The Loner (25 page)

“Surely a clever man like you can figure out a way to get him to accept it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Blackjack said. “Come here, Ren, and kiss me.”

He slid a hand around her nape and she willingly bent over him, their mouths meeting in a kiss as tender as any they’d ever shared.

The sound of a horn outside the window made her jerk away. She jumped off the bed ahead of him and raced to the window to look out. “It’s the sheriff’s car,” she said. “What do you suppose he wants here?”

“Best way to find out is to go down and ask,” Blackjack said.

Ren grabbed for her bra and struggled to get it back on, while Blackjack headed down the stairs ahead of her. He shoved open the screen door and invited the sheriff inside, surprised when his deputy stepped in behind him.

“What’s going on, Sheriff?” he asked.

“Jackson Blackthorne, you’re under arrest for the murder of your wife Evelyn DeWitt Blackthorne.”

“Aw, come on, Grady. Can’t this wait till after the funeral?” Blackjack said in disgust.

“I have to cuff you, Mr. Blackthorne. Turn around,” the deputy said.

Blackjack felt the hot flush start on the back of his neck. “It’s Sunday, Grady. It’s going to be damned hard to find a judge to come to a bail hearing before Monday morning.”

“Put your hands behind your back, Mr. Blackthorne,” the sheriff said, “so my deputy can cuff you.”

Blackjack wanted to resist, but he could hear Ren coming down the stairs, and he didn’t want her involved in some ridiculous fracas. He turned around and felt the cold metal cuffs being ratcheted down tight on his wrists.

It wouldn’t be the first night he’d ever spent in jail. He’d gotten in trouble once in his misspent youth and his father had left him in the Bitter Creek County Jail overnight to think things over. It wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. The place was lit up too brightly, and it smelled of vomit from the Saturday-night drunks who were its usual tenants. But he wasn’t being given a choice.

“I want to call my lawyer,” Blackjack said as he turned to face the sheriff.

“You can call him from jail,” the sheriff replied.

By then, Ren had reached the kitchen. She stared in alarm at his cuffed wrists. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been arrested a day early,” Blackjack said.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes wide with fright.

“To keep the two of you from fleeing, ma’am,” the deputy blurted.

The sheriff glared at him, but the cat was already out of the bag.

“What are you talking about?” Blackjack said.

The sheriff straightened his gunbelt nervously, then said, “We know about the trip you planned with Mrs. Creed, Mr. Blackthorne. Once the NTSB confirmed that your helicopter had been tampered with, we had the FAA check to see if you’d booked a flight anywhere. You hadn’t booked a commercial flight, but your corporate pilot had filed a flight plan based on an e-mail you sent him last week.”

Blackjack stared at the sheriff blankly, then exchanged a look with Ren, whose lower lip was clasped in her teeth. It took him a moment to figure out what Ren had apparently already divined. “Goddamn that woman,” he muttered.

“A trip going where?” Ren asked, when Blackjack didn’t.

“Costa Rica, ma’am,” the deputy supplied. “They don’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.”

“Bad move, Mr. Blackthorne,” the sheriff said. “You’re going to have to stick around to stand trial for murder. And since it’s doubtful bail will be allowed when you’ve proven yourself a flight risk, you’re going to have to wait for trial in jail.”

Blackjack was sorry now that he’d allowed himself to be handcuffed, because he thought he might have been able to take the two men and escape with Ren. Costa Rica didn’t sound like a half-bad idea, especially when Eve had arranged to leave a hanging noose so tightly knotted around his neck.

“Let’s go, gentlemen,” he said.

“What can I do?” Ren asked frantically.

“Call my lawyer Harry Blackthorne, at DeWitt & Blackthorne in Houston,” Blackjack said. “Tell him what’s happened. Then get some sleep. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He left her standing in the kitchen, her eyes forlorn. She knew how high the odds were stacked against him. And fate seemed determined to keep them apart.

He had to hand it to Eve. Her trap had been cleverly baited, artfully sprung. And he was well and truly caught.

Sam felt relieved at his mother’s narrow escape. Jackson Blackthorne was in jail. With the wealth of evidence mounting against him, it didn’t look like he’d be getting out in this lifetime. Sam had been shocked, however, when he learned his mother had planned to run away with the blackguard. He hadn’t foreseen that. He just thanked his lucky stars it hadn’t happened.

