Kitabı oku: «The Millionaire and the Cowgirl», sayfa 3

Three

“Great, just great.” Sam kicked off her boots on the back porch, where a moth was beating itself senseless against the exterior light. She stole a glance past the barbed-wire fence to the few visible acres of the Fortune spread and wondered again what Kyle was up to.

All afternoon and evening she’d been fighting a blinding headache that had developed when she’d first set eyes on Kyle Fortune after ten long years. Throughout her chores she’d thought about him, wishing she’d never have to deal with him again, while knowing deep in her foolish heart that she had no choice.

Why had Kate—a woman Sam had admired for her courage and clear vision—seen fit to leave the place to him, when she had more than a dozen descendants to choose from? Kyle was the least fit to run the ranch, the most unlikely candidate for adopting Wyoming as his home. Why not Grant, who had never left Clear Springs? Or how about Rachel, who many people in town thought was so like her grandmother? Rocky, Kyle’s cousin, was adventurous, a pilot, for crying out loud, and she’d always loved Clear Springs. But no, Kate had chosen Kyle and then strapped him to the place for six long months—right next door to Sam.

Padding to the kitchen sink, she muttered under her breath, cranked on the faucets, then splashed cold water on her face, letting it drip onto her blouse. “Criminy,” she said under her breath before taking a long swallow from the faucet. If she had any brains or courage, she’d call Kyle, tell him she needed to talk to him, and then, once she was face-to-gorgeous-face with him again, admit that they had a daughter, a beautiful tomboy of a girl.

“Oh, right. And then what?” she wondered aloud as she wiped her sleeve over her mouth. Kyle would either turn tail and run—if history served to repeat itself—or he’d demand proof of paternity and then, once the results of the blood tests were announced, probably expect no less than partial custody. “Damn it all to—” She stopped short when she caught a glimpse of Caitlyn’s reflection in the window over the sink. “What’re you doing up?”

“What’re you doing cursing?”

Sam sighed and straightened the sleeves she’d pushed up over her elbows. With the special smile she reserved for her daughter, she lifted a shoulder. “Okay, you caught me,” she admitted. “I’m upset, I guess.”

“Because of your friend?” Caitlyn was eyeing her oddly. Her nine-year-old face was puckered in concentration, her Fortune blue eyes silently accusing.

“Yeah, because of him.”

“You tell me not to let other people bother me.”

“Good advice. I guess I’ll take it. Now, why don’t you explain why you’re up so late? I thought you went to bed an hour ago.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Caitlyn said with a shrug, but the lines of concern didn’t smooth from her forehead.

“Why not?”

“It’s hot.”

“And…?” Sam prodded, walking up to her daughter and, with gentle hands, turning her toward the stairs leading to her bedroom.

“And…” Caitlyn worried her lip.

“What is it?”

“It’s Jenny Peterkin,” Caitlyn finally admitted with a scowl.

“What about Jenny?” Samantha didn’t like the topic of the conversation. Jenny was a spoiled ten-year-old who had been the bane of Caitlyn’s existence since second grade.

“I think she called me.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. While you were in the barn, the phone rang and someone asked for me and said they were Tommy Wilkins, but it didn’t sound like him and I heard laughing.” She swallowed and looked at the floor.

“What did Tommy or Jenny or whoever it was say to you?”

“That I’m—I’m a bastard.”

Oh, Lord, give me strength. “You know better than that, Caitie girl. As for the people on the other end of the phone line, they’re just a pack of cruel ninnies,” Sam said, aching inside for her daughter. “They don’t know a thing about you.” She bent down and wrapped her arms around Caitlyn’s shoulders. This wasn’t the first time her daughter’s lack of a father had been brought to her attention and it probably wasn’t going to be the last, but each time it hurt a little more.

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“I looked up the word in the dictionary and—and I am one. I don’t got no daddy.”

“It’s true I wasn’t married to your father, but you’ve got one, honey. Everyone has a daddy.”

“Where’s mine? Who is he?” Caitlyn’s lower lip trembled slightly and fat tears filled the corners of her eyes.

“He’s a man who lives far away. I told you that.” Why now? With Kyle so darned close, why did those little snots have to bring up Caitlyn’s lack of a father now?

“You said I could meet him someday.”

“And you will.”

“When?”

With a sad smile, Sam said, “Sooner than I want you to, I’m afraid.”

“Will I like him?”

Sam nodded. “I think so. Most people do.”

“But not you.”

