The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6) (15 page)

To survive the devastation, he’d had to believe Libby was what his mother had called her—a viper who’d poisoned his life. The only way to survive was to suck out that poison. And stay away from Elsbeth Grayhawk in the future.

He’d stayed away for six long years. But that had meant denying himself his daughter, too. At long last, he’d gone to see Libby. And lost his heart to his daughter.

After that, there had been no question of staying away.

Clay wasn’t sure when he’d realized that his first instincts had been correct. That Libby had lied, probably to protect him from threats her father must have made against him. That she must have loved him as much as he’d loved her. But she was engaged by then, so there was no reason to confront her and demand the truth.

As the years passed, he’d nursed the grievous hurt he felt at what Libby’s cowardice had cost them. And continued to blame her for causing them to spend their lives apart. If only she’d trusted him. If only she hadn’t lied when he’d come to her. If only she’d had a little faith in him, they might have had their happily ever after.

This morning Libby had forced Clay to admit his part in their broken fairy tale. His unwillingness to forgive. His unwillingness to take the chance of letting anyone, especially Libby, tear his heart in two again.

So where did that leave them?

He was willing to admit, now that Libby made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him, that he’d never stopped loving her. But it was too late now to go back and undo the damage of the past.

Libby had done him a big favor after all. No one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes. He wouldn’t wait for things to play out between Jocelyn and North. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He would go to Jocelyn and tell her what he suspected about her sacrifice, and that he was there for her if she ever wanted him back.

It wasn’t only gratitude that made him determined to have her, if he could. Jocelyn had social skills she’d learned practically from the cradle. She was supportive and loyal, giving and loving. She very much wanted children, and she would be a good mother. To add icing to the cake, she was extraordinarily beautiful. In short, she was everything he’d ever wished for in a wife.

And if Jocelyn didn’t want him back? If he was free of his engagement to her? What then?

Clay didn’t let himself think that far ahead. It was too late to make amends with Libby. It was too late for the fairy tale.

Wasn’t it?

“What do you think, Daddy?”

Clay hadn’t been paying attention and said, “I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“About Jack and me getting married this summer.”

Clay thought this about-face—this sudden suggestion of marriage—was more alarming than the situation where his daughter and Jack McKinley had no plans to wed. “I think marriage is a bad idea,” he said. “You’re too young to know what you want. You need to get a college education, choose a profession you enjoy, and figure out what life is all about, before you even start to think about marriage. Jack should know better—”

“Don’t say anything bad about Jack, Daddy. Please. I won’t be able to stand it if you do.”

Clay couldn’t bear the wounded look on his daughter’s face. He exchanged a
What do we do now?
glance with Libby behind Kate’s back.

“Why don’t you and I ride ahead, Kate,” Libby said, “so Daddy and Jack have a chance to talk and get to know each other better.”

Kate looked warily at her father, then leaned over to kiss Jack on the lips before she said, “Be nice, Daddy.”

“I’m always nice,” her father replied. A moment later, Kate and Libby kicked their mounts and loped away, and he was alone with Jack McKinley. He turned to the ex-quarterback accused of throwing the Super Bowl and said, “I’ll give you twenty-five thousand dollars to walk away from her.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow and said, “Is that all your daughter’s worth to you?”

Clay felt his throat flush with heat and realized he was angry on his daughter’s behalf that she’d gotten herself involved with such a scoundrel. “Fifty thousand. Take it and get yourself out of my sight.”

“I don’t want your money,” Jack said.

“What will it take to get you out of Kate’s life?” Clay demanded.

“I’m not going anywhere, Judge Blackthorne,” Jack said. “Except down the aisle with your daughter.”

“Over my dead body.”

The smile on Jack’s face made the hairs stand up on Clay’s nape. He resisted the urge to grab Jack by his throat and squeeze the life out of him. “All Kate’s money is in trust. She won’t get a penny till she’s twenty-five. Long before then, she’ll have seen you for what you are.”

“I don’t want her money, either,” Jack said.

“What do you want?” Clay asked through tight jaws.

“For you to back off. For you to let Kate decide what she wants.”

“She’s too young to know what she wants,” Clay retorted. “She needs to be protected.”

“It seems to me,” Jack said in a voice more quiet than Clay’s, “that you haven’t done such a good job of that in the past.”

