Killing Secrets (16 page)

“You didn’t think I could protect you and Amanda.”

“No! It wasn’t like that. I just, I-I was scared,” she said. “I didn’t want to put you in any more danger. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt,” she winced mentally at the revealing admission, and then added quickly, “or Jane or Suze or anyone.”

Patrick leaned forward and put his hand over hers, effectively stopping her ramble. “It’s my choice to keep you and Amanda safe until the police can assign someone or they put your ex in jail. I’m trained. I can take care of myself. But you can’t run away every time you get scared. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are, what’s going on. Last night could have ended a lot differently if I hadn’t caught up with you or if it had been your ex-husband in the alley, instead of Cook.”

Rachel swallowed. As much as she might want to put her troubles behind her, sitting in the darkness between the greenhouse and garage last night worrying about this man’s safety, she’d realized she couldn’t leave Denver until this was over. She was too worried Greg would take his rage out on Patrick before he came after her again. It was already too late to run and, despite her instincts telling her not to place her life in another man’s hands, she did trust Patrick. “I’ll stay put. For now.”

“Good.” His big hand gently squeezed hers.

His warmth and strength seeped into the sensitive skin over the back of her hand and she didn’t want to break their connection, but becoming aware of other places she was becoming warm, she pulled away. Flustered, she licked a bit of sticky jam off her lower lip. She was surprised to see an answering heat flare in Patrick’s eyes. She did it again without thinking. Same response.

She looked away and picked up her napkin to wipe her mouth clean. What was wrong with her? She might trust Patrick to keep her and Amanda safe, but she didn’t want
that
kind of attention from him. She was never going to give a man that much control of her life again, no matter how sexy he was or how love-starved she—

“Rachel?”

The question in Patrick’s voice made Rachel wonder what he might be reading in her expression. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about what I can do to help.”

Patrick’s head tilted as he studied her. “You could help by telling me about your dad, and why he’s suddenly come out of nowhere and hired protection for you. I can’t keep you safe if there are secrets between us.”

Her heart sank. So much for her hope he’d forget about the first man to break her heart. “Okay,” she said tightly. “You want to talk about Dad.” She dropped her napkin over the toast crumbs on her plate, the words building behind the dam in her throat until they overflowed. “The last time I saw my father I was seventeen, in the senior year of my fourth high school, and he walked away from the motel room we were living in to chase after his next “Big Time” dream.

“My dad was, is still for all I know, a bull rider. A roper. He filled in occasionally as a rodeo clown one year. He dragged me and Mom through one rodeo circuit after another. Did that stop when Mom got sick and died when I was twelve?”

Standing abruptly, her chair scraped the blue-and-white tile floor. Unable to stop moving, she crossed the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee. “It didn’t slow dear old dad,” she said with a frown at the empty pot. “He spent every dime he made in prize money to travel to the next rodeo, pay for one more ride.”

She stood, stiff, rushing to get it all out before her taut nerves could shatter. “I went to fifteen different schools in the five years after my mom died, if I went to school at all, and he just kept dragging me all over the country.” By the time she paused, she was panting like she’d run a marathon.

“And when you were seventeen?”

The gentle question somehow eased the pain of the memory, pulled her far enough away from her anger so that she could respond. “When Dad wasn’t riding or roping, he spent his spare time hanging with the cowboys and ranchers, his ear to the ground for every pie-in-the-sky scheme they threw his direction.” She snorted. “I don’t think I heard what had him all excited that last time. I just knew he was moving us. Again.

“He couldn’t wait until I graduated in three weeks. I wanted to stay in Dallas, go to a community college. Get a degree. I wanted a home that had a front door without a number on it!

“I refused to go. He left.”

“A minor.” Patrick scowled. “Alone in a motel room.”

