
Table of Contents
Tristan Cayle had the most unusual effect on women...
As Tristan and Megan passed the front desk, Megan noticed that a blond woman looked at Tristan, then did a double take. Hot color flared on her cheekbones, and she gasped.
Thrusting out her arms, the blonde parted a path through the crowd like a lawn mower cutting tall grass. She pointed directly at Tristan's face, and her ivory-tipped finger quivered. On stiff legs, her high heels clacking sharply, she stalked toward Tristan.
Tristan exchanged a puzzled look with Megan before returning the woman's attention.
"Ma'am?"
"You," she said breathlessly. "All these years and it's you."
"Pardon me, ma'am? Do I know---?"
"You look at me as if I'm a strangerl Me, Daniella? You dare deny me? Your wife?" the woman said, and then she slapped Tristan.
Dear Reader,
Imagine you've traveled far away, to a place of heady danger and luxurious romance nestled high in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The bellhop has left your bags and you're about to unpack. You've finally reached the exciting Elk River Resort, the setting for Sheryl Lynn's second book in her new duet, HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY, brought to you this June and July.
Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller's jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fiction!
Harlequin Intrigue invites you to escape with Sheryl Lynn to the HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY! We hope you'll enjoy The Case of the Bad Luck Fiance every bit as much as last month's title, The Case of the Vanished Groom.
Regards,
Debra Matteucci
Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator
Harlequin Books
300 East 42nd Street
New York, New York 10017
The Case of the Bad Luck Fiancé
Sheryl Lynn
For my good friends with their cool heads and big hearts:
Barbara, Margaret and Pamela.
Megan Duke---The man she wanted to call her own was already taken.
Tristan Cayle---How did an ordinary cattle rancher wind up looking like a criminal?
William Cayle---The stubborn teenager didn't want a new mother, especially not a skinny girl his father met on the computer bulletin boards.
Kara Duke---Megan's romantic younger sister had a matchmaker's heart.
Janine Duke---Megan's oldest sister was convinced Tristan was a criminal.
Elise Duke---She was the calming force in the family.
Daniella Falconetti---She wanted to make Tristan suffer.
Christie Carter---Bradley Carter stole her money and she wants it back.
Amy Carter---Her revenge was simple: kill Tristan and take his son.
Amy paused on the fourth-floor landing and rested against the railing. She panted, catching her breath as she eyed the stairs leading up. Two more floors to go and she was sweating inside her suit jacket and overcoat. Sweat on her face made her sunglasses slip. She nudged them higher on her nose, then trudged grimly up the stairs. When she finally reached the sixth floor, her side ached with a tearing stitch. She entered the hallway. The ding of an elevator made her shudder.
Boxes. If trapped inside a box, she'd die.
She clutched her handbag with both sweaty hands, eyeing the hallway. Her ears rang with impending vertigo. The hallway was so long, and the doors were as solid as dungeon gates, fastened tightly shut. Every nerve fiber in her being screamed at her to flee.
But Bradley was out there.
With a trembling finger, she eased up the sleeve of her coat and checked her watch. She had no time to waste. Sometimes Susie came home for lunch, and if Amy were missing, Susie might do something silly like call the police or the doctor. Susie didn't understand. No one understood. No one except Bradley.
She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders and marched down the hallway. She read each number carefully and finally found suite 615 and the small brass plaque that stated A-1 Investigations and Security. Her hands were so sweaty she feared they'd give away her nervousness, so she pulled a pair of thin leather gloves from her pocket and tugged and jerked them onto her hands.
Inside the office, a receptionist greeted Amy politely. After Amy stated she had an appointment, she had to wait only a few seconds before a door opened and Melvin Place, private investigator, invited her to come inside.
A wide bank of windows with a view of downtown Columbus soothed Amy's tangled nerves, somewhat.
"How do you do, Mrs. Carter. May I take your coat?"
Amy leaned for a moment with her ear to the door. It suddenly occurred to her that Susie might have followed her. She didn't hear her sister's querulous voice arguing with the receptionist, so Amy relaxed. She pulled a page she'd torn from a magazine out of her handbag and placed it on the investigator's desk. "Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Mr. Place," she said. "I want you to find this man for me and I don't care what it costs." She perched on the edge of a chair.
He was an older man, stout and broad shouldered, his gray hair cut in a brushy flattop. His deep-set eyes were dark and wise, but calculating. Expecting him to start grilling her with questions, she shrank back on a chair.
"I see." He picked up the page torn from a copy of Pro Rodeo News.
She had circled Bradley's photograph in red ink.
"This magazine is over two years old," he said.
Despair rolled within her breast like fog. "It's all I have. I found Bradley's picture in that magazine by accident. A lucky accident. I picked it up in the waiting room and wasn't even reading it, I was only looking at the pictures and there he was. You must find him for me."
Like the man, the desk was large and stout, littered with baskets holding papers and framed photographs. He tapped thick fingers on the desktop. "Why are you looking for this man, Mrs. Carter?"
"He's my husband. Your advertisement said you find missing people. Can you find him?"
"Are there children involved, ma'am? Is this a custody dispute?"
Her entire body went rigid. Her child, her son, stolen away, as much a victim as she. A victim of doctors and bureaucrats and uncaring officials. Bradley's victim. A thief of hearts, a thief of children. She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth.
"Mrs. Carter?" He straightened on his chair and made as if to rise. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes! There's nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all." Her chin quivered. "It's Bradley. It's all his fault. He stole my son."
His eyes moved, sweeping over the photographs on the desktop. The majority were of children. "How long ago?"
"Fifteen years." She lifted her face slightly, using her chin to point at the magazine page. "I found that by accident. It's the only sign of him I've found in fifteen years."
"So he's a bull rider, huh? The caption here says his name is Tristan Cayle of Wyoming."
"That isn't his name. He lied. His real name is Bradley Ellis Carter. Can you find him?"
"Probably. Does Mr. Carter have legal, court-ordered custody of your son?"
"No."
"You're-positive the man in this photograph is your husband. No doubts?"
His demeanor soothed her. He would help her, he was a friend. "I am one hundred percent positive." She opened the handbag and rifled through the contents until she found Bradley's old driver's license. After fifteen years it was all she had left of his love and her dreams. Reluctance gripped her---she was loath to give up the license. She forced her hand to move, to open her fingers and drop the license on the desk.
Mr. Place picked it up, looking between it and the magazine page. "This is from Massachusetts. It's seventeen years old."
"Is that a problem?"
"No, ma'am. Just find it curious that a New Englander would end up in Wyoming riding bulls in the rodeo."
"Bradley had many...interests."
He made a neutral sound and opened a desk drawer. He laid a legal-size printed form on the desk and plucked a pen from a coffee cup with a broken handle. "All right, Mrs. Carter. I can probably get you an address. I'll need your full name, address and phone number."
An involuntary gasp escaped her throat.
"I have to be able to reach you, ma'am. When I find your husband." He held the pen poised over the paper. "We have to have a contract for services. It's the only way I do business. Everything is on the up and up at A-1."
"I live with my sister," she said. "She...she doesn't approve. She thinks I should leave well enough alone. She doesn't understand." She snatched Bradley's driver's license off the desk and clutched it to her breast. "I must find him. Please. Help me."
A slight frown deepened the lines in his craggy forehead. "I guarantee discretion. But you must sign a contract, ma'am. It's the only way I can help you. It's for your protection as much as mine."
"You won't tell my sister you're a private investigator?"
"No, ma'am."
The telephone book was full of listings for private investigators. Melvin Place had been the fifth she'd called, and the first who didn't demand to know the exact nature of her business over the telephone. She slid a glance at the photos on his desk, reassured by the laughing, smiling children. Mr. Place understood about a parent's broken heart. She gave him her sister's phone number and address.
After filling out the contract form, he turned it around for her to sign. "My standard fee is eighty-five dollars an hour."
Again she went into the handbag and closed her fingers over the thick stack of hundred dollar bills bound in a bank wrapper. Her brother-in-law always kept cash in the house, locked away in a desk drawer in case of emergency. She knew her sister would be upset. But Bradley was so close---she had to find him. She peeled five bills from the stack and put them on the desk.
"I have lots of money. Will this be enough for you to start?"
His eyes acquired a gleam. "I believe so." He took the money and she signed the contract ALL HEART, NO KNEES.
Megan Duke recalled the words of her former track coach, and added, no boobs, either. Glumly, she held up the purple blouse she'd borrowed from her younger sister. Low-cut and clingy, its plunging neckline emphasized the fact she had nothing to emphasize.
She tossed the borrowed blouse on the bed and groaned. What was a girl supposed to wear when meeting her fiance for the very first time?
She glared at her reflection in a mirror. Clad only in panties and bra, she assessed her body: nothing impressive on top, too many muscles, no hips to speak of. Her shoulders were too broad. Veins corded around her wrists and atop her hands. She looked like a boy!
She jerked-open her closet door and glowered at the skimpy contents. Flannel, denim and chambray shirts, practical cable-knit sweaters, trousers---not a frill or ruffle in sight. She brought out her lone skirt. The black suede mini looked as dumb now as when she'd allowed her sister to talk her into buying it.
Taking a step back, she closed her eyes and hugged the skirt to her breast. Calm down, relax, she counseled herself. All things happen when they should happen. She and Tristan loved each other, they were meant to be. Fate had brought them together and destiny would keep them together---scanty wardrobe or no scanty wardrobe.
She remembered the sweater her mother had given her for Christmas. She pawed through her dresser drawers until she found it. Of cream-colored silk embroidered in same-colored thread with hearts and flowers, the featherweight sweater had dolman sleeves and a wide fitted waistband. The draped collar would soften her shoulders and add some bulk to her meager bust. Perfect...as long as the day didn't turn blistering hot.
She pulled on the sweater, grimacing as her hair crackled with static electricity.
The photographs Tristan had sent showed a man who could be Val Kilmer's bigger, vastly better-looking older brother. Please let him think I'm pretty, she prayed.
She snatched a pair of black tights from a drawer and flopped onto the bed to pull them on. Once they were in place, she stepped into the miniskirt. She had to shimmy a bit to pull it over her hips, and she sucked in her tummy to zip it up. She checked her reflection in the mirror again. The skirt was way too short, but the tights concealed the scars on her knees.
A knock on the door startled her. Her younger sister poked her head into the room. "Mom sent me up to see if you're sick," Kara said. "Why aren't you at breakfast?" She swept her gaze over Megan and squinted suspiciously. "You're wearing a skirt?"
"Get in here. Shut the door." She pressed her fists over her racing heart. Tristan's plane would land in Colorado Springs around ten this morning, then it would take him about two hours to reach Elk River Resort. Elation and apprehension tugged her with equal measure.
Kara's blue eyes sparkled "What's going on? You've been acting like a nut all week." She peered curiously at the open dresser drawers and clothing discarded atop the bed and draped over chairs. "Nice sweater. It goes good with the---"
Megan thrust a hairbrush and plastic clip at Kara. "Help me with my hair. Do I look pretty? You know, girl pretty?"
Kara obediently took the brush and clip. "Since when do you care what you look like? You're acting like you have a hot date."
Megan plopped onto a chair before the vanity. Her sister moved behind her and began brushing Megan's shoulder-length hair.
Megan critically eyed her reflection in the mirror and wondered if she wore too much makeup---or not enough. She rarely wore any at all. She compared her pug nose and freckles to Kara's fine features and creamy complexion, and could have groaned. Both her sisters were gorgeous. If Tristan fell for one of them, she'd die.
Finally, she said, "You know the guys who are coming today? Tristan and William Cayle from Wyoming?"
Frowning thoughtfully, Kara pulled Megan's hair high onto the back of her head. "I saw the reservations sheet. They're taking a cabin in the Honeymoon Hideaway. Wait a minute, isn't he the one you've been talking to on the phone? Like a bazillion calls---" she gave Megan's hair a sharp tug "---and you never tell me anything about him?"
"Tristan is a friend of mine, and William is his son." She smiled approval at what Kara did to her wayward tresses. "That's good. Clip it up there. Leave the rest hanging."
"When did you meet a guy from Wyoming?" Kara stepped back and admired her handiwork.
Even though the sisters were two years apart, they'd always been close. Tristan Cayle was the first real secret Megan had ever kept from Kara. A knot of shame tightened in her chest. Her romance hadn't been so much secretive as private. In her close-knit family, where all of them lived together and worked together operating Elk River Resort, privacy was at a premium.
She pointed with her chin at the computer set up on a desk. "I met him on-line. We've been exchanging electronic mail...and stuff."
"Are you serious, Meg? He's coming all the way from Wyoming to meet you? With his kid? Cool."
He's coming to marry me, she thought uneasily, unless she did something really stupid like scare him off by acting like a tomboy.
"I'll be down in a minute and I'll tell you all about it." She shooed Kara, who protested all the way, out the door, then closed it and leaned against the wood.
She breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth. "What will be, will be," she muttered, her gaze resting on a wall-mounted shelf laden with silver and gold trophies. Fate hadn't meant for her to be an Olympic track star. She was fast and she owned the will to win, but her bones were too fragile to withstand the stresses of training and competition. She shifted her attention to the framed guidon mounted on the wall above her narrow bed. Soldiers in her father's last command had given him the bright yellow flag. Of the Colonel's four children, only Megan had attempted to follow in his footsteps to make a military career. That dream had gone no further than the induction physical. After one look at her permanently damaged knees, the military doctors had disqualified her from service.
Fate had slam-dunked two dreams. It wouldn't dare crush this one. All the signs said Tristan Cayle was her destiny. She pushed away from the door. From her desk she picked up the latest letter he'd sent her. Even though they talked on the telephone four or five times a week, he still wrote letters. She loved his letters. She'd fallen in love with his world view and his gentle, self-effacing voice on the telephone and the photographs he'd sent and the whole idea of being a rancher's wife. She'd fallen in love with him.
A piercing shriek snapped her attention to the window. Frowning, she gazed down at the picnic area along the west side of the lodge. A flash of coppery red hair darting under the trees deepened her frown into a scowl. The McTeague kid again, up to no good. A little girl raced, shrieking, toward the lodge. Hot on her heels, the redheaded ten-year-old terror chased her with a stick.
Some parents, she thought hatefully, ought to be flogged. They brought their kids to the resort then turned them loose, expecting employees to keep them from killing themselves. Megan pushed open the window and leaned over the sill.
"Hey! Benny! Benny McTeague!"
The boy skidded to a stop and looked around wildly.
"Put down that stick, Benny."
The boy stuck out his tongue at her and darted back under the trees.
"I don't need this," Megan muttered, and hurried out of her room. She took the back stairs two and three at a time, ignoring the twinges in her knees. Outside, she found the little girl Benny had been chasing. Seated on a rock, the child was in tears.
"What did he do to you, baby? Did he hit you with that stick?" With her fingers, Megan combed damp hair off the little girl's cheeks.
"He hit Barbie!"
"Your doll?"
The girl hiccuped and nodded, pointing at a picnic table. "He won't gimme Barbie back. He's mean!"
"I'll get your doll, sweetheart. Where's your mommy and daddy?"
"Eating breakfast."
"In the dining room or on the deck?"
The girl thought about it for a moment, her red-rimmed eyes rolling back and forth. "Under the umbrella."
"On the deck, then. Good girl." She pressed an impulsive kiss to the child's forehead. "You go right around the corner and you'll see your mommy and daddy. I'll get your doll. Okay?"
"'Kay."
Megan marched into the picnic area, searching the shadows under the widely spaced pines. She spotted a Barbie doll tied with a shoestring to a sapling. Muttering about ill-mannered children and their impossible parents, she released the doll.
A sharp pain exploded in her backside. She jumped, loosing a high-pitched squeal. She turned about in time to see the McTeague kid scampering toward the lodge.
Bad knees or not, she could still outrun a ten-year-old. The kid didn't get twenty feet before she snared him.
"A slingshot!" She snatched the contraption out of his hand and stared at it in horror. No cheesy wooden toy, this slingshot was made of gleaming stainless steel with a black rubber sling. The kid struggled, but she maintained her grip. She felt the bruise forming on her rear---the wound throbbed. "You could kill somebody with this."
"I'm telling my mu-thur!"
"No, sonny boy, I'm telling your mother." Not that it would do any good, she thought with resignation. The McTeagues allowed the boy to run wild, act disrespectful and generally be a pain.
The McTeagues had been guests for three days, but with Benny pulling one antic after another, it felt like three years. Still, Megan felt sorry for the kid. He was only ten, after all, responding to weak parents in the only way he knew how.
Benny suddenly twisted in her grasp, catching her off guard, and he tore away. He ran like a little demon, elbows and knees pumping. Megan took a step after him, then stopped. She sighed as she studied the slingshot and Barbie doll. Speaking to his parents would accomplish nothing. Mrs. McTeague would go into her oh-dear-mydarling-wouldn't-do-that mode and Mr. McTeague would hunch like a turtle, his eyelids battened against possible storms.
Eying the slingshot again, Megan shook her head. When she had kids, she'd raise them the way her parents raised her. With loving firmness, encouragement and eagle eyes that missed nothing.
And she sure wouldn't give them deadly weapons like slingshots.
She found the little girl and gave her the Barbie doll. Then she made a detour into the lobby and slipped the slingshot into a drawer behind the desk, telling the clerk on duty that Benny McTeague didn't get it back until he was checked out of the resort.
A glance at the clock behind the registration desk made her groan. Her father took a dim view of tardiness. Practicing her speech in her head, she headed for the family dining room.
As she passed the kitchen, she glanced at the bustling going on inside. Sweet and savory aromas wafted through the door and filled the hallway: bread, pastries and Elk River's world-famous venison stew. It was the last week of May, the bare beginnings of the tourist season, and not many guests were registered. This afternoon, however, the head of the Princess Amore Cosmetics company was bringing her executives for a mountain retreat. Megan hoped the cosmetics people kept her family so busy none of them had time to hassle her and Tristan.
When Megan entered the dining room, Kara looked up from her breakfast. "I told you she's not sick, Mom." She snagged a bowl of scrambled eggs. "Just insane. She's met a guy and he's coming to visit. I think she's in love."
Megan stopped behind her chair and held the ladder back in both hands. From the head of the table, her father glowered at her while he shifted significant glances at his wristwatch. Next to him, her mother tilted her head at a curious angle.
Elise Duke placed a hand over her husband's wrist. "You have a young man visiting today, then, dear? That's nice, but I thought you were on the schedule."
Megan faltered with uncertainty. Unlike her sisters, she'd never brought a boy home to meet her parents. Always busy in high school and college with athletics, she'd never had a boyfriend at all, and it was a family joke that Megan would rather arm-wrestle a boy than kiss him.
You're a grown-up, she told herself firmly. You have a life, including a love life.
"I reworked the schedule, Mom. I'm taking the week off."
That brought an indignant gasp from her older sister. As general manager of the resort, Janine had the final say in most matters concerning employees. But not this one, Megan had determined. For the first time in her life she was making a decision entirely on her own without everybody hashing it over, nitpicking the details and declaring what was best for her.
Janine sipped from her coffee cup. "You can't take the week off, Meg. Did you forget the Princess Amore Cosmetics people?"
"Everything is covered."
"This is not SOP, young lady," the Colonel announced. "AWOL will not be tolerated."
Standard operating procedure...away without leave! Her father had retired his commission eight years ago. She wished he'd stop using those stupid military acronyms and terms.
"I am taking the week off, Colonel and Janine, and furthermore, I have an announcement to make. You might have to look for another recreation director pretty soon. I'll probably be quitting."
"Megan?" her mother questioned gently. "Dear, are you upset about something?"
"No, I'm not upset." Realizing she'd hoped for cheers and unconditional support and wasn't getting it, she clutched the back of her chair with fingers so tight they ached. "I've met a man, a very special man, and he's coming today to meet all of you."
"What man?"
"Be quiet, Janine, let her speak." Elise urged Megan to continue.
She slid her tongue over her lips. "He wants to marry me and take me to Wyoming to live on his ranch. We're in love."
Janine chuckled and resumed eating breakfast. The Colonel's eyes blazed and ruddiness bloomed on his cheeks. Kara's mouth fell open. Elise spooned sugar into her coffee cup, one spoonful, two, three, before she gave a start and dropped the spoon.
"Marry?" the Colonel sputtered. "Marry?"
"His name is Tristan Cayle, and he's a rancher from Powder, Wyoming." The words emerged in a rush. "He has two brothers and two sisters, and a son named William, and his father lives with him. His wife died several years ago. The ranch has been in his family for four generations. He broke his leg really bad in a rodeo accident, and that's how we met. He raises Appaloosa horses and cattle, and he does leather work. He made his own saddle." All the reasonable words she'd practiced had wisped out of her head like steam. She bit her inner cheek to stop the babbling.
"Marry?" The Colonel's eyeballs looked ready to pop from the sockets.
Kara was gazing at her as if Megan had announced she'd discovered a gold mine. Janine was chuckling and swinging her head side to side.
Elise sighed and smiled. "I don't believe you've mentioned this young man before, dear. When did you meet him?"
Lowering her gaze to her hands, Megan mumbled, "I haven't...actually...met him."
Janine hooted and tossed her napkin on the table. "You're such a ding-a-ling, Meg. Have fun with your invisible friend. I'm going to work."
Stung, Megan gazed resentfully at her older sister. Not only was Janine beautiful and self-confident, she succeeded at every single thing she tried. Plus, the Colonel hardly ever gave her grief about anything. The two of them had always been as close as conspirators.
"I met him on a computer bulletin board when I was laid up after surgery. We've been writing to each other and talking on the telephone. I love him, and I'm going to marry him." She wished her brother were here. Ross understood romance and would be on her side, but he and his wife were back east on a business trip.
"Your surgery was nine months ago. You've never mentioned him," Elise said.
"At first we were just buddies. We both had bad legs and had to stay in bed, but then we started getting serious and one thing led to another..." She hung her head. "I didn't want you all making fun of me."
"Do we do that, dear?" Elise dabbed absently at her lips with a napkin.
Megan shot a glower at Janine. "Some people act like I'm nothing but a dumb jock."
"Dumb?" Janine fluttered her eyelashes. "Why, Meg, I can't think of anything smarter than marrying a guy you've never met."
"Girls, please." Elise tsked.
Janine paused in the doorway. Over her shoulder, she said, "What kind of guy cruises for girls on the computer, Mom? He's either a creep or a loser. Or maybe he's a serial killer. Only you, Meg, only you." She left the dining room.
"You're just jealous!" Megan shouted at her sister's back. She shoved away from the chair and paced to the window.
A sharp scraping of chair legs against the wooden flooring signaled her father rising from the table. "This is foolish behavior and I do not condone it, Megan. What is his ETA?"
"He arrives in Colorado Springs around ten, then he's renting a car. I love him, Colonel. If you don't want him here, then we'll just go somewhere else!"
"Young lady..."
She'd done this all wrong, handled everything badly, and now her entire family was turned against Tristan before they even met him. "All my life I've done every single thing you ever told me to do. But I'm not a kid anymore."
He swung his glower on his wife. "I am delegating the handling of this matter to you. I expect a full report in an hour." He executed an abrupt about-face and marched out of the room.
"Yes, dear," Elise said with a sigh.
"Wow," Kara said, her voice and expression filled with admiration. "When you drop a bombshell, you really drop a good one. Do you have pictures?"
Glad somebody was on her side, Megan crossed her arms. Faced by her mother's gentle regard, anger was impossible to maintain. Her shame increased as she replayed her words and knew she'd sounded immature and defensive. "I wanted all of you to be happy for me, Mom."
Elise patted the chair next to her. "You're not given to, um, romantic adventures. I had no idea you were involved, and now you speak of marriage. This is quite unexpected."
Looking back, Megan wasn't all that certain how it had come about, either. She and Tristan had started out merely chatting, relieving the boredom of convalescence. The more they'd found in common, the more intimate their correspondence had grown. "He's not a creep or a loser, Mom, honest. He's the nicest guy in the world, and I know you're just going to love him."
Amy sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes, listening to the loud click-click-clicking of the hot engine while studying the town of Powder, Wyoming.
The clutch of buildings on this windswept plain didn't even have a traffic light. A railroad station dominated the flat landscape. Down the street a gas station flared with bright lights. Pickup trucks and four-wheel-drive utility vehicles clustered in front of a café. A trio of grain silos cast a shadow over the entire town.
Amy pulled down the sun visor and checked her reflection in the lighted mirror. Her bloodshot eyes looked sunken in the sockets, alarming her. She could not remember the last time she'd slept. Last night? The night before? Her fuzzy brain refused to reveal an answer.
She looked around again, this time examining every vehicle for official logos. She had not asked Susie for permission to borrow the car. She should have left a note so her sister would know her Mercedes hadn't been stolen, but Amy had been so excited when Melvin Place gave her Bradley's address she'd skipped minor details like notes. She didn't see anything that resembled law enforcement and it relieved her.
She checked inside her handbag. The money she'd borrowed from her brother-in-law had escaped the wrapper, and loose bills cluttered the bottom of the bag. A faint oily smell came from the gun. She winced uneasily. She definitely should not have taken the gun, but it had been there in the desk, looking powerful and assuring. A woman alone needed protection. For the first time in her life, Amy was very much alone.
Not for long, though. Soon she'd be reunited with Bradley. Soon everything would be all right.
She left the car and remembered to lock it. She tugged at the waistband of the slacks she'd borrowed from Susie. They were a size too large, but Amy had needed nice clothing in which to meet her husband. Susie wore beautiful clothes created by top designers.
She walked inside the Powder post office. A bell over the door tinkled, and the woman behind the counter looked up. A blue uniform shirt, crisp with starch, fit snugly over her broad shoulders. Her short hair was gray, and her face was leathery and deeply wrinkled. Her eyes were sharp, her expression imperious. Behind her, a blackand-white photograph of the woman showed the same expression, looking down her nose at the world. In bold lettering, the label read, Eula Masterson, Postmistress.
"Yes'm," Eula said. "What can I do for you?"
Amy quailed, suddenly afraid of this old woman. She looked as mean and unsympathetic as a prison matron. Amy had to clear her suddenly aching throat before she could speak. "I'm looking for the HBD Ranch. All I have is a post office box, so could I get directions?"
"You'll be wanting the Cayle spread, then. You government?"
Amy drew in her chin and peered over the top of her sunglasses. "Government?"
"Land Management, IRS? What you be wanting with the Cayles?"
Her confusion rising with her fear, Amy backed a step. "I don't believe that's any of your business."
The old woman narrowed her eyes and placed both hands atop the counter. Her hands were large and muscular, tanned a dark walnut brown with liver spots. She thrust out her chin. "I don't believe I need be giving out directions. If the IRS is too cheap to hand out maps, then so is the post office."
Amy looked between the old woman and her portrait. A government servant, paid for by taxpayers. Did she have a right to ask questions of the public? "I am not with the IRS, or any government agency. I'm a...friend of Tristan Cayle's. Do you know him?"
"A-yep, but if you're looking for Tristan, then you're plumb out of luck. Him and his boy took off for Colorado this morning. Flew out of Casper this---"
"Boy?" Amy staggered and grasped the counter edge. All these years...Bradley had stolen her son, but Amy never imagined he would actually keep him. "Did you say boy? He has a son? How old is he? What's his name? What does he look like?"
"Tristan Cayle's boy is none of your concern. Get on out of here before I call the law. I'm warning---"
Amy peered at the woman, waiting for her to continue. Eula no longer looked at Amy's face, she stared at the counter. Amy looked down and wondered when she'd pulled the gun out of her purse. She must be very, very tired because she could not remember. She raised the heavy pistol higher, pointing it directly at Eula's chest. "Tell me about my son."
Eula's mouth opened, but all that emerged was a squeak.
"Where did he go?"
"Colorado Springs," Eula whispered, still staring at the pistol. "A place called Elk River Resort. He met a woman, and it's the craziest darn thing, met her on a computer and talked to her and now he's thinking marriage---" She shook herself and tore her gaze from the
pistol. "Put that away!"
"Tell me about my son right now!"
"I am calling the law right now. It's a federal crime robbing the post off---"
The shot startled Amy and she nearly dropped the gun. Her hand went numb and her arm tingled all the way to the shoulder. Eula gazed down at her blue chambray uniform blouse as a bright red blossom spread across her bosom.
"Where is my boy? My son! He stole him away from me and I want him back! Where is he?"
The postmistress sank slowly to the floor, out of sight behind the counter.
"No," Amy whispered, backing to the door. "I want my baby. I want him back. He's mine. He's mine!"
TRISTAN CAYLE HAD NEVER liked flying, and this flight had done nothing to change his opinion. His leg ached from cramping in the too-small seat. His son had groused all during the flight about the skimpy bag of peanuts he'd been given for a snack and because Tristan had insisted he wear a suit. The other passengers dressed casually, which William had mentioned to the point of obnoxiousness. Tristan silently agreed---his necktie choked him and he perspired in his jacket---but they were going to make a good impression on Megan if it killed them.
As an extra bonus, they'd been seated behind a woman with a pair of out-of-control young'uns.
Now safely on the ground in Colorado Springs, Tristan waited patiently in the aisle for the young mother. The baby riding in a carrier had screamed nonstop during the flight, unlike the little boy who'd been having the time of his life. All during the flight he'd played peek-a-boo with Tristan over the seat back, raced up and down the aisle, got himself locked in the bathroom, riled up the attendants, crawled over and under seats, and generally raised Cain. The boy's mama wasn't the most popular person on the airplane, and as she blocked the aisle while gathering an apparently endless number of tote bags, books, toys and blankets, she became even less so.
"See?" William whispered next to Tristan's ear. "You'll get married, have a bunch of rug rats, and they'll be just like that."
"Hush, son."
William grinned smugly.
Behind Tristan, a line of passengers made disgruntled noises, shuffling noisily. Poked in the back, Tristan swung his head around and eyed a red-faced businessman who clutched an overcoat, briefcase and garment bag. Tristan reckoned it was old-fashioned to check baggage anymore. All the passengers were laden like pack mules. The only thing Tristan carried was his hat.
"Jacob, honey," the frazzled young mother pleaded.
"Get your blankie, honey. Let's go meet Daddy."
Poked again by the briefcase, Tristan scowled. He asked, "Need a hand there, ma'am?" Without waiting for her answer, he plucked a diaper bag and a pair of bright totes from her hands. "Grab up your young'uns."
For a moment she appeared startled, then gave him a watery smile and scooped up the baby. Balancing the bulky carrier, she grabbed Jacob's hand. The little boy began yelling for his toys.
"I'll get your toys, short stuff. Go on with your
mama."
The briefcase poked Tristan in the back again. Looking over his shoulder at the impatient traveler, Tristan said, "Mister, if that case knocks my kidneys one more time, I'm gonna show you a whole new way to carry it"
The man's florid face turned darker as he looked up and up until he met Tristan's eyes. He glanced at William, who wasn't as tall or bulky as his father but still had to stoop while standing in the plane. The man held the briefcase tighter to his chest Wondering what in tarnation all these folks were in such a hurry for, Tristan shuffled aside and ordered William to gather toys and coloring books.
"Rug rats," William said. "This is what the house will look like with a bunch of rug rats running around."
Ignoring him, Tristan checked beneath the seats to make sure the little boy hadn't dropped anything else. He disembarked the airplane.
Inside the terminal, he stopped short. Dozens of people milled around the gate. Passengers from the flight swept past him as if the huge crowd were perfectly normal. He stared at men and women holding sound equipment and cameras, and didn't think this was normal at all.
"Look, Dad, reporters. I bet they're waiting for a movie star." William stood on tiptoes, eagerly searching the crowd. "See anybody famous?"
"Where's the lady and her young'uns?" A man with a camera jostled him without so much as an excuse me, mister. City folks. Always in a hurry, always attending to important matters that seemed to change in importance from minute to minute. He could live to be a hundred and never understand.
He noticed the focus of the reporters' attention puttering down the main concourse. An electric cart pulled a train loaded with dignified-looking men and women dressed up in Sunday best. Cameras flashed and video recorders flared with lights as the reporters surged toward the approaching cart. From the shouted questions, Tristan guessed the people on the electric cart were airport and airline officials and the hubbub had to do with expanding the practically brand-new airport terminal.
"Jacob?"
Tristan nudged his son toward the source of that anxious cry. He spotted the young mother from the plane. He pushed his way through the crowds and maneuvered around the banks of chairs to her side. Recognition lit her eyes, but tears made them glitter.
"I can't find my---Jacob!"
Tristan dropped the totes and diaper bag on a chair next to the baby now fast asleep in its carrier. He put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Where's your husband, ma'am? Thought you were meeting him."
"He's late!" She loosed a wail and clutched his arm with both hands, her fingernails digging into the cloth of his suit jacket. "I only took my hand off him for a second! Jacob!"
"Little runt couldn't have gotten far," William said. He dropped the load of toys on a chair.
Tristan pried her hands off his arm and turned to search the crowd. "Wait here for your husband. We'll find your boy. William, you look over that way."
He pushed through the knots of people. He peered under the long rows of chairs and behind the flight checkin desk. Then, over the heads of the reporters, he spotted Jacob. The boy had discovered the moving walkway running down the middle of the concourse. He crouched at the base, watching the loop of black handrail disappear into the works.
Tristan swung wide of the reporters and aimed for the boy.
"Jacob!" the young mother screamed.
Jacob startled and tumbled onto his behind. Then he scrambled to his feet, taking off into a stubby-legged run directly in front of the trundling cart. The cart driver was paying attention to the reporters, the reporters heeded only the dignitaries, and the boy focused on his frantic mother. No one except Tristan saw the impending disaster.
One, two, three long strides, his boots thudding hard against the flat carpet, Tristan aimed for the boy. A woman screamed, then another. He snatched the boy's arm---he didn't weigh more than a minute---and Tristan's momentum caused him to nearly fling the boy over his head. One more long stride.
The cart driver slammed on the brakes. The bumper smacked Tristan in the leg.
His bad leg. Jagged pain burst from deep within the muscles. Feeling the knee buckle, he shifted in midstride, absorbing his weight onto his good leg. He wrapped an arm around the boy and hugged him to his chest, trying to keep him still so they both didn't go down in a heap. That would be a fine thing; keep the kid from getting run over, then crush him into jelly under his rescuer's body. He twisted, seeking balance, but his boot heel slipped and he sat hard. His teeth clacked and flashes of white light blinded him.
The boy ended up seated on Tristan's lap, his big eyes wide and curious, perhaps wondering if this were fun or not.
"Jacob!"
Tristan flinched away from the screech nearly in his ear. The young mother grabbed Jacob and he began to howl.
With a bit of privacy Tristan might have howled himself. Last year a Brahman-cross bull named Jeepers Peepers hadn't been satisfied with flinging Tristan off his back and over a wall. The bull had climbed the wall after Tristan and tap-danced on his leg. The experience of having bones turned into a jigsaw puzzle had convinced him he was too doggone old for rodeoing.
As he was too old for getting run over by an electric cart. He blew hard through his mouth until the throbbing in his thigh mellowed to bearable. No real harm done, he knew. The leg always reacted like a yippy mutt to any knockabout.
William helped him to his feet. Eyes wide, the boy whispered, "Are you all right, Dad?"
"I'm fine," he said, testing his leg. No harm done, except to his dignity. Camera flashes flared in his face, and he flinched. "Lost my balance, that's all. Let's go." He wanted his luggage and rental car, then to be far away from this nutty airport.
A bald man in a dark blue suit blocked Tristan's path. He spoke, but all Tristan caught was "mayor." Another fellow, about the same age but with all his hair and a face like a bulldog, turned out to be the governor of Colorado.
Resigned, Tristan clutched his hat to his chest. "How do, sir. Governor. Now, excuse me, I have---"
"You're a hero, son!" The mayor clapped Tristan on the shoulder and turned him to face the cameras. "Isn't this an amazing day? We came here to speak of airport expansion and find a hero in our midst. What's your name, son?"
"I'm no hero, sir." Squirming, he felt the heat rising on his face. People were asking his name and where he was from. Egged on by the elected officials, he answered questions. His face felt ready to burst into flame, but he noticed William was having a ball. The teenager mugged for the cameras and made sure he got into every shot.
During a lull, William announced, "Dad's already famous!"
"How's that, young man?"
Beaming, William puffed his chest. "Ever seen that rodeo clip they always show on the television sports shows? The one with the bull climbing over the wall after the cowboy?" He clapped Tristan on the shoulder. "That's my dad."
Tristan wanted to melt into his boots and disappear. He and that poor skier shown on "Wide World of Sports" wiping out during a jump---world famous for getting tromped.
Then the governor was inviting him to lunch, and a pretty lady was giving him the sweet eye. Having had enough---too much---Tristan jammed his hat on his head.
"You folks are kind and all, but we have an appointment. Excuse me. Nice meeting you, fellows." Shrugging off all attempts to stop him, he grabbed William by the elbow and strode away. Each step sent a shard of fire through his thigh and hip, but he kept walking, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the city folks.
"Hey!" William trotted to keep up. "I want to have lunch with the governor. What's wrong, Dad? You saved that kid. You're a hero."
"Hero," he grumbled. A man didn't have to be a hero to get knocked onto his butt. He thrust the baggage claim tickets at William. "You fetch our luggage. I'll pick up the car. Don't be dawdling, now."
He claimed his rental car, a sporty little Grand Am. Once they found it in the parking lot, William whistled, eying the cherry red car with greedy anticipation. "Can I drive, Dad?" He flung their bags in the trunk then slammed the lid.
"Not a chance."
"I'm a better driver than you."
Tristan wanted to argue, but he had little affinity for machinery, especially wheeled machinery, so William probably spoke the truth. The boy adored anything mechanical and had been driving around the ranch since he was ten. "You don't have a license. Get in." He handed over a map. "You're the navigator. Don't get us lost."
Tristan and William fitted their lanky frames into the small car. William yanked at his tie, loosening the knot.
"Leave it on, son. We're not traveling far."
"I can't believe you're doing this." With a hand on the tie knot he watched his father as if checking to see if he was serious. "I bet she's fat."
"You've seen her pictures. She isn't fat."
"Could be somebody else's picture. I bet she's fat and snaggle-toothed and got pimples." He straightened the tie, then opened the map of Colorado Springs. "She's probably old with bad breath and a squeaky, scratchy voice. And only one arm."
