Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek

CHAPTER TWO

“IT NEVER RAINS in Southern California,” Jack murmured as he squinted through the water-sheeted windshield. “Not in the summertime, anyway. Yeah, right.” It had been drizzling most of the night and half the day.

As a Seattle native, he should be used to wet weather, but he hated the rain. He leaned back in the seat, wishing this job was over. What he’d hoped would be a quick trip was now dragging out. Maybe he should just cut his losses and try another lead.

Problem was, there were no other leads. He also knew he needed to be less conspicuous. Parking on the edge of the ranch property wasn’t going to surprise the suspect.

Jack rubbed his hand over his face. Last night he’d gotten a room at a motel along the highway, showered and ate some dinner, then made the call to Stan Walsh.

The CEO was impatient. He wanted Kingsley in the worst way. To top it off, it turned out that Dean was romantically involved with the boss’s daughter, Heather. It seemed he’d left her high and dry, too, when he took off. The only thing Kingsley had in his favor was that Walsh didn’t want the stockholders to learn of the…situation, yet. That gave Jack a few weeks to find the man so they could handle the problem quietly…and privately.

Jack tensed. Dean Kingsley couldn’t go unpunished for what he’d done. But in real life guilty men often were set free, especially when they had affluent families to pay for high-powered lawyers to get them off.

Jack knew all too well how that played out, and how the legal system didn’t always work for the average person. It hadn’t for Mike…. His best friend didn’t get justice. His killer walked away a free man.

Jack’s cell phone rang and pulled him out of his reverie. He flipped it open. “Sullivan, here.”

“Mr. Sullivan. It’s Willow Kingsley.”

He sat up straighter. “Hello, Ms. Kingsley. Have you heard from your brother?”

“No, we haven’t, but my mother and I would like to talk with you. Could you come up to the house…for dinner? We have a business proposition for you.”

Her husky voice sent a heated tremor through his body. Business. Remember, she said business. “What time?”

“Six o’clock.”

“I’ll see you then.” He slapped the phone closed. Things were starting to look up.

After a quick trip back to the motel to shave and change into a fresh shirt, Jack managed to make it to the house in the allotted time.

Willow answered the door. Tonight she wore a long blue skirt made out of a gauzy material and a cream-colored peasant-style blouse. She looked soft and feminine. Made him glad he’d managed to freshen up.

Silently she motioned him inside. He stepped across the threshold and into the great room. A stone fireplace took up most of the far wall. Below an open-beamed ceiling was a winding staircase and carved wood railing that exposed the entire length of the second floor. Hardwood planks ran throughout the large area, partly covered by braided rugs and overstuffed, well-used leather furniture.

He glanced at Willow in time to catch a knowing look in those incredible eyes.

“Surprised, Mr. Sullivan?”

“At what?”

“That my family doesn’t live in a Louis the Fourteenth style mansion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You had a home in Beverly Hills.”

“When my father worked in the business,” she said. “But this was where he wanted to be. Away from all the attention, luxury and the press.” Her stare dared him to comment.

He didn’t.

“Our one consolation was that Dad got to spend his last days here,” she told him. “In the home that he loved.” Tears laced her voice and he hated that it affected him.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss. I’m sure your father found comfort here with his loved ones around.” It was obvious Willow was close to her family. “Was Dean here then?”

She sighed. “Mr. Sullivan…”

“Don’t you think this would be easier if we were on a first name basis? I’m Jack. May I call you Willow?”

Willow hated that the man could be so rude one minute, then the next, flash a smile and expect her to just melt. Well, she’d made that mistake before. Never again.

But she nodded. “All right then, Jack.”

“Okay, Willow, why don’t you tell me about this proposition you have.”

“It was my mother’s idea,” she said. “I’ll let her explain.” She led him through the dining room, past a long table that could seat a dozen people and into a big country kitchen.

The room had honey maple cabinets and shiny black granite countertops. He caught a whiff of something spicy cooking. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d had a packet of peanut butter crackers for lunch.

