Her hello was slightly breathless, her heart thudding with concern.
“It's Sheriff Brody,” said the voice on the other end. “I heard about your mother. How's she doing?”
Briefly, Leah filled him in.
He asked that she pass on his good wishes. “I just heard back on that set of prints I sent in,” he continued. “I collected on some favors.”
“What did you find out?” Leah asked, a knot forming in her stomach. Was she hoping John had made up the story about being a Buchanan to hide his life of crime? Heaven help her, for the space of a heartbeat she wasn't entirely sure how she felt.
“Whoever your star boarder is, there's nothing on file,” the sheriff said. “Near as we can tell, he's not a criminal, he wasn't in the military and he didn't deliver mail.”
“Actually, his memory came back quite suddenly,” Leah admitted. “We were just talking about it.”
“That's great,” Brody replied. “Who is he?”
Leah hesitated. John might not want her to say anything just yet. “He's a building contractor from the West Coast named John Burns,” she replied. “He picked up a hitchhiker who mugged him and stole his car.”
For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line. “I assume he's going to report this?” Sheriff Brody's voice was dry.
“I think he was planning on coming in tomorrow,” Leah guessed. “With my running back and forth to the hospital, he's had his hands full around here.”
“I guess I can understand that.” Perhaps the sheriff was a little miffed at the wind being taken from his announcement. He
had
gone to a lot of trouble. “Lucky for you he came along when he did.”
Leah agreed and then she thanked him profusely for all he had done. After reminding her to tell her mother hello, the sheriff finally rang off.
“Who was that?” John asked from the doorway.
Leah jumped guiltily and spun around, the receiver still clutched in her hand. “I didn't hear you come in.” Did she sound as defensive as she felt?
Crossing his arms, John leaned against the doorjamb. “Were you having me investigated?” he asked coolly.
“No, of course not. It was Sheriff Brody's idea to send in your prints and have them checked.” She hung up the phone and walked over to where he was standing, hat brim shielding his expression. “You'll be relieved to know you aren't wanted for anything,” she said flippantly.
“How'd he get my fingerprints?” John demanded. “Did you give them to him?”
She brushed past him on her way to the kitchen, where she checked the roast in the oven to give herself something to do. “Of course not. He got them off your coffee mug the day we went to his office. Is that what you think of me, that I'd sneak around behind your back? That I'd betray you?”
He straightened and pushed up his hat. His face bore an expression of frustration. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I think anymore. I'm trying to adjust to a whole new identity. Nothing is the way I imagined it was.”
Daringly, Leah went over to him and circled her arms around his waist. “I'm the same,” she said, laying her head on his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. His hand touched her hair, and then he set her away from him.
“Nothing's the same between us, though, is it?” he asked softly as he searched her face.
When she didn't answer, he sighed, obviously exasperated. She didn't really blame him. “I've got to check that fence,” he said. “I only came back to get my gloves. I left them here earlier.” Before Leah could think of anything to say, he grabbed them from the kitchen table.
At the door, he turned back around. “Can I borrow your truck tomorrow? There are some errands I need to take care of.”
Leah wondered if one of them was talking to Taylor, but she didn't ask. How long was John going to stay in Colorado once he had? She was pretty sure the Buchanans wouldn't want anything to do with him. Then there would be nothing to hold him here.
She refused to think about what she and John had shared. He'd been a different man then, a stranger with no past, a drifter. “Sure, you can borrow the truck,” she told him. “If you'll take me to work in the morning, you can use it till I'm through.”
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Driving to the neighboring ranch the next day was one of the most difficult things John had ever done. “I hope this makes you happy,” he said to his mother under his breath as he turned in between the fancy brick pillars marking the entrance to Buchanan's property and drove slowly across the cattle guard.
What would the other man think when he saw the old red Ford coming up his driveway? Would he think Leah'd had a change of heart and was coming to call?
John barely had time to wonder before he spotted the large house sitting on a small rise. It was white, with blue shutters and red brick trim. Down the road that ran past the house he glimpsed more buildings, but he recognized the black Jimmy parked along the circular driveway right in front.
Ignoring his sudden nervousness, John pulled up behind it and stopped. For a few moments, he just sat there, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he tried to plan how best to word his big announcement. How would Buchanan take the news that his father had been unfaithful? Hell, how would any man react to news like that?
