Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.

Lost

Her first and only love. Chelsea Jensen had no idea her father had been to blame for her heartbreak when Jack Shane disappeared from the Wishing Tree Ranch. Ten years later, the betrayal still burned.

Found

A check. A canceled check that explained everything. Or almost. Now she knew why he’d left her. But she didn’t know if he’d loved her. Had she just been too young and too blind to see the truth? She was determined to track Jack down—wherever he was—and find out!

“I found the check my father tried to give you,” Chelsea said, her voice barely a whisper.

“So that was it.” Jack felt his jaw tighten.

“I didn’t know, Jack.”

He looked away, the pain fresh as a new wound, past her to the sports car parked by the chutes. Her sports car. He smiled bitterly. For a moment, just looking at her, listening to her, being so close to her, he’d forgotten. Now he looked from the car to her, recalling only too well everything he’d once felt for her—and all the reasons they had been wrong for each other.

“If you’d just told me,” she said.

How many times had he questioned that decision? How many times had he thought about going back to try to straighten things out? But the memory of her father coming out that morning to the corrals with the check, the look in Ryder Jensen’s eyes, the accusations, the contempt—all had kept him moving on down the road.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said.

“I don’t believe it.”

He turned away. He definitely didn’t need this.

“Jack.”

It came out a whisper, so familiar and so intimate, he stopped in his tracks, unable not to remember that soft sound, the feel of her breath on his skin.…

“Believe it,” he said, walking away from her, just as he had ten years ago.

Dear Reader,

I grew up on old Westerns, spending many a Saturday with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, riding the range and rootin’ for the good guys. Is it any wonder, after spending part of my youth in Texas and the rest in Montana, that I love cowboys—and rodeos?

They say that rodeo is a reaffirmation of the Old West, a celebration of life and a lifestyle that has all but passed away.

That’s why I loved writing this book as part of the Trueblood, Texas series. I like to believe that somewhere in Texas right now Chelsea and Jack and their descendants are keeping the cowboy way of life alive. A life based on a love for the land—and each other.

B.J. Daniels

Rodeo Daddy
B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY

THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.

The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.

The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.

The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.

None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprecedented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.

But in one house, there was still hope.

Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.

Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.

Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.

Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.

Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from growing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.

And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.

Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.

At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.

Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.

To Judy Kinnaman, a friend and fellow writer, who has been there from the beginning. Thanks for all your support and encouragement.

Acknowledgments:

With special thanks to bull riders Colby Yates of Azle, Texas, and Canadians Blade Young of Saskatchewan and Denton Edge of Alberta.

B.J. Daniels is acknowledged as the author of this work.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

CHELSEA STOOD AT the door, her hand poised over the knob. It had been more than a month since her father’s death and yet she still didn’t want to go into his den. Unlike the rest of the ranch, with its eclectic mix of furnishings collected over many years, Ryder Jensen’s den mirrored the strong, determined man who had made the Wishing Tree one of the largest working ranches this side of the Pecos.

But it wasn’t just the thought of seeing her father’s neat, very masculine office and the memories it would evoke that made her hesitate at the door. It was his words just before his death. He’d been trying to tell her something. She felt a chill, although it was April and, in this part of Texas, already warm.

What had he taken to his grave? Something to do with her, that much was clear. And the answer, she feared, was on the other side of this door.

She steeled herself and opened the door. Instantly she was hit with the scent of leather and her father’s tobacco. Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she almost turned away. But if anything, she was her father’s daughter. Whatever secret he might have been hiding, she would face it. Just as she’d had to face his death and the terrible sense of loss that came with it.

She went to the desk and slowly began going through the stack of papers resting on the surface. The heart attack had taken her father quickly. He’d had no time to put his affairs in order. It had been in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that he’d tried to tell her something. No, she thought, it was almost as if he’d tried to warn her about something. But she’d been unable to understand him and she’d never gotten another chance.

The Wishing Tree felt empty without him, as if the heart of the ranch were gone. While she had friends who’d supported her and let her talk about her father and his death, her older brother Cody had shut her out, refusing to even mention Ryder’s name. Cody’s way of dealing with his grief was work. She hardly ever saw him these days, and that made her loss even greater.

She couldn’t remember her mother, who’d died when she was two. Her father and brother had always been the center of her life and now she felt abandoned, adrift.

To her surprise, the papers on the desk all had notes on them, reminders of things her father needed to get done, all personal. Had he known about his illness and just not told Cody and her?

Her fingers slowed as she worked her way through the pile of papers, a cold chill coming over her. He must have known! Why hadn’t he told them, prepared them for this?

As she neared the bottom of the pile, she was almost relieved when she still hadn’t found anything pertaining to her. Then she saw it. Tell Chelsea before it’s too late. It was written in her father’s clipped, slanted script, and attached to the note was a check.

Tell Chelsea what? Fingers shaking, she pulled the check from behind the note. Her heart took off at a gallop when she saw who it was made out to. Jack Shane.

Memories blindsided her, a deadly mix of pleasure and pain, love and betrayal. Why had her father kept one of Jack’s old paychecks from the time he was a ranch hand on the Wishing Tree? It had been almost ten years.

She started to wad the check up and throw it away, wondering what her father could have possibly wanted to tell her. Jack Shane was old news.

Her eye caught the amount of the check. She froze. Ten thousand dollars! Her gaze flew to the date. It was the same day Jack had left the Wishing Tree. The same day he’d broken her heart, his note short and to the point: I can’t do this, Chelsea. I’m sorry. It’s for the best. Goodbye, Jack.

She dropped into her father’s chair, her hands shaking so badly that the check slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor.

Her father had bought off Jack! She couldn’t believe it. She felt sick. That was what he had been trying to tell her. How could he have interfered in her life like that? She and Jack had loved each other. They’d planned to marry. Ryder Jensen thought she was too young to know her own mind, not yet eighteen, and tried to convince her she was wrong about Jack. But to pay Jack to leave?

Her anger at her father was eclipsed by the realization that Jack had betrayed her. He’d taken the money. Ten thousand dollars to turn his back on their love.

Fury brought her to her feet. He’d settled for peanuts. He could have gotten so much more. He could have had her—and half of the Wishing Tree—if he’d stayed and stood up to her father. The coward.

With tears in her eyes, she knelt down to retrieve the check, incapable even now of forgetting her feelings for Jack. Her father had been wrong. She’d damned well known her own mind. She’d been in love with Jack. It had been the real thing. At least for her.

As she picked up the check and straightened, she saw something that was destined to change her life forever—just as her father had thought he could change her destiny.

The check had never been cashed! There was no cancellation on the back. No signature. She stared at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Jack hadn’t taken the money.

She stood looking at the check for a long time, remembering, then she folded it carefully, put it in the pocket of her jeans and went out to saddle her horse.

* * *

THE MORNING AIR smelled of pine and sunshine as she set off on Scout. She loved this land, this life, as much as her father had. All she’d ever cared about was ranching and the Wishing Tree. Ryder had insisted she get a formal education, an education befitting a woman. But she’d always known where she belonged and had returned to the ranch to take over the financial end of it, while Cody saw to the day-to-day running of the place.

That arrangement allowed her to ride every day and continue to be the tomboy she’d always been, helping with calving and branding and even mending fences when she felt like it. But at the same time, she was the lady of the house and found that role also fit. Her father loved to entertain in the grand living room with the massive stone fireplace and the windows that looked out over a small lake and ranchland.

Her father had left her and Cody the Wishing Tree with the restriction that it could never be sold outside the family. Not that either of them would dream of such a thing. She planned to see her children raised here and her children’s children.

She worked her way toward the south forty, riding Scout through the scrub pines and rock outcroppings until she spotted her brother with a handful of men repairing one of the corrals.

Cody looked up when he heard her approach. He frowned, but said nothing as she dismounted and, ground-tying Scout, walked toward him.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, a few yards from the men.

Cody didn’t seem surprised, just obviously not happy about the prospect.

“Now?” he asked pointedly.

“Now,” she said, digging in her heels.

He looked worried, as if she’d ridden all this way to talk about their father’s death. She knew people dealt with their grief in different ways, but Cody seemed to be running from it. She’d heard him up at all hours of the night, roaming the old ranch house, as lost as she was. If only he’d talk to her about it.

She desperately needed her big brother back, she thought as she watched him slowly move toward her. He was tall and broad-shouldered like their father, with slim hips and long legs. His handsome face was tanned, the lines strong, confident. She’d missed him. Worse, she could feel a distance between them that scared her and she feared what she had to say would only make matters worse.

