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The Truth About Jane Doe
Linda Warren
Christmas Jane Doe, known as C.J., has grown up with one obsession: finding her parents. Unfortunately, it seems they don't want to be found. Now, after years of fruitless searching, three things happen. C.J. is left an unexpected legacy. Someone tries to stop her search. And Matthew Sloan returns to Coberville. Matthew and C.J. work together to solve the mystery of her birth. Because only when they learn the truth about Jane Doe will Coberville's lies and secrets be exposed.Only when C.J. knows who she REALLY is, can she consider a life with Matthew. Which is what she wants most in this whole world. It's what Matthew wants, too. A hometown life, a hometown love….


“My name is Matthew Sloan, Jr., and I’d like to speak with you, Miss Doe. About your…inheritance.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?” She said his name slowly, drawing out each syllable in a mocking sort of way. She was baiting him, trying to throw him off guard. C. J. Doe wanted the upper hand. As he watched her toss her hair over her shoulder and felt a warmth curl through his stomach, he had to admit she probably already had the upper hand.
“The Townsends would like to make an offer. As you know, they’re eager to get back the land Victoria left you.”
She didn’t respond, just stared at him with unwavering eyes.
Matthew came right to the point. “They’re willing to offer you a million dollars.”
“The land is not for sale.”
“A million dollars, Miss Doe. Think what you could do with all that money. You can travel, leave Coberville, make a new life for yourself.”
“And what would I be called in this new life, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
He was taken aback by the question and for once words failed him.
“Money can’t buy my true identity,” she told him. “I would still be Christmas Jane Doe.”
Dear Reader,
Have you ever thought you might be adopted? Have you ever wished you were adopted? Okay, I won’t go there. But have you ever wondered from whom you got certain traits? I guess we all have. In my case, I don’t have to do much wondering. I look like my mother and act like my father, or so I’ve been told. My brothers and I all have brown eyes and brown hair. We’re all different but share a number of characteristics. That’s being part of a family; it’s in our genes.
But what if your background was a blank sheet? No parents, no one to tell you who you looked or acted like…
I thought about this when I read an article in the paper about a baby girl being found on someone’s doorstep. She had no past, no identity; no one knew who she was or where she came from. I sincerely hope she was adopted by a loving family and has a wonderful life. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. How would she deal with life, especially once she was old enough to understand? How would people treat her? Would she feel driven to find her biological parents?
That’s how Christmas Jane Doe came to me. You’ll read C.J.’s story in the following pages—complete with a handsome hero and a twenty-first-century fairy-tale ending! After such a beginning, she deserved no less.
Hope you enjoy learning The Truth About Jane Doe.
Linda Warren

THE TRUTH ABOUT JANE DOE
Linda Warren


To the hero in my life,
my husband, Billy, my Sonny.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE
A CRISP MARCH WIND tugged at the tall stately cedars that stood guard over the Coberville cemetery. Their fanlike branches swayed with faint sighs, befitting the arrival of another funeral procession.
A long black hearse rolled through the gates. An endless stream of cars and trucks followed, lining the graveled entrance and highway. The whole town had turned out to pay its last respects to Matthew Sloan, Sr.—neighbor, friend, confidant and judge to the small Texas town for more than forty years.
Family and close friends gathered beneath a green canopy. Others huddled together on the lawn. Words of love and praise rang out and blended with the wind.
The service over, Matthew Sloan, Jr., escorted his mother to their car. Soft sobs and sad whispers rippled through the crowd. Belle Sloan trembled and Matthew’s arms tightened around her. He hoped he could get her home before she broke down. His parents had been so close, and he worried that his father’s death was going to be too much for her.
He helped his mother into the passenger seat. “Are you all right, Mom?”
Watery blue eyes focused blankly on him. “I’ll be fine, son,” she answered, her voice shaky.
She touched his face in a loving gesture. Matthew tried to smile, tried to reassure her, but smiles and words were hard to come by today. His father’s passing had left a tremendous void.
On his way to the driver’s side, he paused a moment to look back at the grave. People were getting into their cars, the wind catching at their clothes. Time to leave, time to get on with living. A sick feeling churned his stomach. He wondered if that was possible. Just then he noticed a solitary figure standing to one side of the cemetery—a young woman dressed completely in black. Wind whipped long black hair around her like a shield. People rushed by her. No one spoke or acknowledged her presence. She held her back straight and her head high. Her beauty touched something inside him, and for a moment Matthew couldn’t drag his eyes away. Who was she? What was she doing at his father’s funeral?

AFTER THE LAST CAR had driven off, Christmas Jane Doe walked to the grave and knelt in the fresh dirt, laying a single white rose among the array of flowers already there.
She folded her hands and said a silent prayer, then stared at the casket and asked, “What did you know about my birth? Why couldn’t you share your secret with me?” She swallowed hard, trying to accept the finality. “I guess you had your reasons. Thank you for being so nice to me. Goodbye, my friend. Rest in peace.” Getting to her feet, she walked to her truck, face devoid of emotion.

C.J. TOOK THE CORNER on two wheels, tires screeching. The Watsons’ entrance loomed ahead and she didn’t slow down. She was thankful the gate was open. Dust swirled behind her like a thunderstorm, matching the anger inside her.
So many emotions fueled her anger: grief, frustration, despair. She would never see or talk to Matt Sloan again. He would never tell her what he knew about her birth. She’d been certain that he knew something. Now everything seemed so hopeless. But she couldn’t give up. She had to keep searching. Finding the truth was the most powerful driving force in her life.
She would uncover the secret of her birth and…and what? Would that change things? Would people treat her differently? She didn’t think so.
She had been the subject of backroom gossip in Coberville ever since her mother abandoned her as an infant on Pete and Maggie Watson’s doorstep on Christmas Day twenty-six years ago. No one knew who she was or where she came from. People called her simply C.J. and treated her with an indifference that always got to her, as it had today. Their behavior hurt deeply, but she would never let them see her tears.
About a hundred yards from the house, she slammed on the brakes. Dust blanketed the truck like fog. She needed a few minutes to curb her emotions before she saw Pete and Harry.
When Maggie had died years ago, Harry, Pete’s older brother, had moved in with them from his place on the creek to help them deal with the loss. Harry had an intensely protective streak toward C.J. He didn’t like anyone upsetting her. He was known to have a short fuse and she didn’t want him fighting her battles. She could look after herself. Taking a calming breath, she counted to ten—a trick she’d learned as a kid when children taunted her.
She slowly relaxed and gazed at the small house she shared with Pete and Harry. Her favorite place. Her home, or the closest she would ever get to a real home. The cabin, built in the 1800s by Harrison Watson, Pete and Harry’s great-grandfather, was made of sturdy logs and stone and stood high on a hill nestled among large oak trees. Halfway down the hill a small lake shimmered in the welcoming rays of sunlight. Some of the best horseflesh in Texas grazed contentedly in a green coastal meadow between the house and the lake. Rosebushes with blooms of red and white climbed a barbed-wire fence that separated the house from the corral and barn to the south. Maggie’s flowers. C.J. smiled wistfully. How she longed for Maggie’s presence.
With a soft sigh she pressed the gas pedal. She drove to the garage and got out.
Pete Watson stepped onto the long wooden porch that covered the front of the house. The screen door banged shut behind him. He stood over six feet, his skin weathered by sun and hard work. In his seventies, he was still a striking figure, with his handlebar mustache, cowboy hat and spurs that jangled when he walked. An Old West hero, standing toe-to-toe with Wyatt Earp and Matt Dillon. That was how C.J. saw him—her hero, her protector, giving her a home when her parents—whoever they were—hadn’t wanted her.
Pete and Maggie had tried to adopt her, but the authorities said they were too old to adopt a baby. They had waited and waited for Social Services to find her a permanent home. Over the years numerous couples had applied, but at the last minute each was turned down for some reason or other. The Watsons couldn’t understand it, but it had all worked out for the best. She’d stayed on with the people who’d wanted her.
Noticing her black outfit, Pete frowned, his shaggy eyebrows knotted together in disapproval. One finger curled the end of his gray mustache. He always did that when he was upset.
C.J. chewed her lower lip and walked up the stone path. Then she sat on the top step, tucked her dress beneath her and waited for the inevitable.
Pete sat down beside her, his spurs spinning with a familiar melodious sound. “You went to his funeral, didn’t you?”
She swung her hair over her shoulder and turned to look at him. “Yes.”
Pete removed his hat and scratched his head. He had long gray hair, thinning on top. “Girl, why do you put yourself through such misery?”
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “He was a friend. I had to say goodbye.”
“Friend?” he bellowed, jamming his hat back on his head. “He was the Townsends’ lawyer, hired to take away from you what was given out of kindness.”
She raised her chin a fraction. “He wasn’t trying very hard. He wanted the Townsends to dismiss the case, to accept their mother’s will. That’s why it’s been months and nothing has been done.”
He shook his head. “Matt Sloan was a good man, I’ll give you that. He had a soft spot for you, no doubt about it, but he was the enemy, girl. You have to remember that.”
C.J. knotted her fingers together and gazed off to the hilly landscape in the distance. Miles and miles of Cober land, but a small part of the enormous tract now belonged to her. Who would have thought that Victoria Cober Townsend, matriarch of the wealthiest family in Cober County, would leave a thousand acres and a hundred thousand dollars to Christmas Jane Doe? Victoria’s family was outraged and determined to break the will at any cost. Their lawyer, Matthew Sloan, Sr., had been C.J.’s ally in a sea of enemies. Now that he was dead, she wondered what the Townsends’ next move would be.
“Pete.”
“Hmm?” He leaned back on his elbows, his eyes following hers to the Cober landscape.
“Why do you think she did it? I mean, really? She knew it would upset her family, but she still did it. Why?”
He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. He knew. The whole town knew the story. He shook his head again. “Got no idea. She was just a good lady always trying to help people, and like Matt Sloan, she had a soft spot for you.”
“Yes,” C.J. murmured, remembering the old lady’s white hair and beautiful blue eyes. “Whenever she saw me, she’d always stop and chat for a few minutes. She’d ask about you and Harry, and she never failed to tell me how pretty I was becoming.” C.J. gave a troubled sigh and pushed her long hair away from her face with both hands. “Do you think she knew my parents?”
Pete leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes thoughtful. “You know the rumors as well as I do, girl.”
“That Rob or John Townsend is my father.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. John Townsend, a retired U.S. senator, had paraded his women in front of his wife. Throughout his political career, he’d brought home his so-called secretaries and aides for lengthy weekends. Why Victoria put up with such behavior had been a mystery to everyone. Their son, Rob, was equally known for his many affairs, chasing women in five counties and several states, even after his marriage. The thought of being the offspring of one of their meaningless affairs was repugnant. Her need to know, though, was greater than any revulsion she felt toward the Townsends.
She frowned. “I can’t see her being so generous to a bastard child of her husband’s, but if she’d learned something about Rob and one of his girlfriends, it might be the answer to all my questions.”
“We’ll never find out now, will we? She’s gone.”
“That’s what’s so frustrating. Why couldn’t she tell me what she knew?”
“Presuming she knew something.”
“Oh, Pete!” she snapped. “She knew something, or all this—” she gestured toward the thousand acres “—wouldn’t be mine.”
His brown eyes grew pensive and for a moment he was silent. “Victoria Cober Townsend was a very kind lady,” he mumbled.
C.J. stuck a hand in front of his face. “Have you got blinders on or something? No one’s that kind.”
“Maybe,” he admitted absently, then asked, “did you see Sloan’s boy at the funeral?”
The soft curve of her mouth tightened a fraction. “Yes, he was with his mother.” Matthew Sloan, Jr., was a man no woman would overlook. Even with her limited experience she realized that. A vivid picture surfaced in her mind. A tall dark-haired man, with prominent features that held a certain sensuality. She detected a slight arrogance in his step and his manner, except when he’d helped his mother. Loving and caring, she’d immediately thought—but she knew better. Rumor had it that the famed New York attorney ripped people apart in the courtroom. She’d do well to remember that.
“Heard in town he’s gonna clear up all his father’s open cases before he heads back to New York.”
Her lips compressed into a thin line. “Yes,” she murmured. Matthew Sloan, Jr., would not be a friend the way his father had been.
Pete voiced her thoughts. “He ain’t like Matt Sloan. He ain’t gonna care about you. He’s gonna care about winning. That boy always liked to win.”
C.J. had heard Matt say the same thing about his son. Matthew Sloan, Jr., didn’t like to lose and he rarely did. In her heart she knew the Townsends would eventually hire big guns to bring her down. Going down wasn’t in her plans, though. If she’d learned anything in her life, it was how to survive. The land and money would give her independence and security, and they showed her that Victoria had thought of her as a person in her own right. Matthew Sloan, Jr., would not snatch it away from her without the biggest fight of his life.
A gunshot echoed in the distance. C.J. and Pete exchanged a knowing look, both aware that Harry was out hunting. “I’m not eating whatever he’s killed this time,” C.J. said with a grin. “Armadillos and rattlesnakes aren’t exactly to my taste. I prefer the food at the supermarket.”
“Whoever your parents are, they have highfalutin’ taste,” Pete grumbled.
Did they? she wondered. What were they like, these mysterious people who’d left her on a stranger’s doorstep? Over the years she’d run through a range of emotions—sadness, anger, rage, confusion. Now she just had a burning desire to know the truth. To know why her mother had abandoned her and left her to face an unforgiving world alone. Why didn’t she want me? That question taunted her dreams and tormented her waking hours, but the answer always eluded her.
She flexed her fingers, feeling the answer was now within her grasp. Victoria Townsend’s will had stirred things up. People were talking, asking questions. That was fine. She wanted them to talk, to remember. Then, and only then, would the truth emerge.

