Lone Star Winter (19 page)

“Actually, it took the entire estate to settle his gambling debts,” he murmured. “Apparently, he liked the horses a little too much.”

“Then there was our father.” She anticipated his next thought.

He shook his head. “That was after Mr. Hardy in San Antonio.”

Libby actually gasped. It couldn't be!

Kemp leaned forward quickly. “Do you think Violet is happy having to live in a rented firetrap with her invalid mother? Her parents were wealthy. But a waitress at Mr. Hardy's favorite restaurant apparently began a hot affair with him and talked him into making her a loan of a quarter of a million dollars to save her parents from bankruptcy and her father from suicide. He gave her a check and had a heart attack before he could stop payment on it—which he planned to do. He told his wife and begged forgiveness of her and his daughter before he died.” His eyes narrowed. “He died shortly after he was seen with a pretty blonde at a San Antonio motel downtown.”

“You think it was Janet? That it wasn't a heart attack at all—that she killed him?”

“I think there are too many coincidences for comfort in her past,” Kemp said flatly. “But the one eyewitness who saw her with Hardy at that motel was unable to pick her out of a lineup. She'd had her hair color changed just the day before the lineup. She remained
a brunette for about a week and then changed back to blond.”

Libby's face tightened. “She might have killed my father,” she bit off.

“That is a possibility,” Kemp agreed. “It's early days yet, Libby. I can't promise you anything. But if she's guilty and I can get her on a witness stand, in a court of law, I can break her,” he said with frightening confidence. “She'll tell me everything she knows.”

She swallowed. “I don't want her to get away with it,” she began. “But Curt and I work for wages…”

He flapped his hand in her direction. “Every lawyer takes a pro bono case occasionally. I haven't done it in months. You and Curt can be my public service for the year,” he added, and he actually smiled. It made him look younger, much less dangerous than he really was.

“I don't know what to say,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

He leaned forward. “Say you'll be careful,” he replied. “I can't find any suspicion that she ever helped a young person have a heart attack, but I don't doubt for a minute that she knows how. I'm working with Micah Steele on that aspect of it. There isn't much he doesn't know about the darker side of medicine, even
if he is a doctor. And what he doesn't know about black ops and untimely death, Cash Grier does.”

“I thought Daddy died of a heart condition nobody knew he had.” She took a deep breath. “When I tell Curt, he'll go crazy.”

“Let me tell him,” Kemp said quietly. “It will be easier.”

“Okay.”

“Meanwhile, you have to go back home and pretend that nothing's wrong, that your stepmother is innocent of any foul play. That's imperative. If you give her a reason to think she's being suspected of anything, she'll bolt, and we may never find her.”

“We'd get our place back without a fight,” Libby commented wistfully.

“And a woman who may have murdered your father, among others, would go free,” Kemp replied. “Is that really what you want?”

Libby shook her head. “Of course not. I'll do whatever you say.”

“We'll be working in the background. The most important thing is to keep the pressure on, a little at a time, so that she doesn't get suspicious. Tell her you've spoken to an attorney about the will, but nothing more.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

He got up. “And don't tell Violet I said anything to you about her father,” he added. His broad shoulders moved restlessly under his expensive beige suit, as if he were carrying some difficult burden. “She's…sensitive.”

What a surprising comment from such an insensitive man, she thought, but she didn't dare say it. She only smiled. “Certainly.”

She was reaching for the doorknob when he called her back. “Yes, sir?”

“When you make another pot of coffee,” he said hesitantly, “I guess we could use some of that half and half.”

Her dropped jaw told its own story.

“She means well,” he said abruptly, and turned back to his desk. “But for now, I want it strong and black and straight up. Call me when it's made and I'll bring my cup.”

“It should be ready right now,” she faltered. Even in modern times, few bosses went to get their own coffee. But Mr. Kemp was something of a puzzle. Perhaps, Libby thought wickedly as she followed him down the hall, even to himself.

