The Loner (26 page)

“Relax,” she said as her arms slid around his neck. “I can feel your shoulder muscles are all bunched up.”

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he said. “I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s all right,” she said, lowering her mouth to his. “I haven’t done much of this lately, either.”

But she was damned good at it, Sam thought, as she pressed butterfly kisses on his neck and throat, then let her tongue trace the shell of his ear. “Let me,” he said, returning the favor.

She moaned in pleasure and tightened her hold around his neck.

“Emma,” he murmured. “I want to see you.”

She froze in his arms. “I’m ugly. My breasts are enormous and—”

Sam laughed. “I’m sorry, Emma, but men pay a fortune to see pictures of enormous breasts. I promise you I’ll enjoy them.”

She crossed her arms over her stomach and said, “I stick out a foot.”

He put his hand on her pregnant belly for the first time, his touch reverent. “Believe me, I find this belly of yours a bonus.”

“You’re just saying that to get me naked.”

“Is it going to work?”

She laughed and stood up. “Not on the first date. What kind of girl do you think I am?” She sobered as she realized what she’d said. Pregnant and unwed, she was exactly “that kind of girl.” She stared at him from stricken eyes, then hurried from the porch.

“Emma, don’t go. Emma, it doesn’t matter.”

But of course it did. She was pregnant with some other man’s child. Some man she’d seduced…as she’d just now been seducing him. And the bastard had left her high and dry. Why should Emma think he would treat her any differently?

To make matters worse, he was her boss. What if things went wrong between them and he decided he wanted her gone. What would happen to her if she lost this job?

He was going to have to take his time and tread carefully. He was going to have to find a way to convince her that he wasn’t like the man who’d taken her favors and abandoned her. He had to convince her that he was willing and able to take care of her and her baby. That he wanted to be a husband and father.

And her lover.

Sam realized he was trembling. He wasn’t sure what kind of lover he was going to be. He hadn’t had sex with a woman since he’d lost the use of his legs. He’d tried once with a prostitute in Houston, but the whole thing had seemed so sordid he hadn’t wanted to repeat it. The fact was, he never knew when or whether he could get it up. It happened when it happened.

He would have to love her in other ways.

She’d revealed her insecurities about being seen naked. He hadn’t been able to share his own. He’d made himself as strong as he could from the waist up, where he still had functioning muscles and feeling and spent enough time in the sun to toast his skin a rich brown.

But from the waist down, he was as white as a dead fish, and his muscles were atrophied from disuse. He was afraid she wouldn’t think he was much of a bargain. He was glad she’d put off the moment of truth, so he could hang on a little longer to his dream of what it would be like the first time they made love.

In his mind it was always perfect, wonderful. She was understanding and forgiving of his shortcomings. He was a considerate and tender and satisfying lover.

But he didn’t dare wait too long. There was always the chance her lover would find out she was pregnant and come to claim her and the baby. He wanted her legally tied to him long before that happened.

“Sam?”

Sam turned to find Emma standing in the kitchen doorway. “What is it, Emma?”

“I was going to take a bath and cool off. I wondered if you might like to join me.”

Sam thought of all the reasons he should say no thanks. And how often he’d fantasized about exactly what Emma was suggesting.

“Go start the water,” he said at last. “I’ll be right there.”

S
UMMER HAD FORGOTTEN HOW MANY
D
E
W
ITT
cousins she had, but she was reminded when they all showed up for the funeral and she had to find places to put them in the Castle.

Her grandfather DeWitt had been married twice, so Eve and her sister Ellen had a stepsister Elizabeth. Her aunt Ellen had two sons about Summer’s age, while her aunt Liz had three sons and a tomboy daughter. Crazy as it sounded, all the kids were DeWitts, since both sisters had married distant DeWitt cousins.

It was easy to tell which males went with which aunts, because Aunt Ellen’s sons were both blonds, while Aunt Liz’s boys had hair as dark as any Blackthorne. The tomboy had short spiked hair dyed blue.

The DeWitts owned a ranch nearly as large as Bitter Creek, and each of the three DeWitt girls, Eve and Ellen and Elizabeth, had been named as one another’s heirs to ensure that the land stayed in one piece. Aunt Liz had died five years ago. Now that Summer’s mom was dead, Aunt Ellen was the sole owner of the DeWitt ranch.

Because the DeWitts had always had more sons than their ranch could keep busy, they’d embarked on many
and varied businesses. In the early twentieth century one enterprising DeWitt and an equally ambitious Blackthorne had started a law firm in Houston called DeWitt & Blackthorne. Now the firm had offices in every major metropolitan area in the United States and the capitals of several foreign nations.

Ellen’s sons were both already attorneys and Summer learned that two of Liz’s three sons were headed to law school. No word yet what the tomboy daughter planned.

Her cousins seemed to have a friendly rivalry going over who would be the richest by the time they were thirty. Considering the high jinks they’d pulled and the tricks they’d played on one another over the years, she was betting they’d all end up in jail long before then.

It had been a relief when Trace and Owen and Clay came home, even though the addition of Trace and Owen’s wives and all their kids made the Castle crowded and chaotic. Her father had been around when her brothers and their families first arrived, but when Owen-the-lawman began asking questions for which her father had no answers, he’d disappeared.

Summer had a feeling she knew where he’d gone, but whenever anyone asked, she said he’d asked to be alone to grieve. Her suspicions were confirmed when the sheriff came by to inform the family that he’d arrested Blackjack at Three Oaks for murder, reiterating the overwhelming evidence, and explaining why Blackjack was unlikely to be allowed to post bail.

