Son of a Gun (23 page)

“No problem. Is Beth around?”

“She had an appointment in Dallas this morning, but she’ll be in later today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, I just wanted to tell her hello and to introduce her to my houseguest.”

Instead she introduced Emma and Belle to the waitress. Emma let Carolina do the ordering for them. She took that opportunity to look around the restaurant.

Almost all of the tables were taken and several people were walking around in the gift section to the left of the tables. Most of the items that she could see from her chair seemed to fit into a kitchen theme. They were all unusual and eye-catching.

“Oak Grove must be larger than I thought,” Emma said as the waitress walked away. “I wouldn’t have thought it would support a café and gift shop as nice as this one.”

“You’d be amazed at how many ranching families live in the area. They spread out in every direction. Many are small ranches used by Dallasites as weekend homes. Several of the bigger ranches are owned by professional ball players and even movie stars who like owning a ranch where they can escape the hassles of fame. Most are just small ranchers doing what they love.”

“But none are as large as Bent Pine Ranch?”

“Not in this part of the state. Living on a ranch has a lot to offer, Emma.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“Damien loves it. I can’t see him living anywhere but on the ranch, but I wish he’d find the right woman and fall in love. I may be slightly prejudiced, but I think he’d make a terrific husband and father.” Carolina smiled mischievously. “And from a selfish standpoint, I’m ready for grandkids.”

This was not the direction Emma had planned for the conversation to go. If she was going to say anything, she’d best say it now.

Belle vetoed that by beginning to fuss.

“She’s probably getting hungry,” Carolina said. “Why don’t you let me feed her so that you can enjoy your lunch when it comes?”

“But then you won’t get to eat yours.”

“That’s okay. Feeding Belle is much more of a treat for me.”

Maybe this was the time to say what was on her mind. She handed Belle off to Carolina and took the bottle from the oversize handbag Carolina had insisted she borrow.

“I can see how fond you are of Belle,” she said. “I know this may sound like an imposition, but—”

The waitress returned with their drinks. Before she left them, a middle-age woman walked through the door, waved to Carolina and headed straight to their table.

The favor Emma needed to ask would just have to wait. But some things couldn’t. A new plan began to formulate in her mind.

Chapter Twelve

There was no sign of Damien when Emma and Carolina returned to the ranch. But the drive had given Emma time to do some serious thinking. She couldn’t go on like this.

She was falling in love with Damien. And Carolina was starting to visualize her as a daughter-in-law.

But nothing had really changed with Caudillo. She might feel safe on the ranch. Damien might keep reassuring her she was safe. But Caudillo would not have given up.

She picked up the phone in her bedroom and punched in the number for her former office in Nashville.

“Dorothy Paul, please,” she requested when the receptionist answered.

“Could you repeat that?”

“Dorothy Paul. She’s a tech agent.”

“Dorothy Paul is no longer with the Bureau. May I direct your call to someone else?”

“No. Wait. Am I talking to Sally Jenkins?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

She hesitated, but she’d reached desperation level. She had to know if Dorothy was alive. “It’s Emma Muran, Sally. Long time, huh?”

“Girl, is it ever? How in the world are you? You’re still married, aren’t you?”

“How did you hear about that?”

“From everybody. Well, from Dorothy first, of course, but then from Arnold Sawyer when you turned in your resignation. You go on vacation and wind up married to a billionaire with a mansion in the Caribbean. I was sick with envy. Does he have a brother?”

“No brother.” Emma’s mind reeled as if she’d been dropped into another dimension. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Dorothy. Do you know how I can reach her?”

“You know she quit right after you did, don’t you?”

“No, we kind of lost touch after I left Nashville.”

“You’re kidding. You haven’t heard her good news?”

“No, did she get a promotion?”

“Way better than that. She won a lottery—the Florida one, I think. Not one of the super jackpots, but enough that she quit work and moved to Oregon. You two became the big motto around here.”

“What motto was that?”

“Go to Work for the Nashville ATF and Get Rich. I’m still waiting.”

“Do you think anyone around there has a phone number or an address for her? Even a city would help.”

“I seriously doubt it. Dorothy just came whirling in one morning, tossed a handful of hundred-dollar bills in the air like they were confetti and told us all she was moving to Oregon.”

“Why Oregon?”

“She didn’t say, and it all happened so fast no one thought to ask. You can imagine how pissed Sawyer was, losing two tech agents in a matter of days and neither of you giving notice.”

“Is Sawyer still there?”

“Yeah. And as standoffish as ever with us lowlifes who only work for him. He’s been away on some secret project for the last two weeks, but he’s due back in the office tomorrow if you want to give him a call and see if he knows how to reach Dorothy. My guess is that he doesn’t.”

“I might do that. Any other big news in the department?”

“Kevin Greene and his wife got divorced. Mary Nell is pregnant. And I have a new pair of Jimmy Choo boots that I practically had to mortgage the house to pay for. I think that’s it.”