He glanced at Violet strangely, but he didn't make any more comments. Violet sat with her eyes glued to
her computer screen until he poured his coffee and went back to his office.

Libby wanted so badly to say something to her, but she didn't know what. In the end, she just smiled and made a list of the legal precedents she would have to look up for Mr. Kemp at the law library in the county courthouse. Thank God, she thought, for computers.

 

She was on her way home in the pickup truck after a long day when she saw Jordan on horseback, watching several men drive the pregnant heifers into pastures close to the barn. He had a lot of money invested in those purebred calves and he wasn't risking them to predators or difficult births. He looked so good on horseback, she thought dreamily. He was arrow-straight and his head, covered by that wide-brimmed creamy Stetson he favored, was tilted in a way that was particularly his. She could have picked him out of any crowd at a distance just by the way he carried himself.

He turned his head when he heard the truck coming down the long dirt road and he motioned Libby over to the side.

She parked the truck, cut off the engine, and stood on the running board to talk to him over the top of the
old vehicle. “I wish I had a camera,” she called. “Mama Powell, protecting his babies…”

“You watch it!” he retorted, shaking a finger at her.

She laughed. “What are you going to do, jump the fence and run me down?”

“Poor old George here couldn't jump a fence. He's twenty-four,” he added, patting the old horse's withers. “He hates his corral. I thought I'd give him a change of scenery, since I wasn't going far.”

“Everything gets old, I guess. Most everything, anyway,” she added with a faraway, wistful look in her eyes. She had an elderly horse of her own, that she might yet have to give away because it was hard to feed and keep him on her salary.

He dismounted and left George's reins on the ground to jump the fence and talk to her. “Did you see Kemp?” he asked.

“Yes. He said you phoned him.”

“I asked a few questions and got some uncomfortable answers,” he said, coming around the truck to stand beside her. His big lean hands went to her waist and he lifted her down close to him. Too close. She could smell his shaving lotion and feel the heat off his body under the Western cut long-sleeved shirt. In her simple, jacketed suit, she felt overly dressed.

“You don't look too bad when you fix up,” he commented, approving her light makeup and the gray suit that made her eyes look greener than they were.

“You don't look too bad when you don't,” she replied. “What uncomfortable answers are you getting?”

His eyes were solemn. “I think you can guess. I don't like the idea of you and Curt alone in that house with her.”

“We have a shotgun somewhere. I'll make a point of buying some shells for it.”

He shook her by the waist gently. “I'm not teasing. Can you lock your bedroom door? Can Curt?”

“It's an old house, Jordan,” she faltered. “None of the bedroom doors have locks.”

“Tell Curt I said to get bolts and put them on. Do it when she's not home. In the meantime, put a chair under the doorknob.”

“But why?” she asked uncertainly.

He drew a long breath. His eyes went to her soft bow of a mouth and he studied it for several seconds before he spoke. “There's one very simple way to cause a heart attack. You can do it with a hypodermic syringe filled with nothing but air.”

She couldn't speak for a moment. “Could they…tell that if they did an autopsy on my father?”

“I'm not a forensic specialist, despite the fact that
there are half a dozen shows on TV that can teach you how to think you are. I'll ask somebody who knows,” he added.

She hated the thought of disinterring her father. But it would be terrible if he'd met with foul play and it never came out.

He tilted her face up to his narrow dark eyes. “You're worrying. Don't. I'm as close as your phone, night or day.”

She smiled gently. “Thanks, Jordan.”

His thumbs moved on her waist while he looked down at her. His face hardened. His eyes were suddenly on her soft mouth, with real hunger.

The world stopped. It seemed like that. She met his searching gaze and couldn't breathe. Her body felt achy. Hungry. Feverish. She swallowed, hoping it didn't show.

“If you play your cards right, I might let you kiss me,” he murmured.

Her heart skipped. “Excuse me?”