Before John was ready, the front door opened and the object of his speculation came out. He was wearing work clothes, a worn denim jacket with a sheepskin collar, faded jeans and a battered black cowboy hat. Apparently he hadn't heard John drive up, because he stopped cold when he saw Leah's truck.
Without giving himself time for second thoughts, John opened the door and got out. Hands on his hips, Taylor watched him approach, his expression slightly puzzled.
“I'm Taylor Buchanan,” he said, coming down the steps so the two of them met on the sidewalk. “Is Leah okay?”
It was eerie to see him up close. Leah was right; there was a slight resemblance to the face John looked at in the mirror each morning. Buchanan must have noticed something, too. His eyes widened slightly and then they narrowed in speculation.
“Leah's fine,” John said. “She loaned me her pickup to come over here.” He hesitated, both hands in his pockets, not sure how to start.
“I find that surprising,” Buchanan said in a dry voice. “What can I do for you?” It would be impossible to guess what he was thinking. Perhaps his conscience was giving him twinges for the way he'd gone after Leah's family.
“I'm the guy she lured a while ago,” John said. “There's something you and I need to discuss.”
Buchanan folded his arms across his chest, feet slightly spread apart. “Is that right?” He sounded skeptical. “Does she know you're here, because if you're planning to speak for her, I'd advise you not to bother.”
No doubt she suspected he was coming here, even though she hadn't asked anything before he dropped her off in front of the library and headed for the sheriff's office.
“Why shouldn't I bother?” John asked curiously.
Taylor's smile was devoid of humor. “She's a stubborn woman and fiercely loyal. Once she gets an idea in her head, she's not one to let it go easily. And she wouldn't cotton to someone trying to fight her battles for her.”
For all their differences, Buchanan seemed to know her pretty well. John remembered that she used to baby-sit for him and his wife. And look how he'd repaid her.
“Actually, Leah isn't the reason I'm here,” he replied. “But if this is a bad time, I can come back later.” If need be, could he summon the guts to do this all over again? He had no choice, but he'd just as soon do it now as postpone it.
If Buchanan was curious, he didn't let it show. Instead, his western hospitality came to the fore. “I was going to look at a new stallion my brother just bought,” he said, glancing at his watch, “but I guess it can wait for a bit. Come on inside.”
At the ornately carved double doors, he glanced back around. “I didn't catch your name.”
John had been hoping to explain why he was here before introducing himself. “It's John,” he said, and then reluctantly he added the rest.
The other man tensed as if he sensed a threat. “Is that right?” he finally drawled. He opened one of the doors and stepped aside. “Well, John, somehow I don't guess you're a long-lost cousin dropping by on his way through the area, so I suppose you'd better come on in and tell me whatever it is you've got on your chest.”
Chapter Eleven
W
hen John stepped into Taylor Buchanan's house, he had an impression of both elegance and coziness, but he was too nervous to really notice anything specific. Instead he yanked off his hat and clutched it in one hand as he tried to remember how he'd planned to start.
“Come on in and sit down,” Taylor suggested with a wary glance as he crossed the tiled entry. John followed him into the living room, forcing himself to calm down. As he did so, his contractor's eye noticed and appreciated the craftsmanship evident in the wood trim of the wide bay window and the carefully matched stones in the soaring fireplace on the far wall.
“Honey, who's here?” called out a feminine voice from the depths of the house. A moment later a pretty blonde who John assumed was Buchanan's wife appeared in the arched doorway.
“I thought you were going over to Donovan's,” she said after she smiled at John, her expression relaxed and friendly.
“Something came up,” Buchanan replied, and then he made introductions. She studied John curiously as she shook his hand and offered coffee, which both men declined.
“Shall I leave you two alone?” she asked her husband.
John hoped that she would, but Taylor shook his head. “Come and join us,” he suggested, reaching out an arm to curl it protectively around her shoulders. The three of them sat down, the Buchanans next to each other on the leather couch and John facing them in a comfortable chair. He wondered how his news would affect Mrs. Buchanan, and part of him regretted what he was about to do.
“What's this about?” Taylor asked. He seemed to be relaxed, but John could sense an intensity about him. He would protect what was his, especially this woman who shared his name.
“I'm not sure how to start,” John said truthfully. “What I've come to say isn't easy.”
Buchanan's eyes narrowed. “It's always best to start at the beginning.”
Ashley Buchanan glanced from one man to the other with a concerned expression and slipped her hand into her husband's. The show of support distracted John and made him realize how lonely he'd been since his mother's death. He thought of Leah and wondered whether she would ever understand why he was doing this.