Rachel shrugged. “I celebrated my eighteenth birthday the day I graduated. But, by then, I wasn’t alone anyway. My Great-Aunt Amanda showed up out of the blue and packed me off to her place outside Dallas.” She paused and looked down at the empty mug in her hand. Then she set it on the counter and went back to the breakfast table to sit down. “It’s funny,” she said. “If Dad had only stuck around a few more hours, he wouldn’t have had to chase after another one of his pipe dreams. He would have been set up for life.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother’s estranged family is into cattle and oil. When Great-Amanda died in February,” she paused, “she was worth over eight hundred million.”

“Whoa.”

Her laugh didn’t hold any humor. “Yeah, whoa. Mom’s entire family disowned her when she ran off with my dad. My great-aunt had a soft spot for Mama, though, so when she heard about the rodeo Dad was riding in she decided it was time to mend some fences. When she found me alone, she promptly took me in, made sure I graduated, and got me into Stanford.” Rachel’s dream college.

That dream turned into a nightmare after she met and married Greg. Although, if she’d known then what she knew now, she’d still have married him if only to get her sweet Amanda. Many believed she’d named her child after her great-aunt, but the truth was she picked the name because it meant “worthy of love.” By the time her baby arrived in this world, Greg had made it clear he only wanted a baby to make “the childless old bat” happy. It was the only reason he’d agreed to the
in vitro
procedure that gave her Amanda when Rachel proved infertile.

“So, Great-Aunt Amanda is dead. Who’s her beneficiary?”

“Me.”

“You’re joking.”

Rachel shook her head. She couldn’t help but watch Patrick’s expression, looking for something beneath his surprise. His eyes didn’t glaze over at the thought of what she stood to inherit. No avarice. No sly look of anticipation. He simply looked shocked. And it wasn’t the shock the remaining James men, her three uncles, showed when her great-aunt’s will was read and they discovered their aunt gave all of her money to “that bastard, born of the bastard who ruined our baby sister.”

“You think your dad wants the money.”

“What else can it be? It’s been ten years.”

“It’s what your ex wants, too, isn’t it?” Patrick waited for her nod before he leveled her with his next question. “What is he holding over you that would make him think he can get it by threatening you?”

Her breakfast climbed her throat at the thought of the whip lying in the bottom of the box sitting at the police station. Patrick was stepping a little too close to her most precious secret, a secret she’d guarded with her life since the day Amanda was put inside her.
You tell anyone the brat isn’t yours, ruin my access to the James broad’s coffers, and I’ll take the brat away from you and make her pay.

Rachel may have broken down and told her great-aunt the truth when she learned she was changing her will just before she died—Greg would never get his hands on the James fortune through Amanda now—but Rachel knew he could still get to
her
. The truth was she’d carried Amanda but, in the eyes of law, she wasn’t her real mother, her blood. Greg would have the stronger claim in a court of law. Having all the money in the world wouldn’t make a bit of difference. And he
would
make Amanda pay if his hand was forced. Of that, Rachel had little doubt.

“Rachel?” Patrick prompted. “What’s he holding over you?”

“Nothing,” she said, unable to look him straight in the eye. “He’s just like my father, motivated by money, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get his hands on it.”

He wasn’t convinced she was telling the truth, she could tell by the questioning lift of his eyebrow. “Seems to me your father is only trying to protect you, and he’s not sparing any expense. I already spoke with Jack this morning. The security firm your dad hired is top notch and expensive. In fact, Jack thought it might be a good idea to use—”

“If you’re going to suggest I let my father’s hired thugs watch me, forget it. I’m not the golden goose for everyone to salivate over.” She leapt from her chair, furious at Patrick for being so obtuse—he’d heard nothing she’d said—she couldn’t stay in the same room with him. “I’m going to get Amanda out of bed. Let’s get this day over with. If I’m lucky, Jack will find Greg by sundown and I can go back to Dallas, where I belong.” With that parting salvo, she stomped out of the kitchen.

By the time she returned downstairs with Amanda, her ire had cooled. But she still wasn’t ready to talk to Patrick. Thankfully, he said nothing while she fed Amanda her favorite marshmallow cereal, just watched her until she thought she’d scream with frustration. Ten minutes later, Jane arrived with Suze, and she and the girls followed him to his work truck parked in front of his house.

