“I usually just drink coffee,” Shelby said with a shake of her head. Then, seeing the disappointment in the older woman’s eyes, she sighed. “Sure, why not, but I’ve really gotten into just a cup of espresso or a latte in the morning. It’s kind of a Northwest thing.”
“You are home now.”
“Well, for a while.” She took the coffee outside with her, and the warmth of morning hit her full force. Leaving her cup on the outside table, she dropped her towel and cover-up by the pool’s edge, then dived in.
Cold water embraced her, took her breath away. She started swimming, long, easy strokes, and felt her blood pumping, the headache clearing. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun bright as it rose toward the tops of the trees. Stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. She found her rhythm and thought about the day ahead. She’d call Nevada, get the name of his private investigator, see if they could locate Doctor Pritchart—the coward. Surely his medical license could be jerked—well, maybe it already had been. Revenge wasn’t her motive. Knowledge was.
So you’ll have to see Nevada again.
Well, that was inevitable. He was the father of her child.
Or was he?
She gave herself a quick mental shake. She couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t.
Stroke, stroke, breathe.
But there was a chance that Elizabeth’s father was Ross McCallum.
She lost her rhythm. Her stomach turned over and she wanted to throw up. No! It wasn’t possible; it just couldn’t be.
You’ve got to be honest,
Shelby.
Isn’t
that what you’re
expecting of everyone else?
Stroke. Stroke. Concentrate on the positive.
Ross McCallum could be
—
“Damn it, no!” She yelled as she reached the shallow end of the pool, tossed her head, flinging beads of water from her hair, and stood, leaning against the tile lip of the pool.
“ ‘No,’ what?” As she tugged the rubber band from her hair, Nevada’s voice startled her. For a split second she thought she was seeing things, but there he was, big as life, standing next to the glass-topped table. A second cup of coffee steamed beside hers. Sunglasses guarded his eyes. Clean Levis and a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows covered the rest of him. He’d shaved, and his hair was brushed away from his face, though she didn’t suspect it would stay that way for long. As she remembered, it had a tendency to fall over his eyes in boyish disarray.
“What’re you doing here?”
“You took off pretty abruptly yesterday.”
That much was true. After hearing that Ross McCallum was back in Bad Luck, Shelby had mumbled quick excuses, left Nevada’s cabin, climbed into her rented Caddy and taken off in a swirl of dust and despair. It was one thing to deal with Nevada, quite another to have to face Ross McCallum. Though she’d known he was coming back to town, the fact that he was actually in Bad Luck turned her insides to water.
“It was upsetting,” she said, placing her hands on the tile and dragging her body onto the edge of the pool. She squeezed the excess water from her hair and grabbed her towel, then squinted up at him. “You didn’t answer my question. What’re you doing here?”
“I thought we were partners.”
“Partners?” She was instantly suspicious; then she understood. She toweled off and felt the weight of his gaze on her. “Oh.”
“Right. In finding our daughter.”
Our daughter.
“It was your idea.”
“I know.” She dabbed at her face with her towel and didn’t consider the topic of paternity as she reached for the short terry robe. “Do you have more news? And who’s the private investigator? I assume he does have a name.”
“Bill Levinson and no, not much more news. But you left yesterday without a game plan.”
Pushing her arms through terry-cloth sleeves, she walked barefoot to the table. He was nearly a head taller than she, and she tried not to notice how long his legs were, how wide his shoulders, how slim his waist. She remembered how he’d grabbed her and kissed her yesterday, the way he’d pounced. Like a cougar on unsuspecting prey. The mere thought of it took her breath away. Too many hours last night her mind had strayed to that one soul-jarring kiss. She cleared her throat. “You have one—a plan?”
“I think so.”
The back door opened and Lydia, carrying a tray, appeared. “I brought breakfast,” she explained with an expansive smile. “For two.”
Nevada was about to protest; Shelby sensed it. “Look, don’t even try to get out of this. It’s Lydia’s personal mission to see that anyone in a ten mile radius gets more than his or her required RDAs, calories and fat grams for the day.”
“But—”
“It is true,” Lydia admitted, smiling proudly, her gold caps reflecting the morning sunlight.
“So stuff it,” Shelby told him, and helped Lydia slap a couple of placemats onto the table. Within minutes two platters of powdered-sugar-dusted waffles, fruit and strips of bacon, as well as orange juice, water and an insulated carafe of coffee, covered the glass top. “Lydia, it looks wonderful,” she said as the older woman put place settings of silver wrapped in embroidered napkins near their plates. In the middle of the table she centered a bud vase with a yellow rose.
Nevada nodded. “It does—look great.”
“Gracias.”
Glowing under the compliments, Lydia started for the kitchen, then spied the gardener on the other side of a trellis where a clematis trailed a profusion of purple blooms. With shears in hand he was busy pruning a hedge. “ ’Xcuse me,” Lydia muttered and bustled off, no doubt to give the poor man a tongue lashing for mistreatment of some of the shrubbery or flowers.
“It’s just safer not to argue with her about food,” Shelby explained as she sliced into the waffles covered with peaches and drizzled with a syrup that smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. “You know, I’m surprised to see you here.” She glanced up at him. “Because of Dad.”
“Don’t tell me I wouldn’t be welcome?”
“Would it break your heart?” she teased.
He hesitated. “Don’t have one.” His eyes held hers for a second. “Leastwise, so I’ve been told.” He leaned closer to her as she remembered the heated conversation, the angry words she’d thrown at him. “Not that it matters a whole hell of a lot. And even though the Judge and I, we have our differences of opinion, I thought I’d better get things straight with you.”
“Such as?” Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.
“Assuming we do find Elizabeth—”
“We will.
