Lone Star Redemption. Colleen Thompson

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СКАЧАТЬ how allergic the poor guy was to confrontation. And how sweet he’d been to postpone his wedding anniversary dinner with his wife of twenty-six years to make the six-hour drive out here with her when it was clear that no one else would. “I’ll take full responsibility. Don’t worry.”

      She rapped at the oversize mahogany door again, more insistently this time. Please let someone be home. She’d spotted a big pickup parked out back, but for all she knew, the owners were off somewhere in another vehicle from the attached four-car garage.

      “Oh, I’m not worried about me, so much. It’s you, especially after you jammed that story on the mayor down her throat. Vivian has friends, I hear, including one very close friend supporting—” As the doorknob rattled, Henry went silent, tensing as he readied his camera.

      The moment the door cracked open, a gust sent a swirl of sand spinning into Jessie’s face. She cried out, covering her stinging eyes with her hands.

      “Come inside, out of the wind,” insisted a female voice, thin and scratchy. “Quickly, please. You’re letting in the dust.”

      “Thank you, ma’am,” said Henry as he ushered Jessie inside and pressed a handkerchief into her hands.

      Blotting her streaming eyes, Jessie blinked in the dim light of a surprisingly formal entryway for this part of the world. Half a dozen tiny flames flickered, where someone had set out candles atop a fussy table with carved, curved ivory legs. The soft glow was reflected by a tall, ornately framed mirror, its illumination warming the cool marble floor beneath a vaulted ceiling. Like the huge old house, miles from its nearest neighbor, this entryway had been built to impress, even overwhelm, potential rivals.

      Having grown up in Dallas’s upscale Highland Park neighborhood, Jessie had long since gotten past the notion that privilege necessarily deserved protection. It was part of what made her fearless when confronting those who considered themselves untouchable, from a beloved sports legend who was systematically cheating customers at the car dealership he’d purchased, to the mayor of Dallas, who would very soon be facing his own reckoning over his crooked reelection campaign.

      The lady of the house would find herself no more immune, especially if the woman kept doing everything in her power to frustrate Jessie’s search.

      “Mrs. Rayford? Nancy Rayford?” She blinked at an attractive older woman with a silvered pixie cut and blue eyes a shade darker than her soft cabled sweater. It was hard to imagine this was the same woman who had answered her questions on the phone so brusquely before repeatedly hanging up on her. She was a tiny, mousy-looking thing, so frail and insubstantial that Jessie quickly closed the door behind her, half-afraid that a stray gust could waft her up into the shadow of the elegant curved staircase just behind her.

      “Yes, why—” Voice faltering, Mrs. Rayford took a step back before reaching for a candle with one trembling hand. Lifting its light toward Jessie, she gasped and spread her hand over her chest. “Haley? Oh, my— I thought you weren’t—”

      Jessie shook her head. “My sister. Remember? I tried to tell you on the phone.” Her heart fell with a realization. “Then, Haley really isn’t here?”

      She’d been banking on finding her sister hiding out here, after having talked her way into some menial job with some sob story about being pursued by an abusive stalker. It was Haley’s time-honored method for avoiding creditors, former lovers and, Jessie suspected, her family, as well.

      Mrs. Rayford’s blue eyes widened before she flicked a fearful glance behind her, toward the stairwell. “You’re— Then you’re really not her? Truly?”

      “We’re identical twins,” Jessie explained, offering a smile in an attempt to reassure the frightened woman. And more important, to gain her trust. “Our own father couldn’t tell us apart.”

      Not that he’d ever made much effort. But Nancy Rayford didn’t need to know that.

      From outside came a low hum, and a moment later, the chandelier above them flickered on. The sudden illumination revealed the older woman’s pallor, painting gaunt shadows in her hollowed cheeks.

      Reminded of her own mother’s illness, Jessie said, “I’m sorry I’ve upset you. Do you need to sit down?”

      Taking the woman by the arm, Jessie led her to a bench seat and squatted before her when Mrs. Rayford sank down to it.

      “Are you all right?” Jessie asked, thinking of heart attacks and aneurysms, and the sudden, fatal stroke that had taken her father over one of her family’s mandatory Sunday dinners. “Is there something I can get you? Someone I can call?”

      No sooner had she asked the questions than she heard the sounds of approaching boot heels on the marble. As Henry faded back, turning to hide the mini-cam still perched on his shoulder, a deep voice boomed, “Generator’s back online, Mama. Should keep us up and running for a while, anyway—”

      A tall man holding a broad-brimmed gray hat came striding through the archway and stopped short, looking in confusion from Henry to Jessie before finding Mrs. Rayford. She had leaned forward, holding her bowed head in her shaking hands.

      “What’s going on here? Mama? Is something wrong?” He rushed toward her so quickly that Jessie rose and stepped out of his way. “These people—are they bothering you?”

      Blinking back tears, his mother waved off his concern. “No, no, Zach. They’re just—” She looked to Jessie. “They took a wrong turn in the storm, but they saw our gate and stopped to ask directions to town.”

      Jessie stared in surprise. Why on earth would you lie to your own son?

      “I was just helping them when all of a sudden, one of my headaches came on,” Mrs. Rayford continued. “They’ve been very kind, but I’ll need my prescription. You remember where I keep it, don’t you? And some water, too, please.”

      Clearly uneasy, he looked from Jessie to Henry.

      “I’ll be fine,” his mother said, tenting her fingers over one side of her forehead. “Maybe it’s the wind, but this migraine’s getting worse. If you could get my pill right away...”

      “Sure, Mama. I’ll be right back,” he said, his concerned eyes as vibrant a blue as his mother’s. But that was where their resemblance ended.

      Where Mrs. Rayford was petite and frail, her rancher son was broad-shouldered and long-limbed—a trim six-three, at least, and only a few years older than Jessie’s twenty-nine. The wind, or maybe the hat, had mussed his short jet-black hair, but it was his strong jaw that caught her attention—that and the high cheekbones, deep tan and dark brows that hinted he had Native blood, despite the color of his eyes. To her surprise, there was no ring on his finger, she noticed, sneaking a glance at his strong, work-roughened hands as he rushed back in the direction he had come.

      He might be wearing a barn jacket, boots and worn jeans—well fitted to the contours of his body—rather than Armani, but she knew instinctively that if a gorgeous specimen like him showed up in Highland Park, he’d have half the women in that ZIP code lined up, hoping for a ride. And if they had any idea how much land and livestock his family owned—and how much oil had been found here, according to her research—a good number would be out to permanently corral him. She couldn’t imagine herself among them, though, for if she’d learned anything from her last boyfriend, it was that guys who looked that good and had the money to back it up tended to have a lot more ego than she cared to deal СКАЧАТЬ