Cowboy's Secret Son

We will call you with instructions.

If you contact the police or FBI, he will die.

If you don’t get us the money within 72 hours, he will die.

Don’t try to be smart. You can’t hide from us.

With a shuddering breath, Courtney tried to comprehend what she was reading. The strange amount of money, the taunting threats. Nothing made sense.

She gazed into Dylan’s one brown eye and one green eye, trying to smile with reassurance, all the while backing toward the door. “We have to get you out of here.”

Bundling up the diaper bag, Courtney raced out of the apartment with one last sorrowful glance at Marilyn. What kind of monster would kill the sweet woman who loved Dylan so much?

She hugged her child close. “I’ll keep you safe, Jelly Bean. I promise.”

* * *

ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, the car service’s Mercedes pulled up in front of her father’s Greenwich, Connecticut, mansion. Courtney turned her cell phone over and over in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the emergency key. For the thousandth time on the ride there, she considered calling law enforcement.

Something had stopped her once again. Maybe it was all those television programs that showed how easy it was to hack a phone call. She couldn’t take the risk. Not with Jelly Bean. The kidnapper had come into her home. Had touched her baby boy. Had killed Marilyn.

A shiver vibrated down her arms. Part of her kept telling herself this couldn’t be happening. Threats like this were the stuff of crime novels and television shows, and yet every time she reread the note and pictured poor Marilyn lying on the floor of her penthouse, she knew it was her reality.

Which was why she was about to make an unprecedented request. Courtney rubbed her eyes. She’d never gone to her father with an open hand, but she didn’t know where else to turn. Her job, the penthouse, everything but her salary was part of her grandmother’s trust specifically created to fund the museum. She didn’t have the money to pay the murderer what he wanted.

She had to believe her father would give her what she needed. He had to. Even though he’d been furious—not to mention disappointed—when she’d found herself pregnant and had refused to name the father.

She’d been too embarrassed to tell him she didn’t know the man’s name.

“You getting out or what?” the driver asked from the front seat.

Courtney nodded and unbuckled the car seat. She rounded the vehicle to retrieve Dylan, and the driver met her at the door. He opened it and she grabbed the carrier, careful not to jar the baby.

“How much do I owe you—?”

The man shook his head. “It’s been taken care of. I was asked to give you this when we arrived.” He handed her a padded envelope. Before she could open it, he jumped into the Mercedes and screeched out of the driveway.

One look and her gut sank. She recognized the handwriting on the label. She lowered Dylan to the ground and gently tore open the envelope. She pulled out a phone with a sticky note attached.

Keep the phone with you.

Keep your silence. Especially from your father.

And don’t forget, you can’t hide from us. We’ll always find you.

The note crinkled in her grasp. How did he know so much? The words blurred on the paper. Her knees shook; her legs quivered. She nearly sank to the ground. Her gaze whipped to the now empty driveway. Was the driver blackmailing her? She shook her head. Somehow she doubted it. He wouldn’t have wanted to show his face. Besides, he’d said someone else had paid him.

The blackmailers had made their point clear, though. She’d better follow his instructions exactly. No police, no law enforcement. She couldn’t imagine what the cops would think when they found Marilyn. She’d considered phoning in an anonymous tip, but she couldn’t risk being arrested. Not before she was certain Dylan was safe.

“Okay, you can do this. You can do anything for Dylan.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and stumbled through the front door of the mansion. The eight-thousand-square-foot home had been in the family for four generations, the money originated from more than a few deals with Andrew Carnegie.

Courtney had never ruminated on her family’s money much. It had always just been there. She’d never been more thankful for the privilege than she was today.

She glanced at her son. Today the money she’d always taken for granted would save Dylan.

She refused to consider that the first payment wouldn’t be enough to get rid of the blackmailer. One step at a time.

The foyer’s Baccarat chandelier glittered high above her, though the butler didn’t appear out of nowhere like he usually did.

“Fitz?” she called.