Tristan chuckled at the imagery. Megan loved sports, especially tennis, plus she was the resort recreational director. He doubted she was fat, or one-armed. Even if she'd fudged with the photographs, it didn't matter. The woman he'd come to know was lively, exuberant and funny. She'd always be beautiful in his mind, no matter what she looked like.
William's attitude, however, didn't amuse him in the slightest. In fact, it was growing downright wearisome. The boy delighted in teasing his father, but ever since Tristan had arranged to meet Megan face-to-face, his teasing had acquired a dark edge.
"You'll like Megan. She's got a sense of humor."
"Yeah, right. That way." William pointed at the road. "We want to go north on Powers Boulevard."
Tristan concentrated on driving. William found a rock and roll station on the radio and turned it up loud. He harmonized with Don Henley singing about forgiveness. Tristan kept his remarks about William's cracking voice to himself. In the last six months the boy had shot up six inches, almost catching up to his feet; adolescence gripped him hard. Which accounted for the sour attitude, Tristan assured himself, since all boys went through a growly phase.
When they reached downtown Colorado Springs, William said, "Turn left here."
"Here?" Some danged fool had put up a statue right in the middle of the intersection. He gripped the steering wheel with both sweaty-palmed hands.
"Here. Left, Dad, left!"
He inched around the broad base of the statue, and the light changed to red. People honked their horns at him, and William yelled at him to go, go! A kid in a soupedup four-by-four jumped the light and nearly smacked the Grand Am in the nose. Tristan took his chance and goosed the accelerator. He made it around the turn and breathed a long sigh of relief. In the rearview mirror he eyed the life-size bronze man on horseback. What a crazy place to put a statue. City folks!
"Smooth, Dad. Should have let me drive."
"Hush, son."
He followed William's directions to the highway and soon left downtown behind.
He drove start and stop through Old Colorado City before the road widened into a proper highway above Manitou Springs. Judging by what passed in his peripheral vision, he knew he was missing some spectacular scenery. By the time he began climbing into the mountains, he had to roll down the window and let the cool wind take the sweat off his face.
Once in the mountains, William sat up straighter, keeping up a running commentary about the sights. He laughed about a sign on a gift shop reading Bust, Colorado, Population Zero. He expressed amazement over the size of houses in the town of Woodland Park. Rock formations brought comments about the sport of rock climbing, a subject about which Tristan knew nothing---it amazed him how William seemed to know all the terms. Past Woodland Park the country stopped looking mountainous and more like hill country, so Tristan and William were both astonished when they reached Ute Pass, which had an altitude listed as more than nine thousand feet.
Tristan spotted the big wooden sign for Elk River Resort.
"Think they have fishing here?" the boy asked.
Turning onto the long, curving dirt road leading to the lodge, Tristan answered that Megan promised a trout stream and a nearby reservoir.
Over a hill and around a curve, the rolling hills gave way to rocky forest, and through the trees he spotted the main building, fronted by a tiered flower bed. The peeled log construction of the lodge reminded him of his granddad's hunting cabin, except it was about fifty times bigger. A rack of elk antlers hanging over the door looked like Granddad's, too, but not so big. He followed signs to parking in the rear.
He parked and left the car. The wind wasn't blowing here as it had been in the city, but it was quite a bit cooler. Patches of snow were visible under the trees. He inhaled deeply, sensing the thinness of the air and smelling the pine-fresh sweetness. He watched a couple in ski clothing unloading a car, and another wearing tennis whites headed into the lodge. Swinging his head in amazement, he grinned. Folks in Colorado didn't seem to pay much heed to the weather or season when it came to dress and recreation.
He settled his hat on his head and checked his suit coat and trousers for debris. "Comb your hair, son."
"If I look too good, she'll take me over you."
"Straighten your tie, too."
William barked a hearty laugh. "You're shaking, Dad! Wait'll I tell Granddad how you're all chicken to meet a woman. Big old Tristan Cayle is yellow. Ha!"
"Keep it up, son. You might not grow old enough to get your driver's license." But the boy spoke the truth---Tristan's hands trembled, his knees had gone shaky and his mouth had filled with dust.
What did he know about courting? After his wife had died, he'd found little time for thinking about settling down with another woman. He'd gone a few rounds with rodeo groupies, but none of them were serious. Now he was here, about to meet the woman who filled his dreams and had come to own special real estate in his heart, and panic fluttered in his chest.
Pulling a mock-fearful face, William swiped a comb through his dark hair. His eyes sparkled with devilment.
Tristan straightened his shoulders, drew in a deep breath and headed for the wooden stairs leading to the multitiered deck on the back of the lodge.
Behind him, William whistled a dirge.
He entered the lobby. His fears about gold filigree, stuffy employees in tuxedos and froufrou fussiness proved unfounded. Despite the size, the lobby and adjoining lounge had a homey air, warm with wood, low-slung furniture and .a central fireplace made of native stone. Employees wore white shirts and black trousers, and were smiling as they went about their business.
"Tristan?"
The soft, hesitantly girlish voice hauled him up short. With visions of William's fat, bad-breathed, snaggle-toothed, one-armed woman flashing through his head, he turned around slowly, his boot soles squeaking on the polished pine plank floor.
Brown hair, as shiny as ribbons of dark honey, framed a face dusted with apricot freckles. Large blue-gray eyes sparkled to rival the sun, and a generously wide mouth smiled in heart-stopping welcome. She was tall and thin, with slender legs climbing to forever.
He'd been waiting a long time for this meeting, but his throat tightened up so he couldn't speak. Photographs, always of her squinting into the sun, failed to do her justice. In the flesh, she glowed. He swallowed hard.
"It's me, Tristan. Megan."
"I know," he managed to say. Remembering his manners, he swept off his hat and extended his right hand. She placed her slim fingers against his, and he stared in wonder at the differences between her dainty hand and his calloused paw.
A dainty, smooth-skinned, young hand. He lifted his gaze to her face. Her skin was clear as a mountain spring, her eyes wide and innocent. It occurred to him Megan had never mentioned her age, and he hadn't discarded a lifetime of manners to ask her. He'd always assumed she was close to his thirty-eight. An age that at the moment felt downright ancient.
He glanced at his son. William leaned slightly forward, his mouth agape. The boy looked as if he should be asking her out on a date---as if he wanted to.
Megan Duke, the woman who had been filling his head with fantasies of a second chance for marriage and children and growing old together---she was nothing but a kid!
Megan's hand trembled as she unlocked the door to the Honeymoon Hideaway cabin. Next week, all four cabins were booked, but this week Tristan had the entire Hideaway to himself.
Talk to him, tell him you love him, hug him, kiss him, leap into his arms, she urged herself, but every time she opened her mouth, out popped a stupid question about his flight or the weather, or an inane comment about the resort facilities. She sounded like a chirpy, bubbleheaded tour guide who'd memorized a script but hadn't a clue as to what she talked about.
Every time he looked away, she stole glances at him. Broad bulky shoulders and a powerful neck gave him a football player's build. For once in her life she didn't feel like a muscle-bound Amazon; she felt almost delicate standing next to him.
His hair wasn't sandy as she'd imagined, but yellowblond where it had been bleached by the sun and dark brown at the roots. It showed signs of a fresh haircut, and she felt ridiculously flattered he cared so much about impressing her with his appearance. He'd certainly taken care with his nice brown suit, starch-crisp white shirt and string tie.
His face was broad and craggy with powerfully jutting cheekbones and brow, the rough masculinity softened by the softest, warmest, sweetest brown eyes she'd ever seen in her life.
His son made her nervous. She'd been expecting a boy, but William Cayle towered over her, his lanky arms ending in hands big enough to palm a basketball. His round face was suntanned, sporting deep-set hazel eyes framed by thick eyebrows. He lugged four suitcases as if they contained nothing heavier than feathers.
He'd been polite enough during the introductions, but he watched her as if expecting, or hoping, she'd make some kind of mistake.
She opened the door and invited them inside the cabin. Tristan's eyes widened and so did his smile.
"Do you like it? My mother did all the decorating and had the furniture refinished. It's all antique. Well, most of it is, anyway."
"It's pink," William said, and dropped the suitcases. They thudded on the carpet. Hugging his elbows, he gingerly sidestepped the king-size sleigh bed. "Lace pillows!"
Made of golden bird's-eye maple, the bed dominated the room, and heightened Megan's awareness of Tristan Cayle as an incredibly sexy man. The contrast between his size and gentle mannerisms, his robust maleness and shy, soft-spoken words, made him irresistible. She wished she'd arranged for rooms in the lodge---separate rooms---so she could visit Tristan without his son hanging around.
"It's fine, Megan. I like it just fine." Tristan slanted a hard glare on his son.
"I don't like it." William picked up a carved crystal candy dish. He grimaced as if the bowl somehow contaminated the chocolate mints it contained. "It's all girly. Rather sleep in a barn."
"I can arrange that, Billy."
William looked as shocked by the rejoinder as Megan was by blurting it out. She smiled at the teenager, but she told him with her eyes she wouldn't take any crap off him.
He recovered quickly. His crooked grin could melt stone, but it didn't quite match the orneriness in his eyes. "It's William," he said, still smiling. "Not Bill or Will or Billy. William."
Loudly clearing his throat, Tristan removed his hat and settled it carefully on a table. He finger-combed his hair, then pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. His white cotton shirt fit snugly over what had to be a body to die for. She noticed how well he cared for his possessions, and approved.
"William and I will be fine here, Megan. This is a nice place and you won't hear no complaints."
"Elk River aims to please."
"So where is Elk River?" William asked. "Ain't seen a sign of any river since getting to Colorado." He tugged off his suit jacket, pulling one sleeve inside out. He dropped it on the bed before going to work on his tie.
"There is no Elk River. Stinkbear Creek runs through the property, but Elk---"
"Stinkbear!" William hooted a laugh. "Sounds like bait and switch to me. Isn't that false advertising?"
"You're pushing it, son."
Megan laid a hand on Tristan's arm. "He's right. The people who built the lodge originally intended it as a sportsman's club for wealthy hunters." This kid was pure trouble. She felt it in her bones. "Elk River sounded a lot better than Stinkbear. More...huntery. Your father says you enjoy fishing. The snowpack is really deep this year, so the creek is running high, but you might tease a few trout out of it."
As he resumed his sullen exploration of the room, William shrugged.
Megan wondered if he was always unpleasant or if he disliked her personally. She suspected it was the latter.
Tristan raked his hands through his hair, drawing her attention. She always imagined she preferred dark hair, but his was gorgeous, shiny as sunshine.
"Go stretch your legs outside, son. I'd like a moment with Megan."
"I reckon you would," the teenager replied with a smirk. Rolling his shirtsleeves, he sauntered out of the cabin and let the door slam behind him.
Now alone with him, her every wish come to fruition, shyness washed over her, leaving her tongue feeling too big and her brain too stupid. Finding it difficult to look at him, she picked up a brochure describing the services Elk River offered and a listing of local attractions.
"I apologize for William. He's not using company manners." He showed his palms in a sheepish gesture. "He's been getting downright bullish lately. It's his age."
She waved off the words. In her experience, she'd discovered most teenagers didn't particularly care for vacationing with the 'rents or being so uncool as to let anyone know they were having a good time. Snotty attitudes were the rule rather than the exception. "Don't worry about it. I can handle teenagers."
"Ah...yes. Imagine you can."
She urged him to have a seat and offered him a drink. He asked for water and she obliged.
She handed him the water glass, and his fingers touched hers. Her pulse quickened. She forced her eyes to his, and wanted to sigh. They were velvet, deep and soft, and staring into them felt like drowning, as if the air turned liquid. "I'm so glad you're here. I---I saved all your letters." Her cheeks warmed and she backed away. Turning, she covered her eyes with her hand. "Oh, man, that sounds so dumb." She peeked between her fingers. "I don't know what to say."
"It is awkward, isn't it?" He lifted the glass so quickly the water sloshed. A fat drop landed on his thigh. His laugh held a strained note. "We've talked about a lot of things. Feels like I know you almost as much as anybody."
"Same here. I bet if I was at the HBD Ranch right now, I'd know where everything is. If I walked down the street in Powder, I'd know all the people." She tugged at the miniskirt. The way he looked at her increased her nervousness. She couldn't tell if he thought she was pretty or if she looked ridiculous.
"You're..." His smile twisted and so did his brow. "Uh, younger than what I thought."
Caught off guard, she laughed. "I'm not young. I'm twenty-four."
His eyes glazed, and he puffed his cheeks before blowing a long breath. "I'm fourteen years older than you."
She'd worried he wouldn't find her girlish enough, and now he worried she was too young. Uncertain if this was a problem, she pulled a chair from beneath a small table and sat. She tugged at the skirt, which threatened to hike up to her panty line, before crossing her legs at the ankles. "You don't look old."
His laughter filled the room. Relieved, she relaxed.
"Thank you for saying so, Megan. It's just that, well, I thought, I assumed you were older. Shoot, my son is closer to your age than you are to mine."
"No, he's not...." Yes, he was. She winced. She shifted her legs and noticed the way he glanced at her ankles. His admiration gave her hope. "It's no big deal. It's not like I'm a teenager."
He averted his face and scowled. "Reckon."
"Is this a real problem for you?"
"I don't know. We talked about marriage and all, but it's not just about you and me. Ranching isn't a job, it's a life and it can be hard. You have to be ready for it. Ready to settle down."
"I am ready to settle down. Whatever that means."
"If you want some nightlife, you have to go all the way down to Casper. And it isn't near the big city Colorado Springs is. Can't get cable TV, and I do most of my shopping by mail. In the middle of winter I can go weeks without seeing a neighbor."
She studied the dejected slump of his shoulders. Meeting him face-to-face had lit up her life and etched him indelibly into her soul. This was love, true love, and she wasn't about to let him blow it because he thought she was a baby.
They could say what they wanted about her, but no one ever accused Megan Duke of being a quitter.
She jumped to her feet. "Age is relative. It's not like I'm a teenybopper and you're past retirement. That would be a little much. Fourteen years is nothing."
He rose slowly, facing her. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, Megan. I have to be honest, that's all. I should have asked your age."
She'd always found his honesty a major attraction---she didn't like it so much right now. Her cheeks tightened with the effort of keeping a pleasant expression on her face.
"I did hurt your feelings. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about. Look, my father is seventeen years older than my mother. He never thought she was too young. And she doesn't think he's too old, either. They've been married thirty-six years. And let me tell you, being married to a career army officer is no picnic."
He smiled, and a pang ached in her heart.
"He's not a rancher. Life can be pure misery on the ranch. Work never stops. Weather can drive you crazy. It can get powerful lonesome sometimes."
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Just what makes you think I can't handle it? You always tell me you think I'll love Wyoming."
He fingered the soft knit of her sweater. "I can see you're city. All beautiful and sophisticated. I had it in my head you'd be...tougher."
She raised her eyebrows, then realized her mouth hung open. She snapped it shut. "I will have you know, Tristan Cayle, I am not city. I have lived in cities, yes. But I've also lived on army posts, in small towns and once on an island less than a mile long."
She hated the way their first meeting was going, but didn't know how to turn it around. She hadn't the faintest idea how to prove she was mature enough to be a rancher's wife.
"Not a good sign," he said. "Us scrapping on the first go-round."
She dropped her arms and attempted nonchalance. "We are not fighting. Every relationship has some bugs to work out. I'm nervous, you're nervous, it's only natural, right?"
"Reckon."
She touched his arm, smoothing her fingers over the fine cotton of his sleeve. "Do you remember the first time you called me? After so many notes and letters, it was weird hearing your voice."
"Was a tad awkward."
"We got over it. We're friends." Emboldened, she explored his forearm, entranced by the solidness beneath the fabric. "And you're getting a great deal on one of the nicest vacation packages in Colorado. We'll have a terrific week." Which gave her a whole seven days to prove his fears about her age were groundless.
"That's true." His smile eased along with the strain in his eyes.
It took all her willpower not to sigh helplessly in the face of his devastating smile. That would be entirely too immature.
William strolled inside. He yawned mightily, not bothering to cover his gaping mouth. His cheeks and chin possessed youthful softness, but his size made him appear older than fourteen. Having inherited her mother's youthful features, Megan knew she looked younger than her age. She wished the boy would beat it before Tristan began thinking they looked like a matched set.
"I saw tennis courts. You play, Ms. Duke?"
"Uh-huh. Do you?"
He pulled a face as he crouched before the wet bar and opened the small refrigerator. "Sissy game. I play real sports. Football and basketball." He brought out a can of soda and popped the tab.
A sharp retort burned the back of her throat, but in the interest of maturity, she bit it back. Instead, she said, "I imagine you fellows are hungry. How about you unpack and get comfortable, then we'll have lunch. You'll love the food. Our chef is the best."
Mentioning lunch---in the lodge, with her family---threatened her shaky composure. If Janine got a whiff of Tristan's reservations about the age difference, Megan would never hear the end of it. "My family is dying to meet you. You don't mind meeting them, do you?"
"It would be my pleasure."
The bonus would be, he'd see firsthand that the age difference between her parents didn't hamper their relationship one little bit.
"Great." She checked her watch. "I'll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes. Okay?"
He stood, startlingly graceful for a man so large. "I brought you something."
"A present? For me?" From the corner of her eye, she caught William silently mocking her spontaneous squeal, complete with rolling eyes and clasped hands.
Tristan unzipped the largest of the suitcases. From inside he brought out a bulky package carefully wrapped in .layers of white tissue paper. "I made it for you."
Astonished and pleased, she accepted the gift. He urged her to open it and she did so, carefully, squelching the childish urge to gleefully shred the paper. She revealed a purse made of russet brown leather. It was shaped like a saddlebag, only smaller with adjustable straps so she could wear it over her shoulders like a backpack. The leather felt butter soft. Her eyes widened, and she breathed, "Oh. You made this? By yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am. Hand-stitched and hand-tooled." He pointed out where he'd carved her name in small, exquisitely formed letters.
"You're an artist. It's beautiful."
He ducked his head.
He did like her, she knew it, she felt it, and the purse proved it. He must have spent hours and hours making it. She hugged the soft purse to her breast "I just love my present. Thank you so very, very much."
She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A mixture of subtle cologne and male essence smelled heavenly. He was not, she repeated firmly to herself, under any circumstances returning to Wyoming without her.
Flashing a triumphant grin at William, she said, "I'll meet you boys in the lobby."
TRISTAN LET OUT a long breath and raised a hand to his cheek. The feel of Megan's tender little kiss lingered, rousing images of that pretty mouth planting kisses all over his face and body and---
"Well, she ain't fat," William said with a shrug. "Kinda scrawny, in fact. Looks like a stork. And she's all freckled, too. I could play connect the dots on her face."
Tristan winced. He swung around, facing the boy he loved greater than life itself, but at the moment could have choked. "You're shaming me, son."
William's arrogance melted like hot wax and his lower lip trembled. Without the bullishness hardening his features, he looked so much like his mother Tristan felt a tightening in his chest. Tina had been gone six years, but sometimes he still missed her with an aching pain.
"Who taught you to speak to a lady like that? Not me, that's for doggone certain."
William sprawled on an armchair and thumped a boot heel against the plush carpet. Eyes hooded, he snuffled, swiping at his nose.
Tristan began unpacking a suitcase. Confusion weighted his mind. Megan being homely wouldn't have bothered him. Good looks he could live without. Even fiddling with the facts about her home or family would have been easy to overlook. Her youthfulness, though, shook him to the core. He felt foolish to begin with having a love affair in cyberspace. His father and all the rest of his relatives had been riding him nonstop for months about his mystery girl. He'd questioned his wisdom often---questions that disappeared whenever he read Megan's warm, chatty, insightful letters or listened to her enthusiasm on the telephone. Meeting her put a wrinkle in the relationship. He suddenly felt like an old fool trying to recapture his youth with a sweet young thing.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
Love overrode the annoyance. Shaking out shirts, arranging them on hangers from the closet, he finally said,
"Say it flat out. You don't want me marrying again."
"I don't care if you get married."
"Then, why are you giving me such a hard time? And Megan, too. I never thought I'd live to see you act so rude to anyone."
"C'mon, Dad! You met her on the computer."
Tristan chuckled. "If I recollect, it was you showing me how to use the darned thing."
"Not for meeting girls! And what's wrong with her, she can't get a date except on the computer?" He clamped his arms over his chest, and sullenness pulled the corners of his mouth. "What do we need a woman around for, anyway? Granddad's cooking is just fine, and we keep the house clean enough." He swept an arm wide. "She'll come in painting the walls pink and putting flowers in the bathroom and fussing. Then you'll have a bunch of rug rats and won't have no time for me."
Surprised, Tristan peered closely at his son. "You figure if I have another kid, I'll forget about you."
William lifted a shoulder.
"You'll always be my boy. I'd never forget about you. Shoot, you like young'uns. You're your cousins' favorite baby-sitter."
William opened his mouth, shut it, then frowned so deeply his eyes nearly disappeared. "Have a hundred kids if you want."
Tristan swung a chair around and straddled it, facing his son. "Is it Megan?"
"She don't like me."
"She doesn't know you."
"You wait, Dad, you'll see. You go marrying her and she'll be just like Toby Potter's stepmom or the Thompson kids'. I'll just be a pest to shoo out the door."
Tristan straightened slowly. He'd heard the gossip about the Potters, working on second marriages and having battles over both their kids. He also knew the Thompson children weren't allowed to visit their father because his new wife had a problem with another woman's brood. "Megan isn't like that."
"She could tell you anything in a letter or on the phone. You go marrying her and the first thing she'll do is get rid of me."
Tristan pushed upright. This wasn't settled, not by a long shot, but he'd seen William in this kind of mood before. The boy didn't want to hear reason. Tristan hoped a decent meal would cheer the boy. "You're talking like a knothead. Get your clothes unpacked. I'm hungry."
Grumbling, the boy did as he was told.
As Tristan finished putting his clothes away, he examined the luxurious cabin with its soft colors and fancy furnishings. It suited Megan, all soft and pretty. He could only imagine what she'd think about his house.
They'd talked about her coming to the ranch for a visit, but he'd always made an excuse for her not to, and now he understood the meat of his reluctance. He feared she'd take one look at the threadbare furniture, never-too-clean floors and gear strewn all over the place, and consider him hopeless.
A groan slipped from his throat. He'd been lonely as the devil ever since Tina died, and it was getting worse instead of better. His father was getting up there in years. William would soon be going off to college. He envisioned himself growing old, alone, becoming one of those crusty old bachelors who hung out in front of the feed store, whittling, jawing tobacco and watching the world pass them by. The mental picture sat ill with him.
He wanted a wife, he needed a woman. But he was crazy for wanting a city girl.
"WELL?" KARA NODDED eagerly and gestured with her fingertips for Megan to speak up. "Where is he?"
"Unpacking. He'll be here in a few minutes." Megan sat with her sister in the lounge area of the lobby. Kara had gone on shift, but Megan insisted she sit. Although twenty-two, Kara looked like a teenager, and talked like one, too. Surely Tristan would see the difference.
"What does he look like?" She wrinkled her nose. "He isn't short, fat and bald, is he?"
"Far from it. His son is...difficult, though. I don't think he likes me."
Kara pshawed the notion. "You get along great with kids. I still can't believe you did this. Are you really going to many him?"
"I hope so. He writes wonderful letters. Nothing soppy or anything, but so---" She frowned, seeking the right word. "Clear-eyed. He sees things. We talk about everything. I love his sense of humor. He's not afraid to laugh at himself. We like all the same things. He's decent and kind. He goes to church and volunteers. He's perfect."
"What about his wife? Divorce?"
"She died a long time ago."
Kara leaned back on her chair and tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. "So what's wrong?"
"Wrong?"
"C'mon, Meg, you're about as subtle as a thunderstorm. What's the catch? No chemistry? No sparks? Bad breath? His kid has two heads? What?"
"He kind of thinks I'm too young."
Kara hooted a laugh, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "You aren't too young. You're practically an old maid!"
"Thanks a lot."
"So how old is he? Fifty? Sixty?"
Megan mentally calculated her age plus fourteen years. "He's thirty-eight."
"That's not too old. What's the big deal?"
All Megan could do was shake her head. "I don't know. I guess it's a guy thing." She eyed Kara, realizing her sister was as beautiful in her own way as Janine. "Maybe it's an excuse because he thinks I'm funnylooking."
"Get outta here! Guys always think you're hot stuff."
Yeah, right, Megan thought glumly. Only if hot meant being one of the boys.
The main door opened and in walked Tristan. Megan's mouth went dry and a lump lodged in her throat. In the southwestern-style lobby with its high, exposed-beam ceiling and pine-paneled walls, he looked right at home, like a cattle baron lording it over his empire. William slumped along behind his father. He'd changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and had his hands crammed in his pockets. Wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead, he appeared unhappy.
Across the room, Tristan's gaze met hers. She lifted a hand in greeting.
Kara whistled. "Good golly, Miss Molly, he is gorgeous! And that's his son? I thought you said he's a kid?"
Megan nodded as she rose and tugged at the ridiculously short skirt.
Kara jumped to her feet, smiling broadly. "He's not too old."
"Shh, not a word about that, okay? Just be cool. Tristan!" When he reached her, she extended both her hands and he took them. His hands were warm and rough textured; their weight promised untold strength. He glanced at their hands and his eyes widened as if surprised, then he squeezed her fingers gently and released her. Unwilling to accept his rejection, she hooked her arm with his and made the introductions.
He swept off his cowboy hat and nodded graciously. "How do, Kara. Megan tells me you just graduated from college."
"Business degree. And she hasn't told me anything about you." She fluttered her lashes flirtatiously. The fluttering traveled to William, who gawped as if he'd been struck by lightning.
Tristan appeared amused by her sister, but Megan wondered what would happen when he met Janine, who was not only incredibly beautiful, but thirty years old to boot.
"You know, Tristan," Kara said. "You remind me of somebody. Have you ever been here before?"
"No, ma'am. Passed through Colorado a few times and been up to the stock show in Denver, but never these parts."
"You look so familiar. That actor, I think, the one that does those movies. You know who I mean, Meg. Never mind, I'll remember eventually. So anyway, Meg says you raise horses. What kind?"
"Appaloosas."
"My stud horse is a halter champion," William rushed in to say. His voice cracked, turned squeaky on the word halter. He blushed to his earlobes and his Adam's apple bobbed.
"You show a stud horse?" Kara asked the boy. "Aren't stallions dangerous?"
"Well, yeah. Gotta know what you're doing, that's all."
"Kara?"
Megan tensed at the sound of Janine's voice arrowing across the lobby. Wouldn't it be her luck to have her true love fall for her older sister.
Kara pulled a comical face and levered herself off the chair. "What?"
Janine approached them. "You're supposed to be on the desk." She gave her wristwatch a significant look. "Our Princess Amore people will be arriving any minute now."
"Oh, all right. Nice meeting you, Tristan. Come on, William, I want to hear about your horses. I love horses." Kara bounced across the lobby with William trotting behind her like a puppy after a bone.
Bless you, dear sister, Megan thought.
Megan watched Tristan's face as he looked at Janine. Most men upon meeting her turned into mush-brained idiots. His eyes didn't bug out, however, and his jaw didn't drop. She considered his nonreaction a very good sign. Janine's reaction puzzled her, though. She gasped, then clamped her lips tight and backed up a step.
Janine began twisting a hank of hair around her finger. Not attraction, Megan mused. Something else, and whatever it was didn't bode well.
"Tristan Cayle, this is my old---other sister, Janine."
"Tristan Cayle," she repeated slowly. She slid a glance at Megan. Question marked her eyes.
"How do you do, ma'am." He offered a hand, but Janine didn't so much as acknowledge the gesture.
Never taking her gaze off Tristan, she said, "Meg, may I speak to you for a moment, please."
It sounded more like an order than a request. Megan shook her head. "We're having lunch with Mom and the Colonel. Join us. We can talk then."
"I need to talk to you. Now."
Anger tightened her forehead and her belly. Janine usually acted as if she were queen and Megan was a lowly serf, but she'd never treated a guest rudely before. Tristan looked increasingly uncomfortable.
New arrivals entering the lobby offered a welcome distraction. "Looks like your Princess Amore people are here."
"Megan? Please."
"Oh, look." Megan pointed to the woman leading the way into the lobby. "I bet that's the princess herself. Better go make her feel welcome, Ninny."
Janine shot Tristan a filthy look and turned away.
So angry she didn't dare open her mouth for fear of what might pop out, Megan glowered at her sister's stiff back.
Finally she trusted herself to not say anything stupid. "I am so sorry," she said. "I just...I mean---she was rude to you! I can't imagine why she's acting that way."
He scratched the back of his head then slid a finger under his shirt collar and tugged at it. "It's peculiar, all right." His smile reassured her somewhat. "Maybe it's that reincarnation thing you were telling me about." He caught William's attention and gestured for him to leave the desk where guests gathered to check in.
"You made her mad in another life?" She giggled at the idea. Men never got Janine's goat---not in this lifetime, anyway. "In any case, I hope you're not too upset. My family is kind of weird under the best circumstances, but I don't want you thinking we don't have manners."
He raised his big shoulders in a lazy shrug. "I've got a family full of characters myself." Watching William sidle away from the desk, he added, "I'm traveling with the biggest one. He's not too happy with the idea of me courting a lady."
His old-fashioned speech gave her shivers.
William dropped onto a chair and sprawled out his long legs. "I guess this place is okay."
"We've got some nice horses in our stable. The best way to see this country is on horseback."
"It'd be okay," he said, his voice and expression carefully masked. "Kara says she likes to ride."
"She's a wonderful rider. When we lived in Germany, she and I belonged to a riding club. We did some showing and competition jumping." Megan watched his hands fumble and twitch, plucking nervously at his shirt. So, she thought, a crush on Kara. "Are you fellows ready to eat?"
"Purple suits," Tristan muttered.
"Pardon?"
He nodded toward the desk. Eleven women were in the process of registering. All wore suits in various shades of purple. Megan turned on the chair in order to see better. "Princess Amore," she said. "I think the tall lady with blond hair is the princess herself."
"Princess?"
"Princess Amore is a cosmetics line. The company is run by Daniella Falconetti, who supposedly is the daughter of a Spanish duke or an Italian prince or something. Purple is her trademark. I saw a write-up about her in a life-style magazine. She lives in a mansion where everything from the furniture to the kitchen tiles is purple." She snickered into her hand. "Looks like she makes her entourage wear purple, too."
Tristan chuckled, following with his gaze a bellboy pushing a luggage cart laden to overflowing with purple leather luggage. William muttered about the weirdness of women.
Megan had been obsessed with her Olympic aspirations and obsessed by joining the army. A fixation on a particular color, however, seemed way too strange. She urged Tristan and William to follow her.
As they passed the desk, the blond lady glanced at Tristan, then did a double-take. Hot color flared on her cheekbones. She gasped, loudly.
Tristan Cayle had an unusual effect on women, Megan decided. The blonde thrust out her arms, parting her purple-suited followers like a lawn mower through tall grass. She pointed directly at Tristan's face, and her ivory-tipped finger quivered. On stiff legs, her high heels clacking sharply, she stalked toward Tristan.
Tristan exchanged a puzzled look with Megan before returning the woman's attention. "Ma'am?"
"You," she said breathlessly. "All these years and it's you."
"Pardon me, ma'am? Do I know---?"
"You look at me as if I am a stranger! Me, Daniella? You dare deny me? Your wife?"
She slapped him.
Women slapped men in the movies, not in real life. Or so Megan had always thought. Especially not beautiful, elegant women wearing thousand-dollar designer suits. But there was nothing elegant about the imprint of Daniella Falconetti's perfectly manicured hand flaring fiery red on Tristan's cheek.
Tristan stood rigid, his arms hanging at his sides and the whites showing around his pupils.
The woman drew back her arm to slap again and Megan grabbed her wrist. She squealed and struggled, but though taller, heavier and furious, she was no match for Megan's strength. Megan pushed, forcing her to step away from Tristan or fall. She stumbled in her high heels before catching the edge of the registration desk.
"Are you out of your mind?" Megan dropped her hold on Daniella, glimpsing red marks she'd left on the woman's wrist, and turned to Tristan. He gave himself a shake and tugged at his lapels while Megan fluttered her fingers over his reddened cheek. "Are you okay?"
Wife. Daniella Falconetti was Tristan's wife?
She shoved against his chest. "You said your wife is dead. What kind of---?"
"Nicky!" The woman's mouth twisted in a snarl. She shook a fist at Tristan, and a pair of purple cloisonné bangle bracelets rattled. "All these years. You think I forget? You think you can forget what you have done to me, Nicky? Daniella Falconetti? Me?" Her accent made her sound like Sophia Loren.
Megan thrust out a hand, keeping her at bay. "Wait a minute. His name isn't Nicky, it's Tristan. You're making a big mistake, lady."
Tristan touched his cheek, then glanced at his fingers as if expecting blood. Daniella's purple-clad companions crowded around her, murmuring in hushed horror among themselves.
"I knew it!" Janine exclaimed. Head high, eyes flashing, she looked ready to find a rope and lead a lynch mob. "It is him!"
Megan exchanged a puzzled glance with Tristan. "Him who?" she asked. "What is wrong with you people?"
Shaking a fist at Tristan's face, Janine exclaimed, "Don't you see who this is, Meg? He's lost weight and changed his hair, but it's him. Quentin---Bradley, whatever name he's using." She snarled at Tristan. "That's a crappy dye job. Your roots are showing. Did you really think it would fool anybody? You've got some nerve coming back here after what you did."
Megan drew a total blank as to what her sister was babbling about.
"Nicky," Daniella said. "Nicky Alonza, the love of my life. Thief! Reprobate! It's been twenty years since you impoverished me, betrayed me, robbed me of my trust, but I see your face every night in my dreams. You know who you are. Dare not deny it."
Megan looked between her sister, Daniella and Tristan. Comprehension slowly dawned. Janine thought Tristan was Quentin Bayliss, also known as Bradley Carter---and countless other names---a con artist who married wealthy women and stole their assets. Last year Carter had used the Duke family and Elk River Resort as part of a complicated scheme to bilk Megan's sisterin-law out of more than a million dollars. Apparently Daniella thought Tristan was the con artist, too. Megan stared hard at Tristan's handsome, confused face.
He held up a hand. "Ladies, pardon me, ladies. You all got me mixed up. My name's Tristan Cayle, and I hail from Powder, Wyoming. I'm not this Nicky fellow or Quentin Bradley, either."
Kara slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. "That's who he looks like."
Megan stuck two fingers in her mouth and blasted a shrill whistle. It acted like a mute button on the crowd. "Thank you." She smiled sweetly. "Janine, Miss Falconetti, you're making a mistake. This is my friend, Tristan---"
"Don't be an idiot, Meg," Janine said. She clamped her hands on her hips and glowered at Tristan. "Did you think no one would recognize you? What is this? You're after my sister for revenge? Huh?"
Touching his cheek again, Tristan looked around at the gathering of females. Everyone stared back at him, some in anger, some in confusion, but a few near the back of the crowd looked amused. His gaze settled on Megan. She saw confusion mingled with anger in his eyes. Hating herself for the doubts, she searched his face for any similarity to the con artist. Bradley Carter had wrought a great deal of damage against her family, and for a few seconds she wondered if somehow she'd been sweet-talked by a criminal.
Despite the anger, his eyes were warmly beautiful, lacking the faintest trace of guile. Her doubts vanished.
"You're crazy, Janine," Megan said. "Shut up."
She spotted her father entering the lobby. She clamped her arms over her chest and smiled in triumph. One thing her father never, under any circumstances, tolerated was any member of the staff---including family---being rude to guests. Megan couldn't imagine anything ruder than this situation.
The Colonel assumed parade rest position, feet spread at shoulder width, his hands locked behind his back. He glared down his nose at Kara. She flinched, grabbed the other desk clerk's arm, and the pair hurried back to their station.
"I am Colonel Horace Duke, the proprietor of this post," he announced. He looked between Tristan, his daughters and the ladies in purple. "Brief me on the status of this situation."
Janine splayed her hands in presentation. "Look who's decided to grace us with his presence, sir. It's Bradley Carter, also known as Quentin Bayliss. He's using Meg to get even with us for what Ross and Dawn did to him."
Megan hooked her arm with Tristan's. "She's nuts."
"No! This is Nicky Alonza." Daniella clasped the base of her throat in a dramatic gesture. She groped spasmodically in the air with the other hand until a companion grasped it and held it in a comforting manner. "This man is a thief! He stole from me, my family and my fortune. He left me brokenhearted and alone. I swore to God above that if I ever found him again---" she slashed a finger across her own throat "---he is a dead man!"
"That's enough, lady! It's a case of mistaken ident---"
Janine shoved to the fore. "Look at him, sir. He's dyed his hair and lost weight, but it's him. He's come back."
The Colonel squinted at Tristan, then shook his head. "The miscreant in question is currently incarcerated in a federal prison in California. San Quentin, I believe."
"No! California, no!" Daniella cried. "Twenty years ago he stole my heart and my fortune. He is a thief. This is Nicky Alonza!"
Megan groaned and rolled her eyes heavenward. The situation with Bradley Carter last year had been a nightmare. The con artist had married Dawn Lovell here at Elk River, then absconded with all her money, but not before involving Megan's brother, Ross. Dawn and Ross had found Carter, but nearly gotten themselves killed in the process. Everything had ended well, though, when Carter went to prison, and Dawn and Ross were married.
Megan balled her right hand into a fist and showed it to her sister. "Ross would have told us if that guy got out of prison. Don't forget, Carter's still wanted by the law in Colorado. He'd never come back here."
"My office." The Colonel executed an abrupt about-face and marched back the way he'd come.
Vindicated, Megan grinned at her sister. Who was Little Miss Perfect now? "Come on, Tristan. Somebody owes you a big apology."
"I will not inhabit the same place as that thief!" Daniella loosed a wail and her companions helped her into the lounge and onto a chair. They fanned her face and called for water. Janine crouched next to the chair and spoke in low tones to the woman.
Megan thought they were all twits.
William stared in fascination at the milling purple crowd. Tristan grabbed his son's shoulder. "Don't gawk, boy."
Once out of the lobby, Tristan blew a long breath. He lifted his hat and smoothed his hair with a slow swipe of his hand. As he passed a mirror hanging on a wall, he glanced suspiciously at his own face. "Who is this Quentin Bradley?"
