The Mccaffertys: Slade. Lisa Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ from a plane crash that had nearly taken his life, and he propped that leg on a nearby chair as he sorted through the papers.

      Damn, he was such a control freak.

      “You’re sure you want to sell?” he asked for the dozenth time.

      They’d been over this time and time again.

      Slade didn’t bother answering.

      “Where will you go?”

      “Not sure.” He shrugged. Craved a smoke. “I’ll hang around for a while. Long enough to nail the bastard who messed up Randi.”

      White lines bracketed Thorne’s mouth. “I can’t wait for the day.” He shoved his chair back. “It won’t come soon enough for me.”

      “Me, either.”

      “You heard anything from Striker?” Thorne asked, bringing up the P.I. whom Slade had brought into the investigation.

      “Nope. Left a message this morning.”

      “You sure about him?” Thorne asked.

      “I’d trust my life with him.”

      “You’re trusting Randi’s.”

      “Give it a rest, will ya?” Slade snapped. Everyone’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Slade had known Kurt Striker for years and had brought him in to investigate the attempts on their half sister Randi’s life. Kelly Dillinger, Matt’s fiancée, had joined up with Striker. She’d once been with the sheriff’s department; she was now working the private side.

      “You doubt Kurt Striker’s ability?”

      Thorne shook his hand. “Nah. Just frustrated. I want this over.”

      “You and me both.”

      Slade would like to move on. He’d been restless here at the Flying M, never did feel that this old ranch house was home, not since his parents’ divorce some twenty-odd years earlier. But he’d planned to stay in Grand Hope, Montana, until the person who was terrorizing his half sister and her newborn baby was run to ground and locked away forever. Or put six feet under. He didn’t really care which.

      He just needed to find a new life. Whatever the hell it was. Ever since Rebecca…No, he wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t. It was still too damned painful.

      Now, it’s time for you to put the past behind you. Settle down. Start a family. His father’s advice crept up on him like a ghost.

      Bootsteps rang in the hallway.

      “Sorry I’m late—” Matt apologized as he strode in. Propped against his shoulder was J.R., Randi’s baby, now nearly two months old. The kid had captured each one of his uncles’ jaded hearts, something the women around this neck of the woods had thought impossible.

      Matt adjusted the baby on his shoulder, and J.R. made a strange gurgling sound that pulled at the corners of Slade’s mouth. With downy, uneven reddish-blond hair that stuck up at odd angles no matter how often Randi smoothed it, big eyes that took in everything, and a button of a nose, J.R. acted as if he owned the place. He flailed his tiny fists and often sucked on not only his thumb, but whatever digit was handy. “I was busy changing this guy.”

      Thorne chuckled. “That’s your excuse for being late?”

      “It’s my reason.”

      Slade swallowed a smile, his mood improving. The little one; he was a reason to stick around here awhile.

      “Okay, so let’s get down to business,” Thorne suggested. “Aside from the papers about the land sale, I’m going to ask about checking into the baby’s father, seeing what his rights are.”

      “Randi won’t like it,” Matt predicted.

      “Of course she won’t. She doesn’t like much of anything these days.”

      Amen, Slade thought, but he didn’t blame his sister for being restless and feeling cooped up. He’d experienced the same twinges. It was time to move on…as soon as the bastard who was terrorizing her was put away.

      Thorne added, “I’m only doing what’s best for her.”

      “That’ll make her like it less.” Slade rested a hip on the edge of the table.

      “Too bad. When Ms. Parsons arrives, I’m going to bring it up.”

       Ms. Jamie Parsons, Attorney-at-Law.

      Slade’s back teeth ground together at the thought of her. He’d never expected to see her again; hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t. He’d dated her for a while, true, and there had been something about her that had left him wanting more, but he’d dated a lot of women in his lifetime, before and after Jamie Parsons. It wasn’t a big deal.

      “Why do I think you’ve been discussing me?” Randi asked as she appeared in the doorway to the dining room. She was limping slightly from the accident that had nearly taken her life, but her spine was stiff as she hobbled into the room and pried the baby easily from Matt’s arms.

      “You always think we’re talkin’ about you behind your back,” Matt teased.

      “Because you always are. Right?” she asked Slade.

      “Always,” he drawled.

      “So when’s the attorney due to arrive?”

      Thorne checked his watch. “In about fifteen minutes.”

      “Good.” Randi kissed her son’s head and he cooed softly. Slade felt a pang deep inside, a pain he buried deep. He touched the scar on the side of his face and scowled. He wasn’t envious of Randi—God, no. But he couldn’t help being reminded of his own loss every time he looked at his nephew.

      And his sister had been through so much. Aside from the fact that she still moved with difficulty, wincing once in a while from the pain, there was the problem with her memory. Amnesia, if she could be believed.

      Slade wasn’t convinced. Nope. He wasn’t certain his half sister was being straight with them. Her memory loss smacked of convenience. There were just too many questions Randi didn’t want to answer, questions concerning her son’s paternity. When her jaw had been wired shut and her arm in a cast, communication had been near impossible, but now she was well on the way to being a hundred percent again. Except for her mind. To Slade’s way of thinking, amnesia made everything so much easier. No explanations. Not even about the damned accident that had nearly ended her life.

      What the hell had happened on that icy road in Glacier Park? All Slade, his brothers and the police knew was that Randi’s Jeep had swerved off the road and down an embankment. Had she hit ice? Been forced off the road? Kurt Striker, the private investigator Slade had contacted to look into the accident, was convinced another car, a maroon Ford product, had forced Randi off the road. The police were checking. Only Randi knew for certain. And she wasn’t talking.

      The result of the accident had been premature delivery of the baby, internal СКАЧАТЬ