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The Mccaffertys: Slade
Lisa Jackson


THE TRUTH CAN’T STAY BURIED FOREVER…
The McCaffertys: SLADE
Slade McCafferty was a bachelor through and through—too busy raising hell to settle down. Case in point: fifteen years ago daredevil Slade had taken wild child Jamie Parsons’s innocence, and then had broken her heart. But Jamie is back in town, a lawyer, all confidence and polished professionalism. And seeing her again is setting off a tidal wave of emotions Slade thought he’d dammed up ages ago. Back then, as now, there’d been something about Jamie that made Slade ache for more. A hell of a lot more…
Praise for Lisa Jackson
“When it comes to providing gritty and sexy stories, Ms. Jackson certainly knows how to deliver.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Unspoken
“Provocative prose, an irresistible plot and finely crafted characters make up Jackson’s latest contemporary sizzler.”
—Publishers Weekly on Wishes
“Lisa Jackson takes my breath away.”
—New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
Cold Blooded
“Turn on the lights before you turn the first page of this electrifying thriller. Set a bare six months after the shocking events of Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded grabs you by the throat from page one and does not let you off the edge of your seat for a moment after that.” —Romance At Its Best
“Taking up where last year’s phenomenal Hot Blooded left off, Cold Blooded is a tight, romantic, edge-of-your-seat thriller.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Cold Blooded is an exciting serial killer thriller…an entertaining tale.” —BookBrowser
“Crisp dialogue, a multilayered plot and a carefully measured pace build suspense in this chilling read that earns the WordWeaving Award for Excellence.”
—WordWeaving.com (http://WordWeaving.com)
The Night Before
“Lisa Jackson pulls out all the stops in this brilliantly conceived, chilling, twisted, psychological thriller that contains murder, mental illness, incest, love and hope.
The Night Before is a page-turner that will have you racing toward the finish.” —Reader to Reader
The Night Before “will keep the brightest mystery buff guessing who done it. A typical thriller is a meander through a dust bowl compared to The Night Before’s tumult down a rocky mountainside.” —Affaire de Coeur
“Jackson’s newest suspense keeps you riveted until the very end.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
“A thrilling roller coaster of emotions, betrayals, murder, dark secrets and horrifying sins that will enthrall the reader. The author is a master when it comes to romantic thrillers…Lisa Jackson sets her own standards [in] women’s fiction today, weaving her magic and providing us with literary works of art.”
—The Road to Romance
“An exciting romantic psychological suspense filled with plenty of twists.”
—Allreaders.com (http://Allreaders.com)
Whispers
“Author Lisa Jackson delivers a tour de force performance with this dynamic and complicated tale of love, greed and murder. This is Ms. Jackson at her very best.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“What a story! This is a perfectly put together, complex story with more than one relationship and mystery going on…a perfect meld of past and present. I loved it!”
—Rendezvous
“There are hints of Romeo and Juliet when children from two small-town feuding families fall in love.
Characters are fully realized, multi-faceted and dynamic…the plot is full of subtle intrigues, forbidden passions and long-kept secrets that culminate in an explosive climax. Author Lisa Jackson has delivered another must-read romantic suspense novel.”
—Gothic Journal
The McCaffertys: Slade
Lisa Jackson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Other classics from Lisa Jackson and HQN Books
Strangers, 2-in-1 suspense collection featuring
“Mystery Man”
and
“Obsession”
Tears of Pride
The McCaffertys: ThorneThe McCaffertys: Matt
The McCaffertys: Randi
Dear Reader,
I think this is a fabulous idea! HQN is republishing one of my most popular series, THE MCCAFFERTYS.
When the first book of the miniseries, The McCaffertys: Thorne, came out, I received a lot of letters and tons of e-mail asking questions about the McCafferty brothers and their wayward younger sister. With each new book in the series, I received more and more mail. The sexy, irreverent McCafferty brothers were extremely popular. And I can see why. I fell in love with each of these men who were tough, rugged and dedicated to their family and strong Montana ranching roots.
In each of the books one McCafferty brother discovers true love while trying to protect his younger sister and solve the mystery surrounding her baby. The series was finally complete with Best-Kept Lies, Randi McCafferty’s story. The mystery surrounding the paternity of Randi McCafferty’s baby and the danger facing the McCafferty clan is wrapped up in the final book, where eventually Randi, too, discovers love everlasting for her and her son.
CEO Thorne McCafferty has returned to Grand Hope, Montana, and the Flying M Ranch, intent on taking charge of the situation with his sister. Once he’s assured that Randi and her baby are healthy, he plans to cut and run, but that’s before he meets beautiful Dr. Nicole Stevenson, a woman he knew as a girl but barely remembers. For the first time in his life Thorne’s about to lose control….
Rancher Matt McCafferty doesn’t believe he could be interested in a professional woman of any kind, least of all a cop. But during the investigation of his sister’s hit-and-run accident, he encounters a spitfire of a detective in Kelly Dillinger. Then his mind, his heart and his life change….
Maverick Slade McCafferty never expected to run across Jamie Parsons again. The last time he saw her she was a young girl, one who had willingly given him her innocence. Now she’s all grown up, a no-nonsense lawyer who won’t give him the time of day. Or so she thinks.
Headstrong reporter Randi McCafferty doesn’t want, need, or accept a bodyguard, but her brothers have hired Kurt Striker to watch her back. Kurt doesn’t seem too thrilled with the job either, but as the danger mounts, the tension and unspoken passion ignite, just as a killer is ready to strike.
I’ve posted excerpts from the books on my Web site and I even have a new contest and drawing to celebrate THE McCAFFERTYS. So visit me at www.lisajackson.com (http://www.lisajackson.com) and sign up. You just might win an autographed Lisa Jackson classic!
I hope you love the McCAFFERTYS as much as I do!
Lisa Jackson
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u35764875-d788-5617-8b7f-6297ccb07636)
CHAPTER ONE (#u51768e9f-5865-50b5-910c-412e04405f6c)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2a33f053-6992-53f6-aa22-1db3ebc981d4)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4a6cbc74-ea9d-5e98-8de3-5834ea5af463)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua5b63908-c69d-5cc3-ac93-618e38d6ee99)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
THERE HE WAS, SITTING IN HIS damned rocking chair as if it were a throne.
Slade McCafferty gnashed his back teeth and felt the taste of crow on his tongue as he glared through the bug-spattered windshield of his truck to the broad front porch of the ranch house he’d called home for the first twenty years of his life.
The old man, John Randall McCafferty, sat ramrod straight. In a way Slade respected him for his tenacious hold on life, his stubbornness, his determination to bend all of his children’s wills to meet his own goals. The trouble was, it hadn’t worked. The eldest McCafferty son, Thorne, was a hot-shot attorney, a millionaire who ran his own corporation from Denver, and the second-born, Matt, had struck out on his own and bought himself a spread near the Idaho border. Randi, the youngest, Slade’s half sister, lived in Seattle, and wrote her own syndicated column for a newspaper there.
That left Slade.
Ever the black sheep.
Ever the rogue.
Ever in trouble.
Not that he gave a damn.
As Slade eased out of the truck, a sharp pain shot through his hip and he winced, feeling the skin tighten around the barely visible scar that ran down one side of his face, a reminder of deeper marks that cut into his heart, the pain that never really left him. Well, no doubt he’d hear about that, too.
He paused to light a cigarette, then hobbled up the path through the sparse, dry grass that served as a lawn. Though it was barely May, it had been a dry spring, hotter than usual for this time of year, and the sun-bleached grass was testament to the unseasonable and arid weather.
John Randall didn’t say a word, didn’t so much as sway in the rocker as he watched his youngest son through narrowed eyes. A breeze, fiery as Satan’s breath, scorched across the slight rise that supported the old ranch house. Two stories of weathered siding with dark-green trim around each window, the house had been a refuge once, then a battlefield, and later a prison. At least to Slade’s way of thinking.
He sucked hard on his filter tip, felt the warmth of smoke curl through his lungs and faced the man who had sired him. “Dad.” His boots rang as he hitched up the steps and John Randall’s old hunting dog, Harold, lifted his graying head, then thumped his tail on the dusty planks. “Hi, boy.”
More thumps.
“I thought you might not come.”
“You said it was important.” Jeez, the old man looked bad. Thin tufts of white hair barely covered his speckled pate, and his eyes, once a laser-blue, had faded. His hands were gnarled and his body frail, the wheelchair parked near the door evidence of his failing health, but there was still a bit of steel in John Randall’s backbone, a measure of McCafferty grit in the set of his jaw.
“It is. Sit.” He pointed toward a bench pushed under a window, but Slade leaned against the rail and faced him. The sun beat against his back.
“What’s so all-fired important?”
“I want a grandson.”