“Then I should let you get back to work.”

“What? No invite to visit you in paradise? That smarts.”

“Paradise is grossly overrated.”

* * *

THE TUESDAY EVENING MEAL at Bent Pine Ranch was served at the dining room table rather than in the kitchen. The menu consisted of homemade chicken enchiladas, black beans, the best flan Emma had ever tasted and enough tension to choke one of Damien’s bulls.

Carolina hadn’t been the cook. Apparently a middle-age Hispanic woman named Alda with a flair for the delicious and a lyrical laugh did the kitchen chores Monday through Friday.

Alda didn’t eat with the family, but her congenial manner made her seem more like a friend than a servant. She kidded around with Pearl as she served and cooed at Belle, fortunately rescuing them all from what would have been a series of awkward silences, interrupted only by the sound of chewing.

Even Belle was fussier than usual, not crying but whimpering and squirming as if something hurt. Emma held her in every position she could think of to no avail.

Emma hadn’t had the opportunity to be alone with Damien since her talk with Carolina. But sitting across the table from him now, she could tell he was upset. Emma was certain it concerned her.

As for Carolina, her eyes were red and slightly swollen. Emma figured she’d had a grief meltdown. The seeds for that had been sown while she was showing Emma the family chapel where they’d been married. It was on the ranch itself but easily accessible by car.

Even Tague was unusually quiet. Sybil was missing in action, having gone into the city to meet a friend for dinner.

It was hard to believe this was the same jovial family she’d interrupted at mealtime just a few nights ago.

Enter Emma Muran and everyone’s world turned dark. She felt like the comic-book character with the rain cloud over his head.

“If you’ll excuse us, I need to steal Emma away for a bit,” Damien said as soon as the dessert plates were cleared away.

“Let me take Belle for you,” Carolina volunteered.

“It’s my turn to rock her,” Pearl announced. “You’ve been hogging that baby ever since she got here. I s’pect what she needs is a grandma’s touch. The rest of you just scoot on out of here.”

“A grandma’s touch is probably exactly what she needs,” Emma agreed.

“Why don’t you go claim your choice of back-porch rockers,” Carolina said, “and I’ll bring Belle to you.”

“And find some George Strait music on that i-thingy you’re always listening to, Carolina. What this house needs is music.”

“You’re right,” Carolina said. “I’ll get the iPod dock and put on something to cheer us up.”

Damien turned to Emma. “Do you mind grabbing that jacket Mother lent you so that we can go for a walk? I think better when I’m moving.”

“A walk is fine. In fact, you may want me to just keep walking after you hear what I found out this afternoon.”

“I’ll be at headquarters if you want to get together later,” Tague said.

“Give me an hour,” Damien replied.

Something was rotten in Denmark. Emma zipped the borrowed parka and followed Damien out the door.

* * *

DAMIEN LED EMMA TO THE old tire swing that hung from a branch of an oak about thirty yards beyond the swimming pool. He’d spent a lot of time there when he was a kid, pumping that old tire as high as he could go and then jumping to the ground.

All his friends had fancy swing sets in their yards. Damien had asked for one, but his dad had refused to let him have it. He’d claimed they stifled the imagination and limited a kid’s fun and spirit of adventure. He’d said that about a lot of things that other kids had and Damien didn’t. Damien was grown before he realized his dad had been right.

He didn’t know why he was thinking about that now except that he needed a big dose of imagination to figure out where to go from here. He’d spent the day getting more information to back up or deny the bad news he’d gotten after returning from their flight to the Caribbean.

Nothing of what he learned was in Emma’s favor.

“Sit on the tire,” he said, acting on a sudden burst of inspiration.

“I’d rather stand.”

“Sit on the tire, please.”

“You asked me out here to talk.”

“I know, but for what I have to say, we need clear heads and a bit more optimism than either of us is exhibiting right now.”

She eased onto the tire.

“Now pick up your feet and hold on tight.” He grabbed the edge of the rim, pulled the tire back and then heaved it forward. Emma went flying through the air as he’d done at age seven or eight when the worst problems he’d had to deal with were multiplication and reprimands for talking in class.

He pushed her higher and higher until her feet were almost skimming the low-hanging branches of the tree, and she squealed like a schoolgirl. Finally, he let it slow on its own. Just before it stopped completely, he caught her outstretched hands and pulled her into his arms.

She held on tight for long moments, and he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. It took all his willpower to let go of her.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Life, freedom and the pursuit of happiness. Now you go first. What do you need to tell me?”

“Let’s walk,” she said.

He took her hand as they strolled in the moonlight. They might have been mistaken for carefree lovers by someone too far away to hear the strain in Emma’s voice.

He paid close attention to her recounting her conversation with the receptionist where she’d once worked, though nothing she said shocked him tonight.