Off in a corner in front of French doors, Molly Reynolds and the foreman stood at the table. Another young woman in jeans and white blouse was setting the table.

“You’ve met my mother.”

“Hello, Mrs. Kingsley.”

She smiled. “Mr. Sullivan.”

“Please call me, Jack.”

The pretty woman returned his smile. “And everyone calls me Molly.”

The expression on Willow’s face told him she didn’t like the familiarity. He turned his attention to the foreman.

The man eyed him closely. “Sullivan. I’m Trevor Adams, foreman.”

So, Trevor Adams wasn’t going to be his friend. He saw Jack as too much of a threat. “Adams,” Jack said.

“And this is Gina Vargas,” Willow added as the young Hispanic woman looked up from her task. “She keeps the house in order and she’s the best cook around.”

“Gina, I’m looking forward to the meal. It smells great.”

“Thank you,” she said shyly. “Here’s your place.”

“I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” Molly said.

He grinned. “I’m a kitchen kind of guy. And being a bachelor I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal.” He waited until the women took their places, then he sat down.

Gina set a tall glass of iced tea at his place. Then she returned with a large casserole filled with bubbling chicken enchiladas. She added bowls of beans, rice and a stack of tortillas.

It began to rain again, and as it sheeted down on the brick patio outside, Molly dished out generous portions of food and handed the first to Jack, then did the same for the others. He added his own beans and rice, then dug in.

There was some polite conversation about the weather and then came the questions.

“How long have you been in business for yourself, Jack?” Molly asked.

“About five years.” He took a drink of sweet tea. “But you already know that…and probably a lot more.” All they’d had to do was read his ad in the Seattle area Yellow Pages, or check his Web site.

Molly gave him an innocent smile. “I thought it was interesting that you were on the Seattle Police Force for three years.”

“You’ve been a busy lady, Molly.”

“If I’ve learned anything from growing up in Hollywood, it’s not to trust many people. Not to take them at face value, anyway. But I can’t take all the credit. My daughter is very thorough.” Her intent gaze held his. “Your ad also states you specialize in white-collar investigations. Does that mean you’re after Dean for a crime?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars of the case. You know your son better than I do. You tell me.”

Willow glared at him. “Dean would never steal….”

Willow braced herself for more questions from the man. Instead Jack just studied her, which was even more disconcerting.

“I never said he stole anything,” he finally said. “The reason I’m looking for him…is just to talk with him.” Jack spoke in between bites. “It’s not an unfair request, especially since he hasn’t been to work in the past week.”

“So it’s his boss from Walsh Enterprises that hired you?”

He took another drink of his tea, ignoring her question. “Since Dean hasn’t been seen at his apartment, logical reasoning would be to think he came to visit his family…especially if he needs help.”

Willow didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe that her brother would do anything unethical…certainly not steal money. And she certainly didn’t want to give Jack any more information about the family. It was important that he not learn that Matt Kingsley had cut off the purse strings to his son years ago. Every dime of her father’s estate was tied up in a trust until after Molly’d passed on.

Trevor dropped his fork on his plate. “So you’re going to hang out here and bushwhack Dean when or if he shows up.”

Jack ignored Adams and turned his attention to Willow and Molly. “I’m not playing any games with your family. I’m trying to help. It is imperative that Dean clears something up before it becomes a legal matter.”

“Then let’s help each other,” Molly offered. “We want to keep our lives private, and escape media notice. Having you parked on the edge of the ranch will draw attention.”

“I’m not leaving…”

Molly raised her hand. “We know. So we’re offering you access to our property, and our word that we’ll let you know if Dean contacts us.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“But only if you promise not to tell anyone you’re a private investigator, and pretend that you work here…as a ranch hand.”

He wasn’t sure if Molly Kingsley was kidding or not. “You want me to play cowboy?”