“What?” Slade’s chest tightened and he felt the same old pain pound through his brain.
“You heard me. I don’t have much time, Slade, and I’d like to go to my grave knowin’ that you’ve settled down, started a family, kept the family name alive.”
“Maybe I’m not the one you should be talking to about this.” Not now, not when the memories were so fresh.
“I’ve already had my say with Thorne and Matt. It’s your turn.”
“I’m not interested in—”
“I know about Rebecca.” Slade braced himself. “And the baby.”
Slade’s head pounded as if a thousand horses were running through his brain. His scar seemed to pulse. “Yeah, well, it’s something I’ve got to live with,” he said, his eyes drilling into the old man’s. “And it’s hell.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You can’t go beating yourself up one side and down the other the rest of your life,” his father said with more compassion than Slade thought him capable of. “They’re gone. It was a horrid accident. A painful loss. But life goes on.”
“Does it?” Slade mocked, then wished he could call back the cruel words. He’d said them without thinking that his father was surely dying.
“Yes, it does. You can’t stop living because of a tragedy.” He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out his watch, a silver-and-gold pocket watch engraved with the crest of the Flying M, this very ranch, his pride and joy. “I want you to have this.”
“No, Dad. You keep it.”
The old man’s lips twisted into an ironic grin. “Don’t have any use for it. Not where I’m goin’. But you do. I want you to keep it as a reminder of me.” He pressed the timepiece into Slade’s palm. “Don’t waste your life, son. It’s shorter than you think. Now, it’s time for you to put the past behind you. Settle down. Start a family.”
“I don’t think so.”
A fly buzzed near John Randall’s head and he swatted at it with one gnarled hand. “Do me a favor, Slade. Quit moving long enough to figure out what you want in life. Whether you know it or not, what you need is a good woman. A wife. A mother for your children.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” Slade growled, dropping his cigarette to the floorboards where he crushed out the butt with his boot heel.
“I made my share of mistakes,” his father admitted.
Slade didn’t comment.
“I was young and foolish.”
“Like I am now? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“No. I’m just hoping you’ll learn from my mistakes.”
“Mistakes. You mean, your two marriages? Or your two divorces?”
“Maybe both.”
Slade glanced over his shoulder to the rolling hills of the ranch. Dust plumed behind a sorry old tractor chugging over one rise. “And you think I should get married.”
“I believe in the institution.”
“Even though it stripped you clean?”
John Randall sighed. “It wasn’t so much the money that mattered,” he said with more honesty than Slade expected. “But I betrayed a good woman and let you boys down. I lost the respect of my children, and that…that was hard to take. Don’t get me wrong, if I had to do it again, I would. Remember if I hadn’t taken up with Penelope, I would never have had my daughter.”
“So it was worth it.”
“Yes,” he said, pushing the rocker so that it began to move a bit. “And I only hope that someday you’ll forgive me, but more than that, Slade, I hope you find yourself a woman who’ll make you believe in love again.”
Slade pushed himself upright. “Don’t count on it.” He dropped the watch into his father’s lap.
CHAPTER ONE
Seven months later
THE MCCAFFERTYS! WHY IN THE world did her meeting have to be with the damned McCafferty brothers?
Jamie Parsons braked hard and yanked on the steering wheel as she reached the drive of her grandmother’s small farm. Her wheezing compact turned too quickly. Tires spun in the snow that covered the two ruts where dry weeds had the audacity to poke through the blanket of white.
The cottage, in desperate need of repairs and paint, seemed quaint now, like some fairy-tale version of Grandma’s house.
It had been, she thought as she grabbed her briefcase and overnight bag, then plowed through three inches of white powder to the back door. She found the extra key over the window ledge where her grandmother, Nita, had always kept it. “Just in case, Jamie,” she’d always explained in her raspy, old-lady voice. “We don’t want to be locked out now, do we?”
No, Nana, we sure don’t. Jamie’s throat constricted when she thought of the woman who had taken in a wild, rebellious teenager; opened her house and her heart to a girl whose parents had given up on her. Nana hadn’t batted an eye, just told her, from the time she stepped over the front threshold with her two suitcases, one-eyed teddy bear and an attitude that wouldn’t quit, that things were going to change. From that moment forward, Jamie was to abide by her rules and that was that.
Not that they’d always gotten along.
Not that Jamie hadn’t done everything imaginable behind the woman’s broad back.
Not that Jamie hadn’t tried every trick in the book to get herself thrown out of the only home she’d ever known.
Nana, a God-fearing woman who could cut her only granddaughter to the quick with just one glance, had never given up. Unlike everyone else in Jamie’s life.
Now the key turned easily, and Jamie walked into the kitchen. It smelled musty, the black-and-white tiles covered in dust, the old Formica-topped table with chrome legs still pushed against the far wall that sloped sharply due to the stairs running up the other side of the house from the foyer. The salt and pepper shakers, in the shape of kittens, had disappeared from the table, as had all other signs of life. There were light spots in the wall, circular patches of clean paint where one of the antique dishes Nana had displayed with pride had been taken down and given to some relative somewhere in accordance with Nita’s will. A dried cactus in a plastic pot had been forgotten and pushed into a corner of the counter where once there had been a toaster. The gingham curtains were now home to spiders whose webs gathered more dust.
If Nana had been alive, she would have had a fit. This kitchen had always gleamed. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” she’d preached while pushing a broom, or polishing a lamp, or scrubbing a sink. And Nana had known about godliness; she’d read her Bible every evening, never missed a Sunday sermon and taught Sunday school to teenagers.
God, Jamie missed her.
The bulk of Nana’s estate, which consisted of this old house, the twenty acres surrounding it and a 1940 Chevrolet parked in the old garage, had been left to Jamie. It was Nana’s dream that Jamie settle down here in Grand Hope, live in the little cottage, get married and have half a dozen great-grandchildren for her to spoil. “Sorry,” Jamie said out loud as she dropped her bags on the table and ran a finger through the fine layer of dust that had collected on the chipped Formica top. “I just never got around to it.”
She glanced at the sink where she envisioned her short, round grandmother with her gray permed hair, thick waist and heavy arms. Nita Parsons would have been wearing her favorite tattered apron. In the summertime she would have been putting up peaches and pears or making strawberry jam. This time of year she would have been baking dozens upon dozens of tiny Christmas cookies that she meticulously iced and decorated before giving boxes of the delicacies to friends and relatives. Nana’s old yellow-and-white spotted cat, Lazarus, would have been doing figure eights and rubbing up against Nita’s swollen ankles, and she would have complained now and again about the arthritis that had invaded her fingers and shoulders.
“Oh, Nana,” Jamie whispered, glancing out the window to the snow-crusted yard. Thorny, leafless brambles scaled the wire fence surrounding the garden plot. The henhouse had nearly collapsed. The small barn was still standing, though the roof sagged and the remaining weed-strewn pasture was thankfully hidden beneath the blanket of white.
Nana had loved it here, and Jamie intended to clean it up and list it with a local real estate company.
She glanced at her watch and walked outside to the back porch. She couldn’t waste any more time thinking maudlin, nostalgic thoughts. She had too much to do, including meeting with the McCafferty brothers.
Boy, and won’t that be a blast? She carried in her bags and, despite the near-zero weather, opened every window on the first floor to air out the house. Then she climbed up the steep wooden stairs to her bedroom tucked under the eaves. It was as she’d left it years ago, with the same hand-pieced quilt tossed over the spindle bed. She opened the shades and window and looked past the naked branches of an oak tree to the county road that passed this stretch of farmland. All in all, the area hadn’t changed much. Though the town of Grand Hope had grown, Nana had lived far enough outside the city limits that the fast lane hadn’t quite reached her.
Jamie unpacked. She hung some clothes in the old closet, the rest she stowed in the top two drawers of an antique bureau. She didn’t allow her mind to drift back to the year and a half she’d lived with Nana, the best time of her life…and the worst. For the first time in her seventeen years she’d understood the meaning of unconditional love, given her by an elderly woman with sparkling gold eyes, rimless glasses and a wisdom that spanned nearly seven decades. Yet Jamie had also experienced her first love and heartbreak compliments of Slade-the-bastard-McCafferty.
And whoop-de-do, she probably was going to meet him again this very afternoon. Life was just chock-full of surprises. And sometimes they weren’t for the best.
It took two hours to check in the barn and find that Caesar, Nana’s old gelding, was waiting for her. A roan with an ever-graying nose, Caesar was more than twenty years old, but his eyes were bright and clear, and from the shine on his winter coat, Jamie knew that the neighbors had been taking care of him.
“Bet you still get lonely, though, eh, boy?” she asked, seeing to his water and feed and taking in the smell of him and the small, dusty barn. He nickered softly, and Jamie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. How could she ever sell him? “We had some good times together, you and I, didn’t we? Got into our share of trouble.”
