Shelby’s lips tightened over her teeth.
This morning Jeb was all business.
“ ’Mornin’, Shelby,” he said, flashing a smile of yellowing teeth. “If ya like, I could ride with ya to the airstrip,” he offered.
“No need,” she said as he handed her a set of keys, then pointed to the truck with an extended cab.
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Just want to help out.”
“The lady can handle it.” Nevada held the man’s gaze with his own unwavering stare.
Jeb nodded. “Fair enough, then. I’ll see to the gate.” Shelby snagged the keys from his outstretched hand, walked to the oversized truck and climbed behind the wheel. Nevada sat next to her on the wide bench seat and stared through his shaded glasses at the twin ruts leading to the airstrip as Jeb, true to his word, unlatched the aluminum gate and helped it swing open.
“Don’t be disappointed if she doesn’t like you,” Nevada said, once the ranch house was behind them.
“I won’t.”
“Sure you will.” He eyed the surrounding countryside. High overhead, a hawk circled.
“I know this will take time.” The pickup bucked as they hit a pothole.
“It’s gonna be tough.”
“Thanks for the twenty-five-cent psychology,” she snapped, her nerves frayed.
“Anytime, darlin’,” he drawled with that damned sexy smile stretching across his face as he turned his attention to the dusty calves who lumbered beside their mothers as the cows grazed or chewed their cuds.
“You know,” she said, bringing up a sore subject as the airstrip came into view, “for a man who might be facing a murder charge, you sure don’t seem worried.”
“I’m worried enough.”
“But—”
“I didn’t do it, okay?” He turned to her, his lips suddenly blade-thin as his temper got the better of him. “I don’t know how the gun found its way to my property. McCallum stole my truck that night. The .38 was locked in the glove box. After the wreck, it turned up missing, so either someone took it out before he slid off the road and wrapped the pickup around that tree or it was taken afterward. Either way, I didn’t have it and I didn’t kill Estevan!”
“I know that,” she said, her throat rough.
“Good. We’ll worry about it later. Right now, I think we’d better meet your daughter.”
“And yours,” she said, slowing as the truck neared the cement landing strip that ran along a flat area of the ranch.
“Maybe.” His eyes held hers for several long, heart-stopping seconds. “But you gotta face facts, Shelby. This child could have McCallum blood in her veins. That doesn’t make her any less your daughter.”
“I know,” Shelby admitted, her heart growing cold, her eyes locking with the steely gray of his. She was still clutching the steering wheel. Oh, God, she wanted this child to belong to Nevada. “I—I just can’t believe it.”
“It’s not the kid’s fault.” He grabbed her hand then, his big, calloused fingers closing over hers, and she felt the strength of his grip, realizing that he wasn’t just talking about Elizabeth, but himself as well. He, the half-breed, had suffered the pain of a mother’s rejection, the shame of circumstances he couldn’t control. Her heart ached for him and what he’d suffered. “Okay, Shelby,” he said, glancing through the windshield to the sky. “It’s show time. Your daughter’s here.”
Shelby’s head whipped around. She saw the plane, just a speck in the sky. Her stomach squeezed and sudden doubts assailed her. What if Elizabeth rejected her, what if they didn’t like each other, what if—
Nevada’s hands grabbed her shoulders, and before she could think, he dragged her across the pickup and kissed her hard on the lips. All her misgivings scattered as his lips pressed against hers. He finally lifted his head. “For luck,” he explained, his voice rough as he released her. “You can do this, Shelby. I know it. You’ll be the best damned mother that ever lived.”
“I hope so,” she said, still stunned at the passion that had transferred from his skin to hers. Tears threatened her eyes. “Oh, God, Nevada, I hope for once you’re right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No. Never.” Laughing nervously, she scrambled out of the cab as the sound of the plane’s engines broke through the stillness of the summer air. Holding a hand over her forehead as a visor, Shelby, with Nevada at her side, watched the craft glide into a landing. With a bump of tires hitting the tarmac, the plane was down.