"Bradley Carter. Quentin Bayliss is the name he used to con my sisterin-law. Actually, he used lots of different names. He had about a hundred aliases. I guess Nicky Alonza is one of them."
"And he's in prison because you testified."
"My family gave depositions, but we never went to court. The FBI got Carter before the State of Colorado did." Megan sensed her explanation was confusing Tristan. "See, Carter said he was Quentin Bayliss, but that's a fake name. He used my brother, Ross, to help him rip off Dawn. She's really rich. Only Ross didn't know Carter was a con man until after the wedding when he ended up in Dawn's bed and everyone thought he and Dawn were having an affair. But they weren't, even though they did get married."
Tristan's mouth fell open and his eyebrows rose. Megan guessed she wasn't doing the story justice. "I'll tell you all about it later."
"And you look like a crook, Dad?" William said. "This vacation might turn out okay, after all. Wait'll I tell the guys back home."
Megan had met the con artist only once, a brief encounter while she helped work the reception after his wedding to Dawn. She recalled a big man, like Tristan, but flabby, unlike Tristan. She still failed to see any resemblance. "They say everyone has a double somewhere. Looks like we know who yours is." She smiled wanly at her own joke.
He eyed her uncertainly. "Always thought I looked one-of-a-kind."
William snickered. "Granddad says you're a throwback and don't look like nobody in the family. Maybe that crook is your long-lost brother, Dad."
Tristan opened his mouth, but the teenager beat him to the punch line. "Hush, son," he mocked, and laughed.
Megan reached the door to her father's office. It was closed, not a good sign. The Colonel only closed the door when he was angry. Janine deserved his anger, but after the scene at breakfast, chances were the Colonel was still angry with Megan. Or maybe he believed Tristan was Carter. She saw her grand romance spiraling out of control, crashing and burning before it even got off the ground.
Forcing her shaking hand into a fist, she knocked on the door. From within, the Colonel called for entry.
"Wait here in the hallway, son," Tristan said.
"I'm hungry."
"You won't die." He followed Megan into the office.
Her father sat behind his desk. Back straight, posture perfect, with both hands resting atop the desk, he gazed unsmiling at the pair as they entered. Megan swallowed hard, and her voice quavered as she made the introduction.
Tristan extended a hand over the desk. The Colonel stood and shook hands, then invited them both to sit. Tristan held his hat on his lap.
"Colonel," Megan said, "this is all Janine's doing. She's got the guests all worked up by making crazy accusations. Tristan is Tristan. He isn't a criminal. He doesn't even look like Bradley Carter."
Shifting, Tristan pulled out a wallet made of the same russet leather with which he'd made her purse.
If nothing else, the wallet proved he wasn't the con artist who'd spent all his time scheming, not creating beautiful leather goods.
He extracted a driver's license, credit cards, bank cards and several cards Megan couldn't identify from where she sat, and placed them on her father's desk. "I don't know about this Bradley Carter, sir. I never heard of him. This is me, Tristan Cayle."
"The young man accompanying you is your son."
"Yes, sir."
"From Wyoming." He sorted through the identification. "You're a cattle rancher."
"Some cattle, sir, but mostly horses now."
The Colonel laid a card back on the desk. Megan noted it was a public library card. "This is a most unusual situation."
"It's mistaken identity, sir," Megan said. She hated herself for even those momentary doubts. Even though they'd met only today, she felt she knew Tristan as well as she knew anyone. He was honest and caring and kind, and he didn't deserve all this idiocy. "I really don't see why Janine is all bent out of shape, since Tristan doesn't even look like Carter."
"And the other woman?"
Megan shrugged. "She's nuts. I don't know what her problem is."
The Colonel studied the driver's license before shifting a cold, steady gaze onto Tristan. "It was only this morning at the breakfast formation when she informed her mother and me of your existence. Is this your usual behavior, Mr. Cayle? Marrying young women you've never met?"
Blindsided, Megan gasped and clutched the arms of the chair. No wonder Kara went through the agonies of the damned whenever a young man picked her up for a date.
"No, sir," Tristan said calmly, his eyelids lowered like shutters. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Megan and I get along like a mule team long-distance. We're fixing to see what happens up close."
"She stated you were getting married."
The twitch was the beginnings of a smile. "Haven't asked her out on the first date yet, sir."
Her humiliation complete, Megan slumped and rested her chin on her fist. Her life was ruined---she may as well run away to join the circus. She pictured herself gaining fame as the silent, brokenhearted mystery woman, mucking up after the elephants while speaking to no one of her tragic past.
"I am fond of Megan, sir," Tristan continued in the same mild way. "If we do get serious, I'll make sure you're the first to know."
It just wasn't fair. Every time she'd wanted something body and soul, fate had intervened, shooting her down. The gold in the Olympics, a glorious career in the military, both dreams turned into dust because of crumbly kneecaps. Now this? She had to miss out on the love of a lifetime because of her loudmouthed sister and impossible father?
The Colonel's eyes narrowed, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. His right index finger bounced silently on the desktop.
The tension between the two men seeped into Megan's awareness. Tristan was dead calm; her father appeared to swell, reminding Megan of how he used to get around her brother when the Colonel wanted to intimidate his son, but Ross refused to be intimidated.
As much as she loved her father, she knew well his bullying tendencies. Tristan, apparently, refused to be bullied.
She plucked imaginary lint off her skirt and cleared her throat. "The real problem is Janine, sir." Realizing her posture must appear sullen, she straightened on the chair and folded her hands neatly on her lap. "I invited Tristan as my guest, and I don't appreciate the way she is treating him."
"I will speak to Janine." He gathered all the identification cards into a pile and cracked them sharply against the desktop before handing them back to Tristan. "As for you, Mr. Cayle, I extend my personal apologies on behalf of the resort."
"Janine owes him an apology." Megan faced her father with her most grown-up expression. "He is a paying guest, after all."
"I will speak to her." The Colonel rose, indicating this matter was finished. "Welcome to Elk River, Mr. Cayle. I hope you will enjoy your stay and not allow this incident to reflect poorly on our hospitality."
"Thank you, sir."
Sharp rapping on the door preceded Janine bursting into the office. Head high, shoulders rigid, she looked even more agitated than before. "Have you called the sheriff?"
Megan grasped Tristan's hand, standing between him and her gone-nuts sister. "See you at lunch, Colonel."
"Wait a minute!" Janine sputtered, looking ready to grab Tristan and force him to stay.
Megan hustled her friend out of the office and pulled the door closed behind her. She caught Janine saying, "Are you crazy? You can't let him fool you. Don't you see what he's doing? He's using Meg to get even with us because of what Ross did---" Megan shut the door with a soft thunk.
"Kind of reminds me of my brother Roland," Tristan said, eying the office door with bemused concern. "Excitable."
William pushed away from the wall he'd been slouched against. "Can we eat now?"
Wishing now she hadn't arranged to have lunch with her parents, Megan led the way to the family dining room. If she were really lucky Janine would stay in a snit and refuse to join them.
The dining room was empty, but the long wooden table had been set for six. Crockery bowls were filled with arrangements of irises, tulips and daffodils from Elise's garden. Pitchers of ice water and iced tea gleamed with silver sweat; baskets of freshly baked rolls were covered with napkins.
Megan nervously eyed the doorway. Her father always did everything by the book with military precision and meticulous attention to detail. If he believed Tristan was truly Bradley Carter, then he would have kept Tristan in the office. She hoped his actions meant he understood the truth and the matter was closed.
Catching Tristan's small smile, she stiffened. She hoped he hadn't noticed her outcry about him having a wife, but feared the smile meant he'd caught it.
A montage of photographs on one wall drew William. The centerpiece was a large color portrait of the Colonel mounted atop a bay stallion. Garbed in full cavalry regalia and saluting with a saber, the Colonel looked fiercely magnificent. It was Megan's favorite photograph; she carried a copy in her wallet.
"Is this your grandfather?" William asked.
"My father. He was a cavalry officer."
"Dang. How old is he?"
Megan laughed. "That isn't from the Civil War or anything. His last command was the mounted color guard at Fort Carson. They do parades and rodeos and stuff. It's a cool uniform."
"Is that a real sword?" He gestured at his father. "Check it out, Dad."
"It's a saber, actually. Ask him about it, William. I'm sure he'll show it to you. He loves talking about the army." She pointed to a photograph of her father dressed in full battle dress complete with helmet and sidearm. "This is a modern cav uniform."
"Is that a tank?"
"Bradley fighting vehicle." Bradley. She winced at the reminder.
Tristan settled a companionable hand on her shoulder, much relieving her guilty conscience. She vowed to never, ever doubt him again about anything.
"I want to join the army and drive a tank," William said, nodding eagerly. "Or fly a helicopter." He clenched his fists before him and made rat-a-tat-tat shooting noises.
"I wanted to join the army, too. But they wouldn't take me."
William cocked an eyebrow. "'Cause you're a girl?"
"No, because I wrecked my knees. A lot of women are in the military. They do really well, too."
"Do they drive tanks? Fly helicopters?"
"They don't drive tanks, but there are quite a few female pilots." She focused a frown on Tristan, who pulled at his chin and grinned. She hoped it was embarrassment about his son's sexism and not amusement.
"Hello," Elise Duke said from the doorway.
The three of them turned toward her. In unison Tristan and William straightened their shoulders and finger-combed their hair. Elise nodded graciously in greeting.
"You must be Tristan Cayle, and young William. I'm Elise Duke. Welcome to Elk River." Elise peered closely at Tristan's face. "Oh, dear, I can see why Janine is so upset. You do resemble that awful man."
"No, he doesn't, Mom! Is Janine still carrying on?" Megan entwined a possessive hand around Tristan's. "Didn't the Colonel straighten her out? This isn't Bradley Carter, honest."
"I'm afraid Janine isn't the problem, dear." She smiled, but her mouth trembled. "It's Miss Falconetti. She is threatening to cancel her entire booking unless we have Mr. Cayle arrested."
"This is stupid."
"Janine is calling the sheriff."
William lost his cocky smile and swagger. He placed a tentative hand on his father's arm. "Are they gonna lock you up, Dad?"
"Nobody is locking anybody up." Megan closed her eyes, shaking inwardly with building fury. Janine had gone way too far this time, and if Megan didn't do something fast, Tristan would end up on the next available flight back to Wyoming.
It took only fifteen minutes from the time Janine spoke to the sheriff to when he called back with the news. Fifteen minutes of fidgeting, worrying and wondering for Megan. Standing in a corner of her father's office, praying Tristan would still be in the dining room when she returned, she knew the situation was utterly absurd. Even if Bradley Carter had somehow escaped from prison, no way would he come back to Elk River where he'd victimized so many people.
Janine, as usual, had made up her mind and held fast to it. She was convinced Tristan was the con artist, and that, as far as Megan's older sister was concerned, was that. She wouldn't be satisfied until everyone acknowledged she was right
No wonder she's never gotten married, Megan thought darkly. Not even their father could stand up to Janine's maddening hardheadedness.
"I can't believe you're acting like this," Megan muttered. "It's embarrassing."
Seated on the Colonel's chair behind the desk, Janine's face was an ice sculpture. "I'm not the one picking up criminals on the Internet."
"Stop bickering," the Colonel said, his voice sharp with warning.
A warning Janine ignored. "This is exactly how he operates. Find a woman, tell her exactly what she wants to hear, then move in for the kill. You have pulled some idiotic stunts, Meg, but this is the worst ever."
"I love him!"
"I love him," Janine mocked. "The last words of every nitwit who gets her head bashed in by her psycho boyfriend. Has he asked for your bank account numbers yet? Or any information about the resort? What better revenge than for us to lose the Princess Amore booking. Not just the rooms, but all the cost of prep work for her meals and let's not even go into word of mouth. After Miss Falconetti gets through bad-mouthing us we won't be able to book drunks sleeping off benders!"
"Tristan didn't know about Daniella Falconetti being here!"
"Oh, right! So this is all just a big coincidence."
"I don't have to take this from you." She clamped her arms over her chest. "Colonel, I quit. I'm moving and I'm never coming back."
"What are you going to do? Hand out volleyballs at a rec center?" Janine flipped a hand in dismissal. "I'm trying to save you from yourself."
Megan beseeched her father. "She can't talk to me like that."
"Cease and desist, Janine. This is unseemly behavior."
"Unseemly? What about her keeping her big love affair a secret, sir? Whose idea was that, Meg? Did he tell you to keep it hush-hush? Just your little secret?"
Before she could struggle past her building rage to formulate a reply, the telephone rang. The Colonel and his daughters stared at the instrument, and all three held their breaths. Janine snatched up the handset.
"Elk River Resort. Janine speaking, may I help you?" She grinned. "Thank you for calling me back so quickly, sheriff." The grin faded. "Uh-huh...I see...you're positive? There's no mistake? Fine, thank you very much." She slowly hung up but kept her hand resting on the telephone.
"Well?" Megan asked.
Janine shoved away from the desk, and the chair wheels squeaked on the wooden floor. "Bradley Carter is currently incarcerated in California." She stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Stunned, Megan stared at the door.
"I will see that she apologizes to your friend. And there will be no more talk of deserting your post. You're a necessary addition to this unit."
Megan huffed a sigh. "I'm sorry for making stupid threats. She pushes me over the edge every time. But I do love him, sir, and if we get married, I'm moving to Wyoming."
"We'll see." His voice held strange emotion.
"Recreation directors are a dime a dozen," she said. "You can replace me easy enough."
"We'll discuss it some other time."
All her life she'd strived to please him and win his approval. She felt his disappointment like a load of stone around her shoulders. Easing small steps across the floor, she placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Daddy?"
He lifted an eyebrow.
"Don't be mad at me. I want my own life, that's all. My own house, my own family. You don't expect me to live with you forever, do you?"
He cleared his throat harshly, his gaze distant and unreadable. "You always try hard, Megan. That is your greatest strength." He stepped away from her touch and locked his hands behind his back. "It is your greatest failing, as well."
She trudged out of the office and walked with her father down the hall to the family dining room where Tristan waited. Though unable to pinpoint exactly what she'd done to earn the Colonel's disfavor, her heart was heavy, anyway.
Tristan, Elise and William were seated at the table. Judging by the littering of crumbs around William's plate, he was working on second helpings. Tristan looked up at her with a smile.
Holding her breath, Megan awaited Tristan's reaction. In his shoes, she'd be furious.
"Janine briefed you on the sheriff's report?" the Colonel asked.
Tristan pulled at his chin. The warmth in his walnut brown eyes turned into a sparkle. "She was gracious about the mistake."
"You are most generous, Mr. Cayle."
"Have to say, sir, all my life I've pretty much been one-of-a-kind. Even my son favors his mother instead of me. It's a jumble wearing another's face, but no harm done that I can see." He turned his head to gaze upon Megan, and the sparkle radiated, curving his mouth and deepening the lines in his cheeks. "You promised an adventure. Looks like we got it."
Janine made herself scarce at lunch, for which Megan was grateful. Her older sister hated two things more than anything: losing an argument and being embarrassed. If she disliked Tristan because she'd lost an argument and embarrassed herself in the process, then so be it.
At least Megan needn't have worried about Tristan being dazzled by her older sister's beauty.
Nor did she need fear the Colonel continuing the paternal grilling. William became her unwitting rescuer by winning the Colonel's attention, asking enthusiastic questions about the military.
"It looks as if my husband has made a friend," Elise said, offering a basket of rolls to Tristan. "Your son is a very nice young man. What grade is he in?"
"He'll be starting high school next fall. Ninth grade." He took another roll and slathered it with butter.
Seeing where this conversation might lead, Megan said, "For a child as young as he is, he's really tall."
Tristan shared a knowing smile with Elise. "They grow like weeds, don't they, ma'am? Can't hardly believe in just a few years he'll be on his own. He's talking about going to engineering school."
"Hey, Dad?" William said. "The Colonel says he'll show me his firearm collection. He's got a rifle from the Spanish-American War."
"Don't be bothering the man, son."
William's interest had the Colonel puffed up like a prairie chicken. "It will be my pleasure, sir."
Tristan gave permission for the boy to accompany the man. When the pair left the dining room, Tristan expressed reservations about his son making a pest of himself. Elise's laughter rang like a bell.
Megan laughed, too. "Are you kidding? He's in heaven right now. All of us have heard his war stories a million times."
"Oh my, yes," Elise said. "They seem to have hit it off quite nicely, so your concern may be as to whether you can reclaim your son."
Seeing Tristan appeared to take Elise's small joke seriously, Megan mock-punched his shoulder. "She's kidding. We'll make sure you get William back. Do you want to see the stables?"
Megan felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She and Tristan had made a rocky start, but now everything was rolling along smoothly.
She led the way through the private quarters of the lodge and out the back door. A glance to the left showed purple-clad ladies gathered on the rear deck. A server wearing black and white moved among them, taking refreshment orders. As much as Megan disliked Daniella Falconetti, she had no wish for her parents to lose the woman's business. "Weird," she murmured.
Blinking in the bright sunshine, Tristan tugged his hat lower on his forehead. "What's weird?"
"You looking like Bradley Carter and Daniella Falconetti being married to him." The eerie coincidence gave her chills, and she rubbed her upper arms briskly. "Figure the odds."
"Stuff happens to me all the time."
"Lots of people mistake you for a criminal?"
He laughed, and she adored the richness of the sound and the way it warmed her from the inside out. "I'm talking bad luck in general."
He'd joked in his letters about being a jinx. "You mean the way machines don't like you? How you're always crashing your computer, and your truck is always breaking down?"
"Not to mention doors falling off hinges and pumps freezing up. William says I put out bad vibes and machines can pick them up."
Megan covered a knowing grin with her fingers. "I bet you're a lot of fun on an airplane."
"Haven't had a wing fall off yet." He sighed dramatically. "Reckon it's only a matter of time."
"You're silly. Personally, I don't believe in luck. Good or bad." She hopped onto a railroad tie serving as a border along the path. Arms spread, she did a balance beam walk along it, heel to toe. "Things happen when they're supposed to happen. It's our perception of them that makes us call it good or bad."
"This is one of your universe-in-balance theories."
She hopped off the railroad tie. "Universal balance. And it's not a theory, it's a fact. Everything is connected. Everything happens for a reason."
"Uh-huh. So it's not bad luck I look like that con artist. It was supposed to happen."
It occurred to her that if he didn't look like Bradley Carter, Janine would have been friendly to him, and men tended to fall in love with Janine on a regular basis. If Tristan had fallen for her sister, Megan wouldn't have stood a chance. "We're mere mortals," she said. "Not always smart enough to figure out the how or why. That doesn't mean universal balance isn't true."
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "You're a pistol, honey."
"Scoff if you must, but it's true."
The stables were housed in a long, low building painted forest green with bright white trim. Adjoining paddocks were fenced with lodgepole pine logs. "We don't have any Appaloosas," she said. "No paint horses or grays, either. The Colonel is convinced the only proper horses are either bay or chestnut. Cavalry stuff, you know?"
"Your father is an interesting fellow." His nostrils flared and his eyelids lowered as he inhaled the earthy, green smell of horses. "Nice place."
"Thank you." She stopped at the stall nearest the door and stroked the nose of a dark bay gelding. "This is Doc. He's my favorite."
Tristan rested his forearms on the stall door and studied the horse's legs and chest. "Thoroughbred, huh?"
"A retired racehorse. You ought to see his pedigree." She tickled Doc's ears. "He's like me---loves to run but has lousy legs."
Tristan glanced at her legs. "Your legs aren't so bad," he said, deadpan.
Glad the short skirt wasn't entirely wasted, she turned her back to the stall and rested against the wood. Even though their correspondence had never taken a suggestive turn, she'd been dreaming about kissing him, holding him and having him hold her. The only other time she'd ever felt this way about a man was when she had a crush on a pole-vaulter in college. It had taken her months to work up the nerve to speak to him, then she'd blown it by boasting she knew how to burp "The Star-Spangled Banner."
"Want to start over?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
He looked up and down the wide aisle. "Nobody here but you, me and the critters. We got off on the wrong foot. Let's start over." He extended his right hand. "How do, I'm Tristan Cayle."
She solemnly shook hands. "Megan Duke. I am so very glad to meet you." Now he'd kiss her. She hoped.
His gaze roamed the stable. Megan knew he must approve of what he saw. She and the wranglers kept it clean enough for a tea party. The stalls were mucked daily, and fresh sawdust was laid down every three days in the aisles. Everything was in its place, and the safety and health of the guests were paramount.
"This is a nice barn. Mine aren't so fancy."
"You want fancy, you should have seen some of the riding academies in Europe. This is functional."
"Looks like a dude ranch. My outfit is a lot...cruder." He grinned sheepishly. "I don't think you'd like my house. Haven't done much to it since my wife died." He slid a hand around the back of his neck, and his face skewed in a grimace. "Fact is, haven't done anything to it."
If he meant he needed a woman's touch, she was in trouble. Her decorating skills extended to pounding nails in the wall wherever her mother told her to. Chewing her inner cheek, she considered the best way to reply. "Uh, there are always books."
He tilted his head, looking puzzled.
She showed her palms. "I don't know anything about decorating. But I can learn. I can get books or magazines that show me how."
His puzzled expression remained and her panic rose. "I confess, I'm not very domestic. If you want me to decorate, I'm a fast learner, honest."
"I wasn't talking about decorating."
"Then what are we talking about?"
"My home. I don't have a dishwasher or a microwave oven. The house is small. The roads aren't paved, and there aren't any gravel walkways to keep your feet out of the mud." He tugged on a wooden board as if testing its strength. "Nothing fancy at all."
"So what's your point?"
"Reckon the point is, I don't have any luxuries to offer."
Incredulous, she lowered her gaze to her expensive sweater and suede skirt, now regretting her decision to wear them. "I see. Not only too young, but a spoiled princess, too. What did I ever say to make you believe that?"
"I don't pay much heed to words. I look at actions."
She could have groaned. "In that case, one place we lived in in Germany had a mildew problem so bad we had to scrub the walls with bleach every day or they'd turn black overnight. When we lived in Arizona we had to shake scorpions out of our shoes. It never bothered me."
He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. A gleam in their soft, brown depths hinted he might enjoy a debate. Up for the challenge, Megan lifted her chin.
"I'm up at four every morning," he said, "even Sundays, and more often than not, it's way past dark when I get back to the house."
"I'm up every morning at five." She ticked off on her fingers. "I manage the stables and the swimming pool. In the summers I teach tennis, and in the winter, skiing. My average day is twelve hours long. I like hard work. Hardship for me is sitting around doing nothing."
So there.
"The weather is rough." He nodded curtly, sending the ball back to her court.
"Ha! Nobody can beat Colorado for insane weather. See that blue sky? Last week we had eight inches of snow. By tomorrow we could have a blizzard. Or thunderstorms. Or it might be eighty degrees." She pushed away from the wall and sauntered down the aisle, swinging her hips. "I've lived through tornados, hurricanes, floods and even an earthquake in Italy. I've been snowed in, rained out and sunburned. Weather doesn't faze me." She flipped a hand in dismissal.
A peek over her shoulder showed he was smiling. Maybe his concern was merely an excuse because he had cold feet and needed coaxing.
"Nearest movie theater is two-and-a-half hours away."
"I can live without movies. And I'd rather read than watch television. I'm not a party person. I don't like bars. I'm a lousy dancer, so if I never have to dance again I won't mind." She faced him and clamped her hands on her hips. "Did I ever mention that I'm a terrific cook?"
"Ever cooked for a crew of forty?"
"Sounds like fun. I'd love it."
He cocked back his hat with his thumb.
"Be straight with me, Tristan. It's not really my age, is it? I'm doing something wrong." She lowered her gaze to her feet, regretting her fancy ankle boots, too. "I'm not pretty enough."
He worked his finger under his collar. The way he avoided eye contact convinced her she was right on track. Proving herself mature and capable would be a piece of cake compared to generating romantic sparks out of nothing.
She sat on a hay bale and plucked straws, idly letting them drift. Disappointment didn't get easier with experience, she decided. It just got meaner. For the first time in her life she sympathized with the quitters.
"You're beautiful, Megan."
The regret behind his soft words touched her heart. Carefully, as if expecting her to shoo him away, he sat beside her on the bale. Under the shadow of his hat brim, his eyes were dark and lonesome.
"Matter of fact, can't think off the top of my head any woman I know who's prettier."
Up close, she noted signs of age in deep parentheses caused by smiles in his cheeks and the squint lines etched around his eyes. He appeared so solid, so sure of himself. Yet, a vein running along the side of his neck gave him a vulnerable air.
"Ranching can be a heartbreaker. It can kill dreams, tromp your spirit."
"You've lived on the ranch all your life. It hasn't broken your spirit. What about your wife? How old was she?"
"We were the same age, but she grew up in Powder." He slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
"I always thought guys liked younger women."
His lips curled in a wry grin. "They do."
"Then, what's the problem?" His reluctance had a funny affect on her, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. On one hand she felt uncertain and clumsy; on the other, a sensation of power infused her.
"I feel like I've sold you a phony bill of goods."
"That's stupid. There's nothing phony about you." She slid her hand across his, reveling in the rough textured strength of his knuckles. "Give us a chance, okay?"
She held her breath, waiting. She loved him, and knew if he'd give her a chance, he'd love her, too.
Tristan realized his mistake as her slim hand played tenderly against his. He saw the mistake in her shining blue eyes and the determined set of her smile. He felt his mistake in his reaction to her smile, and how his insides tightened up and his hands turned cold while his blood ran hot. Everything about her, from the vibrant freshness of her face to the slightly breathy urgency of her speech, drew him like a thirsty steer to water.
He wasn't given to wild impulses or passions. He never had been the sort to lose his head. Decisions took time, and he always took it slow to consider a situation from beginning to end.
Megan Duke cut loose the recklessness in him. He pulled her hand to his chest and pressed it over his heart. Her big eyes turned liquid, gentle as the cool breeze drifting through the open barn door. The expressive femininity in those clear blue depths was as old as the earth beneath his boots. She leaned toward him, her wide mouth going soft, too. He stared, fixated by the clean-cut sweetness of her lips. Mingled with the green smell of well-tended horses and the mouse-mustiness of hay, he grew aware of soap and pretty girl.
Far away, he heard his own voice of reason telling him he'd gone plumb loco and didn't have a bit of business messing with this child, but reason proved a weak whisper compared to the allure of her lowering eyelids and the sweep of lashes.
He pressed her hand ever tighter to his chest and noted his own pulse, quick and heated. He cocked his head catercorner to the slant of hers and their lips met.
He'd kissed hotter and he'd kissed wetter and he'd kissed with bullish lustiness that made his neck muscles swell and his eyes go blind, but he'd never kissed sweeter. Enough reason remained for him to keep his mouth shut, but the effort made his back muscles shiver.
He touched her shoulder, and the silk sweater caught against his calloused fingers. Underneath he felt firm muscle and he envisioned her skin as smooth as polished wood and soft as the nose of a newborn foal.
He wanted her. Simple as that.
He broke the kiss abruptly. Her eyes opened, and the innocent desire in them lodged a lump in his throat and flooded his groin with molten heat. He shifted his seat, ran out of hay bale and fell off.
He sat hard on his wallet, and his teeth clacked together. Puffs of dust tickled his nose.
He heaved a huge breath. "Don't make hay bales big as they used to."
Megan giggled. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, ma'am, sorry about that" He hoisted himself upright and dusted off the seat of his trousers.
I'm used to murdering men on the tennis courts, not in the barn." She jumped to her feet and, with long sweeps, dusted her own backside and tights-clad legs. "I didn't mean to knock you off. Sorry."
With equal parts excitement and dread, he noted the kiss hadn't upset her in the least. She had a gleam in her eye like a broody hen spotting a clutch of eggs. If he kissed her again, she'd kiss him back, pressing that long, lithe body against his and wrapping her arms around him.
Megan looked beyond him, so he turned. A man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt and a bright red bandanna around his neck sauntered down the aisle. His straw hat perched far back on his head. The hat and a bristly handlebar mustache gave him an old-time cowboy appearance. He nodded in greeting.
"Hi, Cody," Megan said.
"Got a trail ride with some ladies in an hour," Cody said. He looked Megan up and down, and chuckled. "First time I ever saw you in a skirt, Meg. Special occasion?"
Her cheeks colored. "Cody Hodgkins, this is Tristan Cayle from Wyoming. Tristan, Cody is our head wrangler. He's responsible for making the stables and horses look so good."
Tristan shook hands with Cody, whose hand was as horny as a dog's paw. If the wrangler knew about the mistaken identity and Janine's displeasure, then his smile and firm handshake didn't show it.
"Well now, can't blame me for everything, Meg. You put in your share of shovel hours." The big mustache wriggled as if alive and he winked at Tristan. "Yep, must be a real special occasion." He tipped his hat, then continued sauntering down the aisle.
She blushed to her hairline. Enchanted, Tristan lifted her hand and entwined their fingers. He followed her out of the barn like a lamb led on a rope.
"Cody's always teasing me," she grumbled.
"He seems to like you well enough." He bit back a comment about her skirt. Knowing she only dressed up on "special occasions" tickled him, and flattered him, too.
"Cody is a character, that's for sure." She dazzled him with a smile. "I told you about him. He's a poet and a storyteller. He'll be doing a show for one of the Princess Amore dinners. If Daniella Falconetti doesn't want to kill you anymore, we can watch. He's a hoot."
A break in the hills offered a panoramic view of distant mountain peaks as pale as a watercolor. He'd noticed the same view from inside the lobby through a tall bank of windows. It was even more breathtaking outside. "Lots of snow up there."
"It'll stay until July, probably. Almost all the ski areas south of Breckenridge are still open. Do you ski?"
He shook his head. "Never tried."
"Might have to remedy that. This is a great time of year for beginners. You can concentrate on learning without freezing to death." She pointed at the forest. "Are you up for a short hike? I want to show you something."
"Sure." His dress boots weren't the most comfortable footwear he owned, but the trail looked easy. They strolled across a meadow and entered the forest.
Even the gentle hill took a toll on him. "What's the altitude?" He blew a hard breath.
"About eighty-seven hundred feet. You won't pass out on me, will you?"
"Nah." She strolled along as if she were window shopping at sea level, keeping up a running commentary about the eight miles of trails on the resort property, and he sucked wind like a lung-broke cow.
"I really like this forest," she said. "I can come out here and pretend I'm the only person in the world." Overhead, a pine squirrel chattered irritably at them. "Just me and the squirrels. People wear me out sometimes. I like my job, but my favorite parts are when I'm out checking the trails or cleaning the tennis courts."
There she went again, trying to convince him she was suitable for ranch living. After that kiss she'd given him he figured it wouldn't take too much convincing for him to lose his head.
She eyed him as if expecting comment. He thought for a moment about how to respond. "It's sure pretty."
She compressed her lips.
She stopped where the trail diverged. A sign proclaimed Hot Springs, No Horses On This Trail, Please. Where the trail climbed toward the hot springs it was so steep the path winding through piles of boulders had been reinforced with railroad ties to form wide steps. "You're panting," she said. "Are you okay?"
"Price of growing old," he said, and peeled out of his suit jacket "But I'm game."
"You aren't old!" She bounded up the high trail, giving him a fine view of coltish hips and muscular legs. His belly tightened; a bout of dizziness had nothing to do with the altitude.
At the top of the trail, Tristan stopped short and cocked back his hat. Down below, ringed by boulders, three pools of crystalline water were wreathed in steam that curled and tip-tapped its way around the rocks and low-growing plants. Redwood railings, benches and a gazebo reminded him of a Victorian garden. The smell of sulphur made his nose itch.
"Stinkbear Creek?" he asked.
"This feeds into it. You get used to the smell after a while. A lot of people think the fumes are good for lung problems. Nifty, huh?"
She urged him to follow her down the steep, stair-stepped pathway and warned him the smaller springs bubbling through the limestone bedrock were hot enough to scald skin. "The guy who used to own the resort built the railings around the hot pools," she told him. She inhaled the steam curling off the water's surface, and he followed her example, drawing in the tang of soda and minerals along with the sulphurous stink. "He put up all the shelters and benches, too."
Tristan crouched and fingered the white-and-yellow crystals crusting the rock around the pools. They glittered like diamonds in the sunshine.
"When my knees are hurting," she said, "there's nothing nicer than soaking in the big pool. It stays one hundred degrees year round, and it's better than a hot tub. What do you think?"
"Mighty fine. My brother Charles has a hot spring on his property, but it stinks like skunk. The mud around it is nasty, too, slick as oil. Womenfolk say it's good for the complexion, but I wouldn't sit in it on a bet."
She knelt next to him. She pointed out the honeycombed holes in the limestone where water drained back underground, keeping the water level. "You should have seen it last week. We had a snowy winter and a wet spring, so a lot of debris washed off the hillsides. I must have hauled a ton of branches and pine needles out of the water."
Loud cracking alarmed him. Tristan jerked his head around and saw a boulder bouncing down the path, straight at them. It struck the edge of a railroad tie and the dark wood exploded in a shower of splinters and dust. Beside him, Megan crouched, her eyes white-rimmed in disbelief.
Tristan dropped his jacket and launched himself sideways. He hooked an arm around Megan's shoulders and shoved against the ground with both feet. Intent on getting her out of the way, he banged his knee on a rock, but ignored it as he focused on using his weight and momentum to roll them out of the way.
Hot water showered his head. He tucked and rolled on his shoulder, flinging Megan over his body. He lost his grip, grasping at empty air. Grabbing for her, he missed and she tumbled backward into the water.
Pungent mineral water filled Megan's mouth and nose. Her sweater soaked up water like a sponge. Kicking and flailing, unable to tell up from down, she finally got her feet under her and surfaced with a sputtering gasp.
"Megan!" Tristan pushed upright and reached for her. The torn breast pocket of his shirt flopped loosely. His hat floated on the water beside her.
She stared at him, he stared at her. In unison they turned their gazes on the boulder. About three feet in diameter, its rounded surface mounded like an island in the churnedup water. It had dislodged several of the rocks edging the pool, as if a bulldozer had taken a bite from the rim.
"Megan? Honey, are you okay?"
It was warm in the water, but the air was cold, and her sweater felt as if it weighed four hundred pounds. Poor Tristan half sat, half reclined on the rocks, his shirt torn and dirtied and his hair falling over his forehead. He looked horrified...and very funny.
"Ah, I see," she said, nodding. "Getting even with me for knocking you off the hay bale." She scooped up his hat and dumped off water. Studying its sorry state, she giggled.
"Megan?"
"I'm okay." Her clothes weren't, though. The sweater might survive, but she doubted if the suede skirt or ankle boots would. It served her right for wearing clothes she disliked; fate gave her what she wished for. Giving up on dignity as futile, she accepted Tristan's helping hand. Grinning over what a sorry sight she must make, she sloshed out of the pool.
She shook her arms and splattered Tristan. "So much for a sophisticated city girl. Ta-da! This is the real me."
He caught her in a crushing bear hug and pressed his cheek to hers. Caught off guard, she stiffened, but his sunsoaked body was warm and safe and his scent swirled dizzily through her head. She hugged him back. When he turned his face, she turned hers, meeting him in the middle. Kissing him seemed the most natural thing in the world. So she did.
She tasted of mineral water, but his lips were smooth and supple, and despite her soaking-wet state, he molded her body against his, fitting them belly to belly, thigh to thigh, like a matched set, custom-made for each other.
He stopped too soon. She blinked blankly, for a moment unable to remember where they were. "I always knew from your letters that you'd be a great kisser."
He frowned.
Sensing she'd committed a faux pas, she stepped away. He kept a steadying hand on her shoulder. Where her sweater had soaked his shirt, the cotton turned transparent, clinging like wet paint to his skin and outlining hard pectorals, a furry chest and a flat belly. She'd been around beautiful, athletic bodies all her life, but the sight of his turned her insides mushy.
"Tree branches," she said. "And sometimes a log. But I've never had a rock fall in the pool. How am I going to get that thing out of here?"
"Are you sure you're all right?" He examined scrapes on his wrist and a torn shirtsleeve. "I hit you hard."
"Not as hard as that rock would have hit me." The situation caught up to her, and a fresh bout of shivering had nothing to do with wet or cold. She'd often wondered how people managed to get hit by cars or trains, because surely they saw something that big coming. Now she knew---they did see it coming and couldn't believe it.
"I need to sit down," she said quietly. Her knees buckled, and she'd have fallen if he hadn't caught her underneath her arms and helped her to the ground. He eased onto the rocks beside her. Wincing, he massaged his left leg above the knee. "Are you hurt?" she asked.
"Jangled my leg a bit. It's okay." He puffed his cheeks, then blew a long breath. "Now do you believe I'm a jinx?"
"Are you kidding? If you weren't here I'd be roadkill! You saved my life. Sheesh." She rested her forehead on her hand and waited for the adrenaline to fade. Once she felt in control again, she raised her head. Scars on rocks, smashed railroad ties and churned gravel clearly delineated the path of destruction. She guessed the boulder had come from the mound of rocks at the very top of the trail.
"I often come here by myself in the early morning." She pointed with her chin at the boulder. "That's where I like to soak." A shudder racked her head to toe.
"Looks like you hurt your knees." He gently touched her knee where the tights were shredded and pink blood seeped from scrapes on her skin.
She shrugged off his concern, even though both her knees throbbed as if struck by mallets. "No biggie." Noticing his suit jacket on the ground, she chuckled. The boulder had run over it, leaving dirt streaks on the brown fabric. "Let me make a wild guess. You bought that suit for this visit."
He nodded, his smile spreading like sunshine from behind clouds.
She plucked at her ruined skirt. "I think something is trying to tell us we aren't dress-up kind of people."
He arose, graceful as a dancer despite his size, and helped her to her feet. The sweater felt heavier by the second, her tights were icy, the skirt dragged at her hips, and water squished in her ankle boots. Walking back to the lodge was going to be lovely. He fetched his jacket and shook it out. Reddish dust and gravel flew in a cloud. With a gallant swirl, he settled the jacket around her shoulders. His expression gone intent, he tenderly lifted strands of wet hair off her face.
"I'm okay, really," she assured him, hoping he'd kiss her again. She hugged the jacket around her body. It hung to her knees, offering shelter from the chilly breeze.
"Scared me." His voice had gone husky.