“It’s more complicated than liking him or not. You’ll see. Now, would you like a snack before you go back to bed?”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew that she was being manipulated. At nine she wasn’t as easily distracted as she had once been. “But, Mom—”

“The next time Jenny or Tommy or whoever it is calls, you tell them they’re to leave you alone. No, better yet, don’t say anything, just give me the phone. I’ll handle them. Now, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She sniffed back her tears and the trauma, at least for the moment, seemed to have passed. Sighing loudly, Caitlyn walked to the window and looked in the direction of the barn. She ran her finger along the sill. “I was thinking.” She slid her mother a sly look.

“About?”

“You promised me a horse for my birthday, remember?”

“That I did, but your birthday isn’t until next spring.”

“I know, but Christmas is before that.”

“Still half a year away.” Six months—the same amount of time that Kyle had to spend in Wyoming.

Together mother and daughter walked up the narrow flight of wooden stairs to Caitlyn’s tiny bedroom, the very room where Sam had spent her childhood years. She shoved open the window. A slight breeze lifted the faded curtains, carrying with it the scents of dry hay and roses from the garden. Crickets chirped, their soft chorus interrupted by an occasional moan of a lost calf or the mournful howl of a coyote high in the mountains.

Caitlyn tumbled into her bed—the canopied twin that Sam had slept in—and tried to stifle a yawn. “Love ya,” she murmured into her pillow, in that moment looking so much like Kyle that Sam’s throat ached.

“Me, too.” Sam kissed her daughter on one rosy cheek, but before she could snag a pair of dusty jeans and a T-shirt from the floor and depart, Caitlyn stirred.

“Leave the light on.”

Sam grabbed the dirty clothes, but didn’t move from the room. “Why?”

With a lift of her shoulder, Caitlyn sighed. “Don’t know.”

“Sure you do. You’ve slept in the dark since you were two.” The hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck lifted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, “Something more than Jenny Peterkin’s phone calls?”

Caitlyn bit her lip, a sure sign something else was troubling her.

Still holding on to the wrinkled laundry, Sam lowered herself to the foot of Caitlyn’s bed. “Okay, honey, stop pussyfootin’ around. What is it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Caitlyn admitted, her face drawing into a worried pout. “Just a feeling.”

Sam’s throat went dry. “A feeling? Of what?”

“Like—like someone’s watching me.”

“Someone? Who?”

“I don’t know!” Caitlyn said, pulling the hand-pieced quilt to her neck, though it was over ninety degrees in the little room.

“You saw someone?” Oh, dear God, was someone stalking her child? It happened to famous people in the city, but sometimes perverted creeps followed children…. Please, please, God, no!

“I didn’t see anyone but…it’s just like, you know, when you feel that someone’s staring at you. Sometimes Zach Bellows looks at me funny, and even though his desk is behind mine and I can’t see him, I know he’s watching me. It’s creepy.”

“Of course it is,” Sam said, her heart pumping wildly. “But if you didn’t see anyone… When did this happen?”

“A couple of times at school, and then once when I was at the store.”

“Was anyone with you when this happened? A friend or a teacher or someone who might have noticed who was watching you?” Sam asked, trying like hell not to panic, when her stomach was twisting into painful knots.

Caitlyn shook her head.

“So why are you…worried tonight?”

Caitlyn chewed on her lip. “I—I just feel weird.”

“Well, that does it!” Sam pasted a smile on her lips, though her insides were churning. “You’re sleeping with me. And don’t worry about anyone watching you. We’ve got the greatest watchdog in the world and—”

“Fang?” Caitlyn laughed, the concern disappearing from her eyes.

“Yeah, and I lock all the doors and windows at night. This is all probably just your imagination, anyway. Come on.”

Dragging the quilt with her, Caitlyn scurried into the bedroom across the hall and jumped onto Sam’s double bed. She burrowed deep in the covers. “Can we watch TV?” she asked, a glint in her eye.

“I thought you were tired.”

“Please?”

Wondering if she’d been conned by the youngest flimflam artist ever to walk the planet, Sam agreed. She double-checked the locks on the doors, made sure that Fang was in his favorite position near the base of the stairs, then stole a glance through the kitchen window to the Fortune ranch. The night, illuminated by a quarter moon, was serene, not sinister; the only immediate problem looming in their future was Kyle Fortune. Sam climbed the stairs, listening to the third step creak as it always did, but knowing that her life and Caitlyn’s would never be the same.