She cleared her throat and found a brush to run over his shoulders and back as memories of racing him across the wide expanse of Montana grassland flashed through her eyes. She even rode him to the river where he waded into the deeper water and swam across, all at the urging of Slade McCafferty. Jamie had never forgotten the moment of exhilaration as Caesar had floated with the current. Slade’s blue eyes had danced, and he’d showed her a private deer trail where they’d stopped and smoked forbidden cigarettes.
Her heart twisted at the memory. “Yep, you’re quite a trooper,” she told the horse. “I’ll be back. Soon.” Hurrying into the house, determined to leave any memory of Slade behind her, she worked for the next two hours getting the ancient old furnace running, turning on the water, adjusting the temperature of the water heater, then stripping her bed only to make it again with sheets that had been packed away in a cedar chest. She smiled sadly as she stretched the soft percale over the mattress. It smelled slightly of lavender—Nana’s favorite scent.
Again her heart ached. God, she missed her grandmother, the one person in the world she could count on. Rather than tackle any serious cleaning, she set up a makeshift office in the dining room compliments of her laptop computer and a modem; she only had to call the phone company and set up service again; then, she could link to the office in Missoula.
She checked her watch. She had less than an hour before she was to sit down with Thorne, Matt and Slade McCafferty. The Flying M ranch was nearly twenty miles away.
“Better get a move on, Parsons,” she told herself though her stomach was already clenched in tight little knots at the thought of coming face-to-face with Slade again. It was ridiculous, really. How could something that happened so long ago still bother her?
She’d been over Slade McCafferty for years. Years.
Seeing him again would be no problem at all, just another day in a lawyer’s life, the proverbial walk in the park. Right? So why, then, the tightness in her chest, the acceleration of her heartbeat, the tiny beads of sweat gathering under her scalp on this cold day? For crying out loud, she was acting like an adolescent, and that just wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Back up the stairs.
She changed from jeans and her favorite old sweater to a black suit with a silk blouse and knee-high boots, then wound her hair into a knot she pinned to the top of her head, and gazed at her reflection in the mirror above the antique dresser. It had been nearly fifteen years since she’d seen Slade McCafferty, and in those years she’d blossomed from a fresh-faced, angry eighteen-year-old with something to prove to a full-grown adult who’d worked two jobs to get through college and eventually earned a law degree.
The woman in the reflection was confident, steady and determined, but beneath the image, Jamie saw herself as she had been: heavier, angrier, the new-girl-in-town with a bad attitude and even worse reputation.
A nest of butterflies erupted in her stomach at the thought of dealing with Slade again, but she told herself she was being silly, reliving those melodramatic teenage years. Which was just plain nuts! Angry with herself, she pulled on black gloves and a matching wool coat, grabbed her briefcase and purse, and was down the stairs and out Nana’s back door in nothing flat. She trudged through the snow to her little car, carrying her briefcase as if it were some kind of shield. Lord, she was a basket case. So she had to face Slade McCafferty again.
So what?
* * *
SO FAR, IT HAD BEEN A BAD DAY.
And it was only going to get worse.
Slade could feel it in his bones.
He leaned a shoulder against the window casing and stared out the dining room window to the vast, snow-covered acres of the Flying M ranch and the surrounding forested hills. Cattle moved sluggishly across the wintry landscape, and gray clouds threatened to drop more snow on this section of the valley. The temperature was hovering just below freezing, and his hip ached a little, a reminder that he hadn’t quite healed from last year’s skiing accident.
Thorne was seated at the long table where the family gathered for holidays and special occasions. He’d shoved the holly and mistletoe centerpiece to one side and had spread out documents in neat piles. He was still wearing a leg brace from a plane crash that had nearly taken his life, and he propped that leg on a nearby chair as he sorted through the papers.
Damn, he was such a control freak.
“You’re sure you want to sell?” he asked for the dozenth time.
They’d been over this time and time again.
Slade didn’t bother answering.
“Where will you go?”
“Not sure.” He shrugged. Craved a smoke. “I’ll hang around for a while. Long enough to nail the bastard who messed up Randi.”
White lines bracketed Thorne’s mouth. “I can’t wait for the day.” He shoved his chair back. “It won’t come soon enough for me.”
“Me, either.”
“You heard anything from Striker?” Thorne asked, bringing up the P.I. whom Slade had brought into the investigation.
“Nope. Left a message this morning.”
“You sure about him?” Thorne asked.
“I’d trust my life with him.”
“You’re trusting Randi’s.”
“Give it a rest, will ya?” Slade snapped. Everyone’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Slade had known Kurt Striker for years and had brought him in to investigate the attempts on their half sister Randi’s life. Kelly Dillinger, Matt’s fiancée, had joined up with Striker. She’d once been with the sheriff’s department; she was now working the private side.
“You doubt Kurt Striker’s ability?”
Thorne shook his hand. “Nah. Just frustrated. I want this over.”
“You and me both.”
Slade would like to move on. He’d been restless here at the Flying M, never did feel that this old ranch house was home, not since his parents’ divorce some twenty-odd years earlier. But he’d planned to stay in Grand Hope, Montana, until the person who was terrorizing his half sister and her newborn baby was run to ground and locked away forever. Or put six feet under. He didn’t really care which.
He just needed to find a new life. Whatever the hell it was. Ever since Rebecca…No, he wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t. It was still too damned painful.
Now, it’s time for you to put the past behind you. Settle down. Start a family. His father’s advice crept up on him like a ghost.
Bootsteps rang in the hallway.
“Sorry I’m late—” Matt apologized as he strode in. Propped against his shoulder was J.R., Randi’s baby, now nearly two months old. The kid had captured each one of his uncles’ jaded hearts, something the women around this neck of the woods had thought impossible.
Matt adjusted the baby on his shoulder, and J.R. made a strange gurgling sound that pulled at the corners of Slade’s mouth. With downy, uneven reddish-blond hair that stuck up at odd angles no matter how often Randi smoothed it, big eyes that took in everything, and a button of a nose, J.R. acted as if he owned the place. He flailed his tiny fists and often sucked on not only his thumb, but whatever digit was handy. “I was busy changing this guy.”
Thorne chuckled. “That’s your excuse for being late?”
“It’s my reason.”
Slade swallowed a smile, his mood improving. The little one; he was a reason to stick around here awhile.
“Okay, so let’s get down to business,” Thorne suggested. “Aside from the papers about the land sale, I’m going to ask about checking into the baby’s father, seeing what his rights are.”
“Randi won’t like it,” Matt predicted.
“Of course she won’t. She doesn’t like much of anything these days.”
Amen, Slade thought, but he didn’t blame his sister for being restless and feeling cooped up. He’d experienced the same twinges. It was time to move on…as soon as the bastard who was terrorizing her was put away.
Thorne added, “I’m only doing what’s best for her.”
“That’ll make her like it less.” Slade rested a hip on the edge of the table.
“Too bad. When Ms. Parsons arrives, I’m going to bring it up.”
Ms. Jamie Parsons, Attorney-at-Law.
Slade’s back teeth ground together at the thought of her. He’d never expected to see her again; hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t. He’d dated her for a while, true, and there had been something about her that had left him wanting more, but he’d dated a lot of women in his lifetime, before and after Jamie Parsons. It wasn’t a big deal.
“Why do I think you’ve been discussing me?” Randi asked as she appeared in the doorway to the dining room. She was limping slightly from the accident that had nearly taken her life, but her spine was stiff as she hobbled into the room and pried the baby easily from Matt’s arms.
“You always think we’re talkin’ about you behind your back,” Matt teased.
“Because you always are. Right?” she asked Slade.
“Always,” he drawled.
“So when’s the attorney due to arrive?”
Thorne checked his watch. “In about fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” Randi kissed her son’s head and he cooed softly. Slade felt a pang deep inside, a pain he buried deep. He touched the scar on the side of his face and scowled. He wasn’t envious of Randi—God, no. But he couldn’t help being reminded of his own loss every time he looked at his nephew.
And his sister had been through so much. Aside from the fact that she still moved with difficulty, wincing once in a while from the pain, there was the problem with her memory. Amnesia, if she could be believed.
Slade wasn’t convinced. Nope. He wasn’t certain his half sister was being straight with them. Her memory loss smacked of convenience. There were just too many questions Randi didn’t want to answer, questions concerning her son’s paternity. When her jaw had been wired shut and her arm in a cast, communication had been near impossible, but now she was well on the way to being a hundred percent again. Except for her mind. To Slade’s way of thinking, amnesia made everything so much easier. No explanations. Not even about the damned accident that had nearly ended her life.
