The Truth About Jane Doe

“It’s not going to make any difference,” was her sharp response.

“Son, I’m sorry about your dad,” Pete said. “Even though we were on opposite sides of the fence, I respected him.”

Another sincere condolence. Matthew began to wonder if he was on the right side of the fence.

“Thank you.” He nodded at C.J., “Like I said, it’s a good offer.” With those words he headed down the steps and back to his truck.

C.J. GOT UP FROM THE SWING and stood by the railing. Her eyes followed Matthew’s lean figure. Beneath those expensive clothes was a superb well-muscled body. Some women might be attracted to that, but she wasn’t. Then why had she felt a weakness in her stomach when he’d looked at her? It was the uncanny resemblance to his father that made her so aware of him, she told herself. Yet he wasn’t like his father, not really. She had a feeling Mr. Sloan, Jr., could be quite ruthless when provoked. She’d do well to remember he was the enemy with a capital E.

Pete sat down and took out his pipe and tobacco. He watched C.J. with a curious eye. “Mighty handsome young man,” he commented.

C.J. whirled around. “I hadn’t noticed,” she said. The lie falling so easily from her lips startled her. She resumed her seat on the swing with a frown.

“Really?” He lit his pipe with amusement and puffed on it a couple of times to get it started. “From the way you were staring at him, I’d say you noticed plenty.”

The swing creaked at her agitated movements. “I was just thinking how much he looks like his father.”

“Strong resemblance,” Pete conceded dryly. Smoke swirled around his face.

“Yes, he’s handsome and I noticed,” she snapped, unable to lie to Pete for any length of time. “But he’s too citified,” she added. “I bet he couldn’t wait to get out of our sight to wipe the dust off those fancy boots.”

Her words were flippant, but her emotions weren’t. She had stared at Matthew Sloan, Jr., and for the very reason Pete was insinuating. She was attracted to him. Okay, she admitted it. But she couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to any man, especially Matthew Sloan, Jr.

He wanted her to take the money. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. The message was there—take the money and be happy. But happiness, for her, lay in finding the truth about her birth. That was the only thing that mattered to her. Having had loving parents, Matthew Sloan, Jr., wouldn’t understand that.

“So, what do you think about the offer?” Pete asked.

C.J. slung her dark hair over her shoulder. “The Townsends think I’ll take the money, but they don’t know me very well if they think it’s money I want.”

THE NIGHT WRAPPED C.J. in a warm cocoon. She sat in the swing, her legs curled beneath her. Crickets chirped a deafening song. A wolf howled in the distance; several horses whinnied. Familiar sounds, but they were lost on C.J. Her thoughts were inward.

She had expected various different responses from the Townsends, but a million dollars wasn’t among them. The offer still shook her. What would she do with all that money? She had no idea. There was only one thing she wanted: to find her parents. If Matthew Sloan, Jr., had said, “Release your claim on the land and money, and the Townsends will tell you about your parents,” she would have taken the offer in a heartbeat. She sat perfectly still as something occurred to her. “That’s it,” she said aloud.

She stood up and walked to the railing, her face embracing the coolness of the night. “That’s it,” she said again. “That’s it.” A smile tugged at her lips. It was so simple. She intended to fight Matthew Sloan, Jr., every step of the way. The land and money gave her prestige, but it wasn’t prestige she wanted. It wasn’t money, either. She wanted an identity.

C.J. had racked her brain so many times trying to find the reason behind Victoria’s gift. Now she thought she knew. The land gave her the power to force the truth. Victoria had known that the Townsends wouldn’t stand for an outsider owning Cober land; she’d known that eventually they’d find a way to break the will. But C.J. held claim to the land now and had power over the Townsends. A plan had formed in her mind, and she knew what she had to do. Matthew Sloan, Jr., was in for a big surprise.

CHAPTER FOUR

MATTHEW ARRIVED at the office early because his mother had gone over to the church to help the reverend work on his books. She’d been the church secretary since he was a small boy. Little by little she was putting her life back together. She just needed time, as he did.

He stopped short as he came through the front door. Miss Emma was there, as usual, but what caught his attention was the big birdcage sitting on the corner of her desk and the colorful parrot inside.

“Pretty boy. Pretty boy,” the parrot shrieked.

The squawking voice irritated Matthew, and he gritted his teeth. “Miss Emma, what’s that bird doing here?”

Miss Emma raised her eyebrows. “Now don’t go getting your nose out of joint. Herman’s not feeling well and I’m taking him to the vet.”