Her child was here. They would finally meet.
Shelby’s heart squeezed. She bit her lower lip. Fought tears. “Elizabeth,” she whispered as the plane taxied to a stop. Within minutes, three people emerged. The pilot helped Maria and a spindly-legged girl in denim shorts and a matching jacket hop to the ground.
Tears stung Shelby’s eyes. A morning breeze smelling of dust and cut grass teased her nostrils and ruffled the girl’s tangled, shoulder-length hair.
Shelby didn’t protest when Nevada placed a steadying arm around her shoulders, and silently she told herself she wouldn’t break down. Wouldn’t shed a solitary tear.
Elizabeth clung to Maria. Her face was white, her eyes wide and round, her steps unsure. Oh, Lord, this was going to be tough.
“Hello,” Shelby forced out as they neared, and Maria, one arm around the girl she’d raised, flashed a halting smile.
“Shelby,” she said. “I remember.” Maria’s eyes moved to Nevada. “And you, too.”
“Everything okay here?” the pilot, carrying luggage, asked. Tall and lanky, his sunglasses barely masking his impatience, he checked his watch. “That’s it for the luggage. If you need anything else, let me know. If not, I’ve got another run to make.”
“We’ll be fine,” Nevada said. “Thanks.” He shook the pilot’s hand, but his eyes never left the gangly girl—the nine-year-old who might be his daughter.
“Isabella,” Maria said to Elizabeth. “This is
Señora
Cole, the woman I told you about.”
Elizabeth looked scared to death. She clung to Maria and shook her head. “No,” she whispered, and Shelby’s heart cracked.
“But you have always wanted to meet your mother.”
Elizabeth’s face twisted in despair and she began sobbing, speaking rapidly in Spanish.
“No, no, she is your mother, but she did not ...” More Spanish as Maria leaned down and held Elizabeth closer still. Shelby’s heart broke into a thousand pieces, and were it not for Nevada’s strength her own legs might have given way. “Shh, shh ...” Maria said and Shelby finally pulled out of Nevada’s embrace.
“I know this is hard,” she said to the girl. Kneeling, she looked her child in the eye. “Very hard. For all of us. But believe me, I won’t do anything to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. I love you, Elizabeth, and—”
“Isabella,” the girl cried.
“Yes, yes, Isabella.” Slowly, so as not to frighten her, Shelby gathered her into her arms. The girl was as stiff as a board. “Whatever you want to be called. I ...” Shelby’s throat caught and she took in a shuddering breath. “I just want you to know that I missed you and I love you and I’m glad you’re here now. If I’d known where you were earlier, I would have come for you. I would have brought you ... here.” She wanted to say she would have brought her home, but they were in Bad Luck, Texas, a place she no longer considered her home and certainly not Elizabeth’s.
“See,” Maria encouraged the child. “You always said you wanted to meet your mother.” Shoving her bangs from her eyes, Maria straightened and said to Shelby, “Isabella, she has known she is ... adopted.”
“What about my father?” Elizabeth asked, squinting up at Maria, then swinging her glance in Nevada’s direction. “Where is he?”
Oh, God, now what?
“You’ll meet him soon,” Shelby said.
“For now, I guess I’ll just have to do.” Nevada stuck out a big hand, shook Elizabeth’s small palm and offered her one of his blindingly irresistible smiles. “We’ll catch up with the old man later.”
“Sure. Right. We’ll work things out,” Shelby said, her arms feeling empty as she let go of Elizabeth. She would have loved nothing more than to hug her daughter, to hold her close and never let go, but right now it would be best to take things slowly, let Elizabeth get used to the idea that she had a new mother. “Come on, I’ll drive us all back to the ranch. From there we’ll switch cars and head into town.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel as Nevada threw the few bags of luggage into the bed of the truck. “You can meet your grandfather.”
“Abuelo,
” Maria said reassuringly. “Grandpapa.”