I
will.”
“And once you do, what then? What’re you plannin’ to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.
“Meet her.”
“You mean meet her parents.”
“I mean her
adoptive
parents,” she clarified, bristling as she cut into a waffle with the side of her fork and plopped the piece into her mouth.
“And then?” he asked, as he pronged a peach slice with his fork. “What if they don’t want to meet you? What if they want to go to court to keep you from seeing her? What if your presence would be damaging to her, or her family? Ever thought of that?” he asked as he took a bite.
The waffle turned to dust in her mouth. She forced down a swallow and felt her stomach begin to revolt as the very doubts that had kept her awake at night returned to plague her. “Of course.”
“But you’re going to do this your way.”
“Yes.” She set her fork down. “But you don’t have to be a part of it, Nevada. No one’s twisting your arm.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to look at all the angles.”
“I have. Dozens of times. Believe me. It keeps me awake at night. But this is something I have to do.” She hooked her thumb at her chest and realized that her coverup gaped, that the tops of her breasts were bare. Lord, this was ridiculous, sitting here half-naked, eating breakfast with her ex-lover and discussing the child she’d thought was long dead. She adjusted her lapels. “It’s time to set the record straight and I... I have to at least see her.” Her voice faded slightly as emotion gripped her throat. “Look into her eyes.”
“Hold her?” he asked, and she shuddered inside.
Oh, God, yes, I want to hold my baby. Hold her and never let go.
“If ... if it’s possible.”
One dark eyebrow rose over the top rim of his sunglasses, but he didn’t comment. Shelby forced as much of her breakfast down as she could, but her appetite had waned and she had no choice but to face Lydia’s motherly reproach.
“What does your father say?” Nevada asked, after several long minutes when the only noises that disturbed the silence were the birds fluttering in the pecan trees and the clink of their forks against their plates.
“Not much. He started out denying knowing anything about it and now avoids the subject.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No!” she said vehemently, then bit her tongue when she saw the cords of his neck stand out above the open collar of his shirt. “I—I think I’d better handle it myself.”
“Okay, but I’m willing to step in.”
“Thanks.” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice but when it came to dealing with her father, she was certain she would make more headway than Nevada Smith, a man forever branded as a useless, uppity half-breed by the Judge. A man who, as a teenager, had worked hauling hay and rounding up cattle for the Judge before he’d been fired for getting into a fight with the foreman, a man who had stood before her father in the courtroom. “I’ll deal with Dad.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Nevada stretched out of his chair, took a long, slow look around the grounds and then hooked a thumb in a belt-loop of his jeans. “Keep me posted if you find anything out.”
“I will. And the same goes for you.” She stepped into her thongs and walked him through the gate. She couldn’t remember the last time Nevada had been to her house. Had he ever been?
He paused at the front of the house where his pickup, a dusty, dented reminder of his own lot in life, was parked facing the main gate. “And Shelby,” he added, turning and reaching up as if to touch her. But before his fingers grazed the skin of her bare arm, he let his hand fall to his side. “If Ross McCallum tries to contact you or bother you—”
“He won’t!” she said emphatically.
“Maybe not. But if he does, you let me know.” Nevada’s jaw was suddenly rock hard, his mouth a thin, unbending line.
“I can handle Ross.”
“Can you?” His eyes, behind their shaded lenses, found hers and she felt her body flush with unwanted color. “You couldn’t before.”
“A lot has changed in the past ten years, Nevada. Including you. And me.”
“Yeah, but McCallum has been in prison. My guess is that he didn’t improve with incarceration. If anything, he’s probably meaner.”
“Is that so?” she asked, forcing a smile and a light tone she didn’t feel. “Well, here’s a news flash for you, Nevada: so am I.”
He barked out a laugh as he climbed into his truck. “Oh, right,” he said sarcastically. Twisting on the ignition, he rested his elbow on the open window as the truck idled. “You’re as mean as a wounded mama grizzly who’s just been separated from her cubs.”
Her smile fell away. “Exactly.” How close he’d come to the truth. She’d been separated from Elizabeth for nine years, and as far as she was concerned, that was way too long.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” She heard the purr of her father’s Mercedes just as the car appeared at the end of the drive. Her stomach nosedived, and Nevada, seeing her expression, glanced through his windshield. At the sight of the Judge’s car, the corners of his lips pulled downward. “Just the man I was hoping to see.” He cut the engine.
“No—” She shook her head. This was no time for a showdown between Nevada and her father, but the door of the Ford opened and Nevada stepped onto the asphalt of the drive as Red Cole slowed and lowered his driver’s window.
“Judge,” Nevada said, nodding slightly and folding his arms over his chest.
“You lookin’ for me?” Red Cole clamped the stub of a black cigar between his teeth. The familiar scent of tobacco smoke vied with the fragrances of roses and honeysuckle from the garden.
Shelby recognized her father’s most patronizing grin.
Nevada stood next to her, nearly touching her but not quite. “I came to see Shelby, but I think it would be a good idea if we talked.”
“Do ya now?” He glanced at his daughter, his smile flagging a little as he took in her state of undress. “Seems to me you shoulda been doin’ some talkin’ to me about ten years ago—some fast talkin’ when you were sneakin’ around with her.”
“That was my choice,” Shelby cut in.
But the Judge’s eyes were centered on Nevada, and as he spoke his lips barely moved around his cigar. “I have nothin’ to say to you, Smith. Never did have. My only regret was that I was too lenient on you when you were hauled into my courtroom. I shoulda thrown the book at you then. when you were a smart-assed kid with an attitude, sent you up the river instead of givin’ you probation for all the trouble you caused and even handin’ you a job at my ranch.”