“Maybe. We won’t ask you to bust any wild horses,” Willow said. “But there are other things you can do around the ranch. And we can teach you a few things so you can get by.” She turned to her mother. “A good cover might be that he’s a friend of Dean’s.”

Molly nodded. “I do have one concern. Can you handle about three dozen rowdy kids? Because in a little over a week, we’re reopening our annual summer camp.”

“By then I’ll be out of here.”

“One would hope,” Willow said.

Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’ll do it. I mean how hard can it be?”

Jack had held back one bit of information. He actually had spent some time on a working ranch. After he’d been labeled a troubled kid, his mother was more than happy to get rid of her twelve-year-old son for a couple of months. He hated leaving his friends in town to go to a police sponsored summer camp, but in the end he’d enjoyed his time in the country. Back then, he’d considered himself such a badass he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he liked anything.

Until Mike got a hold of him. The tough cop refused to put up with a teenager’s foul mouth and bad attitude. Damn. If Mike could see him now. “What goes around comes around,” he’d told Jack so many times.

An hour after dinner, carrying his duffel bag, Jack followed Trevor into the bunkhouse. They entered into a large main room with rough-cedar walls divided up into different areas. In the kitchen area three long tables took up the space.

Along one wall was a huge sofa and two recliners. Two men occupied chairs facing a large television tuned to a baseball game.

“Ted and Larry,” Trevor began. “This is Jack Sullivan. He just hired on and will be bunking here with you.”

Both men greeted him with a wave as Trevor continued the tour, down the hall to the first of three smaller rooms. Here there were four bunks, two already made up. Jack tossed his things on a vacant one next to the window.

“The bathroom is at the end of the hall, bed linens and towels are in the cupboard. Breakfast is at six after the morning chores are finished.”

Jack could see Adams enjoyed playing boss. “When do we get up?”

“About five. The stock gets fed first.”

Jack grinned. “Not a problem. I can handle that.”

The foreman glared at him. “Just follow the rules, Sullivan, and we’ll get along fine.”

“Don’t worry, Adams, I’ll do my part.”

Trevor pushed his hat back on his head. “We’ll see.” He turned to leave when Willow appeared in the doorway. “Willow, is there a problem?”

“No, I came to talk to Jack.”

Trevor studied her for a moment, then shrugged and left them alone.

She glanced around the room, then turned to Jack. “As you can see the accommodations are pretty basic…. Not much privacy, either.”

He’d lived in worse. “It beats sleeping in my car.” He caught a hint of a smile from her as he sat down on the single-sized mattress. “And the bunk is comfortable.”

“My mother had them all replaced just recently.” She moved farther into the room carrying a canvas tote bag. “Of course you aren’t going to get a lot of sleep. And tomorrow will be rough so I thought you might need these.” From the bag she pulled a pair of black boots. They were well-worn, but he could tell they were top-of-the-line. “What’s your size?” she asked.

“Twelve.”

“Then these should fit you.”

He wasn’t sure he should take them. Why was she suddenly being so nice?

She glanced down at his black leather athletic shoes. “We can’t pull this off if you don’t at least look the part.”

He reached for them and kicked off his shoes. He was about to slip one on when he saw the initials MK inside. “These were you father’s.”

She nodded.

He felt like a heel. “I know you don’t want me here, Willow.”

She glanced away. “I told you before we value our privacy.”

“And I have a job to do.”

“You don’t have any proof that Dean is guilty of…whatever.”

“That’s the reason I’m here. To talk to him.”

After a moment she sighed and said, “You’re wasting your time. Dean won’t come here. The ranch wasn’t his favorite place.”

Jack studied her. Before coming to California, he’d done extensive research on the Kingsley family. He knew all about the twenty-nine-year-old Willow’s well-publicized engagement and breakup, and the unauthorized private pictures her ex-fiancé sold to the tabloids. He didn’t blame her for being leery of strangers.

“I give you my word, Willow. I’ll do my best to keep the matter with Dean private…but that’s up to your brother.”