Kyle swatted at a pesky horsefly with his clipboard as he walked through the stables and eyed the barrels of grain, tack, veterinary supplies, tools and bales of hay. Though it was early morning, not yet nine, he’d already been to the barn, three sheds, the machine shop and pump house. He intended to compare the notes and figures he’d scribbled down to the ledgers in the den, then input the data into the computer he’d ordered over the phone. Laptop, modem, software and printer were supposedly on their separate ways. The Fortune Ranch was finally going to join the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

The stables seemed musty and close, the thick air already gathering heat. Sharp odors of horse dung, sweat, urine and oiled leather mingled with the familiar scent he’d always associated with this place. Aluminum buckets, pitchforks, shovels and rakes hung from hooks on the walls. Along with the fire extinguisher was a kerosene lantern, ready to be lit should the electricity fail.

He heard Joker, the only stallion fenced near the buildings, let out a piercing whistle. The stud was bad news, Kyle had determined, but he would miss the spotted beast when Grant decided to haul him to his place. Kyle would always associate the Appaloosa with seeing Sam again.

With that nagging thought clogging his brain, he slid his sunglasses from his pocket and onto the bridge of his nose as he stepped outside. Harsh sunlight glinted off the metal roof of the machine shed.

The stallion neighed again.

“It’s okay, boy,” a kid’s voice intoned.

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. Balanced on the top rail of the fence was a girl—somewhere between eight and twelve, near as he could guess—talking to the damned horse. Fiery blond hair sprang from the restraint of a once-upon-a-time ponytail, and her arms and legs, sprouting from cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt, were tanned and long. Boots covered her feet, and dust and grime spattered her clothes. He couldn’t see her face, as she was turned the other way, concentrating on the horse.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Kyle asked, and she visibly started, nearly toppling from her perch as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Who’re you?” Blue eyes over a spray of freckles were indignant.

“I think that’s my line.” He walked forward, studying her, and realized in an instant that she was Samantha’s kid. She had the same proud tilt of her chin, the same full lips and straight, slightly upturned nose.

“I’m Caitlyn,” she said with an edge of defiance, as if he dared challenge her. Like mother, like daughter. “Caitlyn Rawlings.”

“Glad to meet you. I’m Kyle Fortune.” She stared at him without so much as flinching, holding his gaze fast, unlike most kids he knew. “I know your mom. Is she here?” he asked, his eyes scanning the parking lot for Sam’s truck.

“Nah.” The kid squirmed a little, as if she either didn’t trust him or knew she was somewhere she shouldn’t be.

“No?” He leaned against the fence, staring at the imp who was so like her mother. “But she does know you’re here?”

Caitlyn gnawed on her lower lip, as if contemplating a lie. Instead she hedged. “Kinda.”

“Well, either she does or she doesn’t.”

The girl’s eyes, a shade of summer blue, slid away. “She thinks I walked over to Tommy’s house. He lives over there….” She pointed a finger to the west. “But I took a shortcut through the fields and…”

“Ended up talkin’ to Joker.”

“Yeah. I’d better hurry,” she said, as if she suddenly realized she might be in trouble. She hopped to the ground and dusted off her hands, then hesitated. “Fortune? Like Mrs. Kate?”

“She was my grandmother.”

The kid grinned. “You were lucky.”

He couldn’t argue the point. “She left me this ranch.”

“So you live here now?” Her mouth rounded in awe and those blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on a mountain lake. “Wow, you are lucky.”

“You think so?” He glanced around, noticed the weather vane mounted over the roof of the stables—a running horse—as it turned with the wind. “I guess so. Anyway, I’ll be here for a while. Until Christmas.” Why did he feel compelled to tell her his life story? Probably the clarity of her eyes. And deep down, he’d always liked kids.

“What then?”

“I’ll probably sell the place.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be time.”

“If I owned it, I’d never sell it. My mom says it’s the best ranch in the valley.”

“Does she?” Kyle couldn’t help but be amused. An interesting kid, this Caitlyn Rawlings. Precocious, smart and, he suspected, a little cunning.

She was already walking backward toward the lane. “I gotta git. Mom’ll be callin’ over to Tommy’s if I don’t phone her first and tell her that I got there.” Whirling on her heel, she made tracks down the lane, and Kyle watched her go. Instinctively he knew she was a tomboy who caught grasshoppers, splashed in creeks, probably shot a .22 and built forts out of hay bales. He doubted if she ever played with dolls, dressed up in her mother’s old clothes or hosted a tea party. Yep, he thought, watching her slide between two strands of barbed wire and start running across the western acres, she was definitely Sam’s daughter.