MATTHEW POURED ANOTHER CUP of coffee and glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. He wasn’t used to going to bed this early. In New York his head rarely hit the pillow before two in the morning, but here life was different. No crowds, noise or bright lights. Just a simple way of living he remembered well.
Growing up in Coberville, he had always yearned for something more. Excitement. Adventure. After graduating from Harvard, he knew his parents had secretly wanted him to come back to Coberville and practice law with his father. But his dreams were bigger than Coberville. Although he admired his father, he hadn’t wanted to be a small-town lawyer. He’d been lured by New York—facing interesting legal challenges, big courtroom drama and, of course, the big bucks had something to do with it, too. Sometimes, though, he wondered what he was trying to prove.
He sighed, knowing it made little difference. Whatever his choices, his parents had always loved and supported him. Now it was time to return some of that support. His mother needed him. But how long could he stay here?
Matthew’s thoughts shifted to his dad. Thank God he’d gotten home in time to see him before his death. Emphysema from years of smoking had finally taken its toll on his lungs. He could barely breathe or speak, but he had gripped Matthew’s hand with fierce determination, uttering, “Case.” Matthew assured him he would take care of all his clients, and the stress on his face had eased.
Glancing up now, he saw his mother standing in the doorway. Belle Sloan, a petite woman with curly salt-and-pepper hair, wore a sad expression on her usually serene face.
Matthew was instantly on his feet. “What is it, Mom?”
“Oh, nothing.” She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand as she walked to the refrigerator and removed a carton of milk. “I just couldn’t sleep. I can’t get used to that empty space beside me.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Matthew hugged her. “It’s going to take time.”
“I know.” She pushed out of his arms and poured milk into a pan. “A glass of warm milk, and I’ll be fine.”
Matthew had his doubts about that. He wished he could soothe her pain and take the sadness from her eyes, but there was nothing he could do and that hurt him the most.
They sat at the kitchen table, Matthew sipping his coffee and his mother her milk. He glanced around, realizing this big warm kitchen hadn’t changed since he was a kid. White cabinets trimmed in blue, a darker blue counter, stove and a large oak table where all their problems had been solved.
“Your dad had a beautiful funeral, didn’t he?” his mom asked, breaking through the comfortable silence.
His father had been buried more than a week ago, and every day she asked him the same thing. Tonight, for some reason, the question triggered thoughts of the young woman in black. He had been meaning to ask about her.
“Yes, it was a very special funeral. The whole town turned out.” He smiled reassuringly, then said, “Mom, there was a young woman at the funeral. I didn’t recognize her. She was completely dressed in black. Even her hair was black and hung below her waist.”
Belle took a nervous swallow of her milk. “That has to be the Doe girl.”
“Doe? You mean the baby who was left on Pete Watson’s doorstep?”
“Yes.”
The Doe girl. How could he have forgotten the little girl who’d paralyzed a town? Until she mysteriously appeared on the Watsons’ doorstep, the people in Coberville had been close and friendly. The abandoned baby changed things. People began to look at each other a little differently, and they distanced themselves from the child. She represented a dark side of the community and they didn’t know how to deal with her. So they left her alone.
Christmas Jane Doe. God, how she’d changed. He remembered a small thin girl with thick black braids and a face that never smiled. The last time he’d seen her she was about six, sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus. The other children were teasing her, calling her names. She held her back rigid and stared straight ahead, never reacting to their words. Much as she had at the funeral, he thought. Some things never change. But C. J. Doe certainly had. The little waif had turned into a beautiful woman.
“That must have been twenty-five or more years ago.” His mother’s words interrupted his reflections. “You know, I don’t think Pete or Harry was at the funeral. But I guess that’s understandable under the circumstances. It’s so sad the way we all grew apart. So sad.”
His mother was rambling. She did that a lot these days. He tried to make sense of her words and failed.
“What circumstances?”
She glanced up, her face puzzled, as if she’d forgotten he was in the room. “Oh,” she said, and blinked, obviously collecting her composure. “The Townsend case. Your dad was their lawyer.”
He still wasn’t following her. “Dad did a lot of work for the Townsends.”
With a nervous hand she set the glass of milk on the table. “I don’t like talking about that girl and the mystery that surrounds her. It’s depressing, and your dad and I never saw eye to eye about her.”
His eyes narrowed. “You and Dad argued about this girl?” In all the years he’d been growing up, he couldn’t ever remember his parents arguing. They had a unique way of talking things out.
“We didn’t actually argue. I just felt he knew something about the girl he wasn’t telling me.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and got to her feet.
“I think I’ll go to bed now.”
Matthew kissed her cheek and watched her leave the room, his curiosity running riot. He would’ve sworn his father had never kept anything from his mother. What did he know about the Doe girl that was so confidential he couldn’t talk about it? Matthew ran a hand through his hair. While he was here, he intended to meet Christmas Jane Doe and find out for himself.