But she was her father’s daughter and didn’t know any other way but to take the bull by the horns. “I’m sure you can spare a minute.”

“I’m really busy right now,” Cody said impatiently. “I’m sure whatever this is about can wait until—”

“It can’t wait.” She wished she’d tried harder to talk to him before this. She’d let him stew in his own juices for far too long.

With reluctance, he followed her over to a lone oak.

Once in the shade, she turned to face him. “I found something in Dad’s den I need to talk to you about.”

His expression instantly closed.

She pulled the check from her pocket and handed it to him.

He looked puzzled, but took it from her, unfolded the check, glanced at it, then handed it back.

“You knew about this!” She couldn’t believe it. She thought this was just her father’s doing. “You knew,” she accused, angry and crushed that her brother had been part of it. “Damn it, Cody.”

“No reason to start swearing like a cowhand, Chelsea.” He shifted the weight from one dusty boot to the other, his gaze moving off to the west as if he wished he could go with it.

“You knew how much I loved Jack. You knew.” She felt hot tears. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cody asked.

“No.” She brushed the wetness from her cheeks. She’d never been a crier and didn’t intend to become one now. “All that’s obvious is that the two of you tried to buy him off.”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Cody said with a stubborn set of his jaw.

“Then you’d better tell me—” she planted her hands on her hips “—because we’re not leaving this spot until you do. And don’t think you can avoid me like you have for weeks and not discuss this.”

“Let it go, sis,” Cody warned. “It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Not for me.” She’d never gotten over Jack Shane. Nor had she ever found another man who could fill his boots. It hadn’t been just a schoolgirl crush, damn it.

Her brother looked down at the ground.

“Dad tried to tell me something in the ambulance,” she said. “I found a note attached to the check, ‘Tell Chelsea before it’s too late.’ It’s obvious that Dad regretted what he did and wanted to make it right before he died.”

Cody’s head jerked up, his brown eyes darkening. “The only reason he’d have told you was to warn you,” her brother snapped.

“Warn me?”

“Jack Shane wasn’t the man you thought he was,” Cody said, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry, sis, but he was only after the ranch.”

“Like hell.” She felt the tears again but fought them back. She’d loved Jack. And he’d loved her. A woman knew. Even a young woman who’d fallen in love for the first time. She couldn’t have been wrong about Jack. Oh yeah? Then why didn’t he come to you with this? Why did he just leave a hurried note? And the big one, why hadn’t he come back?

She felt the check in her hand. “He didn’t take the money. That proves what kind of man he was.”

Cody chewed at his cheek for a moment, then slowly raised his gaze to meet hers again. “I never wanted to have to tell you this, but I know Dad was worried that Jack might show up again after... Dad planned to tell you himself....”

She stared at her brother. He’d known that their father was dying. She felt sick. Sick that her father hadn’t told her. Sick that Cody had had to carry the burden of that knowledge alone.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. “Dad thought Jack would come back? Why would he think that?”

Cody looked away. “With Dad out of the way—”

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “If Jack had wanted the ranch, he’d have stayed and fought for me.” If he’d loved her enough...

“Not under the circumstances,” Cody mumbled. “I hate to be the one, but someone has to tell you.”

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she held her breath, suddenly afraid. “Tell me what?”

“We started losing cattle just after Jack hired on. Dad and I didn’t want to believe it was him, because from the start we could see how you felt about him.”

“Jack was rustling cattle?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, it’s true. Remember the night Ray Dale Farnsworth was killed?”

Ray Dale was the son of a neighboring farmer. Her father had hired him as a favor to Angus Farnsworth, Ray Dale’s father. Ray Dale was a wild one, always in trouble, but Ryder thought he could help the young man.

Then Ray Dale was found dead in Box Canyon at the north end of the ranch. It appeared he’d fallen from his horse and hit his head. Everyone had always wondered what he’d been doing in the canyon that night.

The sheriff had wondered as well. She remembered overhearing something about semi-truck tire prints along a nearby road and a rumor of rustling. But rustling was always something to worry about on a ranch the size of the Wishing Tree, and when the sheriff ruled the death accidental, that had been the end of the rustling talk.

“Ray Dale and Jack were rustling our cows,” Cody said quietly. “Dad and I had suspected it for some time.” He held up a hand. “It’s the honest to God truth. I saw Jack ride out after Ray Dale that night.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “That proves nothing.”

“The two had rounded up about fifty head in Box Canyon,” Cody continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I don’t know what happened. There was a storm that night so maybe the lightning and thunder spooked the cows and they stampeded and Ray Dale got thrown from his horse.” He shrugged. “But Jack was there. I followed him to the canyon, then I rode back to tell Dad.”

She shook her head. “There has to be another explanation.”

“Jack had a record, Chels. We found out that this wasn’t his first brush with the law. He’d done some time in Juvenile Hall for stealing on other ranches where he’d worked.”

She closed her eyes, remembering Jack telling her he’d gotten into some trouble when he was younger, made some mistakes. He’d grown up hard and hadn’t had the advantages she and Cody had, but he’d been so determined to change his life.

“He wouldn’t steal from us,” she said adamantly, opening her eyes. “And if they really were rustling, then why didn’t Dad have him arrested? Why didn’t any of this come out at the time?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Dad knew how you felt about Jack. He didn’t want you to be hurt. Ray Dale was dead. The Farnsworths were going through enough, losing their only son, without adding the pain and embarrassment of knowing Ray Dale was rustling. Dad felt that the loss of a few cows and letting Jack Shane get away with it was better than hurting people he cared about.”

She stared at her brother, missing her father all the more because what Cody said was true. That’s exactly how Ryder Jensen would have handled the situation. But it wasn’t like her father to try to buy off a thief and they both knew it. “Dad wouldn’t offer ten thousand dollars to Jack if he really believed he was stealing from the ranch.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Cody said.

She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to believe it.

“He did it to protect you,” her brother continued. “I can’t tell you how it hurt Dad to do it. He knew you’d be devastated if you learned the truth. By then, Jack knew we were on to him. That’s why he took off the way he did.”

“But why didn’t he take the money?” she cried. “If money was all he cared about, why didn’t he take it?”

Cody shook his head. “Maybe there is some honor among thieves. Or maybe he thought it was a trap.” He reached out, encircled her neck with his arm and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry, sis,” he said, hugging her. “Maybe now that you know the truth, you can finally get over Jack Shane once and for all, and Dad will be able to rest in peace.”

Unable to hold back the tears, she hugged Cody, glad to have her big brother back. She’d give up crying tomorrow. At least now she knew why Jack left the Wishing Tree and hadn’t looked back.

CHAPTER TWO

IN THE DAYS that followed, Chelsea rode Scout every morning, galloping through the cool dawn, the wind blowing back her hair, blowing back her tears.

On those rides, she questioned every aspect of her relationship with Jack, searching for some sign that she’d been dead wrong about him. That her love for him had blinded her to his faults, his weaknesses, his deceitfulness. Or that, like her father and brother believed, she really had been too young to see the truth.

She remembered everything about Jack Shane. The way he talked, the way he stood, the way he touched her. And the way he’d left her.

She’d been seventeen that summer, Jack twenty-two. He had a way about him. A quiet, gentle strength. She liked how he handled the horses she loved. She liked the tenderness that came into his dark eyes when he looked at her. She’d felt a pull to him, stronger than gravity, whenever she was near him.

She’d known he’d been hurt bad when he was young, and suffered poverty and neglect. She’d felt his pain, just looking at him. But she’d also seen his desire to overcome his past, his determination to succeed. He was a man willing to work for what he wanted. He hadn’t been kicked down so much that he didn’t still have dreams.

Maybe it was that hunger that had led him to steal.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen how overwhelmed he was by the size of the Wishing Tree ranch, how envious he was of her family’s closeness and how...uncomfortable he was with her wealth. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love with her because of it, and told her as much.

Chelsea had never thought much about money. Probably because she’d never had to. Everything she’d ever needed was on the ranch. Her life was unbelievably rich in so many things she hadn’t realized until she’d met Jack Shane. Money was only one of them.

Jack had never believed he would be accepted in the circles in which her family traveled, and because of that, he’d had trouble believing the two of them had a future.

He’d been right. She ached at the thought of how Jack must have felt when her father offered him ten thousand dollars to leave the Wishing Tree and her. She knew how much pride he had. In fact, he’d had little else.

That alone could explain why Jack had written the hurried note telling her it would never work out. Why he’d left without talking to her and why he’d never come back.

