Echoes (22 page)

He leaned against the porch railing and asked calmly, "Who's the father?"

"I thought you might know." In her head, the words hadn't sounded condemning. Spoken out loud, they were heavy with accusation.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because...well, I…" She what? She was shooting in the dark, hoping she didn't hit her target? She was looking for answers in the places her sister usually left them—with men that she couldn't resist? He stared at her, waiting for an explanation she didn't have. She moved to the railing beside him, carefully fixing her gaze on the grazing horses.

"It's just that Caitlin told me that you'd had dinner with her."
All of you Westons…

"And that makes me the father of her child?"

"No. Of course not. But she's more than an acquaintance, isn't she? Why else would you be taking her out to dinner?"

"I suppose something as banal as welcoming her to town would be too simple an answer."

Her face was hot again. "All I meant is that—well, face it. Tori is a knock-out. And to be perfectly honest, men don't ask Tori to dinner just to be polite. They ask her because they can't resist her. She's got that—that whatever it is that drives men crazy, that makes them run into walls because their heads are turned to watch her. I've yet to meet a man who isn't—who doesn't—who's not attracted to her." Somehow her voice had risen until each word tumbled out in a loud rush. Embarrassed, she looked away and tried to finish more calmly. "You can't tell me she didn't make an impression on you."

His narrowed gaze made a sweep over her, noting the flush heating her face and the quick, shallow rise and fall of her chest. "That upsets you, doesn't it?"

"What upsets me is that I don't know where the hell she is."

"But deep down, you know she's going to show up. She always does. That's how she lives, isn't it?"

"You tell me. You seem to know a lot about her."

"Not her, only every other woman like her. I spent twenty-five years running with that pack. I had an insider's view, you might say. Kind of bittered me on the experience."

"Well you're wrong. Tori isn't like
any
other woman."

"You sound a little jealous."

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous? She's my sister."

"Your gorgeous, sexy sister. Like you said, she walks in a room and every man stops to stare. That's a tough act to follow."

"No, it's not. I mean, yes, she's all that. But I'm not jealous."

"Or angry? I'll bet this isn't the first time you've come to bail her out of trouble...is it?"

"We help each other," Tess said, watching warily as Grant moved closer. Too close. He'd invaded her space and she felt trapped by the weakness his nearness caused.

"Yeah, what's she done for you lately?"

Tess swallowed hard, searching her mind. "I don't need help as much. I don't have a kid I'm trying to raise. Life hasn't been all that terrific for Tori, you know. Just because she's beautiful doesn't mean everything comes easy to her."

"And it's a bed of roses for you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Has life been easy for you? Has it been great having a beauty queen for a sister? Don't you ever wish she'd learn to take care of herself so you could you have a life too?"

"I have a life. I have a great life. I have a job and friends and—"

"And you can pick up at a moment's notice and fly across the country to bail your sister out of her latest mess."

His tone had a soothing, coaxing quality that
bleeped
against her internal radar and sent back warning. She realized too late that she'd painted herself into a corner and any attempt to escape would be marked by her own messy footprints. It felt as if he'd climbed into her head and pried the lid off the box of emotions she kept sealed so tight. As he spoke the words, she couldn't deny the painful truth of them. Her life had been on hold for twenty-eight years. No decision was ever made without first thinking of Tori.

"Tori's just going through a rough time," she said, but her voice wavered, exposing the turmoil she felt inside. "When we were kids, she was there for me. Now I'm there for her."

"Is that a life sentence?"

"Stop it."

"Alright. I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Tess stared at him, filled with frustration and doubt. "I love my sister," she said. "She's the only family I have."

"I know, blue eyes," he murmured, cupping her face in his large hands. "I know."

And she felt as if he did know. Everything—every thought. Every feeling. His thumb brushed against her lips, setting her senses on fire as he forced her to look up and meet his probing stare. She was hurt, betrayed by the reality of her own selfish feelings. He'd held a mirror to her and she didn't like what she saw in the reflection.

"You asked if your sister made an impression on me," he said softly. "She did. But not the kind she was hoping to make. And not half the impression you have, Tess. Not half."

Tess watched his mouth form each word, felt the caress of his velvet voice as he spoke them, but she seemed incapable of understanding their meaning. He stared into her face, his expression serious, imploring.

He said, "With everything that's happened in the past forty-eight hours, the last thing I should be thinking of is a woman, but I can't seem to get you out of my head."

"But Tori—"

"I know you love her, but your sister is trouble. Trouble I don't need. Trouble I don't want."

His declaration felt open-ended, as if the implication of what he
did
want should be apparent now. But Tess was having a hard time concentrating on anything beyond the heat of his body radiating so close to hers. She kept her gaze fixed on the broad strength of his chest, aware all the while of the flat, hard muscles of his belly, his thighs, just inches away. She raised her hands, intending to push him away so she could think, but the soft flannel of his shirt was warm against her palms and of their own volition, her hands lingered.

"What fool would choose your sister over you?" he said, his lips at her temple, his breath soft and warm against her skin. He held her face between his hands with exquisite gentleness as his thumbs made hypnotic circles over the sensitive skin. Finally she could resist no more. With a quick breath, Tess looked into the warm glowing light of his eyes.

He's choosing me, she thought incredulously. How could that be?