One big shoulder lifted and fell. “Where else are you going to get any practical experience?” he asked. “Duke Wright is a candidate for the local nursing home, after all…”

“He's thirty-six!” she exclaimed. “That isn't old!”

“I'm thirty-two,” he pointed out. “I have all my own
teeth.” He grinned to display them. “And I can still outrun at least two of my horses.”

“That's an incentive to kiss you?” she asked blankly.

“Think of the advantages if you kiss me during a stampede,” he pointed out.

She laughed. He was a case. Her eyes adored him. “I'll keep you in mind,” she promised. “But you mustn't get your hopes up. This town is full of lonely bachelors who can't get women to kiss them. You'll have to take a number and wait.”

“Wait until what?” he asked, tweaking her waist with his thumbs.

“I don't know. Christmas? I could kiss you as part of your present.”

His eyebrows arched. “What's the other part?”

“It's not Christmas. Listen, I have to get home and make supper.”

“I'll send Curt on down,” he said.

She was seeing a new pattern. “To make sure I'm not left alone with Janet, is that right?”

“For my peace of mind,” he corrected. “I've gotten…used to you,” he added slowly. “As a neighbor,” he added deliberately. “Think how hard it would be to break in another one, at my age.”

“You just said you weren't old,” she reminded him.

“Maybe I am, just a little,” he confessed. He drew her up until she was standing completely against him, so close that she could feel the hard press of his muscular legs against her own. “Come on,” he taunted, bending his head with a mischievous little smile. “You know you're dying to kiss me.”

“I am?” she whispered dreamily as she studied the long, wide, firm curve of his lips.

“Desperately.”

She felt his nose brushing against hers. Somewhere, a horse was neighing. A jet flew over. The wind ruffled leaves in a small tree nearby. She was deaf to any sound other than the throb of her own heartbeat. There was nothing in the world except Jordan's mouth, a scant inch from her own. He'd never kissed her. She wanted him to. She ached for him to.

His hands tightened on her waist, lifting her closer. “Come on, chicken. Give it all you've got.”

Her hands were flat against his chest, feeling the warm muscles under his cotton shirt. She tasted his breath. Her arms slid up to his shoulders. He had her hypnotized. She wanted nothing more than to drown in him.

“That's it,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and lifted up on her tiptoes as
she felt the slow, soft press of her own lips against his for the first time.

Her knees were weak. She didn't think they were going to support her. And still Jordan didn't move, didn't respond.

Frustrated, she tried to lift up higher, her arms circled his neck and pulled, trying to make his mouth firm and deepen above hers. But she couldn't budge him.

“Oh, you arro…!”

It was the opening he'd been waiting for. His mouth crushed down against her open lips and his arms contracted hungrily. Libby moaned sharply at the rush of sensation it caused in her body. It had never been like this in her life. She was burning alive. She ached. She longed. She couldn't get close enough…. “Hey, Jordan!”

The distant shout broke the spell. Jordan jerked his head around to see one of his men waving a wide-brimmed hat and gesturing toward a pickup truck that was driving right out into the pasture where Jordan was putting those pregnant heifers.

“It's the feed supplement I ordered,” he murmured, letting her go slowly. “Damn his timing.”

He didn't smile when he said that. She couldn't manage even a word.

He touched her softly swollen mouth with his fingertips. “Maybe you could take me on a date and we could get lost on some deserted country road,” he suggested.

She took a breath and shook her head to clear it. “I do not seduce men in parked cars,” she pointed out.

He snapped his fingers. “Damn!”

“He's waving at you again,” she noted, looking over his shoulder.

“All right, I'll go to work. But I'll send Curt on home.” He touched her cheek. “Be careful, okay?”

She managed a weak smile. “Okay.”

He turned and vaulted the fence, mounting George with the ease of years of practice as a horseman. “See you.”

She nodded and watched him ride away. Her life had just changed course, in the most unexpected way.