What if Cody was wrong? She kept thinking about the check and the fact that Jack hadn’t taken the money. The more she thought about it, the more she believed Jack hadn’t left out of guilt, but hurt and embarrassment. What if there was an explanation, just as she had originally thought, for Jack going to Box Canyon that night?

The more she considered it, the more she worried that Jack had been falsely accused. She couldn’t have been that wrong about him. If she had been, she would never trust her heart again.

“I’m going to find Jack,” she said one morning at breakfast, surprising herself as much as she did Cody. “I have to confront him. I have to know the truth.”

“I told you the truth,” Cody said contrarily.

“I believe you,” she assured him. At least she believed that Cody believed it. “I just need to know why.”

“For once in your life, just let it go, Chels,” Cody said, pushing away his plate. “He’s going to break your heart all over again.”

“Try to understand,” she pleaded, not wanting this to come between them. “I have to do this.”

“The man is no good, Chels,” her brother said hotly. “The worst thing you can do is dig all this back up. Think of Dad. This isn’t what he would have wanted. If it comes out about the rustling, it’s going to hurt everyone, especially the Farnsworths.”

“This is just between me and Jack.”

Cody threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Why do you think Dad debated telling you for so long?” he demanded as he got to his feet. “Because he feared you’d do some fool thing like this. You always took in every stray cat or dog that wandered onto the ranch, thinking that with some food and love you could save them all. Well, you couldn’t save Jack Shane but you would have died trying.”

“It wasn’t like that. Cody, please, try to understand. I’ve never been able to get over him. If you’re right, then after I see him, I’ll be able to move on. Finally.”

“You think he’ll admit the truth to you?” he demanded.

“Yes, I think he will.”

Cody shook his head, his gaze softening. “Sis, I’m just afraid you’re going to fall under this guy’s spell again.”

“I’m a big girl now, Cody. I’m not seventeen with stars in my eyes. If Jack lied to me, I’ll know.”

Cody was still shaking his head. “Dad made one hell of a mistake by running him off. He should have let Jack stay long enough to hang himself so you could see who he really was.”

“Yes, Dad should have,” she agreed. “But since he didn’t, I intend to see for myself. Support me on this, Cody. Trust me.”

“It isn’t you I don’t trust, Chels. It’s Jack. I saw the way he stole your heart. He would have stolen this ranch just as quickly. You’re making a mistake, one you’re going to regret.”

“I guess it’s my mistake to make,” she said quietly.

“Then you’re on your own.” He swore as he turned and stomped out, grabbing his hat on the way. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

“I NEED YOU to find someone for me,” Chelsea said the moment she stepped into the office of Finders Keepers a few hours later.

Dylan Garrett laughed at her abrupt entrance. “Chelsea. What a surprise!” He got up to embrace her.

Dylan and her brother Cody were the same age and had been good friends since they were boys. The Garretts owned a ranch in the same area outside of San Antonio as the Jensens. She hadn’t seen Dylan and his sisters Lily and Ashley since her father’s funeral.

Dylan released her, holding her at arm’s length to look at her. “How are you? I’ve been wanting to stop by to see Cody....”

She knew what he was asking. “Cody is doing...better. You saw how he was at the funeral. He fills his days with work. But I think he’s sleeping more now and he’s talking to me again.”

“Good,” Dylan said, offering her a chair.

“That is, he was,” she added.

Dylan raised a brow. Rather than go back behind his desk, he took a chair across from her. Dylan had always been a strikingly good-looking man. At one time, Chelsea had had a terrible crush on him—his rugged, muscular build, his sun-streaked light-brown hair, always in need of a haircut, and those incredible blue eyes so like his father’s.

But it was the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth and that little dimple in his left cheek when he smiled that used to get to her. That and the fact that he was a nice guy.

Unfortunately, he’d been her brother’s friend, one of the reasons the crush hadn’t lasted long. That and Jack Shane.

She took a deep breath and smiled, trying to calm down. She’d always been impetuous, but now that she was in Dylan’s office she felt a little...scared. “How are you?”

He smiled. “Good.”

“I’ve been following your wonderful success with Finders Keepers. I hope I get to see Lily while I’m here, and the baby. How old is Elizabeth now, almost a month?”

“She’s the cutest thing,” the proud uncle said, a sparkle in his eye.

It struck her what a great father Dylan would make. But so far, it seemed, no woman had caught his eye.

“So, who do you have to find this early in the morning?” he asked, no doubt sensing her need to get this settled and as quickly as possible.

She took a breath and braced herself, not sure how much he knew about all this. “Jack Shane.”

He arched a brow. “Jack Shane?”

“He worked on the ranch about ten years ago.”

She filled Dylan in on everything Cody had told her, although she suspected he probably knew most of it. “I was in love with Jack,” she confided.

“I remember,” Dylan said quietly. “You went to Europe later that summer.”

Her father had surprised her with that trip to Europe. Now she knew why. Obviously, he’d hoped it would help her get over Jack. Too bad it hadn’t worked.

“Are you sure about this?” Dylan asked.

She’d never been more sure of anything. Or more afraid. “I have to know the truth.”

Dylan looked skeptical. “More than likely, you’ll never know the truth. If he conned you before, what’s to prevent him from doing it again? I have to raise these questions, Chelsea. Jack Shane might be guilty. He might even be...dangerous. What then?”

She started to argue, but he stopped her.

“Did you ever think that he might not want to be found?”

She knew what Dylan meant: if Jack was guilty, seeing her turn up on his doorstep wasn’t going to make his day.

“Or he might be in prison—or worse,” Dylan added. “Ten years is a long time. And all things considered, there’s more than a good chance you aren’t going to like what you find.”

She nodded. “Either way, I need to know and I need to hear it straight from Jack.”

Dylan studied her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do my best to find him for you, but I have to tell you, it’s against my better judgment.”

“Thanks, Dylan,” she said, opening her purse to pull out her checkbook.

He reached over to put a hand on hers. “Let’s see what I find out, then we can talk about my fee. I’ll give you a call.” He got to his feet. “Lily is around—you have to see this baby. Stay here, and I’ll be right back.”

Restless, Chelsea walked around the tastefully furnished office, too nervous to sit. She knew she wouldn’t be good for anything until Dylan found Jack. Until she got this settled in her mind. And her heart.

She heard Lily’s voice and turned to hear Dylan say, “Give me that baby, and come in here and say hello to Chelsea.”

“Chelsea? You didn’t tell me she was here.” Lily burst through the door and rushed to hug her as Dylan brought the baby in. Elizabeth was so tiny and adorable, Chelsea melted at the sight of her.

“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” Lily asked with concern after Chelsea had made a fuss over the baby.

Chelsea nodded. She’d always felt close to Lily and her sister Ashley, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Lily about Jack. “Congratulations. Elizabeth is beautiful.”

Lily’s face glowed with happiness as she nudged the blanket down with a finger so she could look at her baby cuddled in her brother’s arms. Chelsea watched the expression on Lily’s face and wondered if she would ever have a child of her own.

* * *

DYLAN WATCHED Chelsea leave, unable to shake off the bad feeling he had. Chelsea was like a little sister to him, and, like Cody, he felt protective of her.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked behind him.

He turned to look at her holding her precious infant daughter. Everything, he wanted to say. He envied his sister. She had Cole and now Elizabeth.

“I’m worried about Chelsea,” he answered honestly.

“She’s a headstrong woman,” Lily agreed.

He had to laugh. “Like someone else I know.”

“Dylan, when I came in earlier, you were on the phone with Zach Logan. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Zach had been Dylan’s boss when he’d worked with the Dallas police. “Zach’s just helping me with Julie’s case,” Dylan said. He didn’t want to concern his sister any more than he already had. “Zach’s involvement will help me settle it faster, that’s all.”

Julie. The woman he loved. The woman who had married his best friend, Sebastian Cooper.

It had only been a few months since Dylan had discovered Sebastian was up to his neck in the mob. Julie had learned of it even earlier and had taken off, pregnant.

That had been a year ago January—a long year in which Dylan had searched for Julie, finally locating her in the tiny Texas town of Cactus Creek. Julie was fearful for her life and that of her baby son, Thomas. She was convinced Sebastian meant to harm her, and after eavesdropping on Sebastian and mobster Luke Silva, Dylan knew her fears were grounded. He had put her in a safe house in Boot Hill until he could find enough evidence on Sebastian to send him to prison for life.