CHAPTER TWO
COBERVILLE WAS A QUIET community of fewer than five thousand people. A three-story limestone courthouse in the Second Empire style sat in the middle of a town square. Main and Cober streets ran parallel, and just about every business in town was located on one of those two streets, except for larger stores like Wal-Mart and H.E.B., which were located on the outskirts of town. Matt Sloan’s office was across from the courthouse in a nineteenth-century building typical of the business district.
Matthew stood in the middle of his father’s office, soaking up the atmosphere. Shelves filled with law books lined one wall and filing cabinets were up against another. On the third wall, beside the large window, hung family pictures. Files cluttered the desk and in the single ashtray was a half-smoked cigar. This big cluttered office was the essence of his dad. He remembered visiting here after school, and the way his dad had always smiled and said, “Come on in, son. I could use a second opinion.”
He had spent many afternoons here, reading, watching his dad labor over the letter of the law. He could almost hear his voice. “Never forget that people are human and never take their opinions or feelings lightly.” Had he lost those finer aspects his father had taught him? He ran his finger along the edge of the large oak desk, hoping he hadn’t.
Even after his dad had retired as judge, he never forgot about people and their emotions, their needs. People kept calling him, wanting his advice. So he’d come out of retirement and reopened his old office and practiced law part-time.
Matthew took a deep breath and glanced around at the general chaos of the office. Before he could decide what to do next, the front door opened and Miss Emma, his dad’s secretary of forty years, walked in.
A short plump woman, Miss Emma Stevens had a mound of dyed red hair curled atop her head. As a boy he used to wonder how it stayed there so neatly. She frowned at him from behind thick glasses with cat’s-eye frames and rhinestones at the corners. They must have been made in the 1950s.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming in today,” she accused in her irritating high-pitched voice.
He didn’t like having to explain his actions, but remembering the manners his parents had instilled in him, he replied, “Mom’s visiting with the reverend and I thought I’d get acquainted with Dad’s files.”
“You should’ve called me.”
“It’s no big deal, Miss Emma. I only plan to stay for a little while, and I really don’t need any help.”
“How will you find anything?” She waved an impatient hand. “I have a special filing system, and I don’t like anyone messing it up.”
He forced himself to take a calming breath and wondered how his father had put up with this woman for so many years. Diplomacy, that was it. His dad knew how to handle people. He hoped he’d inherited some of his father’s tact.
He looked around at the dust and clutter. “Can you get someone to clean the office?”
“Clean?” she shrilled, her eyes darting around.
“What’s wrong with this office?”
“Everything needs to be cleaned, from the floors to the windows. The place has been closed up for weeks.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
Yeah, he thought, she probably had cataracts the size of doorknobs. He smiled his best smile. “Humor me, Miss Emma. Find someone.”
She hesitated, then his smile won her over. “Okay, I could get Bertha. She cleans the bank.”
“Fine, get Bertha.” His smile broadened at the small victory.
She took a step, then turned back, pointing a finger at him. “She’ll cost you. She won’t do it for free.”
His smile immediately vanished. “I didn’t expect her to,” he answered, a slight edge to his voice.
Miss Emma turned on her heel and headed for the door, muttering, “His father never had any complaints. City ways gone to his head. Nonsense, just nonsense.”
As the last word died away, Matthew grinned and sank into his father’s chair. He marveled at the comfort and the way the contours seemed to fit his body. Maybe he and his dad were more alike than he’d imagined.
Reaching for a file, he heard the door open again. Now what? Surely Miss Emma wasn’t going to argue some more.
To his surprise, a tall blond man with a veneer that bespoke money and power entered the room. John Robert William Townsend. Even though Rob, as he was called, was eleven years older than he was, Matthew knew him and his family well. The Cobers, Rob’s mother’s family, had settled Coberville in the 1800s and they stilled owned almost everything in and around the town.
Matthew got to his feet and shook Rob’s hand.
“It’s good to have you back in Coberville, Matthew.” Rob’s smile showed off his perfect white teeth and angular features. Rob Townsend was known for his charm and virility, which were apparently lethal to any and all women. At forty-nine the man still hadn’t lost those qualities.
“Thank you,” Matthew replied.
“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man.”
“Thank you,” Matthew said again. “Have a seat.”
Rob hiked up his tailored slacks and sat in one of the leather chairs opposite the desk. Matthew resumed his own seat, wondering what Rob Townsend had on his mind.
“How long has it been?” Rob mused. “A long time, I’d say, but I remember you as the young hero that led the Coberville Tigers to the state championship. Quite a victory for this town.”
Matthew smiled at the memory.
“I wished my parents had let me finish high school in Coberville, instead of sending me to school back East. All that togetherness and bonding sure could’ve helped me in this election.”
At Matthew’s puzzled look, Rob explained, “I’m running for Dad’s senate seat in the fall.”
Matt raised one dark eyebrow in amusement. “Are you here to ask for my support?”
Rob chuckled. “No, not really.” Then his expression grew serious. “I was glad to hear you’re staying in town, taking over your father’s cases.”
“I promised Dad I would.”
“I didn’t realize you had a Texas license or practiced anything but criminal law.”
“I got the Texas license mostly for my dad’s sake,” he said. “I hadn’t planned on practicing here this soon, but I assure you I can handle most cases.”
“How long do you plan on staying in Coberville?”
“I’m due for a long vacation. So I plan to stay as long as Mom needs me and until I get all of Dad’s cases closed. At least a month.”
“That’s good to hear. I presume you’re familiar with the case your dad was handling for the Townsend family?”
“No,” Matthew said, “can’t say that I am.” He figured this had something to do with the case his mother had mentioned last night. He wished she’d told him more.
“Then you haven’t got a clue about what’s going on around here.” The statement held an accusing tone, similar to Miss Emma’s earlier. It had the same effect on him. But Rob was a client and deserved his patience.
“No,” Matthew repeated. He picked up a pencil and, searching for a pad, came across the Townsend file. “Dad must have been working on it because the file’s right here.”
“Hmm,” Rob murmured. “Sad to say, your dad didn’t give it a lot of attention.”
“Oh?”
“He was dragging his heels so long I was thinking of hiring an attorney from Austin.”
“Doesn’t sound like Dad. He always believed in taking care of business.”
“My mother had a lot of faith in him, but I guess he just wasn’t feeling up to par.”
“Maybe,” Matthew admitted reluctantly, knowing his dad would never let a client down. He touched the thick file. “I’ll review this tonight, but generally what’s the case about?”
Rob crossed his legs and began to talk. “After a lengthy illness my mother passed away about six months ago. Her will was pretty straightforward, leaving everything to her three children. She also stipulated that Aunt Martha could live at Seven Trees until her death with all expenses paid, and she left her a trust fund, as well.”
“You don’t have a problem with any of that, do you?”
“No, it was what we expected. Mother was the sole owner of the Cober estate. She bought out Aunt Martha a long time ago. Dad and my mother had been having marital difficulties for years, and they had separate estates. So we all knew the bulk would go to her children, but what we didn’t expect was an outside party being named in the will.”
“An outside party?”
“Christmas Jane Doe.”
Surprise darted along Matthew’s nerves, but he made sure that nothing showed on his face. “The girl who was left on the Watsons’ doorstep?”
“Yes. Mother left her a hundred thousand dollars and a thousand acres of Cober land.”
“What?” Matthew’s surprise turned to shock.
“You heard me right. My mother had to be insane if she thought we’d accept this. As I said, she was ill for a long time and she wasn’t thinking straight. I want this will broken and I want it done as soon as possible.”
“Was your mother making business decisions up until her death?”
“Yes, although Dad and I advised her. She would never relinquish her power.”
“Let me see if I can find the will,” Matthew said. He opened the file and quickly sorted through the contents.
“Here it is.” He pulled out the legal document and glanced through it briefly. “There’s a personal letter from your mother.”
“Oh, yes, about how she wants us to accept her decision.”
“It’s very heartwarming.” Matthew scanned the letter and wondered at Rob’s coldheartedness.
“Mother thought we took our inheritance for granted, and she wanted to give something to someone who’d appreciate it. It’s all crap. Mother just felt sorry for the girl. We will not accept an outsider inheriting Cober land.”
“I see,” Matthew replied, continuing to read through the papers. One small detail caught his eye. He glanced at Rob. “Did anyone mention the date on this document?”
“No, I don’t believe so. I just assumed she’d made it recently.”
“This document is dated twenty years ago.” Matthew turned the will around so Rob could read the date.
“What?” he choked out. In one swift movement Rob was on his feet, grabbing the document from Matthew’s hand. “Damn, how could this have slipped by us? By your father? Surely he knew the date and he never said a word! I only saw this letter briefly. It’s been in your father’s custody ever since. How could this have happened?”
Their eyes locked. Matthew didn’t miss the slur on his dad’s capabilities as a lawyer—and he didn’t like it. But he also knew his dad had been ill. “I have no idea,” Matthew said slowly, “but did anyone check for a recent will?”
“That was the only will at the bank where she kept all her important papers. I’m sure there isn’t another one.”
Matthew nodded at the document in Rob’s hand. “That’s going to make it much harder to break.”
“Dammit, I’m so tired of dealing with this.” Rob tossed the papers on the desk. “We only plan to spend the spring months in Coberville, so I want to get this settled. I need to concentrate on campaigning, instead of this bizarre mess.” He turned away. “Why the hell would Mother do this to me? To her family?”
Matthew folded his hands across the file. If he was going to represent the Townsends, he had to be completely honest. “I was only a kid when the baby was found, but I still remember the rumors.”
Rob swung around, his blue eyes dark with resentment. “My father and I have nothing to do with that girl’s existence!”
Matthew stared at Rob. His eyes didn’t waver as they challenged that statement.
“Okay.” Rob threw up his hands. “I’ve had my share of women and so has my dad. I’m not denying that, but if either of us had gotten some girl pregnant, she would have bled us for every penny. Instead, she leaves the baby five miles from our house. That doesn’t make any sense. Anyway, just look at C. J. Doe with all that black hair and those green eyes. She looks nothing like us, and no one’s going to make me believe that Mother knew anything about her birth. It’s all just rumors. The truth is, some teenager probably got pregnant and, being scared and alone, decided to leave the baby on the Watsons’ doorstep. Everyone knew how desperately Maggie Watson wanted a baby. That makes more sense than those ridiculous rumors about us.”
Matthew could see the fear in his eyes. Rob wasn’t sure the girl wasn’t a Townsend, but he was never going to admit any doubts. He was a Cober and a Townsend. He didn’t have to.
Suddenly Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Offer the girl a million dollars.”
Matthew frowned. “Pardon me?”
“I’ll pay her a million dollars to keep from dragging this through the courts. I’m sure the greedy little witch will take it.”
“I strongly advise against this. Let me—”
Rob cut him short. “I’m not asking for your advice. I’m ordering you to make her an offer. If you have a problem with it, I can find another attorney.”
Matt’s first impulse was to tell him to do exactly that, but he’d made a promise to his dad and he wouldn’t go back on his word. Besides, there was something going on that made him very curious—his dad’s reluctance to move on the case and the date on the document, among other things. He had to find the answers for his own peace of mind.
Giving in to Rob’s highhandedness wasn’t in his nature, though. He’d been an attorney, and a successful one, for a long time and he didn’t like being talked to like some hack for hire.
He got slowly to his feet, his eyes narrowed with a warning his colleagues knew well. “It’s my job to advise you.”
By the glint in Rob’s eyes, Matthew could see that he was debating whether to tell him to go to hell or to see if the New York lawyer could live up to his reputation. As the blue eyes darted away, Matthew knew the latter impulse had won.
Rob ran a quick hand through his expertly groomed hair. “Hell, man, I know you’re a good lawyer and I trust your judgment, but this whole situation has my family in turmoil. I just want it settled, and I’d rather spend the money than put the family through a long court battle.”
“If your mind is set on this, I’ll make the offer,” Matthew conceded. He knew it was useless to try to persuade him otherwise.
“Fine,” Rob muttered. “You’ll find her at the Watson place. I’ll be waiting for her answer.” With that he turned abruptly and headed for the door. Suddenly he turned back. “A note of caution. Don’t let her wrap you around her finger like she did your father.”
Matthew frowned. What was Rob talking about? His father wouldn’t be involved with C. J. Doe; he was the Townsends’ lawyer. He shook his head. There was so much he didn’t understand. The confusion made him more determined than ever to solve the mystery between his father and C. J. Doe.

LATE AT NIGHT, a light burned in the law offices of Dylan, Kent and Reed in Austin, Texas. Attorney Stephen Reed was hard at work. He had a lot to catch up on after six months in France. He heard a noise and glanced up. A big man with a mask over his face stood framed in the doorway. The gun in his hand pointed at Stephen.
“What do you want?” Stephen asked in a barely audible voice.
“Victoria Townsend’s will,” came the shocking reply.
“That’s confidential and—”
“Are you willing to die for it?” the man asked.
“No.” Stephen headed for the safe, which was installed behind a painting. With a shaky hand, he pulled back the picture. He quickly turned the dial to the correct numbers and the safe swung open.
He saw the gun kept there, on top of the papers. It was his only chance. His hand closed over the cold steel and he turned swiftly around. Before he could pull the trigger the man fired and Stephen fell to the floor.
The man jerked the mask from his face and stepped over the body. Pulling several documents out of the safe, the man searched until he found what he wanted. “Bingo.” The will of Victoria Cober Townsend, dated one year ago. Hastily he put the other documents back and closed the safe.
As he turned to leave, a rattle of keys sounded and a security guard entered the office. Another gunshot echoed in the room. The guard toppled to the carpet.

DALE WEEKS HELD the will in his hand and dialed a number. “I’ve got it,” he said.
“Good,” the voice on the other end answered. “Is it what I expected?”
“Yeah, she tells everything she knew or suspected and changed her will accordingly. It’s very interesting. You really should read it.”
“I have no interest in reading that garbage. Destroy it. Do you understand me?”
“Sure, that’s what you’re paying for. There’s just one small problem.”
“What?”
“Reed was in the office and I had to shoot him…and the security guard.”
“Why?”
“It was unavoidable. Besides, no one’ll ever know the safe was broken into. They’ll think the guard interrupted a routine robbery. Your secret is safe. Trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone, Weeks, especially you. Just make sure your tracks are covered.”
Dale Weeks hung up the phone, then stared at the document in his hand. A smile twisted his lips. So many secrets. A shame no one would ever know. Except him.

CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT DAY Matthew headed out to the Watsons’ place with mixed emotions. He knew he could break the will. The task would require a little finesse, but he could do it. He should have made that clearer to Rob, but somehow he hadn’t. The memory of a little girl with a face that never smiled swam before his eyes. Maybe it was time that girl got a break in this world.
God, what was he thinking? He was the Townsends’ attorney!
Had the same thing happened to his father? The will should have been broken weeks ago. What had kept his dad from doing his job? Then there was the date on the will; he wouldn’t keep something like that from a client, would he? And if he had, it must’ve been for a very good reason. At times, his dad had cared about people so much that he’d become involved in their lives, as friend, confidant and advisor more than lawyer. Was that what had happened with C. J. Doe? Well, it was time to meet the lady and answer some of his questions.
The Watsons’ place was on a country road not far from Seven Trees, the Cober mansion and ranch. He drove to the entrance. The gate was firmly locked and the signs that greeted him were hardly welcoming. Posted. Keep Out. No Trespassing. The Watsons weren’t the most hospitable people in Coberville. Now what? he thought.
He could see the house on a hill through the trees and two trucks parked by the garage. Someone had to be home. He slipped out of his suit coat, loosened his tie, got out of the truck and climbed over the gate. He’d come here to see C. J. Doe, and he intended to do so.
Brushing dust from his dark slacks, he reminded himself that he needed to change his wardrobe. Coberville didn’t call for expensive suits and custom-made boots.
As he walked, he sucked air into his lungs, enjoying the outdoors. He had forgotten the freedom and freshness of country life. The place was almost magical with the smell of spring, towering oak trees, green grasses; the small lake in the distance triggered memories of lazy Sunday afternoons spent fishing with his dad. Had he changed so much from that country boy? With a regretful sigh, he knew he had.
Now most of his days were spent in his office or in a courtroom. At first he’d thrived on the long days and hard consuming work, but lately he’d been feeling restless. Something was missing in his life and he didn’t know what.
He had everything he’d worked so hard to achieve: fame and wealth. His fame had started with his first big case—a movie actress who’d killed her husband because he’d been pimping her to his rich clientele for years. Everyone knew the actress was going to be put away for a long time. Everyone except him. He knew that if he could put twelve jurors in her shoes, make them live her life, feel her pain, her degradation, he could get her off. And he did. Many more trials followed, most of the clients wealthy, each one making the news. It wasn’t the course he’d set for himself; it just happened that way.
He only accepted clients he believed in. If he didn’t, he couldn’t do his job. Matthew considered the Townsends. Did he believe in their quest to reclaim Cober land? If he was honest with himself, he had to admit he had no real drive for this case. His only wish was to get it over with and get back to New York. The Peterman case was waiting for him, and the sooner he got back, the better. He felt sure C. J. Doe wasn’t going to turn down a million dollars. Who would? Now if—
Several gunshots pierced the peaceful silence, kicking up dirt at his feet and dusting his boots. He jumped back and then froze. Someone was shooting at him! It happened so fast he didn’t have time to think, to react, to do anything but stand there like a target.
A man appeared from the side of the house. Big and menacing, he had long gray hair and a beard that hung to his chest. A dark hat was pulled low over his forehead, covering his eyes. He wore overalls and a khaki shirt. Two big dogs hovered at his heels. Harry Watson.
Every kid in Coberville grew up fearing Harry Watson. Mothers used him as a disciplinary tactic. “If you don’t behave, the Hairy Man will get you.” Those words struck fear in the heart of every child, including him. All these things went through Matthew’s mind, but only one held his attention. The shotgun pointed at him. Harry was known for shooting first and leaving the questions for someone else.
“You’re trespassing,” Harry growled. The rough voice would have sent the young Matthew running, but the adult Matthew stood his ground, facing the Hairy Man.
Courage was only a breath away. Matthew took that breath, very deeply. “I’m here to speak with Miss Doe.”
“She don’t want to speak to no one. Now git, before I fill you full of buckshot.”
At the threat in Harry’s voice, Matthew’s heart jumped wildly in his chest, but he had no intention of letting Harry intimidate him. “My name is Matthew Sloan and I have news for C. J. Doe.” His message rang out, clear and crisp.
“Matthew Sloan is dead.” The gun was raised a little higher. “‘In delay there lies no peace.’ Now git.”
Matthew blinked, not understanding what the hell Harry was saying. “I’m Matthew Sloan, Jr., his son.” Matthew had the feeling Harry knew who he was. He was playing a cat-and-mouse game, trying to scare him.
Harry studied him down the barrel of his shotgun, but before Harry could reply, a black horse and rider came flying over the fence into Matthew’s vision. It was the girl. C. J. Doe. She reined the horse in next to Harry. No saddle, Matthew saw; she was riding bareback. Dust swirled around the stallion’s dancing feet. Sleek and spirited, the big horse had the look of being wild and untamed—much like the girl on his back. Tossed by the wind, her long black hair hung in disarray all around her, like a silken web. Her slim legs, clad in jeans and moccasins, gripped the horse’s sides with ease.
The horse reared up on his hind legs, but C.J. clung to him effortlessly and patted the rippling muscles in his neck, murmuring in soothing tones. Immediately the horse quieted. Then she turned her head, her eyes settling on Matthew.
“What have you got here, Harry?” she asked in a soft husky voice.
“A trespasser,” Harry muttered.
Continuing to stroke the horse’s neck, C.J. took in the trespasser from his expensive boots to his dark hair. So Matthew Sloan, Jr., had come calling. He stood with a commanding air of confidence. Here was a man who didn’t bend easily, she thought. Not many men would react so calmly to someone shooting at them. He was certainly different from his father, who would have been cursing at Harry by now. Yet the laugh lines around Matthew Sloan, Jr.’s mouth indicated he laughed as easily as his father. But he wasn’t laughing now.
A swath of hair fell across his forehead and his dark eyes gazed at her with undisguised interest. Under that intense gaze, her heart started to pounded rapidly.
Wrong reaction, her mind told her. Be on guard. Matthew Sloan, Jr., was here for a reason.
Matthew watched her long slender fingers stroke the horse. For a crazy moment he envied the animal. If she touched him like that, he’d do what she wanted, too. Rob Townsend’s words echoed dimly through his mind. Don’t let her wrap you around her finger. He knew now what Rob had been talking about. C. J. Doe had the power to distract any man, even him. Annoyed, he shook his head; the gunfire had just impeded the blood flow to his brain, he told himself. He was here to make her an offer, that was all, and he had to do it soon.
“My name is Matthew Sloan, Jr., and I’d like to speak with you, Miss Doe.”
C.J. slid from the horse in a graceful movement and handed the reins to Harry. “Would you rub Midnight down while I talk to Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
“You don’t have to talk—”
“It’s okay, Harry.”
“You sure?”
She regarded Matthew speculatively. “I’m sure, but if he gets out of line, I’ll let you shoot him. How’s that?”
Matthew didn’t find that amusing, but Harry did. A grin cracked his worn face as he led the horse away, the dogs obediently at his heels.
The only reaction C.J. noticed was a tightening of Matthew’s lips. The New York lawyer—the Townsends’ new representative—was tough, and she wondered how to handle him. She knew without a doubt that Matthew Sloan, Jr., was here on the Townsends’ behalf. Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
She said his name slowly, drawing out each syllable in a mocking sort of way. She was baiting him, trying to throw him off guard, Matthew realized. C. J. Doe wanted the upper hand. As he watched her toss her black hair over her shoulder and felt a warmth curl through his stomach, he had to admit she probably already had the upper hand.
The thought made him stiffen his backbone. “I’ve taken over the Townsend case from my father and I’d like to talk to you about it.”
She shrugged. “What’s to talk about?”
“The Townsends would like to make an offer.”
“An offer?”
The sun was hot and he ran a finger around the collar of his white shirt. “Could we talk someplace where it’s more comfortable?”
C.J. eyed him for a moment, wondering if it was wise to extend hospitality to Townsends’ new attorney. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.
“Sure,” she finally replied, and led him toward the long porch at the front of the cabin.
Her back was straight as an arrow and her shoulders appeared slightly tensed, as if she was bracing herself for the worst. He could almost see the wall she’d built around herself, a wall strengthened by years of hurt and disillusionment. What would it take to breach that wall, to make her smile, hear her laugh?
He closed his eyes for a second, forcing away such thoughts. He wasn’t here to wonder about C. J. Doe. As he opened his eyes, he caught sight of long black hair swaying against her jean-clad bottom—shapely and rounded just enough to seriously distract a man. A jolt of sheer pleasure shot through him, which he quickly curbed.
Matthew followed her up the steps and tried to focus his attention on the surroundings. Everything was clean and orderly; not a weed grew in the flower beds, and logs were stacked neatly by the door for firewood. Not exactly what he’d expected from the Watson men. The scent of honeysuckle floated to his nostrils.
At one end of the porch hung a wooden swing, which squeaked as she sat on it. Matthew took the chair that was propped against the wall.
She stared at him with a direct gaze and he found himself staring back. He’d met a lot of lovely women, but he’d never met anyone as striking as her. Creamy skin sun-kissed to a warm gold, delicately carved facial bones, a pert nose and bow-shaped mouth. Thick dark lashes framed emerald-green eyes. And all that black hair, silken tresses that flowed around her, magnified the beauty of her eyes.
“You’re staring.” Her quiet voice stopped his avid inspection, and he was about to apologize for his gauche behavior when she asked, “Do I remind you of someone?”
Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and her mouth softened into a hint of a smile. While his senses absorbed the pleasure of that near smile, he understood what she meant. She thought she reminded him of someone—someone who could be related to her.
Matthew cleared his throat. “No, you don’t remind me of anyone.” That was true. He’d never seen anyone like her.
The sparkle died in her eyes, and Matthew wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. But like everyone else in this town, he hadn’t a clue who had left her on the Watsons’ doorstep. All he knew was that he liked looking at her—too much.
Swallowing hard, he returned to business. “As you know, the Townsends are eager to get their land back.”
She didn’t respond, just stared at him with unwavering eyes.
Matthew came right to the point. “They’re willing to offer you a million dollars.”
A million dollars! The trump card, she thought. Mercy, the Townsends knew how to get a girl’s attention. But that was all they got. This only increased her belief that the Townsends had something to hide.
With a slow hand she tucked her hair behind her ear. “The land is not for sale.”
He expected surprise, jubilation, something besides that stubborn expression.
“It’s a very generous offer.”
“The land is not for sale,” she repeated.
He leaned forward, realizing this wasn’t going to be as easy as he or the Townsends had anticipated. “A million dollars, Miss Doe. Think what you can do with all that money.”
She didn’t say a word, just kept her green eyes focused on him.
“You can travel, leave Coberville, make a new life for yourself.”
One eyebrow rose slightly. “And what would I be called in this new life, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
He was taken aback by the question, and for once words failed him.
“Money can’t buy me my true identity,” she told him.
“But it could change a lot of things.”
“It would change nothing for me, Mr. Sloan, Jr. I would still be C. J. Doe.”
His eyes held hers and he knew C. J. Doe was fighting her own inner struggle, a struggle she’d fought all her life, because of not knowing who she was. He searched for a way to reach her. “You should talk it over with someone. Your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer” was the startling reply.
Matthew frowned. “But the lawsuit was filed six months ago. Surely someone has advised you.”
Her eyes darkened. “Your father said to let things ride, and eventually they’d work out.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up one hand to ward off the nagging feeling building inside him. “My father advised you?”
She nodded.
Matthew’s body went rigid with shock. He couldn’t believe his dad would advise both sides. Something was wrong.
He took a cautious breath. “My dad was the Townsends’ attorney. He had no right to advise you.”
“He was only trying to help me.”
“Still…”
“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you how sad I was at his passing. He was one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”
There was such sincerity in her voice. Her condolences were nothing like the perfunctory gesture Rob Townsend had made. God, that shouldn’t matter. What mattered was getting this case resolved. But nothing was going as he’d planned—or expected. She was beginning to make him feel like a bumbling first-year law student.
The thought sent all his legal instincts into action. “Miss Doe, if you don’t take the money, do you know what that’ll mean?”
She tilted her head slightly. “That I’ll be meeting you in a courtroom.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll have to break the will and, believe me, Miss Doe, I can break it.”
Her eyes met the challenge in his. “Mr. Sloan, Jr., if you can break the will so easily, I don’t think the Townsends would be offering me a million dollars.”
He sighed heavily. “The offer is just a matter of expediency, Miss Doe. With the election coming in the fall, the Townsends want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“I bet they do.”
Hearing the mocking tone in her voice, he rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands, eyes trained on her. “Miss Doe, don’t take this lightly. I’m very good at what I do.”
“I’m sure you are, but to break the will you’ll have to prove Mrs. Townsend wasn’t in her right mind or that I influenced her in some way.”
“There are other approaches I can take. All I have to do is prove Mrs. Townsend felt sorry for you and had a momentary lapse in judgment.”
From the look in her eyes, he knew he was finally getting through to her. Time to go for the jugular—tell her everyone felt sorry for her, call her a nobody, make her cry, watch the tears roll down her face and reinforce that she didn’t have a chance in hell against him and the Townsends. Then tell her to take the money and build a new life. But when he looked at her throat, all he saw was gorgeous creamy skin… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break her down. The thought rocked him to the core. What was happening to him? Had Coberville made him soft? Or was it her?
Matthew was so caught up in these troubling thoughts that he didn’t notice a rider had come into the yard until he heard the dogs bark.
He glanced toward the corrals to see a tall rangy man dismount. Pete Watson. With handlebar mustache and spurs jingling, he wasn’t hard to recognize. As a kid Matthew remembered him coming to the school with his horse and ropes, giving the kids rides and teaching them to rope. He was right out of a Western movie. The kids adored him.
Matthew had forgotten that small aspect of his childhood. He used to dote on Pete, wanted to be a cowboy just like him. He guessed every little boy had that dream, but he’d outgrown it, as most of them had.
Harry said something to Pete, who looked toward the house. Swiftly, his long strides brought him closer. He was still an impressive figure, and Matthew felt a stirring of admiration, just like that little boy of long ago.
Matthew got to his feet and shook Pete’s outstretched hand. He felt the calluses and the strength that epitomized Pete Watson. After explaining his reason for being there, he added, “Maybe you can help me encourage Miss Doe to take the offer.”
Pete removed his worn hat and studied it a moment before answering in the deep baritone Matthew remembered. “C.J. makes up her own mind.”
Matthew glanced from one to the other, realizing Pete wasn’t going to be much help. “Look at this as a godsend. It’s the best solution for both parties.”
“The land is not for sale,” C.J. said again in that stubborn voice.
Matthew knew nothing he said was going to change her mind. But still, he had to try.
“Miss Doe, let me make this very clear. To keep the land and the money, you’re going to have to face a court battle, and I can guarantee that you will lose. On the other hand, the million dollars is there for you free and clear, without strings. All you have to do is sign your name to a legal document.”
“This isn’t about money or land, Mr. Sloan, Jr.,” she said, her eyes blazing with purpose. “It’s about an old lady who showed me a kindness no one except the Watsons ever offered me before. Until I know the reason behind her generous act, the land stays with me.”
“You have your answer, Mr. Sloan,” Pete said.
Matthew knew it was time to leave.
“I’ll give you a couple of days to think it over. It’s a lot of money, and I don’t think you should turn it down without consideration.”
“It’s not going to make any difference,” was her sharp response.
“Son, I’m sorry about your dad,” Pete said. “Even though we were on opposite sides of the fence, I respected him.”
Another sincere condolence. Matthew began to wonder if he was on the right side of the fence.
“Thank you.” He nodded at C.J., “Like I said, it’s a good offer.” With those words he headed down the steps and back to his truck.