"Scared me, too." Staring into his eyes was a treasure, filling her with light. "You have such nice eyes."
He gave a start; unwittingly, she'd whispered her thought aloud. His reaction bemused her. If he was so old and experienced, how come he jumped like a poked cat every time she said something complimentary to him?
As an experiment, she said, "Actually, they're nicer than nice. They're beautiful. I could look into them forever."
His face darkened under his suntan.
Enchanted, she sighed. "You saved my life, Tristan. I owe you." She dropped her voice to a breathy whisper. "Big."
He backed a hasty step, tripped on a jut of rock and stumbled. He's shy, she thought in amazement. She had no more idea about how to deal with a shy man than she did about proving herself old enough to be a rancher's wife, but the insight pleased her, anyway.
"Best get you back to the lodge before you freeze."
His presence warmed her, but she refrained from saying so. She turned her attention up the path. Where one boulder fell, others could follow, and she felt no eagerness about climbing the narrow path where jumping clear was impossible.
"Let's go this way." She led him around the pool, past the gazebo, then through the forest back to the main trail. Her feet squelched inside her boots, making walking on the slippery pine straw even more difficult. She noticed Tristan's limp; it matched her own. If fate didn't mean for them to be together, then it sure wasted a lot of synchronicity.
"I hope this doesn't mean the entire rock formation is unstable," she mused aloud. "The rocks around here are mostly granite and sandstone. The sandstone is the problem because it's porous and water gets in to freeze and thaw. The hot springs are a big draw, and I'd hate to close them."
"Seems strange it would fall just like that." Tristan snapped his fingers.
"Gravity," she said philosophically. "The Colonel's going to make me get the rock out of the pool. That'll be fun."
Once they reached the back door of the lodge, her teeth were chattering and she had goose bumps on top of goose bumps. He opened the door for her.
"Pretty nifty first date," she said.
Swinging his head, he chuckled. "Get inside. You're turning blue."
"Mom says blue is my best color." The warmth inside the lodge was heavenly. Her soaked clothing dripping on the floor was not. She gingerly tiptoed through the doorway of the mudroom. "Turn around, please."
He frowned, then shrugged and did as she asked. Arms crossed, he blocked the doorway. She tugged off her boots and peeled off the ruined tights. The wet suede skirt felt like sandpaper against her cold thighs.
"Okay," she said. When he turned around, she added, "How about I meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes?"
"Good idea." He canted his head, his eyes dark with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He dropped his gaze to her legs, and self-consciousness gripped her. Usually she didn't think much about the white scars criss-crossing both knees, but she now worried he found her ugly.
"Best doctor those scrapes."
"I will." He started to turn away, and as much as she wanted a shower and dry clothes, she hated him leaving her. She touched his broad back where springwater had left faint yellow spots on his white shirt. "Thank you for saving my life, Tristan."
"Ah, it was...You're welcome, honey."
She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he moved his face and she pressed her mouth to his. Then his arm was around her waist and he hugged her close, kissing her hard and fast. He released her abruptly and she staggered. Kissing him swirled up her mind and glazed her vision. She could kiss him forever and never tire of it.
He slapped his wet hat against his thigh. "Get out of those wet clothes."
"Right here?"
He shook an admonishing finger at her. "And don't forget to doctor those scrapes."
"Okay." Watching him edge toward the door, she grinned. "Good thing all my buddies don't kiss like you do. I'd never get any work done."
He jammed his hat on his head and fled.
"Shy," Megan murmured. She could handle shy.
TRISTAN PUSHED OPEN the lodge door and peered into the lobby. Kara and another young woman were working behind the desk. A couple wearing hiking clothes apparently were discussing a rack of antlers hanging on a support post. Ladies seated in the lounge, one of whom wore a purple jogging suit, drew his attention.
Having no wish to rile anyone, especially Daniella Falconetti, it relieved him to note she wasn't in the lobby. Will Rogers had said something to the effect that everything is funny---when it happens to someone else. A family joke was that Tristan was a changeling, switched at birth. His siblings were all dark haired and blue eyed; none were anywhere close to his size. It would tickle them all no end to learn he resembled a jailbird.
Not that it amused him.
He sauntered into the lobby, but kept his hat pulled down low, just in case. He took a seat in the lounge, his back to the lady in purple.
A server approached, and he ordered a cup of coffee.
Daniella Falconetti entered the lobby. Tristan sank lower on the seat and pulled his hat as far as possible over his face but so he'd still be able to see. She wore lavender walking shorts, a long-sleeved shirt and a matching broadbrimmed hat. Her hiking boots were deep purple.
"Mr. Cayle?"
The soft voice coming over his shoulder made him jump. He swiveled on the club chair. Relieved by the sight of Elise Duke, he glanced at Daniella, who had her back to him now, headed for the stairs. He stood, pulled off his hat and invited her to sit. As she smoothed her skirt and settled daintily on a chair, he couldn't help a glance at her shapely legs. Despite middle age and four grown children, she was, a beautiful lady.
"Megan told me what happened at the hot springs. Are you all right?"
His usual luck, he reckoned. Take a stroll with a girl and nearly end up getting killed. "I'm okay. How about Megan? She banged up her knees right fair." "Nothing keeps her down for long." She tsked. "I'm afraid our resort isn't making a very good impression on you."
"Life happens, ma'am."
"Yes," she said slowly. "It does."
Despite her gentle demeanor, intuition told him this slender lady was the true head of the family. "Are you needing words with me, ma'am?"
"If I may be blunt, I'm curious about your relationship with my daughter."
Inwardly, he cringed. The Colonel's imperious manner had put Tristan's back up, but Elise made him feel like a clumsy schoolboy. "What has she told you, ma'am?"
"I learned about you only this morning. She claims you are a widower."
"That's right." Figuring she had a right to know, he filled her in on his history and family tree. When he told her how all his family lived in the same county within hailing distance, she appeared to approve.
"And do you still compete in the rodeo?"
"No, ma'am. Finally outgrew it."
"Bull riding is a dangerous sport." She seemed to approve of him not competing, too.
"I'm right fond of Megan, ma'am, and I'm not toying with her affections, if that's your fear."
"I'm not so much fearful as surprised. It isn't like Megan to keep secrets. She's usually quite open."
"I didn't know she kept me a secret. Everyone around Powder knows all about her."
"What does your family think of this...long-distance relationship?"
He pulled his chin, smiling to himself. "Truth, ma'am? They think I've done lost my mind." He lifted his shoulders. "Maybe I have. But talking to her is like talking to my best friend." His entire face tingled in remembrance of her kisses. Kissing her made him feel more alive than he had in years---but he kept that tidbit to himself. "Life is hard on the ranch, and I've been straight with her about it. I'm not a rich man, but I'm settled. Know my own mind. Responsible."
Elise's smile lit her entire face. Tristan suspected much of Megan's sunny personality came straight from this source. "Please, I am not trying to interrogate you, Tristan. May I call you Tristan?"
"My pleasure, ma'am."
"I'm not certain what to make of this." She glanced at the desk where her youngest daughter worked. "Each of my daughters is her own woman. They have their own lives. Megan has never shown much interest in...settling down. And then you appear. I'm at a loss, uncertain if I should be pleased or upset."
"I can't help you there, ma'am."
The server arrived with the coffee, and Elise sat patiently until the woman left them alone.
"I apologize for making you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable, ma'am," he lied. He tried to remember when he'd been courting Tina. That had been a long time ago, but he supposed her parents hadn't been thrilled about a man pursuing their daughter, either. If he had a daughter, he doubted if he'd be overly impressed with any young men sniffing about.
"I'm not certain how to say this without sounding like a busybody." She frowned contemplatively. "I may as well just say it. Megan has never dated anyone seriously."
"Never?" He was stunned.
"Not that I know of. She's always been focused on whatever she was doing. Her athletics, her schooling, even working at the resort. She throws herself completely into her job. I suppose her head has never been turned. I knew it would happen someday, but not like this."
Her words made him feel like a lowlife worm. He'd never realized Megan was that inexperienced. "If you're asking me not to run over her feelings, ma'am, then know that's not my intention. I wouldn't hurt her for the world."
"I appreciate your saying so, Tristan." She gave no clue as to whether she believed him.
Megan arrived, looking none the worse for her dunking. She'd changed into a pair of jeans, hiking boots and a dark blue T-shirt sporting the Elk River logo. The jeans showed off well her trim figure and long legs. Her thick brown hair fell in straight, silky sheets to her shoulders. The sight of her, all scrubbed and shiny, made his heart lurch.
"Hi, Mom." Megan placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Where's the Colonel? I have to tell him about the rock slide."
Elise looked around. "You might try the garage. I think he mentioned the old jeep to young William."
Megan indicated his coffee cup with a nod. "Do you want to wait here for me?"
"I'll tag along." If the Colonel had a garage full of mechanical projects, then Elise may have spoken the truth in saying he may never reclaim his son.
As Elise had predicted, William and the Colonel were in the private garage. William leaned over the engine compartment of a rusty, olive green jeep while the Colonel sat behind the wheel. A pang of jealousy arced through Tristan's midsection, but he shoved it down as unseemly. That he didn't share his son's love of machinery didn't give him a right to keep him away from those who did.
"Hey, Dad! Check it out. It's from World War II and it's got the original tires and everything."
Tristan made interested noises, but it looked like a boxy, rusty hunk of junk to him. It didn't even have a roof.
"Sir," Megan said. "I need a word with you. We had a rock slide at the hot springs."
Leaving the teenager to his love affair with the antique vehicle, Megan, her father and Tristan moved to the garage doorway. Megan explained what had happened and Tristan admired her professionalism. Now that the fear had faded, he could appreciate how well she'd handled herself at the springs. She hadn't panicked. Even cold, shaken and looking like a wet chicken, she'd found the humor in the situation. It was easy to imagine her on the ranch, wading in to help doctor a sick animal or repair a leaky roof in a downpour.
The Colonel turned his attention on Tristan. "Have you any injuries to report, Mr. Cayle?"
"No, sir, I'm right as rain."
"A rock fell on you, Dad?" Wiping his greasy hands on a rag, William joined them. He smiled, but his brow twisted in worry. "What happened?"
"No biggie, except for the boulder in my soaking pool. We better check out the rocks along the trail, though. If they're unstable, we have to close off the area."
"Agreed." The Colonel checked his watch. "We'll go now."
Hiking back to the hot springs was easier wearing his everyday boots, but Tristan noticed he was the only one breathing hard. William, as unused to the altitude as his father, managed to talk nonstop to the Colonel.
At the steep trail through the rocks toward the springs, William bounded ahead like a mountain goat. Fearing another rock slide, Tristan ordered his son to halt. "Stay down here. It isn't safe."
William watched Megan climb the stair-stepped trail. "She gets to go up."
"It's her job."
"She's just a girl."
"She's a grown-up woman, and she's responsible for the safety of guests. Don't argue with me."
Slouching, the boy jammed his hands in his pants pockets. He kicked pinecones. His mood didn't last long, and soon he began telling Tristan about the Colonel's firearms collection, which included a Colt .45 a general had carried during campaigns in World War II. Along with collecting military memorabilia, the Colonel also played golf.
"You want to learn how to play golf?" Tristan asked. Rock climbing he understood, sort of, but when had William developed a yen for a city-boy game like golf?
"I always wanted to learn, Dad. It's a great game. It's all about geometry and control. The Colonel has a driving range set up. He says he'll show me how to swing." He lifted adoring eyes toward the hilltop where Megan and her father inspected the rocks. "For an old guy, he's really cool."
Jealousy nipped him again. He'd hoped someday William's heart would change and he'd show true interest in raising stock and inheriting the ranch. With each passing day Tristan doubted it more.
He turned his attention to Megan. She hopped experimentally atop a rock formation. In their long correspondence and telephone conversations, she'd milked him for information about the ranch, drinking in his words like a honeybee after nectar. She'd wanted to know everything about cattle, fencing, branding, stock shows, the price of beef and horse breeding. He'd met plenty of city girls who dreamed of ranch living, but they hungered for a movieranch: pretty horses and cowboy hats and romantic sunsets on the plains. That he'd never detected a hint of romantic silliness had led him to hope Megan could make a fitting mate for him. She said she wanted a big family and a decent, stable place to raise children.
With her serious expression and cautious way she tested the rocks, she appeared grown-up and responsible.
"I think it's safe," she called. "Come on up and look at this, Tristan."
Needing no other invitation, William raced up the trail. He skidded to a stop and made an awestruck noise. Tristan knew he'd sighted the hot springs below.
"Can I go down, Dad?" William shuffled toward the springs.
Tristan looked to Megan and she nodded. "Reckon. But heed the warning signs. Those small pools are hot."
William ran down the trail.
"This is where it came from," Megan said. She crouched and ran her hands over the rocks.
The formation consisted of worn, rounded boulders embedded in a base of sandstone. The coloration on the underlying stone clearly marked where the fallen boulder had been.
Tristan fingered gravel and sand. The shelflike formation had sheared away as if cut by a blade. "Looks rotten."
"It is, sort of. But the rest of the rocks are solid. Nothing else moves."
"I remember hearing a big crack." Tristan slid a hand over the sheared rock face. "Must have been this part breaking. Like you said, gravity got the best of it."
The Colonel nodded agreement. "It appears stable, but we'll close off the springs, anyway, until an inspection by an expert can be done." He headed down to the springs.
"Tristan," she said quietly. "Do you think someone followed us earlier?"
"I don't think so. Why?" Her solemn expression put his hackles up, and so did the cautious way she watched her father study the boulder in the water. "What are you getting at?"
"Keep your voice down." She picked up a splinter of wood and showed it to him. "I think somebody reached the hilltop and hid behind these rocks to watch us. Then pressed up against the rock and noticed it was shaky. Wasn't it Archimedes who said, give me a big enough lever and I can move the world?"
He noticed several splinters and chunks of wood littering the rock at her feet. All of them were at the high side of where the fallen boulder had been. "Who?"
"Daniella Falconetti is really mad at you."
He formed a mental picture of the tall blonde in her flashy purple suit. Imagining her hiking in purple high heels, then using those manicured hands to lever a boulder with a stick caused a smile.
"It isn't funny." She pushed upright and dusted her hands as she looked around. Fallen branches from the surrounding pines and firs littered the ground.
"Nobody's trying to kill me, Megan." He recalled Daniella entering the lobby in her walking clothes. Frowning, he held up his hands to help her off the rock formation. She put her hands on his shoulders and hopped lightly to the trail.
"I don't trust that woman. I can see by her face she's evil and mean. Crazy, too. And everybody heard her threaten to kill you." She raked a finger across her throat and hissed in emphasis.
Daniella had entered the rear of the lobby from the same direction as this forest. He scowled, knowing the notion was insane, but he couldn't shake it loose. "Your sister told her the con artist is locked up. She knows I'm not the man who stole her money."
"We'll see about that."
"I want to talk to you, Meg," Janine said, entering the bedroom. She closed the door behind her.
Megan hastily tugged the sleep shirt over her head. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking? Get out of here." She flopped onto her bed and drew her legs beneath her. After yesterday's nonstop disasters, today had been a dream come true.
No "wives" had hassled Tristan. William had spent most of the day with the Colonel, leaving her and Tristan alone to take a long walk and share a romantic picnic lunch. They'd talked and held hands and he'd kissed her again. Even dinner with her parents had been nice with everyone on their best behavior, making pleasant conversation. The only time Tristan mentioned age was when he said, "You make me feel like a boy," and Megan took that as a compliment.
She had a big day planned for tomorrow, too. She wanted to savor the day and get some sleep, not listen to her busybody sister nagging at her.
"Do you honestly think I'll let you get away with slandering a guest?"
Megan lifted her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"
"Daniella Falconetti told me you were talking to her employees about her. You think she has something to do with the rock slide."
"She did threaten to kill him."
"You can't go around accusing her of a crime!"
"That's pretty funny coming from you. And considering I'm the one who almost got turned into a hamburger patty, I think I have a right to ask a few questions." She beckoned with her fingertips, urging Janine closer. "She lied, you know: She said she was alone in her room, resting. But Tristan saw her come into the lodge, and some other people saw her at the trailhead. Why lie if she has nothing to hide?"
"For one thing, she doesn't owe you the time of day. For another, if I see you anywhere near Daniella or her employees, you won't have to quit. I'll fire you."
"Ooh, I'm so scared."
Janine rested both hands on the footboard and hung her head so her hair fell in a glossy curtain over her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breathing. "What do you really know about---your friend?"
"I know a lot more than you do about Daniella Falconetti. I also know he doesn't make death threats. Now, get out of my room. Do I need to start locking my door?"
"Oh, grow up! This is serious. Daniella makes her living studying faces. She should know who he is."
Megan scooped a pillow onto her lap. "I'm sorry Tristan looks like that creep, but it's a coincidence. You're the one getting Daniella all worked up. How grown-up is that?"
Janine's eyes flashed and she clenched her fists. She opened her mouth, closed it, drew in a deep breath and lowered her head. After a beat, she said, "I want you to listen very carefully to me. Please?"
Megan looked away. Other than physically throwing Janine out, she had no choice except to listen.
"Bradley Carter is a very clever man. He spent his entire adult life ripping off women. He eluded state and federal authorities for over twenty years."
"Even if Carter got loose, why would he come here?"
"Revenge." Janine nodded slowly, emphatically, her eyes dark with foreboding. "Ross is the reason Carter got caught."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's exactly what a very clever man would do after breaking out of prison. Come back to the same place where he got caught before." She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Silly me."
"The man is an expert at switching identities, changing his appearance, fooling people. And don't forget, most of the money he stole is still missing, hidden in foreign accounts and under different names. He's rich enough to pull off the scam to beat all scams---"
"Oh, please! The sheriff would know if he escaped."
"Not if he switched identities with another prisoner. Or if somebody made a mistake. Things like that do happen. Criminals get released because of clerical errors all the time."
"Sure they do, Janine. Every day." Janine had always been hardheaded, but Megan had never seen her so worked up over anything. "I have an idea. Why don't you take a little trip to California? See Carter for yourself. Gosh, you taking a vacation would do us all some good."
"You're being unreasonable!"
"I think you can't stand seeing me happy. Me getting married and moving away where you can't boss me around just makes you crazy. You're jealous because I have a boyfriend and you don't."
Janine threw her hands in the air. "Unbelievable! I'm trying to protect you."
"You're trying to ruin my life! I'm warning you. You better stay away from Tristan. And you better tell Daniella Falconetti to leave him alone, too. If I find one bit of proof she pushed that rock, I'm going after her."
"You are so stupid!" Shoulders rigid, fists white-knuckled, Janine stalked to the door.
Megan threw the pillow. It smacked the door with a flump. Janine gasped and whirled around. Megan snatched up a stuffed rabbit and readied her aim.
Janine jerked open the door. "And if I find one shred of proof that man is Bradley Carter, he's the one who'll be sorry."
Megan threw the rabbit but missed by a mile. Plenty of power, but no eye. She couldn't hit an elephant if it were sitting on the foot of her bed. Janine slipped out of the room.
"You're nuts," Megan muttered. "Absolutely out of your mind."
TODAY WOULD BE PERFECT, Megan determined---in spite of William Cayle. The boy had been bubbly at breakfast, full of high spirits and teasing his father unmercifully---until Megan informed him that both Kara and the Colonel were working this morning. William's good humor had blanked off, proving he adored her family but hated her.
The strain eased somewhat when the three of them entered the barn where Cody awaited them with three saddled horses. When Megan introduced the teenager to the wrangler, William turned on the charm as if he and Cody were lifelong friends. Between her sister and Tristan's son, she wondered if her romance stood a chance.
Megan handed the reins of a leggy copper-colored gelding to Tristan. "This is Itchy. Other than Doc, he's the biggest horse we have. I think you'll like him."
"Strong-looking fellow." He patted the gelding's neck.
Megan nodded at a sleek bay mare without a trace of white on her dark red coat. "This is Daisy, William. She's the smartest horse we own. So watch out for her tricks."
William stroked Daisy's delicate head and peered into her large, mischievous eyes. "Is she an Arab?"
"Half Arabian, half Morgan. She's quick and she likes to play. So pay attention."
She untied Doc's reins from a post and led him out of the barn. Doc snuffled her shoulder, nibbled her hair and blew grassy kisses across her face.
Bringing Daisy around, William stared openmouthed at Megan's horse. "What kind of saddle is that?" He sounded horrified as he swept his gaze over Doc's tack. His eyes widened in disbelief as Megan fitted on her helmet and buckled the chin strap.
"It's an English hunt saddle." She flipped Doc's reins over his head and gathered them in her left hand at the pommel. Catching a smirk on Tristan's face, she narrowed her eyes. Acting older she could manage, but she wasn't changing her riding style just to impress him. "Would you give me a leg, Tristan?"
He moved in graciously, but the smirk remained. He interlaced his fingers knee-high, and she stepped onto his hands with her left foot. She swung onto Doc's tall back and settled her feet in the stirrups.
"That's a fancy rig," Tristan said. "Is it comfortable riding?"
"Sure you don't want to ride sidesaddle?" William hooted a derisive laugh.
"Hush, son."
Intuiting this was an indicator of how her "perfect" day might go, Megan tried to think of some alternative activity for William. The only thing that came to mind was ordering the boy to go sulk alone in the cabin, but that would sound ungracious.
She watched Tristan and William mount with the nonchalant grace of men born to the saddle. Daisy's snorting, dancing and sidestepping gave Megan a measure of satisfaction. The boy would have his hands full settling the mare.
She shifted her attention to Tristan. Denim stretched around his muscular thighs, and the rolled sleeves of his chambray shirt revealed corded forearms. The size of his knobby wrists and hands spoke of massive bones. Only rarely had she seen the combination of football-player size and almost poetic gracefulness. His perfectly proportioned build would make a track coach drool. Saddle leather squeaked as he tested the stirrups. Itchy swiveled an ear but otherwise stood perfectly still.
"Ready?" she asked, and turned Doc toward the trailhead. Out of sheer orneriness she touched her heels to the horse's sides. She posted comfortably, rocking in rhythm with Doc's long-legged stride. Right on cue, Daisy broke into her jarring, high-stepping trot, and William jounced on the saddle like a paddleball.
Her annoyance at William faded when they reached the trees and familiar pleasure filled her. Ponderosa and lodgepole pines were running with sap, tingeing the air with their scent. The trail was golden with a dusting of yellow pollen. The aspen leaves were feathery and new, emerald green against the paper white trunks, and low-growing flowers dotted the forest floor with purple, pink and bright yellow. Even the scrub oaks were in bloom with yellow-green drupes of tiny flowers.
A hilltop offered a view of a narrow meadow where three mule deer grazed the new grass. A buck, his new antlers mere fuzzy nubs, lifted his head, and his ears swiveled to follow the soft sound of hooves on dirt.
"This forest is magical," Megan said, keeping Doc at a slow pace despite his chomping at the bit to chase after Daisy. "Whenever I'm worried or feeling blue, all it takes is a ride or a walk and I'm all better. Do you have magic places on the ranch?"
"Reckon I do." Tristan glanced at his son who rode far ahead. "I'm sorry about William teasing---"
She interrupted. "Ha! If you want to hear real teasing you ought to meet my brother. Ross shows no mercy to anyone. Trust me, I can take it."
Tristan nodded. "I can see that."
She gave them a leisurely tour of the forest, pointing out interesting sights and the varieties of trees. Pines dominated, but there were aspen groves, knots of spruce and Douglas fir, and tangles of low growing oak. Pine squirrels chased each other up and down the tree trunks. Black Abert squirrels with their huge tufted ears bounded across the trail. Noticing a flash of buff, Megan pointed out a doglike swift fox slinking through the shadows. All . around them the forest rang with the spring songs of jays, nuthatches, creepers and bluebirds.
Tristan complimented Megan on her horsemanship. She returned the compliment in all sincerity. He rode easy on the saddle, moving as one with his horse. He and Itchy acted as if they'd known each other for years.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "This is such a pretty place I don't see how you'd ever want to leave."
Her back muscles tensed. "It isn't mine."
The trail narrowed, and riding side by side put them so close their legs touched.
"When I went to school with civilians, I was always envious of kids who'd lived in the same house all their lives. Living in the same place, having a history. I was born on a military post, so I don't even have a hometown."
"Hard to imagine," he said sympathetically.
She reined Doc to a stop, watching William riding on the trail below. Tristan had told her of the boy's wish to leave Wyoming and travel the world. If only the kid knew how lucky he was. "I work for my parents because I get free room and board. I save almost everything I earn so that someday I can buy my own house. Once I get it, I'm never moving." She nodded firmly. "I'm planting myself."
"Reckon I never looked at it that way." He rested his arms on the saddle horn. "I've got roots so deep they trip me sometimes."
"That's what I want. I want to know everybody in town and have everybody know me and know what I'm going to be doing and where I'll be living in the next year, or the next five years. Or twenty. When I have kids, I'm never making them move."
Cocking back his hat, he regarded Megan gravely, his brown eyes solemn.
"I always had such big dreams," she said. "I went for the Olympics because, well, I'm fast. The Colonel loved it. He never missed a track meet." She held her thumb and forefinger a hairbreadth apart. "I came this close to breaking the women's mile record before my knees gave out. When I tried to join the army it was so I could make him happy. I wonder if I flopped out because they weren't my dreams. Fate stepped in and said no."
Tristan's generous mouth twitched in a grin. "You and fate."
Fearing he might consider her beliefs immature, she lowered her face. "I'm not a New Age nut with crystals and astrology and stuff. I don't chant or beat drums."
"You're sensible."
She peeked, checking to see if he meant it. He didn't appear to be ridiculing her. "If I didn't have rotten knees, I never would have met you. Isn't that fate?"
He frowned thoughtfully.
"You said it was bad luck getting run over by the bull, but then you met me. You said you never would have fooled around with the computer chat boards if you hadn't been laid up with a broken leg."
"Never looked at it that way." He chuckled. "Maybe there's something to fate, after all."
"Flopping out of the Olympics and the army really hurt. But if I'd succeeded in either one, I'd be traveling all the time, living in temporary homes, never knowing what next year might bring. I wouldn't have met you."
"You're convinced fate means for us to be together."
Leaning over the saddle, she looked deeply into his eyes. "Don't you? Or were you just kidding when you kissed me?"
He kissed her lightly on the lips and winked. "Or could be a cute little filly making this old stallion feel young. That's biology, honey, not fate."
Lifting her nose in the air, she daintily clucked her tongue and applied her heels to Doc's ribs. He stepped out smartly, eager for some action, but Megan held him back. These trails weren't meant for races.
Megan kept her gaze straight ahead, pretending Tristan didn't exist. Biology!
"Where did that boy go?"
"He's up ahead," she answered, before remembering he annoyed her. She looked over her shoulder and found him grinning smugly. Where the trees thinned, she pointed. The lodge roof was visible from their vantage point. "There he is." She urged Doc into a canter.
Tristan followed suit, allowing Itchy to pull ahead. Doc strained at the bit, but she knew better than to let him run.
They left the trees and reached rolling hills covered with alpine grasses dotted by fireweed, Indian paintbrush, cinquefoil and pasque. A well-beaten path curved lazily around rock formations, scrub oak tangles and small stands of trees. William used his hat to wave at them as he guided Daisy in a looping circle.
As William drew near, Doc grew more fractious. Occasionally the thoroughbred forgot he was a wellmannered trail horse much too old for racing. Megan relaxed her seat, but firmed her grip on the reins, pulling the curb bit down to make him pay attention.
"I don't get that saddle," William said. "Can't rope with it. Can't carry nothing. What good is it?"
"I'm not rounding up cattle." For Tristan's benefit, she added, "I ride western, and quite well, thank you, but I prefer English. It's comfortable and easy on the horse."
"You're using both hands on the reins." William snorted derisively. "What if you gotta scratch or something? And how come you call it a hunt saddle when you can't hunt nothing? Shoot, can't even tote a rifle."
Tristan lowered his face so his hat hid his expression, but Megan suspected he was amused.
"Hunting as in foxhunting and jumping."
"Do you know how to rope?"
She noticed Tristan was staying out of the conversation. Fine, all the better to show him she knew how to handle children. "No, but I bet you can teach me. Your father says you compete in calf roping."
He sat straighter and worked his shoulders. "I'm pretty good. But girls don't do so good roping. Not strong enough."
She inhaled sharply. "What a crock! I was a worldclass athlete, buddy. I'm plenty strong."
"Athlete," he said with a sneer. "Girl sports, like tennis."
She and William rode side by side, but he kept Daisy at a foreshortened lope, slightly ahead of Doc. The tall horse trotted, fighting the reins in an effort to get ahead; his gait had turned choppy. The teenager's know-it-all grin irked Megan. "I'd tear you to pieces on the court, kid. Or maybe you're too chicken to try me?"
He swept out a hand, indicating where the wide trail curved toward the lodge. "I'm not too chicken to try this mare against that overgrown mule."
Megan laughed. "Don't even think about racing. That pony doesn't stand a chance against Doc."
"Now you're the chicken," he drawled, and tugged down the brim of his hat.
"Settle down, you two," Tristan called.
Her heart quickened, and excitement tightened her belly the way she used to feel on the blocks while awaiting the starting pistol in a race. Sweetening the sensation was not knowing for certain if Doc could outrun Daisy. He was an older horse, and Daisy was young, plus William was an expert rider. Then again, Doc carried less weight. Odds were even she could blast the little snot's smugness into outer space.
She tightened her thighs and loosened the reins. In three beats Doc drew ahead of Daisy. She concentrated on working the bit so Doc didn't take it in his teeth. He settled easily into a canter, his ears up, paying attention to her.
"Hee-yah!" William waved his hat as he and Daisy raced past, churning clouds of reddish dust.
Megan felt Doc coil beneath her like a spring, and he jerked his head. The reins sawed through her fingers, burning her flesh. She wanted more than anything to turn him loose, let him rip down the road like a dervish and make William eat her dust.
She didn't dare.
"Whoa, Doc!" She hauled the reins down and back. Tristan came up on her left, his slouching seat deceptively casual. The corners of his mouth had turned down. She shoved her weight into the stirrups and pulled the reins. "I said, whoa!"
Doc snorted and laid his ears, but he broke stride, slowing.
Daisy ran like the wind, her hooves not appearing to touch the ground. As if realizing he raced alone, the boy abruptly reined the mare to the left and she flew over the grass in a wide circle, gradually slowing as she approached them. William smiled in triumph, showing an expanse of white teeth. "Pony?" he shouted. "This lady's got heart!"
"Slow it down, son. You don't know the terrain."
William extended his legs, grabbed the saddle horn in his right hand and hauled the reins. Daisy tucked her head and hindquarters, sliding to a short stop, a dusty cloud enveloping her and her rider. If a horse ever smiled, Daisy was smiling now as she stood with her head up, ears forward and her tail swishing. Filled with grudging respect, Megan had the feeling if William asked the mare to fly to the moon, she'd try to please him.
"This isn't a good place to race," Megan said, wishing the resort had an enclosed track so she could show William what Doc could do. Ignoring the gelding's grumbling, she made him walk.
William reined Daisy through her paces, forming figure eights in the grass. Tristan smiled indulgently at his son, but with an air of sadness that touched Megan's heart.
"He's great, a natural," she said. "I've never seen Daisy act so good. You must be very proud of him."
"I am." His expression shuttered, closing off from her.
They reached the main road leading to the lodge. Elise's flower beds, nurtured into flourishing despite the altitude and short growing season, made a hot spot of pink, purple and yellow in the shadow of the lodge. Musing over why his son's horsemanship would so sadden Tristan, Megan halted Doc and turned on the saddle to watch William racing down the trail toward them. She recognized a fellow adrenaline junkie---a seeker of chills, thrills and the sheer gloriousness of testing one's strength, stamina and courage. She wondered if Tristan considered William too reckless.
"I could ride this lady all day, Dad! How's that plow horse Ms. Duke made you---"
Doc blasted a wild snort, bucked and bolted.
Megan lurched, almost falling, but managed to catch the knee roll in time and hauled herself back over the saddle. She overcompensated and flailed wildly over Doc's neck, nearly losing the reins. He responded to the shift in weight by turning up the road, away from the lodge.
The big horse stretched into a full gallop as mindless and deadly as a tornado. Shoving down fear, she concentrated on realigning her seat, gathering the reins and settling her boots properly in the stirrups.
Cold air bit her cheeks and whipped at her jacket. Her hair slashed at her face and neck. Beneath her tightened thighs the thoroughbred's raw power thrummed through her muscles. The road curved ahead, and Megan prayed the curve would slow him. He had the bit in his teeth and responded to pressure on the reins by stretching his neck and lengthening his stride. Flecks of foam flew back in her face. Her biceps burned as if they'd rip with the pressure.
This stupid horse is not going to kill me, she thought grimly, fighting to keep him on the right side of the road but away from the rocky drainage ditch. She searched for an opening in the trees where she could turn him.
In her peripheral vision she glimpsed red and white. Tristan gained on her. Itchy's huff-huffing joined Doc's, the horses sounding like steam locomotives in tandem, and hooves pounded the hard pack like drums. The road straightened, rising up a hill.
"Stop!" Tristan yelled.
"I can't," she muttered through her teeth, trying not to notice the road flashing by at what looked like a hundred feet below, trying not to wonder what it would feel like to fall off a horse racing forty miles an hour.
"Stop him, Megan!"
She tightened her grip on his sides and forced herself back in the saddle. She pulled on the reins with all her strength---puny determination against a twelve-hundred-pound thoroughbred with racing in his blood.
She tried breaking his grip on the bit by sawing the reins. He tucked his head slightly, flinging huge gobs of foam to splatter her leg and arm.
"Hee-yah!" Tristan yelled, his right arm outstretched, his hand nearly over Itchy's ears. The gelding raced flat out, coming up fast.
Doc's gallop turned lunging as he climbed the hill. Megan sawed the reins even harder, and Doc drifted dangerously close to the drainage ditch. Itchy gained, his neck nearly level with the ground, his white-stocking feet flashing, his nostrils flaring so the red showed. With his shorter legs and powerful quarter horse hindquarters, Itchy took the advantage on the hill, his nose inching past Megan's leg, Doc's shoulder and neck, and then they were racing nose to nose. Tristan leaned far to the right and grabbed the reins under Doc's throat.
He jammed his weight back in the saddle and reined to the left, using Itchy's weight to pull Doc off stride. The thoroughbred stumbled, still fighting the bit, but he turned, swerving into Itchy, and Megan's knee banged against Itchy's saddle. The big horse raised his ears and rolled his eyes---he was back in the real world again. As they reached the hillcrest both horses slowed to a canter, then a trot and finally a stop.
Tristan kept hold of Doc's reins. Turned black by sweat and with his sides heaving, Doc quivered and shuffled his hooves, ready to run again.
"Get off." Tristan didn't raise his voice, but his fury came through loud and clear.
From her position atop the hill Megan could see the highway. A semi-tractor trailer rumbled past at fifty miles an hour. For a moment she couldn't unlock her knees, and her chest hurt so much she feared a heart attack. Finally she managed to work her boots out of the stirrups and she slid shakily to the ground. Doc jerked his head and pawed the dirt before dancing away from her.
"Can you calm him?" Tristan demanded. His eyes glittered, and his face had a grayish cast.
Her legs trembled, and the hot taste of fear filled her throat, but she ignored both sensations as she readjusted her grip on Doc's bridle and began leading him in a circle. Her hands burned like fire; she knew without looking that the reins had rasped them raw. She avoided looking down the hill. Sheer luck had kept her on the saddle.
"Retired racehorse?" Tristan jumped off the saddle. "Did you know he doesn't know he's retired?"
Hooves pounded as William galloped up the hill. His dusty face had paled, and his mouth tightened in a thin line. He stopped Daisy, and Tristan tossed Itchy's reins to his son.
"When did you think to stop him, girl? Before or after you got creamed on the highway? Give him to me."
Stricken, too winded and scared to explain she hadn't been racing Doc on purpose, she gripped the bridle above the bit with one hand and the reins in the other. Doc pranced and jerked his head, trying to rear and nearly pulling Megan off her feet. Her trembling arms barely contained the strength to hold on.
Tristan took the bridle in both hands. Megan relinquished her hold and stumbled a safe distance away. Panting, she bent over and grasped her knees. Tristan gave Doc no slack as he stood his ground, using both powerful arms and his considerable weight to hold the horse's head still. He talked soft and low until the thoroughbred settled.
Tristan led the restless horse down the hill. "This old boy's got a mouth like a cast-iron pot and you know it, too, don't you?"
She hurried after him. "You don't understand!"
"I understand a knucklehead when I see one. Of all the stupid, idiotic, show-off things to do---dammit!"
"I didn't do it on purpose, Tristan! Something spooked him." She glowered at his stiff back. "I wasn't racing him. I know better." She tried to take his arm, but he shrugged her off.
"Dad?"
"Of all the doggone, foolish, city-girl things to do. Think 'cause you can tell head from tail, that makes you some kind of expert."
"I didn't do it on purpose! Will you look at me?"
"He's ten times too much horse for you. Retired racehorse---"
"Dad!"
Tristan turned his glare on his son. "What?"
William indicated Doc with a slow movement of his face. Tristan and Megan followed his fixed stare. Doc's haunch was bleeding.
"Oh, no," Megan breathed, and ran her hand along the length of his body to his hindquarters. High on his haunch, a wound bled freely, the blood glistening like tar against his sweaty hair. "He's hurt."
Doc whickered anxiously and lifted his right hind hoof as if his leg pained him. A gash had opened a flap of skin about two inches long, but it wasn't deep, and the flesh had puffed angrily around the wound. Megan guessed he might need a stitch or two to close the cut, but it wasn't serious.
What it was, was mysterious. The injury, positioned high on his right flank, couldn't have been caused by the horse throwing a rock at himself. Thinking back to when he'd bolted, she remembered his frightened buck.
"Somebody hit him deliberately, Tristan."
"She's right, Dad," William said. "I saw him take off. He was plumb spooked."
"He sure got hit by something," Cody said. It had taken only ten minutes to clean and stitch Doc's wound. Though quivering a bit when the needle pricked him, the big horse had stood quietly throughout the wrangler's ministrations. "Tell me again what happened, Meg."