Clay thought of Kate’s kidnapping last year. How she’d been held hostage and only barely escaped with her life. He met Jack’s gaze and said, “Last year—”

“What about right now?” Jack said. “I’ve heard plenty of speculation at the Grille that Brown didn’t bomb that courthouse in Houston on his own. That Judge Kuykendall was executed—pure and simple. These guys mean business, and they don’t care who gets hurt. Kate isn’t safe when she’s anywhere near that courthouse—or you. She needs someone to keep an eye on her.”

“I suppose you’re applying for the job,” Clay said sarcastically.

“A deputy marshal will do just fine.” Jack looked him in the eye and said, “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you could be next.”

“Killing the judge—again—isn’t going to stop the trial.”

“But it’s going to leave Kate without a father,” Jack said. “Keeping Kate safe and happy is my one goal in life right now. So I suggest you pay attention to your business, and let me take care of mine.”

Clay was left sitting his horse alone when Jack spurred his mount and disappeared over the next hill. Clay frowned as he stared after the young man. Jack McKinley was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d suspected. He and Libby were going to have to put their heads together to figure out how to free Kate from his clutches. He might even ask Owen to investigate Kate’s boyfriend. Maybe his brother could find a reason to lock him up.

Jack didn’t immediately rejoin Libby and Kate. He rode just far enough to be out of Clay’s sight over a hill, then stopped his horse where he was hidden by the massive trunk of an ancient live oak. He pulled out his cell phone, punched the button to call a programmed number, and waited for it to be answered.

When it was, he said, “I want to take the girl out of the equation now. She’s a problem that’s only going to get worse. I think you ought—”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “All right. I’ll hold off. For now. But you’d better do something. And soon.”

Jocelyn dumped the last of her coffee in the sink and turned to North, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, cup in hand. “Another cup?” she asked.

“No time,” he said.

Jocelyn flushed. They were late getting started because he’d woken up wanting her. And she’d provided the service she’d agreed to provide until September. He’d lingered over the matter, taking the time to arouse her fully, taking the time to make sure she was incoherent with pleasure before finally taking his own.

It was Saturday, but one of the first things Jocelyn had learned was that there was very little leisure time on a ranch. There was too much to do. In addition, North had other businesses here and in Wyoming he was managing. She wondered sometimes how he handled all the responsibilities she saw resting on his shoulders. But he never complained. And he certainly never asked for help. From anyone.

Within the first few days of moving in with him, she’d offered to help, but he’d refused. Jocelyn wasn’t sure why she persisted in spending her days with him, when he never asked for her company. But North already had a housekeeper and cook, neither of whom he’d been willing to let go, since her stay was only “temporary.” And she needed to be doing something useful.

Jocelyn found herself enjoying the time she spent outdoors with North. She loved everything about the ranching life, especially starting the day when it was still dark outside, so she got to watch the sunrise every morning. The work was constant and endless, and she was always amazed at how well North managed the ebb and flow of maintaining so much land and so many animals.

She glanced at North’s broad shoulders, remembering how he’d looked yesterday with his shirt off, straining with a ratchet to pull a strand of barbed wire tight, his powerful muscles moving beneath smooth flesh, his back glistening with sweat in the sunshine. She’d wanted to lick his skin, to see if it was as salty as it looked.

Jocelyn flushed guiltily at her thoughts, glad North couldn’t read her mind. She might be committed to stay with him for the summer, but she had a life to return to when this episode was over. And a man she loved.

She was rinsing out her cup when she heard a knock on the screen door. She leaned back to see past North, but the rising sun obscured whoever was outside the door. She glanced at North and flushed again when she realized his gray eyes were focused on her, letting her know that he didn’t care if they kept the whole world waiting outside.

Jocelyn shivered as her body reacted to his. They’d been living and sleeping together—having sex—for two weeks, and the tension between them was worse now than it had been the day North had opened his door to her. Oh, yes, her body wanted his. Craved it, despite so many nights of lovemaking.

But Jocelyn had yet to see a sign of compassion in the man, a sign of vulnerability, anything that would allow her to believe that he cared for her—or anyone else in this world. She was merely a pawn in a despicable game between Blackthornes and Grayhawks.

“Expecting company?” he asked.

Jocelyn shook her head. “No one knows I’m here.” Except Clay, of course, and it wasn’t likely he would have knocked politely.

North called out, “Who’s there?”

No one answered. The knock came again, more insistent.