C.J. GOT UP FROM THE SWING and stood by the railing. Her eyes followed Matthew’s lean figure. Beneath those expensive clothes was a superb well-muscled body. Some women might be attracted to that, but she wasn’t. Then why had she felt a weakness in her stomach when he’d looked at her? It was the uncanny resemblance to his father that made her so aware of him, she told herself. Yet he wasn’t like his father, not really. She had a feeling Mr. Sloan, Jr., could be quite ruthless when provoked. She’d do well to remember he was the enemy with a capital E.
Pete sat down and took out his pipe and tobacco. He watched C.J. with a curious eye. “Mighty handsome young man,” he commented.
C.J. whirled around. “I hadn’t noticed,” she said. The lie falling so easily from her lips startled her. She resumed her seat on the swing with a frown.
“Really?” He lit his pipe with amusement and puffed on it a couple of times to get it started. “From the way you were staring at him, I’d say you noticed plenty.”
The swing creaked at her agitated movements. “I was just thinking how much he looks like his father.”
“Strong resemblance,” Pete conceded dryly. Smoke swirled around his face.
“Yes, he’s handsome and I noticed,” she snapped, unable to lie to Pete for any length of time. “But he’s too citified,” she added. “I bet he couldn’t wait to get out of our sight to wipe the dust off those fancy boots.”
Her words were flippant, but her emotions weren’t. She had stared at Matthew Sloan, Jr., and for the very reason Pete was insinuating. She was attracted to him. Okay, she admitted it. But she couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to any man, especially Matthew Sloan, Jr.
He wanted her to take the money. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. The message was there—take the money and be happy. But happiness, for her, lay in finding the truth about her birth. That was the only thing that mattered to her. Having had loving parents, Matthew Sloan, Jr., wouldn’t understand that.
“So, what do you think about the offer?” Pete asked.
C.J. slung her dark hair over her shoulder. “The Townsends think I’ll take the money, but they don’t know me very well if they think it’s money I want.”

THE NIGHT WRAPPED C.J. in a warm cocoon. She sat in the swing, her legs curled beneath her. Crickets chirped a deafening song. A wolf howled in the distance; several horses whinnied. Familiar sounds, but they were lost on C.J. Her thoughts were inward.
She had expected various different responses from the Townsends, but a million dollars wasn’t among them. The offer still shook her. What would she do with all that money? She had no idea. There was only one thing she wanted: to find her parents. If Matthew Sloan, Jr., had said, “Release your claim on the land and money, and the Townsends will tell you about your parents,” she would have taken the offer in a heartbeat. She sat perfectly still as something occurred to her. “That’s it,” she said aloud.
She stood up and walked to the railing, her face embracing the coolness of the night. “That’s it,” she said again. “That’s it.” A smile tugged at her lips. It was so simple. She intended to fight Matthew Sloan, Jr., every step of the way. The land and money gave her prestige, but it wasn’t prestige she wanted. It wasn’t money, either. She wanted an identity.
C.J. had racked her brain so many times trying to find the reason behind Victoria’s gift. Now she thought she knew. The land gave her the power to force the truth. Victoria had known that the Townsends wouldn’t stand for an outsider owning Cober land; she’d known that eventually they’d find a way to break the will. But C.J. held claim to the land now and had power over the Townsends. A plan had formed in her mind, and she knew what she had to do. Matthew Sloan, Jr., was in for a big surprise.