“Well, look at you,” Grant said as he stepped through the screen door and eyed his stepbrother half an hour after Kyle had met Caitlyn. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were an honest-to-goodness cowboy.”

“Right,” Kyle drawled, sarcasm dripping from the single word.

“Got any coffee?”

“Instant.”

Grant’s grin inched a little wider. “What? No espresso or cappuccino or whatever the hell it is you city slickers drink?”

Kyle snorted. He couldn’t argue. His day in Minneapolis had usually started with a double latte, though he wasn’t about to admit it here. But he had to concede that his damned cowboy boots pinched a little and his jeans, newly purchased at the local dry-goods store, were still stiff with sizing. “Look, insult me all you want. I’m just bidin’ my time until I can sell the ranch and move on. This is day one of the next one hundred and eighty.”

“Noble of you,” Grant observed.

“Who ever said I was noble?”

“No one. Believe me.”

“That’s what I thought.” He’d never been one to pursue noble causes, didn’t know why anyone cared. Oh, sure, he held a grudging respect for people who fought for something they believed in, but he wasn’t surprised when the fight backfired and the erstwhile heroes got their teeth knocked in. Kyle figured as long as he didn’t break any laws or step too hard on anyone’s toes, nothing else much mattered. His only regret, and one that he’d buried deeper than he cared to admit, was Sam. Seeing her again reminded him just how close he’d been to her. But that was a long time ago. They’d been kids. They’d been as wrong for each other then as they were now.

Grant hung his hat on a peg near the back door, then slid into a chair at the old maple table, the same ladder-back one he’d claimed as a kid, as Kyle poured them each a cup of the stuff he called coffee. “So you saw Sam again,” Grant said as Kyle handed him a mug that was hot to the touch.

“Yesterday. She was workin’ with that devil you inherited.”

“Only one who can handle him.”

“That so?”

“Sam’s become quite a horsewoman.”

Was there a note of awe in his stepbrother’s voice? For some unnamed reason Kyle experienced a jab of jealousy. Not that he had any reason to care. “I suppose she has.”

Grant took a long swallow of coffee and wrinkled his nose. “No one bothered to teach you how to cook.”

“Tell me about Sam.” Sitting on one worn, maple seat, he propped the heel of one boot on the chair next to him.

“She’s been a godsend. When Jim got sick, she took over. Stepped right into her dad’s shoes. He taught her everything she knows about ranchin’, which is one helluva lot, and when he died, she ran things here as well as at her own place.” He swirled the contents of his cup and frowned. “Kate depended on Sam to keep things going when she wasn’t around, even though she hired one guy—Red Spencer—as foreman. He wasn’t as sharp as Jim, and Sam helped out when she could. Then Red retired and everything fell on Sam’s shoulders. Kate paid her and tried to find someone else, but no one was as honest and straightforward as Samantha Rawlings. No one else really cared about the ranch and then…well, Kate died and Sam stepped in.”

“Sounds like she walks on water.” This time Kyle was certain he’d heard a hint of reverence in his stepbrother’s voice.

“Don’t tell her that.”

He twisted his cup in his hands. “Or else you’re half in love with her.”

Grant grinned and ran a hand through his short, sandy brown hair. “Me? No way, and I pity the poor fool who is. She’s one mule-headed lady. I like my women a little bit less short-tempered.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Kyle wasn’t convinced and didn’t bother hiding his feelings. Grant had been a bachelor for years, but he wasn’t immune to women—especially the smart, good-looking kind. Like Sam. “I met her kid today.”

“Caitlyn?”

“Mmm. She was here less than half an hour ago. Looks a lot like her ma.”

“Yeah. Same temperament, too. Kinda has a way of weaseling her way into your heart.”

“Like Sam does?”

Grant grinned and his eyes glinted. “Why would you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, speak of the devil,” Grant said at the sound of a truck roaring down the lane. A plume of dust followed the old Dodge as it rumbled to a stop near the house. “I think I’d better see how she’s gettin’ along with Joker.”

“The devil horse? Not too well, if yesterday’s exhibition was any indication.”

“You want to try a hand with him?”

“Hell no. The farther I am from that mean bastard, the better I’ll like it. If Kate hadn’t seen fit to let you have him, I would have probably sold him to the glue factory,” Kyle said, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Sure.” Grant finished his coffee, but his eyes never left the window and Sam’s truck.