Dylan worried that he wasn’t moving fast enough. That Sebastian was going to find Julie and Thomas before he could get what he needed on his old friend. He had tried to keep the fact that he’d found Julie a secret, but his twin sister Lily knew him too well—Lily and their ranch foreman, Max, who was like a brother to Dylan. They noticed Dylan had changed in the past few months and had guessed the reason. But Dylan trusted them to keep his discovery of Julie a secret. And even though he hated to inflict worry on his sister and Max, it had helped having them to confide in.

“I heard you tell Zach that you’re planning to go see J. B. Crowe in prison to flush out Sebastian,” she said, then lowered her voice, realizing she’d startled Elizabeth. She looked down at the infant, then back up at him. “J. B. Crowe is the head of the mob. You helped put him in prison—you know how dangerous he is.” Dylan stepped over to his sister and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, I know. But for Julie’s sake, I’ve got to find Sebastian before he finds her, and J. B. Crowe is going to help me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” Lily said. “Just do me a favor. Please be careful.”

“Always.” He kissed his sister on the forehead, then Elizabeth. “You just take care of my niece and don’t worry.” But he could tell that would be hard for her. It was another reason he had to find Sebastian. And soon.

* * *

IT WASN’T UNTIL the next evening that Dylan called. Chelsea had been waiting anxiously by the phone. Cody had cleared out of the house and was back in his distant, uncommunicative mood. Her attempts at conversation with him only elicited grunts until she’d finally just given up.

It broke her heart to lose him again. She could only hope he’d come around, because now that she’d gone this far, she wasn’t turning back.

“Chelsea?” The sound of Dylan’s voice made her heart begin to pound.

“You found Jack?” she whispered.

“He doesn’t go by Jack Shane anymore,” Dylan said. “He calls himself Jackson Robinson.”

Why did that name sound familiar?

“He’s a bull rider on the pro rodeo circuit,” Dylan continued. “Shuns publicity but has made a name for himself by winning more than a few titles.”

“You’re sure it’s Jack?” she asked, surprised the man she’d known would be riding bulls. Even more surprised he’d changed his name. But then according to Cody, she didn’t know the man at all, and ten years ago he would have had good reason to try to drop out of sight.

“Unless someone else is using his social security number it’s the Jack Shane who worked for your ranch ten years ago,” Dylan said.

“Where can I find him?” she asked, more determined than ever to see if this Jackson Robinson was really her Jack.

“Hold on, now,” Dylan said. “I’ve just started digging. I would strongly advise you to wait until I get more information on this guy before you confront him.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of waiting any longer. “Is he in Texas?”

“Yes.”

She took a breath. “Is he...married?”

“I have no idea. Given more time—”

“Where is he in Texas?” she asked, determined to get her own answers—and quickly. “Dylan, I need to see him. Now.”

“Cody will have my hide for this,” Dylan said.

“You’ve always been able to hold your own with Cody,” she returned. “Where, Dylan? You can’t talk me out of this any more than Cody did, and believe me, he tried.”

“I’m sure he did,” Dylan said with a groan. “Jackson Robinson is riding in Lubbock tomorrow night.”

Lubbock, Texas. That was only a day’s drive away.

“That’s perfect. Thanks, Dylan. You don’t know what this means to me.” She started to hang up.

“Chelsea, don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Too late for that.

“Why don’t you take Cody with you?” Dylan suggested.

“Cody?” He had to be kidding. “I think not. Anyway, he has a ranch to run. I’ll be fine. Really.” She didn’t need her big brother protecting her.

She hung up, her heart pounding. As impulsive as she’d always been, even she was shocked by what she planned to do. She was going to see Jack. Jackson. Whatever he called himself these days. She told herself that she’d know the truth the moment she looked into his dark eyes.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SHE GOT UP the next morning to leave, Cody was already gone. She loaded her bag into her car, scribbled a goodbye to her brother with the promise to call, and left.

The night before she’d packed hurriedly, shaking with just the thought of seeing Jack again. Maybe Dylan and Cody were right. Maybe this man did have some power over her. He’d certainly stayed in her thoughts all these years. And in her heart.

She hadn’t known what to pack or for how long. A few days max. What should she wear? What any Texas-born cowgirl wore to a rodeo—jeans and boots.

But she threw in her favorite blue silk dress for good measure, just in case.

Just in case what? What did she hope was going to happen? She tried not to go there.

She’d just closed the bag when she heard a sound behind here.

“So you’re really going to do this,” Cody said from the doorway.

He no longer appeared angry, just concerned. She nodded.

“Could you at least tell me where you’re going?” he asked.

“Lubbock. He’s riding bulls with the rodeo circuit.”

Cody nodded. He’d ridden a few bulls himself, and a few broncs.

She hadn’t really wanted to tell him that Jack had changed his name, afraid Cody would only see it as more evidence of his guilt. “He’s riding as Jackson Robinson.”

“Is he?”

“Have you heard of him?” she’d asked, seeing something in her brother’s look that worried her.

He hadn’t answered. “You realize you might be the last person he wants to see.”

She refused to even consider that possibility.

Cody had stood in the doorway for a moment. “I know better than to try to talk you out of this fool behavior.”

“That’s good,” she’d agreed.

“Could you at least call and let me know you’re not dead on the highway?”

“What good would calling do? You’ll be out mending fence or chasing down some stray calf, acting like you work around here.” He didn’t seem to appreciate her sense of humor. But then he never had.

“I’ll take the cell phone with me,” he’d said after a moment. He’d made a disgusted face and looked even more put out with her. Cody hated cell phones and refused to carry the one she’d bought him.

“Then I’ll call,” she’d promised, and smiled. “Wish me luck?”

“You’re going to need more than luck, little sister.”

Last night she’d felt confident, but now that she was on the road, she was less sure of herself. What if she was wrong about Jack? What if he didn’t want to see her? Or worse, what if he admitted he’d never cared, that he’d only been after her cattle—and her ranch?

That thought almost made her turn around. Almost.

She remembered the day Jack had arrived in an old red pickup, rattling up the road in a cloud of Texas dust, looking for a job. He’d climbed out of the truck. Even at twenty-two he looked solid, as if he’d done a lot of manual labor. Had it been love at first sight? She’d always thought so.

A terrible thought struck her. What if Jack thought she’d known about the check?

She drove past San Antonio, took Highway 10 and headed west. At Sonora, she’d angle up 87 and on into Lubbock. She figured she’d be there before Jack rode.

Turning up the music, she put the top down on the Mercedes her father had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. But she couldn’t quit thinking about Jack. Or worrying that she might be wrong about him.

* * *

AFTER GETTING CAUGHT in road construction for hours, Chelsea was late reaching Lubbock, and suddenly, she wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. She was twenty-eight, no longer a kid. And yet she was still chasing rainbows.

But she’d come this far. And if she didn’t see Jack, she would always wonder, right?

A little voice in the back of her head that sounded uncannily like her brother kept warning her this was a mistake.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, shocked to realize she hardly recognized the woman behind the wheel. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright as stars, excitement radiating from her. And determination. She was a woman who liked to finish what she started, one way or the other.

By the time she found the rodeo grounds on the far side of town, the rodeo was over and the crowd had gone home.

She parked, raked her hand through her long, unruly hair, wishing she’d had the sense not to put the top down on the car.

Getting out, she walked slowly toward the chutes at the rear of the arena, hoping that Jack would still be there.

She asked a cowboy loading his horse into a trailer where she could find Jackson Robinson. He pointed her in the direction of a dozen trailers, pickups and motor homes camped under a long row of old oaks—and one older model motor home in particular.

As Chelsea neared, she saw that the outside door was open and light was spilling out the screen door onto a piece of carpet in front of the metal pull-out step.

The evening was warm and filled with the fragrances of coming summer. Woven into the scents were the many different foods being cooked in the tiny community camped here, and the leftover smell of corn dogs, cotton candy and fried bread from the rodeo.

The lights, the warm breeze and the inviting aromas gave the encampment a cozy, homey feel. Horses whinnied in the corrals. Laughter drifted on the breeze from small groups of cowboys sitting outside their rigs in pools of golden light. There would be another rodeo tomorrow night, so it appeared most of the riders were staying for it.

As she approached the motor home, she thought she smelled something cooking inside. Then she heard a sound that stopped her cold. It drifted out the screen door. Light, lyrical, definitely female laughter.

She stopped walking, realizing just how rash she’d been. Had she expected Jack to pine away for her all these years as she had for him? Obviously she had.

Suddenly she was struck with a huge case of cold feet. She started to turn and stumbled, almost colliding with a child. The cowboy was small and slim, dressed in jeans, boots and a checked western shirt. His straw cowboy hat was pulled low over his eyes.