CHAPTER FOUR
MATTHEW ARRIVED at the office early because his mother had gone over to the church to help the reverend work on his books. She’d been the church secretary since he was a small boy. Little by little she was putting her life back together. She just needed time, as he did.
He stopped short as he came through the front door. Miss Emma was there, as usual, but what caught his attention was the big birdcage sitting on the corner of her desk and the colorful parrot inside.
“Pretty boy. Pretty boy,” the parrot shrieked.
The squawking voice irritated Matthew, and he gritted his teeth. “Miss Emma, what’s that bird doing here?”
Miss Emma raised her eyebrows. “Now don’t go getting your nose out of joint. Herman’s not feeling well and I’m taking him to the vet.”
“Herman bad. Herman bad,” the parrot said.
Matthew eyed the green bird, his plumage shot here and there with yellow and orange, and said the first thing that entered his head. “The phrase chicken-fried comes to mind.”
“Matthew Sloan, Jr., bite your tongue,” Miss Emma scolded, and grabbed her purse. “I’ll take him to Doc Lowe’s right now.”
“And take him home afterward, because I don’t want to listen to him babbling all day.”
Miss Emma flashed him a sharp glance, then picked up the cage. “You know, young Matthew, you’re too wound up. You should let go and have some fun. Find yourself a girl, get married and have some kids. Don’t let life pass you by like I did.”
“Herman bad. Herman bad. Pretty boy. Pretty boy.”
The parrot’s words followed him into his office. He wasn’t wound up. And his life wasn’t anything like Miss Emma’s. She had taken care of her sick mother until the old woman died, and after that she’d begun to work for his father. By then all the eligible bachelors were gone, and Miss Emma had become an old maid before she knew it.
Wound up. Dammit, he had to admit he was. He was coiled so tightly inside he felt as if he was going to explode. The past month had been horrendous—his dad’s illness, then death, and taking care of his mom. Now he had to deal with his dad’s caseload while worrying about his own. Everything seemed to be crowding in on him.
With a deep sigh he rubbed both hands over his face and sank into his chair. He had lived with pressure all his life, so he should be used to it. Living in his father’s shadow hadn’t been easy; the very best had always been expected of him. That was probably the main reason he’d chosen New York to practice law. He had wanted to live his own life, and to do that he’d had to leave Coberville, Texas.
He groaned. Had he been trying to prove something to his dad all these years—that he was a better lawyer, had a more exciting life and made more money? Matthew raked his hands through his hair. If he had been, he’d fallen short somewhere along the road, because his dad had been happy and content while those feelings still eluded him. Maybe his dad was right, and a person could never shake his roots.
That thought reminded him of C. J. Doe. All her life, she’d been searching for her roots, while he… Had he been running from his? He didn’t like to think so because he loved his father, and Coberville had a way of getting into his blood.
God, this soul-searching was driving him insane. Something about coming home always had him questioning his motives and the reasons for everything he’d done in his life. But he was doing what he wanted to do—practicing criminal law. And he was doing it where he wanted to do it—in New York. Happiness and all the rest would follow. Wouldn’t it?
Scooting his chair forward, he decided it was time to get his mind back on business. The Townsend case could be a problem and keep him in Coberville longer than he wanted to stay. He stared at the telephone. Should he call the Townsends? No, he’d told C. J. Doe he’d give her a couple of days. Maybe she’d realize how foolish she was being. But he knew that hope was in vain. Her pride, the same pride he’d witnessed in her as a child, wouldn’t let her. She was going to hold on to the land, making his life miserable. He’d be forced to take it away from her. The mere prospect knotted his stomach. Why couldn’t she just accept the damn money and get on with her life?
He leaned forward and picked up a pencil, tapping it against the desk. Suddenly all his frustrations welled up inside him and he threw the pencil. It bounced off the phone and landed on the carpet near the door.
Matthew stared at the pencil, then slowly raised his eyes to see C. J. Doe standing in his doorway. For a moment he was sure he’d imagined her, conjured her up. Last night she’d flitted in and out of his dreams with her long black hair cascading around her and green eyes beckoning.
Now her long black hair fell in a heavy braid down her back. Tight jeans molded her legs and hips. A green shirt intensified the color of her eyes—liquid green eyes that weren’t beckoning. They were somber and staring at him.
Slowly he got to his feet. “Miss Doe, come in.”
C.J. stepped farther into the room, then stopped. “Miss Emma wasn’t at her desk so I—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. He couldn’t resist a grin.
“Just be grateful she’s gone or she’d be making you sit there for a while.”
“Miss Emma’s a stickler for procedure, all right. Your dad used to tease her about it,” she said, enjoying the grin on his face. The New York lawyer had a devastating smile.
How did she know so much about his dad? Matthew wondered. As he shook that thought from his mind, he gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”
“No, thank you, I won’t be staying that long.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. The offer had to be the reason she’d come here. He could have sworn she’d never change her mind, but money was always a good persuader. Disappointment ran through him, and he didn’t understand why. Because if C. J. Doe took the offer, it was going to make his life a whole lot easier.
“I assume you’re here about the offer,” he prompted.
Her eyes narrowed. “Have you seen the Townsends?”
“No. I told you I’d give you a couple of days.”
“Good.” The lovely lines of her face relaxed. “I have a counteroffer.”
He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to make a counteroffer,” she repeated.
He shook his head. “I don’t understand. I thought you were here to accept the money.”
Fine eyebrows darted up in surprise. “Afraid not. Money doesn’t mean that much to me.”
“Then…why are you here?”
“I just told you.” Her voice became strained. “I have an offer of my own.”
“What?” he asked. What did she have to offer the Townsends?
She took a deep breath. “I will release my claim on the land and money on one condition.”
He tried not to let the shock show on his face. After all, he was a professional and good at hiding his emotions. He massaged his temple with a forefinger. “What condition?”
Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “That Rob and John Townsend take paternity tests.”
“I see,” he said quietly. His mind racing, he picked up a pen and studied it as if it was twenty-four-carat gold.
“The land and money would have been nice, but since I’ve never had either, it doesn’t matter that much. What matters most to me is finding my parents. I feel Mrs. Townsend wanted that for me, too.”
C.J. had a one-track mind—finding her parents. That goal could be very costly to her, and Matthew wondered if she really understood what she was giving up.
His dark gaze searched her face. All he saw was a spirited woman who warmed his blood. That wasn’t good; he was too aware of her, her beauty and her emotions. He had to get back to New York and to the kind of women he knew how to handle. Because he had no idea how to deal with C. J. Doe and her country-girl charm.
Matthew moved around his desk, hoping for a way to reach her. “Everyone knows Mrs. Townsend had a big heart. Don’t you think that what she wanted was to give you some security? And in that case, it had nothing to do with your parentage.”
She was thoughtful for a moment. “You’re good. For a second there I almost believed that.”
Sitting on the edge of the desk, Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “Obviously you believe the rumors that have been circulating around this town for years.”
“Rumors start somewhere.”
One rumor stood out in Matthew’s mind, and he knew it stood out in hers, too. “As I recall, the rumors started with Joe Bob Schaffer. He claimed a beautiful dark-haired woman drove into his gas station around eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve asking directions to the Townsend ranch. As he was putting gas in her car, he noticed a baby in a basket on the back seat.”
“Yes,” she murmured. That rumor had haunted her for years. Maybe because it had always seemed credible to her.
“Evidently you’ve forgotten that Joe Bob stayed drunk ninety-nine percent of the time and didn’t remember the incident until two weeks after you’d been found. That is, after the Townsends refused to renew his lease on the gas station. Sounds to me like the man just had an ax to grind.”
“Sounds like the truth to me,” she replied, refusing to dismiss the rumor so lightly. She took another step toward him. “I have to know who I am. I have to know why I was left on a doorstep on a cold December morning. It’s been burning inside me for years, and Mrs. Townsend has given me the power to force some answers. I believe that’s what she intended all along.”
The sincerity of her words touched him, but he felt he needed to be practical, to make her aware of the futility of her decision. “You’re willing to give up a million dollars to find out if Rob or John Townsend is your father?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
He didn’t understand her reasoning, but he wasn’t going to belabor the point. This was what he wanted, an easy solution. But was it easy? For her? And how were his clients going to react?
“You seem to feel sure the Townsends will agree to this.”
“There are two things the Townsends understand—greed and power. But when it comes to a choice, greed will win every time.”
He couldn’t argue that point, but he had to remind her. “You could be the big loser in all this.”
“Just knowing one way or the other will be a big victory for me. And I wouldn’t consider that a loss.”
There was great determination and confidence in her voice, but still he felt a need to warn her. “I strongly advise you to get an attorney.”
A look of implacable resolve lit her eyes. “There are a lot of things I’m not sure of in this world, but of this decision I am very sure. I don’t need a lawyer to fill my head with irrelevant nonsense.” She took another step closer to him, so close he could see the fire in her eyes. “Let me make this easy for you and the Townsends. If one of the tests turns out to be positive, I’ll relinquish any hold the Townsends fear I might have on their estate. Plus, whether the tests are positive or negative, I will release my claim on the land and the money.”
He whistled between his teeth. “That’s a powerful offer.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and turned toward the door. “When you have an answer, let me know,” she tossed over her shoulder. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back, green eyes twinkling. “Oh, Mr. Sloan, Jr., even though the Watsons are country people, we do have a telephone. So if you plan on coming out to the house, call first and I’ll open the gate. A bullet hole could really ruin a suit like that.” With those words she disappeared out the door.
A grin spread across Matthew’s face. Through all this, she could maintain a sense of humor. He admired that and he couldn’t help but admire her.
Unable to stop himself, he followed her to the front door. Through the window, he saw a four-wheel-drive truck pulling a long cattle trailer. Three horses occupied the trailer, and two dogs rested in the bed of the truck. Pete Watson sat on the passenger side of the cab, puffing on a pipe. It was actually a cab and a half, and he could see someone sitting in the back. Harry.
As he watched, C.J. climbed into the driver’s side and the truck roared to life. Within seconds it pulled out into the main street of Coberville, the trailer clanging behind it.

“SO HOW’D IT GO?” Pete asked.
“It’s going to take the city lawyer a while to recover from the shock. He tried to hide it, but I could see he thought I was crazy for throwing away all that money.”
“I hope you get the answers you’re looking for, girl,” Pete said, and added tobacco to his pipe.
“Oh, I’ll get something,” she said. “The Townsends will be huddled over this for days, but in the end they won’t be able to resist the offer. Then I’ll know if I’m a Townsend or not.”
“Don’t like this,” Harry muttered from the backseat.
In the rearview mirror, she caught Harry’s bearded face. To some he was a scary figure, but to her he was a lovable old man and she adored him.
“‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’” Harry quoted.
C.J. appreciated his meaning in choosing this Shakespearean quote, but she had to ask, “Don’t you want me to know the truth?”
“Truth.” He snorted. “‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad.’”
C.J.’s smooth brow furrowed into a frown. Mad? Would the truth make her mad? Mad as in angry? Or deranged? What had Harry meant? She knew better than to ask.
Most of the time Harry quoted Shakespeare, but he often changed the words to suit his purpose. Few people remembered he had studied literature at the University of Texas in his younger days. He wasn’t as ignorant as the majority of Coberville residents believed.
She shifted into third and anticipation ran through her. The Townsends had to accept her offer. The deal was too good to refuse, and she was counting on Matthew Sloan, Jr., to tell them that. While she’d been talking to him, she got the distinct impression that he was concerned for her welfare. That was ludicrous. Why would he care about her? He was the Townsends’ lawyer. But she could still feel those dark eyes touching her skin, warming her in a way that had nothing to do with business. Careful, she warned herself. She had only one goal, and that precluded an emotional involvement with anyone, especially the Townsends’ new lawyer.

MATTHEW WAS SO ABSORBED in watching the truck and trailer he didn’t hear Miss Emma come in until she asked, “Wasn’t that the Doe girl?”
He swung around and tried not to appear guilty at being caught staring. “Yes, it was.”
She plopped her big purse on the desk. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told that girl not to park that truck and trailer in front of this office. It takes up five or six parking spaces. Young folk never listen.”
“She was only here a minute, and there’s no traffic or clients at this hour.”
“Still, it’s the principle of the thing,” she complained, and sank into her chair. “I guess she was here about the Townsend case.”
“Yes, we discussed a few things,” he replied, not wanting to get into particulars with Miss Emma.
He started to ask about Herman, but decided to let that subject rest. He headed back to his office, then stopped. The last thing he wanted to do was gossip, but his curiosity about C. J. Doe overrode his aversion to cheap talk.
“Exactly what does C. J. Doe do for a living?”
Miss Emma glanced up from going through the mail and gazed at him through those ridiculous glasses. “She works cattle with the Watsons.”
“Works cattle?” he echoed blankly.
“Have you been gone from here so long you’ve forgotten what that is?”
“No,” he assured her in a crisp voice. “It’s just hard for me to imagine such a…small woman herding, branding and vaccinating cattle.”
“They say she’s the best,” Miss Emma said, ripping open a letter. “She can ride and rope better than anyone around here. Has a way with animals, too. The Watsons are getting older and C.J. does most of the work now.” She shook her head. “Never understood it. Why would a young girl give up a good job at the bank to work with those two old fools?”
“She worked at the bank?”
“Right after she graduated from college.”
“She went to college?”
Miss Emma frowned at his startled face. “What did you think? That they kept her locked up on the ranch?”
“No, I just didn’t see her as someone who could afford something like that.”
The sharp letter opener sliced through another letter. “An anonymous benefactor, that’s what it was.”
“Someone paid for her college education?” He felt like Herman repeating everything she said, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Sure did. An envelope of cash started coming to this office every month, and your dad deposited it in her account.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, then his eyes narrowed. “Did Dad know who was sending the money?”
“I don’t think so. The first envelope had a letter of instruction about how the money was to be used. C.J. asked all kinds of questions, but she never found out anything. She even staked out the office. Finally, to put an end to her snooping, a large sum was deposited in your dad’s name for her education. Money that couldn’t be traced, ’cause believe me, C.J. tried.”
Matthew tried to assimilate this bit of information. It was so unreal he had to find out more. “Why did she leave the job at the bank?”
Miss Emma shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess she didn’t like getting the cold shoulder from people who worked there. Your dad tried to talk her into staying there.”
“Seems she and my dad were quite close.”
“Your father helped a lot of people. C. J. Doe was just one of them.”
That didn’t explain anything, but he sensed Miss Emma was on the defensive, so he let it drop—for now.
Back at his desk his head was spinning. The money—that was how his dad had become involved with C. J. Doe. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He’d bet his dad had figured out who was sending the cash and confronted him or her. He’d also bet that person was one of C.J.’s parents, a parent who didn’t want to be known to C.J. or anyone else. So his dad had kept that person’s secret, not even telling his own wife. Who was it? And why so much mystery?
He didn’t have time to dwell on it now. He still had to deal with C.J.’s bombshell. “Miss Emma, call Rob Townsend and ask if I can see him this morning,” he said through the open door.
Acceding to C.J.’s request went against his every legal instinct, but then, nothing about this case was going according to form. He felt she was guaranteed to be the loser and would definitely get hurt in the process. But that was no concern of his. So why did he feel it was?

