Jane Bonander (12 page)

Corey pounded him on the back. “Mother’ll think she’s died and gone to heaven when she learns you’re home.”

They pulled apart and studied each other, eyes shining, grinning like fools.

“How did you know I was here?”

Corey refused to release him. “Vern sent Pa a wire. I intercepted it. Thought it best to find out for myself before throwing both him and Ma into a tizzy.”

“That’s Vern for you. Sticking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him.” Strangely, Jackson wasn’t angry. He’d put off wiring them himself only because he didn’t know how to begin to repair all the damage he’d done. “So they don’t know I’m back?”

Corey studied him, continuing to shake his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you let us know you were home?”

Jackson let out a whoosh of air and ran his fingers through his hair. “I had something to settle before I did.”

“And is it settled?”

Jackson turned away, remembering Libby’s claim on his daughter. “Not completely.”

“Jackson, if they find out you’re home from someone other than you, they’ll be devastated.”

A wealth of emotions clamored through him. “How are they?”

“They’re fine. They grieved for you, you know.”

Jackson muttered a curse. “I don’t have to hear that.”

“I think you do. It’s like you died, and they never got the chance to bury the body. Why in the hell did you leave the way you did?”

He cursed again. “At the time I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to run the ranch, Corey. That was all. Can you believe it? It was all because I didn’t want to run the damned ranch.”

Corey continued to study him. “There was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”

Jackson’s pulse leaped. “What makes you think that?”

Corey settled comfortably into a chair and scratched his smoothly shaven chin. “I’ve been gnawing on that for a long time, brother.” He shook his head. “You weren’t that shallow. You wouldn’t have fled the country in search of something elusive if you’d just hated ranching. No, I figure there was something more to it.” He slanted his brother a glance. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I can’t.”

“Didn’t think so. What was it? A woman? You went back to the Indian village, didn’t you?”

Jackson drew a hefty breath, then expelled it noisily. “She was killed by marauding Whites. Vigilantes. I… I couldn’t bear it when she died. We had a daughter. I left the baby with my wife’s grandmother.”

Corey whistled softly through his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell the folks? They’d have helped, you know that.”

“Pride, I guess. I stopped by to do just that, but to my mind, Pa looked too busy to care about what happened to me. He had a breech calf that day, and he was so damned concerned about that animal …” His voice trailed off at the memory.

“Did you come back for the child?” At Jackson’s nod, Corey expelled a sigh of his own. “Find her?”

Another nod. “I told her who I was a few days ago.”

“What is she
,
about twelve?”

Jackson nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah. About twelve.”

“So what’s the problem?” Corey poured himself coffee and brought the cup to his mouth.

Jackson swung toward the window and studied the street a moment, allowing his gaze to follow a stray dog as it nosed through the dirt. Then he turned back to his brother. “She’s been adopted.”

Luckily Corey hadn’t taken a drink of his coffee. “What?”

“By the woman who runs the rooming house.”

A slow smile spread across Corey’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned. I think your daughter and I have already met.” He explained what had transpired in the woods.

“Who is the golden one?”

Jackson smirked. “Always the poet, Corey. The ‘golden one’ is the schoolmistress, Chloe Ann Parker.”

“Chloe Ann Parker.” The name came out of Corey’s mouth sounding like a chant.

Now it was Jackson’s turn to study his little brother. He was a handsome devil, his golden curls mere shades darker than he remembered. He was lean and tightly muscled, like a circus acrobat. When Jackson had left, Corey was a gangly boy of twelve, with knobby knees and a squeaky voice. Now he had to be almost twenty-five. Thickness gathered in Jackson’s throat, and he cursed himself for missing out on so much of his brother’s life and everyone else’s.

“No woman in your life, little brother?”

“I’ve been too busy.” He winked. “Until now.”

“Doing what, may I ask?”

“I’m compiling a book on California flora and fauna.”

Jackson arched an eyebrow. “A writer in the family. Mother must be very proud.” He waited a beat. “And Father?”

Corey’s smile was grim. “I help him when I can. Actually, Kito’s boys, Abe and Ash, have been working for him for a few years. Abe is as tall as his pa and almost as strong.”

“And … and Mandy? Kate?”

Corey’s smile turned warm. “You wouldn’t recognize them. Mandy’s been away at school. She’s home now, for a short time, anyway. Ah, Jackson,” he said, his voice luxurious with awe, “she’s a beauty.”

“She’s almost twenty,” Jackson mused.

“And beating young suitors off with a stick.”

They looked at each other and grinned.

“Pa’s worried sick she’ll take up with someone he doesn’t approve of.” Corey’s grin widened.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t already. And Katie?”