“Sorry,” Chelsea murmured, feeling like a coward. Didn’t she want to know the truth? If she couldn’t face the fact that Jack had someone else, how could she face it if he’d lied to her, rustled her cattle and taken off with her heart? Which right now seemed damned likely.

“Are you looking for someone? I know everybody here.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Chelsea asked with amusement. She’d thought the child a boy, but on closer inspection, she realized the cowboy was in fact a cowgirl of about eight or nine. And from the amount of dirt on her jeans and boots, Chelsea would say a tomboy. She recognized the look.

The screen door on the motor home banged open. Chelsea turned, afraid it would be Jack. Instead, a young woman dressed in western attire came out, still laughing and smiling back at whoever was inside. Her boots rang on the metal step of the motor home and her laughter echoed through the trees.

“See ya later, Jackson,” the woman said, and swinging her hips, sauntered off.

The tomboy next to Chelsea made a rude noise. “Terri Lyn Kessler. She’s a barrel racer.”

Just then, a man stuck his head out the door of the motor home. “Samantha?” he called, but the retreating woman didn’t turn around.

Chelsea’s gaze swung back around to the motor home and Jack standing in the doorway. It seemed as if it had been only yesterday. She stood rooted to the spot at the sight of him in the light from the open door. A whirlwind of emotions swirled like a dust devil around her, engulfing her, taking her breath away. Some things didn’t change—her reaction to Jack Shane one of them.

“Samantha?” he called again, his eyes seeming to adjust to the semidarkness.

Chelsea thought he was calling after the woman who’d just left. But to her surprise, it was the tomboy next to her who finally answered.

“Coming, Dad,” the girl said with obvious reluctance. “I got to go,” she told Chelsea. “It’s dinnertime and I’m late as usual and in trouble.” She sounded as if this was nothing new.

Chelsea watched the girl amble toward the motor home, kicking up dust with the scuffed toes of her worn boots.

Dad? Jack had a daughter.

Chelsea took a step back, ready to make a run for it, when she saw Jack’s gaze lift from Samantha to her.

“Chelsea?”

* * *

JACK KNEW the moment he breathed the word, it betrayed him. For years after he’d left Chelsea and the Wishing Tree Ranch, he’d imagined seeing her again. He’d always known he would look up one day and there she’d be. For years he’d search the rodeo crowd for her face. Other times he would think he saw glimpses of her in passing. Or hear her voice and turn so quickly it gave him whiplash.

For a long while after he’d left the ranch, he’d expected her to come looking for him. Had hoped she would. But she never had, and he’d stopped expecting it. Still, he’d always known he’d see her again. And feared the day.

“Jack.” She took a step toward him and stopped as if unsure what she was doing here. She wore a blue shirt that hugged her curves, designer jeans and boots.

What was she doing here? He shook his head, unable to believe she was anything more than a mirage. As he stepped toward her, he feared the moment he was within touching distance, she would disappear.

Samantha stood watching the two of them, looking too curious for her own good.

“Go on in and wash up, Sam,” he said as he passed her.

“But, Dad—”

“No buts,” he said firmly, his gaze on Chelsea. What was she doing here? He’d seen in the paper where her father had died. There’d been a big write-up.

“Chelsea,” he said again, just the sound of her name on his lips bringing back the old ache, reminding him of the feel of her in his arms.

She smiled tentatively. “Hello, Jack.”

He stared at her, searching for words. It had just been too long, and he was feeling way too much right now.

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t meant to make it sound as if she were trespassing.

“I heard you were riding on the pro rodeo circuit and I just happened to be in the area,” she said too quickly.

“You just happened to be in Lubbock?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. He’d known her well enough to know when she was lying. Also when she was nervous. Right now, she was both.

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

He nodded, shocked. He’d thought the years would have tempered the desire. Lessened the need, the gut-clenching ache inside him.

“Almost ten years,” he said. “What are you doing here, Chelsea?” he asked again, his voice filled with the anguish he felt. Whatever it is, just get it over with.

“I had to see you,” she said, her eyes shining, her voice cracking.

He swallowed hard, waiting for her to tell him what had made her drive all the way here just to see him. Nothing good, he would bet on that.

“I found the check my father tried to give you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

So that was it. He felt his jaw tighten.

“I didn’t know, Jack.”

He looked away, the pain fresh as a new wound, looked past her to the sports car parked by the chutes. Her sports car. He smiled bitterly. For a moment, just looking at her, listening to her, he’d forgotten. Now he looked from the car to her, recalling only too well everything he’d once felt for her—and all the reasons they had been wrong for each other.

Just look at the two of them. Chelsea, standing there in boots that probably cost more than everything he owned. Him, wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt, stocking-footed, a day’s growth of beard, and standing in front of a motor home that, like him, had seen better days.

He’d almost forgotten how inadequate her wealth made him feel. He stepped back, purposely putting some distance between them.

“Jack, if only you had—”

“Chelsea, all that was years ago.” Only it felt like yesterday. He raked a hand through his hair. “I was sorry to hear about your dad,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She glanced around as if she didn’t like talking out here in the open. Her gaze settled on his motor home, and she suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

He understood the feeling. Their lives had taken different paths, that was for sure. They were strangers now. No, he thought. He and Chelsea could never be strangers, not after everything they’d shared. That’s what made this so damned painful.

“Chelsea.” He shook his head, shaken by her sudden appearance and the feelings that had once more been forced to the surface.

“Dad?”

“I thought I told you to go wash up for dinner, Sam,” he said quietly without turning around. He met Chelsea’s gaze, could see the pain in her expression.

“If you’d just told me,” she said.

How many times had he questioned that decision? How many times had he thought about going back to try to straighten things out? But what would have been the point? The memory of her father coming out that morning to the corrals with the check, the look in Ryder Jensen’s eyes, the accusations, the contempt—all had kept him moving on down the road. Still kept him moving on.

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” he said.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, Chelsea, I do.”

“Dad?”

He swore under his breath. “Sam—”

“I’m interrupting your supper,” Chelsea said, looking as if maybe she finally realized the mistake she’d made in coming here. “I should go.” But she didn’t move.

He figured she hadn’t gotten what she’d come for.

“My brother told me about...” Her gaze locked with his and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. I’ll be damned. So she’d just found out about the rustling. The old man hadn’t told her.

He waited, taking some perverse satisfaction in making her say the words. He watched her get up her courage. It was one thing Chelsea Jensen had never lacked, or so he’d thought.

“He told me about the missing cattle,” she said.

Jack let out a snort. “I wondered how long it would take before one of them told you.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said, only a slight break in her voice betraying her.

He turned away. He definitely didn’t need this.

“Jack.”

It come out a whisper, so familiar and so intimate he stopped in his tracks, remembering that soft sound, the feel of her breath on his skin, her lips—

He didn’t need to be reminded. He’d tried for ten years to put it behind him. To put Chelsea and the Wishing Tree and all of it behind him. Damn her for coming here.

“Believe it,” he said, walking away from her, just as he had ten years ago.

“I’m hungry,” his daughter said, watching him intently from a short distance away. She’d obviously seen his reaction to Chelsea, if not overheard their conversation.

“Then why didn’t you take the check?” Chelsea called after him.

He stopped and turned slowly. “Don’t do this. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find it here.”

“Aren’t you going to ask her to have dinner with us?” Sam asked loudly.

He gave his daughter a warning look. Don’t do this to me, Sam.

“We have plenty, don’t we, Dad?” Sam persisted, flashing him her best wide-eyed innocent smile and completely ignoring his warning look. “We have that huge casserole.”

He ground his teeth. He knew what his daughter was up to and it wasn’t going to work. Sam had seen Terri Lyn bring over the casserole and now thought she’d found a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

“Don’t you want to have dinner with us?” Sam asked Chelsea, as if it were only good manners to ask.

Jack closed his eyes and lowered his head. When he looked at Sam again, he could almost see the mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Please!” she pleaded. “We don’t ever have company.”

Last night he’d forced her to sit through a dinner with him and Terri Lyn. Sam had never liked any of the women who came around trying to mother her and cozy up to him, and did everything in her power to discourage them. She especially didn’t like Terri Lyn for reasons he couldn’t understand. But he’d made it clear last night that Sam wasn’t going to pick who he dated. If he ever really got down to dating again.

This was payback and she wanted him to know it.

“Sam,” he warned. The girl had no idea what a hornet’s nest she was stirring up.

“I’m sure your mother—” Chelsea began.

“I don’t have a mother,” Sam said, cutting her off. She sounded so pathetic Jack almost laughed. “She left me on Dad’s doorstep when I was just a baby.”

Chelsea was appropriately startled.