“Look, I have to live here for the next six months, but I don’t think there was anything in my legacy about risking life and limb trying to train some self-important stud how to follow on a lead rope.”

“I assume you’re talking about the horse and not about me.” Grant was still staring out the window, and Kyle let his own gaze follow as Samantha hopped to the ground and blew her bangs from her eyes.

“Take it any way you want,” Kyle said. “You know, she looks mad enough to spit nails. I think I’ll go check on my horse.”

“Chicken.”

Grant reached for his hat. “You bet. I made a promise to myself years ago that I would never sit around and be chewed out by a woman before ten in the morning. It starts the day off on the wrong foot.” His eyes narrowed as he rammed the hat on his head. “You know the saying about someone getting a bee in her bonnet? This may just be a guess, but from the looks of her, I’d say Samantha has a hornet’s nest in hers.”

Samantha slammed the door of her pickup. Her jeans were tight and black, her shirt faded denim with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, as if she were ready for a fight. Her lips were compressed into a firm, determined line. Before Grant could walk out the back door, she stormed in, the screen door slapping shut behind her.

Kyle felt a smile stretch across his face, though he wished he could hide his amusement, because if looks could kill, he’d have dropped dead the second she swung her furious green gaze in his direction.

“Mornin’, Sam,” Grant drawled.

“Mornin’,” she offered.

“I was just leavin’.”

“Wait. I was gonna call you,” she said, laying a hand on Grant’s arm—so friendly and intimate it made Kyle’s teeth grate. “What do you want to do about Joker now that Kyle’s back?”

“I’ll move him in the next week or so. No hurry. By that time I assume he’ll walk docilely up the ramp into the trailer.”

Sam couldn’t help but grin, and Kyle felt an unwanted kick in his gut. How many times had she, a tomboy of seventeen, trained that smile on him?

“I guess that’s up to Kyle. He’s in charge now.” Her smile faded and was replaced by her original expression, the one plastered on her face as she’d marched grimly to the porch. Tiny white lines pinched the corners of her mouth, a deep furrow was wedged between her eyebrows and the skin over her cheekbones was stretched as taut as a hide ready for tanning as her gaze landed full force on Kyle again. Some of the starch seemed to leave her for a second before she said, “I just came by to pick up some of my things. Now that Kyle’s here, it doesn’t make much sense for me to hang around.”

She breezed past Grant.

“Samantha? Wait a minute. You’re not giving up on Joker, are you?”

“Maybe Kyle can handle him.”

“In his dreams,” Grant replied.

“No way.” Kyle lifted his hands. “I want nothing to do with that beast.”

She muttered something under her breath that had to do with spoiled brats and silver spoons.

“We had a deal,” Grant reminded her.

“Cancelled when Kate left the place to your brother.”

“Hey—this isn’t my fight,” Kyle proclaimed, and Sam pinned him with a look that all but called him a citified, useless, low-life coward.

“For the love of…” She clawed stiff fingers through hair that was pulled tightly away from her face. A few strands fell into her eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said to Grant. “I’ll handle Joker. It’ll take a couple of days, but then I’m outta here.”

“What’s wrong?” Grant glanced from Kyle to Sam. “Lovers’ spat?”

The color drained from her face. “I just have enough to do over at my place.”

“Fair enough.” Grant didn’t look like he completely bought her story, but he didn’t seem anxious to press the issue. “As long as I can pick up Joker before Clem James’s mare goes into heat.”

“No promises. I’ll do the best I can.”

“All I can ask.” Grant squared his hat on his head. “I’ve got to run into town for a part for my damned tractor. I’ll see ya around.” He slapped the side of the doorframe with a tanned hand as he sauntered out, then hesitated on the porch, the screen door propped open by one shoulder. “Oh, I meant to tell you, Kyle, Mom called this morning. Rebecca’s gone off on some toot about hiring a private investigator to look into the cause of Kate’s plane crash.”

“I thought it was all just an accident, faulty equipment or something.”

“Yeah, that was what everyone assumed, but you know our aunt. She doesn’t believe in letting sleeping dogs lie.”

Kyle felt a sensation akin to dread. Rebecca was the youngest daughter of Ben and Kate, and though she was technically his aunt, she was only a few years older than he. A mystery writer, Rebecca had earned her reputation of having a vivid, sometimes wild imagination. “So what does she think?”

“Who knows? If you ask me, she should quit working herself up over everything and settle down.”

“Oh, like you?”

Grant shot him an unreadable look. “Just don’t be surprised if she gives you a call. See ya around, Kyle. Sam.”