“She’ll be fourteen next week, remember?”

He hadn’t. “God,” he muttered, stretching his back, “with my sisters and brother all grown up, I feel ancient.”

Corey gulped his coffee, then put the cup on the desk. “So when do I get to formally meet your daughter?”

Jackson clamped a hand on his brother’s sinewy shoulder. “You’ll come home with me. As long as Dawn Twilight knows who you are, you can bet she’s told her mother.”

Corey gave him a quizzical look. “What about this woman who adopted your daughter? Can we expect anything to happen there, or is she a toothless crone with a wart on her nose?”

Jackson gave him a mysterious smile, remembering Libby’s lush curves and sensuous mouth, her cautious pride and the fire in her dark eyes. Warm wine and sultry Spanish nights.

He steered his brother toward the door. “She’s no crone, and there’s no wart on her nose, but the most we can expect to happen is that she’s undoubtedly working on a menu plan to serve my head on a plate.”

Corey appeared fascinated. “Sounds interesting.”

In spite of himself, Jackson chuckled. “ ‘Interesting’ doesn’t begin to describe it.”

L
ibby had watched Dawn’s transformation. She’d come flying into the kitchen from the woods, nearly skidding to a stop, to announce that she’d seen Jackson’s brother and that he could whistle like a bird and had yellow hair and a beautiful horse. Now, with everyone seated around the dinner table, Dawn had become a mute. Her eyes darted toward her father, then across the table to her uncle, and Libby noticed that not only had she not spoken a word, she hadn’t touched her food.

It was a tense meal to look forward to for Libby as well. For some inane reason she wanted to make a good impression on Jackson’s brother, so had taken pains to choose the right dress for dinner and had even put the Spanish combs in her hair that Sean had bought her after their wedding.

If Corey Wolfe’s look was one of interest, Jackson’s was one of fire. Lord, she hadn’t meant to dress for
him.
Her intention hadn’t been to seduce, for pity’s sake. She merely wanted Corey Wolfe to know that she was someone to be reckoned with in this battle for Dawn’s affections.

Bert and Burl ate nonstop and spoke little, which wasn’t that unusual, for they never liked to mix food and conversation. However, Libby noted with a sinking feeling, they took everything in just the same. No doubt tomorrow they would sit on the porch and discuss every detail of this meal in their own inimitable way.

Chloe Ann appeared to be the focus of Corey’s attention, although Libby noticed he never ignored Dawn in favor of the schoolmistress. Chloe Ann blushed throughout the entire dinner.

Mahalia served them, making noises in her throat which, fortunately, only Libby understood. They translated to “This is an interestin’ situation we’ve got here, Libby. How’re we gonna handle it?”

Later that evening, Libby found Dawn in the parlor with Jackson and Corey. They had her full attention, regaling her with stories of their boyhood. Stories of their sisters, their friends, their parents. The get-togethers they had enjoyed, the parties they’d attended, the traditions they had delighted in as children.

An emotion Libby was reluctant to name climbed up her throat, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Plainly, she knew it was jealousy. And fear. A whole lot of fear.

She stepped into the room. “Dawn, it’s time for bed.” Whatever she did, she couldn’t let her daughter see what she was feeling.

Dawn bade the men good night and was quiet as she and Libby climbed the stairs to her room. Yet Libby noticed that she nearly vibrated with unleashed energy.

“I wonder if you’ll be able to sleep,” Libby pondered.

Dawn turned her shiny dark eyes on her mother. “I don’t think I can, Mama. It’s all so exciting.” She giggled, then pressed a hand to her mouth.

Libby touched her stomach, in which her supper churned.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The last thing Libby wanted to hear about was Jackson’s wonderful family, but she hid her somber mood.

“Oh, Mama, they’re gonna have a big party for me! Uncle Corey said so, even though no one knows about me but him. He said everyone would love me.
He
already loves me, and he only just met me! Isn’t it exciting, Mama? Isn’t it?”

She had never seen Dawn this euphoric, this filled with joy and happiness. It depressed Libby further. “Very exciting, dear. But you have to get up early in the morning. You’d better think quiet thoughts.”

“I’m gonna write a story about my life,” Dawn announced.

Libby hid a smile. “It should make for exciting reading.”

With a dreamy yawn, Dawn pulled her nightgown on over her head. “It’ll start when I was a baby. About being alone, near death’s door,” she said dramatically. “Uncle Corey told me he’d help me.”

Cyclops was already under Dawn’s covers when she slid into bed, and Mumser hopped up beside her, growling at both Libby and the lump the cat made at the foot of the bed.