Eve Blackthorne’s funeral had been held that afternoon, and the town was full of mourners from all over the country who’d come to pay homage to the famous artist. Sam had seen her art up close, and while it was technically amazing, it left him emotionally cold.

When the knock came on his kitchen door, Sam hurried to answer it, grinning broadly when he saw his older sister Callie standing there with his nephew Eli, his niece Hannah, and his littlest niece Henrietta. He saw them every Christmas, but it wasn’t often enough.

“Come in, come in,” he said, waving them inside.

“Hi, Uncle Sam,” Eli said.

“Good Lord, boy, you must’ve grown six inches since I saw you last!” At fifteen, Eli looked more every day like the Blackthorne he was.

At eight, Hannah was too old to climb into his lap the way she used to do. But she helped three-year-old Henrietta scramble into his arms. “Hey there, Henry. How ya doin’?” he said.

“Take me for a ride,” Henrietta said. “Go fast!”

Sam laughed and said, “Let me greet your mother first.”

He looked up at Callie and realized, now that she was no longer standing behind her children, that she was pregnant. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said with a smile.

She patted her round belly and smiled at him. “Should be here before Christmas.”

“Boy or girl?” Sam asked.

“We don’t know yet. I’d love another girl. Trace would like a boy.”

“Where is he?” Sam asked. Normally Trace Blackthorne came visiting with Callie and the kids. Sam didn’t like the man, but he was cordial for Callie’s sake. To his chagrin, he was indebted to Trace, who’d forced him to sober up and learn to drive, and renovated this house so Sam could live in it, all because he’d loved
Callie and wanted her family to be independent enough that she could marry him and leave Three Oaks.

“He’s spending some time with Owen and Clay. They’re going over the facts and the timeline of events that led up to their mother’s death, looking for anything that might clear Blackjack or lead to another suspect. They haven’t found zip. The evidence against Blackjack is overwhelming, and of course, they know their parents’ marriage has been especially rocky lately. I’m afraid Summer is the only one clinging to hope that her father will be cleared.”

“He ought to be convicted,” Sam said. “He’s guilty as sin.”

“It doesn’t look good for him,” Callie conceded.

“Can I go horseback riding, Mom?” Eli said.

“Can I go horseback riding, Mom?” Hannah parroted.

Callie made a face at Sam. “Please excuse their manners, but would you mind if they go for a ride?”

“Francie and Homer are in the corral. I brought them in from the pasture when I heard you guys were coming,” Sam said. “You know where the tack is.”

“Thanks, Uncle Sam,” Eli said as he raced back out the door for the stable.

“Thanks, Uncle Sam,” Hannah echoed, following after him.

“I want to go riding, too,” Henrietta said, tugging at Sam’s shirt.

“Sure, sprite. Just give me another minute to talk with your mom.”

“Don’t take off for that ride around the house with Henry right away,” Callie said.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Because Bay and her twins left the Castle a few minutes after me. They should be here any minute.”

Even as she finished speaking they could hear car doors slamming.

“Slow down,” Sam heard Bay shout.

A moment later two tiny boys trotted into the house on stubby legs and ran over to stand in front of Sam’s knees.

“Hi, Sam,” his sister Bay said. “Once Jake and James heard Callie’s kids were headed this way, they insisted on coming for a visit, too.”

“I’m glad they did,” he said. “Hello, Jake. Hello, James.”

“We had chicken spots!” Jake said.

“We had to scratch!” James said.

“I’m glad to see you’re all better,” Sam said. “What can I do for you today?”

“Ride, Unca Sam,” they said together.

Sam turned to greet Bay and laughed. She was also pregnant. Which reminded him of Emma. “There’s someone the two of you have to meet.”

“Hang on to my shirt, Henry,” Sam said to the little girl, as he caught up one eighteen-month-old boy in each arm. “Give us a push, will you, Callie? Come on along, Bay.”

“Where are we going, Sam?” Bay asked as she trailed Callie and the wheelchair.

“You’ll see.” He directed Callie through the house and out the front door onto the porch, where Emma sat in one of the two white wooden rockers knitting.

