bushes.

He held her tightly as sick relief flooded his chest. “You little fool. You could have killed yourself. What were you thinking?” He held her at arm's length. Her face was white and set. He was rigid, his stomach curling. “Are you okay? Tell me, dammit.” The words came out more harshly than he had intended. She flinched, and then her expression went from vulnerable to stoic.

“I'm fine,” she said. “No problem. Let me go. Get out of my way.”

He ground his teeth. “Don't be stupid. You're standing on loose gravel. I'll help you.”

“No.” A single word. Two small letters. But the vehemence behind it made him feel like dirt.

Unfortunately, this was not a situation where he was willing to put her pride first. He didn't waste time arguing. He scooped her into his arms and took a deep breath. She went nuts, shrieking and struggling until her flailing knee nearly unmanned him.

“Bryn.” His raised voice was the same one he used to put the fear of God into his employees when necessary. “Be still, damn it. Unless you want to kill us both.”

She went limp in his arms, and he stepped backward carefully, keenly aware that one misstep on his part might send them hurtling down the mountain. When they were finally on firm, flat ground, he set her gently on her feet.

“C'mon,” he said gruffly, grabbing up their belongings and stuffing them in his pack. “We're done here.”

Bryn lifted her chin. “I'll find my own way back,” she said. And she turned away and started down the mountain while he stood with his mouth open, watching, incredulous, as she did just that.

His temper boiled. He lunged after her, closing the distance in four long strides. He grabbed her arm, trying to keep a lid on his fury and losing the battle. “Don't be an idiot.”

When she stopped dead, he had to pull up short to avoid knocking her over. He expected her eyes to be shooting sparks at him, but if she had been angry earlier, that emotion was long gone. Her eyes were dull. “Are
you keeping count of those insults, Mr. Sinclair?” She jerked her elbow from his grasp and kept going.

They walked side by side, traversing the wide trail in silence. He noticed for the first time that she was limping slightly. No doubt the result of a blister from not having the proper footwear for the rough terrain. Stubborn woman. He ground to a halt and stopped her, as well, by the simple action of thrusting his body in front of hers. He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her fragile bones. “You can't walk back to the house. It's almost five miles. You're not wearing hiking boots.”

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I don't care,” she cried. “Leave me alone.”

“I wish to God I could,” he muttered. As they reached the Jeep, he reached in his pocket and extracted his handkerchief. “You've got some dirt on your face. Let's call a truce, Bryn. Please. For twenty minutes. That's how long it will take us to get home.”

Bryn knew what it was like to have your heart broken. But the blow-up that happened six years ago paled in comparison to the utter despair now flooding her chest. Jesse's lies had been worse than she thought. He had poisoned his brother's mind so thoroughly, Bryn had no hope of making Trent see the truth.

While he maneuvered the vehicle over the rough trails, she ignored him. They completed the journey back to the house in silence. Without speaking, Trent dropped her by the front door before heading around back to the garage.

Bryn tried to slip inside unnoticed, but Mac caught
her sneaking down the hall past the kitchen. Julio had left, and Mac was fixing himself a cup of coffee.

His bushy eyebrows went up. “What in the hell happened to you, Brynnie? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

Hearing the affectionate nickname stung her battered heart. She opened her mouth to explain, but was overtaken by a wave of grief. “Trent thinks I seduced Jesse,” she said on a hiccupping half sob. “He'll never forgive me.”

And then she broke down. Her body was sore, her feet rubbed raw, her emotions shredded. When Mac enfolded her in his big arms, she put her head on his shoulder and sighed. She hadn't realized until this very moment what a hole there had been in her life without his wise counsel and unconditional love.

He held her in silence for a few minutes, and then they went to his study and sat side by side on the oversize leather sofa.

Mac studied her face. “Talk to me, girl. Are you okay?”

Bryn managed a smile. “I'm fine…really. All I need is a shower and some clean clothes.”

Then she bit her lip. “We're going to have to settle some things, Mac. I don't want to be away from Allen much longer. You're recovering on schedule. I know the grief is tough, but physically you're doing well. With lots of rest and healthy food, you'll be back to your old ornery self in no time. But I can't be here with Trent. It's an impossible situation.” And with Jesse's parentage
now in question her quest to secure Allen's future might be a moot point.