“Sam,” Jack warned, but there was no stopping Samantha tonight. Tomorrow he’d ground her little cowgirl behind. A few days doing extra homework in the motor home should take some of the sass out of her.

“My mother was a barrel racer and couldn’t handle having a baby,” Sam continued as if she hadn’t heard his warning—just like all the other warnings she’d ignored. “I’m the product of a one-night stand. At least that’s what Terri Lyn says.”

Thanks a lot, Terri Lyn. Jack groaned as he saw Chelsea’s shocked reaction. He watched her glance toward the motor home and hesitate—the last thing he wanted her to do.

“So your father’s raised you alone all these years?” Chelsea sounded impressed, damn it.

Sam nodded. “Just the two of us.”

“Sam,” he said pointedly, “Chelsea needs to get going now—”

“No,” Chelsea said, her dark gaze coming up to meet his. “I’m not in that much of a hurry. And anyway, I didn’t get my questions answered.”

He swore under his breath. It was obvious that Chelsea could see the spot Sam had put him in and she planned to take advantage of it. “I thought you knew the answer before you came here.”

“I thought I did, too,” she said, her gaze hard. “Now I’m not so sure.” She looked down at Sam. “I’d love to stay and have dinner with you and your father.”

Sam beamed. The little scamp.

He gritted his teeth, knowing that he should put an end to this before it went any further. But maybe Chelsea had to see how he lived, had to taste Terri Lyn’s tuna casserole before she could leave. The two put together should have her hightailing it back to San Antonio in her expensive little sports car, thanking her lucky stars she was leaving it all behind.

“Fine,” he said. “I hope you like tuna casserole.”

“My favorite,” Chelsea said.

We’ll see about that, he thought.

“We can eat inside,” Sam said brightly. “You can help me light the candles that go with the casserole,” she told Chelsea. “Won’t this be fun?”

He scowled at his daughter, but she pretended not to notice. “Fun,” he echoed, and followed the two toward the motor home. Wait until Terri Lyn heard what happened to the little romantic dinner she’d had planned for later. But first he had to sit through an entire meal with Chelsea. Why hadn’t he just admitted to the rustling and sent her on her way?

CHAPTER FOUR

DAMN! So much for thinking one look in Jack’s eyes would tell her everything she needed to know. All she’d seen so far was arrogance and anger.

Not true. She’d glimpsed something when he’d first seen her. Surprise. And something that had set her heart running off at a gallop. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to stay for dinner. That and the fact that Jack had been so dead set against it.

She knew she should turn tail and run. Hadn’t Jack pretty much told her everything she’d come to find out? What more did she want him to say? That he’d never loved her? That he’d used her? That he’d been stealing her cows while seducing her?

She felt tears rush her eyes. It seemed she was becoming a crier whether she liked it or not. She fought them back with the only weapon she had: anger. Damn Jack Shane—or whoever he was.

“So you changed your name?” she said. “Got tired of Shane, did you?”

He bristled but didn’t seem surprised, as if he’d been waiting for this. “Jackson is my given name and Robinson’s my mother’s maiden name. When she divorced my stepfather, I went back to Robinson.” He raised a brow as if to say, Satisfied?

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. For the moment. She could feel Jack’s gaze on her, hotter than a Texas summer night.

She felt the hair stand up on her neck and turned, unable to shake the feeling that Jack wasn’t the only one watching her. At the edge of the darkness, she would have sworn she saw a figure move, furtive as a cat, disappearing into the blackness beyond the camp.

“It’s a little small,” Jack was saying as he opened the door to the motor home and stepped back for Sam and Chelsea to enter.

Small was putting it mildly. The inside of the motor home was neat and clean but incredibly tiny, everything in miniature. How could she ever get through dinner in here with Jack so near? She wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite.

“Go wash up, Sam,” Jack ordered.

Sam seemed about to argue, but apparently changed her mind. As she slipped past her father, Chelsea heard Jack hiss something at his daughter.

Jack stepped toward the kitchen. Chelsea had to move to give him enough space in the tiny living room. He appeared as uncomfortable as she felt. “Look, I know you didn’t come here for dinner so—”

“No. I came for answers.” A thought pierced her heart, as unerring as an arrow. “Sam must be what? Nine?” she asked under the sound of water running at the back of the motor home.

He raised a brow as if that should have been answer enough. “She’ll be nine in July.”

It didn’t take an accountant to figure that one out. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?” she asked, turning her back to him so he couldn’t see her hurt. Damn the man.

Sam came back into the small kitchen, glancing back and forth between the two of them, her gaze full of open curiosity.

“Aren’t you going to set the table?” the girl asked her father.

He turned to open one of the cupboards. “I don’t think eating inside is a good idea,” she heard him tell Sam.

“The wind will blow out the candles if we eat outside,” Sam said. “Do you want to help me light them?” she asked Chelsea.

Chelsea couldn’t miss the look that passed between father and daughter. Sam seemed especially pleased with herself. Her father, on the other hand, looked just the opposite. Chelsea almost felt sorry for him. “We don’t have to have candles if your father wants to eat outside.”

“Sure we do,” Sam said. “Dad likes candles.”

Somehow that didn’t seem likely. Chelsea wondered what was going on between the two of them as Jack began to set the table with more than a little racket. He was obviously upset—and not just because Sam had asked her for dinner.

That’s when Chelsea noticed the foil-covered casserole resting on the stove and groaned inwardly. Next to it were two tapered candles and a bottle of wine. Someone had drawn a heart shape into the foil. The barrel racer! The woman had an intimate dinner planned and Sam was in the process of ruining it—with Chelsea’s help. Things were starting to make sense.

As angry as she was with Jack, she actually felt a little guilty. “Jack, I’m interrupting your dinner plans—”

“Why don’t you help Samantha light the candles?” he said, then gave a shrug. “Plans change.”

“You’re going to use the good plates, aren’t you, Dad?” Sam asked.

“Of course. Does this mean you plan to remove your hat?”

Samantha let out an embarrassed laugh and pulled off her hat, a long reddish-brown braid tumbling out. She disappeared into the back of the motor home for a moment.

The table sat between short booths to make up the rest of the kitchen-dining room-living room. Chelsea tried to stay out of Jack’s way as he set the table, but it was impossible in such close quarters. At the mere touch of a shoulder, the brush of fingers, they both jerked back as if burned. On second thought, this was a terrible idea.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Jack said, his voice sounding tight.

She nodded and hurriedly slid into the booth, surprised at her feelings. This Jack was different. More muscular. More solid. More attractive than the younger man she’d fallen in love with ten years ago.

She tried to tell herself that she no longer knew him. But as she watched him move around the tiny kitchen, she realized that was a lie. This man was branded on her. The scent of him. The feel of his skin against hers. The sound of his voice, low and soft in her hair.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the memory too sharp, too painful, the ache too intense. Why had she come here? What had she hoped to accomplish? The answer was obvious. She’d thought that once she told him about the check and the note, he would convince her of his innocence. They would put the past behind them...and take up where they’d left off. How foolishly romantic.

When Sam came back, her hair was brushed out. She handed Chelsea the matches to light the candles, studying her openly. It seemed Chelsea wasn’t the only one with questions.

“So when did you meet my dad?” Sam asked, not the least bit shy. She made it sound as if Jack met a lot of women but he’d sneaked this one by her.

“Before you were born, Ms. Busybody.” Jack looked as if he could spit nails, but he didn’t try to stop her. As if he could. “A lifetime ago.”

Chelsea let her gaze rise up to meet his. “Seems like only yesterday,” she heard herself say.

Jack made a face. “Doesn’t it, though.”

“Did you know my mother?” Sam asked.

“No, she didn’t,” Jack said, answering for Chelsea once again as he put condiments on the table. “Get Chelsea a glass of water with her dinner.”

Chelsea closed her eyes again, feeling overwhelmed.

“Is she all right?” Sam asked.

Chelsea opened her eyes to find both Sam and Jack looking down at her. “Fine. Maybe a little tired.” She let her gaze rise up to meet Jack’s. He knew what was wrong with her. She’d bet her last dime on that.

“Why don’t you get Chelsea a glass of water,” he said.

“Aren’t you going to drink the wine?” Sam cried.

Jack swung his gaze to the bottle of wine, then at Chelsea. “Why not.”

Now that Sam had removed her cowboy hat, Chelsea could see how much father and daughter resembled each other. There was no doubt that Jack was Sam’s father. How could a mother just dump her baby off and not look back?

She reached for the glass of water Sam had gotten her, but instead Jack pushed a glass of wine into her hand.