Aware of the two people waiting for him to explain his visit, he took a deep breath and nervously cleared his throat. “You and I are half brothers,” he said to Taylor. “We share the same father.”
The other man released Ashley's hand and shot to his feet. “That's impossible!”
John braced himself for some kind of physical assault, but Taylor remained where he was, absently flexing his fists. His frown was fierce and his eyes blazed with emotion.
Ashley caught at his arm. “Honey, sit back down,” she said softly. “Let's hear him out.”
John wondered whether she was conciliatory by nature or just curious about his claim. He waited, heart pounding, as Taylor resumed his place on the couch and spread his hands carefully on his bent knees.
“Go on,” he commanded in a harsh voice.
Shifting in his chair, John wished the man who'd stolen his car hadn't taken his wallet with the one picture his mother had given him of her and her lover. It might have helped to convince Taylor, or maybe not. His expression wasn't exactly that of a man with an open mind.
“Why have you picked now to contact me?” Taylor demanded, looking John up and down. “You must be in your thirties.”
“I was born in Twin Falls the same year your parents disappeared,” John replied, “but I just found out who my father was a few months ago.”
Taylor's eyes had widened slightly and a muscle flexed in his cheek. “I don't believe you,” he said bluntly. “Dad would never have been unfaithful to my mother.”
“Believe me, it wasn't easy for me to accept the idea that my mother had been involved with a married man, either.” John's face flamed. It was even more difficult to admit out loud. “I have no idea what their reasons were, I just know I'm the living proof it happened.”
“Mr. Burns,” Ashley said gently, “do you have any
other
proof of what you're telling us, anything to back up your claim?”
John was grateful for her calm intervention. He suspected her husband was about ready to throw him out those fancy double doors. Regretfully, he shook his head. “The only picture of him I had was lost when a hitchhiker stole my car on the way here.” He told them about his head injury and the amnesia. “All I can do is to try and answer any questions you might have,” he concluded.
“Everything about my parents' accident is a matter of public record,” Buchanan growled. “You could have easily researched the facts before you came here.”
“Why would I do that?” John was growing frustrated. How was he going to convince them? Perhaps he'd been a fool to come here and disrupt their lives, after all.
“Why
did
you come?” Taylor demanded. “What did you hope to gain from all this?”
“Gain?” John echoed. Then he caught on to the other man's implication. Taylor thought he was after money or a piece of his ranching empire. All John wanted to do was to fulfill a deathbed promiseâand to meet his kin, he realized with a sharp pang. This man frowning so fiercely was
family
. It was John's turn to leap to his feet. “I don't need your money!” he stated. “I promised my mother I'd look you up, that's all. I swear. Now that I've done that, I'll be out of your life.”
“And what's your mother's stake in this?” Taylor sneered.
“Nothing. She's dead.”
Ashley gasped. “I'm so sorry. Was it recent?”
Distracted, John found himself warmed by the compassion on her face. “She passed away in February. It was right before she died that she finally told me who my father was.” He rushed on. “For years she thought he'd abandoned her. She tormented herself wondering if her pregnancy had driven him to take his wife and flee, abandoning his children. She worried about you and your brother and sister.”
Taylor made a sound of disbelief, but he didn't say anything.
“It wasn't until the wreck was discovered that she figured out the truth. Even then she kept it to herself. She raised me alone. Believe me, I'm not wild about any of this, either.” He clamped his mouth shut, annoyed with himself for revealing so much. He felt as though he were on trial, but he didn't suppose he could blame them for being skeptical. His story sounded bizarre to his own ears.
“And you don't have a shred of proof that any of this tale you've spun for us is true,” Buchanan began. “Why would Iâ”
“Honey,” Ashley interrupted in her quiet way, “just look in the mirror. I think you'll see all the proof you need staring back at you. If that isn't enough, get your brother over here. John resembles him and Kirby even more than he does you.”
Kirby. Their sister. John swallowed the sudden lump of emotion in his throat. Ashley's unexpected support stunned him and then he realized she wasn't doing it for him. She was doing it because she saw the same thing that Leah must have.
Taylor looked at his wife and a moment of wordless communication seemed to pass between them. “Why don't you call Donovan?” he suggested to her. “He's with that new stallion he just bought. See if he can run over here.”
With a quick glance at John, she left the room, even though a cordless phone rested on a side table. He expected she wanted privacy so she could warn the other brother of the situation.