CHAPTER FIVE
TODAY’S DRIVE WAS THE SAME as yesterday’s, except that Matthew traveled about five miles farther down the road to the Cober ranch. Beyond the stone entrance were seven huge live oaks, hence the name Seven Trees. A towering Southern mansion with enormous white pillars stood proudly facing the trees, with a long drive circling in front of it. The scene was like something out of Gone with the Wind and it created the same impression of ante-bellum days. Bygone days.
The house had been built in the 1800s by Jeremiah Cober. His descendents had occupied it and Coberville ever since, a powerful family that time had not diminished.
Stopping on the circular drive, he got out and walked up the wide steps to the double front doors. He banged the brass door knocker and waited. A short man in a dark suit, white shirt and bow tie opened the door. The butler.
“Matthew Sloan to see Rob Townsend,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, stepping aside. “Come this way.”
In the entrance, Matthew stared at the magnificent dual spiraling staircases, expecting Scarlett O’Hara to gracefully descend one of them any minute. The place was breathtaking, from the marble floors to the velvet drapes and antique furniture.
He followed the man into a large room that resembled a library. “He will be right with you, sir,” the butler said, and closed the door.
“Thank you.” He scanned the room. Bookshelves covered two walls, and an antique desk and chair stood slightly to the right. Velvet chairs and sofa were grouped around a stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the room portraits of Cobers took pride of place, from Jeremiah Cober to William Cober and his two surviving children, Martha and Victoria, as well as his son, Will, who had died in early adulthood.
“Matthew,” Rob said, coming through the door dressed in casual slacks and a knit shirt. “Dad and Aunt Martha will be along in a minute. I would like the whole family to be in on this meeting. But my sister Joyce and her husband, Thurman Brown, the congressman, live in Austin and they’re busy with some political event. Clare, my other sister, also lives there. She’s the editor of one of our newspapers. I’ll have to fill them in later. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a velvet chair.
Before Matthew could move, the door opened and an elderly lady came in. Martha Cober was tall and big-boned, with cropped gray hair and a rather plain face. Matthew couldn’t help but be reminded of the difference between the two sisters. Victoria Cober had been a beauty, small and regal with flowing white hair.
“Matthew, I’m sure you remember my aunt Martha.” Rob made the introduction just as a nurse brought a man in a wheelchair into the room. John Townsend. With white hair and drawn features, he was a shadow of the forceful senator Matthew remembered. “And, of course, you know Dad.”
Matthew shook hands with the older man and was amazed at his strength. As Matthew glanced up, he noticed the nurse staring at him. Tall with bleached-blond hair and heavy makeup, she looked vaguely familiar.
“That will be all, Stephanie,” Rob said before Matthew could make the connection. She immediately left the room.
“Okay, Matthew, tell us the good news,” Rob said with a slight smile. “I’m sure the Doe girl has agreed to take the money.”
Matthew had barely opened his mouth to speak when another woman strolled into the room in worn jeans and an oversize silk blouse. The clothes were water stained. She held a white poodle under one arm, while a second hovered at her feet. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, emphasizing her honey-colored eyes and austere features.
Francine Gordon Townsend wasn’t the raving beauty everyone had expected Rob to marry. But years ago, when John Townsend’s political clout had began to wane, Rob had married the only daughter of a powerful political figure in Texas, forging the two families together and solidifying John Townsend’s bid for reelection. Politics did indeed make for strange bedfellows, Matthew thought.
“Darling.” Francine’s gaze settled on Rob. “You weren’t going to have this meeting without me, were you?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” Rob replied, and walked over to her, giving her a withering glance. “What have you been doing? You look like hell.”
An expression of pain crossed Francine’s face. “I was grooming the dogs,” she answered tightly.
“You pay people to do that,” Rob snapped. “Why do you insist on doing menial chores?”
Francine ignored her husband’s words and crossed to Matthew. She introduced herself and shook his hand. As Matthew gazed into her eyes, he saw pain. For years she had competed for Rob’s attention, and Matthew could see from the defeated look in her eyes that she was wondering if the struggle had been worth it.
She patted the poodle’s head and said, “So you’re the New York attorney. I heard you’re very good in a courtroom.”
“Thank you,” Matthew said, not sure how to respond to her. He had a feeling Francine Townsend was close to the edge.
“Are you going to make the Townsends’ little problem go away?” She leaned in close and whispered, “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Why would Mother Townsend be so generous to C. J. Doe? Could it be she was trying to bail her son’s ass out of a jam one more time?”
Francine knew how to be a proper lady. Having attended the best schools, she could walk, talk and choose which fork to use at the dinner table with the best of them. But evidently she had learned some language in less reputable places, too.
“Rob, your wife’s making a fool of herself,” Martha said.
Francine swung around and fixed her eyes on the older woman. “Well, Aunt Martha, dear, if anyone can recognize a fool, you can. Look at the way you fawn over your sister’s husband.”
“That’s enough, Francine,” Rob ordered.
Francine turned to face him. “I want my children home for the summer, Rob.”
“The kids are staying in boarding school,” he replied.
“You’re making a sissy out of Robbie, and our daughter’s becoming so wild no one can do anything with her. They need discipline, not a free rein like you give them.”
“Rob,” she pleaded, a note of desperation entering her voice.
Rob ignored her plea. “Go get cleaned up, for God’s sake. You look like the hired help.”
At Rob’s criticism Matthew saw a flash of unmistakable pain on her face again, but she quickly masked it. “I want my children home,” she stated angrily.
“They’re staying in school.”
“We’ll see about that,” she replied, and turned toward the door. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Sloan,” she called over her shoulder.
As the door closed, Rob apologized. “My wife’s been having a rough time since the kids went away to school.”
“Ha,” Martha retorted.
Rob shot her a quelling glance and then focused his attention on Matthew. “Now, Matthew, I hope you have some good news for us.”
Matthew shoved his hands into his pockets. How could Rob treat his wife so heartlessly? Couldn’t he see she was hurting? Dealing with the Townsends was going to be harder than he’d imagined—for more than one reason. He brought his thoughts back to Rob’s question. “No, I don’t.”
Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Why not? Surely she didn’t turn down a million dollars.”
“Afraid so.”
Rob walked around the desk and sat down, a patently false smile on his face. “Damn, she’s smarter than I figured.”
Matthew frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’s holding out for more money,” Rob replied. “Okay, we can play that game. Offer her two million.”
Matthew held up his hands. “Wait a minute. She’s not after more money.”
Rob spared him a dark glance. “Then what the hell does she want from us?”
“She’s made a counteroffer.”
“A counteroffer,” Rob said with a laugh. “What does she have to offer us?”
Matthew took in the skeptical faces. Slowly he answered, “She will release her claim on both the land and the money on one condition.”
A tense pause followed his words, and Matthew could almost hear the frantic heartbeats in the room. They had a right to be anxious, he thought. C. J. Doe was about to rock their world.
Finally Rob asked, “And what would this condition be?”
Matthew glanced from Rob to John Townsend. In his best courtroom voice he said, “That you and your father take paternity tests.”
Martha gasped and Rob brought his fist down hard on the desk. “No way, Matthew. No way in hell is that ever going to happen.”
“She has agreed that if it does, if you both get tested, she will relinquish any claim on the Townsend estate.”
“She’s thought of everything, hasn’t she?” Rob muttered. “But we refuse to give credence to those stupid rumors she obviously believes.”
“Well, it’s the only way you’re going to get the land back without going to court.”
“Everybody has a price. Offer her three million.”
Matthew gave a frustrated sigh. “Money means nothing to her, I’ve told you that. You can offer her ten million and she’d still turn it down. She only wants to know who she is.”
“She is not a Townsend.” Fists clenched, Rob got angrily to his feet. “She—”
“The girl must be crazy,” Martha broke in. “John is in no condition to go through such stress. He’s recovering from a stroke.” She sat next to John Townsend’s wheelchair and rubbed his arm affectionately.
Matthew shrugged. “It’s a simple blood test. As your lawyer I have to say it’s a good offer.”
“You’re not suggesting we do this?” Rob bellowed.
“No, it’s your decision, but it’s the only offer you’ll get from C. J. Doe.”
Rob tapped long fingers against the desk for a moment, then said, “Offer her three million. Money has a way of changing people’s minds.”
“No!” John Townsend shouted.
Everyone looked at him. The single word was the first he’d spoken during the whole meeting. His blue eyes blazed with a strength of old, and he looked like the powerful John Townsend who could melt a man in his boots with just one word. Even though his legs were weak, Matthew had a feeling John’s mind was as sharp as ever.
“Dad, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re going to take the blood tests.”
“What?”
“Use your head, son. What’s the use of throwing money away when we can end this with a simple test?”
“But, Dad…”
Matthew could see the doubt in Rob’s eyes and there was doubt in John’s eyes, too, but unlike his son he was willing to gamble that C. J. wasn’t a Townsend.
John gazed up at Matthew, his expression fierce. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sloan,” he said. “I want this done discreetly. I don’t want any publicity—in the newspapers, TV or magazines—anywhere.”
“I don’t think she’ll have a problem with that.”
“And even if one of the tests is positive, she will not expect anything from this family.”
Matthew watched the fire in the man’s eyes and had to ask. “If she is a Townsend, can you turn your back on her?”
“In a heartbeat, sir,” he said without hesitation.
Matthew got a glimpse of the ruthlessness that had made this man so powerful. “I see. Okay. I’ll set everything up.”
Martha clutched John’s arm. “You don’t have to do this.”
He shrugged off her hand. “Shut up, Martha.”
For a moment Matthew studied the three people in the room. They had to be the unhappiest people he’d ever met. Just as the old saying had it, money and power really didn’t guarantee happiness. But he wondered why they didn’t seem to have an ounce of feeling for another human being. Victoria Townsend had felt differently. Why? Why was she so generous to C.J.? But it wasn’t his job to solve the mystery between the Townsends and C. J. Doe, he told himself. He was here only to do this job as a courtesy to his dad, then he’d go back to New York and his own world. But the more involved he became with the case, the more it intrigued him.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll get back to you on the place and time.”
“You do that,” Rob said with a curt nod.
Matthew hurried from the room. When he reached the hall, he took a deep breath, trying to dispel the stifling oppressive feeling he’d felt in the Townsend family’s presence.