“I’ll see who it is,” Jocelyn said, heading for the door.

“I’ll go,” North said, setting down his coffee cup.

Jocelyn reached the screen door the same time he did. She was about to push it open, when he grasped her wrist and stayed her hand.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sassy?” North said brusquely.

Jocelyn stared through the screen door at a young, very pretty, model-tall blue-eyed blond. She was wearing three-inch heels and a tailored pink suit cut in a deep V to reveal generous cleavage. For a devastating moment, Jocelyn thought the woman must be one of North’s paramours.

“I’ve been hunting you for a week, North,” the tall blond said. “The least you could do is tell people where you’re going to be.”

“What do you want, Sassy?”

“Who are you?” the woman asked Jocelyn.

“She’s none of your business,” North said.

“I’m Sassy Grayhawk,” the woman said to Jocelyn. “North’s stepmother. His middle stepmother, I should say. I came between Leonora and Jill. Although I don’t think King—or anyone else—ever counts Leonora, since that marriage was annulled, on account of—”

“Sassy!” North interrupted.

Jocelyn’s diplomatic training stood her in good stead, and neither her voice nor her face showed her shock at the young woman’s revelation. Sassy Grayhawk didn’t look a day over thirty. A second look revealed a tautness to her skin, beneath very carefully applied makeup, that suggested plastic surgery.

Although the day had just begun, Jocelyn recognized the smell of gin on the woman’s breath. Then she noticed how tightly Sassy was clutching her pink snakeskin purse against her substantial bosom. Whatever the woman wanted, it hadn’t been easy coming here to ask for it.

Jocelyn took one look at the stony, indifferent face North presented to his stepmother, and her heart went out to the woman. “Would you like to come in?” she asked, pushing open the screen door with the hand North wasn’t holding.

“I don’t have time to visit,” Sassy said, actually taking a step back. “I only came to ask a favor.”

Jocelyn felt North’s body tense beside her.

“How much do you want?” he said in a flat voice.

“I don’t need your money,” Sassy replied indignantly.

North stared at his stepmother, who stared back only a moment before her glance wavered and finally slid toward something to her right.

Jocelyn turned at the same time as North to see what had caught Sassy’s attention. Standing just beyond the open screen door was a lanky teenage boy, with too-long, raven black hair. His strange, almost silver eyes were sullen, his chin jutting. He was posed with his hip cocked and his arms crossed defiantly—or protectively—across his narrow chest. His bronze skin, sharp cheekbones, and blade of nose reminded Jocelyn of some long-ago Sioux warrior.

As though Sassy had read her mind, she said, “This is my son Breed. King’s son Breed, I should say. He named the boy the first time he laid eyes on him. And started divorce proceedings before I was out of the hospital,” she said bitterly.

Jocelyn could see how the boy’s odd silver eyes and deeply bronzed skin might make King Grayhawk question whether he was the boy’s father. But, Jocelyn realized, the law would not have allowed King to disown a son born in wedlock. It seemed cruel, however, to have branded the boy Breed, apparently a shortened form of “half-breed,” at birth. Especially when the child was innocent. Even if his mother was not.

“What do you want, Sassy?” North repeated.

“I want you to keep Breed. Only for a little while,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall North’s refusal. “I’m going into alcohol rehab—”

“Again?” North interrupted harshly.

“Again,” Sassy said in a high-pitched voice on the edge of control. “I’m going to make it stick this time, North. Really, I am. But I don’t have anywhere I can leave Breed. My family disowned me when—And your father—And my last husband—There’s just nowhere else I can turn. I thought since you had this ranch, and Breed is so good with horses, well, maybe you could find a place for him here. In a bunkhouse. Or the barn. Or…somewhere.”

“I can take care of myself,” the boy muttered.

“You’re only fourteen,” his mother said. “You need—”

“I don’t need anyone or anything!” the boy shot back. He glared at North and said, “Especially not charity from some half brother whose father doesn’t claim me as kin.”

“It wouldn’t be charity,” Jocelyn said. “You’re family.”

“That’s debatable,” North said.

Jocelyn turned on North and said, “His name is Breed Grayhawk. That makes him your brother.” She pushed the screen door farther open and said, “Please come in, Breed. Have you had breakfast?”

“He can stay in the barn,” North said. “There’s a room for the hired hand who mucks out the stalls.” He turned to Breed and said, “That is, if you want the job.”