What the hell had happened on that icy road in Glacier Park? All Slade, his brothers and the police knew was that Randi’s Jeep had swerved off the road and down an embankment. Had she hit ice? Been forced off the road? Kurt Striker, the private investigator Slade had contacted to look into the accident, was convinced another car, a maroon Ford product, had forced Randi off the road. The police were checking. Only Randi knew for certain. And she wasn’t talking.
The result of the accident had been premature delivery of the baby, internal injuries, concussion, lacerations, a broken jaw and a fractured leg. She’d spent most of her recuperation time in a coma, unable to communicate, while the brothers had searched for whoever had tried to harm her and her baby.
So far, they’d come up empty. Whoever had tried to kill Randi had taken a second shot at it, slipping into the hospital, posing as part of the staff and injecting insulin into her IV. She’d survived. Barely. And the maniac was still very much at large.
Slade’s fists clenched at the thought of the bastard. If he ever got his hands on the guy, he’d beat the living tar out of him.
But Randi wasn’t helping much. She’d emerged from her coma fighting mad and unwilling to help. If only she’d help them, give them some names, let them know who might want to harm her…. But no. Her memory just kept failing her.
Or so she claimed.
Bull.
Slade figured she was hiding something, covering up the truth, protecting someone. But why? Who?
Herself? Her baby? Little J.R.’s father, whoever he was? Or someone else?
“Hell,” he growled under his breath.
Maybe Thorne was right. Maybe they should enlist Jamie Parsons and the firm of Jansen, Monteith and Stone to try to locate the baby’s father and to take the legal steps to ensure that J.R.’s daddy wouldn’t show up someday and demand custody. If that was even possible.
Slade just wished the lawyer assigned to their case was someone other than Jamie Parsons.
Randi settled into the chair directly across the table from Thorne. “Since the attorney’s dropping by anyway, I want to talk about changing the baby’s name legally. J.R. doesn’t cut it with me.”
“Do what you want. We needed something for the birth certificate.” Thorne glanced at his nephew. “But I think J.R. fits him just fine.”
“So do I,” Slade agreed. “Since you were in a coma, we agreed on the initials.”
“Okay, okay, so it served a purpose and now everyone is calling him J.R., but I’m going to change his name officially to Joshua Ray McCafferty.” She glanced around the room, and if she saw the questions in her brothers’ eyes, ignored them.
J.R.’s paternity was a touchy subject. With everyone. Particularly Randi, who was the only one who could name the father. But she wasn’t talking. Unmarried and, to her brothers’ knowledge, not seriously involved with anyone, she refused to name the man.
Why?
“He’s mine,” she’d say when asked about the baby. “That’s all that matters.”
But it bothered Slade. A lot. He couldn’t help but think her reticence to name the man and the attempts on her life were related.
“He’s your kid. You can name him whatever you want,” Thorne said agreeably, “but I didn’t warn the attorney that we’d have more issues than the property division.”
“He’ll handle it.” Randi adjusted the drool bib around her son’s tiny neck.
“She,” Thorne clarified. “Chuck Jansen is sending a woman associate. Jamie Parsons. She grew up around here.”
“Jamie?” Randi’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and Slade envisioned the gears in her mind meshing and spinning and spewing out all kinds of unwanted conclusions. Yep. She glanced his way.
“She lived with her grandmother outside of town.” Thorne winced as he adjusted his bad leg on the chair next to him.
“Nita Parsons. Yes, I remember. Mom made me take piano lessons from Mrs. Parsons. Man, she was a taskmaster.”
None of the men commented. They never liked to be reminded that Randi’s mother had been the reason their parents had divorced. John Randall had fallen in love with Penelope Henley, promptly divorced Larissa, their mother, and married the much younger woman. Six months after the nuptials, Randi had come into the world. Slade hadn’t much liked his stepmother or the new baby, but over the years he’d quit blaming his half sister for his parents’ doomed union.
Randi looked up at Slade and he felt it coming—the question he didn’t want to face. “Weren’t you and Jamie an item years ago?”
“Hardly an item. We saw each other a few times. It wasn’t a big deal.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and hoped that was the end of it. But he knew his reporter sister better than that.
“More than a few. And, if I remember right, she was pretty gone on you.”
“Is that right?” Matt asked, a smile crawling across his beard-shadowed chin. “Hard to believe any woman would be so foolish.”
“Isn’t it?” Randi said as J.R. tried to grab her earring.
“Funny. I wouldn’t think you’d remember anything.”
Randi’s eyes flashed. “Bits and pieces, Slade. I already told you, I just remember a little of this and a little of that. More each day.”
But not the father of her child? Or what happened when she was forced off the road?
“Then you’d better focus on who wants to see you dead.”
“You were involved with the lady lawyer?” Matt asked.
Slade lifted one shoulder and felt the weight of his brothers’ gazes on him. “It was a long time ago.” He heard the whine of an engine and his muscles tightened. He turned toward the window.
Through the frosty panes he caught a glimpse of a tiny blue car chugging its way along the drive. Slade’s gut clenched. The compact slid to a stop, narrowly missing his truck. A couple of seconds later a tall woman emerged from the car. With a black briefcase swinging from her arm, she hesitated just a second as she looked at the house, then taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode up the front path where the snow had been broken and trampled.
Jamie Parsons in the flesh.
Great. Just…great.
She was all confidence and femininity in her severe black coat. Sunstreaked hair had been slicked away from a face that boasted high cheekbones, defined chin, and wide forehead. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes but remembered they were hazel, shifting from green to gold in the sunlight or darkening when she got angry.
For a second he flashed upon a time when the two of them had been down by the creek, not far from the swimming hole where Thorne had almost drowned.
It had been a torridly hot summer, the wildflowers had been in bloom, the grass dry and the smell of fresh-cut hay had floated in the air along with the fluff from dandelions. He’d dared her to strip naked and jump into the clear water. And she, with the look of devilment in those incredible eyes, had done just that, exposing high, firm breasts with pink nipples and a thatch of reddish hair above long, tanned legs. He’d caught only a glimpse before she’d dashed into the water, submerged and come up tossing her wet hair from her eyes. He could still hear her laughter, melodious as a warbler’s song.
God, where had that come from? It had been eons ago. A lifetime. The bad day just got worse.
From somewhere on the front porch Harold gave up a deep “woof” just as the doorbell chimed.
“You gonna get that?” Matt asked, and Slade, frowning, headed along the hallway toward the front door.
From the kitchen Juanita, the housekeeper, was rattling pans and singing softly in Spanish, while in the living room a fire crackled and Nicole, Thorne’s wife, was playing a board game with her four-year-old twin daughters. Giggles and quiet conversation could be heard over the muted melodies of Christmas carols playing from a recently purchased CD player. At the sound of the front door chimes, two little voices erupted.
“I get it! I get it!”
“No. Me!”
Two sets of small feet scurried through the living room as Molly and Mindy, their dark ringlets flying, scrambled into the entry hall and raced for the door. Small hands vying for the handle, they managed to yank the door open and there on the front porch, looking professional, feminine and surprised as all getout at her reception, stood Jamie Parsons, Attorney-at-Law.
CHAPTER TWO
“WHO’RE YOU?” MOLLY DEMANDED, her brown eyes trained on the woman in black.
“I’m Jamie.” With one quick glance at Slade, she bent down on one knee, mindless that her coat was getting wet in the snow melting on the floorboards of the porch. Good Lord, he’d gotten better looking! “And who are you?” she asked one girl.
“Molly,” the bolder twin asserted, rubbing a hand on her pink sweatshirt.
“And you?” Jamie’s eyes moved to Molly’s identical sister. They were Slade’s daughters, she thought wildly. Surprised that she cared. “What’s your name?”
Mindy took a step behind Slade’s jeans-clad leg. Her small arms wrapped around his knee and she hid her face.
“She’s Mindy and she’s shy,” Molly stated.
“Am not.” Mindy’s thumb was suddenly in her mouth as she peeked around Slade’s thigh. Slade was amused as he read Jamie’s case of nerves. Another set of footsteps announced Nicole’s arrival. Tall, slender, with amber eyes and blond-streaked hair, she was a doctor at St. James Hospital and the mother of the imps, not to mention the reason Thorne wore a smile these days.
“Hello,” she said to Jamie. “I’m Nicole McCafferty.” She extended a hand and tossed a lock of hair off her shoulder. “And these two tornados—” she indicated the twins with her chin “—are my daughters.”
Straightening, Jamie accepted Nicole’s handshake. She glanced at Slade, and something dark shifted in her hazel eyes. Her smile became a little more forced, her voice more professional and cool. “Pleased to meet you. All of you.”
“I take it you already know Slade?” Nicole said as she peeled Mindy from Slade’s leg and gathered the shy girl into her arms.