"It was my fault," William said. He perched on a stall wall, his long legs dangling. With his eyes glazed by unfallen tears and his mouth soft, he looked his young age. "I was showing off and ran up on her. So when Doc spooked, he bolted."
Aghast, Megan shook her head hard. "Don't say that! It wasn't your fault." She touched Tristan's arm. "It wasn't his fault. Somebody threw a rock and hit Doc. William had nothing to do with it"
William hopped off the wall and crammed his hands in his pockets. Tristan draped an arm around his son's shoulders.
Closing her eyes, Megan dredged up a memory of what exactly had happened. "We were at the trailhead where it reaches the main road. I was watching William when all of a sudden Doc spooked. I almost fell, and by the time I got my balance, he was running away with me."
"Did you see anybody in the trees?" Cody asked.
"I didn't see anyone. Tristan?"
"I wasn't looking at the trees. Maybe it wasn't a rock. Maybe it was a pinecone or a branch fallen off a tree."
Cody huffed and his mustache twitched. "Not to cut him that bad." He unclipped the tether from Doc's halter and led him to a stall. Appearing none the worse for wear, the horse entered the stall and immediately shoved his nose into the feed bucket to see if by chance it was suppertime yet.
Megan turned her gaze out the barn door and toward the lodge. Anyone in front of the lodge could have seen three riders up in the hills. A map was posted near the flower beds, showing the trails on the resort property, which meant a good guess would have been that riders up in the hills would follow the trail leading to the main road. A low-down, sneaky, mean-spirited ambush---one of them could have been badly hurt!
"You took some of the Princess Amore ladies riding, right?" she asked. So angry, it was all she could do to keep her voice below a screech. She clenched her fists and locked her knees to keep from bouncing around like a maniac. "Was Daniella Falconetti one of them?"
Tristan dropped a hand on her shoulder. "Now, hold on there, Megan."
She slapped his hand away and stepped out of reach. Part of her anger was reserved for him. He'd been quick to assume she'd been racing Doc on purpose---quick to assume she'd be so immature as to endanger herself for fun. If he thought for one second she intended to spend her life pretending to be a staid old lady, he was out of his mind. They'd discuss it later. At the moment, she settled for giving him a dirty look.
"You think that lady chucked a rock at you?" William asked. "I thought she was mad at Dad."
"That's exactly what I think. Just like I think that rock slide was no accident. So did you take Daniella riding, Cody?"
"Haven't had the pleasure of meeting her." He lifted an eyebrow. "Heard some tales, though." Cody fussed with the hasp on the stall door. "You know I don't pay heed to gossip, Meg. Not my place."
"Drop it, honey," Tristan said. His voice held a growl of warning.
"I am not dropping it! That woman is insane. Go ahead and shrug off her trying to kill you, but I'm getting to the bottom of it." She stalked out of the barn.
Tristan caught up to her, grabbed her elbow and halted her in midstep. "You're upsetting my boy."
Incredulous, she jerked out of his grasp and rubbed her arm. "It's bad enough you jumping to the conclusion that I'd act like an idiot on a horse. But pretending like it's nothing while that woman is trying to kill you is unbelievable. You don't have bad luck. You're plain old stupid!"
"I'm not talking about me! Doggone it, Megan, use your head. He's only fourteen. Don't be dragging him into crazy talk about murder plots."
As his meaning sank in, she bit her lower lip. As a child, when her father left on potentially dangerous missions, her mother had always kept up a strong front for her children. Megan had stayed scared, anyway, lying awake at night and praying for her father's safety. She stared into Tristan's eyes, knowing the fierce protectiveness he felt for his son.
His face darkened and his eyes narrowed. He grabbed her arm again; this time his fingers encircled her upper arm in a steely grip. He hustled her toward a toolshed. She didn't bother fighting but trotted to keep up. With every step, her fury climbed a notch. The shed door was ajar and Tristan stuck his head inside, seeing if it was occupied before he entered, hauling her after him.
"If," he said slowly, "that woman aims to harm me, then we'll get to the bottom of it. But not by scaring my boy. And don't be calling me stupid."
"Take your hand off me." She stood rigid until he released her. "Don't you ever manhandle me again. I won't put up with it."
He crammed his hands in his back pockets. In the shadowy gloom of the shed, all she could see of his eyes beneath his hat brim was a hot glitter. The shed smelled of oil and gasoline from the riding lawn mower and snowblower stored beneath tarps. The stink fueled her fury---nobody dragged Megan Duke into the toolshed for a dressing-down!
She poked his chest with a stiff finger. "You are stupid! And quit treating me like a kid."
He laughed.
Startled, her eyes widened. As he kept chuckling, the tension eased in her chest. "Don't laugh at me. This isn't funny!"
"Girl, I'm a head taller than you and I've got a hundred-pound advantage, and you're trying to pick a fistfight. What's more, you're thinking you can win. I can see it in your eyes."
She clamped her arms tightly over her chest.
"Can you even spell caution?"
She'd argue, except he was right. When she was heated up, consequences didn't matter. Anger drained away, leaving embarrassment in its wake. "You're right. I act dumb sometimes. I don't know what comes over me." The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she grew.
"You remind me of my brother, Charles. Always wading into trouble and devil take the hindmost."
She doubted very much Tristan meant the comparison as a compliment. Terrific. Maybe fate wasn't putting her and Tristan together. Maybe fate was trying to tell her romance wasn't in her life plan and she was destined to grow old alone and rootless.
"I'm sorry for talking in front of William. I keep forgetting he's so young." She sighed and closed her eyes as the events caught up to her. "You saved my hide again, Tristan. Doc had the bit in his teeth and I couldn't make him stop." A feather-soft caress along her cheek brought another sigh. She looked up at him, and the tenderness of his expression weakened her knees.
"I'm sorry, too, honey. I knew you couldn't stop him. Reckon it scared me, but I shouldn't have jumped on you like that." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "We shouldn't be jumping on each other."
She moved away, hugging her elbows. "It looks like your instincts are better than mine."
"What do you mean?"
"About us. About me being too young. I fell in love with your letters, Tristan. And with your voice on the telephone. But now I don't know if I fell in love with you or the idea of you."
"In love..." he said quietly.
"You're everything I thought I wanted. Stability, a history, a hometown. The ranch and working with animals and being self-sufficient and having room to breathe. You made me laugh, and sometimes what you wrote was so beautiful I wanted to cry. But I can't be what I'm not. I'm not old and I'm not wise and I can't love you if it means worrying all the time about screwing up."
"Oh." He cocked back his hat.
"I thought I could show you the age difference doesn't mean anything. But you don't want to change your mind and you don't want me."
The words felt like quitting, conceding defeat, paining her. Other options eluded her, though. She couldn't force him to love her, and she could not be what she was not.
He reached for her, but she moved, putting the lawn mower in between them.
"I acted poorly, Megan. I shouldn't have yelled at you." He opened his hand, peering at the palm. "I had no cause to put my hands on you, either. I apologize."
Don't do this, she thought miserably, don't act like a man I can love. She kicked lightly at the edge of the tarp, knowing if she looked at him, if she drowned in the velvet depths of his eyes, she'd succeed only in making a fool of herself.
He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He stared out the door, into the light, his expression pensive. "My wife and I knew each other all our lives. There was never anyone else. After she died, I was busy raising William and running the ranch. I went around with a few ladies, but nothing serious. Nothing that meant anything."
"Let's drop it, Tristan, I'm not sure---"
"Let me speak my piece. I want you to understand."
She poked around the tarp until she found the lawn mower seat. She perched on it, prepared to listen. "Go ahead."
"Only glitch in our marriage was not enough kids. We both wanted four or five, but after William, Tina couldn't get pregnant again. Maybe it was that fate of yours, knowing she'd die so young."
"Is that it, then? You miss her?"
He frowned. "I do miss her. She was a good woman, my best friend. But that's---"
"Dad?" William's shout held a worried note.
Tristan pushed the shed door open all the way and stepped outside. "I'm right here, boy."
Megan slid off the lawn mower. So Tristan was still in love with his wife. A one-woman man. Thanks bunches, fate, she thought sourly.
"I'm going to have a chat with Janine. If she doesn't talk some sense into Daniella Falconetti, then I will." She pushed past Tristan, toward the door.
"Don't go causing a ruckus on my account."
She glanced at William ambling toward the shed and lowered her voice. "I don't think telling that woman to stop trying to kill you is causing a ruckus." She stepped into the teenager's path and forced a bright smile. "I want to apologize for what I said in the barn. When I get scared I say stupid things. Nobody is trying to kill your dad. Especially not that twit in the purple suit."
William hunched his shoulders and jammed his hands all the way into his jeans pockets. "I heard her say she was gonna kill him."
"She's blowing smoke. The man who ripped her off is locked up in prison and she knows it. My elephant mouth got ahead of my caterpillar brain, that's all."
"So who threw the rock?"
Fast thinking had never been her strong suit, but fate smiled at her as she remembered Benny McTeague. "That brat with the slingshot I took it away from him the other day, but I bet the little snot's parents gave it back to him." She ground a fist against her palm. "Just wait till I catch him. Guest or no guest, hitting horses is criminal!"
William looked over her head, and Megan knew the question in his eyes was directed at Tristan. Either he'd play along or not. She kept smiling.
"So I'm going to have a talk with him and his parents. I bet you're good and hungry. Get cleaned up, and I'll meet you boys in the dining room. The lunch special is barbecue beef sandwiches. I highly recommend it" She walked away.
Tristan caught up to her before she reached the back door of the lodge. She noticed William headed for the Honeymoon Hideaway. Even though it hurt her heart, she made herself look at Tristan.
A one-woman man...Tina Cayle had been the only woman he ever loved, and the only woman he ever would love. Age, appearance, experience, none of that mattered. As much as she loved competition, Megan knew she didn't stand a chance against a ghost.
"I didn't ask you to lie," he said. "But thank you."
She shrugged. "It's not exactly a lie. I did confiscate a slingshot." She rubbed her backside where Benny had bruised her the other day. "I wouldn't put it past him to shoot a horse. I guess I ought to see if he has the slingshot before I accuse Daniella."
"I didn't finish what I was saying back there."
She put her hand on his chest. "I know the score, Tristan. We're friends, we'll stay friends. I get a week off, you get a nice vacation, then you go home. End of discussion. I'll meet you in the dining room." She pushed lightly against his rock-solid chest, mournfully knowing she'd never have the chance again to embrace him. She whirled away and hurried into the building.
AMY ENTERED THE LOBBY, not quite believing she was actually here. It had been a harrowing trip from Powder, Wyoming. After the horrible incident with that awful postmistress and the gun firing accidentally, she'd gotten all mixed up. Fearing the officials, who would fail to understand Bradley had stolen her son, she'd taken back roads and several times had become lost. Once, she'd pulled off the road to rest a few minutes and ended up sleeping by the side of the road for a full day. Her medication had run out, and her nerves were shot. Constant nausea gnawed her stomach. It felt as if bugs crawled inside her clothes.
She stared at the reception desk, and her insides shriveled in fear. "Check in," she whispered. "We've done it before. Ask for a room. Sleep." She thought for a moment, knowing she had forgotten something. A passing waiter reminded her. She needed to eat, too.
Then she would shower and dress in her best clothing, and then she would find Bradley and her son.
Her son...only the thought of finding her child had kept her going. Several times she had panicked and wanted to return to Ohio. Her child called to her, though, granting her courage, giving her strength. Mother love, maternal instinct. For fifteen years it had sustained her. As it sustained her now.
A little girl shrieked. Amy jumped and looked around wildly. A pair of children played hide-and-seek around a post. The noise of their laughter seemed to pierce Amy's skull with needles. Tears glazed her eyes. She wanted her son, she wanted to go home.
Call Susie, a voice whispered in the back reaches of her mind. Susie always knows what to do. Susie will help you.
Amy shook her head in denial. Susie wouldn't understand. She'd be angry about the Mercedes, now dirty and scratched and dented. She'd be angry about the money and the clothes Amy had borrowed. Most of all, she'd be angry about the gun.
She looked around the lobby, seeking Bradley. Seeking her child. Once she had her son, it wouldn't matter if Susie was angry. Nothing would ever matter again.
She trudged to the desk and dropped her suitcase on the floor.
"Welcome to Elk River Resort, ma'am. May I help you?"
The clerk's bright voice irritated Amy. Too loud, too fast. The girl's white teeth were blinding. "I want a room in your institution."
"Institution?"
Amy jerked up her head. She needed sleep, she needed food. "Are you full?" Her voice rose in a panicky note.
"Pardon?"
Tears burned her weary eyes anew. "Is this the only Elk River Resort in Colorado?"
The clerk cocked her head. "I think so, but I'd have to look at a map or something to tell. Colorado is kind of weird about names. You know like, there must be a hundred places in the state called Beaver Creek. So who---?"
Amy slapped the countertop. "Is there," she said, each word clipped, "another resort by this name near Colorado Springs?"
"No, ma'am. Would you like a room?"
Exhausted, Amy barely had the strength to nod. "Yes, please, I should like a room. With a bath."
"All our rooms have private baths, ma'am."
"Private. Yes, it must be private. I need sleep."
The clerk glanced at the lobby where children played and several people sat on lounge chairs. "Would you care for a cabin, ma'am? Our cabins are away from the lodge, but we do have room service. I can guarantee it'll be quiet."
Amy murmured assent. She registered under the name Jane Smith. She stared at the phony name, bemused as to why she used it, but pleased because it meant Susie couldn't call looking for her. She paid with hundred dollar bills. The clerk worked a computer with crisp efficiency and summoned a bellhop.
Following her suitcase, blind to her surroundings, Amy walked behind the young man out of the lodge and along a graveled path to a cluster of four cabins. The bellhop chattered at her, but she shut her ears to his inanities. She needed sleep. She needed to plan.
Tomorrow she would find her son. Tomorrow she would reclaim her child from Bradley, and then, finally, after so many years, her life would be whole again.
"Here you go, ma'am!" The bellhop set the suitcase on the floor and handed a key on an ornate fob to Amy.
She took it with numb fingers. She interrupted the young man's welcoming spiel and shoved a bill in his hand. "I want to be alone. Go away."
He gave a start and his smile faded. He eyed the bill uncertainly. "Uh, sure." He reached for the door.
"Are there any teenage boys registered here?" she asked.
He drew his head warily aside.
"About fifteen? A beautiful boy with the face of an angel?"
"Uh, it's against policy for employees to talk about guests, ma'am. Sorry." He glanced at his tip, his young face working in confusion. "Policy, you know?" He edged through the doorway, then caught the edge of the door and pulled it shut behind him.
"Don't," she told herself harshly. "Bradley is here, my child is here. We'll find them soon enough. Be quiet." She slammed her fist against the side of her own head. "Do you hear me? Be quiet!"
From the wide front porch of the lodge, Tristan spotted Megan walking down the road. Even at a distance he recognized her broad shoulders and brown hair shining under the sun. Her determined stride set off alarms. No telling what she'd been doing to rile herself in the last half hour. He put a hand on William's arm. "Go on into the dining room, son. Order whatever you want."
William squinted in the sunshine, watching Megan. "Is she mad at you, Dad?"
"Sort of. Go on inside."
"Are you in trouble with that lady in purple?"
"No. Go on. I'll be there." He hurried after Megan.
He caught up to her at the trailhead. The fast pace left him winded, without enough breath to call her name. A branch cracked under his boot heel. She jumped and whirled around, her blue eyes wide and startled.
"Why are you sneaking up on me?" She clamped her hands on her hips.
He dragged in air and worked his mouth against the dryness. "What are you doing?"
She innocently fluttered her eyelashes. "Nothing."
He raked his gaze over her horsehair-covered jeans. Except for removing the helmet, she still wore her riding clothes. Her face and hands were grimy. "Don't play games with me, Megan. What are you doing?"
She glanced over her shoulder at a grove of aspen trees where papery white trunks formed zebra-stripe shadows. "All right, if you must know, I'm looking for clues. Daniella is out by herself. She went on a meditative nature walk." She pointed at the hills. "She could have seen us from up there or from the lodge. She could have ambushed us."
"Megan---"
"Don't look at me like I'm crazy. I talked to one of Daniella's employees. The only thing she has been talking about since she got here is Nicky Alonza. Her family totally disowned her when she married him. She was isolated, in a strange country where she could barely speak English, and he was all she had. Then he deserted her, taking everything she owned. For twenty years she's been plotting revenge. And she doesn't care what the sheriff says. She's convinced you're Nicky Alonza."
The indignation on Megan's dirty face had an odd effect on him. His clothing felt too restrictive, and a wave of dizziness left him light-headed. He stared into her flashing eyes and yearned for the sweetness of her mouth. Grabbing the brim of his hat, he gave it a tug. The action partly brought him back to earth. "So she chucks a rock at me? Some revenge."
"Fortunately for you, she doesn't have a gun." She turned for the trees, picking a sure path over the rough ground.
Tristan hungrily followed the strong movement of her hips. He gave himself a shake. "Even if she threw the rock, there's no way you can prove it."
She grasped a tree trunk. "When I took the slingshot away from the McTeague kid, I put it in a drawer at the registration desk. It's gone now."
"The kid got it back."
"A slingshot is a deadly weapon. You could kill somebody with it."
Stubborn little heifer. He joined her in the aspens and looked around, but didn't have much heart for the search. Megan distracted him with her brown hair swinging over her shoulders. Glimpses of her trim figure through the trees teased him with memories of holding her. He had some words to say that had nothing to do with Daniella Falconetti or the con artist
He darted around a tree and snagged her hand, hauling her up close.
"Did you find something?" Heat flushed her face, coloring her freckled cheeks an alluring coral.
"Nothing to find." He kicked at the deep bed of rotting leaves and humus on the ground. "Even if she dropped a slingshot, you won't find it here. Come here." He led her to a fallen log. "Sit down."
She pointed out a marching column of glossy black ants, each one nearly half an inch long. "I'll stand, thanks."
"I didn't finish talking to you back there in the shed."
She crossed her arms and slumped her back against a tree. Eyes cast at the ground, she reminded him of William about to receive a chewing out He touched his fingertips to her chin and urged her to look at him.
"I'm not good at talking," she said. "I'm good at doing."
He chuckled. Their telephone conversations had often lasted an hour or more, and he'd seen no sign in person she had a problem verbalizing her thoughts. "Doc running off with you soured the day."
"It's not Doc." She shoved his hand away. "It's you and me, and I'm kind of confused and pretty much mad, and I don't want to talk about it."
"I apologized for yelling. Why are you so mad at me?"
She tucked even further within herself. "You know."
He swept off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. He wanted to shake her---he wanted to kiss her. "Doggone it, Megan, I don't know."
"You're still in love with your wife! I don't know why you even bothered coming to Colorado. You're never going to love anybody else. Especially me."
"Where'd you come up with that?"
"You!"
"I never said that."
"Yes, you did. I asked you if you missed her and you said yes, and how you two always loved each other and you'll never meet another woman to take her place."
He gestured time-out She clamped her lips into a thin, angry line. Feisty, he thought, but he admired her passion. No wonder she'd run until her knees were ruined. She was too darned ornery to let anyone tell her no. "That's not what I said, and if it sounded like that, I'm truly sorry."
"Then, what did you say?"
Long distance, he'd been able to say almost anything to Megan. In his letters and on the phone he'd shared his innermost thoughts. Face-to-face wasn't so easy, especially feeling as jumbled up as he did right now.
"I was trying to say I feel like a fool."
"Why?"
"I'm not so good with this man-woman thing. Tina was the only woman I ever got serious about. After she died, with William and the ranch, I barely had time to think, much less find a lady friend."
She lifted her head enough to peer from beneath her lashes.
"My life changed after the bull tromped me. Slowing down and meeting you made me see how lonesome I am and how lonely life is going to be. My dad is getting up there in years. William is going to leave me pretty soon. I've been looking at my brothers and sisters and their young'uns, and darn it, I don't want to grow old alone. I have a nightmare about being a crusty old hermit talking to my horses and believing they're talking back."
She relaxed her arms. "So you want to get married."
"It's like bull riding, just because I can do it, doesn't mean I should"
"I understand," she said uncertainly.
"It's like you saying you fell in love with the idea of me. Maybe that's what happened with me, too. I got all caught up in the romance of it, but now I have to be practical."
"And I'm not practical?"
"I mean a practical choice. One where we face facts. Like me being almost forty." He almost made a comment about her never having had a boyfriend, but caught himself in time. "There's William to consider. He's almost grown. A woman's hand won't hurt him none, but I can't be asking you to mother him."
"Especially since he hates me, right?"
"He doesn't hate you."
"I've got eyes, Tristan." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Let's just forget it."
"I don't want you hating me."
She dropped her hand. "You don't want me loving you, either. So what do you want?"
He recoiled from her anger. Conflicting emotions churned his insides. Love and affection for the woman he'd come to know in their correspondence clashed with his desire to not look like a cradle robber.
"Well?" She clamped her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
Staring into her eyes was his first mistake. Blue-gray pools snared him, trapped his soul and barred the path to reason. Taking her shoulders in his hands was his second mistake. Once he touched her, he didn't want to let her go.
"Maybe you're scared of commitment," she said quietly. "You've loved and lost and it's too painful to repeat. Is that the real problem, Tristan? You're chicken?"
"Don't call me chicken."
She curled her hands over his, her slim fingers pale against the dark oak hue of his hands. "Do you prefer stupid?"
Her eyes were so pretty, big and sweet and fringed by lush lashes. "Don't bait me, girl."
"I will if I want to." The tip of her tongue slid across her upper lip, leaving it glistening. "I've waited all my life for you, and now you want to cut me off and you don't even know the real reason why. Sounds like either scared or stupid to me."
"I'm warning you..."
She caressed the knobs on his wrists, and her eyelids lowered. Overhead, a breeze rattled the aspen leaves and shifted the shadows. He kissed her, knowing he shouldn't, and carefully slid his hands down her arms, knowing he shouldn't do that, either.
She kissed him back, the taste of her like heady wine and having the same mind-muddling effect. The tender, tentative question of her tongue against his lips knocked his reservations loose. He wrapped his arms around her and splayed a hand over the small of her back, reveling in the sleekness of her beneath her jacket and shirt. She pressed eagerly upward.
Arousal hit him hard and fast. The trees disappeared, and the breeze enveloped him as a cool caress, and all that mattered was the lithe, excited girl in his arms making him feel big enough to slay dragons with his teeth and young enough to believe dragons existed.
"Slow down, honey," he whispered. He thrust his hands through her hair to find her slender nape.
She made a husky noise deep in her throat, a little purrgrowl speaking loudly of hot pleasure. Worry furrowed her brow.
"Kiss me slow. Like this." He suckled her tongue and tested the slickness of her teeth and breathed in the headiness of her warm scent. She knocked off his hat, and he felt it slide over his ear and bounce off his shoulder. Her fingers worked magic through his hair and played butterfly kisses against his ear.
He wanted her. Simple as that.
His temples throbbed. Her heavy-lidded eyes were black pools rimmed in sapphire, sultry as a summer night, and her lips gleamed wetly.
"Oh, Tristan," she breathed. "I think you're scaring me." She shivered, a light shudder he felt along her spine.
Emotion lodged in his throat. He could love her and treasure her forever and fill his life to overflowing.
"Me, too," he murmured.
She worked a hand between them and pushed lightly against his chest. He turned her loose, reluctantly, and watched with besotted pleasure as she patted her hair, tugged at her jacket and worked her shoulders. Never once did she break eye contact, and he knew she was rattled. Knowing he'd unnerved her filled him to bursting with pleasure.
"It's sounds dumb to say so, but no one ever kissed me like that before."
His chest swelled. "It's not dumb."
Frowning, she looked away and kicked lightly at the thick carpet of leaves. "You dropped your hat."
They reached for it at the same time, and their shoulders bumped. Goosey chills rippled through his muscles, and a vision flashed of her naked beside him, touching him head to toe. One more second and they'd be tumbling around the forest floor.... He grabbed his hat and stood upright, swaying.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Right as rain." He picked debris off the white straw before settling it on his head.
She giggled and covered her mouth with both hands.
"What's funny?"
Through her fingers, she said, "Smokey and the Bandit,with Burt Reynolds. That's the same kind of hat he wore."
He knew the movie. He remembered the scene where Burt had told Sally Field he only removed the hat for one reason. His face warmed.
She sighed deeply, looking up at the sky. "We were arguing about something. What was it?"
"If I recollect, you were calling me stupid."
Her grin sparkled. "You are stupid. But I like you, anyway." Her smile faded and her lower lip trembled. "Can we give our relationship a chance? We could be awfully good together."
He slid a hand around the back of his neck. Looking at her now, in her dirty jeans, standing comfortably in the forest, strong, wholesome and full of life, made it easy to picture her on the ranch. He held up a finger. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"No more talk about anyone trying to kill me. We'll stay out of Ms. Falconetti's range and she'll leave me alone."
Megan grumbled but agreed. He extended a hand and she took it, nestling her fingers inside his. Hand in hand, they walked down the road to the lodge.
MEGAN WANTED TO TELL every person she passed how much she loved Tristan Cayle. Knowing William would be none too thrilled by her elation, she settled a bland expression on her face before she entered the dining room.
"Looks like no need worrying about him being lonesome," Tristan said. He jutted his chin in the teenager's direction.
William sat at a table with Kara. Her sister talked, gesturing in graceful animation, while the boy stared at her with rapt attention. Megan hid a smirk behind her hand. William was obviously smitten, and too young to realize Kara was just being friendly.
"Join him and order some lunch. Order double whatever you're having. I'm starving." She turned up her grimy palms. "I need to wash up first. I won't be but a minute."
He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "Don't be long."
He couldn't have spoken more perfect words. Practically floating, she headed for a ladies' room. She scrubbed her face and hands, and despaired over her messy hair, but didn't want to take the time to run upstairs for a comb. She settled for fingering the thick strands into a semblance of order, telling herself the windblown look was fashionable.
Humming happily, she hurried back to the dining room.
Janine and a lean, dark-haired woman stood next to the table where Tristan, William and Kara were seated. Tristan held a menu before him, but warily eyed the newcomer.
Sister or no sister, if Janine had more "proof" of Tristan's perfidy, she was dead meat. Megan rushed to Tristan's side.
"Well, well," the stranger said. "It is you, in the flesh. It's been a long time, darling."
"Not again...Janine!" Megan shoved between Tristan and this new threat. "He's not who you think he is, lady."
The woman backed a step. "Is that so? Maybe he isn't who you think he is." She raked Tristan with a flinty gaze. "I see you finally dropped .that gut, Brad. Good for you. I always said the extra weight would give you a heart attack."
Tristan loosed a heavy breath and stood. Everyone in the dining room watched the confrontation. "Mind if we settle this somewhere else, ma'am?"
"We can settle it anyplace you like, Brad. Starting with the little matter of the forty-five thousand dollars you 'borrowed' without telling me."
William pushed back from the table, his face flushed. "Now just---"
Kara placed a firm hand on his arm. "It's okay, William."
"This is mistaken identity." Megan defiantly hooked her arm with Tristan's. "Tristan is not a con artist and he doesn't owe you any money. Janine, you better tell her what the sheriff told you. Bradley Carter is locked up in prison."
"Let me tell you a few things about my husband, missy. He's---"
"Husband?" Megan vehemently shook her head.
"Yes, husband!" She waggled her left hand at Tristan's face. A big diamond flashed fire. "I guess you were so busy cleaning out my bank accounts you forgot to get a divorce." She worked the big ring off her finger, twisting and tugging until it slid over her knuckles. She threw it at his face.
The ring struck his chest and fell to the floor. He groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Cubic zirconium! You're not only a thief, you're a cheapskate." She shifted her coldly furious attention to Megan. "I am Mrs. Bradley Ellis Carter, and I will thank you to take your hands off my husband."
"Hey, Christie," Janine said, "don't talk to my sister like that. She's the victim here."
"I don't need you sticking up for me!"
"Ladies!"
All the women clamped their mouths shut. Tristan scooped his hat off the floor and slapped it against his thigh. He turned to his son. "Finish your lunch with Ms. Kara, boy. I'll get this straightened out."
"You bet we'll get it straightened out," Christie Carter muttered darkly.
The group, led by Janine, left the dining room and headed for the main office. Megan glared at the newcomer. She appeared around forty, but her knit top and short skirt revealed a well-toned body. Megan was aware Bradley Carter had a long string of women, but he didn't seem to have a preference about appearance. Daniella Falconetti looked like an Italian movie star, Megan's sisterin-law, Dawn, was a small, fragile blonde; and this woman strode along as purposefully as an athlete. Megan guessed Carter's only criteria was the size of a woman's bank account.
Once in the office, Janine went around the desk, as usual assuming the seat of power. Megan stood between Tristan and Mrs. Carter. The woman carried a small purse hanging from a slender shoulder cord. Megan hoped she didn't have a weapon in there.
Tristan pulled out his wallet. "Ma'am, I am not and never have been Bradley Carter. My name is Tristan Cayle from Powder,-Wyoming. Lived there all my life, and I've never met you before." He sounded wearily resigned as he showed her his driver's license.
"Don't call me ma'am, you lying sack---"
"Hush."
The woman flinched but shut up.
"Now, ma'am, I'm going to say this one time only. I am not this fellow you think I am." He canted his head toward Janine. "This lady here has spoken to the sheriff and knows the man you're looking for is locked up in prison."
"How do we know that for certain?" Janine's ringing challenge filled the office.
"What prison?" Mrs. Carter tossed her hair. "Show me!"
"San Quentin is what the Colonel said. That's somewhere in California, ma'am. Never been there myself, so I can't offer directions. I'm sorry I look like that fellow, but that's all I have to be sorry for. Yelling at me doesn't change anything."
Megan had some harsh words of her own, but he clamped a hand over hers and squeezed, throwing in a warning glance for good measure. She settled, reluctantly.
"Ms. Duke," he said to Janine, "my wife, my one and only wife, died six years ago. I don't have any ex-wives or current wives or even one of those live-in significant others."
"You are so good at talking," Mrs. Carter muttered, and dug into her little purse. "I about died when 1 saw you in the newspaper."
"Newspaper?" Tristan and Megan asked at the same time.
The woman brought out a newspaper clipping. There he was, bigger than life, standing with a beaming William between the governor of Colorado and another man Megan vaguely recognized but couldn't place.
"Christie lives in Denver," Janine said. "She saw the article and photograph this morning." Her mouth twitched in a sarcastic smile. "Thanks for plugging Elk River. It was nice of you to mention us."
Megan grimaced at the photograph. "Is that the governor?"
"And the mayor of Colorado Springs. Had a little excitement at the airport, and I reckon those city folks think it's news. Yes, ma'am, Ms. Carter, that's me, but I'm not that con man fellow."
"What kind of excitement?" Megan asked, unable to recall him saying anything about the airport. "You never said your picture was going in the paper."
"I'll tell you later, Megan. It's of no account."
"And I suppose," Christie said as she held out another photograph, "this isn't you?"
He took the photograph, holding it so Megan could see. It showed a man and a woman standing with their arms around each other. The woman---Christie---wore a white suit and had flowers in her hair, the man wore a dark suit and an uncomfortable smile. The man's hair was black, and the cut of the suit jacket didn't conceal a beefy midsection, but other than that, if Megan didn't know better, she'd swear it was Tristan.
"I'm supposed to believe you aren't you," Christie said. Her chin quivered, and a glaze of tears brightened her eyes. "I can't believe I was such an idiot. I believed you. I loved you. You didn't just steal money, Brad, you took away my trust." She swiped at her eyes and lifted her chin.
Megan took the photograph from Tristan's unresisting fingers. She looked between it, the newspaper print and his face.
"Be a man for once, Brad. Tell the truth."
"Truth is, ma'am, I'm not your husband."
Megan rested both hands on the desktop. More than anger, she suffered a deep and cutting hurt. She and Janine had never been close; her sister had always occupied an exalted realm as the eldest daughter, the beauty, the brains and the child closest to their father. Despite sibling rivalry, petty jealousies, envy and squabbles, Megan had never doubted Janine's love.
Until now. This vendetta transcended Janine's highhandedness and ambitious nature. Megan felt betrayed. "What is your game, Janine? You know as well as I do that Tristan isn't Bradley Carter."
Janine lowered her eyelids, and her full lips thinned. "When Mrs. Carter showed me the photographs I called the sheriff again. He's putting in another call to California to find out if there has been a mistake. We've got a lot of evidence here. I can't ignore it."
"What evidence?" Megan shoved away from the desk and bumped against Tristan. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"The jig is up, Brad," Christie said. She took a seat. "I want my money back. Every penny of it."
"Where's the Colonel?" Megan asked.
"In Colorado Springs, meeting with suppliers. He won't be back until this evening."
Megan rubbed her temples with her fingertips, trying to force from her brain some solution to this insanity. In Tristan's shoes, she'd be furious and fed up. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if he stalked out, collected his son and his baggage and left Colorado forever.
Tristan held up a hand. His eyes were shuttered, unreadable, but he smiled slightly. He waggled his hands. "What about fingerprints?"
Uncertainty flickered across Janine's face. Christie Carter lost some of her fierceness.
"Fingerprints!" Megan smiled and hooked her arm with Tristan's. "He can change his hair and weight, and maybe even slither out of prison without anyone knowing, but not even a master of disguise can change his fingerprints."
Janine twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. "You'd submit to a fingerprint check?"
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded at Christie Carter. "I've heard enough to know this Carter fellow is one bad hombre. Can't blame you for being upset. If fingerprints will put your minds at ease, then let's do it."
Megan's heart filled to overflowing with love and admiration for this man. He had every right to be upset and hateful, but instead his compassion shined through.
Janine called the sheriff again and explained the situation. A sheriffs deputy would come to the resort with a fingerprinting kit.
Leaving Janine and Mrs. Carter in the office, Megan walked with Tristan down the long hallway. He stopped, looked both ways, then drew her into a small linen closet, turned on the light and shut the door. Only then did she notice his hands trembled.
He pulled off his hat and thrust his fingers through his hair. "If I sell a man four good cows, then he gets four good cows. If I tell the preacher I'll put in a week on repairing the roof over at the church, then he gets a week. I don't say what I don't mean, and I don't make promises I won't keep. I never in my life had anyone question my honesty. It's just not done."
"I don't know what to say," she said, realizing his feelings were hurt. "I don't know why Janine is acting this way. Sure, that guy caused trouble and embarrassed the family." She hesitated, then winced. "Uh, he did almost get my brother killed. But that's still no excuse!"
"Killed?"
Megan rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "There was another wife looking for Carter and she had a gun...never mind. It has nothing to do with you."
"Except your sister isn't the forgiving kind. No wonder she's got a burr under her saddle."
"No! There's no excuse for the way she's acting."
"What about you, honey? Any doubts about me?"
"How can you even ask that? I think you're the sweetest, kindest, most generous man alive, and I'd never think anything bad about you."
He touched his hand to her face. His calluses rasped lightly against her cheek.
"Do you remember," she said, "when we first started sending private E-mail? One day my knee was hurting and the itch under the cast was unbearable. I wrote you a long, blathering note about how unfair life was, and basically I was being a big baby. Do you remember what you said to me?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "Uh-uh."
"You told me suffering is a choice we make, and sometimes surviving is its own reward. I knew even if you did tease me about my beliefs, that you understood." She leaned into his caress and closed her eyes. "I knew we were soul mates. Ever since then, I never had a moment of doubt about you, Tristan Cayle. Not then, not now."
He kissed her. Another silken thread ensnared her heart.
They left the closet, startling a housekeeper who had been about to open the door. Megan's face warmed, but she smiled, not caring what the resort employees thought about her romance.
When they entered the dining room, Kara and William were finishing lunch. The teenager eyed his father cautiously.
"Everything's fine," Tristan said, sliding his hat under his chair. "The sheriff is coming over to take fingerprints and put the mix-up to rest once and for all."
"You're taking it calmly, Tristan," Kara said. "If it was me, I'd deck Janine. She deserves it."
He glanced at Megan. "From what I hear, she's got a right to be upset."
"Are you getting arrested, Dad?" William asked.
"Nope, I'm getting some lunch." He picked up the menu. "How's the barbecue beef?"
William slid a sly grin at Kara. "Not as good as Granddad's, but bearable."
"Hey, kid, watch the cracks or we aren't going swimming."
William clamped his mouth shut, but his hazel eyes sparkled.
"Do you mind if he goes swimming, Tristan?" Kara dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "I'm off until six o'clock. The pool is heated, so he won't freeze."
He might, however, die of a heart attack when he saw Kara in a bikini, Megan thought.
"Go ahead," Tristan said. "Pay heed to the rules now and don't be horsing around."
"Yes, sir!" William tossed his napkin on the table and all but flew out of the dining room.
"I'll keep him out of trouble. Thanks, Tristan." Whistling, Kara left them alone.
"Hmm, looks like William is in love."
Tristan snorted. "He's too young for girls." He looked up at an approaching server. He ordered the lunch special and iced tea for both of them.
"So," Megan said after the server left, "how did you end up with your picture in the newspaper?"
He dropped his face onto his hand and groaned. "It was nothing. The mayor and the governor were holding some kind of press conference at the airport and I happened into the middle of it."
"And?" She loved his discomfited shyness.
"All I did was keep a kid from getting underfoot. The hoorah made the politicians look good."
Over lunch, she dragged the airport story out of him, word by word, amazed and delighted he'd saved a child from being run over. She couldn't wait to tell Janine how the man she'd slandered so viciously was in truth a genuine hero.
"I believe when disaster is going to strike, fate brings in the people able to help. That's why some people are always in the right place at the right time."
He chuckled. "I call it plain old dumb luck."
"Remember the airliner crash in Iowa a few years ago? The plane lost its controls, but there just happened to be another pilot riding as a passenger. He helped the crew bring the plane down and most of the people survived. Coincidence? I don't think so."
He laughed aloud.
She mock-punched his shoulder. "Don't laugh at me."
He rubbed his upper arm. "Quit pounding on me. For a little old skinny girl, you land a good one."
She glanced at her meager bosom. "You think I'm skinny?"
"I think you're perfect." His expression froze, and his gaze fixed above and beyond Megan's head.
Fearing the arrival of yet more wives, Megan slowly turned her head.
Deputy Sheriff Mike Downes walked into the dining room, accompanied by Janine. Megan's heart skipped painfully as she envisioned handcuffs on Tristan's wrists and his public humiliation.