Mac leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “It's my house,” he said gruffly. “I invite whom I please.”

She shook her head in desperation. “You don't understand what he thinks of me, Mac.”

“He's wrong.”

Her heart caught in her chest. Did he really believe her? After all this time? She hardly dared to hope.

Mac's expression was bleak. “I suspected as soon as you left six years ago that I had made a mistake. But bringing you back to marry Jesse would only have made things worse. You deserved far better. And Jesse needed…well, who knows what Jesse needed. So many things…”

“Did you and Jesse ever discuss me?”

He shrugged. “Not directly. But I think he knew I was suspicious of his take on the story.”

“But you never put him on the spot and asked outright if he had lied?” That was what hurt so much.

The conversation had tired him. He was gray in the face suddenly and clearly exhausted.

Though it frustrated her, Bryn put her own feelings aside for the moment. She was here to help him, not make his life more upsetting. She took him by the hand. “Never mind,” she said softly. “It can wait a few more days. Let's get you into bed for a nap.”

He allowed her to lead him back to the bedroom, but he was still agitated. “You can't leave, Brynnie. Swear to me you'll stay.”

She tucked him in and smoothed the covers. “We'll have to take it a day at a time, Mac. I can't promise more than that.”

 

After settling Mac for his afternoon rest, Bryn retreated to her room. She had no desire to run into Trent. She was still aching from the knowledge that he believed she had seduced Jesse.

She spent part of the afternoon on the phone with Beverly.

Her aunt picked up on the tone in her voice. “What's wrong?”

“Well, Mac seems to have softened. I think he believes Allen is his grandson, but I haven't had the heart to press the paternity issue yet. Mac's really frail, and Trent is either hostile or suspicious or both.”

“You'd think that Trent would want the test to prove that you're lying and let his family off the hook.”

“I think he's afraid I'll manipulate Mac's emotions and get him to change the will regardless.”

“I didn't get the impression that Mac was so gullible.”

“He's not, definitely not. But the heart attack has changed him.”

“It will all work out, honey.”

“I hope so. But there's more. I found some letters that seem to indicate Jesse might not be Mac's son.”

 

Dinner that evening was painfully uncomfortable. Mac's animated conversation was so out of character
that Trent kept shooting him disbelieving glances. Trent never looked at Bryn at all.

Mac cleared his plate and finally dropped the “pleasant host” act. He glared at Trent. “Bryn's talking about going home. And I'm guessing it's your fault.”

Trent snorted. “If Bryn wants to go home, she knows where the door is. I'm not stopping her.”

Bryn's temper flared. “Charming.” Trent Sinclair was a stubborn, arrogant beast.

He lifted an eyebrow and gazed at her coldly. “You can't blame me for wanting to protect my father.”

Mac bristled. “I'm not feeble, dammit. Do you really think I'd let myself be manipulated by sentimentality?”

“It's not you I'm worried about.” Trent scowled. “It's her.”

Bryn felt her cheeks flush, especially because Mac watched the two of them with avid attention. In a flash, she was back on the mountaintop with Trent, his hand warm on her breast, his lips devouring hers. She cleared her throat. “I'm no threat to you or your father, Trent. And if you'd quit being an ass, you'd realize that.” Her cutting reply might have been more impressive had her voice been less hoarse.

But remembering what had almost happened earlier that day made her knees weak with longing. The past and the present had melded for one brief, wonderful moment. But it hadn't lasted.

I wanted you so much, I was sick with it.
The confession had been ripped from the depths of Trent's
soul, and the self-disgust in his voice said more than words what he thought of her.

But fool that she was, despite Trent's obvious antipathy, she wanted him still. It was only sex. That's all. Surely she didn't really crave a relationship with a man who thought so little of her.

She stood up blindly. “Excuse me. I have phone calls to make.”

 

Late that evening, Trent sat at the computer in the study, brooding. He could no longer ignore the evidence before him. Jesse had been stealing from the ranch. From Mac.

The knowledge made nausea churn in Trent's belly. Why? Mac would have given Jesse anything he wanted. The old man loved his youngest son dearly. There had been no need to steal.