“A job?” Breed said.

Jocelyn saw the wary hope that lit the boy’s silver eyes.

“You said you didn’t want charity,” North said. “I’m offering you a job. Take it or leave it.”

The lowest kind of job, Jocelyn thought. Most cowboys wouldn’t do work that couldn’t be done from the back of a horse. North had offered his brother a place in his barn—shoveling manure.

All the same, Jocelyn held her breath, and saw Sassy was doing the same, waiting to see whether the boy would accept North’s grudging offer.

“I’ll take it,” Breed said.

North offered his hand. “Then we have a deal.”

The boy shook North’s hand, then took a step back as though to announce that taking a job did not mean giving up his independence. Taking a job did not mean relying on anyone or anything. Taking a job did not mean he intended to give up keeping himself aloof and alone.

At that moment, he reminded Jocelyn very much of North.

“Good. That’s settled,” Sassy said with a relieved, gin-scented sigh. She turned to Breed and reached out to pick at the too-small, not-quite-clean T-shirt the boy was wearing, rearranging it over his narrow chest. “Be good,” she said. “Don’t give North any trouble. I’ll be back soon.”

Jocelyn watched the boy’s eyes brighten suspiciously and his valiant struggle to blink back unmanly tears.

He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, before he spoke in a voice that grated like a rusty gate. “You won’t forget about me. Like last time.”

Jocelyn watched as he swallowed again, his eyes miserable as they pored over his mother’s face, as though he were seeing her for the very last time. Jocelyn wondered how long ago it had been since Breed had been left like this. And how long it had taken his mother to return for him.

“I promise I won’t get romantically involved with anyone in rehab this time,” she told the boy. “I won’t…” Her smile wobbled. “I promise I’ll be back for you soon, Breed. And I’ll be sober when I come.”

“You said that the last time,” he accused. “And the time before that.”

“This time I mean it.” She turned to North and said, “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”

“We’ll take good care of him,” Jocelyn said.

Sassy frowned, as though just noticing Jocelyn, and once again asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m—”

“My mistress,” North interrupted. “For the rest of the summer, anyway.”

“That figures,” Sassy said to North. She turned to Jocelyn and said, “Just don’t give him your heart, honey. Grayhawks are murder on hearts.”

Without another word, she turned and headed for her car, a black Jaguar convertible. The three of them stood without moving until the car was hidden by the tail of dust flying up behind it.

“You got any boots?” North said as he glanced at the worn high-tops Breed was wearing with his jeans. “Or a hat?”

“No, sir,” Breed replied. The “sir” seemed to be automatic, which suggested the boy had been taught respect. But the look on his face, his posture, his tone of voice toward North, was pure defiance.

Which was better than fear or self-pity, Jocelyn thought. What must it be like to be left without recourse with someone who, even though he had the same name, was so obviously a forbidding stranger? In the ordinary course of things, this boy, with his too-small T-shirt and his worn jeans and his teenage high-top sneakers, should have been able to stay with his father at Kingdom Come. Instead, he was an outcast.

“Time for work,” North said.

“What about breakfast for Breed?” Jocelyn turned to the teenager and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

North shot the boy a look, and the kid added belatedly, “Ma’am.”

“Please call me Joss,” Jocelyn said.

North rolled his eyes. Probably because she’d made such a point of telling him her name was
Jocelyn
whenever he’d tried to use the diminutive term over the past two weeks.

“I’ve got some blueberry muffins left over from dinner last night,” she said. “I can warm them up in the microwave and slap some butter on them in no time flat.”

She could almost see Breed’s mouth water, but his lips remained sealed.

“Make it quick,” North said, backing into the kitchen. “Come on in, boy, and shut the door. You’re letting in the flies.”

Breed stayed just inside the door while Jocelyn hurried to retrieve the extra muffins from the freezer, then wrapped them in a paper towel and microwaved them for a few seconds. She’d left the butter on the counter to soften before breakfast, and it was still there.

She didn’t ask what Breed wanted to drink. Growing boys needed milk. She pulled the half-gallon dairy carton from the refrigerator, poured him a large glass and set it on the table.

The boy stood at the door with his hip cocked in a pose that was intended to be nonchalant. “Go ahead and sit,” she said, gesturing toward the place where she’d set the glass.

North crossed to the sink and leaned back with his arms crossed, staring at the boy, not masking his irritation at the delay.