“Yes…we’ve…we’ve met. Years ago.” Jamie’s voice was husky and she cleared her throat.
Slade noticed that she inched her chin up a fraction as she turned to him and, gesturing to the girls, said, “You’ve been busy.”
He lifted one eyebrow.
“Your daughters…they’re lovely,” she added.
“Why thank you,” he drawled, smothering a smile at her discomfiture—now what was that all about? “But they’re not mine.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I was married before,” Nicole explained. “I just recently joined this family.”
“I see.”
Nicole laughed as she finally caught on. “Oh. No. No! It’s not what you think. Slade’s my brother-in-law. I’m married to Thorne.”
“Poor woman,” Slade drawled, and Nicole sent him a dirty look. He witnessed a blush steal up Jamie’s neck. He remembered that. How easily her fair skin would color a soft, embarrassed pink.
“Oh. Well. My mistake.” Was she relieved? “There wasn’t any reference to wives in the documents.”
“That will have to be changed.” Nicole chuckled and stepped out of the doorway as a black-and-white-spotted cat darted up the stairs. “Come in. It’s freezing out there. Let me take your coat, and Slade—if he has a gentlemanly bone in his body, which is highly unlikely in my opinion—can show you into the dining room where the rest of the clan is waiting.”
“I can manage that,” Slade allowed.
“I hope so.” Nicole transferred a squirming Mindy to the floor. “Meanwhile, I’ll see if Juanita can scrounge up some coffee or tea.”
Jamie was working the buttons of her coat. “That would be great.”
“I’ll take that,” Slade offered as Nicole headed toward the kitchen, her daughters trailing after her like ducklings behind a mother duck.
Jamie set her bags down and shrugged out of her overcoat with Slade’s help. His fingers brushed her nape for the briefest of seconds and he thought she stiffened, but he might have imagined it. She probably barely remembered him.
All business in a black suit and shimmery blouse, she picked up her bags again. “Ready?” she asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” He showed her along the hallway to the dining room. They passed by what he referred to as the McCafferty Hall of Shame where photos of the family were mounted. With cool disinterest Jamie’s eyes skimmed pictures of Thorne in his football uniform, Randi going to the prom, Matt on a bucking bronco and Slade skiing downhill as if the devil were on his tail. Jamie didn’t react, just walked smartly into the dining room.
“Hi,” she said. “You all probably know this, but I figured I’d better get the formal introductions over. I’m Jamie Parsons with Jansen, Monteith and Stone.” Thorne had some trouble scrambling to his feet as one of his legs was in a brace, but Matt reached forward to shake her hand. Slade made quick introductions. “All right,” she said, offering them each a smile that Slade was certain she’d practiced a thousand times in front of a mirror, “let’s get started.”
Everyone settled into a chair. Jamie flipped open her briefcase and distributed copies of legal documents. “The way I understand it is that Matt—” she pinned the middle McCafferty brother in her gaze “—wants to sell his place north of Missoula on contract to Michael Kavanaugh, his neighbor. He then wants to buy the two of you—” she motioned to Slade and Thorne “—out, so that he’ll own half of this place and, Randi, you’ll own the other half.”
“That’s right,” Matt confirmed.
“Matt’s agreed to run the ranch,” Randi contributed. “Then he…well, he and Kelly, since they’re going to be married soon…can live here.”
“What about you?” Thorne asked, his brows beetling.
Randi shook her head and flipped a palm toward the ceiling. “I do have a life in Seattle, you know.”
Thorne’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, I do know. But until we’re certain you’re safe, I don’t want you going anywhere. Not until we figure out who’s been trying to kill you and he’s safely behind bars.”
With a smile that dared her oldest brother to try to tell her what to do, she arched a dark brow. “I’m not arguing about it now, okay? I think Ms. Parsons has business here and she’d like to get down to it.”
“Jamie. Let’s keep this casual.”
Slade stiffened.
“We’re all from around here, so there’s no reason to be formal,” Jamie said coolly. “Okay, you’ve all got a copy of the paperwork, so let’s go over it.”
Slade tried not to notice the slope of her jaw, or the way she flashed a smile or how her eyebrows knitted in concentration as she read through the documents. What had happened between them was ancient history. Ancient.
Besides, he didn’t like lawyers. Any of ’em. He reached into his shirt pocket, his fingers searching for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes. He was trying to cut down and had left his smokes in his truck. Not that anyone would let him light up in here anyway.
Nicole brought in a tray of coffee, tea and cinnamon cookies, but Jamie seemed to barely notice. The baby started to fuss and she glanced at J.R. for just a second, her eyes turning wistful for the barest of moments before she became all business again.
Apologizing in Spanish and English, Juanita bustled in. Dark eyes flashed with pride as she fixated on the baby. “Dios, little man, you are a loud one.” Expertly she plucked the infant from Randi’s arms. “He is hungry, sí?”
“Big time,” Randi said, starting to climb to her feet.
“Sit, sit…you have business.” Juanita waved Randi back into her chair. “I’ll see to him.” Before Randi could protest, Juanita turned on her heel and, cradling the baby close, swept out of the room.
Jamie barely broke stride. “Let’s look at page two…”
A professional attorney through and through, Slade thought, staring at her. Where was the wild, rebellious girl he remembered? The one who had turned his head and made him, for a few weeks, question what he wanted? The girl in tattered jeans who had, behind her grandmother’s back, drunk, smoked and gone to a tattoo parlor, only to be kicked out before the deed was done as she was underage? If Slade’s recollection was right, Jamie had planned to have a small butterfly etched into one smooth shoulder.
Glancing at the thick sheaf of neatly typed pages in front of him Slade wondered if Jamie, once she’d finally turned eighteen, had ever gone back for the body art? Or had her transformation into this all-business woman already begun? Who was she these days? Just another corporate attorney with her hair pulled harshly away from her face, her nails polished, her smile forced? Where was the free spirit who had attracted him so many years ago? Where was the rebellious creature who could spit as well as any boy, swear a blue streak, and ride bareback under the stars without a second’s hesitation? He watched her through eyes at half mast and hardly caught a glimmer of the girl she’d once been. For today, at least, she was all business—an automaton spewing legal jargon.
Every once in a while one of the brothers or Randi asked a question. Jamie always had an answer.
“I’ll want to put my fiancée’s name on the deed,” Matt said, his dark eyes thoughtful.
“So you’re getting married.” Jamie scribbled a quick note on her copy of the documents. “When?”
“Between Christmas and New Year’s. I tried to talk her into eloping, but her family had a fit. As it is, it’s pretty short notice.”
Jamie lifted an arched brow. “So another McCafferty bachelor bites the dust.”
“Ouch,” Thorne said, but one side of his mouth curved upward. “That just leaves Slade.”
For a second the Ice Woman seemed to melt. Her hazel eyes found his. A dozen questions lurked therein. “I thought you were married.”
“Never,” he replied. Seated low on his spine, sipping coffee, he stared straight into those incredible eyes.
“But…I mean…” She seemed confused, then quickly shoved whatever she was thinking out of her mind and pulled her corporate self together. “Not that it matters. So…” She swung her head toward Matt who was seated at the head of the table near the china closet. “What’s your fiancée’s name?”
“Kelly Dillinger, but it will be McCafferty by the end of the month.”
“She’s the daughter of Eva Dillinger, who was our father’s secretary.” Thorne’s mouth turned down and Slade’s stomach twisted at the thought of his old man. He missed him, true, but the guy had been a number-one bastard most of Slade’s life. “The deal is this. Dad reneged on paying Eva the retirement that he’d promised her and so we—” he motioned to include his brothers and sister “—through the trust, decided to make it good. Your firm handles the disbursements.”
Jamie gave a quick nod as if she suddenly remembered. “I’ve got the papers on the trust with me,” she said, riffling through her briefcase and withdrawing another thick file.
“Good.” Thorne nodded.
“But Kelly’s name needs to be on the deed to the ranch,” Matt insisted.
“Duly noted.” Jamie penned a reminder on the first page of the contract allowing Matt to buy out his brothers. “I’ll see that she’s included in the final draft, then she’ll have to sign, along with the rest of you, and Mr. Kavanaugh. I’ll leave you each a copy of what I’ve drawn up and you can peruse everything more closely. If you all agree, I’ll print out final copies and we’ll sign.”
“Sounds good.” Matt picked up his set of papers as Jamie straightened her pile and thumped it on the table. With a well-practiced smile that didn’t light her eyes, she glanced at each McCafferty sibling before sliding all the documents into her briefcase.
So rehearsed, so professional, so un-Jamie Parsons. At least the Jamie he remembered. As he observed her, Slade wondered what it would take to catch a glimpse of the girl hiding beneath the neatly pressed jacket and skirt.