One unkind word, she thought hard at her sister, and I'm going for your eyeballs.
The introduction between the rancher and the deputy suffered one tense moment when Janine said, "See, it is Bradley Carter, Mike." Then the deputy muttered a comment about having never seen the con artist in person, so he wouldn't know, and he endeared himself further to Megan by acting embarrassed by the whole affair. Mike asked to use an office and promised fingerprinting wouldn't take more than a few minutes.
Wondering what the two men said to each other behind the closed door, Megan paced the hallway outside her father's office. Janine waited, too, but Megan refused to look at her sister or acknowledge her in any way, even when Janine made apologetic gestures and spoke of doing what she felt was right.
The door opened. Megan swallowed hard and anxiously searched Tristan's face for clues. He was grinning as he used a moist towelette to clean ink off his hands. Over his shoulder he told Mike that up in Wyoming trout under twenty-four inches long were considered bait-size.
Megan almost felt sorry for Janine, who appeared outraged the men were exchanging fish stories. She flounced down the hallway, muttering to herself.
While Tristan went to wash his hands, Megan entered the office. She watched Mike slip the fingerprint card into an envelope.
"I think Daniella Falconetti is trying to kill Tristan."
Mike cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I'm serious, Mike. She threatened to murder him. A rock slide almost hit me and Tristan at the hot springs. I think Daniella pushed the rock. Then she threw a rock at Tristan, but missed him and hit my horse. Doc nearly killed me."
He blinked owlishly. "You are serious."
"I wouldn't kid about something like this. That woman is nuts and she's angry. She slapped Tristan. Boom, right across the face. In public. In front of dozens of people."
"Does he want to press charges?"
Megan shook her head. "Bad luck, he says. Accidents. But I can't help thinking something screwy is going on. Is there anything you can do?"
He patted the case in which he carried his supplies. "I'll run the prints. Then I'll speak to Miss Falconetti. Unless Tristan wants to press charges for assault, there isn't anything else I can do."
"What about the other Mrs. Carter?"
"I'll talk to everyone." He grinned boyishly. "You know me, I never mind an excuse to come out here. By the way, I didn't see Kara on the desk. Is she around?"
Megan curled her lips inward. Poor Mike. He'd been madly in love with Kara since the first time he saw her. Everyone knew it, except Kara, and she barely gave him the time of day. "She goes back on duty at six."
"Might take about that long to run the prints." A dopey smile drifted over his face.
"I'd appreciate it, Mike." She felt supremely confident that the entire matter of Bradley Carter was about to be laid forever to rest.
THE RESULTS of the fingerprint check proved anticlimactic. After dinner with her parents, William had gone with the Colonel to investigate a minor problem with a water storage tank. Megan and Tristan sat in the lounge, sharing a carafe of wine. When Mike Downes arrived with the results, neither Megan nor Tristan expressed the slightest surprise when the deputy told them Tristan's fingerprints most definitely did not match Bradley Ellis Carter's. He added that the sheriff's repeated inquiries had caused the San Quentin prison authorities to double-check Carter's status, too. The man was exactly where he was supposed to be, and would be for years to come.
No more bad-mouthing Tristan. No more murder attempts. No reason for Tristan to get disgusted and go home early.
Mike gazed longingly at the desk where Kara checked in a new arrival. "Kara can tell me where Janine and your father are." He tugged his tie, straightened his uniform shirt and smoothed his hair.
Watching Mike saunter away, Tristan said, "Nice enough young fellow."
"He's not so young. He's been a cop for almost ten years." She lowered her voice. "He's in love with Kara. Poor guy."
"She's not interested?"
"She thinks he's a goof." She drained her wineglass. "You want to watch a movie? I've got a great video collection, and there's a VCR in your cabin."
"Any James Bond movies?" he asked.
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Cayle, I happen to own a complete collection, including the brand-new one with Pierce Brosnan."
"Seen it. I haven't seen the other one. With what's his name, Timothy..."
"Timothy Dalton, License to Kill. It's pretty dumb, even for James Bond, but it's got some great chase scenes." She drained her wine and stood, and for a moment saw double. She'd never had a head for alcohol.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She took a step, then took a quick second step as counterbalance. "Do you want to come up with me to look for the movie?"
He shifted his gaze between her and his wineglass. "I'll wait for you."
She consoled herself with knowing they'd have plenty of time to be alone in his cabin---if William didn't show up.
She got the movie and they walked hand in hand to the Hideaway. Lights were on in cabin A. Since it was too late for housekeeping, she knew guests occupied the cabin. Even though each cabin had been constructed for privacy, she resented having her territory invaded.
Once inside the cabin, Tristan turned on all the lights and hung his hat on a peg. "Would you like a drink?"
Megan wondered what would happen if he were drunk.
He might ravish her---she'd like to be ravished.
"What are you giggling about?"
Unaware she had been, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"I've seen some ornery faces in my time, honey, but the one you're wearing is pure trouble. What's going through your head?"
"Nothing." She sauntered to the bar, swishing her hips. She walked her fingers up his arm, excited by the rockhard bulge of his biceps. The rest of the female population could go ga-ga over tight tushes or great hair if they so desired, but the height of sexiness to her was great arms. Tristan had the best she'd ever seen.
He dropped a hand over hers, stopping her exploration. "You're looking for trouble."
"Will I find it?"
"You will if you keep looking at me like that. I'm thinking you're a tad tipsy."
"I'm in full control of my faculties, cowboy. And I wouldn't mind checking out yours. Faculties, that is."
Laughing, he grasped her by the shoulders and herded her to a chair. She plopped onto the fat cushion and frowned up at him.
He handed her the remote control for the television and VCR. "Find the start of the movie."
Much to her disappointment, he poured sodas, lots of ice, no booze. As they settled in to watch the movie---seated on separate chairs---she wondered how to go about seducing him. Her mother had told her when the time was right and the man was right, then Megan would know the decision to make love would be right. As it was now. She wanted Tristan Cayle, heart, body and soul.
"What is your opinion about premarital sex?" she asked.
He spewed soda. He coughed and coughed, and she covered her big mouth with her hand. After wiping his eyes with the back of a hand, he looked askance.
"It's just a question. We talked about everything else, but not about sex. You do have an opinion, don't you?" His mouth worked as if in conflict between a smile and a frown. "Where I come from, it isn't a fitting subject for polite conversation."
"Humph." She trailed her fingers over his wrist. The hair on his arm was blond and springy. His eyebrows were black, though. The disparity heightened her curiosity about the color of hair on his chest...and other places. "Do you ever think about sex with me?"
He lowered his face, but she caught the edge of his grin.
She turned on the chair and curled her legs beneath her. Resting her chin on her folded arms, she dreamily studied the strong bones of his face. She tuned out the shoot-'emups and explosions on the television, concentrating instead on the angle of his neck and the way his hair feathered across the top of his ear.
"Do you?"
His smiled showed teeth. "Yeah."
"I never have before. You know, done it."
His head fell back against the chair, and his chest rose and lowered in a heavy breath.
"Is that a problem? I'm a fast learner, honest. Anything I want to do---" she snapped her fingers "---I can pick up just like that. Well, except for geometry. I did awful in French, too. I speak German pretty well, and some Spanish, but I picked those up on the street when we lived in Europe. I took French in school, but it never felt natural. Je suis, that's all I remember. It means, I am."
"Honey, you're drunk."
"Does that mean you won't ravish me?"
"Reckon I ought not." He waggled his eyebrows. "I want you respecting me in the morning."
"You said you want more kids. If you don't ravish me, we can't have any." Surely now he'd crumble in the face of her impeccable logic.
From the corner of her eye she caught a movement at the window.
Knocking rapped sharply on the door and she jumped, nearly falling off the chair. Shifting her focus between the door and the window, she tried to figure how somebody looking in the window could also knock on the door.
Tristan answered the door and Janine walked inside. Outraged, Megan struggled off the chair and faced her sister. "You've got some nerve. How many wives are you dragging in this time? I'm telling you---"
"Hush, honey."
Janine looked picture perfect in a red silk blazer over a beige blouse and slacks. She swept her gaze over Tristan, Megan and James Bond, who was parachuting into the middle of a wedding party.
"Mr. Cayle, I apologize for interrupting your evening."
Her tone of voice made Megan wary. It almost had a humble ring to it---but Janine was never humble. Must be a trick. When Megan started to step around Tristan to reach her sister, he put out an arm to stop her.
"I came to apologize for my behavior. I thought I was justified, but I realize now what I did was inexcusable and rude." Her throat worked. Her eyes gleamed as if she were about to cry.
Megan blinked rapidly. She must be drunk if she believed for a moment that ice-for-blood Janine was about to cry.
"That...man hurt my family deeply, and when I saw you, I...I can only plead temporary insanity and hope you will forgive me. I am so very sorry, Mr. Cayle."
He extended his right hand. "Apology accepted, ma'am. No hard feelings." When she rested her hand against his, he gave it a quick, firm shake. "And please, call me Tristan."
"Thank you. Tristan." She darted a sheepish glance at Megan. "I'd like you to accept this vacation on me. This cabin, any meals in the main dining room, whatever you or your son want. I'm picking up the tab."
"No, no, that's too---"
"It's the least I can do, and it's already done. Your bill is covered. Anything you want. So no arguments." She turned a strained smile toward Megan. "I owe you an apology, too, Meg. I should have known better than to think you'd act stupid. She isn't stupid, Mr.---Tristan. Sometimes she's a better judge of people than I am." With a trembling hand she twisted a hank of hair around her fingers. "I won't bother you anymore. Neither will Ms. Falconetti or Ms. Carter."
"You're positive that purple twit understands Tristan is not her ex-husband?" Megan asked. "If she bugs him anymore, I'll rip her hair out."
"Don't call her names, Meg. Bradley Carter messed her over, and, well, seeing is believing. Mike Downes talked to her, I've talked to her. I have a feeling she'll be apologizing to you, Tristan."
"Tell her fine by me if she wants to forget the whole thing. No real harm done."
"You're a generous man, and I appreciate it." She paused and shuffled a step. "There is one small problem."
"What?" Megan asked suspiciously.
"The photograph Christie Carter spotted was printed in three newspapers in Colorado Springs and Denver. A small segment about you also appeared in the local news broadcasts yesterday evening and today at noon."
Tristan dropped his face onto his hand. "How many people did this Bradley Carter steal from?"
"In Colorado, at least three women married him, and I think there were ten people altogether who pressed charges against him for fraud. The cops said some victims were too embarrassed to admit he conned them. I've left explicit instructions with all the main desk employees that if anyone else comes looking for you, they are to come see me."
Tristan eyed Megan, his expression pensive. "Maybe that fate of yours is saying I shouldn't be in Colorado."
"Don't say that!"
"Please, don't leave on my account. I am deeply, truly sorry," Janine said. "To both of you. I hope you'll stay and enjoy yourself. You have my word there won't be any more problems."
Megan followed Janine outside. "Thanks a lot, Ninny. This is really special."
"It's impossible to believe two men could look so much alike, but it happened."
No more wives to pester him, no more suspicions, and the vacation was free. All it cost him was the plane ticket "It's big of you to apologize like this. Oh, you're the best big sister in the whole wide world!" She reached for a hug.
Janine recoiled and threw up an arm. "Have you been drinking?"
"Just a little wine."
"You're drunk."
"I wish people would quit saying that about me. I am not drunk."
"Good night, Meg." Janine walked away.
With a hand on the doorknob, Megan watched as the shadows swallowed her sister. As if by magic, another shape stepped out of the shadows, walking toward her. An illusion of light and dark Megan found fascinating.
Until the shape reached the illumination of the fountain lights and she recognized William's slouching stroll.
So much for being ravished.
"WHY DON'T YOU BUY your own clothes?" Seated crosslegged on the bed, Kara rested her chin on her fist, watching Megan paw through a dresser drawer.
Megan glanced at the window. The day had dawned without a cloud in the sky, and if the weatherman could be trusted, the temperature might reach eighty degrees by noon. A slight headache twinged at her temples. Not enough to qualify as a hangover, but enough to remind her of the wine she'd consumed last night.
She found a sleeveless knit shirt with a vee neckline and embroidered appliques. She held it up to her chest. "The only shirts I have are either plain or marked with the resort logo. I don't have your fashion sense. How does this look with the shorts?"
"It looks fine." Kara laughed. "So did you have fun last night all alone with Tristan?"
"Right. First Janine dropped in, then after I got rid of her, William came back. I thought you were going to keep him busy for me?" She pulled off her T-shirt and put on Kara's shirt. "Tuck it in or leave it out?"
"Tuck it in. And I had to work."
After tucking in the shirt, Megan opened Kara's closet. "Where are your tan sandals? The ones with the ankle straps?"
"Why don't you just move in and take all my clothes? Sheesh." Kara pointed. "Bottom shelf, on the right by the door. Does Tristan still think you're too young for him?"
Her face warmed. "I came on to him. I asked him to ravish me." She found the sandals and slipped them on her feet. Mistake, her practical mind warned. The sandals had an inch-high heel, thin soles and skinny straps. She was taking Tristan and William to Cripple Creek, which meant a lot of walking---but the sandals were cute and sexy. She left them on. "Hair up or down?"
"Down. Ravish? Does anybody use that word?"
"I did. Several times. But he didn't, so I'm still pure as the driven snow."
Kara lifted her eyebrows. "Even twelve-year-olds can have sex, Meg. It doesn't prove anything."
Megan glanced over her shoulder. "You sound like Janine."
Kara winced. "Ouch!"
Megan laughed, then flung out her arms and twirled in a slow circle. "I'm in love! Hopelessly, madly, truly, deeply, forever and ever in love. Will you miss me when I'm married and gone?"
"Not if it means keeping you out of my closet." Grinning, she rested her chin on her fist.
"Every word he says sings to me. We're in synch, like two halves of the same whole, and we finally found each other. When he kisses me, I get all wobbly---"
"Wobbly?" Kara laughed.
"I swear! My skin tingles and my heart pounds." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kissing him feels better than taking first in the four hundred meter."
"Wobbly," Kara mused. "A guy never made me feel wobbly, and I've kissed plenty. The best I've done is mooshy."
"So what do I do? How do I know if he loves me?"
"Ask Mom." Kara curled her lips in an innocent smile.
"You are no help." She turned to the mirror over the dresser and critically eyed her makeup. Catching Kara's amused face in the reflection, Megan wrinkled her nose. "And by the way, sister dear, why did you stick guests in the Hideaway? I saw lights on last night." She picked up a jar of strawberry-flavored lip balm. Tristan liked strawberries.
"Not them, just a woman. She wanted peace and quiet. I couldn't tell her no just because you want some snuggle time with your honey." She shuddered delicately. "She's a weirdo. She called the resort an institution. Gave me the creeps."
Megan tried some of the balm. It went on clear with a faintly rosy cast and smelled heavenly. If Tristan resisted these lips, then he was nuts.
"She says, I want a room in your institution, and I go, excuse me, an institution room? She didn't have a reservation or anything, so I guess she got all panicky because she misunderstood me and thought we didn't have any rooms at all."
"Sounds like fun. I'm borrowing your lip balm." She dropped the small jar in her shorts pocket and made a kissy face at her reflection.
"Ooh, and then you know what she did?"
"Who?"
"The weird woman. She asked Pete if there are any teenage boys around."
"Pete's a teenager. Did she make a pass at him?"
"That's what I thought, but he's such a jerk, who can tell if he's telling the truth. I figure it's 'cause she doesn't want anybody playing a boom box, but it's a strange thing to say considering she registered under what has to be a phony name. Jane Smith, can you believe it? And she paid cash. Don't you think it's strange?"
Megan laughed at Kara's wild imagination.
"She better not let the Colonel catch her doing anything gross. He'll toss her out on her ear." Kara checked her wristwatch, sighed and hopped off the bed. From the bedside table she picked up a name tag to affix to her white blouse. "So have fun today while I'm slaving over a hot desk. Wish I could go with you to Cripple Creek. Drop a couple of nickels in the slot machines for me."
"Do I HAVE TO GO?" William asked with enough of a whine in his voice to set Megan's teeth on edge. He scuffled his athletic shoes in the parking lot, raising dust.
"You'll love Cripple Creek. There's a train and a mining museum and even an old brothel we can tour."
The boy kicked a stone. "Tourist junk."
Megan's temples pulsed. Tooling through the mountains with a smart-aleck kid held about as much appeal as doing income taxes.
"You're the one who wants to travel and see the world," Tristan said. He stole warm glances at Megan, and she knew the outfit she'd borrowed from her sister was a success.
"I can visit with the Colonel, Dad. I won't bother him none."
"Afraid not," Megan said, truly sorry. "He's meeting with his accountant this morning. We'll be back before he finishes."
"I saw some lakes on the map I looked at this morning." Tristan nodded eagerly. "Lake George? Is that far out of the way?"
Megan knew in order to make their relationship work, she'd have to make friends with William. "Lake George won't do much for you, but Eleven Mile Reservoir is interesting. And it's a great drive. The views are to die for. We'll go the back way into Cripple Creek instead of the highway, then make the loop."
"Can we go fishing? I'll go if we can go fishing."
"Maybe tomorrow or the next day---"
"No fishing. And you are going." Tristan glared at his son. "Megan's kind enough to take us on a tour, so no more lip from you."
William tugged the bill of his baseball cap---a gesture Megan noticed both of them made when they were agitated. She also caught the glare of pure rebelliousness the boy slid her way. He promised trouble; her headache worsened.
They drove Tristan's rental car. Megan had a bright moment of amusement when William had to fold his big body and long legs into the minuscule back seat of the Grand Am. Served the turkey right. She settled comfortably in the bucket seat, stretching out her legs, and directed Tristan toward Eleven Mile.
It was an easy drive up Highway 24, but the Grand Am's air conditioner didn't work very well, so they rolled down the windows. William perked up when they passed Florrisant and he noticed the signs pointing to the fossil beds. Megan told him about the volcano that thirty-six million years ago had buried a primeval redwood forest. One of the fossils made evident by erosion was of a tree believed by scientists to be the largest sequoia that ever existed---more than two hundred and fifty feet tall. She asked if he wanted to stop and hunt fossils. Adolescent coolness clouded his expression.
His loss, Megan thought.
William sneered at Lake George, as Megan had predicted he would. The town and lake were pretty, but small. Once they rolled out of the forest and onto the vast high-country plain, he stopped sneering. The reservoir wasn't huge, but it was large enough for boating and fishing. Mountains far in the distance gleamed pearly under coats of snow.
Megan guided Tristan to a roadside ranger station at the park entrance. It wasn't manned, so she filled out a visitor permit pass and slid three dollar bills into the envelope before dropping the envelope in the box. She gave Tristan the pass to post in the car window.
"Looks like cow country," William said.
Megan jerked a thumb out her window. "That's all national forest, but over to the west there are a lot of ranches."
"What kind of fish are in there?"
"Trout, mostly. Browns and rainbows. But a lot of people catch kokanee and pike, too. I don't know why they bother with pike. I think it tastes like cod liver oil. Yuck."
"What's kokanee?" William leaned between the bucket seats.
"Salmon, but not very big. I think the biggest ones run about four pounds. You can ask my father. He fishes up here all the time."
"It's like a moonscape," Tristan said. The blacktop road ran straight along the north edge of the reservoir and the surrounding land was flat, rocky and covered with low-growing vegetation.
They reached the turnoff for the road that swung back along the southern edge of the reservoir. Erosion had given the gravel road a washboard texture. Dust blew along with the hot wind through the windows.
"Dad!" William squirmed in the back seat. "You're hitting all the holes! You drive like an old lady."
"Hush, son." He drove with both hands on the wheel, his expression tense. The terrain was hilly on this side of the reservoir, and the road swooped and curved.
Megan tried to tune out the boy's increasingly loud griping, but his whining grated across her ears. Finally she could stand no more. She twisted on the seat. "Do you want to sit up here? A few bumps won't bother me."
His eyes lit with dangerous fire. "You saying I'm a sissy, city girl?" He actually grinned at her, his head ducked so his father couldn't see the challenge in the rearview mirror.
She'd been more than patient with him. His ungraciousness brought her temper to a boil. "I'm saying you're a big baby who doesn't have enough manners to let your father enjoy himself."
"You ain't my mama. You can't talk to me like that!"
"Somebody ought to. Spoiled brat."
"Megan!"
"I'm sorry, Tristan." She struggled to keep from yelling. "He's been picking a fight ever since we left Elk River. I'm sick of him growling at me."
William leaned between the seats, trying to shove his face against hers. "I'm sick of you! Fancy-pants priss leading my daddy around by the nose!" His voice cracked and quavered, but his eyes blazed. "He ain't never marrying you! You're skinny and ugly!"
"Megan!"
"He started it!" she yelled back. Her head felt ready to explode, and her mouth tasted like road dust. "He is a spoiled brat, and if I was his mother, he'd be walking right now."
"Oh, yeah? Well, you ain't never gonna be my mother!"
"Megan!" Tristan's voice boomed like thunder in the small car.
Megan and William both flopped onto their prospective seats. Megan clamped her arms over her chest, angry with William and furious with herself. She noticed the scenery whipping past. On a long downhill slope Tristan gained speed, and the car rattled like a tin can full of rocks, bumping and bouncing over ruts and potholes. The speedometer showed fifty miles per hour and gaining. "What are you doing? Slow down!"
"I can't!" His boot heel thumped against the floorboard as he pumped the brake pedal.
"Dad?" Wide-eyed, William stuck his head between the seats. "They're antilock brakes, Dad, quit pumping them."
"What's wrong with the car?" Megan braced her hands against the dashboard.
But she knew. Tristan pressed the brake pedal all the way to the floor, but still the car gained speed. They had no brakes.
The Grand Am reached sixty miles an hour at the bottom of the hill. The road curved up the next hill, and Tristan turned the wheel hard, overcompensating. The rear end slipped, enveloping the car in a huge cloud of dust. Coughing, Megan met William's astonished gaze. Gripping the dashboard with one hand, she stared in horror at the massive boulder formations lining the road.
"Shut off the car, Tristan."
"No!" William grabbed his father's shoulder. "You'll lose your steering. Get away from the ditch, Dad. We're coming to another uphill. That'll slow us."
Megan sat high on the seat, anxiously searching the road ahead for approaching vehicles.
The car speeded down the hill, reaching nearly fifty miles per hour, but the next hill was higher and steeper and the car slowed, fifty, forty, thirty---
"Drop it into first gear, Dad. On the transmission."
Tristan pulled the gearshift and the engine groaned, but the car slowed even more. They were doing barely twenty miles per hour when they reached the top of the hill. The road ahead curved gently to the right on a slight incline.
"You're doing good, Dad," William said, his voice as calm and assured as that of an airline pilot. "When you get down to five miles an hour, use the parking brake. It should stop us."
They slowed to five miles per hour about halfway up the hill. Tristan fumbled around with the parking brake. A red brake-on light flared on the dummy panel and the car shuddered to a stop.
"Put it in park, Dad."
Tristan shoved the stick. The car remained still, idling roughly. Pale-faced, his hands white-knuckled, Tristan appeared frozen. A pearl of sweat trickled down his cheek.
William reached through the seats and turned the key in the ignition.
Slowly, Megan turned her head to look at the road behind them. From this point of view the road looked nearly flat, the hills long and gentle. Brakes or no brakes, they'd never been in terrible danger. The worst that could have happened would have been crashing into a shallow ditch---unlike the trouble they'd have been in if they'd lost the brakes on the highway to Cripple Creek. In her mind's eye, she pictured Four Mile Road, winding around the mountains like a snake, including one wicked switchback, with sheer drop-offs hundreds of feet high. On a beautiful day like this traffic would have been heavy. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
William shoved lightly against her seat. "Let me out."
She fumbled with the seat belt, unfastened it and shakily exited the car. Tristan left the car, too. He squinted into the distance.
"Road looked a lot worse going along it. Guess it wasn't so bad." He pulled off his hat and swiped his wrist against his forehead. "That got the old ticker pumping. I never lost brakes before."
"Pop the hood, Dad," William said.
Tristan and Megan exchanged a puzzled glance.
"Can you fix the brakes---"
"Dad." The teenager rolled his eyes. "That's so folks know we're in trouble." He looked right, left, up and down. From this position, the reservoir was hidden by hills. Except for a prairie falcon soaring high overhead, they appeared to be alone in a vast wilderness. "That little town we passed is a long way away. Ms. Megan, you got a phone in that purse of yours?"
Megan wished she did. She gazed mournfully at her sandals. If they had to hike out of here, her feet were going to turn into a mass of blisters. "Somebody will be along soon. There are of lot of people on the lake." She heaved a breath. "How'd you learn so much about cars, William? I'd have done something stupid like turn off the engine."
"Boy's a genius," Tristan said, and William grinned, ducking his head. "Boy's a hothead, too."
Knowing the rebuke was meant for her as well as for William, Megan blushed. They'd been fighting in the car like a pair of children. Megan's behavior was unpardonable.
She envisioned herself on Tristan's ranch, squabbling and bickering with William, making Tristan's life miserable. She was old enough to be his wife, but much too young to be William's mother.
Miserable with shame, she sidled around the car to Tristan's side. The color had returned to his face, but the strained expression remained. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn't have snapped at him."
"You didn't start it."
"I was there. I know what happened." She crammed her hands in her shorts pockets and kicked at clods of dirt.
"It's all right." Tristan attempted to put his hand on her cheek, but she ducked and walked away.
"It isn't all right." Unable to meet his eyes, she added softly, "It never was to begin with."
William crouched next to the Grand Am's right front tire. The car rode too low for him to get under it, so he reached beneath the chassis. Scowling, heedless of the yellow-red road dust dirtying his clothing, he felt around under the car. He brought his hand out and showed Megan and Tristan his glistening fingers.
"What's that?" Tristan asked.
"Brake fluid, I reckon." He sniffed his fingers and shrugged before reaching back under the car and feeling around some more. "I think the cap is missing on the brake line." He went around the car and repeated his blind exploration behind that tire.
"This one's leaking, too." He stood and wiped his greasy hands on his shirt. "Somebody opened the brake lines."
"What does that mean?" Megan asked.
"These are power brakes with fluid lines running to them. Each line has a drain cap. A little nut for bleeding them and such. If you open them up, they don't drain much unless you pump the brakes. Each time Dad used the brakes, more fluid squirted out until it was all gone. Once it's gone, no brakes."
He checked the rear tires, finding brake fluid leaking from those lines, too. "Yep, all four of them are open."
"Could have shaken off by accident."
William barked a humorless laugh. "Not a chance, Dad! Maybe one could have worked loose, but not all four of them."
Fate, Megan thought with a sickening sensation deep in her belly. If William hadn't been such a pain in the neck, they'd have driven directly to Cripple Creek and would have lost the brakes on the mountain road. Or they wouldn't have gone anywhere, but when Tristan returned to Colorado Springs the brakes would have given out on Highway 24, which in some places was dangerously curvy and narrow, and heavily traveled. He and William would have been killed.
"Daniella," she murmured.
Tristan gave her a sharp look. She didn't care. Just because the cosmetics queen had unimpeachable proof Tristan wasn't Bradley Carter didn't mean the woman believed he wasn't Nicky Alonza. Out of deference to Tristan's concern for his son, she kept a lid on further comments.
"You two stay with the car," Tristan said. "I'm going over the hill to the lake and see if I can find some help."
"No!" Megan gazed nervously at the road they'd traveled. Daniella could have followed them from the resort, ready and willing to pick off Tristan if he survived the brake job. The vast emptiness of the landscape heightened her sense of vulnerability. "We have to stay together. There will be someone along here soon. Stay here."
"Won't take me but a minute. Son, stay here with Ms. Megan. Her shoes aren't fit for hiking." He took a step away from the car then paused, his glare under the hat brim taking in both of them. "That is, if I can trust you two not to kill each other."
Stung anew, wishing she could curl up and disappear, Megan mumbled inanely about behaving herself.
She watched him walk away, his loose, long-legged stride filling her with yearning as painful as the knowledge that she'd ruined their grand romance. Tristan disappeared over a hill, along with her dreams of marriage and kids and having her own home and family. A tear leaked from her eye, and she angrily dashed it away.
"He's really mad," William said. "He gets quiet like that when he's mad." His young face had gone soft; he looked as miserable as she felt.
"I don't blame him. We acted like jerks." She dragged a hand across her sweaty brow. Gusts of wind formed tiny dust devils spiraling across the dirt road. "I should have brought something to drink. It's hot."
"You think that lady in purple wrecked the brakes?" He slanted a glower her way as if Daniella Falconetti were somehow Megan's fault.
"No way," she lied. "It must have been the rental car company. This has the makings of a good lawsuit. You---"
He barked a harsh laugh. "That's stupid! Every time Dad used the brakes more fluid would squirt out. There's not all that much in there to begin with. If this happened at the airport, we'd have lost the brakes before we got out of Colorado Springs."
Lots of luck with Tristan calling it bad luck. If this wasn't a murder attempt, she didn't know what was.
William clamped his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at her. "Somebody at the resort did it."
"Don't look at me like it's me."
"He's my father! I got a right to know what's going on."
"Then talk to your father."
He hopped onto the hood of the car and the front end dipped under his weight. He stared glumly in the direction Tristan had gone.
Megan almost asked him why he hated her so much, but between her throbbing head and dark mood, she didn't want to know.
TRISTAN SIPPED from the beer bottle. The cold bite of the yeasty brew soothed his parched throat. A heck of a day, he decided. Up at the reservoir he'd found a couple camped at the lake who were willing to give Tristan, William and Megan a ride to Eleven Mile village, and from there they'd arranged for a tow truck to take the Grand Am to Lake George. Megan had called her father, and he'd driven over to pick them up in a van.
A heck of a vacation. The tourist board ought to put a new line in their brochures: Come to Colorado, where your life ain't worth two cents.
He swigged deeply from the beer bottle. Seated upon the front steps of the cabin, he stared at the play of light on the fountain between the four cabins of the Hideaway. The sun had dipped below the trees so shadow and golden rays slanted off the arcs of silver water.
An amazing thing had happened today. William and Megan fighting in the car should have angered him, and for a while he had been mad, but it had given him an insight, too.
William liked his life exactly as it stood, with him at the center of attention between his father and grandfather. Tristan supposed it only natural William rebelled against a change. Marrying, however, didn't mean abusing the boy. It didn't mean William would be shunted off to the side or ignored or made to feel as if he didn't belong. The boy was old enough and strong-willed enough to hold his own.
As Megan could hold her own. She wasn't about to take any guff off an obstinate teenager with an attitude. Another weaker woman might bend over backward to accommodate the boy's feelings. Megan Duke didn't have a weak bone in her body.
A crunch of gravel caught his attention. He watched Megan walking toward him. Emotion welled, sticking in his throat.
"Hi, honey," he said, and offered her a beer. "Have a cold one. Imagine you can use it." He scooted over to make room for her on the step.
"Thanks." She twisted off the cap, tipped the bottle to her lips and drank, the slender column of her throat working in fascinating display. She made a breathy "ah" sound and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I talked to Daniella. She denies everything."
"What did you expect?" He leaned back on an elbow. "Besides, how would a lady like that know about brake lines? Can you see her ootched up under the car, getting those purple duds dirty?"
"It isn't as ridiculous as it sounds. I found out Daniella had another husband, a professional race car driver." Megan played her fingers over the beer bottle as if seeking a vulnerable place to squeeze. "A person can pick up all kinds of information just by hanging around."
"Was she part of the pit crew?"
"I doubt it. That doesn't mean she doesn't know about brake lines. I'm sure her other husband talked about cars and had a lot of them around."
Tristan chuckled. "Honey, I've been driving since I was fourteen, and I don't know squat about cars. Far as I'm concerned, whatever happens underneath the hood is pure hocus-pocus magic. She could have been married to Mr. General Motors himself and still not know a thing about mechanics."
"So this is just more bad luck to you?"
He swung his head vehemently. "Luck had nothing to do with it. Except like you said, us losing the brakes where we did instead of doing it in the mountains. That was good luck in my book." He set down his beer bottle and curled his hand around her slender arm. She had the prettiest arms he'd ever seen on a female, slender and finely muscled, her skin as fine as polished cloth.
She stiffened under his touch and her gaze went distant. Abruptly, she stood, moving out of reach.
"If not Daniella," she said, "then who?"
Her rejection pricked his feelings. She'd been acting standoffish ever since the brakes went out.
"It has to be her. Christie Carter couldn't have done it. She didn't have enough time. Besides, how could she possibly know what car you were driving?"
"How would Daniella know? She hasn't seen me driving around."
"She could have asked at the desk."
"So could anybody. Anybody could have opened the brake lines. For all you know, it could be an employee."
"Now you're being ridiculous."
He patted the step next to him. "I'm being practical. Come on, sit with me. You're all agitated."
"Somebody is trying to kill you, Tristan! And she doesn't care who she hurts, either. Me or William or anyone else who happens to be around. Do you think it's going to end just because Mike took your fingerprints? What happens when you leave? You'd be easy to find in Powder. What's to stop her from hiring a hit man or knocking on your door and shooting you?"
"Why, Ms. Megan," he drawled. "I do believe you care about me."
"You know I care."
His urge to tease her died. "Can't tell by the way you're acting." He patted the step again. "Sit down, talk to me. Why are you mad?"
She hugged one elbow and took agitated sips from the beer bottle. He pushed off the step. Her eyes widened and she danced away. If she were a spooked horse, he'd know what to do, but he doubted roping her, snubbing her short and sweet-talking her nerves away would go over very well. He walked to the edge of the fountain, watching the bubbling arcs. Lights had come on automatically at dusk, adding their sparkle to the lively water.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" he asked.
As if not hearing his suggestion, she said, "Cody is taking Daniella and her group on a moonlight ride. They'll be gone for hours." She turned around, her face set in determination. "I'm going to search her room. I'll find tools or greasy clothes. I'll find proof---"
"You will not!" He stepped in and caught her elbow before she could move away.
She tried to escape, but he refused to let her go. She wasn't mad at him; she was angry at the so-and-so who'd tampered with the brakes. "Daniella isn't carrying tools around in her purple handbag. Besides, you've got no right to snoop around her private belongings. If you get caught, she'll have every right to make trouble for your family."
"You want to wait until she kills you?"
"If she's the culprit, then she did it before she knew who I was. She knows now and she's probably sorry as can be, and glad none of us got hurt."
"If she's so sorry, then why didn't she tell us the car had no brakes? She could have sent an anonymous note. Or written on the windshield with lipstick. I think she did it, and I don't think she's sorry, and she probably thinks all of us telling her that you aren't Bradley Carter is a big conspiracy or something. As far as she's concerned, you're Nicky Alonza. She'll try again." She pushed against his hand. "Let go of me."
"Not until you calm down."
"Don't expect me to act nice!"
He hated that old cliché about a woman being beautiful when angry---but she was gorgeous right now. Her color was high and her eyes flashed fire, her full lips parted while her breasts heaved. He curled his arm around her neck, trapping her head against the crook of his elbow and kissed her.
She resisted, but he kissed her, anyway, capturing her sweetness, growing drunk with the mingling of tart-sour beer and honeyed Megan. Her lips parted to allow him entry, and her slim hands stopped pushing and began holding him. The fountain water ruffled to match the erratic excitement of his heart, and he had the odd thought that roping and snubbing worked as well on a woman as it did with a horse.
Only, an animal never made his blood rush like pounding waves against his eardrums or tightened up his muscles at the same time his insides went soft as warm glue. He fingered the lean, sleek line of her back and wanted more.
He kissed her mouth until he couldn't breathe. When he pulled away to drag in air, he desperately needed to kiss her again. He kissed her silken cheeks and the fragile folds of her eyelids and nuzzled the barely thereness of her eyebrows. His hands itched to touch her all over.
He tightened his grip on the beer bottle, the glass growing hot in his hand.
"Tristan," she whispered. "Don't"
"Don't what, honey? Don't stop?" He pressed his nose against her hair, and the heady scent of sunshine and flowers deepened his excitement. He'd like to ravish her now. Slowly, patiently, while watching her skin flush and warm under his hands.
Her body tensed against his, and she worked a hand beneath his arm so she could press his chest, pushing him. "Don't kiss me. It hurts."
"Hurts? I hurt you?" Befuddled, he relaxed his hold enough for her to step from under his arm.
She turned her back on him. "You shouldn't kiss me if you don't mean it. It's not fair."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know."
"Doggone it, Megan, I don't know." His tingling body and the heaviness in his groin distracted him. His head felt as muddy as floodwater.
A woman approached the Hideaway. She wore dark glasses, so he couldn't tell where she looked, but he feared she looked at him. If she glanced below the belt, she'd see a love-hungry fool who didn't know the first thing about courting a lady.
"Let's go inside and talk."
"I'm going back to the lodge." She walked away.
He lunged after her, made a gesture to take her arm, then caught himself in time. He fell into step beside her. The woman left the path and walked quickly through the woods, obviously wanting nothing to do with a lover's spat. Tristan lowered his voice.
"What did I do?"
"Do?" Megan walked faster. "Don't play games with me, Tristan Cayle. You know what you did."
He trotted a step and turned, planting himself in front of her. She skidded to a stop. To his horror, she looked close to tears. He traced ineffectually in the air before her face, wanting to touch her, but afraid to.
"If you have a bone to pick with me, say so."
She glanced at the beer bottle she held, at the trees, at the now pink-and-golden sky---everywhere except at him. "Don't kiss me again."
If she'd punched him in the gut it couldn't have hurt worse.
She breathed raggedly. "I can't...play around. It has to mean something."
"I'm not toying with your affections, honey." He was thoroughly confused now.
"Sex isn't the same for men as for women." Even in the gloom he saw her cheeks redden. "For you guys it's just feeling good and making whoopie."
His mouth fell open. He hadn't even finished one beer, so he knew for darned certain he wasn't drunk and imagining this. "I am not playing with you," he said slowly.
"We both know you aren't serious. I'm much too young for you and we both know it and that's that!"
"Whoa!" He scratched beneath his hat. "You've been telling me all along you're not too young, and now you think you are?"
"I see your point of view, that's all. I was wrong about fate meaning for us to be together. Fate is obviously telling me that you and I are a disaster." She turned away with a groan. "I'm so ashamed of how I acted today. I nearly got you killed."