And then his mouth was on hers and she couldn't think anymore, couldn't feel beyond his touch. Her arms came up and around his neck and she pressed herself tight against him, letting all her confusion, her self-doubts pour from her. He gathered her closer, absorbing her pain with a heat that burned into her heart. His scent was intoxicating, clean and mysterious like the man and she breathed him in, wanting to make him a part of her. He tugged at her shirt, pulling it from the waist of her jeans and then the current in his touch spread up her ribs.

Her own hands roamed over his chest, his arms, down to the flat of his belly. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once. Everything she felt and needed was there on the surface binding her to him with immediate intensity. She'd been made to fit with this man and all she wanted was more—more contact, more feel, more giving, more taking. She wanted to give him all of her, whether it was right, whether it was wrong.

It was the completeness of her surrender that brought with it an unwelcome wave of realization. Was she so crazed that nothing else mattered but the touch of him? Tess made a small sound of refusal and tried to ignore the voice of reason speaking in her head, but it would not be silenced. What was she thinking? What was she
doing
? No matter how he made her feel, she didn't know this man. How could she trust the confused tangle of emotions inside her?

Reluctantly she pulled away, breathing heavy as she fought her own desire to hold onto him. She felt his resistance as he let her go and staring into his eyes, she saw the fire burning there, knew the same longing was in her own. She shook her head, denying them both.

Since he'd opened the door, everything had gone exactly the opposite of what she'd planned. Her sensory perception had been jammed by his nearness, destroyed by her reactions to him. Now she felt like she'd stumbled into a bog that got deeper and deeper with every effort she made to escape.

She felt vulnerable and weak and angry with herself. Angry that he'd revealed her innermost feelings, angry that he'd peeled back her protective shell and left her exposed. Angry that all she wanted was to step back into his arms and forget everything but the thrill of his lips against hers.

"I'd better go," she said, her voice as tight and thin as her control.

Grant stared at her, unblinking as those light eyes watched her agitated movements. She straightened her clothes, feeling foolish and gauche under his steady assessment. What was he thinking? The moments in his arms already felt like a dream, yet another hallucination that couldn't possibly be real. What would a man like Grant Weston see in Tess Carson?

The answer to that question opened the door on another. She thought back, remembering the conversation that had led to her being in his arms. She'd asked about Tori, about the baby's father and rather than answer her, he'd turned the tables. He'd begun to pry, searching for tender spots to probe. Why? Because he didn't like the questions she'd asked? Because he didn't want to answer them? Had he launched this seduction to simply divert her?

No. She didn't want to believe that. She'd felt his heart hammering beneath her hands. He'd been as excited by her as she was by him. He couldn't have faked it. But even as the thought formed, she knew it was very possible that it could have been an act—an act performed by a talented actor.

"You never answered my question," she said with a small, bitter laugh. "I almost forgot I'd asked it."

Grant still said nothing. All warmth had vanished from his face, leaving his expression inscrutable.

"You know who the father of Tori's baby is, don't you? Is it you?"

He stared at her, not answering as anger replaced the enigmatic look in his eyes. Finally he took a menacing step closer and said in a tight, low voice, "Your sister gets around. You're going to have to make a lot more casseroles if you're going to track down everyone she's screwed."

He placed a hand on the post above her head and leaned in. Looking into his taut and angry face, she felt threatened to her soul. If he wanted to hurt her, he could. He very well could.

All at once, the isolation of the ranch seemed to expand until she and Grant were the only two people in the world. Unsettling realizations, all of which she should have considered from the start, filled her head. Her sister was missing and for all Tess knew, this man could have something to do with it. Why else would he evade the question if he didn't have something to hide? Why else would her asking make him so enraged?

"If you're not the father, just say so." The slight waver in her voice revealed her fear and fueled the resentment that emanated from his entire body. Red hot, it hissed and sizzled.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you? You've got to dig through the garbage until you get what you came for. Is that it? Doesn't matter that it's rotten. Doesn't matter whose life you fuck up, does it?" He pushed away and paced a few steps before spinning around again. "Your dear misunderstood sister was banging my dad, Tess. You got that? My sixty-eight year old dad. Is he the father of her kid? I don't know. Could it be me? Not in a million years. Happy now?"

Tess stared at him in shock. His dad? Tori was with his
dad
?

"Nothing to say?" He gave a low laugh, but there was no amusement in the sound. "This land has been in my family for over a hundred and fifty years. My great-great-grandfather founded the goddamn town, for Chrissake. I came back to get it running again. I've got a stable full of
Hollywood horses and plans to expand this place. My dad was all for it until your sister waltzed in, screwed him for a couple of weeks and all of a sudden the sun rose and set on her. There was nothing he had that she couldn't take. Not one goddamn thing. Including this."

His hand swept out to the paddock, the corral, the meadows and hills beyond, but like a skipping record, she couldn't get past, "
your dear misunderstood sister was banging my dad.
"

"You want to know what I think? I think she used him. I think she was here when that tractor flipped and she did nothing to help him. I think she took what she could and hit the road."

Tess shook her head, fighting to block out his angry, cruel words. But they stuck, thick with allegation and horrifying possibilities. She wanted to shout for him to stop, but just then a car came up the drive. Both she and Grant turned toward the Mountain Bend sheriff's cruiser that pulled in next to Tess's rented Honda.

"Aw shit," Grant said. "That's just what the day needs."

Tess watched with disbelief as Smith and Ochoa got out and came up the porch steps. Ochoa tipped his hat at Tess. Smith ignored her.

"Grant," Smith said. "Like you to come to the station with us. Answer a few questions."