Libby shook her head. “Does that dog do nothing but growl?”

Dawn bent and kissed him. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, Mama.” She pulled the covers up to her chin, her gaze on Libby. “What’s wrong?”

Libby’s smile was as warm as she could muster. “Hmm?”

“You’re smiling, but your eyes are sad. What’s wrong?”

Libby sat on the bed, ignored the dog’s menacing growl, and smoothed Dawn’s hair away from her forehead. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Dawn’s eyebrows were pinched together. “Something looks wrong, Mama.”

Libby squeezed her daughter’s arm, then tickled her, making Dawn laugh. “Oh, I’m just envious of all the attention you’re getting from the two most handsome men in the house, that’s all.”

Dawn relaxed. “Papa is handsome, isn’t he?”

Libby’s stomach pitched to her knees. “Papa?”

Nodding, Dawn answered, “He said he wanted me to call him Papa, and I want to. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

Libby was dying inside. “Yes. Of course. After all, he has the right to that much, I guess.”

“What do you mean, Mama?”

Libby straightened the bedding and rose. “Nothing, dear. Now try to sleep. It’s late.” She crossed to the door.

“Mama?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

Libby couldn’t turn, for her eyes stung with tears. She wasn’t even sure she could speak. “I love you too, Dawn.”

Meeting Jackson in the hallway, she quickly swiped at her moist eyes with her fingers. She wanted to fly at him, pummel him with her fists, knee him in places no lady would, but her frustration had no outlet. She’d already lost her temper with him once, and she refused to let him believe she had no control. One day her inability to express her emotions would be the death of her, because her head would probably explode.

Jackson loomed over her. His nearness sent her pulse pounding, making her angrier still.

“I wanted to say good night.”

In spite of everything, the sound of his deep baritone made her quiver. “She’s already in bed.” Her arms crossed over her chest, Libby stood in front of Dawn’s door like a jailer.

Jackson’s eyes glittered in the dim hall light. “You can’t stop the inevitable.”

“I can try,” she answered, grasping at straws.

“Don’t—”

His words were cut off by screeching and growling from Dawn’s bedroom.

Libby flung open the door. “Dawn? What’s happening?”

“It’s Mumser and Cyclops,” she wailed. “They’re fighting, Mama. Get them off my bed!”

A light came on behind her, and Libby realized that Jackson had lit the lamp. Cyclops stood on one side of Dawn, her back arched and every hair standing straight up. She was alternately screeching and growling at the dog, who barked and yipped and growled on the other side of Dawn’s quaking supine body.

“Mumser!” Jackson’s terse command made the dog quiet, but he continued to growl deep in his throat. Jackson picked him up off the bed, drawing him away from the fight.

Libby dived for Cyclops, who shimmied away and slunk out of the room, into the darkness.

Dawn’s eyes were wide and filled with tears. “They were gonna fight, Mama. How can they fight when I love them both?”

Libby rubbed her face and pressed her fingers against her eyes. “You can’t have it both ways, dear. Obviously they can’t sleep in the same bed. You’ll have to choose.”

Mumser wiggled from Jackson’s grip and leaped onto the bed, licking Dawn’s tears as they dripped down her cheeks. She gave them a watery smile and hugged the dog. “Oh, I do love Cyclops, Mama, really I do, but … but Mumser is more cuddly.”

A queasy feeling stirred inside Libby. “Is that your choice?”

Mumser snuggled beside Dawn, preparing to stay. “Can Cyclops sleep with you?”

How can they fight when I love them both?
Libby’s head told her the choice had nothing to do with her, but her heart told her differently. She and Jackson were no better than the animals, fighting for Dawn’s affections. However, the dog was Jackson’s, the cat hers. Emotionally, Libby felt her daughter was rejecting that which she’d known longest for something new, something more exciting and more promising. With all that had happened, and what would happen once Dawn was introduced to Jackson’s family, Libby feared her daughter’s choice of a parent had been made as well.

She prayed she would hear from the attorney soon. She’d wired him shortly after Jackson told her who he was, and now the lawyer appeared to be her only hope. But even if the adoption held up in a court of law, she knew she would never get Jackson out of her life.

Corey bent over his notebook, leaning toward the light. Leaves and berries, each in a small pile, were heaped up on one side of the kitchen table. A shadow fell across his book, and he glanced up.

A timid Chloe Ann Parker stood nearby. “Hello.” Her voice was sweet. Soft. Melodic.

He slowly shoved his notebook to one side, afraid that any swift movement would drive her off. “Hello.” He couldn’t stop the sound of pleasure he knew was in his voice.