Samantha watched him leave and felt a moment’s hesitation. She was alone with Kyle. Again. Which was what she wanted. Or was it? As Grant drove away, she was suddenly aware that the air in the house seemed thicker, dense with silent emotions, and she had trouble drawing a breath. Being this close to a man who had once had the ability to break her heart was just plain stupid.

“For the life of me I can’t figure out why Kate left this place to you,” she said, untying the knots that suddenly took hold of her tongue. “Grant or Rocky—”

“I know, I know. You’ve already pointed out that nearly anyone in the family would have been a better choice.”

She angled her chin upward and met his eyes. “I think so, yes.”

“Even Allison?”

Her lips twitched at the mention of Kyle’s beautiful and sophisticated cousin, Rocky’s twin, a woman who was meant for the glitter and fast pace of the city.

“Even Kristina.”

“Not Kris!” he teased.

“Absolutely! Your sister might be spoiled, but at least she knows what she wants in life!” Sam had never been one to keep her opinions to herself, especially not with Kyle. “I think your grandmother was out of her mind when she left this place to you.”

“I couldn’t have guessed.”

Damn his sexy drawl and drop-dead grin. “You know what else?” she asked.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not, so let’s hear it.” His crooked smile stretched across his jaw and she had the urge to slap him. He was goading her, whether he knew it or not. Well, he’d asked for it. She would gladly give it to him with both barrels.

“You’re not gonna make it six months, Kyle. You’re gonna turn tail and run before your stint here is through. You’ve never suffered through a winter here, have you? Sometimes the electricity gives out, and if you can’t get the generator going you have to rely on firewood for warmth. You have to break a trail through hip-deep snow to the stables, melt water for the stock and live on oatmeal, canned beans, potatoes and apples that you’ve hopefully had the brains to keep in a fruit cellar. There’s no TV, no radio except for a transistor if your batteries aren’t low and no four-wheel drive big enough to get through to you. It’s just you and your wits, tryin’ to survive against Mother Nature, and in your case I’ll bet she’d win hands down!”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much are you willing to bet?” he asked, his eyes suddenly dangerous. He crossed the short distance between them and glared at her with an expression as stormy as a winter thundercloud. Hot breath fanned her face.

“I don’t need to put up a wager, because you’re already gonna lose. You’re not going to inherit this place because you, Kyle Fortune, never could stick with anything long enough to see it through. That’s why Kate attached strings to her bequest, and it’s a good thing she’s dead because you would disappoint that old lady the day the going got rough and you decided to take off.” She glared up at him, challenging him, and he saw it then—a shadow crossing her eyes, a tremble in the pinched corners of her mouth, an emotion she was trying desperately to hide.

“Is that what you came over here to tell me?”

“I just came for my things.” She started for the den, but he grabbed her arm, his fingers tightening over the crook of her elbow.

“I don’t think so.”

“Let go of me, Kyle.”

“There’s something more, Sam. Something that’s bothering you. Big-time.” No one had ever been able to get to him like Samantha Rawlings. One sultry look from her and he melted; a quick lash of her tongue and his temper rocketed into the stratosphere; pain showing in her green eyes and he wanted to kill the bastard who’d hurt her.

One side of her full mouth lifted in a sarcastic smile. “Gee, Kyle, how perceptive of you. Could it be—let me see—the fact that you took off from here ten years ago, left me without so much as a goodbye, didn’t call or write, just sent a formal invitation to my family to your wedding?”

His breath whistled through his teeth. “God, Sam.”

“You asked.” She yanked her arm from his fingers and stormed through the kitchen to the hallway. He caught up to her just as she was leaving, a jacket under one arm, an address book and coffee mug in her hand.

“I think we should talk.”

“Too late.” But again that shadow flickered in her gaze and her steps faltered for a second.

“It’s never too late.”

She let out a soft grunt of defeat. “Oh, Kyle, if you only knew.”

“Knew what?”

Whirling to face him, she dropped her mug. It crashed to the floor and splintered into a thousand pieces. “Oh, for the love of—”

“Forget it.” His fingers once again tightened on her arm.

“What?”

“I’ll sweep up the mess later.” He felt a second’s premonition, as if he were on the edge of a bottomless emotional abyss and the gravel he was standing upon was slowly crumbling beneath his boots. “You were about to confide in me.”

She swallowed. “This—this isn’t the time. There’s a lot to say. Most of it won’t mean a thing, but…well, some things are important.”

“What things?”