Cause of death: heroin overdose.
The coroner's report wasn't fabricated. Jesse had taken drugs at least once. The little brother Trent remembered would never have done such a thing. But Bryn was right…Trent hadn't been around much in the last few years. Mostly because of a demanding career, but in part because the ranch reminded him too much of Bryn. And the fact that she had slept with his brother, or lied, or both.

He groaned and shut down the computer. If Bryn was telling the truth about Jesse's drug habit, then Trent had not known his brother at all. But if Bryn was lying, why did Jesse die of an overdose? Neither option was at all palatable.

Bryn thought Mac had protected Jesse by covering
for him. Would Mac do that? Out of guilt perhaps…because Etta Sinclair had left her young son when Jesse was at such a vulnerable age?

Trent cursed beneath his breath and flung a paper clip across the room, wishing it was something that would shatter into a million pieces. He wanted answers,
needed
them. Was Mac strong enough for a showdown? Trent would never forgive himself if he caused his father to relapse.

He got to his feet and went down the hall, treading quietly. His father's door was open, but the room was dim. Quiet snoring was the only sound. Mac slept like the dead on a good day, and now that he was medicated, he'd probably be out until morning.

Trent retreated carefully, only to find himself staring at Bryn's bedroom door. A light shone from underneath. It wasn't terribly late….

S
he was shocked to see him. It was written all over her face.

“I need to talk to you.” He shut the door behind him and moved into the room.

Her nightgown lay on the bed but she was still dressed. The lingerie was a silky swathe of cream lace and mauve satin. He swallowed, dragging his gaze away from it and focusing on her face. “I have to leave in the morning.”

“So soon?”

“Not for good,” he said swiftly. “But I have to fly to Denver for a meeting that I can't handle over the phone. I'll be gone less than twenty-four hours.”

Bryn nodded slowly. “I'll keep an eye on Mac. Despite what you think, Trent, I love him.”

“Even though he sent you away?”

Her smile was wry. “I'm trying to let go of the past.”

He prowled the small space between the door and the bed. “Some of us don't have that luxury.”

She stood there staring at him with bare feet and a face washed clean of makeup. Young, vulnerable, sweetly sincere. “You can trust me, Trent. I swear.”

His body hardened, and he groaned inwardly. How could he be sure of her when sex got in the way and clouded his judgment?

He shook his head to clear it. But when he looked at her again, she was more appealing to him than she had been mere moments before. His feet took him to her side. Her pull was inescapable.

She stiffened when he wrapped her in his arms. “I'm not playing this game with you, Trent.”

The quaver in her voice hurt something deep in his chest. “I can assure you,” he said roughly. “This is no game.”

He kissed her because it was the only thing he could do. Because if he didn't, something inside him would shrivel and die. Because he was apparently weaker than he thought.

She was everything he had ever wanted and didn't know he needed. Her lips tasted like toothpaste and something else far more exotic. His past and his present woven into one complicated package.

She fit him perfectly, her head tucked against his shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist.
He slid a hand beneath her shirt and stroked the soft skin on her back.

When he tipped up her chin, their eyes met, his searching, hers filled with an emotion he shied away from. He wouldn't let her twist him in knots. This violent attraction was about sex, nothing more.

Slowly, waiting for her to protest, to escape his embrace, he bent his head. Their lips met easily, in perfect sync.

He moved his mouth over hers gently, dragging out the pleasure, making his own heart race with the effort to hold back. What had happened on the mountain only whetted his appetite for more. This had nothing to do with Jesse. This was about scratching an itch. Or at the very least, proving to himself how far she was willing to go. He wanted her.

Clothes drifted away in a sensual ballet. Skin heated. Voices hoarsened with desire. His and hers.

This time Bryn was the one to call a halt. Pale but calm, she slipped from the bed and donned her robe.

“I want you, Trent. But not like this. Not with mistrust between us.”

Before he could summon a response, the shrill shriek of the smoke alarm sounded. For one crazed split second, he actually thought about dragging her down on the bed and saying to hell with it.

But the memory of his father jarred him to reality.