"What are you talking about?"
"Fighting with William." She closed her eyes and shuddered, her face skewed in a pained grimace. "He needs a real woman in his life. A grown woman. Not me. He hates me, and if we get together, he'll hate you, too."
"Oh."
"He needs a mother. A mature woman who can act like an adult." Her chest hitched with a sob.
"He has a mother, and I'm not looking to replace her."
She backed away from him, shaking her head. "If you and I get together, you'll have a war on your hands. I am what I am, Tristan, and I can't make nice and be sweet when I'm picked on. If that's immaturity, then I'm immature. You deserve better than me."
"We can work things out with the boy."
She kept shaking her head. "Not unless he wants to, and trust me, he doesn't want to. He hates me."
"Now, doggone it, Megan, quit laying all this on the boy. Maybe he's not thrilled about me getting hitched, but he'll get over it."
"Before or after we kill each other?"
"You're not being fair-minded, honey. What's your real problem?"
"I am being reasonable. Which is how I should have been before this whole thing blew up in my face. It was a mistake you coming here and wrong thinking I could fall in love with a guy long distance. Now, excuse me, I have a room to search." She shoved past him.
When he called her name, she broke into a run that carried her swiftly into the gloom.
Tristan stared after her. Absently, he sipped from the beer bottle, knowing he'd scared himself with his own powerful yearnings and been soft with William to boot. His son had an excuse, he was only a boy. Tristan had no such excuses.
He trudged after Megan.
As he crossed the lobby, Kara gestured for him from the desk. He changed direction but eyed the staircase, knowing Megan had gone up to the guest floor.
Kara waved a slip of paper at him. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. You have a message. With all the excitement and everything, I forgot. It's from Bill Cayle. I guess it's a relative?"
He took the message. "My dad. Did he say what he wanted?" The call had come around noon.
"He wants you to call him. Is everything all right? I just saw Megan. She looks upset."
Tristan sighed as he tucked the message slip in his shirt pocket. Everything wasn't all right, but danged if he knew how to make it better.
"You look upset, too. Did you guys have a fight?" She leaned her elbows on the counter and laced her fingers. Her wide-eyed expression invited his confidence.
"Reckon."
"Every relationship has bumps. Meg acts excitable, but she's really pretty coolheaded. Is it about the brakes? You guys shouldn't get mad at each other about that. If it was me, I'd call the sheriff. Not Mike Downes, but Sheriff Townsend. He could make Ms. Falconetti confess."
"Far as I'm concerned, it's over. No harm done."
Kara looked right and left, then lowered her voice. "Are you fighting about the age thing? You're wrong, you know. She's not too young for you. She's always been really mature for her age. When she was competing, she'd put in hours of training and practice, and she still maintained a B average with her grades. She's the most disciplined person I know. When she wants something,
she puts her whole heart into it. And she really loves you. She told me so."
Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. Now that he'd lodged Megan in his life, he couldn't imagine living without her. Before he had a chance to think it over, he was leaning on the counter, telling Kara everything that had happened today. Megan and William fighting in the car, and then Megan deciding she was too young because she couldn't get along with William.
"But that's not true. William doesn't hate Megan. He's a nice kid."
"I know it. The real problem with him is he doesn't want a mother. Fine, I'm not looking to replace Tina."
"Have you talked to him?"
"He only hears what he wants to."
"I can relate to that. Mom says selective hearing is my worst habit." Her face brightened. "I have an idea. I have tomorrow off, so how about I take William hiking? There's a place where we can rock climb. He talks a lot about it, so I know he wants to learn and I can teach him.
I'm experienced, and the climbs are easy enough for toddlers. While he's busy, you and Megan work your problems out. Okay?"
"I don't know...."
"Don't be a big chicken. I know you care about her just as much as she cares about you. Are you going to let your entire relationship go down the drain because of a little misunderstanding?"
"It's not so little---"
"You're just being stubborn." She nudged his hand. "Pride is for sissies. Real men dive in and do it."
Her comment, half insult, half rah-rah, shocked him into a laugh. "Are you calling me a sissy?"
She shrugged. "Pride is just another word for being too chicken to look dumb."
"Your daddy sure didn't teach you girls to pull punches. You're all three as blunt as rubber mallets." He straightened and slapped the countertop. "All right. William can go rock climbing with you tomorrow. Where is he, anyway?"
"He's out in the garage with the Colonel." She nodded solemnly. "You know, for what it's worth, the Colonel never took any crap off us kids. Well, except maybe from Ross, but my brother is on his own planet. When it was time to move or time to do anything, he did what he had to and he didn't take any whining from us. We turned out all right. William will, too."
"Thank you, Kara."
She shooed him with both hands. "So go kiss and make up with Megan."
Pale-faced, sweaty, eyes glazed, Amy stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She leaned heavily on the sink, trying not to breathe in the stink of vomit.
Bradley, her Bradley---kissing another woman! Holding her, fondling her, loving her. How could he? He'd looked straight at her, right at her face, and had pretended he did not recognize her. He looked at her as if she were a stranger. He hadn't even bothered to say hello.
As the nausea subsided, anger rose. She straightened her back and shoulders, and met her reflection with a glare.
"So that's how it is," she said. "That's why he left me. Another woman. Well, we needn't suffer a philanderer! We have our pride." She sniffed and swiped her reddened nose with the back of her hand. "We have our pride."
Head high, struggling against her wobbly knees, she walked out of the bathroom and to the bed. She examined the small tent card describing telephone services before picking up the telephone and dialing Susie's number. She reached the answering machine.
"Hello, Susie, this is Amy," she said, "I am fine. Your car is fine. I just want you to know it is over between me and Bradley. He's found another woman. Fine! They deserve each other. So I'm coming home tomorrow. I'll have my son with me, so please make sure a room is readied for him. Everything is fine, Susie. Everything is perfectly fine...."
TRISTAN FOUND MEGAN exactly where he suspected he would, on the second floor in the guest area. The hallway lined by carved wooden doors marked with brass numbers was deserted, and the thick, flat carpeting muffled his boot falls. He turned a corner and spotted a flash of khaki and a long, elegant leg disappearing into a room.
"Megan!" he called in a stage whisper. "Megan!"
A swing of shiny brown hair appeared, then one eye. He hurried down the hall.
"Doggone it, don't be doing this, honey. At best you'll get yourself in Dutch with your father." Through the open door he saw a bright purple leather handbag slung on the back of a chair. He'd run into Daniella's type before. Not only did she feel a pressing need to be right, but demanded everyone know it, too. The type who kept a stable of lawyers, all of them eager to sue.
She grabbed his arm. "Get in here and shut up." She hauled him into the room. "I won't get caught."
"How do you know?"
"Because Cody took the group up to the campsite. They'll be roasting marshmallows and listening to ghost stories until midnight."
He nervously eyed purple unmentionables draped over the bed's foot rail. "This isn't right."
"She tried to kill you. Even if it's a mistake, which I doubt very much, then she can't get away -with it." She shut the door and locked it.
"It's breaking and entering. Not to mention breaking trust with a guest." His skin itched head to toe, and every noise he made sounded loud as a bass drum. He shuffled away from the bed with its frothy display of purple lace and silk.
She dangled a key attached to a polished wood fob. "It isn't breaking and entering. I have the master key. Considering she's tried to kill you three times, I'm not real worried about her trust issues. Okay? Listen at the door."
"You're crazy, girl."
"I'm not the one who thinks murder attempts are no big deal." She pulled open a dresser drawer. "Bad luck, my foot."
Knowing the only way to stop her would be to pick her up and bodily carry her out of the room, Tristan suffered paralyzing confusion. With the mood she was in, she'd fight and that would draw a crowd. He pulled off his hat and listened with an ear against the door. She searched the dressers and closet, and even looked underneath the bed. She entered the bathroom and soon emerged, her face alit with triumph as she waved a purple garment.
She showed him the arm of a sweater. "And what is this?"
A black spot smudged the fine knit. "Looks like dirt."
"It's grease." She peered closely at the sleeve. "I bet it's from the bottom of your car. She did it, Tristan, and this is solid proof."
"To you, maybe, but not to anyone else. You'll never prove it in a million years."
"They have all kinds of scientific tests. I bet they can pinpoint exactly where---"
"Megan." He grasped her shoulders, making her face him. "I'm just a country boy, but I know enough to know better than to go around accusing folks. Think about it. She's a business owner, a rich lady. She's got lots of friends and a fancy city life. Who'd believe she'd crawl underneath my car and wreck the brakes?"
"She has a motive."
"According to Janine, lots of folks have a motive."
"Daniella threatened to kill you."
"She knows I'm not Bradley Carter. The deputy talked to her."
"I saw her face, the way she was looking at you. She doesn't believe Nicky Alonza and Bradley Carter are the same man." She smacked him with the sweater. "Why are you being so stubborn? You know she did it, just like she pushed the boulder at us, and then hit my horse."
"In the first place, the rock slide was an accident. In the second place, considering you're the one who had the row with the young'un with a slingshot, I'd say you were the target, not me." He showed her his open palms. "If you're fixing to accuse Daniella you have to prove she thinks I'm that Nicky fellow. Then prove she knew what car I'm driving. Then find someone who saw her tampering with the brakes."
She waggled the dirty sweater in his face. "This is proof."
"It's a dirty shirt. That could be mud, or chocolate syrup, or soot from a fireplace. Could be shoe polish. Use your head, honey. Only proof of wrongdoing around here is you breaking into her room and pawing through her private things. If a hotel employee did that to me, I'd be raising Cain."
Megan's mouth compressed stubbornly. She clenched the sweater so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Why don't you let that universal balance thing do its work. What goes around, comes around. If Daniella wrecked the brakes, then she did wrong and the universe knows it."
Fire faded from her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. A great, crushing tenderness filled his chest as he smoothed strands of hair from her cheek.
"You're a passionate woman, Megan Duke." He desired her passion as he'd never desired anything before.
"She tried to kill you."
"Considering the hell my truck back home puts me through, it's real hard to get excited about losing the brakes. Now, put the sweater back where you got it and let's---"
The doorknob rattled, and a key turning the lock made an unmistakable clack. In Tristan's ears it cracked like a gunshot. His breath caught in his throat and stayed there like a guilty dog with nowhere to hide.
Gasping, Megan whipped the dirty sweater behind her back. Wild escapes flashed through her brain---leap out the window, throw the bedspread over Daniella's head and run through the door during the confusion, or hide in the armoire or underneath the bed.
The doorknob turned. Staring at it, Tristan and Megan backed away.
Daniella Falconetti entered the room, and all hopes of escape vanished.
Megan's heart pounded as visions of her father's wrath flashed through her mind. He'd lecture in an icy voice, turn from her in disgust, then turn back to lecture again. Worst of all would be the pain in his eyes, that awful mingling of disappointment and confusion. She'd never be his good soldier again.
Daniella Falconetti opened her mouth as if to scream, but all that came out was a wispy eek. In that moment of frozen shock, Megan took in the sight of the woman's mud-streaked violet denim jeans, dirty sweater covered in oak leaves and pine needles, mussed hair and ripped gloves. She looked as if she'd dropped off a cliff.
Daniella focused her glare on Tristan. A dark flush spread across his face and over his neck and ears.
Daniella recovered her composure quickly, managing an elegant stance despite her filthy clothing and dirty face. There were scratches and red spots on her face, the redness showing signs of evolving into bruises. "What are you doing in my room?"
Megan mused that the universe acted very quickly. Tamper with brakes, get dumped off a cliff---if that wasn't balance, nothing was.
Keeping an eye on them, Daniella stalked through the room as if assessing what may have been stolen or vandalized. Megan turned to face her, keeping the sweater behind her back.
"Answer me! Explain what are you doing in my room." She snatched up the telephone. "Shall I call your father? The police? Answer me immediately."
Megan swallowed hard, unable to speak. What about her mother? Elise rarely lost her temper and never raised her voice, but the look of weary sadness in her blue eyes always crushed Megan and made her wish for punishment.
Tristan wrapped an arm around Megan's shoulders. "It's my doing, Ms. Falconetti. I lost the brakes on my car and nearly got killed, not to mention my boy and Megan. So I made Megan here---"
Megan gasped. She'd be disgraced, but he was setting himself up for a lawsuit or jail time. "Stop it, Tristan!" She jangled the master key for Daniella to see. "I used the key to get in the room. Tristan tried to stop me, but I insisted because you tried to kill him. Go ahead and call my father." She thrust the dirty sweater in Daniella's direction. "There's grease on this sleeve. I know you tampered with the brakes. So better yet, call the sheriff. I'd love to see what he thinks of this."
Daniella slowly lowered the handset to the cradle. Her gaze was cool as blue marble. "You'll never prove anything."
Megan's breath caught in her throat. Tristan's arm muscles contracted, tightening around her shoulders. He heard it, too---Daniella didn't deny the murder attempt. If anything, her rigid stance and gelid gaze defied them to try and prove her guilt.
"My son was in that car, ma'am." His voice lowered, the anger barely held in check. "We could have crashed in the mountains and gone over a cliff. We could have hit another car. Is mass murder worth getting even?"
Daniella's lips tightened and paled, but she lifted her chin.
"You're thinking I'm Nicky Alonza, but I'm not. I never met you before, ma'am. I'm sorry as can be you were hurt, but I didn't do it."
Megan advanced a step and the woman flinched, her nostrils flaring as if smelling the danger. "Go ahead, Ms. Falconetti, call the sheriff. We'll get to the bottom of this one way or another."
Daniella stepped away from the telephone and crossed her arms. She gazed out the window at the black forests in the distance. "If some person tampered with your automobile, then it was most likely a mistake. A foolish act partaken in the heat of passion. An act you could never prove in a million years, so you may as well forget it. As I will forget this invasion of my privacy."
Megan gawped in astonishment. Daniella all but admitted she'd committed a crime, and then dared to make deals? "Ha! I'm supposed to let you get away scot-free? You're out of your ever-lovin' mind, lady. I'm not making any deals."
"If you pursue this, so will I!" She pointed a rigid finger at Megan. "I will ruin you! This---this---man taught me well how to plunder and pillage. I will sue this resort and your family, wresting first your wealth and then your name." She tossed her head, her pale hair whipping over her bruised cheeks. "I will ruin you as that monster destroyed me."
Megan's mouth fell open. "Go ahead and try, you---"
"Hold it." Tristan spread his arms as if separating prizefighters. "Just hold on, ladies. What we have here is a standoff, and all the yelling in the world won't find a solution. Give me the sweater, Megan."
Loathe to part with the evidence, she hugged it to her breast. He held his hand out, waiting patiently, his gaze steady and firm. She handed it over, reluctantly.
Her gaze murderous, Daniella groaned. "That is my sweater! Thief! It is bad enough you would steal from me, my family and my fortune, but you must stoop to stealing my clothing, as well?"
"I am not Nicky Alonza. I never have been him and never will be. If you can't believe me or the sheriff, then hie on over to California and look at the man yourself. Shoot, he's locked up, not going anywhere." He stretched out the sweater sleeve, revealing the greasy smudge. "As for this sweater, well, let's not call it stealing. Let's call it safekeeping, ma'am."
"Safekeeping? This is American euphemism for theft?"
"Don't know about euphemisms, ma'am. I've got more in mind a trade."
"No deals, Tristan. She's going to prison! If not for tampering with the brakes, then for hitting Doc!"
At that, Daniella narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I hit no doctors."
"My horse! You hit my horse with a rock and nearly killed me."
"Well!" Daniella clamped her arms over her bosom and appeared genuinely offended. "Princess Amore uses no animals in cosmetics testing, and I personally would never in a million years harm a horse. I am disgusted you would accuse me of such a despicable act!"
Megan raised an eyebrow. "All right, fine, you didn't hit my horse. What about nearly creaming me with a boulder?"
Daniella sniffed and examined her wounded hands. She picked a piece of debris off her reddened palm. "These mountains are very dangerous. Everywhere there are signs, Beware Of Falling Rocks." A cold grin thinned her lips. "You should take such good advice."
"Why, you---"
Tristan grabbed Megan's arm, preventing her from launching a frontal attack. "Ladies, ladies, this is getting us nowhere." He glanced between Daniella and the sweater. "Reckon the police have all kinds of tests to figure out where stains and such come from. I imagine with the right kind of incentive they could pinpoint right on the nose where, say, a spot of grease comes from?"
Megan's mouth dropped open. Only minutes ago he'd been telling her the stain wasn't proof of anything.
"You hush all that hot talk about suing and such, and put right out of mind any ideas about me being Nicky Alonza. In exchange, I'll put out of mind giving this sweater to the police."
"That is blackmail," Daniella said through her teeth.
"Call the sheriff, then. I'll hand over the sweater and be done---"
"No! You can never prove I did anything." Her chin quivered and tears glazed her eyes. "You took from me everything! You left---"
"Hush. I did no such thing."
She reached out with both hands, her fingers grasping air. "Give me my sweater!"
"This sweater's going to a safe place, ma'am. Can't see a lady like you wearing it, anyway. It being stained and all."
Megan saw it in Daniella's face and rigid posture. Nothing Tristan or the sheriff or any member of the Duke clan could say would ever change Daniella's mind. She looked at Tristan and saw the man who'd been the subject of her revenge fantasies for twenty years. In other words, she was completely nuts.
"Here's the deal, ma'am. You check out of the resort. Tonight." He nodded, as cold as a poker player holding a royal flush. "You're not going to sue, you're not going to do anything except smile and square your bill. You're not going to bother the Dukes, or me, ever again."
Slowly lowering her hands, Daniella sniffed loudly, recovering her haughtiness. "You are a liar and a thief. Why should I believe anything you tell me?"
"Back home we've got a saying. If a mule won't heed reason, make him listen to a two-by-four. One way or the other, ma'am. It's up to you." He shook the sweater. "Here's the two-by-four."
"You can't make a deal with her," Megan protested. "She's a killer."
Daniella flinched, her eyes narrowing. "I think I have had more than enough peaceful wilderness and rustic charm." She sank to the edge of the bed and studied her scraped hands. "You are a fool, Miss Duke, but what can I say? He has deceived better women than you, a hard lesson you will learn soon enough."
"Ms. Falconetti has some packing to do." He took Megan's elbow, herding her toward the door.
Megan started to argue, but Tristan tightened his arm and shook his head. It's over, he told her with his eyes, drop it.
Over her shoulder, she said, "At least you could say you're sorry."
Daniella Falconetti lowered her eyelids in a slow, reptilian blink.
Karma's going to get you, Megan thought sourly. She and Tristan walked out of the room. Megan managed to contain herself until they left the guest lodging area, but every footfall whispered stupid Once they were in an alcove with some privacy, she turned on Tristan.
"Are you crazy? She all but admitted to attempted murder---twice!---and you're letting her go?" She made a grab for the sweater, but Tristan shoved it behind his back. "We have to turn that over to the police. We can't let her get away with it!" He smiled blandly. "Calm down, honey."
"Don't 'honey' me, Tristan Cayle. You're letting---"
"I'm not letting nobody do nothing. It's over. She's leaving and won't bother us anymore."
She searched his face, and his calm demeanor had the opposite affect on her agitation. Her insides twisted into knots. "She tried to kill you. Us. Me!"
"She's mad, hurt, and she did something stupid, but nothing bad came out of it." He grimaced at the sweater. "We can't prove anything with this, anyway."
"They can do tests---"
"So what? Grease is grease. I use barrels of it at home, and it's all the same. Slap it under a car, on the tractor, on hinges. Ms. Falconetti isn't going to confess to anything. She's got too much to lose. Now, I gave the lady my word, and as long as she keeps hers, I'll keep mine. That's that."
She shoved his chest with both hands. Caught off guard, he stumbled and had to grab at the wall for balance. He looked shocked.
"I was right. You are stupid."
She turned on her heel and stomped down the hallway. He called her name, but she walked faster.
He was just too dumb to love.
"I CANNOT BELIEVE she checked out like that," Janine said. She pushed her spoon around in her oatmeal bowl as she glared across the table at Megan. "Sure, she took a good tumble last night, but she wasn't hurt or anything. Was she hurt, Mom?"
Megan focused on her breakfast. The conversation this morning swirled around Daniella Falconetti. Last night Cody had led the Princess Amore group for a moonlight ride in the forest. When they reached the campfire site for a marshmallow roast and storytelling, Daniella had tripped on her way to the rest room and tumbled down a small hill. The woman had been upset about ruining her clothes, but hadn't claimed any injuries. Still, she'd checked out of the resort. Most members of her group were staying the remainder of the week, but several had left with Daniella. Janine was beside herself with curiosity, especially as to why an astute businesswoman would not only leave early, but pay the entire bill up to and including the days she'd reserved but wouldn't use.
Megan focused on her breakfast. Except for the principle of allowing a criminal off scot-free, she no longer cared about Daniella Falconetti and her idiotic delusions about Tristan being her ex-husband. She had bigger problems.
She'd done the right thing with Tristan. She was too young to be William's mother. If she insisted on pursuing the romance, their squabbling and immaturity would drive Tristan insane. He'd end up having to choose sides. Without a doubt, if either of her parents were forced to choose between their children and another person, they'd choose their offspring every single time. She saw no reason Tristan would be different. Nor would she expect or want him to be.
She'd done the right thing, but it still hurt like the devil.
She watched her father and Janine, still deep in a discussion over Daniella's strange behavior, leave the dining room. Megan wished she hadn't taken the week off. She had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and Tristan wore heavily on her mind.
"Megan?" Elise offered a plate of toast. "Are you all right, dear? You aren't eating."
"I'm fine," she lied.
Last night, she'd stayed up until well past midnight, reading Tristan's letters, seeking some reason in them to hate him or, at least, dislike him, but all she'd done was grieve his loss. No more kisses, no more sweet dreams, no moving to Wyoming to be a rancher's wife. Fate had tromped her for a third time.
"You need to eat something."
"I'm okay."
"Are you ill? You've got big circles under your eyes and you're pale."
Her throat seemed to swell, and her eyes burned. Horrified at being so close to tears, she shoved away from the table. "Where's Kara? I need to talk to her."
"She took William rock climbing."
The sound of Tristan's voice pierced Megan like a stake through the heart. He stood in the doorway, looking big and handsome and so glowingly wonderful Megan feared she might collapse and bawl like a baby. He held his hat over his chest.
"Good morning, Tristan," Elise said pleasantly. "Please, come in and join us." She indicated the chair next to hers.
"Thank you, ma'am. Don't mean to intrude, but I hoped to find Megan before she ate." He jutted his chin at the remains of breakfast on the table. "Looks like I'm too late."
Before Megan could think of a gracious excuse to leave, Tristan had taken a chair and accepted a cup of coffee. His shy smile threatened to break her heart in two.
"What do you mean they went rock climbing?" She stared at her coffee cup.
"Kara offered and William jumped at the chance. It's something he's been wanting to learn for a while. I thought since the boy is busy, you and I could take another stab at Cripple Creek. I'm feeling lucky today."
"It's a gorgeous day for riding the narrow-gauge train," Elise said helpfully.
Don't look at him, Megan told herself. One glimpse of his soulful brown eyes and she'd crumble. She'd hope again, she'd fall in love again.
Elise glanced at her watch. "Oh my, the chef is waiting for me. I do hope you two will be back in time for dinner this evening. He's roasting a suckling pig." She made a gesture at her mouth. "An apple and everything." She hurried out of the dining room, leaving Megan and Tristan alone.
By degrees she grew aware of his steady breathing and knew he was watching her. By degrees, she shifted her eyes until she could see him. By degrees, her stony resolve to hate him melted, leaving her dry and empty and sad.
"Daniella left just like she promised. Are you still mad at me?"
"It was your call." How, she wondered, did Janine remain so cool and in control all the time? Maintaining composure left Megan tense and aching inside; the struggle felt as alien as a coating of wax.
"If you don't want to go to Cripple Creek, we can do something else." He touched the tip of a finger to the side of her hand. "Talk?"
"About what?"
"We never had trouble coming up with a subject before. Would you like to go to Cripple Creek?"
Be a grown-up, she thought. Put an end to this before it grew more painful. "No, I don't want to go to Cripple Creek. I don't want to talk, either." She tossed her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair.
"Now, honey---"
"Don't!" She held up a hand to stop him, averting her face so she didn't accidentally meet his eyes. "You can do better than me and we both know it."
He sipped the coffee, his movements slow and graceful. Her heart weighed a ton in her chest.
"We've got ourselves a big advantage over most folks."
He sounded calm and cool, she noted resentfully. Must be an age thing---around age thirty people learned to control their facial muscles and quivering bellies.
"What advantage?" she asked.
"We know each other." He waited, as if for her agreement, but she was more curious about where he was leading so remained silent. "I know you like trees and wild summer storms and fresh air. You don't like chores, but you like things neat." His grin turned mischievous. "You can't spell too good, but you use big words, anyway."
She lifted her eyebrows. "You're an awful typist, but you tell great stories."
"When you're mad you spout off, but you get over it quick."
"You hardly get mad at all." She knew what he meant, but the what ifs kept clamoring in her mind. What if she went to Wyoming and his family hated her? What if William disliked her so much he turned to drugs or alcohol? What if the boy ran away from home? What if she was a lousy wife? A terrible mother? What if they made love and he thought she was skinny or bony or dumb or awkward? What if she tried really, really hard to do her best, but it wasn't good enough and she failed? What if fate had other plans for her, and all the problems Tristan suffered since meeting her were clues even an idiot could pick up on?
"We don't know everything," she said. "We didn't know William would hate me."
"Answer a question. Hypothetically speaking."
"What?"
He pointed with his chin at the photographs depicting her father's military career. "You never cared for moving. But when your daddy got himself reassigned, you packed up and moved, anyway, because you had to."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Would you be better off if he'd said, no, my kids are unhappy about moving, so I'm not going anywhere?"
She mulled over the question, seeking an honest answer within herself. Finally, she shrugged. "I don't know. Moving around wasn't all bad. I made a lot of friends, lived in great places. Besides, Mom can make a home out of a cardboard box if she has to. Places changed, but the family was always the same."
"Did your father ever place you in danger?"
"No!"
"He put his career over your happiness."
"Yes---no." She stared at the photograph of the Colonel mounted on the cavalry horse. "That's not true. He made sacrifices for us kids. Like taking command of the color guard at Fort Carson. It killed his chances of making general." She smiled sheepishly. "The Olympic training center is in Colorado Springs. He wanted me to have access to the best coaches."
He nodded. "I loved rodeoing. I liked the travel and the crowds and the cheering. I even liked that metal taste in my mouth right before I climbed onto a bull. I was good, honey, real good. But I didn't quit because I got hurt. Shoot, if getting hurt meant anything, I'd be working in an office right now."
"You quit for William."
"That's right. He likes rodeoing as much as I do, and he traveled with me in the summers. I wasn't neglecting him, but I'd be no good to him dead or crippled. So I quit. I'd never knowingly harm my boy."
"I can't be William's mother."
"I'm not asking you to." He placed a hand on her knee. "Hardest thing about being a parent is knowing the difference between what young'uns need and what they think they need."
"Are you saying William needs me?" She shook her head in denial.
"He hardly needs me anymore. What I'm saying is, how we feel about each other has nothing to do. with my boy."
She heard what he said, but he could be wrong. They could marry, and William could end up hating her, and she could hate him back, and that would make Tristan hate her. As much as she wanted Tristan, wanting wasn't enough. She knew from hard experience that wanting was never enough.
Hand in hand, they walked the grounds, meandering along the trails. Tristan noticed the trees and heard the squawking birds, but vaguely. He pictured Megan on the HBD ranch, working side by side with him, sharing meals, sharing his bed. "I love you, you know."
She gave a start, her fingers tensing convulsively around his.
That he'd spoken his thought aloud surprised him. He was glad, though. He'd needed to say it. She frowned up at him, her freckled face glowing with health and youth, so beautiful she pained his eyes. He turned his gaze to the distant sky where a flock of cloud-sheep meandered in a blue pasture.
"When I first laid eyes on you, I lost my nerve. I felt old and foolish, like I had no business even looking at a sweet young thing, much less wanting you."
"It was the skirt," she muttered, and kicked a pinecone, sending it skittering across the path.
He laughed. "Reckon." He sobered, pondering the rise of fear in his chest and the panicky voices in his head reciting his flaws and foibles. His throat had gone dry and gritty, and his lungs ached. It reminded him of climbing onto a bull's back, knowing he was about to get the snot pounded out of him, but wanting it, anyway.
A shriek broke his thoughts and made him jump. Megan jumped, too, hoving toward the sound. Another shriek lapsed into a wail of childish outrage.
"Kids," Megan said, and ran toward the source.
Tristan shoved his hat more firmly on his head and raced after her. She ran like a deer on the uneven path, her footfalls light, and she soon disappeared into a knot of trees around the picnic area. When he caught up to her, she had a headlock on a redheaded boy squirming like a snake on a fishhook. Four little girls huddled together atop a picnic table. All were in tears. Baby dolls and pink plastic cups and saucers were scattered in the grass.
"Hey, Tristan, meet our resident terrorist." Her eyes blazed. She held a slingshot in her left hand, shaking it as if she wanted to rap the boy's head with it. "Benny McTeague, I have had enough."
"I'll tell my mu-thur!" he wailed.
"Yeah? Well, I'm telling Santa Claus you hurt baby dolls with a slingshot!"
The little girls gasped in horror. Benny stopped squirming. Megan dropped the slingshot and shifted her grip so she held the child by both upper arms. She crouched, putting them eye-to-eye.
"Just where do you think Santa spends his summer vacations? Hmm?" She jutted her chin at the girls. "Jennifer, you know, don't you? You went to see him the other day."
"Uh-uh!" Benny cried.
"Yep!" a dark-haired girl said triumphantly. "Went to the North Pole right down the road. I rode a Ferris wheel and petted the reindeers and talked to Santy. I did!" She thrust out an arm, showing off a plastic candy-cane-striped bracelet. "Santy gave me a present."
"There's too many bugs up at the North Pole in the summertime, so Santa comes to Colorado," Megan said. "He gets a suntan, too. How do you think his cheeks stay so rosy? Didn't you see his second North Pole when you were coming up from Colorado Springs? It's right there on the mountain."
Benny's eyes swelled into moons.
"I talk to him all the time," Megan said. "He likes stories about kids who visit Elk River. They make him laugh." Her brow lowered and her voice turned ominous. "But stories about naughty children make him cry. Especially stories about little boys with bad weapons who shoot horses and baby dolls."
All the children were looking worried and highly interested now. Benny's face paled beneath his freckles. Tristan lowered his face to hide his smile.
"I didn't mean to hit your horse," the boy whispered. "It was an accident. Honest"
"Benny!" a woman called. "Benjamin McTeague!"
"Mama!" the boy screeched, resuming his wild struggles.
Megan held him fast. "Are you leaving today?"
"Mama-mama-mama!"
"You just remember, Benny McTeague, even if I can't see you, Santa Claus can." She turned him loose and he bolted like a jackrabbit. She scooped up the slingshot and stood upright Hands on her hips, she glowered after him.
"I did see Santy, Miss Megan," Jennifer said solemnly. "I sat on his lap."
"I know you did, sweetie."
Tristan's belly ached from repressed laughter. Any lingering doubts about Megan being able to hold her own with William vanished. She helped the girls pick up the scattered toys. Tristan pitched in, too.
One little girl looked up and up until she stared at his face. "Are you a cowboy?" she asked.
"Reckon I am."
"I wanna be a cowboy when I get big."
"Me, too," said another girl.
Megan said, "Me, three." Shyly, she reached for his hand. "I want to make sure Benny is checking out." She shoved the slingshot in her back pocket, and the rubber sling bounced against her pert rear end.
"Reckon Daniella told the truth about one thing," he said. "She didn't hit Doc."
Megan replied with a huffy noise and a sniff. "She's still a deranged lunatic."
He tucked her slim hand inside his, and they walked to the lodge. Once inside the lobby, Megan grinned in triumph as she watched a couple and Benny McTeague in front of the registration desk. Surrounded by luggage and ski equipment, they were obviously checking out. The boy spotted Megan and ducked behind his mother.
"Poor kid," she murmured. "He's in for some rough times ahead. His parents let him rule the roost."
"Megan! There you are." With a hand raised, Elise hurried toward them. "I've been looking for you, Tristan. Your father called. He needs you to call him right away."
Wincing, Tristan patted his breast pocket. "Shoot, I got the message yesterday and forgot to call him back."
"He called this morning, dear. He says it's an emergency." She swept the air, gesturing for him to follow. "You can use the telephone in my office."
Emergencies on the ranch ran the gamut from bad weather to sick animals to injured hired hands. Tristan knew his father was capable of handling-almost anything, so imagined the very worst.
In Elise's office, he sat gingerly behind her dainty white desk, half fearing her curlicue-legged chair would collapse and he'd knock over the array of crystal vases on her desk. He called home.
The telephone rang, so he knew the house hadn't burned down.
Megan perched on the edge of the desk, one jeans-clad leg swinging as she watched him with curious worry.
Bill Cayle answered with a gruff "Hello?"
Relieved to hear him sounding hale and hearty, Tristan slumped. "Dad, it's me. I got your message."
"About time you called. I was worried about you. How's my boy?"
"He's fine." Short hairs lifted on his nape. Bill Cayle was stoic as a sleeping bear, and for him to actually voice his worry filled Tristan's belly with ice. "What's wrong?"
"Did you hear about Eula? Old biddy got herself shot."
Tristan nearly dropped the telephone. "How? Is she okay?"
"She's alive, but okay's another donkey tail altogether. They got her at the hospital in Casper all hooked up to machines and such. They still don't know if she'll pull through."
Stunned, Tristan stared blankly across the office. Eula Masterson was a fixture in Powder. He'd eaten her beaten biscuits at church socials and listened to her myriad solutions about fixing what ailed the world. Despite her contrariness and penchant for gossip, he loved her, as did every other person in the county.
"Riley over at the feed store says he saw a woman running out of the post office after Eula got shot. The FBI is crawling all over town, only I don't think it's a robbery."
"Why is that?"
"Quit interrupting and I'll tell you. This fellow called me, name of Melvin Place, a private investigator out in Ohio. News about Eula went nationwide, made all the papers. The FBI don't take lightly a postmistress getting shot, so they've got wanted posters and such sent out all over." He whistled, low and wondering. "Whole town is riled like a hornet's nest."
"What does this private investigator have to do with you and Eula?"
Megan leaned forward, mouthing, "Private investigator?"
"Not me, son, you. Place told me the craziest story. I can't make head nor tail of it. Seems a woman hired him to find you. He thinks she's the woman who shot Eula."
Tristan passed a hand over his eyes and slumped on the chair. "Let me guess, this woman thinks my name is Carter and is saying we're married."
His father inhaled sharply. "How'd you know that?"
"Long story. So why did she shoot Eula?"
"Don't know. After I talked to Place I called the sheriff and he talked to the FBI agents. They haven't gotten back to me yet. If you know what's going on, why didn't you say so?"
Tristan gave his father the short version of the long story, to which Bill Cayle's only comment was clearing his throat. "Did the private eye leave a number where I can reach him, Dad?"
"Hold on a second."
Covering the mouthpiece with a hand, Tristan said, "Sounds like Carter has another wife on his trail. She shot Eula Masterson over at the post office."
Megan's mouth fell open. His father came back on line and recited a telephone number. Tristan wrote it down on the back of an envelope.
"Are you all right, boy?"
"Right as rain, Dad. Let me call this fellow. I'll tell you what he tells me."
After he rang off, Megan touched her fingers to his chin. "Why did Carter's wife shoot Eula? You told me everybody loves Eula."
"I'm fixing to find out." He dialed the Ohio number.
A woman answered with a cheerful "A-1 Investigations and Security. May I help you?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'm looking for a fellow named Melvin Place. Is he in?"
"May I ask who's calling, please?"
"Tristan Cayle, ma'am. Long distance from Colorado."
"One moment, please."
The line went silent for a few seconds, then a click, and a man said, "Mr. Cayle, it's good hearing from you."
"Maybe so, maybe not. What's this about you looking for me on account of Bradley Carter?"
To his credit, the man didn't waste time on pleasantries. He launched into a terse recounting of his dealings with a woman named Amy Carter. She'd asked him to find her missing husband, one Bradley Ellis Carter, and the son she claimed he'd stolen from her. The only information she possessed consisted of an expired driver's license and a photograph of Tristan torn from a rodeo magazine. It had taken Place only a few telephone calls and some computer research to find the address for the HBD Ranch in Powder, Wyoming. Place had given the address to Amy Carter, collected his fee and thought the case was closed.
Until he read the news item about the shooting in Powder. The timing, location and description of the alleged shooter were too much coincidence for Place. He'd learned Amy had spent the last fifteen years in and out of psychiatric hospitals and jails.
"What was she in jail for?" Tristan asked.
"Shoplifting and arson, mostly. The most serious charge dealt with causing a disturbance in a schoolyard. She was caught trying to entice a boy to leave with her. The school officials confronted her and it got ugly. I talked to this woman's sister, Mr. Cayle. Amy is seriously disturbed, and if she's the one who shot the woman in Powder, then she's dangerous, too."
"Sounds like it."
"Your father told me you have a teenage son."
"Yes, sir."
"This is bad. According to the sister, after Amy married Bradley Carter he robbed her blind, stole her car, ran up a big bunch of debts and left her pregnant."
The prickling worsened on Tristan's neck. "I am not Bradley Carter. He's locked up in prison in California."
"I know that now. I also know her child was stillborn. The sister said Amy was shaky before Carter, and lost it completely after the baby died. She suffers from delusions the child is still alive."
"Did you tell the FBI?"
"Yes, sir. I have a feeling an agent will find you pretty soon to have a chat." A long pause, then the private eye spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cayle. I thought it was a simple missing person. I didn't know it was mistaken identity. You look exactly like Carter."
"So I've been told, sir."
Tristan hung up and tried to push down the sick feeling of dread crawling through his chest. "Kara said she was taking William to a place called Snowcap. Do you know where it is?"
"It's a couple of miles from here. What's going on? You're white as a ghost."
He jumped to his feet. "Another lady thinks I'm Carter. Only she isn't after me, she's hunting my boy. What's the fastest way to Snowcap?"
"There's a trailhead in the national forest. We can drive there in twenty minutes. What does this have to do with Eula?"