She moved to the table. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” he answered with a shrug, certain she was merely being polite, “nothing, really. I’m just cataloging some samples.”

She reached across him, her lilac scent hovering between them, and plucked up a leaf. With dainty fingers, she touched the thick, shiny surface, then turned it over, exposing the dull, flat underside. “California laurel.”

Pleased and surprised, he answered, “Not a very exciting specimen, I’ll grant you.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. When it flowers, it’s lovely.” She continued to handle the leaf, then snapped it into two pieces. A pungent aroma wafted toward him, obliterating the lilac-scented air.

“I love this smell,” she murmured, drawing in a long breath. “It’s so … so earthy.”

Well, well, well, he thought, his interest mounting. “How do you know so much about trees, Miss Parker?”

“They’re a hobby of mine.” She leaned close to the notebook. “How do you?”

“I’m compiling a book on the subject.” His smile was quick. “Are you impressed?”

She rocked onto her heels, her hands clasped behind her, her head cocked to one side. In the light of the lamp, her golden hair shimmered with fire. “Should I be?”

“By all means,” he answered with mock seriousness. “I would be disappointed if you weren’t.”

Examining him carefully, she asked, “You’re truly Mr. Wolfe’s brother? You look nothing alike.”

“We’re not related by blood. My mother married his father.”

“And little Dawn is his daughter.” She pondered the statement, then added, “From his first day here, he seemed to be interested in her.”

Noting the dry tone, he asked, “You don’t approve?”

She raised a tawny brow. “Approve? I don’t think it’s my place to make a judgment. However, Libby is a dear friend of mine, and anything that hurts her, hurts me.”

Corey shrugged. “Why should she be hurt?”

Chloe Ann graced him with a sly smile. “You aren’t that naive, are you?” She gave him no chance to answer. “Your brother hopes to take Dawn with him, doesn’t he?”

“He
is
her father.”

“And Libby is her legal mother. Tell me, Corey Wolfe, how such a dilemma can have a happy ending for all?”

This side of her showed a wisdom he hadn’t imagined. His interest in her grew. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, Chloe Ann Parker.”

There was a sadness in her eyes as she turned to leave. “That’s true, I guess, but who do you figure will be the most unhappy if he takes Dawn away from her mother? How would you have felt if you’d been ripped from your mother’s arms?”

A dusty corner of Corey’s memory was jarred, and he suddenly remembered that that very thing had nearly happened to him.

Jackson glanced at Miss Parker’s retreating form as he stepped into the kitchen. His brother’s gaze was still on the door.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

Corey gave him a lopsided grin. “When I see what I like, I go after it.” His grin turned wry. “I’d think you’d do the same.”

“What in the hell does that mean?”

Corey laughed softly. “You’re not that dense, are you?”

“I must be, because I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” At least he didn’t want to think he was that obvious.

Jackson went to the stove, checked the pot, and poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat across from his brother. He felt Corey’s probing appraisal.

“Seems to me the solution to your dilemma is right under your nose.”

“I don’t have a dilemma,” Jackson grumbled, knowing full well that he did.

“Whatever you say, big brother,” Corey answered under his breath.

“I’ll …er …wire the folks in the morning. As soon as I can get away, we’ll take a trip north to the ranch.”

“Dawn, too?”

“Of course, Dawn, too. That’s the purpose of the trip, isn’t it?”

Corey folded his arms over his chest and studied him.

“You have no qualms about taking Dawn away from here?” Jackson glowered into his coffee, attempting to ignore his conscience. “She’s my daughter.”

“What about her mother? Haven’t you given any thought to how she’ll feel? Or, for that matter, if she’ll even let you take her?”

“I’ve contacted an attorney. We’ll see who has legal custody,” he growled. “I have no doubt she’s sent word to one, too.”

“Ah, a standoff.”

“I’ll win,” Jackson answered, and meant it.

“Possibly, but what will you win, big brother?”

“My daughter, of course. What else is there?”

“If you do win, don’t you think Dawn would be more willing if you considered a union with the mother, too?”

“So that’s what you were getting at.”

Corey chuckled. “Either your head’s made of wood or you’re a little light in the heels. Somehow I don’t think you’re either.”

In the quiet recesses of his mind, maybe the thought of a union of some sort with Libby O’Malley had occurred to him. Other than Dawn Twilight, however, he had little to offer a woman. He wasn’t interested in remarrying. He didn’t feel it was fair to give a woman false hope.

“A long-drawn-out court battle would be detrimental to everyone involved, don’t you think?”

Jackson muttered a curse, knowing Corey was right. “When did you become so almighty brilliant?”