He rolled from the bed, groaning and cursing, and shoved his legs into his jeans. “This isn't over,” he said.

 

Bryn knew her blood pressure must be through the roof. To go from desperate arousal to anxiety to fear so quickly made nausea swim in her stomach.

She found Trent and Mac in the kitchen. Trent was swearing a blue streak, and Mac presided over a ruined skillet than contained the charred remains of what must have been eggs.

Trent climbed on a chair to disable the smoke alarm. In the resultant silence, the three adults faced off in an uncomfortable triangle.

Bryn had the misfortune to giggle.

Trent glared and Mac chortled. Soon all three of them were laughing hysterically.

Trent was the first to regain control. “Good God, Dad. What in the hell were you doing? I thought you were sound asleep.”

Mac's expression was sheepish. “I was hungry. And nobody will let me eat anything decent. So I was making an omelet…with whole eggs…and butter.” He puffed out his chest and tried to face them down with bluster.

“I would have helped you,” Bryn said mildly. She took the pan to the sink. “And since when do you know how to cook?”

“Since never. Hence the fire.” Trent dropped into a chair.

Mac raked at the tufts of white hair standing in disarray all over his head. “It wasn't actually a fire,” Mac muttered, sulking. “I went to the bathroom for just a second, and when I came back…”

“That one's a goner.” Bryn gave up and tossed the ruined cookware in the trash bin.

Trent rubbed his forehead, where almost certainly a killer headache was attacking him. He'd not had the best half hour. Bryn felt his pain.

He looked up at both of them. “God knows I don't want to leave you two here alone, but please promise me you'll behave until I get back.”

Bryn hugged Mac. “We'll be fine,” she said, yawning suddenly. “Let's all get some sleep.”

It didn't take a genius to figure out that any sexual overtures on Trent's part would not be repeated…at least not tonight.

There was an awkward moment in the hallway after Mac escaped to his quarters, but Bryn evaded Trent's gaze and slipped into her bedroom with a muttered good-night, closing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was for the best. She didn't understand Trent's motives. And until she did, self-preservation was the order of the day.

Perhaps understandably, she overslept. She awakened to the sound of a car engine fading into the distance. Already it was clear to her that things were not the same. The house seemed empty with Trent gone. He'd always been a force to reckon with, and the world was oddly flat in his absence.

Instead of moping and trying to analyze the situation, she forced herself to get up and face the day. When Mac appeared in the kitchen, he was chipper and energetic in contrast to her aching head and troubled thoughts.

He ate his egg-white omelet and plain toast without
complaint. As Bryn picked at her oatmeal, he cocked his head. “I told Trent this morning to leave you alone so you would stay.”

She felt her cheeks heat. Surely…

Mac went on. “I let him know that if he didn't have anything nice to say to you, he should keep his damn mouth shut.”

Her pulse slowed to its normal pace, and she could breathe again. Mac didn't know about last night. How could he?

She twirled her spoon in the bowl. “I can handle Trent. Don't you worry. But we need to talk, Mac.”

His bushy eyebrows went up. “Sounds ominous.”

“Do you think Jesse's problems had anything to do with his mother's desertion?”

Mac's gaze shifted away from hers. His hands clenched. “Don't know what you mean.”

“He was at a vulnerable age when she left. Sometimes kids blame themselves in situations like that.”

Mac's complexion reddened alarmingly. “That was a long time ago. Jesse was a wild kid. Can't blame that on a woman who's been gone for almost twenty years.”

“But what if she tried to contact him?” Did Mac know about the letters? Was that why he was getting upset?

“Forget his mother,” Mac shouted. “I don't want to talk about her…ever.”

The change was so dramatic, Bryn was blindsided. One minute Mac was the picture of health. And now…

He shoved back from the table and stood up so rapidly he knocked over his chair.

Bryn reached for him in alarm. “I'm sorry, Mac,” she said urgently. “We'll drop it. I never should have said anything.”

He backed toward the hallway. “Jesse's gone. Nothing's going to bring him back. End of story.”

Mac's knees gave out beneath him. His eyes met hers, imploring, scared.

“Calm down, Mac. Everything's okay. Really.” What had she done? But nothing was okay, not by a long shot.