She stood up immediately and set her knitting aside.
The instant she did, Sam’s two sisters exchanged wide-eyed glances with him.

“Sam! You didn’t say anything about getting married,” Callie chastised. She turned to Bay and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” Bay said.

Sam realized he’d embarrassed Emma and set the twins on their feet so he would be able to take one of her hands and explain. “I’m sorry, Callie, Bay. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I’m not married. This is my housekeeper. You remember Emma Coburn, don’t you, Callie?”

Callie’s jaw dropped. “You’re so beautiful! Oh, I’m so sorry. That came out wrong. It’s just, the last time I saw you—”

“I was fourteen and looked like a bed slat,” Emma said with a grin.

“Exactly,” Callie said with a laugh.

“How did you end up working for my scapegrace brother?” Bay asked.

“He needed help and I needed a job,” Emma said.

“Ride, Unca Sam,” the twins said, dragging on his arms.

“I’ve got to go,” Sam said. “I’ll leave you three girls here to get acquainted.”

Sam ignored the desperate look Emma shot him. She didn’t have any female friends that Sam knew of, and with pregnancy in common, the three women should have an easy time finding things to talk about.

He spent the rest of the afternoon wrestling with his niece and nephews, feeding them cookies, and enjoying
a glass of iced tea on the porch with his sisters and Emma. It was one of the most enjoyable days he’d spent in a long time.

There was a silver lining in every dark cloud, he thought. If Jackson Blackthorne hadn’t murdered his wife, Sam wouldn’t have had this chance to get together with his sisters and introduce them to Emma.

He wanted Callie and Bay to like Emma, because he was pretty sure he was going to make her one of the family. That is, if he could convince her to marry him.

He had reason to hope.

Just yesterday, after he’d done some carpentry work in the heat of the sun, he’d taken off his T-shirt on the back porch to wipe down the sweat behind his neck and under his arms.

And caught her watching him.

She’d made a startled sound and hurried away from the screen door, but he’d been encouraged. A woman didn’t spend time looking at a man who didn’t interest her.

She’d glanced at him more than once this afternoon, as he’d played with the children on the back porch. He wanted her to consider him as a potential father. He loved kids, and he wanted her to see that being in a wheelchair didn’t keep him from being both a source of authority and a good deal of fun.

As his sisters made their farewells, each of them hugging Emma, he sat in his wheelchair on the back porch beside her, his arm draped possessively around her waist.

The tail of dust from their Jeeps was just settling
when Emma pulled away and said, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Done what?”

“Introduced me to your sisters as though I were something more than your housekeeper.”

Sam realized he could explain away what he’d done or use it as an opportunity to let Emma know how he felt about her. “I wish you were more than my housekeeper,” he said. “I think you’re a very special person, Emma. I’d like to get to know you better.”

He heard her swallow noisily. “I’m pregnant,” she said.

He smiled. “I’ve noticed.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He looked her in the eye and said, “I can’t have kids of my own. I think of you being pregnant as a gift from God.”

She smiled and said, “You’re a very special man, Sam Creed.”

He reached out a hand to her and waited. It was a long wait, but at last she put her hand in his. He tugged her toward him, and when he could reach her waist, he lifted her into his lap.

“I’m always surprised at how strong you are,” she said, bracing herself on his muscular shoulders as she settled into his lap. “And since you caught me looking, I’ll admit you have some pretty spectacular abs. But I’m too heavy to be sitting on you.”

He smiled again. “You’re light as a feather.”

“You couldn’t feel a feather,” she said tartly, “and I assure you I’m no feather.”

“Please don’t go,” he said, looking up into her eyes.

She stayed where she was, but she kept both hands in front of her, folded together in her lap.

He rubbed a lock of her bright red hair between his fingers, then lifted it to his nose and inhaled the scent of her shampoo. “Women always smell so good.”

She laughed softly and leaned over to smell his hair. “I’m glad you think so, but we’re using the same shampoo.”

He laughed, too. And raised his face just as she lowered hers. He felt her hesitation and waited, letting her come to him.

The touch of her lips was electric. There was nothing wrong with the feeling in his lips, nothing wrong with his taste buds. He was overwhelmed with sensation as her soft lips pressed against his, pliant and giving.