The silence between the two men stretched awkwardly. “So why don't you tell me where you're from,” Taylor drawled as he casually sat back and stretched his arm along the top of the couch. “And while you're at it, describe the town to me.”
John realized it was a test of sorts. He began talking about Twin Falls, where he'd grown up. By the time he started running out of things to say, Ashley appeared in the doorway holding a tray with three steaming coffee mugs, a flowered sugar bowl and matching creamer.
“Donovan will be right over,” she said as Taylor leaped to his feet and took the tray from her. “Meanwhile, I thought we could do with something to drink.”
Taylor set the tray on the oak-and-brass coffee table while Ashley efficiently dispatched the mugs. As she did, John took a moment to glance around.
The carpeting in the room was a quiet shade of blue. The furniture was expensive but understated, butter-soft chestnut leather, richly finished wood, softly gleaming brass. On one wall was displayed a massive carved plaque of three horses in full gallop. The artist had captured the joy and energy of their wild flight in every graceful line. John could almost smell the sweat, feel their hot breath. On another wall was a trio of colored photographs in handsome gilt frames.
“May I?” he asked after Ashley had handed him his coffee.
She glanced at her husband for permission and then she escorted John to the grouping.
“This is Taylor's and my wedding,” she said, indicating the middle picture. It had been taken outdoors with the bride wearing an old-fashioned dress and a wreath of flowers in her hair. Taylor wore western clothes and a wide smile that transformed his somber features. The joy on both their faces was easy to see. John found himself almost bitterly envious of their happiness together.
“This is Donovan, Taylor's brother,” Ashley continued, distracting John from his brooding thoughts as she pointed to the image of an attractive blond man and his dark-haired bride. A little girl with hair more golden than the groom's stood in front of them. “That's Bobbie,” Ashley said, “and Rose, their daughter.”
The little girl looked about five or six. “Were they married before?” John asked.
Ashley merely smiled and shook her head. “No. That's a long story I'll leave for another day.”
His hopes soared. Did that mean she assumed he would be invited back?
“No doubt you'll have a lot of catching up to do.” She went on to the third and final picture. The woman was fair-haired, like the second brother, but the man at her side had a deeply tanned complexion, almost bronze in tone, and long black hair. “This is Kirby and her husband, J.D. He's the artist who created the front doors on our house and the fabulous plaque on that wall.”
John glanced back at the horses he'd admired earlier. And he thought of how he'd love to have a few of those doors for some of his own custom homes back in Seattle.
“Your brother-in-law is very gifted,” he said. “Thank you for explaining who everyone is.”
Ashley nodded, sipping her coffee. “Are you married?” she asked.
He shook his head. “'Fraid not. Do you have children?” he asked to divert her.
Her expression became more guarded. “Twin boys and two girls,” she replied. Then she returned to her seat on the couch. Taylor had been watching them silently over the rim of his mug. As John returned to his chair, he wondered what was going through the other man's mind. Before he could come up with anything to say, the sound of a truck pulling up out front broke the tense silence.
“That will be Donnie,” Taylor said as he got to his feet. “Your other brother.” There was an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
John couldn't really blame him for feeling the way he did. Here came a stranger with a wild story and not one damned thing to back it up. John was lucky to still be in the house drinking excellent coffee instead of peering at the building from outside the fence that surrounded the property.
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“How are you getting home today?” Amy asked Leah, stooping to empty the wastebasket next to the sitting area where Leah was setting out a display of nonfiction books that had just arrived. “I didn't see your truck outside.”
Leah stopped what she was doing to study her friend. Amy looked tired today. Her doctor had decided she needed more rest, so she was starting her maternity leave early. Miss MacPherson wasn't happy about it, either.
“John needed the truck,” Leah explained. “He's picking me up after work.” She longed to confide in someone, but it wasn't her place to reveal his shocking identity.
Before Amy could reply, the phone at the main desk rang. Leah glanced around, but the head librarian was nowhere in sight, and the part-time assistant was on a break. With an apologetic smile at Amy, she hurried over to answer it. While she was talking, several students from the high school came in. They all needed ideas for an American history project and help finding material to use. By the time she was done with them, a line had formed at the checkout desk. When the assistant librarian appeared to lend a hand and Leah finally had a minute to glance up at the wall clock, she realized it was past time for her to leave.”
“Your truck still isn't here,” Amy said as Leah headed for the employee lounge and her purse. “Was he going to be late?”