The moment she saw the two new car seats buckled into the back seat of his crew cab truck, she felt like a royal bitch. Patrick didn’t deserve her anger. In fact, he’d done nothing but help her and Amanda, kept them safe. “I’m sorry,” she said, stopping him with her hand on his arm when he opened the back door for the kids to clamber inside. “You’ve done so much for me, for us. I-I—”

“Forget it,” he interrupted her apology, leaning past her to buckle Amanda and Suze into their seats. He smiled at the girls before turning his cool gaze on Rachel.

Her heart twinged at his obvious rebuff. She climbed into the passenger seat, buckled herself in, and watched Patrick walk around the front of the truck to open his door. Only then did she see the piece of paper folded in the middle of his seat. He frowned, picked it up. When he opened it and read it, his jaw tightened.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Patrick’s gaze fell on her and she caught a fleeting expression of, what, uneasiness? Worry? “No.” He shook his head and jammed the note into his shirt pocket. “Just business.”

She didn’t believe him. But he clearly wasn’t willing to talk about it and they were soon on their way to the Southgate site.

Another surprise awaited them when they walked into the site trailer twenty minutes later. Patrick had been busy after she left him in the kitchen last night. He’d had someone set up a play area in one of the small rooms down the hall from the main office, filling it with toys brought from Suze’s dormer playroom above his home office. The girls were soon happily building skyscrapers with a box of Legos.

One of the two desks that faced each other in the main office was cleared with the exception of a stack of children’s books with several paperback novels someone—Jane, perhaps—had generously thrown on top, leaving room on the desk for the laptop Rachel had brought with her to keep busy. The other desk was piled high with blueprints and files, which concerned her a bit since she suspected it was Patrick’s and she was afraid she’d have to watch him all day
not
talking to her. But, once he got her situated and showed her how to work the radio he had for her to keep in touch, he instructed her to leave the door locked at all times since both he and his assistant had keys. Then he left them alone.

The day proceeded more quickly than Rachel could have hoped. Although initially irritated to be dropped out of sight in the trailer like someone’s dirty laundry, she opened her laptop to a landscaping design she’d been working on for Katy before she’d fled Dallas and lost herself in the joy of creativity. She suspected Katy had suggested expanding her nursery offerings to landscaping to make Rachel happy, and Rachel had no idea what she’d do if she could never return to Dallas, but she had to finish the designs for the four new commissions Kolthern Nurseries had acquired before she left.

She read books to the girls, and they shared lunch with Patrick’s accommodating assistant, Skip Davis, who brought them a picnic lunch from a local delicatessen. She was startled to discover the self-effacing man with the shy smile was Patrick’s brother-in-law. It was news to her that Patrick had been married, although she wasn’t quite sure why it surprised her. The man was sinfully attractive and the women in Denver couldn’t be completely oblivious.

Skip hadn’t told her how his sister died, only that it’s been almost two years ago. There’d been such a devastated look in his dark eyes when he spoke of her, she didn’t have the heart to pursue the topic. She couldn’t help but wonder if Patrick’s eyes held the same desolation when he thought about his dead wife.

Skip left her and the girls to finish their dessert of ice cream sandwiches and, before she knew it, it was three o’clock and she was listening on the radio to the crew checking in for second shift. Patrick called her, too, and told her he was coming for them soon so she packed up her laptop and readied the girls. More tired than she expected—the altitude in Denver was kicking her butt—she was ready to go home.

Wait. She’d made her home in Dallas with Katy. She couldn’t start thinking of the Thorne house as her own. She was a temporary tenant, a house sitter. Actually, she was a squatter no longer in hiding. And, pretty as the Rocky Mountains were outside her bedroom window each morning, she should bolt back to the wide open vistas of Texas prairie grass where she could see the danger coming for miles.