“I don’t care how much evidence there is,” Summer had told the sheriff. “My father didn’t murder my mother.”

When she’d looked around the library, she realized
that every one of her brothers believed he was guilty. But they were only looking at the facts. And the facts didn’t tell the whole story.

Maybe because she’d been a girl, Blackjack had revealed more of himself to her than to her brothers. She knew Jackson Blackthorne better than any of them, and their father—and yes, he was
her father
in every way that counted—wasn’t capable of doing what he’d been accused of doing.

“You’ll be sorry you didn’t stand behind Daddy,” she said. “Because you’re wrong about him.”

But she had no idea how to prove her father innocent. And it was troubling—frightening, actually—to know that both Owen and Clay, who’d spent their lives catching criminals and prosecuting them, sided with the sheriff.

When she was finally alone in the library, Summer had another troubling thought. If her father was in jail, how was he going to help Billy get his job back with the TSCRA? And if Billy didn’t get his job back, how was he going to survive?

Then it dawned on her that if her father was in jail, someone would have to run Bitter Creek. Since her brothers all had lives that took them away from the ranch, the job would fall to her. And since she would need help, she could make Billy her foreman and pay him to provide it.

Summer sat at her father’s desk and ran her fingers over the scars left in the wood by spurs and bootheels over the years. Bitter Creek had been run from behind this desk for generations. And now she was sitting here.

She picked up the phone and punched in Billy’s number, telling herself to stay calm and choose her words
carefully. Billy was a proud man, and she wanted him to accept the job.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied.

“I wanted to make sure you’re going to be at the memorial service at the First Baptist Church. It starts at two.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’d like us to go from there in the same car to the cemetery,” she said.

“Fine.”

“There are limousines for the family.”

“Fine.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. Billy wasn’t normally talkative, but he sounded downright taciturn.

“I’m fine.”

She wished she could see his face. Then she would know what was wrong. Because something was. She thought about confronting him over the phone, but realized she didn’t want to start an argument that he could end by hanging up.

“I’ll save a seat for you at church,” she said.

“Fine,” he said, and hung up.

Summer laid the phone very carefully in the cradle. Probably he was just nervous about having to meet all her relatives. It was a sure bet he wasn’t looking forward to being in the same room with her brothers. A lot of eyes were going to be on him, comparing him to the other Blackthornes, noting all the similarities—and all the differences.

Summer wondered if Billy had a decent suit to wear. When he’d buried his father, he’d worn a shirt and tie,
but no jacket. He’d said it was because of the heat, but Summer remembered doubting that he had one.

She picked up the phone to call and offer Billy one of her brothers’ suits, then put it down again. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t take it. And he’d be insulted by the offer. He’d know she was worried about appearances, something he disdained. And really, what difference did it make what he wore?

She’d made him her friend when he dressed in ripped T-shirts and jeans and defied anyone to judge him by appearances. Once he was here at Bitter Creek helping her run things, everyone would have to acknowledge what she’d known for a long time. There was a great deal more to Billy Coburn than the clothes on his back. He was as good a man as any Blackthorne.

When Summer reached the church just before 2:00 p.m., Billy wasn’t there. She made excuses for his absence as she greeted her parents’ friends and neighbors at the church. “He’s coming. His mother hasn’t been well.”

She waited until the very last second before she agreed to be seated in the front pew and then wouldn’t let anyone else sit beside her, leaving a looming space between her and Trace and his family. Owen and Bay and their twins sat in the pew behind her, along with Clay. She managed a smile over her shoulder when Owen laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He’ll be here,” she whispered. He’d said he was coming.

But the organist, who’d also arrived late, started playing and the minister was making his way to the pulpit and Billy still wasn’t there. Summer couldn’t imagine
what had happened to him. What if he’d had an accident? What if he was lying dead beside the road?

The minister said a prayer, but Summer kept her eyes open during the whole of it, glancing back down the aisle furtively in search of her missing husband. It was all she could do to keep herself from leaping up and running from the church to hunt for him. Where was Billy? Why wasn’t he there?

Summer couldn’t listen to the service. She was too aware that Billy had left her alone in this most public of moments. Too aware of the pitying glances her brother Trace shot in her direction. Too aware that she wanted her brothers’ approval of her choice of husband, and that Billy had let her—and himself—down by failing to show up for her mother’s funeral.

Summer closed her eyes to cut off the tears sliding down her cheeks and suddenly felt herself being nudged sideways on the wooden bench by a male hip, at the same time as a handkerchief was thrust in her hand. Summer opened her eyes, and the instant she saw Billy, smothered a sob of relief in the handkerchief. “Where have you been?” she whispered when she could speak. “I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “Hold Will, while I set down some of this stuff.”

Summer realized Billy had brought a diaper bag with him, along with a handful of Will’s toys. Will clambered into her lap, Brownie clutched tight under his arm, and pointed over her shoulder at the twins behind her, giggling at the sight of the two identical boys.

Summer felt herself smile inside. This was how it was
supposed to be. Her and Billy and their little boy, a normal, happy family, just like her brothers’ families.

Summer didn’t hear any more of the end of the service for her mother than she had of the beginning, because Will provided a constant distraction. Summer wondered why Billy hadn’t left him at home and realized that might explain why he was so late. Maybe Dora had taken a turn for the worse. She waited until they were alone in a limousine together, headed for the cemetery, to ask, “Is your mother all right?”

“She’s having a bad day,” Billy said. He set Will on the floor with a pegged wooden PlaySkool toy and handed him a tiny wooden hammer.