"I don't know. We can figure it out after I find William." He grabbed her hand. "Come on."
Megan dug in her heels. "Wait a minute! Did Kara and William hike to Snowcap or take a car?"
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. He struggled against rising panic. Powder was a long way away, and the crazy woman had not only the local law after her, but the FBI. Amy Carter couldn't know he was in Colorado---unless Eula had told her. He breathed slowly and deeply for a few seconds, telling himself William was fine, having a great time crawling on the rocks with Kara.
"Tristan?" Megan peered with concern into his face. "Why is Carter's wife after William?"
"Her baby died, but she's thinking William is hers. I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling." He strode down the hallway toward the back door. He'd taken several steps before realizing Megan didn't follow. "Come on."
"Wait," she said calmly. "It makes a difference if they hiked or took a vehicle to the trailhead. Which one?"
He threw his hands in the air. "What difference?"
"If they hiked, they'll go to the north face, but if they took a car they'll go west. We can't go from the north face to the west face without climbing gear. It makes a big difference." She hurried to his side, took his arm and gently guided him in a circle facing the door. "You need other shoes. You'll kill yourself in those boots. I'll check the garage for Kara's truck. If they hiked, we can take horses and catch up to them."
"I best call the sheriff. The private eye said the local FBI have been notified, but I haven't seen head nor tail of them."
She rubbed his shoulder, her hand strong and soothing. "William is fine. Kara will take good care of him. Besides, that woman doesn't know William and she won't know where he's gone."
"His picture was in the newspaper with mine. Remember?"
"I forgot about that. Oh, God. Change your boots and I'll find out which way Kara went. I'll meet you back at the parking lot."
Unable to shake the scared feeling, Tristan hurried out of the lodge and down the gravel path to the cabin. Wind rustling the trees had a nip to it; the air was cooler now than it had been at sunrise. To the east the clouds were gathering into a bank, still fluffy and white, but now streaked with patches of ominous gray. It would be his bad luck to get caught in a Colorado thunderstorm.
He entered the cabin and went straight to the closet, thanking fate he'd brought a pair of athletic shoes suitable for hiking.
"Hello, Nicky."
Bending over, his hand on a shoe, he froze. Moving his eyes only, he glimpsed purple. Not now, he thought wearily, and straightened slowly.
Daniella Falconetti stepped from the bathroom. She held a .22 automatic pistol, small but effective in close quarters. He'd seen the damage a .22 round could do to a varmint. No way did he want one ripping around inside his guts. He put up his hands.
"Ma'am," he said. "I don't have time for this. I have to find my boy."
"I remember so well how urgent are your needs. A man of great importance, with grand dreams and a lust for life." She waggled the gun, indicating a chair. "I am no longer the timid girl you married. I have needs, too."
"I am not Nicky Alonza." Never lowering his hands, he eased onto a chair. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"
"Proof," she said with a sneer. "It is, how you Americans say, in the pudding." She approached in a slow glide, her hips swaying and her hand steady. "Ah, but no longer do you have the pudding face. You've aged well, Nicky. Time has been kind to you. You are quite handsome."
"We had a deal, ma'am. I kept up my end---"
"Always the wheeler-dealer, are you not? You have forgotten, then, I do not make deals." She pulled a chair around and sat, but remained alert, the gun never wavering. "Let me explain to you what has changed about me, Nicky. Since you, there have been four husbands. Each has left me a little stronger, much wiser, and much, much richer. I do the using now, Nicky. I set the terms and all abide by my rules."
"Okay, fine! You want to think I'm Nicky, think it. What do you want from me?"
Her eyebrows curved into arcs, and she fluttered her false eyelashes. "What I want, Nicky, my darling love, is for you to keep one promise that you made."
He glanced at the door, wanting to find William and willing to deal with the devil herself if it meant doing so. "What promise?"
"Until death do us part, Nicky. I want you dead."
WHERE IS THAT MAN? Megan wondered. Standing on tiptoe, she swept her gaze over the parking lot. He'd gotten her royally worked up about finding William and now he was piddling around with his shoes. She glanced over her shoulder at the barn where Cody was saddling horses.
Alerted by a crunch of gravel, she glanced at Janine. Brow furrowed, her mouth pursed, Janine hurried to her sister's side. "Mom says there's trouble. What's going on?"
"You'll find this amusing. A nut who thinks Tristan is Carter is looking for William. And she has a gun. She shot the postmistress in Powder and she's wanted by the FBI."
"Huh?"
Megan waved in dismissal. "It's a long story. Right now, we're going up to Snowcap to find Kara and William."
She'd reached the point where she was wearied of waiting when she saw Tristan emerging from the trees near the Hideaway. Waving, she called, "It's about time! The horses---"
Janine grabbed Megan's arm and pulled it down. "That's Daniella!"
A blonde in a purple pantsuit walked behind Tristan. Very close behind him with her right hand pressed against his back. The pair aimed for a lavender Cadillac parked near the exit. Tristan stumbled and thrust out his arms, then he nodded.
"Go on, honey," he called. "I'm going for a little ride."
Unreal, Megan thought, and planted her hands on her hips. She'd told Tristan he was stupid for making a deal with that woman. "Hey!" she shouted, and jogged across the parking lot.
A glint of metal registered in her brain, and she ducked behind a guest's car. That nutcase had a gun!
Janine stumbled against Megan's back. "She's got a gun! What's she doing with a gun?"
"Trying to kill Tristan!" Megan peeked over the hood of the car. "Are you nuts, lady? You can't kidnap a man in broad daylight." Janine clawed at her to get down, but Megan pushed her away.
"This is a personal matter, Miss Duke. It does not concern you. You'll thank me later. I save you from your romantic foolishness!"
Megan peered over the car hood in time to see Daniella give a set of keys to Tristan. The demented woman expected him to drive off with her. When she dropped back into a crouch, the slingshot in her back pocket jabbed her hip. She whipped it out of her pocket and thanked fate for giving her a weapon. She scooped up a marble-size piece of gravel and fitted it in the sling.
Janine's eyeballs practically bugged from the sockets.
Megan jumped to her feet, readied, aimed and let it rip.
The pebble disappeared into the sunlight. If it got anywhere close to Daniella, neither she nor Tristan gave a sign. Ignoring the way Janine hissed and pulled at her trouser leg, Megan found another pebble. Tristan had the car door open, and Daniella angrily gestured at him to get inside. Megan fired. This time she struck the Cadillac.
"Hey!" Daniella aimed the pistol in Megan's direction.
Megan dropped behind the car and frantically sought another missile-size pebble. Daniella loosed a screech. Megan popped up in time to see Tristan with his arms wrapped around the woman from behind, lifting her off her feet. He shook her like a sack of dirt, squeezing so the cords stood out on his forearms and his face reddened, but she still fought grimly, trying to raise the gun. Megan dropped the slingshot and raced between the cars to the Cadillac. She grabbed the gun in her left hand and Daniella's arm in the other, then jammed her thumb between the tendons of Daniella's wrist. The woman yelped and dropped the gun.
"What are you doing with a gun, Daniella?" Janine demanded.
"Give it a rest, Ninny, there's no dealing with this nut. Are you okay, Tristan?"
"Yes, ma'am, but I'm getting real tired of this Carter fellow." Daniella ceased struggling, but he held her fast, her toes barely dragging in the dirt.
"I'm calling the sheriff," Janine said.
Megan looked around the parking lot. Nobody else was in sight. She reached inside the Cadillac and hit the trunk release. It swished open with a metallic sigh. "Put her in the trunk, Tristan. Ninny, you call the sheriff and handle this. Tristan and I have to find William. And you better find the Colonel, too."
Daniella began screaming and kicking, but her struggles had no effect on Tristan. He toted her easily around the car and hoisted her into the trunk.
Megan pointed the gun at Daniella's face. "I am so sick of you."
The woman clamped her mouth shut and cringed. Megan shut the trunk. Daniella pounded on the trunk and screamed. Ignoring her, Megan handed the gun to her sister, who accepted it as if it were made of rotten meat.
"When the sheriff gets here, tell him we've gone to Snowcap. In the meantime, he should talk to the FBI about the shooting in Powder. It might have to do with Tristan and another wife thinking he's Carter."
"You can't leave," Janine said, pulling a face at the gun. "What other wife? Christie Carter?" She shook her head in denial. "She went back to Denver---"
"Another one," Megan said. "Only this one thinks William is her kid. I'll tell you all about it when we find William."
Janine clamped a hand around Megan's wrist. Her lips parted, and her face paled as she stared at Tristan. "A kid?" she mouthed silently.
"What is it, ma'am? Do you know something?"
"One of the guests has been acting strangely. Employees tell me she's been asking questions about boys, and she's been hanging around the pool when the children are swimming. Some of the parents have complained about her frightening the kids with her questions."
Megan stiffened, remembering Kara telling her about the weirdo. "Is it the lady in the Hideaway cabin?"
Janine nodded. "I was going to speak to her this morning. You don't think she could be looking for William, do you?"
Tristan held out his hand. "Give me that peashooter, ma'am. I saw that woman this morning. She was watching Kara outfit William in hiking gear. I apologized to her for William making so much noise."
"What did she say to you?" Janine handed over the gun.
"Nothing. She went back inside the cabin. But if it's her, she knows exactly where William is headed." He checked the safety on the pistol, then tucked it in his belt.
Megan tapped her fingers against her mouth, her mind racing. "Okay, Janine, get Mom and the Colonel to help you find the woman. If she's here, tell the sheriff she might be a suspect in a shooting in Powder. If she isn't around, tell the sheriff to send reinforcements up to Snowcap."
"You can't go up there, Meg!"
"I don't have a choice. Besides, Tristan and Cody will be with me." She flashed a reassuring smile Tristan's way. "William and Kara are perfectly safe." She didn't believe her own words for a second. Intuition screamed danger like blue jays spotting a hawk.
Daniella railed at them with muffled threats. The force of her struggles rocked the Cadillac.
Janine slapped the trunk. "Put a lid on it, Daniella!" She took a step, then paused, smiling wanly. "You're a wild woman, Meg. I always knew you had guts, but I never knew you were so brave. Take care of her, Tristan. You guys make a great couple." She broke into a jog, hurrying toward the lodge.
"She's right," Tristan said, squeezing her fingers. "Going up against Daniella's gun. Girl, you need a keeper."
Megan lifted her shoulders. She'd think about what she'd done and feel the fear later. "I had a slingshot. We were even."
The hiking trail leading to the cliff formation called Snowcap was well marked but narrow. Cody, Tristan and Megan rode single file, the horses' hooves pounding a dull rhythm in the quiet forest. Megan envisioned Kara's amusement and William's sneer when their rock climbing was interrupted. They'd all have a good laugh over Tristan's worry. A nice, safe laugh back at the lodge, where by now the sheriff would have Daniella and the strange guest in custody.
"Heeyup!" Cody urged his mount up a steep hill. The bay gelding put his muscles into lunging up the incline made slippery by loose dirt and pine straw.
Tristan and Megan waited until Cody reached the top before they urged their horses one at a time after him. Once on the hillcrest Megan patted Doc's sweaty neck. The temperature had been dropping, and clouds now covered half the sky. Thunderheads built to the east, and streaky curtains of rain grayed the horizon. She wished she'd brought a coat instead of her light nylon jacket.
"I don't see anybody," Cody said, squinting from beneath his hat brim.
Snowcap lay two ridges over, a mound of pale sandstone as bald as a pile of eggs. A favorite among amateur and professional rock climbers, its cliff faces were festooned with pitons. At times, so many climbers gathered, from a distance it appeared infested by ants. Today Snowcap was empty. Megan tried to ignore the prickling along her spine.
"Maybe they're climbing over at the west face," Cody said.
The climb between the north face and the west face was too difficult for a beginner. Kara could do it, but she wouldn't risk William. "They're probably eating lunch." Taking the lead, she urged Doc down the hill.
Once over the second ridge, she began calling for her sister. Her voice echoed off the rocks. Scrub jays yelled back at her. The prickling sensation turned into an itch.
"She could have gone hiking elsewhere," Cody said, but doubt darkened his eyes.
"If she said she's going to Snowcap, then she went to Snowcap." Megan stood tall in the saddle, cupped a hand beside her mouth and called, "Kara!"
Her voice came back in lonesome echoes: Ra...ra...ra...
Tristan dismounted, leaving Itchy's reins trailing. He scrambled over the rocks, climbing to the base of the cliff. He leaned his head far back, looking upward. "William!"
Em...em...em...
They climbed over rocks and pushed through oak tangles, seeking any sign of Kara or William.
Tristan suddenly froze, his posture alert Megan crouched atop a boulder, sensing he'd heard something.
"What is it?" she asked.
He cocked his head. "Do you hear that?"
Pushing upright, Megan strained to hear. Then, faint as a breeze, she heard a cry for help. "Cody!" she yelled, and leapt from the boulder onto another. She skidded on loose gravel and went with the fall, bunching her thigh muscles in preparation of the shock and windmilling her arms for balance. She hit the ground running, ignoring the pains shooting from her knees.
Cody had his pocketknife out and was sawing at ropes binding Kara when Megan reached them. Her sister was curled beneath the low-spreading limbs of a spruce tree, her hands and feet bound, her face covered in blood. One eye was swollen shut, but she smiled at Megan.
"I knew you'd come," she said weakly. She sobbed, her smile trembling. "She's got William. Jane Smith, the lady in the Honeymoon Hideaway. She's got him!"
Tristan arrived and immediately dropped to a crouch to help Cody cut the ropes free. Each man grasped an arm, and they hauled Kara from beneath the tree. She winced with each clumsy step, and tears streamed down her bloodied cheeks. Megan examined the wound on her sister's head. She had a small cut and a huge bruise on her temple.
Kara leaned heavily against Cody, who supported her with one arm. "She followed us from the lodge. She has a gun." She reached for Tristan. "She took William!"
"It's okay, honey, calm down. Take a deep breath, that's a girl. Do you know which way they went?"
"She made William tie me. up. Said she'd shoot me if he didn't do it. I told him to run and he would have, but she hit me. I think I passed out. I don't remember. I'm sorry, Tristan, I'm so sorry. I tried to stop her, but she had a gun and I was so scared she'd hurt William."
Megan turned her gaze west. Smooth and tall, carved by the wind into dizzying angles, the cliff face looked as daunting as a skyscraper. Only an expert climber would make an attempt to go over it, and there was no path in that direction, only rocks, ravines and junglelike growths of vegetation.
"Cody, take Kara back to the lodge. Come on, Tristan, she must have gone that way." She pointed east where the rocks melded into a long razorback ridge angling up the mountain.
"You get back to the lodge," Cody said hotly, his mustache twitching.
"Kara might pass out again. I'm not big enough to keep her on a saddle, but you can."
"I won't pass out." The thin flesh under Kara's eyes had a greenish cast.
"Just do it, Cody. I'll be all right." She pointed east. "Are there any cabins up there that you know of? Any cattle shelters?"
The wrangler squinted. "There's an old mine shaft and a broke-down cabin on the other side of the ridge. Why?"
Megan followed her intuition. "A storm is moving in, so she's probably looking for someplace to hole up." She nodded at the sky, now gray and low. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "She has to go somewhere. Plus, she's from Ohio, so the altitude has to be killing her. She can't get far. Kara, can you make it back to the lodge?"
She sagged heavily against the wrangler. "Don't worry about me. Be careful, she has a gun." She gingerly fingered the goose egg on her bloodied head. "There's something wrong with that woman. Really, really wrong. She kept calling William her baby."
Megan and Tristan headed east on foot. The going was rough over loose rocks and through dense vegetation. In several places they had to climb. Her knees creaked and popped ominously, burning deep within the joints, reminding her of the doctor's dire warnings about ending up permanently crippled if she injured her knees again. She ignored the pain, pushing onward. Behind her, Tristan breathed heavily, fighting for oxygen in the thin air, but he never lagged.
He lost his footing, starting a mini-landslide into a small ravine. He ended up against a tree trunk. Megan picked a careful path to his side. Under other circumstances his self-disgust would be funny. She noticed his cowboy boots---he hadn't had time to change his footwear.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine," he growled, and slapped dust off his hat. Both his arms were scraped bloody from the wrist to the elbow.
They helped each other out of the ravine. A raindrop stung Megan's arm, and she lifted her face in time to catch another squarely on the nose. "Watch your footing. It's going to get slick."
As if her words granted divine permission, the clouds opened. Her riding helmet offered zero protection against the rain. Eyelids lowered against the deluge, she trudged onward, picking her way across the increasingly slippery rocks. Lightning lit up the sky, and every accompanying boom of thunder made Megan feel exposed and vulnerable. She refused to think about being on the ridge, a wideopen target for a bolt of lightning.
She planted her hands atop a rock shelf and hoisted herself. On the ridge, she crouched, head down. Tristan climbed up to join her, and he, too, crouched, his back hunched like a frightened cat's.
"Hate thunderboomers," he said.
Lightning struck so close nearby it tinged the air with ozone and left Megan's ears ringing from the explosive boom. At the moment, she didn't feel so great about storms, herself.
Megan wiped water from her eyes, searching the gloomy forest below for the miner's cabin. "We have to get off the ridge!" she shouted above the wind. "This way. Stay close." The rain eased, no longer battering her icy skin. Still, rivulets cascaded between the rocks and turned the wind-polished sandstone as slick as ice. Using both hands and feet, she inched her way across the ridge and down the other side. At the bottom, she waited for Tristan, who made slow progress as he fumbled for and tested each hand-and foothold.
When he reached her, another bolt of lightning hit the ridge to the west, blinding her. She loosed an involuntary shriek and lurched into Tristan's embrace. Bent over to shield her from the rain, he hugged her close.
Noticing a deer trail, Megan figured the crazy woman would have noticed it, too. She took a step and her right knee locked. She felt the wet snap deep inside her bones.
"Dammit," she whispered. The knee had gone numb, but she knew from experience that was a bad sign. It meant fluid had swelled the tissues and cushioned the nerves. The pain would come later. Pushing aside the dread, she hobbled onward.
"Did you hurt yourself?" Tristan asked.
"I'm okay." She couldn't bend her right knee, but it didn't matter. William mattered.
By the time they reached the trees, the storm had blown farther west and the rain stopped. Water dripped steadily from the branches, and the forest floor had turned black. Each step felt like skidding on a loose cloth atop a freshly waxed floor.
"Where's the cabin?" Tristan whispered, but his voice seemed loud in the still forest.
"I don't know." The words had no sooner left her mouth when she spotted ragged timbers braced at the mouth of a mine shaft. She put out an arm to halt Tristan and pointed.
The mine entrance was blocked off with plywood painted with caution warnings. Moving from tree to tree, Megan searched for the nearby cabin.
"There it is," Tristan said.
The cabin nestled in a small hollow next to a pile of boulders. Overgrown with vegetation, one side had caved in and much of the roof was missing. Rotten wood collapsed in upon itself. Windows and a door were gaping holes.
"Think she's in there?"
"I don't know," Megan replied. "It seems awfully quiet." She looked around. That the woman had followed William and Kara meant she had acted on impulse and did not know the terrain. The nearest road was at least two miles away, and then what did she intend? Hitchhiking with a kidnapped teenager? She absently rubbed her right knee. The swollen joint stretched the wet denim around it as taut as a balloon. She pressed the flesh, feeling nothing at all.
"What's wrong with your knee, honey?"
"I popped it coming off the ridge. But it's okay. It doesn't hurt."
He crouched, peering at her knee. "This is the kind of thing that put you into surgery before."
She cupped his face in both hands. "My wet jeans feel worse." The chin strap of her helmet chafed, so she unsnapped it and pulled off the helmet. She shook her wet hair and wished for a way to pull it off her face as she hung the helmet on a branch.
He cupped her face in both hands and searched her eyes. "You said if you hurt yourself again, you could end up on crutches for the rest of your life."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me, honey. Wait here. I'll go on---"
"Yeah, right! With your luck, you'll fall down a mine shaft. Forget my knees, let's find your kid." She firmly pushed his hands away. "Let's circle around behind the cabin. If they're in there, we can figure out something."
"You don't have to do this."
"You are so stupid. Of course I do."
She blanked out worry about her knees the way she'd once blanked out crowds and the competition in a race. When she'd run a race, the only thing she had noticed was the spot of ground where her foot would strike next. She focused that way now, shutting out the cold, dampness and discomfort; shutting out her fears for the boy. She sneaked through the trees, alert to every sound, and circled around the back of the broken-down old cabin.
She crept to an empty window. Unable to bend her right knee, she rested her hands flat against the wooden wall and supported herself into a one-legged crouch. Tristan was so close behind her, his breath curled hotly around her neck. She listened, heard nothing and shook her head. He dropped his white hat so it didn't blare his location. He touched her shoulder, indicating for her to be still, and he scooted past the window. On the other side of the window, he straightened slowly, his back to the wall. A fraction of an inch at a time, he peered into the cabin.
"Empty," he mouthed, and pointed to a rock near her hand. He mimed chucking it through the window opening and drew the gun from his belt. He flicked off the safety.
She tossed the rock through the opening and heard it thunk on the dirt inside. She heard only the drip-drip-drip of water off the roof. She struggled upright, balancing on her good leg.
Lowering the gun, he said, "They aren't here. Think we passed them on the trail from the lodge?"
"If William heard the horses, nothing that woman could do would have shut him up. Besides, she doesn't dare go back to the resort." She looked around, trying to put herself in the crazy woman's head. "Downhill. Folks not used to the forest always go downhill. There must be a path or a trail or something leading from here. We'll find him." She pushed away from the cabin, hobbling as fast as her stiff knee allowed.
Tristan caught her arm and made her stop. "Wait here at the cabin. Help will be here soon."
"Do you want to find your kid or worry about me?"
"Both."
She managed a smile. "I love you, too, you know. But even if I didn't, I'd still go with you. Fate put me here because you need me. That's that."
He pressed a gentle kiss to her cold lips, warming her from the inside out.
They found a path. Well-worn by hikers, it followed the easiest route between the trees and rocks. Megan walked fast, refusing to consider the damage she was doing to her knees. She could survive surgery or even wearing a brace and using crutches the rest of her life; she held serious doubts about William surviving the crazy woman or Tristan surviving the loss of his son.
The sky cleared rapidly. Shafts of sunlight burst against the wet rocks, making Snowcap gleam and glitter. Steam curled off the forest floor, and Megan's clothing went from soaked to clammy.
Tristan suddenly surged ahead of her and pounced. He scooped a dark orange baseball cap from beneath a bush. "William's." His throat worked convulsively.
Megan turned a slow circle, envisioning how William might have lost the cap. Tristan coursed like a sight hound, zigzagging across the trail, dropping often to a crouch to study the dirt.
"He's running!"
Tristan pointed out a deep footprint in the muddy ground. The toe of the print had gouged deeply into the mud and was now filled with water.
"He's running for Snowcap," Megan said. "They must have struggled and he got away from her." She shielded her eyes with a hand, searching the glittering face of the cliff. "Can you track him?"
Tristan took the lead, following signs of William's wild flight marked by tracks in the mud, gouges in the earth, broken branches and dislodged rocks. The boy had picked up a deer trail, following its twists and turns. Beneath an outcropping, Tristan found three clear footprints in the sandy ground, one the large print of a hiking boot, and two smaller boot prints with distinct heels.
"She's following him by staying on the deer trail." Tristan growled his frustration.
"She thinks he's her baby. She won't hurt him." She rubbed her swollen knee, trying to force some circulation into her lower leg. Her foot tingled with impending numbness.
They pushed onward along the slippery path. Megan noticed Tristan was limping, too, and having trouble maintaining his footing. He'd no more stop to rest than she would, so she kept her worries to herself.
Tristan stopped short. Unable to get both feet cooperating, Megan skidded into him, and both would have fallen if Tristan hadn't caught her with one hand and a rock with the other. "William," he said.
Megan searched the shadows beneath the cliffs. William crouched atop a boulder. In one hand he held a broken branch. He waved it wildly and yelled, but the wind carried his words away.
"Where is she?" Tristan asked, straining to see past the thick growth of trees and bushes.
"She won't hurt him." Megan caught the back of his shirt. "She's been looking too long for him. She won't hurt him, trust me. Go on, but be quiet. We can sneak up on her. Just be careful on the rocks. You can't help him if you break your neck."
They crept along the winding deer path like jungle guerrillas. Megan's heart pounded inside her chest so loudly she felt positive the crazed woman would hear them coming. As they drew closer to William, they heard his rough, choked cries.
"Get away from me! I'll knock you off, I swear! Get away! Help! Help me, somebody! Help!"
Tristan put his hand behind him. "I see her. She's holding a gun. Stay here."
Peering over a rock, Megan saw the woman. She paced like a tigress below the rock where William perched. Her hair and clothing were plastered to her body, and she was streaked with mud as if she'd spent the day sliding into home base. She appeared to be talking, but whatever she said was lost in the distance and the wind. Megan rose higher, noting a wide crack between the woman and the boulder where the boy perched. How William had managed to get up on that rock, Megan hadn't a clue. Sheer terror, she supposed.
"This is one of your standoffs," Megan said, assessing the situation. "She can't go up, he can't get down." She placed her hand over Tristan's. "Cody and Kara should be back at the lodge by now. Help is on the way. The road is probably half a mile that way. Give me the gun and then get to the road."
"I can't leave my boy! You go---"
"Tristan!" She clutched his sleeve and gaped with horror at the scene below.
William had thrown down the branch and now sought handholds to climb the cliff. From where he was, it was at least forty feet to the top of the cliff, a sheer and deadly climb for which the boy was ill-equipped and ill-trained.
"William!" Tristan's bellowing shout echoed off the cliff and caused a momentary hush among the birds and insects. Even the running, dripping water seemed to mute.
The woman spun about and fired the gun. The sharp crack echoed far into the distance. Tristan and Megan hit the mud, flattening themselves behind rocks.
"He'll kill himself climbing." Tristan ground the words out between his teeth.
"Shoot back. Run her off."
Tristan half rolled and grabbed at his belt. The pistol he'd taken from Daniella was gone. He blinked stupidly at his waist.
"You lost it? She knows we're here, she has a gun and you lost our only weapon? Sheesh. I'm going to have to marry you just to keep you out of trouble." She parted slick oak leaves until she could see William. The boy had resumed a four-point crouch on the boulder. She sighed in relief. "He isn't trying to climb anymore. Got a plan, cowboy?"
He inched upward until he could see. "How about I distract her? She knows I'm here, but not you. Think you can sneak up behind her?"
"What do you mean, distract her? She thinks you're Bradley Carter. She'll kill you." She ootched forward on her elbows so she could see. The woman had resumed pacing, but now her attention was focused away from the boy as she searched for Tristan.
William crept to the edge of the boulder and peered down at the woman below. He crabbed backward, looking around wildly. Tristan must have realized the boy was formulating an escape. "That boy's going to do some fool thing."
"I can see that. Give me your hat."
"Why?"
"The old Bugs Bunny hat on a stick trick. I'll go down over there and distract her. You climb up that way and see if you can get a jump on her."
"You aren't making yourself a target."
"No choice. I can't run, and I can't negotiate those rocks. I'll stay down. If I can rattle her hard enough, she might use up her bullets."
William stood upright, gazing toward a boulder perhaps an eight-foot jump away.
Tristan gave her his white straw hat. "Don't risk yourself." His eyes were dark with worry.
His warning came too late. She'd risk anything for him, and nothing he said could stop her. "Listen up. No matter what I do or what I say, you concentrate on your son, okay? Now, yell at him and tell him to stay put." Clutching the hat, she half limped, half crawled through the bushes, headed downhill toward an outcrop of granite.
Tristan yelled at the boy to stay where he was. The woman fired two shots. Megan's belly muscles tightened and she thought she might wet her pants, but she kept crawling through the brush, dragging her useless leg. When she reached the outcrop, she rested her back against the icy rock and breathed hard through her mouth until she could hear past the pounding of her heart.
Another gunshot cracked, splitting the quiet. William screamed for the woman to stop.
Megan peeked over the rocks. She was less than fifty feet downhill from the woman. Horrified at the proximity, she dropped back down into concealment. She stared at Tristan's muddy, battered, leaf-dotted hat and knew her plan was idiotic. If the woman came after her, Megan could not escape.
Shoving aside the dire alarms ringing in her head, she belly-crawled to the end of the outcrop and slowly raised the hat, perching it atop a rock where she hoped the woman would see it. Then she crawled back to the other end of the rocks as fast as she could go.
Dropping her voice into what she hoped was a manly depth, Megan shouted. "Hey, lady! Leave my boy alone!"
The woman spun around, slipped and windmilled both arms wildly for balance. She fell to one knee and fired a wild shot into the air. William screamed and dropped flat on the rock with both hands over his head.
"He ain't yours!" Megan shouted. Attempting a baritone hurt her dry, tense throat.
The woman whipped her head around wildly. The rocks and trees deflected sound, and echoes further confused matters. She grasped the gun in both hands and fired off three shots in rapid succession. She aimed a good twenty yards away from Megan.
"Missed me!"
"Get away from me, Bradley! He's my baby! You stole him from me. I'm taking him back!"
Megan couldn't remember how many shots the woman had fired. Not that it made any difference, since she had no idea how many bullets the woman's gun held. She grasped a loose rock, drew a deep breath, then popped up and threw the rock with all her might. It struck a skinny pine tree with a solid thwack, accompanied by a pelletshot pattering of water shaken loose from the needles. The woman screamed and fired. Once, twice, then nothing. Megan peeked again. She was trying to fire the gun. Her arms jerked, and she stamped her feet and wailed incoherently.
Tristan appeared, slinking out of the shadows above the woman, using his hands as well as his feet to find a path down the slippery rocks. He was about fifteen feet above her, maneuvering a chute between massive boulders.
Fearing the woman might reload before Tristan reached her, Megan grabbed another rock. "I said, get away from my boy!" She threw with all her might. The fist-size chunk of granite sailed over the woman's head and struck Tristan.
Tristan's entire body gave a mighty jerk, and he threw up one hand while the other grabbed wildly for purchase. As if shoved by a giant hand, he skidded down the chute. The woman whirled around, backed a step and disappeared. Tristan caught a jut of rock and stopped short.
"Daddy!" William scrambled to the edge of the boulder as far as he dared. "Daddy!"
Scrambling as fast as her leg allowed, using bushes and trees as handholds, Megan climbed up to the rocks. Tristan hauled himself to a sitting position and sagged, head down and panting.
Megan reached his side and dropped to the rocks beside him. She draped her arms around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. They clung to each other in silence.
"Daddy?"
Tristan looked up. "I'm okay, boy. What about yourself?"
"That lady ain't moving."
Tristan and Megan edged across the rock. Between the boulder and the shelflike rock where they sat, a three-footwide crevasse angled steeply into the base of the cliff. Amy Carter was crumpled facedown, as still as the surrounding stone. Megan averted her face.
"Don't look at her, son. Just stay where you are." Grimacing, Tristan rubbed his left leg above the boot and slanted a look askance at Megan. "Should have warned me pegging me with a rock was part of the plan."
She lifted her shoulders in a sheepish shrug. "Sorry about that. I throw like a girl. Do you love me, anyway?"
He grinned, and some of the strain left his beautiful eyes. "Reckon."
Pattering sand and then a solid thunk marked William jumping from the boulder. Before either Tristan or Megan could yell at the boy for his recklessness, he had his arms wrapped around both of them. He hugged Megan so tightly she wheezed.
"It's all right, son, it's over." Tristan patted William's back. "It's all right."
William sat back on his haunches. He was muddy and a bruise darkened his chin, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Megan pressed a fist between her breasts. Her chest ached.
"Did you find Kara?" William asked.
"She's fine. She's gone back to the lodge with Cody." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "You are one brave kid, Billy-boy."
He grinned crookedly. "You're not so bad yourself, Meggie-girl."
TRISTAN LIFTED the ice pack off his bruised thigh and decided he had muscle soreness, but no real damage. The bathroom door opened, and William emerged in a cloud of steam. He scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. Love and lingering fear collided in Tristan's chest.
"How you feeling, boy?"
"Okay. Hungry. What about you?"
He grinned. The FBI had shown up finally, along with local law enforcement. Other than giving Tristan, William and Megan a ride back to the resort, they'd proved about as useful as a wet dog at a tea party. FBI agents had asked a million questions, given darn few answers and kept everybody waiting around for hours. "Right as rain. As soon as you're dressed, call your granddad. He's worried about you." He watched his son gather clean clothing. Despite a hairless chest and a concave belly, William was more man than boy. Four short years, he thought sadly, and his boy would be on his own. "William?"
The boy turned around. "Yes, sir?"
"I'm in love with Megan."
William lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "I figured that part out."
"I'm not saying you have to love her. Shoot, don't even have to like her if you don't want to. But you'll show her respect. I'll be courting her. We might end up married. No more mouthing off to her or giving her a bad time."
William surprised him with a laugh. "You know, Daddy, after seeing her in action up on that mountain today, I'd be loco to mess with her. Be like poking a bear with a stick."
Warmth flooded Tristan's insides. Everything would work out all right. He felt it in his bones. "Reckon."
MEGAN HATED CRUTCHES. They hurt underneath her arms, and she had blisters on her palms. Squeaking along the wooden floor, they made her feel clumsy as a newborn calf. Considering she'd been very, very lucky in that she hadn't crushed her kneecap or ripped any tendons loose, she refused to complain. She faced a few weeks on crutches and a year of light activity, but she'd heal.
Amy Eugenia Carter had not been so lucky. The fall had killed her. Fate had dealt the woman an unkind hand, a life of loss, grief and madness. Megan hoped the woman did better in her next life.
Nor could Daniella Falconetti claim good fortune. Her antics at the resort left her facing a prison term.
She turned into the dining room. Tristan, the Colonel, William and another man rose from the table. Her mother and sisters smiled as Tristan hurried to her side and helped her onto a chair. Megan questioned Tristan with her eyes. She thought they were supposed to have a quiet lunch, so she wondered why the entire family had gathered.
"Honey, this is my father, Bill Cayle." Tristan indicated the newcomer. "He drove down to fetch me and the boy. Says the way my luck is running, he doesn't trust me on an airplane. He brought good news, too. Eula Masterson is recovering. She'll back in the post office in no time."
Relieved and pleased the postmistress---whom she hoped someday to meet---would be okay, Megan extended a hand. Bill Cayle was a strapping six-footer with a shock of gunmetal gray hair and a huge black mustache that completely covered his mouth. He shook hands with her, his grip so tight her fingers went numb.
"You're even prettier than he said, Megan. It's a pure pleasure meeting you."
Megan's cheeks warmed. "It's very nice meeting you, too, Mr. Cayle."
He clapped her on the shoulder, nearly knocking her off the chair. "Call me Dad, sweetheart. All my kids do."
Lifting her brows, Megan turned to Tristan. It tickled her to see him blush.
"I haven't asked her yet, Dad," he muttered.
"Why not? Thought that's what you came down here for." He looked to the Colonel, who harrumphed and locked his hands behind his back. "You're about the piddlingest boy, Tristan. Shoot, you keep on dawdling and some other fellow's gonna rope her. She's too darned pretty to run wild for long." He shoved Tristan's shoulder. "Go on. Ms. Elise says we can't eat her grub until you all are engaged."
William, Kara and Janine doubled over with laughter.
If this was a marriage proposal, Megan thought, then it was the strangest one she'd ever heard of.
Tristan slicked a hand over his hair. He'd turned red to his earlobes. "Uh, Megan---"
Bill Cayle shoved Tristan's shoulder again.. "Do it right, son. Sheesh, down on one knee, like you're supposed to." He rolled his eyes and looked to the Colonel. "Old man, do your young'uns give you this much trouble?"
"Without fail," the Colonel replied.
Megan decided she liked the old rancher very much.
Tristan lowered himself to one knee. He took her hands and rested them on her lap. "Megan, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"
She sighed. "You bet, cowboy." She pressed a kiss of promise to his mouth.
"Hello! Anybody home? Hey, you didn't have to throw a party for little ol' me!"
Every head turned to face the doorway. "Ross!" Megan, Elise, Kara and Janine yelled in unison.
With his arm around his wife's slim waist, Megan's brother strolled into the dining room. Dawn tore away from him to accept joyous hugs and kisses from the family. Frustrated by her inability to join the mob, Megan held Tristan's hand and fairly bubbled with the news of her engagement. Ross and Dawn would be delighted.
What's more, Megan could get even for the fluffy, marshmallow-sundae dress she'd had to wear to Dawn and Ross's wedding.
Dawn held out her arms to Megan. She gazed in dismay at the soft cast enclosing Megan's leg. "Oh, dear, you've hurt yourself again...." Her voice trailed as she met Tristan's face. Her eyes widened and color drained from her cheeks. "Quentin?"
Ross's eyeballs fairly bugged from his head. "Bayliss?"
A collective groan curled through the dining room.
Tristan sighed and rose to his full height. Grinning at Megan, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "How do, ma'am. You must be Dawn. I'm Tristan Cayle from Powder, Wyoming, and I'm fixing to marry your sisterin-law here. But first I reckon I ought to explain...."
Here's a sneak peek at Colleen Collins's RIGHT CHEST, WRONG NAME Available August 1997...
"DARLING, YOU SOUND like a broken cappuccino machine," murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.
Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn't. If he sounded like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.
"What mischief did you and your friends get into at your bachelor's party last night?" she continued.
She always had a way of saying "your friends" as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn't swollen to twice its size.
"You didn't do anything...bad...did you, Russell?"
"Bad." His laugh came out like a bark.
"Bad as in naughty."
He heard her piqued tone but knew she'd never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.
After agreeing to be at her parents' pool party by noon, he untangled himself from the bedsheets and stumbled to the bathroom.
"Pool party," he reminded himself. He'd put on his best front and accommodate Char's request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he'd slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.
He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.
Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. "Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel."
His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he'd been struck by lightning. "Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?" he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.
Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell's gaze dropped.
"What in the---"
Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.
Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.
"A red heart?" His voice cracked on the word heart. Something---a word?---was scrawled across it.
"Good Lord," he croaked. "I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it."
Not Charlotte. Liz!
eISBN 978-14592-6844-9
THE CASE OF THE BAD LUCK FIANCE
Copyright © 1997 by Jaye W. Menus
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any Information storage or retrieval system, Is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly Inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure Invention.
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