“So…Matt, you and your wife will be living on the property…Thorne and Nicole are building nearby and Randi will eventually move back to Seattle. I’ve got all your addresses except Slade’s.” She stared straight at him. “Where do you call home these days?”
“I’ve got a place in Colorado, outside of Boulder, but…I haven’t decided if I’ll stay there or sell it. In the meantime, I’m here, so you can use the address of the Flying M.”
“Fair enough.” She glanced again from one McCafferty sibling to the next. “Anything else?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Thorne glanced at his sister. “We’ve got a little situation and I’d like some advice on it. As you know, Randi, here, had a baby a couple of months back and the father hasn’t stepped forward and made any claim of custody yet, but—”
“Hey!” Randi shot out of her chair and skewered her brother with a don’t-even-go-there glare. “Let’s not get into this. Not now.”
“We have to, Randi.” Thorne was serious. “Sooner or later J.R.’s dad is gonna show up. I’ll bet on it. And he’s gonna start talking about custody and his rights as a father and I’d like to know what we’re up against.”
“This is my problem, Thorne,” Randi said, leaning over the table. Pushing her face as close to her oldest brother’s as was possible, she hooked a thumb at her chest. “Mine. Okay? Not yours. Not Matt’s. Not Slade’s. And certainly not Jansen, Monteith and Stone’s!” Her eyes snapped fire, her cheeks flushed and she glared at Thorne for a long moment. No one said a word. Finally, Randi swung her gaze toward Jamie. “No offense, okay, but I can handle this. My brothers are just mad because I haven’t told them who the baby’s father is. Not that it’s any of their business.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Slade reminded her. “Someone’s trying to kill you.”
“Again, it’s nobody’s business.”
“Like hell.” Slade glowered at his sister. Sometimes Randi could be so bullheaded she was just plain stupid. “Your safety is our business.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You can’t even remember what happened!” Slade countered, disgusted with his half sibling. “At least that’s what you claim.”
“It’s true.”
“Okay, fine, then help us out. We’re just trying to keep you safe. To keep J.R., or whatever the hell you call him, safe, okay? So quit being so damned bristly and give us a clue or two! Who’s the kid’s dad?”
“This isn’t the time or place,” she warned, every muscle tightening.
Thorne held up a hand as if to somehow quiet Slade. “We’re just trying to help.”
“Back off, Thorne. I said I can handle it. He’s my baby and I would never, never do anything to put him in jeopardy, for God’s sake. Now, I agreed to stay here for a while, until this whole mess is cleared up, but that doesn’t mean my life is going to stop, so just back off!”
Matt shook his head and stared out the window.
“Women,” Slade growled, and Jamie’s spine stiffened.
Instead of snapping back at his remark, she visibly shifted, as if deciding it was her job to diffuse the argument rather than aggravate it. “Custody rights aren’t my area of expertise, but, if you decide you do want some legal advice, I can hook you up with Felicia Reynolds. She handles all the custody cases for the firm.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll contact her.” Randi shot Thorne another warning glare before dropping into her chair. “Maybe.”
Jamie snapped her briefcase closed. “Let me know if you want to get in touch with her.”
“I will,” Randi said, firing Thorne a look meant to not only kill but to eviscerate, as well.
“Okay.” It was Jamie’s turn to stand. “If any of you has any questions, you can call me through my cell phone, as I don’t have a phone number here in town yet, or you can leave a message with the office and they’ll get in touch with me. I’m staying at my grandmother’s place and as soon as the regular phone is hooked up, I’ll let you know.”
The meeting was over.
Everyone shook hands.
All business.
Somehow it galled the hell out of Slade, but he found her coat and helped her into it.
Without a backward glance, she walked out the door, her black coat billowing behind her, her briefcase swinging from one gloved hand. Slade hesitated, couldn’t help but watch as she climbed into her car and drove away, tires spinning in the snow.
“Randi’s right. You did date her,” Matt said as Slade closed the door and, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, strolled back to the living room where his brothers were waiting. Matt knelt at the fire, prodding the blackened log with a poker while Thorne rummaged in the old man’s liquor cabinet.
“I saw her a few times,” Slade admitted, leaning one hip on the windowsill. This conversation was getting them nowhere and he didn’t want to discuss it. Seeing Jamie again had brought back a tidal wave of memories that he’d dammed up a long, long time ago.
“Oh, come on, Slade. You saw her more than a few times.” Randi hobbled into the room, then fell onto the leather couch. “Let’s see,” she said, her features pinching as she tried to recall images from the past. Slade sensed he wasn’t going to like what was coming next and he braced himself. “The way I remember it, you dated Jamie for a couple of months while you were broken up with Sue Ellen Tisdale, right?”
“I remember you with Sue Ellen,” Thorne added. Great. Just what he needed: his family dissecting his love life.
“But,” Randi added, “once Sue Ellen came to her senses and came running back, you dropped Jamie like a hot potato. I thought you were going to marry Sue Ellen.”
Slade snorted; didn’t comment.
Thorne pulled out a bottle of Scotch. “So did I.”
“Everyone did.” Randi wasn’t about to let up. “Probably even Jamie.”
“Again, your memory amazes me,” Slade commented.
“As I said, ‘bits and pieces.’”
“Is that right?” Matt prodded the fire with a poker. “You really tossed Jamie over for Sue Ellen Tisdale?” His tone implied that Slade was a first-class idiot.
“That’s not exactly what happened. Besides, it was years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter when it happened.” Randi rested one heel on the coffee table. “Face it, Slade,” she said as the fire began to crackle, “whether you want to admit it or not, about fifteen years ago, you were the son of a bitch who broke Jamie Parsons’s heart.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WELL, THAT WENT SWIMMINGLY,” Jamie rumbled under her breath as she carried her briefcase and a sack of groceries into her grandmother’s house. Driving into town from the Flying M she’d second-guessed herself and cursed C. William “Chuck” Jansen a dozen times over for assigning her to the McCafferty project.
“Since you’re heading to Grand Hope anyway, I thought you could help the firm out,” Chuck had said as he’d sat familiarly on the corner of the desk in her office, one leg swinging, his wing-tip gleaming in the soft lighting. His boyish smile had been wide, his suit expensive, his shirt, as always, starched and crisply pressed. He’d tugged at his Yves St. Laurent tie. “I think it would be a good idea to put a face on Jansen, Monteith and Stone for the McCafferty family. John Randall McCafferty was an excellent client of the firm and the partners would like to keep the McCaffertys’ business. Maybe even get a little more. Thorne McCafferty is a millionaire several times over in his own right, and the second son, Matt—he owns his own place. He’s basically a small-time rancher, but he also seems to have some of that McCafferty-Midas touch. The third son…”
Jamie recalled how Chuck’s brows had knit and his lips had folded together thoughtfully while she had conjured up a few unwelcome memories of Slade and nearly snapped her pen in two. “Well, there’s always one in the family, I suppose. The third son, Slade—he never amounted to much. Lots of potential, but couldn’t get it together. Too busy raising hell. He drove race cars and rode rodeo and even led expeditions for extreme skiing, I think. Always on the edge, but never getting his life together.
“But John Randall’s only daughter, Randi—she’s a real firecracker—takes after the old man. No wonder she was named after him.”
Jamie tried to ignore the comments about Slade and concentrated on his half sister. She remembered Randi as being smart, sassy and McCafferty-stubborn.
“She’s got her own daily column, ‘Solo’ or ‘Being Single’ or something,” Chuck had continued. “Writes for a Seattle newspaper. There’s some talk of syndication, I think. And Thorne mentioned that she could have been working on a book at the time of the accident.”
“Thorne McCafferty used to work here, didn’t he?” Jamie had asked, twiddling her pen and not liking the turn of the conversation. Especially not any reference to Slade.
“Yes, yes, that’s right. He was a junior partner years ago. Then went out on his own. Moved to Denver. But he still throws us a bone once in a while. So, I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be a plum to nail down the corporate account, steal it away from that Denver firm he deals with?” Chuck’s eyes had sparked with a competitive fire Jamie hadn’t witnessed in a while.
“I thought you were going to retire.”
“In a couple of years, yes,” he’d admitted, winking at her. “But why not go out in a blaze, hmm? It’ll only make my share of the firm worth more, hence my retirement…we could buy a sailboat and sail to Tahiti or Fiji or—”
“I’ll still have a job.”
“Not if you marry me.”
She’d squirmed. Chuck had been pressuring her lately and she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. There had been a time when she’d thought that enough money could buy happiness, that the reason Slade McCafferty hadn’t been interested in her was because she was poor, from the wrong side of the tracks, and didn’t have the social status of Sue Ellen Tisdale. But over the years she’d changed her opinion about financial success and its rewards. She’d met plenty of miserable millionaires.