B
ut all Jordan's worry—and Libby's unease—was for nothing. When she got home, Janet's Mercedes was gone. There was a terse little note on the hall table that read, Gone to Houston shopping, back tomorrow.

Even as she was reading it, Curt came in the back door, bareheaded and sweaty.

“She's gone?” he asked.

She nodded. “Left a note. She's gone to Houston and won't be back until tomorrow.”

“Great. It'll give me time to put locks on the bedroom doors,” he said.

She sighed. “Jordan's been talking to you, hasn't he?” she asked.

“Yes, and he's been kissing you, apparently,” he
murmured, grinning. “Old Harry had to yell himself hoarse to get Jordan's attention when they brought those feed supplements out.”

She flushed. She couldn't think of a single defense. But she hadn't heard Harry yelling, except one time. No wonder people were talking.

“Interested in you, is he?” Curt asked softly.

“He wanted me to ask him out on a date and get him lost on a dirt road,” she said.

“And you said…?”

She moved restively. “I said that I didn't seduce men in parked cars on deserted roads, of course,” she assured him.

He looked solemn. “Sis, we've never really talked about Jordan….”

“And we really don't need to, now,” she interrupted. “I'm a big girl and I know all about Jordan. He's only teasing. I'm older and he's doing it in a different way, that's all.”

Curt wasn't smiling. “He isn't.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, it doesn't matter. He's not a marrying man and I'm not a frivolous woman. Besides, his tastes run to beauty queens and state senators' daughters.”

He hesitated.

She smiled before he could say anything else. “Let
it drop. We've got enough on our minds now without adding more to them. Let's rush to the hardware store and buy locks before she gets back.”

He shrugged and let it go. There would be another time to discuss Jordan Powell.

 

When Libby got home from work Tuesday evening she was still reeling from the shocking news that a fed-up Violet had quit her job and gone to work for Duke Wright. Blake Kemp had not taken the news well. Her mood lifted when she found Jordan's big burgundy double-cabbed pickup truck sitting in her front yard. He was sitting on the side of the truck bed, whittling a piece of wood with a pocket knife, his broad-brimmed hat pushed way back on his head. He looked up at her approach and jumped down to meet her.

“You're late,” he complained.

She got out of her car, grabbing her purse on the way. “I had to stay late and type up some notes for Mr. Kemp.”

He scowled. “That's Violet's job.”

“Violet's leaving,” she said on a sigh. “She's going to work for Duke Wright.”

“But she's crazy for Kemp, isn't she?” Jordan wondered.

She scowled at him. “You aren't supposed to know that,” she pointed out.

“Everybody knows that.” He looked around the yard. “Janet hasn't shown up. Curt said she'd gone to Houston.”

“That's what the note said,” she agreed, walking beside him to the front porch. “Curt put the locks on last night.”

“I know. I asked him.”

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Want some coffee?”

“I'd love some. Eggs? Bacon? Cinnamon toast?” he added.

“Oh, I see,” she mused with a grin. “Amie's gone and you're starving, huh?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “She didn't have to leave. I only yelled a little.”

“You shouldn't scare her. She's old.”

“Dirt's old. Amie's a spring chicken.” He chuckled. “Anyway, she was shopping for antique furniture on the Internet and she found a side table she couldn't live without in San Antonio. She drove up to look at it. She said she'd see me in a couple of days.”

“And you're starving.”

“You make the nicest scrambled eggs, Libby,” he
coaxed. “Nice crisp bacon. Delicious cinnamon toast. Strong coffee.”

“It isn't the time of day for breakfast.”

“No law that you can't have breakfast for supper,” he pointed out.

She sighed. “I was planning a beef casserole.”

“It won't go with scrambled eggs.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a considering look. “You really are a pain, Jordan.”

He moved a step closer and caught her by the waist with two big lean hands. “If you want me to marry you, you have to prove that you're a good cook.”