“Here, this might be more what you need.” He poured himself a glass as well and took a drink, his gaze studying her over the rim of the plastic tumbler.

She took a sip, grateful, her eyes meeting his with a plea, one she doubted he would grant even if he could. There was an edge to him. A hard, finely honed anger tinged with bitterness. Was this about the check? she wondered. Or about her asking if he was a cattle rustler? It could be either, she realized.

Or he could be guilty as hell, and all that anger and bitterness nothing more than a defense mechanism. Did it really matter?

Yes. She still had to know. Their eyes met and she wondered if he could see what she was thinking.

He raised his tumbler slightly in a mock toast.

She gave him a tremulous smile, the motor home suddenly unbearably hot.

“Tuna casserole, my favorite,” Sam said as she slid into the booth opposite Chelsea.

Jack seemed to drag his gaze away. He turned it on the girl, appearing both annoyed and amused. “I thought you hated tuna casserole,” he said as he lifted the large, now unwrapped dish to the table.

“I don’t know where you got that idea.” She gave Chelsea a look that said, “Men!” Then she narrowed her gaze. “So did you have an affair with my dad?”

Chelsea choked on her wine. This kid was way too precocious.

“Samantha!” Jack bellowed.

“I was just asking,” Sam said.

“Keep asking and you can go to bed without any supper,” he warned.

Sam cocked a brow at him as if the threat amused her.

Jack shook his head, looking tired and vulnerable. His gaze came up to meet Chelsea’s and she thought she saw almost a pleading in it, as if her coming here hurt him as much as it did her and he just wanted it to be over. She knew the feeling.

“We should have music,” Sam said in a burst of energy, and slid out of the booth.

* * *

JACK DROPPED his head down, wanting to tell Sam he gave up. She’d made her point.

A moment later, elevator-type music drifted from Sam’s boom box, confirming his suspicions. Terri Lyn had played romantic music at their dinner last night, making Sam roll her eyes whenever he looked at her.

This was definitely payback. Either that or his daughter had been abducted by aliens and a girl from another planet left behind in her place.

Sam shot him a grin as she slid back into the booth. “Nice, huh?”

He drained his wineglass and refilled it with the wine Terri Lyn had so thoughtfully brought to go along with the casserole, the candles now flickering warmly on the table and a CD in Sam’s boom box.

His daughter looked expectantly at him and he noticed the not-so-subtle way Sam had sat across from Chelsea in the middle of the booth. It appeared she wanted him to sit next to their guest. He smiled to himself as he refilled Chelsea’s glass with wine.

Under other circumstances, he might have found some humor in Sam’s scheme to get rid of Terri Lyn.

He glanced at Chelsea, his pulse taking off at a trot at the thought of sitting next to her in the intimate booth. Not a chance, Sam.

“Dad?”

He dragged his gaze away from Chelsea, but not before noticing how she’d changed over the last ten years. She’d matured in ways he had never imagined. She was more rounded. More beautiful, if that was possible.

He felt a stirring within him and cursed the impact she had on him. Had always had on him. Except now he knew that it could only bring him heartbreak.

“The casserole is getting cold,” Sam said pointedly.

As if that would make any difference in the taste, he thought.

The alien Sam was all smiles and almost ladylike. He tried to match her joviality as he slid her over in the booth none too gently. He wasn’t about to sit next to Chelsea, no matter how much Sam had hoped to manipulate him.

His daughter’s smile faltered a little. His widened.

“So how did you meet my dad?” Sam asked again, not to be dissuaded even if one part of her plan hadn’t worked.

“We met on her father’s ranch,” Jack said, his jaw tightening. “I was their ranch hand.”

He saw Chelsea’s eyes narrow. He reached for her plate. Chelsea wanted to have dinner with them—well, sometimes you got what you deserved, he thought as he slapped a large spoonful of Terri Lyn’s casserole down on it, then reached for his daughter’s plate.

“Where was the ranch?” Sam asked, her gaze going from Chelsea to him and back again.

“Near San Antonio,” Chelsea answered, her cheeks a little flushed.

Jack found himself wondering why she’d really come here—not just to tell him she knew about the check or ask him if he was a cattle rustler. Surely she didn’t think there was anything left to say between them?

“Do you know how to cook?” Sam asked Chelsea, as if she’d suddenly taken an interest in cooking.

Chelsea seemed surprised by the question, but no more than Jack himself. What was this, twenty questions?

He gave Sam an extra-large serving of the casserole before handing back her plate. That should keep her quiet.

“Yes,” Chelsea said, smiling. “I enjoy cooking.”

“What do you cook?” Sam asked, undeterred.

“All sorts of things.” Chelsea seemed nervous. She was obviously not used to this sort of interrogation.

Jack groaned inwardly and reached under the table to squeeze Sam’s knee in warning. Little good it did.

“Do you have to use a cookbook?” Sam asked.

He’d ground her for a month, he thought. Not that there was much to ground her from on the rodeo circuit. “Why don’t we just eat?” he interceded.

“Terri Lyn uses a cookbook,” Sam said.

Chelsea obviously didn’t know how to answer that one. “I don’t always use a cookbook.”

He shoved his leg over to give Sam a nudge but his knee brushed Chelsea’s under the table instead. The shock was immediate. And intense. He felt as if he’d been goaded with a cattle prod.

“Sorry.” He didn’t dare look at her, but he felt her stiffen in response and saw her pull her knees over toward the wall.

This was going to be some dinner. Just wait until he got Sam alone. And once Chelsea tasted Terri Lyn’s tuna casserole, things were destined to get worse. “Sam.”

He could tell his daughter wanted to ask a lot more questions, but she bowed her head and whipped quickly through the blessing first.

“Amen. So what do you cook?” she asked the moment her head bobbed up.

Chelsea laughed softly and seemed embarrassed.

“She doesn’t have to cook,” Jack said, not looking at her. “Her family hires someone to cook for them.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound so much like a condemnation, but hell, it was true.

“Yes,” Chelsea said, ice in her voice. “We do have a cook, but I can hold my own in the kitchen. I can make vichyssoise, pepper steak, beef bourguignonne.”

“Oh.” Sam’s face fell. “I like Abigail Harper’s macaroni and cheese.”

Chelsea was deflated. She’d been showing off and lost points with Sam. She looked as disappointed as Sam did. And as confused. Chelsea had mistakenly thought Sam would be impressed by the fact that she could cook. What Chelsea didn’t know was that Sam was afraid he would fall in love and marry, and she knew he’d never marry anyone who couldn’t cook. Chelsea might seem more of a threat than Terri Lyn at this point.

He couldn’t understand why Sam was going to so much trouble to get rid of Terri Lyn, anyway.

He caught her eyeing her casserole distastefully, no doubt regretting inviting Chelsea to eat with them.

“How’s your dinner, Sam?” he asked pointedly, taking no little satisfaction in the fact that his daughter had put herself in this predicament and now would have to suffer along with him.

She hurriedly took a bite and pretended it was delicious. No small task considering Sam couldn’t abide tuna casserole. And Terri Lyn’s was especially bad.

He watched Sam take another bite and smiled to himself. Even if she’d liked tuna casserole, she would have found fault with it just because Terri Lyn had made it. Good thing he wasn’t serious about the barrel racer. Not that he had the time or energy for a real relationship. He and Terri Lyn were strictly...consenting adults. Or at least they’d planned to be tonight.

Now he doubted that Terri Lyn would still be talking to him after he’d ruined her little “romantic” dinner by feeding it to another woman. The entire camp would be talking about Chelsea. Speculating. His luck had been running bad lately. Obviously, it wasn’t getting any better.

Chelsea was the kind of woman who couldn’t pass through your life without making ripples, even after a brief encounter. He knew after she left tonight, he’d still be feeling the effects in the weeks and months to come, and he was dreading it.

He didn’t like his daughter’s devious scheming, either. He would have a good long talk with her about it once Chelsea left. He just hadn’t thought of a punishment yet to fit the crime.

“It’s very good,” Chelsea said politely.

“Mmm,” Sam agreed. He watched her choke down another bite, almost feeling sorry for her. Almost.

He took a forkful of the casserole himself and looked up at Chelsea, something he instantly wished he hadn’t done. But there was little other place to look, and he had to admit, seeing her there was like waking up to a sunny spring day. He savored it, storing it for the long days ahead when she would be gone from his life again.

Yes, he thought, she’d matured in ways that were hard to define, but the total package was as close to perfection as he could imagine. Five foot seven, slender, graceful and oh so feminine with her long brown hair caught at the back of her sleek neck. A pampered beauty. She couldn’t have looked more out of place—drinking wine from a plastic tumbler, sitting in his beat-up old motor home, eating tuna casserole.