“DAD, WHY ARE YOU DOING this?” Rob asked a moment after the door closed on Matthew.
“Son, haven’t I taught you anything? When things get rough, play into your opponent’s hand, but always keep an ace up your sleeve.”
Rob shook his head. “What the hell does that mean?”
A wicked smile curved John’s thin lips. “It means we take the tests, but we make sure they come out negative.”
Realization dawned, and a smile spread across Rob’s face.
“Being in high places pays off. You meet people who can help you out in a situation like this,” John told him, a gleam in his old eyes.
Rob watched his father. “Then you’re not sure she’s not yours?”
“Just like you’re not sure she’s not yours.”
The silence grew heavy with tension. John cleared his throat. “You take your love of women after me, son, but we’re not going to let it cost you this election. Understand?”
“Understand.” Rob smiled a secret smile.
John nodded his approval, but he wasn’t through.
“Don’t you think it’s time you got your kids home?”
The smile vanished from Rob’s face. “Don’t start,” he warned.
“Your wife’s falling apart.”
“She’ll adjust.”
“The kids have been gone since the fall. She’s not adjusting. She dresses shabbily, uses foul language and spends all her time with those dogs. She’s not the lady you married.”
“Stay out of this,” Rob warned again. “This doesn’t concern you. Besides, you sent me away to school.”
“It didn’t help your rebellious streak, did it?”
“No,” Rob admitted.
“Then learn from my mistakes, son,” he said. “It took Francine so long to get pregnant. Those kids are extra-special to her.”
“That’s the damn problem,” Rob snapped. “She spoils them. No, they’re staying in school.”
John raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to win this election?” he asked in a low voice.
“Of course I do!”
“Then use your damn head. We need her and her family’s support. The minute the semester is over, get the kids home and spend some time together. Go places—and make sure there’s a photographer along. Plaster those pictures all over Texas. Let everyone see y’all as a loving family.”
At Rob’s hesitation John pointed a shaking finger at him. “If you lose this election, I’ll never forgive you.”
Rob gritted his teeth, then said, “I’ve never done anything to please the great John Townsend. But I’ll win the election and I’ll win in a big way.”
“You’d better,” John told him. “And you’d better get your kids home first.”
Rob inhaled audibly. “I’ll give it some thought,” he promised.
“Good,” John replied, victory in his tone. “Now hand me the phone. It’s time to get rid of the Doe problem.” He laughed harshly. “Never thought the little idiot would make it so easy.”

MATTHEW WALKED QUICKLY down the hall to the foyer and the front door, eager to get back to the office. With any luck this case could be wrapped up in a couple of weeks and he could resume his life in New York. He worried about his mom, though. He couldn’t leave until she was better.
Quietly closing the door, he started down the steps.
“Hello, Matthew.” A silky smooth voice stopped him.
He swung around to find the nurse smiling at him. The white uniform clung to her shapely body, and a ready smile indicated she’d been waiting for him.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked, moving closer to him.
His eyes swept over the blond hair, brown eyes and red red lips. Something about her was familiar but he still couldn’t place her. “Sorry. No, I don’t.”
“Stephanie Cox, the frumpy brown-haired girl you used to let copy your homework.”
“Stephanie Cox,” he echoed in disbelief. Suddenly he recalled the shy overweight girl he’d always felt sorry for. The memory didn’t jibe with the woman standing before him.
“Isn’t it amazing what diet, exercise and makeup can do for a girl?”
He studied her new appearance again. “Yes, it is,” he replied slowly, thinking that peroxide and plastic surgery also had something to do with the changed look. He couldn’t help feeling that he liked the shy plain young girl much better. There was a hardness in this one’s eyes that made him instinctively draw back.
She stepped even closer. Long artificial red nails fingered the lapel of his jacket. Expensive perfume filled his nostrils. “You were always so nice,” she whispered, and batted her long fake eyelashes at him. “Are you still a nice man, Matthew Sloan?”
“I try to be.”
She batted the eyelashes again. “Why don’t we meet for dinner and discuss old times…and our mutual employer?”
So that was it. She was after information. “Sorry, Stephanie, but I’m really busy. I’m trying to wrap up my dad’s cases before I go back to New York. Besides, I don’t discuss my clients with anyone.”
She was so close now he could feel the heat emanating from her body. “Was that a put-down?” she asked.
“Just the truth,” he answered with a decided effort not to move away from her. Did she really think that cheap look and act appealed to a man? he wondered. Well, maybe a desperate man, he conceded. But it didn’t do a thing for him.
One fingernail traced a blue triangle in his tie, then she smiled suggestively. “I could turn your very busy day into a night you won’t forget.”
“I’ll bet you could, and believe me, I’ll keep it in mind.” He removed her hand from his lapel, returned her smile with a careful one of his own, then headed down the steps.
“Goodbye, Matthew Sloan,” she called after him.
As he climbed into his truck, the air whooshed from his lungs and he realized he’d been holding his breath. What was that all about? Stephanie Cox sure wanted something from him, and it was more than his body. How did she fit into the puzzle of C. J. Doe and the Townsends?

CHAPTER SIX
WHEN MATTHEW GOT BACK to the office, he dialed C.J.’s number, but there was no answer.
Miss Emma poked her head around the door. “You’re due at the courthouse at one o’clock.”
He looked at his watch. “No time for lunch.”
“I’ll get Frank to send over a sandwich from the café.”
“Thanks, Miss Emma.” He smiled. He was beginning to see why his dad had put up with her for so many years. He could use someone like her in New York, he thought fleetingly. Miss Emma in New York. He shuddered at the image.
Later that evening when he opened the door of his parents’ house, the most delicious aroma enticed him. His mom was cooking and he recognized the smell of his favorite—pot roast.
He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her for a moment. An apron with a happy face on it covered her dress. She set plates on the table with a quick hand, but her eyes were cloudy.
She turned and saw him. “Hi,” she said in a wobbly voice.
She had to deal with her grief in her own way, but he hated to see her like this. It made him feel so helpless. Putting his arms around her, he said, “Mom, you don’t have to cook. I can eat anything.”
“It keeps me busy,” she sniffed into his shoulder. Brushing away a tear, she added, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
“How was your day?”
“Exhausting,” he replied with a teasing note in his voice.
She glanced at the stove, a smile touching her face. “Supper’s almost ready, so go wash up.”
He left the kitchen without saying a word, feeling like that ten-year-old boy who used to love coming home to the smell of his mother’s cooking. Were there women like his mom left in this world? he wondered. Women who cared about home and hearth and family? Most of the women he met were like Stephanie Cox; they wanted something from him he wasn’t willing to give. Then there was C.J. Doe….
At the thought of her, he went into his dad’s study and dialed her number.
“Hello.” Her soft husky voice came down the line.
He felt a swift familiar sensation of desire. Her voice alone had more power over him than Stephanie Cox’s entire body. Shaking that reaction from his mind, he said, “Miss Doe, this is Matthew Sloan.”
“Yes?”
“The Townsends have agreed to your offer.”
A long pause. “Miss Doe, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you. I’m just stunned. I didn’t expect them to accept so quickly.”
“They want it done discreetly, no publicity.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I would like to choose the lab, though.”
Startled, he asked, “Any reason for that?”
“Yes. I don’t trust the Townsends. They have too much power in this state. I want a reputable lab that won’t be tempted by bribery.”
“I see. And you know of such a lab?”
“I’ll make some phone calls and let you know in the morning.”
“That’ll be fine,” he replied, a little surprised by her shrewdness. “You do realize the Townsends have to agree to the lab?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t do anything further until I hear from you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sloan, Jr.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure. I guess for getting things done so quickly.”
“You don’t make it easy, especially since you haven’t retained an attorney. I wish I could make you understand how important it is for you to have a lawyer, someone to protect your interests.”
“Well, then, that’s why I should thank you—for not taking advantage of me.”
“With those trigger-happy protectors around you, a man would have to be a fool to take advantage of you, Miss Doe.”
“Pete and Harry are harmless.”
“If you say so.”
He could feel her smiling and wished he could see her face. The sight had to be magical. His own lips curved into an answering smile. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
As he hung up the phone, the smile left his face. He hoped it would all turn out the way she wanted. Then he felt a moment’s shock. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t her lawyer, so he shouldn’t care about her interests, but—God help him—he did.
Had his father experienced these same feelings? Was that the reason he’d done nothing about the case? Or maybe there was something about C.J. that caused men to lose their sense of reason.

C.J. WALKED ONTO THE PORCH and sat on the swing. Dusk had settled in and the earth seemed to sigh, accepting the darkness and peace of nightfall. Pete puffed on his pipe and Harry whittled one of his many horse figures.
As she curled her feet beneath her, thoughts of Matthew Sloan, Jr., soon eclipsed the evening song of crickets and a faraway whippoorwill. Every time she heard his serious voice she got a fluttering in her stomach. Why was she so aware of him? He was the enemy, and a city man to boot. She knew the answer, but it really didn’t matter, she told herself. In a little while, he’d be gone and out of her life.
The Townsends had agreed to the tests. It was unbelievable, but it was the best news she’d heard in a long time.
Pete watched her thoughtfully. “Who was on the phone?”
“Matthew Sloan, Jr. The Townsends said yes to the blood tests.”
A shaggy eyebrow shot up in surprise. “You don’t say.”
She clasped her hands together. “Now I’ll have some answers. I’ll find out if I’m a Townsend.”
Pete rested his elbows on his knees, his brown eyes skeptical. “Girl, don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.”
“I’m trying not to, but it’s hard.”
“‘The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape,’” Harry interjected.
C.J. sighed with exasperation. “Harry, that makes no sense.”
His knife slipped through a piece of wood with ease, leaving wood shavings at his feet. “Beware of the devil in men, my girl,” he told her.
She chewed on her lower lip and decided to give up trying to understand Harry and his quotes. But sometimes there was logic hidden in his words. Tonight, though, she didn’t want to search for logic. She wanted to savor this moment.
Pete took a puff on his pipe, his eyes narrowed, as the aromatic scent of tobacco drifted toward her. “Just be sure this is what you want, girl,” he said. “Because when it’s all over, you’re not gonna have anything Victoria Townsend left you. All you’ll have are the results of a couple of blood tests.”
“I’ll have the truth,” she said fiercely. “I have to know who I am.”
Why couldn’t anyone accept how badly she needed that? Pete and Harry, in their practical wisdom and their deep concern for her, saw only that the land and money would give her a secure future. But without a past she had no future. She would only be existing in a world where she didn’t belong. This was her last chance to find her identity. In her heart she knew it was what Victoria had wanted for her.
What if the results are negative? a voice inside whispered. She’d simply start over, she decided resolutely. She knew the risks and she was willing to take them. Negative or positive, she could handle the results.
Getting up, she headed into the house. “I’ve got some phone calls to make.” She stopped by Pete’s chair; her hand touched his shoulder in a hesitant gesture.
He patted her hand. “I understand, girl.”
She knew he did. He’d watched her suffer over the years, and if the blood tests were going to give her some peace, then he’d support this. She realized he had nagging doubts, but for her, he’d pushed them aside.
She bent and quickly kissed his rough cheek, knowing that whatever she had to go through in this world, Pete and Harry would be behind her one hundred percent.

THE NEXT MORNING C.J. walked into Matthew’s office and laid a piece of paper on his desk.
At the sight of her his pulse quickened. Her long hair was pulled back and held in place by a single red ribbon. Snug Wrangler’s hugged her long slim legs, and a red sleeveless shirt set off her slender tanned arms. A pink hue tinted her cheeks, either from the flush of excitement or just the reflection of her shirt. He couldn’t be sure. Whatever the reason, the effect was stunning.
He tore his eyes away and picked up the paper, scanning it.
“That’s a lab in Austin. Ryder Laboratories. Cliff Ryder is the director,” C.J. said.
Matthew fingered the paper. “Exactly how are you acquainted with this lab?”

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