Elizabeth didn’t smile, and Shelby didn’t blame her. As it was, the girl had no idea that her grandfather wanted nothing to do with her, had pretended she was dead and now was going to die himself. A tremendous pressure threatened to squeeze the breath from her lungs, but Shelby refused to give in to it. It was just life—a life of challenges, problems that would be dealt with. At least now she had her child.
Finally.
With Nevada at her side, Shelby watched as Maria helped Elizabeth into the backseat of the big truck. Elizabeth was nervous and avoided looking directly at Shelby, or Nevada for that matter.
Hang in there, she’ll come around. She
has
to,
Shelby told herself, forcing a smile she didn’t feel and pretending her heart wasn’t bruised in a billion places.
Once inside the truck, she threw it into gear and swung wide, turning around in the sun-bleached stubble and driving back to the heart of her father’s ranch. Nevada didn’t say much, just stared through the window, his jaw set as if in stone, the crow’s feet near the corners of his eyes prominent as he squinted and leaned an elbow through the open window.
God only knew what thoughts were rattling around in his mind as the sun continued to rise in the sky. Was Elizabeth his? Or Ross McCallum’s? The sickening taste of bile rose in the back of Shelby’s throat.
Take it slow,
she told herself.
Time is on your side. Things will work out. Don’t borrow trouble. Time heals all wounds.
But the platitudes that ricocheted through her mind seemed hollow and empty, sentiments that should be pasted into a get-well card for a mental patient rather than used as her own life’s guides. Already there had been too much lost time; it could never be recaptured, and every minute Elizabeth rejected her was one more minute thrown away.
Hazarding a glance in the rearview mirror, she saw blue, suspicious eyes staring at her as if she were some kind of witch. Great. Just damned great.
Give me strength,
Shelby silently prayed, then noticed Nevada stiffen on the seat next to her as the outbuildings of the ranch appeared. He swore under his breath, his eyes focused dead ahead.
She was about to ask what was wrong, but as her eyes followed his gaze, she felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.
Parked near the stables and glinting in the morning sunlight was a cruiser from the Sheriff’s Department Deputy Shep Marson, in full uniform and reflective sunglasses, leaned against one fender, his eyes trained on them.
Shelby swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth.
For a split second, Shelby wanted to crank hard on the wheel, turn the truck around and tromp on the accelerator. Sweat dotted her brow, and her insides turned to stone. No one had to say a word.
With a horrible sinking sensation, Shelby realized that Nevada Smith was about to be arrested for the murder of Ramón Estevan.
Chapter Nineteen
“This is insane,” Shelby said, glowering at her father in the billiard room of their house. “I watched as Shep cuffed Nevada and hauled him away.” Her heart had twisted, her blood was still boiling and she’d wanted to punch Shep Marson in his big belly. There had been a look of satisfaction on his beefy face as he snapped the cuffs on Nevada’s wrists, then held Nevada’s head down as he’d nudged him into the backseat of his cruiser.
“Smith was never any good, Shelby,” Judge Cole said. “Face it.”
“Can’t you
do
something?”
The Judge barked out a mirthless laugh. “So now you want me to pull some strings, do you?”
“Yes!” she said, then lowered her voice. Her daughter and Maria were upstairs resting after a stiff, formal greeting from the Judge.
“I offered to call the Stahancyk firm.”
“But Nevada didn’t kill Ramón Estevan! You know it and I know it.”
“It’s the evidence. It’s all pointing his way.”
“What about the testimony? No one saw him with Ramón that night.”
“Vianca’s changed her story.”
“Then she’s a damned liar! What about Ruby Dee? She saw McCallum with Ramón that night.” Shelby glanced up to see Lydia puttering in the kitchen. The woman had to be dead tired and jangled, just as Shelby was. But the housekeeper had changed, dressed neatly in her standard black dress and crisp white apron, her graying hair pinned away from her face. She was humming to herself as she always did and humming softly as she began marinading pork tenderloins, preparing for the first family dinner only a couple of hours in the future.