The Cowboy's Secret Son

They had all but set the date before she had taken him to Pinto that weekend. And since they’d returned, even before she had known about Violet’s death, she had been putting Jake off about finalizing plans for the wedding. The news Dylan Garrett had brought her, along with Violet’s legacy, seemed almost a sign that she had been right in postponing things a bit.

“And because of Drew,” she said, wondering as she spoke if she was using her son as an excuse for something she wanted to do. And that, too, created its own sense of guilt.

“A good private school and a father’s discipline,” Jake said. “Those are the only things he needs. You know that.”

“I’m not sure another school would be any better.”

“He needs to be with children who are bright enough to judge on something other than physical attributes.”

“Like how much money their fathers have?” she asked pointedly.

“Not all children bully those who are…different. That doesn’t have to be a part of growing up. It shouldn’t be.”

“He’ll be in a new school when we move.”

“And you think it’s going to be any different in the back of beyond? You think those kids are not going to bully him?”

There was no guarantee of that, and she knew it.

“There’s more to this than just Drew,” Jillian said.

“Then tell me. Explain to me why you’re giving up a client base you’ve worked so damn hard to build. Your career is just now starting to show the kind of success you said you’d always dreamed of. Why the hell are you throwing that all away?”

Unfinished business, Violet had said. And that about summed it up, Jillian thought. “It’s just something I have to do, Jake,” she said aloud. “If I don’t…”

“If you don’t, then…what?” Jake asked after the silence had stretched too thin between them.

“If I don’t, then I won’t be able to be your wife,” she said, looking down at the emerald-cut four-carat diamond she wore on her left hand. “If you still want that.”

“If I still want it? You know I do, Jillian. Is that what this is about? Is there someone else—”

He broke off when her eyes came up too quickly from the ring he’d given her. Again the silence expanded, filling the space between them. Finally, almost reluctantly, she twisted the engagement ring off her finger.

Holding it in her right hand, she walked across to the huge mahogany desk that was the focal point of the office she had designed for him a little less than two years ago. She laid the ring on the edge, allowing her fingers to rest on it a moment before she removed them, then clasped both hands together in front of her waist because they were trembling.

“I have to know,” she said softly. “We both have to know.”

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice as low as hers.

“If we’re right—if this is right,” she amended, nodding toward the ring, “then I’ll be back. I’m not asking you to wait. But…whatever you decide to do, I have to go.”

“Are you telling me I won’t even be allowed to see you?”

“Are you sure you still want to?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Of course, I want to. I’m in love with you, Jillian. I thought you were in love with me.”

“So did I,” she said. “But that’s something we both need to be right about, and I promise you, what I’m doing is the only way I know to be sure.”

“And if you aren’t in love with me?” he asked, every trace of anger wiped from his tone. It held a note of uncertainty she had never heard in Jake Tyler’s voice before.

“Then…I guess that’s something we both need to know.”

CHAPTER TWO

“SOLD?” Mark repeated in surprise.

“Somebody bought it right out from under their noses,” Stumpy Winters said, grinning. “I guess they waited a little too long this time, trying to drive the price down to nothing.”

“An individual?”

“With enough money to get the paperwork done overnight. Seems like they even took Dwight Perkins by surprise.”

That wasn’t the way things normally worked around here. Most of the Realtors, like Perkins, were in the co-op’s hip pocket, which was pretty deep, giving them inside information on the market that allowed them to get the best deals.

Mark even understood why Stumpy was grinning with such unabashed delight as he told him about the sale. It did feel like a victory for the little man to have the Salvini place sold out from under the co-op’s nose. And to a family, apparently.

“Poor bastards,” Stumpy said, spitting tobacco juice into the five-pound coffee can that had been provided in the bunkhouse for that purpose. “They don’t know it yet, a’ course, but there ain’t nothing except bad luck and heartbreak waiting for ‘em.”

Stumpy would know. Although Mark hadn’t thought about it since he’d been back, that ranch had once belonged to Winters’s family, long before Tony Salvini bought it.

“Maybe it’ll be different this time,” Mark said.

Stumpy snorted, his disdain for the prediction clear. “And maybe pigs’ll fly, too, but I ain’t hanging around expecting it.”

“Speaking of which…” Mark said.

He threw the dregs of his coffee out the open bunkhouse door. Considering the strength of the brew the old man boiled up on the woodstove every morning, he half expected it to sizzle in the dirt when it hit the ground. Despite the taste, though, there was nothing guaranteed to clear the head and get the heart pumping faster than Stumpy’s coffee.

“You take care,” Stumpy said. “We’re gonna have us some weather ’fore the day’s out.”

Weather. In the vernacular of the High Plains that meant a storm, which this time of year could include sleet or snow. Like most old cowpunchers, Stumpy’s battered bones were a better indicator of the local conditions than the six o’clock news.

“See you tonight,” Mark said, taking the bunkhouse steps two at a time.

Whatever Stumpy’s bones were telling him, Mark’s back felt better than it had for a couple of days. Of course, that might be due to the fact that he hadn’t had any marathon sessions in the cockpit lately. And today wouldn’t change that pattern. A run over to Albuquerque to take one of the co-op’s owners to a meeting was the only thing on his agenda.

That could always change, but it looked as if he might have the afternoon free to take the résumés he’d been working on to the post office in town. He didn’t want to mail them from the ranch. That was something that his dad had drummed into him from childhood. The fewer people who knew your business, the better.

Not a bad philosophy, Mark admitted. Not in this case, anyway. Until he had another position lined up, he couldn’t afford to alienate the owners of the co-op. He’d keep his mouth shut about his plans to move on. After all, that decision was nobody’s business but his.

* * *

JUST A GLUTTON for punishment, he thought as he found himself easing the stick to the right.

Flying over the Salvini place hadn’t been a conscious decision, but on the return leg of his trip, Mark had ended up again on the northern boundary of the property. Although the distance this route added to his flight time would be no more than a few minutes, they could be critical on a day like this.

The old man had been right about the storm. The sky was low, the clouds were dark and threatening, and the temperature had dropped at least fifteen degrees since this morning. He needed to get the chopper down before the storm hit, but the temptation to see what the new owners were doing was too strong to ignore. At least that was what he told himself as he headed south.