“Listen.” Chuck had rapped his knuckles on the desk as he’d straightened. “Think about it when you’re in Grand Hope. Being Mrs. Chuck Jansen wouldn’t be all that bad, not that I’m pressuring you.”
“Right,” she’d said, and managed a smile.
“We’ll talk when you get back.” He’d said it with the same confidence he oozed in a courtroom.
“What a mess,” Jamie muttered to herself as she adjusted the thermostat while, presumably, back in Missoula, Chuck was waiting, expecting her to get off the fence and accept his proposal.
But she couldn’t. Not yet.
Why?
Chuck was smart. Educated. Clever. Good-looking. Wealthy. His share of the business was worth a bundle and then there was his stock portfolio and two homes.
He also has a bitter ex-wife, her mind nagged. And three college-age kids. He doesn’t want any more.
Jamie thought of Randi McCafferty and her newborn son, the way the baby’s eyes had twinkled in adoration at his mother. Her heartstrings tugged. God, how she wanted a baby of her own, a baby to love. Could she marry Chuck, become a stepmother to nearly grown children, never raise a daughter or son of her own, one she conceived with a husband who made her heart pound and brought a smile to her lips? For a second Slade’s face flashed through Jamie’s mind. “Oh, stop it,” she growled at herself in frustration. Just because she’d been thrown back here and had to face him, she’d started fantasizing. “You’re pathetic, Parsons. Pa-thetic.” She started to unpack the groceries, but couldn’t forget how surprised she’d been at Slade’s easy manner with his twin nieces and tiny nephew. Who would have thought?
Ironic, she thought, touching her flat abdomen. But, once upon a time…
“Don’t even go there,” she chastised herself, stocking the cupboard with a few cans of soup and a box of crackers, then stuffing a quart of milk and jug of orange juice into the old refrigerator.
She remembered turning into the lane of the Flying M this afternoon. Her nerves had been stretched tight as piano wire, her hands sweating inside her gloves. But that had been just the start of it. Finally facing Slade again—oh, Lord, that had been the worst; more difficult than she’d even imagined.
He’d changed in the past fifteen years. His body had filled out, his shoulders were broader, his chest wider, though his hips were as lean as she remembered. At that thought, she colored, remembering the first time she’d seen him without clothes—at the swimming hole when he’d yanked off his cutoffs, revealing that he hadn’t bothered wearing any underwear. She’d glimpsed white buttocks that had contrasted to his tanned back and muscular legs, and caught sight of something more, a part of male anatomy she’d never seen before.
Oh, God, she’d been such an innocent. Of course he’d changed physically. Hard-living and years had a way of doing that to a body. Slade’s face was more angular than it had been; a thin scar ran down one side of his face, but his eyes were still as blue as a Montana sky.
She’d noticed that he’d limped slightly. And there was something in his expression, a darkness in his eyes, that betrayed him, a shadow of pain. Okay, so he had his war wounds; some more visible than others. Didn’t everyone? She folded the grocery sack and slipped it into the pantry.
She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between Sue Ellen and him, though she imagined Sue Ellen was just one of dozens. The McCafferty boys had been legendary in their conquests. Hadn’t she been one?
“Who cares,” she growled as she picked up her coat and hung it in the hall closet where Nana’s vacuum cleaner still stood guard. All the McCafferty boys had been hellions, teenagers who had disregarded the law. Slade had been no exception. While Thorne had been an athlete, and toed the line more than either of his brothers, Matt had been rumored to be a lady-killer with his lazy smile and rodeo daring, and Slade had gained the reputation of a daredevil, a boy who’d fearlessly climbed the most jagged peaks, kayaked down raging rivers and skied to the extreme on the most treacherous slopes—all of which had been accomplished over his father’s vehement protests.
But it had been a thousand years ago. She’d been a rebellious girl trying to fit in. Not a grown woman with a law degree. Sensible, she reminded herself. These days she was sensible.
And sometimes she hated it.
* * *
“DON’T LECTURE ME,” Randi ordered as Slade walked into the den. She was seated at Thorne’s computer, glasses propped on the end of her nose, the baby sleeping in a playpen in the corner.
“Did I say a word?”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your face. You’re an open book, Slade.”
“Like hell.” He propped a hip against the edge of the desk. “I think you and I need to clear the air.”
The corners of her mouth tightened a fraction. “Just a sec.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “You can’t believe how much e-mail I’ve collected…” With a wry smile, she clicked off and added, “It’s great to be loved. Now, as I was saying, don’t start in on me about the baby’s father. It’s my business. So if that’s what you mean by ‘clearing the air,’ let’s just keep it foggy.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“So you keep reminding me, over and over.” Something darkened her eyes for a heartbeat. Fear? Anger? He couldn’t tell, and the shadow quickly disappeared. Standing slightly, she leaned over the desk, pushing aside a cup of pens and pencils. “I get enough advice from Thorne. And Nicole. And Matt and even Juanita.” Pointing an accusing finger at his nose, she said, “From you, I expect understanding.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking me to understand.”
“That I need some space. Some privacy. Come on, Slade, you know what it’s like for the whole damned family to be talking about you, worrying about you, clucking around like a bunch of hens. It’s enough to drive a sane person crazy. That’s why you and I both moved away from Grand Hope in the first place.”
“So who says you’re sane?”
“Oh, so now you’re a comedian,” she quipped, smothering a smile as she took off her glasses and leaned back into her chair. Large brown eyes assessed him. “What’s with that private detective?”
“Striker?”
“Yeah, him. I hear he’s your friend.”
“He is.”
“Humph.” She frowned, fluffing up her short locks with nervous fingers. “There’s a reason they’re called dicks, you know.”
He snorted. “Testy, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are. We don’t like being watched around the clock, spied upon, our lives being dissected. Tell him to lay off. I don’t like him digging around in my personal life.”
“No way, kiddo. It was my idea to bring him into the investigation.”
“And it was a bad one. We don’t need him.” She was adamant. “We’ve got the sheriff’s department. Detective Espinoza seems to be doing a decent enough job. Kelly should never have quit the department to work with Striker.”
Something was going on here; something Randi wasn’t admitting. “Is it Striker you don’t like? Or P.I.s in general?”
“Both. Aren’t the police enough?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Kurt’s just trying to help us find the bastard who wants you dead. You might be a little more helpful, you know. It’s like you’re hiding something.”
“What?”
“You tell me.”
“I would if I could,” she snapped. “But that’s just not possible right now. However, if I remember anything, anything at all, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Yeah, right. Then try concentrating on something besides people I dated fifteen years ago.”
Randi’s eyes narrowed. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? What happened with Jamie?”
“I haven’t thought about it much.”
“Until now.” His sister’s smile was nearly wicked. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” he said, knowing as the word passed his teeth it was a lie. Jamie had gotten to him. Already. And he felt an unlikely need to explain himself, to set the record straight about the Sue Ellen thing.
Or is that just an excuse to see her again? Face it McCafferty, you haven’t been interested in a woman since Rebecca, but one look at the lady attorney and you’ve barely thought of anything else.
“So what’re you working on?” He pointed at the computer and shoved his nagging thoughts aside.
“Catching up on a billion e-mails,” she said. “I’ve been out of the loop awhile. It’ll take days to go through all of these and I’ve got to get my own laptop back. This one is Thorne’s and I don’t think he appreciates me monopolizing it as it’s his main link to his office in Denver.”
“He’s got a desktop ordered. It should be here any day.”
“That’ll solve some problems.”
“Where’s your laptop?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know…I can’t remember…but…why don’t you ask Kurt Striker. I hear both he and the police have been in my apartment. Damn.” She raked her fingers through her short, uneven hair, and when she looked up at Slade, her expression was troubled. “I’m really not trying to be a pain, Slade. I know everyone’s trying to help me, but it’s so frustrating. I feel like it’s really important for me to get back home, to look through my stuff, to write on my own computer, but I can’t remember what’s on the damned thing, probably just ideas and research for future columns, but I feel like it could help—that it might be the reason some psycho is after me.”
“Maybe it is,” he said. “Juanita said you were working on a book.”
“So I’ve heard. But…” She sighed loudly. “I can’t remember what it’s about.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to find the damned laptop, won’t we? Striker’s still working on it.”
“Striker. Oh, great,” she muttered as Slade left her.
In the kitchen, he yanked his jacket from a hook near the back door and walked outside. The late-afternoon sky was already dark, the air brisk.
Overhead, clouds threatened to dump more snow. Not that he cared. He climbed into his pickup, started the engine and cranked on the wheel. He’d drive into town, have a drink and…and what?
See Jamie again ran through his mind.
“Damn it all to hell.” He threw the truck into first and reached for his pack of smokes. He’d always gotten himself into trouble where women were concerned and he knew, as the tires slid on a slick patch of packed snow, that he hadn’t changed over the years.