“Herman bad. Herman bad,” the parrot said.

Matthew eyed the green bird, his plumage shot here and there with yellow and orange, and said the first thing that entered his head. “The phrase chicken-fried comes to mind.”

“Matthew Sloan, Jr., bite your tongue,” Miss Emma scolded, and grabbed her purse. “I’ll take him to Doc Lowe’s right now.”

“And take him home afterward, because I don’t want to listen to him babbling all day.”

Miss Emma flashed him a sharp glance, then picked up the cage. “You know, young Matthew, you’re too wound up. You should let go and have some fun. Find yourself a girl, get married and have some kids. Don’t let life pass you by like I did.”

“Herman bad. Herman bad. Pretty boy. Pretty boy.”

The parrot’s words followed him into his office. He wasn’t wound up. And his life wasn’t anything like Miss Emma’s. She had taken care of her sick mother until the old woman died, and after that she’d begun to work for his father. By then all the eligible bachelors were gone, and Miss Emma had become an old maid before she knew it.

Wound up. Dammit, he had to admit he was. He was coiled so tightly inside he felt as if he was going to explode. The past month had been horrendous—his dad’s illness, then death, and taking care of his mom. Now he had to deal with his dad’s caseload while worrying about his own. Everything seemed to be crowding in on him.

With a deep sigh he rubbed both hands over his face and sank into his chair. He had lived with pressure all his life, so he should be used to it. Living in his father’s shadow hadn’t been easy; the very best had always been expected of him. That was probably the main reason he’d chosen New York to practice law. He had wanted to live his own life, and to do that he’d had to leave Coberville, Texas.

He groaned. Had he been trying to prove something to his dad all these years—that he was a better lawyer, had a more exciting life and made more money? Matthew raked his hands through his hair. If he had been, he’d fallen short somewhere along the road, because his dad had been happy and content while those feelings still eluded him. Maybe his dad was right, and a person could never shake his roots.

That thought reminded him of C. J. Doe. All her life, she’d been searching for her roots, while he… Had he been running from his? He didn’t like to think so because he loved his father, and Coberville had a way of getting into his blood.

God, this soul-searching was driving him insane. Something about coming home always had him questioning his motives and the reasons for everything he’d done in his life. But he was doing what he wanted to do—practicing criminal law. And he was doing it where he wanted to do it—in New York. Happiness and all the rest would follow. Wouldn’t it?

Scooting his chair forward, he decided it was time to get his mind back on business. The Townsend case could be a problem and keep him in Coberville longer than he wanted to stay. He stared at the telephone. Should he call the Townsends? No, he’d told C. J. Doe he’d give her a couple of days. Maybe she’d realize how foolish she was being. But he knew that hope was in vain. Her pride, the same pride he’d witnessed in her as a child, wouldn’t let her. She was going to hold on to the land, making his life miserable. He’d be forced to take it away from her. The mere prospect knotted his stomach. Why couldn’t she just accept the damn money and get on with her life?

He leaned forward and picked up a pencil, tapping it against the desk. Suddenly all his frustrations welled up inside him and he threw the pencil. It bounced off the phone and landed on the carpet near the door.

Matthew stared at the pencil, then slowly raised his eyes to see C. J. Doe standing in his doorway. For a moment he was sure he’d imagined her, conjured her up. Last night she’d flitted in and out of his dreams with her long black hair cascading around her and green eyes beckoning.

Now her long black hair fell in a heavy braid down her back. Tight jeans molded her legs and hips. A green shirt intensified the color of her eyes—liquid green eyes that weren’t beckoning. They were somber and staring at him.

Slowly he got to his feet. “Miss Doe, come in.”

C.J. stepped farther into the room, then stopped. “Miss Emma wasn’t at her desk so I—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. He couldn’t resist a grin.

“Just be grateful she’s gone or she’d be making you sit there for a while.”

“Miss Emma’s a stickler for procedure, all right. Your dad used to tease her about it,” she said, enjoying the grin on his face. The New York lawyer had a devastating smile.

How did she know so much about his dad? Matthew wondered. As he shook that thought from his mind, he gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

“No, thank you, I won’t be staying that long.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. The offer had to be the reason she’d come here. He could have sworn she’d never change her mind, but money was always a good persuader. Disappointment ran through him, and he didn’t understand why. Because if C. J. Doe took the offer, it was going to make his life a whole lot easier.

“I assume you’re here about the offer,” he prompted.