“So, do you work?” Sam asked Chelsea between bites.

“Chelsea lives on a ranch,” Jack told her. “She’s an accountant and keeps track of the cattle. It’s not polite to cross-examine dinner guests.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, and actually looked apologetic.

He reminded himself that this girl with the scrubbed face, sans cowboy hat, was an alien. Otherwise she’d be rolling her eyes, gagging and complaining.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” Chelsea said. He could feel her gaze on him. He didn’t dare look at her again. He realized he’d given himself away, knowing too much about her, almost as if he’d kept track of her all these years. Almost as if he cared.

* * *

JACK KNEW she was an accountant? That she took care of the financial end of the Wishing Tree Ranch?

She stared at him in surprise. He’d acted as if he’d never glanced back once he left the ranch. Look how quickly he’d met someone and had a child?

“How did you know that?” she asked.

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Someone must have mentioned it.”

Yeah, sure. A bubble of pleasure rose before she could slap it back down. Jack had kept track of her! He hadn’t gotten over her any more than she’d gotten over him. A cattle rustler-liar-thief wouldn’t have done that.

Or, suggested that darned voice that sounded suspiciously like her brother’s, Jack had just been waiting for her father to die so he could prey on her again, thinking Cody didn’t know about the rustling.

Sam gulped down her dinner and hurriedly excused herself, saying vaguely that she had to see someone about something and wouldn’t be gone long. She disappeared before Jack could stop her, slipping out under the table, leaving the two of them alone in the already too small motor home.

Jack looked as if he wanted to run as well. He glanced out the window as if afraid of who might show up next.

She put down her fork. She hadn’t had any appetite in the first place and Terri Lyn’s casserole certainly hadn’t improved it. “Look, Jack, I know I shouldn’t have just shown up here like this, but after what Cody told me...”

He nodded, his jaw tensing, then pushed his plate away and got up to clear the table.

“Let me help,” she said as he slid out of the booth.

“No!” He gave her an apologetic smile at his curt tone and motioned for her to stay put. “This kitchen is too small for more than one person.”

He was right about that. She watched him clear the table, seeing his discomfort in the tensed muscles of his back through the thin white T-shirt. She tried not to notice the way his jeans fit. Or remember the feel of his long legs wrapped around her.

She fanned herself with her napkin, wishing there was more air in the room, wishing she hadn’t drunk the wine, wishing there was an easy way to say what she’d come to say. Jack’s admission that he hadn’t completely forgotten about her gave her courage. That and the wine and the fact that Terri Lyn couldn’t cook.

“I’m sure you’re wondering about Samantha,” he said, his back still to her as he began to wash the dishes.

What was there to wonder about? Jack had found someone else right after leaving the Wishing Tree.

He glanced over his shoulder, then back at his dishes. “What she told you just about covers it. I found Sam on my doorstep nine months after a one-night stand.”

“You’ve raised Sam alone?”

He nodded, still not looking at her. “It wasn’t any big deal.” He chuckled. “At first I was as lost as a young bull in the ring. But Sam and I have done all right by ourselves. She’s taught me a lot.”

There hadn’t been anyone special in his life besides Samantha? “Then you never married?”

He gave another nervous laugh. “I’ve been too busy to even date.”

“You seem to have found time to attract a casserole maker,” she said lightly.

He laughed. “Terri Lyn? We’re just friends.” He made a noise as if he hadn’t meant to say that and instantly regretted it.

She felt her heart inflate like a helium balloon, and without thinking, she opened it to him. “Jack, there’s no one serious in my life, either.”

He froze but didn’t turn around.

She rushed on before she lost her nerve. “I never knew what happened ten years ago. You just up and left. I thought you’d changed your mind about me. Then after my father’s heart attack, I found the check he tried to give you.”

Still Jack said nothing. Nor did he move, as if he were waiting for a blow.

“I know my father regretted what he did. He tried to tell me in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He knew how much I—”

“Don’t,” Jack said, his voice low. “Chelsea, don’t.”

“But, Jack...” She slid out of the booth and was so close to him that she could feel his body heat. Cautiously, she laid a hand on his back, not surprised this time by the current that raced from her palm to her heart—or his flinch at her touch. “Tell me what happened between us was real. Tell me you weren’t rustling our cattle and just stringing me along. Please, Jack.”

* * *

THE FAMILIAR SOUND of his name on her lips grabbed his heart and squeezed it like a fist. He closed his eyes, her palm radiating warmth that ran like a live wire through him. Heat to heat, reminding him how it had been between the two of them. As if he’d ever forgotten.

“Jack, my father never should have done what he did without giving you a chance to—”

“Chelsea.” He turned quickly, breaking the contact between them as he moved. He held her at arm’s length, his voice rough with emotions he didn’t want to feel. “Listen to me.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, brimming with tears.

He’d almost forgotten how brown her eyes were. How tiny gold flecks shone when she was excited or angry. Or aroused. If only he’d been able to forget the rest. The feel and smell and sound of her. Or the way her father had handed him the check that morning in the corral so many years ago.

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see that?” he said. “What happened was for the best. Your father was right. You and I were all wrong for each other. The ranch hand and the rancher’s daughter. So he thought I was stealing his cows. He also thought I was trying to steal his daughter, and he wasn’t having any of it.”

He pushed her away and waved an arm at the confined space he called home, thinking of the Wishing Tree Ranch and its massive rooms and high-timbered ceilings and all the antiques handed down through generations of Jensens.

“There is no way we could ever have made it together,” he said, the words beating him like stones. “Look at us, Chelsea. I’m a rodeo cowboy. That, and a ranch hand, is all I’ve ever been.”

“Jack, none of that matters if—”

“It matters to me. And it mattered to your father.”

“He was wrong,” she whispered. “If only he’d let you explain—”

“Chelsea, why dredge this all up again?” He moved away, turning his back on her. For years he’d hoped she would come after him. Now he realized just how wrong he’d been—seeing her served no purpose.

“Ryder Jensen did me a favor.” The rancher had reminded Jack just who he was. A man not good enough for his daughter. He turned to meet her gaze, something that took every ounce of his will. “He could have had me arrested but he didn’t.”

Her eyes darkened. She shook her head, a pleading in her gaze that broke his heart. “Tell me the truth.”

“Will you leave here and never come back?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice broke with emotion.

“Then it’s true.” He turned his back on her, leaning over the counter, the pain worse than being gored by a bull—and he’d been gored enough times to know. He wanted to stop but knew he couldn’t. Not if he hoped to finish this once and for all. He should have done this years ago, but he hadn’t been strong enough then. He wasn’t sure he was now.

“I’m everything your father and brother told you I am. Now get out of here.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CHELSEA WINCED as if he’d slapped her. “I don’t believe you.”

He shook his head, his back to her.

“I know you, Jack. Look me in the eye and tell me you were only after my money, that none of what we shared was real, that you never loved me. Tell me to my face and look me in the eye when you do it.”

He turned slowly.

She felt her heart leap to her throat as his gaze came up to meet hers. In his eyes, she saw the answer. Her limbs went weak with relief. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“It doesn’t make any difference whether or not I was stealing your father’s cattle,” he said quietly. “I was sleeping with his daughter and I wasn’t good enough for her. That was a far greater crime than stealing a few bovines.”

“That’s not true. If you had stayed, I could have proved how wrong you were about my father and brother.”

He let out a laugh. “Chelsea, they’d already convicted me and were ready to slip the noose around my neck.”

“If you told my father, I know he would have—”

“He didn’t come out to the corral that morning to ask my thoughts on the rustling problem, Chelsea,” he snapped. “He came with a check for ten thousand dollars and the threat of the sheriff if I didn’t leave the ranch at once.”

She felt sick, knowing what that had done to a man like Jack. “If only you had come to me—”

He let out a snort. “You’re kidding yourself.” He narrowed his gaze. “Did your brother believe you when you told him I didn’t rustle the cattle? You did tell him, didn’t you?” He must have seen the answer in her face. “That’s what I thought. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if I rustled your cattle or not.”

“It matters to me,” she said defiantly.

He laughed. “Well, you’re the only one. Now that you’ve found out everything you came for—”

“I’m going to prove to my brother that you were innocent,” she declared. “I’m going to clear your name.”

He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said and was amused by it. “Even if you could, do you really think it would change anything?”

“Yes. You’re trying to sell my brother short. You’ve already done that with my father and me.”

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