He could deny it to himself up one side and down the other, but the truth of the matter was, he intended to see Jamie again and he intended to do it tonight.
* * *
SHIVERING, JAMIE CHANGED INTO soft jeans and her favorite old sweatshirt before she clamored down to the kitchen where she found a pan, washed it, heated the soup and crushed oyster crackers into the beef and vegetable broth. She imagined Nana sitting across the table from her, insisting they say grace, watching her over the top of her glasses until Jamie obediently bowed her head and mouthed a prayer.
It wasn’t that Jamie hadn’t believed in God in those days, she just hadn’t had a lot of extra time to spend on her spiritual growth—not when there were boys to date, cars to carouse in and cigarettes to smoke. It was a wonder she’d graduated from high school, much less had been accepted into college.
“God bless the SATs,” she said, smiling at her own prayer. “And you, Nana, wherever you are. God bless you.” She left the dishes in the sink, then started cleaning, room by room, as the ancient furnace rumbled and heat slowly seeped into the house. She’d considered hiring a cleaning service, but figured the scrubbing was cathartic for her and somehow—wherever she was—Nana would approve. “A little hard work never hurt anyone,” she’d lectured when Jamie had tried to weasel out of her chores.
Nita Parsons had realized her granddaughter was a troubled girl who had one foot headed to nowhere good. And she had decided she wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Jamie as she had with Jamie’s father, an alcoholic who had abandoned his wife and daughter two days after Jamie’s eighth birthday. Barely nine years later, Jamie’s single mother had gotten fed up with a rebellious teenage daughter who seemed hell-bent on ruining both their lives.
That’s when Nana had stepped in.
And how had Jamie repaid her? By giving her grandmother more gray hairs than she’d already had.
“Sorry,” Jamie whispered now as she rubbed polish into the base of a brass lamp. She intended to scrub Nana’s hardwood and tile floors until they gleamed, paint the rooms in the soft yellows Nana had loved and repair what she could afford.
And then sell the place?
Inwardly Jamie cringed. She could almost hear the disappointment in her grandmother’s voice. How many times had she heard Nana say, “This will be yours one day, Jamie, and don’t you ever sell it. I own it free and clear and it’s been a godsend, believe me. When times are lean, I can grow my own food. Twenty acres is more than enough to support you, if you’re smart and work hard. I don’t have to worry about a rent payment or a landlord who might not take a shine to me.” She’d wagged a finger in front of Jamie’s nose on more than one occasion. “I’ve lived through wars and bad times, let me tell you, and I was one of the lucky ones. The people who had farms and held on to them, they did okay. They might have had patches on their sleeves and holes in their shoes but they had full bellies and a roof over their heads.”
Jamie had thought it all very dull at the time and now as she wiped at a network of cobwebs behind the living room blinds, she felt incredible guilt. Could she really sell this place, the only real home she’d had growing up? And what about Caesar? Could she offer up the roan to some stranger for a few hundred dollars? Biting her lip, she looked at the rocker where Nita had knitted and watched television, the coffee table that was cluttered with crossword puzzle books and gardening magazines and the bookshelf that held her grandfather’s pipes, the family Bible and the photo albums. In the corner was Nana’s old upright piano, and the bench, smooth from years of sitting with students.
Nostalgic, Jamie glanced out the window.
A shadow moved on the panes.
Her heart nearly stopped. The shadow passed by again and then, behind the frosted glass a tiny face emerged—gold head, whiskers, wide green eyes.
“Lazarus!” Jamie cried, recognizing her grandmother’s precious pet as he jumped onto the window-sill. He cried loudly, showing fewer of the needle-sharp teeth than he had in the past.
Grinning, Jamie sprinted to the front door, pulled it open and flipped on the porch light. Cold air followed the cat inside. “What are you doing here, old guy?” she asked as Lazarus slunk into the living room and rubbed against her legs. She gathered him into her arms and felt tears burn the backs of her eyelids. When Nana had died, the neighbors, Jack and Betty Pederson, had offered to take in the aging cat, Jamie had never expected him to show up.
“You escaped, did you?” she said, petting his silky head. “You’re a bad boy.”
His purr was as loud as it had been when he was a kitten. “Like a damned outboard motor,” her grandfather, when he’d been alive, had complained.
Now, the sound was heavenly. “Come on, I’ve got something for you,” she whispered, kicking the door open and starting down the hall. Lazarus trotted after her. In the kitchen she poured a little milk into a tiny bowl, took the chill off of it on the stove and set the dish on the floor. “There ya go.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she heard footsteps on the front porch. The doorbell chimed. “Uh-oh,” she said to the cat. “Busted.”
She expected to find a frantic Betty or Jack on the front porch. Instead, as she peered through one of the three small windows notched into the door, she recognized the laser-blue eyes of Slade McCafferty.
CHAPTER FOUR
THIS IS THE LAST THING I NEED, Jamie thought. The very last thing. Her stupid heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and if she were honest with herself she would admit that her breath caught in her throat nonetheless. If she had any sense at all, she’d tell him to get lost.
You can’t do that, Jamie-girl. He’s a bona fide paying client now, remember? Like it or not, you have to deal with him and you have to be professional. No matter what kind of a lying bastard he might be.
“Something I can do for you?” she asked as she cracked open the door, then, feeling foolish threw it wide enough to let in a gust of frosty air and give her full view of the man she’d sworn to despise.
“You said to call or drop by if any of us needed anything.” Snowflakes clung to the shoulders of his jacket and sparkled in his dark hair.
“That I did.” She’d never in a million years thought he’d take her up on it.
“I think you and I…we should clear the air.”
“Does it need clearing?”
“I think so.” His eyes didn’t warm. Every muscle in her body was tense. “The way I see it, you and I, we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a couple of weeks.”
“Is that a problem?” she asked, sounding far more cool and professional than she felt.
“Could be. I don’t want anything from the past making either one of us uncomfortable.”
Too late. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Well, I am,” he said, one side of his mouth twisting upward in a hard semblance of a smile. God, he was sexy. “I’m freezing my rear out here.” A pause. She didn’t move. “Are you gonna invite me in or what?”
This is going to be dangerous, Jamie. Being alone with Slade isn’t a good idea.
“Sure,” she said, pushing the door even wider. “Why not?” A million reasons. None worth examining. The faint hint of smoke and a blast of cold air swirled into the foyer as he walked into the small hallway. Quickly she closed the door and leaned against it. She didn’t offer him a chair. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“You.”
She nearly fell through the floor.
“Me?”
“More specifically us.”
“Us?” Her heart catapulted. This wasn’t what she’d expected. The professional smile she’d practiced all afternoon cracked and fell away. “There is no ‘us,’ not anymore, Slade,” she said, clearing her throat. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Guilt, probably.”
“Well, forget it. What happened was a lifetime ago. We were just kids and…and it’s just easier if we forget there ever was. We only saw each other for a couple of months. I’m surprised you remember.”
“Don’t you?”
As though it was yesterday! “Vaguely,” she lied. “You know, little flashbacks, I guess, but not much. It’s been a long time, more like a lifetime,” she said, gathering steam. “You and I, we’ve got to deal with each other professionally for the next few weeks, so let’s just forget that we ever knew each other, okay? Let the past stay right where it is. After all, it wasn’t much more than a blip in our lives.”
“Bull.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was more than that.”
“At the time.”
“I’m not buying that you don’t remember.”
“I said I do, some of it, probably more than I wanted to when I drove back here, but let’s just keep things in perspective.”
“Perspective?”
“I’m an attorney working for you. You’re the client.”
“Hell’s bells, Jamie, we slept together.”
“That’s really not so unique, is it? Not for you. Not with the girls around here.”
His jaw tightened and he took a step forward. “You were different.”
“Like hell, McCafferty. I’m going to be honest with you, okay? There was a time when I would have done anything, anything to hear you tell me I was different, special, someone you never forgot…But that was eons ago, when I was just a wounded little girl. I’m over it and I don’t want to go back there and I don’t believe for an instant, not one instant, that you’ve had even the slightest bit of regret for what happened.
“So just because I’m in town and you feel…what? Compelled to ‘clear the air,’ forget it. I have.”
“Nice speech you’re peddling,” he said, looking down at her. “But I’m not buying it.”
God, his eyes were blue. “You don’t have to. You can take it or leave it.” She wanted to step away from him. He was just too damned close, but she held her ground, determined to show him that she wasn’t going to be intimidated or bullied. Those days were over.
“You’re scared.”
“And you’ve got one hell of an inflated ego, McCafferty. But then some things just don’t change, do they?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. And you do remember, Jamie. You’re too smart to have forgotten.”

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