“Marry…?”

Before she could get another word out, his mouth crushed down over her parted lips. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, his big hands steely at her waist, as if he were keeping them there by sheer will when he wanted to pull her body much closer to his own.

Her hands rested on his clean shirt while she tried to decide if he was kidding. He had to be. Certainly he didn't want to marry anybody. He'd said so often enough.

He lifted his head scant inches. “Stop doing that.”

She blinked. “Doing what?”

“Thinking. You can't kiss a man and do analytical formulae in your head at the same time.”

“You said you'd never marry anybody….”

His eyes were oddly solemn. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Before she could answer him, he bent his head and kissed her again. This time it wasn't a soft, teasing sample of a kiss. It was bold, brash, invasive and possessive. He enveloped her in his hard arms and crushed her down the length of his powerful body. She felt a husky groan go into her mouth as he grew more insistent.

Against her hips, she felt the sudden hardness of his body. As if he realized that and didn't like having her feel it, he moved away a breath. Slowly, he lifted his hard mouth from her swollen lips and looked down at her quietly, curiously.

“This is getting to be a habit,” she said breathlessly. Her body was throbbing, like her heart. She wondered if he could hear it.

His dark eyes fell to the soft, quick pulsing of her heart, visible where her loose blouse bounced in time with it. Beneath it, two hard little peaks were blatant. He saw them and his eyes began to glitter.

“Don't look at me like that,” she whispered gruffly.

His eyes shot up to catch hers. “You want me,” he said curtly. “I can see it. Feel it.”

Her breath was audible. “You conceited…!”

His hands caught her hips and pushed them against his own. “It's mutual.”

“I noticed!” she burst out, jerking away from him, red-faced.

“Don't be such a child,” he chided, but gently. “You're old enough to know what desire feels like.”

Her face grew redder. “I will not be seduced by you in my own kitchen over scrambled eggs!”

His eyebrows arched. “You're making them, then?” he asked brightly.

“Oh!” She pushed away from him. “You just won't take no for an answer!”

He smiled speculatively. “You can put butter on that,” he agreed. His eyes went up and down her slender figure while she walked through to the kitchen, leaving her purse on the hall table as she went. “Not going to change before you start cooking?” he drawled, following her in. “I don't mind helping.”

She shot him a dark glare.

He held up both hands. “Just offering to be helpful, that's all.”

She laughed helplessly. “I can dress myself, thanks.”

“I was offering to help you undress,” he pointed out.

She had to fight down another blush. She was a
modern, independent woman. It was just that the thought of Jordan's dark eyes on her naked body had an odd, pleasurable effect on her. Especially after that bone-shaking kiss.

“You shouldn't go around kissing women like that unless you mean business,” she pointed out as she got out a big iron skillet to cook the bacon in.

“What makes you think I didn't mean it?” he probed, straddling a kitchen chair to watch her work.

“You? Mr. I'll-Never-Marry?”

“I didn't say that. I said I didn't want to get married.”

“Well, what's the difference?” she asked, exasperated.

His dark eyes slid down to her breasts with a boldness that made her uncomfortable. “There's always the one woman you can't walk away from.”

“There's no such woman in your life.”

“Think so?” He frowned. “What are you doing with that?” he asked as she put the skillet on the burner.

“You're the one who wanted bacon!” she exclaimed.

“Bacon, yes, not liquid fat!” He got up from the chair, pulled a couple of paper towels from the roll and pulled a plate from the cabinet. “Don't you know how to cook bacon?”

He proceeded to show her, layering several strips of bacon on a paper-towel coated plate and putting another paper towel on top of it.

She was watching with growing amusement. “And it's going to cook like that,” she agreed. “Uh-huh.”

“It goes in the microwave,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You cook it for…”

“What's wrong?”

He was looking around, frowning, with the plate in one big hand. He opened cupboards and checked in the china cabinet. “All right, I'll bite. Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Your microwave oven!”