“Just remember we’re giving you this opportunity so the press won’t be involved.”

“Believe me, my client doesn’t want to publicize this situation any more than you do.”

She watched him with those intriguing blue eyes, but her firm jawline showed her determination, her refusal to back down. He knew she’d protect her family no matter what.

Who protected her?

Jack’s job was to find people’s vulnerability. Although Willow Kingsley hid hers well, he’d seen that, too. He’d caught glimpses of her softness, definitely her beauty. Yes, definitely, her beauty wasn’t lost on him. His chest tightened as his body began to stir with awareness.

She finally broke the spell and glanced down at the boots. “You better see if those fit.”

“Right.” Jack busied himself tugging on the boots, then stood to check the fit. The soft leather felt good. “Not bad,” he announced with a smile.

She nodded. “Be sure to wear a long-sleeved shirt and there are extra hats on the rack in the barn. There should be one that fits you.” She glanced around the room again. “If there’s anything else you need, Trevor should be able to get it for you.” She paused. “Good night…Jack.”

She turned to leave and he found himself trying to find a way to stop her. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Willow paused at the room’s entrance, her full lips parted, hesitating, then she said, “I usually ride most mornings, but you already know that.”

He nodded, unable to forget how graceful she was on horseback. “Then I’ll look for you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

He frowned. “Wait a minute. I thought we were going to come up with a story that I’m a friend of your brother’s. That way we can talk to each other, and it will also explain my inexperience with horses.”

“You’re right. I just don’t want people to think…” Her pretty face reddened.

“That there’s something between us,” he finished for her, hating that the idea so obviously bothered her.

She nodded. This time she didn’t hide her sadness. “It’s been rough since Dad’s death. Mother has only now been willing to go public with the reopening of the camp. It was important to her—to us that we keep the camp going.”

Jack walked to her. The boots added another inch or so to his six-foot-two height. Her gaze widened as he approached and he wondered where the strong, brassy woman who tried to chase him away had gone. He caught an unguarded glint in her eyes, a hesitant tone in her voice. He knew she didn’t let people see this side often. It made a man feel protective…almost.

“So being Matt Kingsley’s good daughter,” he said, “you took charge and got things going again.”

Willow stiffened, and her eyes flashed. “That’s the thing, Jack. I wasn’t always the good daughter.”

Willow hated that she was actually looking for the man when she walked into the barn early the next morning. Jack Sullivan was trouble. As much as she wanted to believe him, she wasn’t sure he was here to help her brother.

Trust didn’t come easy for her, especially with men.

All she’d ever wanted was to find a love like her parents had. Married for thirty years was a rare thing in Hollywood, or anywhere. She could still see the loving look in her father’s eyes whenever her mother walked into a room.

For years, whenever Matt Kingsley went on location for a movie the media had tried to stir up rumors of an illicit romance. But her parents’ love had survived whatever the tabloid press threw at them.

And Willow had thought she’d found a man who emulated her father, Scott Richfield. Instead, she got someone who wanted the limelight that came along with her famous family…but not her. Only her father’s death had made her realize what kind of man Scott was. At her lowest point he’d hadn’t been there for her and in the end he’d betrayed her. And after all this time, it still stung.

Willow walked through the barn doors, and down the aisle to Dakota’s stall. “Good morning, old guy,” she crooned to the raven-black quarter horse that had been her father’s faithful companion.

The horse tossed his head, then came to the gate for some attention. She rubbed his forehead. “You want to go for a run this morning?”

He whinnied in response, and she went to the end of the barn to the tack room. That’s where she found Jack. She gasped. “Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

Jack looked up from cleaning a saddle with a chamois cloth. “Trevor wants all the tack cleaned and oiled.”

That was true, but she sympathized with his being stuck here all day in the tiny room. “So how did the morning go with everyone?”

He shrugged. “Not bad. I met the other ranch hands at breakfast, and Larry took me out to help feed the horses. After that Trevor handed me this assignment.”