She sighed. “Jordan, we don't have a microwave oven.”

“You're kidding.” He scowled at her. “Everybody's got a microwave oven!”

“We haven't got one.”

He studied her kitchen and slowly he put the plate back on the counter with a frown. The stove was at least ten years old. It was one of the old-fashioned ones that still had knobs instead of buttons. She didn't even have a dishwasher. Everything in the kitchen was old, like the cast-iron skillet she used for most every meal.

“I didn't realize how hard things were for you and
Curt,” he said after a minute. “I thought your father had all kinds of money.”

“He did, until he married Janet,” she replied. “She wanted to eat out all the time. The stove was worn-out and so was the dishwasher. He was going to replace them, but she had him buy her a diamond ring she wanted, instead.”

He scowled angrily. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

His apology was unexpected and very touching. “It's all right,” she said gently. “I'm used to doing things the hard way. Really I am.”

He moved close, framing her oval face in his big warm hands. “You never complain.”

She smiled. “Why should I? I'm healthy and strong and able to do anything that needs doing around here.”

“You make me ashamed, Libby,” he said softly. He bent and kissed her with aching tenderness.

“Why?” she whispered at his firm mouth.

“I'm not really sure. Do that again.”

He nibbled her upper lip, coaxing her body to lean heavily against his. “This is even better than dessert,” he murmured as he deepened the pressure of his mouth. “Come here!”

He lifted her against him and kissed her hungrily, until her mouth felt faintly bruised from the slow,
insistent pressure. It was like flying. She loved kissing Jordan. She hoped he was never going to stop!

But all at once, he did, with a jerky breath. “This won't do,” he murmured a little huskily. “Curt will be home any minute. I don't want him to find us on the kitchen table.”

Her mouth flew open. “Jordan!”

He shrugged and looked sheepish. “It was heading that way. Here.” He handed her the plate of bacon. “I guess you'd better fry it. I don't think it's going to cook by itself.”

She smiled up at him. “I'll drain it on paper towels and get rid of some of the grease after it's cooked.”

“Why are you throwing those away?” he asked when she put the bacon on to fry and threw away the paper towels it had laid on.

“Bacteria,” she told him. “You never put meat back on a plate where it's been lying, raw.”

“They teach you that in school these days, I guess?”

She nodded. “And lots of other stuff.”

“Like how to use a prophylactic…?” he probed wickedly.

She flushed. “They did not! And I'll wash your mouth out with soap if you say that again!” she threatened.

“Never mind. I'll teach you how to use it, when the time comes,” he added outrageously.

“I am not using a prophylactic!”

“You want kids right away, then?” he persisted.

“I am not having sex with you on my kitchen table!”

There was a sudden stunned silence. Jordan was staring over her shoulder and his expression was priceless. Grimacing, she turned to find her older brother standing there with his mouth open.

“Oh, shut your mouth, Curt,” she grumbled. “It was a hypothetical discussion!”

“Except for the part about the prophylactic,” Jordan said with a howling mad grin. “Did you know that they don't teach people how to use them in school?”

Curt lost it. He almost doubled over laughing.

Libby threw a dish towel at him. “Both of you, out of my kitchen! I'll call you when it's ready. Go on, out!”

They left the room obediently, still laughing.

Libby shook her head and started turning the bacon.

 

“Hasn't Janet even phoned to say if she was coming back today?” Jordan asked the two siblings when they were seated at the kitchen table having supper.

“There wasn't anything on the answering machine,”
Libby said. “I checked it while the bacon was cooking. Maybe she thinks we're on to something and she's running for it.”

“No, I don't think so,” Curt replied at once. “She's not about to leave this property to us. Not considering what it would be worth to a developer.”

“I agree,” Jordan said. “I've given Kemp the phone number of a private detective I know in San Antonio,” he added. “He's going to look into the case for me.”