Okay, she might have to talk with Trevor. She went to the wall and took down a bridle, then reached for her saddle.

“How about a reprieve?” Jack asked as he stood and came to help her.

She paused. “I thought you agreed to this.”

“I agreed to play the part of a ranch hand, not be locked away in a room all day.”

Willow turned to the man who was dressed in Levi’s and a long-sleeved denim shirt. She noticed he had on the boots she’d given him. He looked as though he belonged here. But he didn’t and she had to remember that.

“Since you don’t know much else…” She began to lift her saddle, but he stepped in.

“I have a confession to make.” He took the saddle from the stand, then followed her out of the room and back to Dakota’s stall. “When I was twelve, I spent a summer on a ranch.”

“What else have you neglected to tell us, Mr. Sullivan?”

He placed the saddle on the bench and his dark eyes locked with hers. “That’s pretty much it.”

She nodded. “Then I guess we both can get to work.”

He cocked his thumb toward the tack room. “Come on, Willow, you can’t send me back in there.”

“It’s not my call,” she told him. “Trevor probably had a good reason for putting you to work there.”

“You’re the boss. You make the rules.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe I should just ask what job you’d like.”

He braced his shoulder against the post and grinned. “Okay, I’d like to go riding with you.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

He just kept on smiling. “What can I say? I like playing cowboy.”

“Riding a horse can be dangerous. You need to know what you’re doing.”

“It’ll come back to me.”

She opened the stall door. “I can’t risk it.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked. “I’ve done what your mother asked. Aren’t all the other hands going to wonder why I’m stuck in the tack room? At least let me prove that I can handle a horse.”

Willow hated to admit it, but he was right. He was trying to cooperate. Her problem was she didn’t want him here at all.

She latched the stall. “Follow me,” she told him and marched down the aisle. She stopped three stalls away where a gray gelding was housed. “This is Cisco. He’s pretty gentle.” She patted the animal’s forehead. “He’ll be your mount.”

“You’re serious?” He reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, impressing her with his ease around the animal. “You’re going to let me ride.”

“Only if you can tack up your own horse. Do you think you can?”

He grinned again and her pulse soared.

“If it will get me out of the barn, I’m willing to give it a damn good try.”

“Okay, but don’t think you’re going to get out of working. All the hands carry their weight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another of his disturbing grins.

Willow didn’t want to find him disturbing. “Good, because the tack will be waiting for you when you get back.”

She turned and walked away, hearing him chuckle behind her. The sound made her smile, too.

But inside, Willow knew that this man was a threat to her and her family. All the time he was here he would be watching them. She had to be vigilant. Jack Sullivan was a man with a mission. He would throw her brother to the wolves if need be.

Twenty minutes later Jack grabbed a straw cowboy hat off a peg and led a saddled Cisco out of the barn. So far so good, he thought. He was enjoying himself. Something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He found Willow in the corral. She was bending over, checking her horse’s front hoof. He couldn’t help but notice how nicely her jeans fit over her rounded bottom and legs.

He quickly shook away the direction of his thoughts. He needed to keep his focus on the job. That made Willow Kingsley off-limits.

Willow released the horse’s leg and straightened. “Well, that didn’t take too long.” She walked around Cisco, checking how well Jack had done saddling the animal.

She took hold of the stirrup and tossed it over the saddle to check the cinch. Pushing on the horse’s side, she tested to see if the strap was tight enough. It was.

She eyed him. “So, you learned Cisco’s trick.”

He adjusted his hat. “You mean when he holds his breath until you think the cinch is tight, then lets it’s out when you try to mount and your saddle slips? Yeah, I did. He isn’t the only horse who pulls that. So do I pass the test?”

“Let’s see how you handle him.”

Jack glanced around and found they had an audience. A few of the ranch hands had gathered to watch. Then Trevor came out of the barn and walked toward them. “Hey, Sullivan. I thought I left you cleaning tack.”