No response. How strange.

“Clarissa? Burbank? Anyone here?”

Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Where was the rest of the staff?

A horrific possibility hit her squarely in the chest. What if the killer had come here. Oh God.

She started to run from room to room. No. This wasn’t right. Bare rooms, boxes, paintings missing.

“F-father?” she called, her voice shaky. She opened the door to her mother’s old sitting room. The blank space on the wall slammed into her. The Degas painting her mother had purchased just before her death was gone.

“Father!” she shouted again.

“In the library.” Her father’s voice filtered through the deserted hallways.

Something was wrong. He sounded strange, his words slurred. Courtney hurried through the double doors. A stack of boxes littered the floor. He huddled behind his mahogany desk, staring across the room as if in a trance. A half-empty bottle of cognac sat at his elbow, an empty old-fashioned Waterford glass directly in front of him.

Carefully, she set Dylan down on the floor and ran to her father. “What’s going on?” Was he actually leaving their family home? It didn’t make sense.

He shoved his hand through his already mussed hair and cleared his throat. “I should’ve called you sooner.” He let out a long sigh.

She studied his bleary gaze. Drinking again. Why wasn’t she surprised? “Father, I don’t mean to be rude, but right now I need your help. For Dylan. We need three million dollars.”

He blinked up at her, confusion lacing his eyes. He reached for the century-old bottle, poured four fingers and swigged it down. “No.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. “You don’t understand. Please. I’ll move out of the penthouse. I’ll find somewhere else to live. But I need that money.” Panic raised her voice. He had to help. She didn’t want to reveal the threat. She couldn’t afford for her father to contact the FBI or the cops. He always wanted to fix everything. Had made it his mission to protect her from the time her mother had died.

“It wouldn’t matter,” he said. “I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” She gripped the lapel of his coat. “I haven’t asked for anything since I started working. I make my own way—”

He pressed a finger over her lips and gazed at her with bloodshot eyes.

“I’d give you the money if I could, Courtney. You don’t know how much I wish I could, but I can’t.” He looked away. “All the money is gone.”

Chapter Two

Spring didn’t bring new beginnings to Last Chance Ranch; it choked ’em dry in the West Texas sun. Jared King had learned long ago that his family’s cattle spread richly deserved its name. It had for six generations.

Now, he even had to fight his north-side neighbor, Ned Criswell, for water that was rightfully theirs. A never ending feud he’d tried to escape for years.

When Jared had volunteered for the Army at eighteen, he’d been convinced he would never succumb to the ranch’s bad karma. What a young fool he’d been. After being discharged he’d brought home a beautiful young wife and pretended he could find hope where only despair had dug in roots. After Alyssa’s death, he’d finally given in to whatever mojo the half-million acres possessed. He wouldn’t try to buck destiny again.

He tilted his Stetson against the afternoon glare and hooked his boot on the sturdy rail of the bull pen. He leveled the dead-cold stare that would have sent his ranch hands quaking and running for cover on Ned Criswell and his no-good son. The two burley men refused to back off. “You can’t keep that river dammed up. Last Chance Lake is down several feet already.”

Ned’s face turned beet red, and he stuck out his barrel chest. “The water stays on my side of the property line until you stop those company men from traipsing across my land.”

Jared head throbbed. They’d replayed this scene countless time over the years. The bad blood between the families stretched back decades, but Ned Criswell had become even more ruthless. And relentless. He might actually do it, just to get back at Jared’s father, even though he’d passed away years ago.

The son, on the other hand, Chuck Criswell was all about the money. And the power.

“The water’s running low for my cattle,” Jared said, fighting to keep his tone reasonable for the moment. “You don’t want to take this fight any further, Ned. You know I’ll win.”

“My father has as many friends in Austin as you do. We want what’s coming to us.” Chuck spit a wad of tobacco on the ground.

“Shut up,” Ned said, glaring at his son.

Even with the same goal, the two men couldn’t show a united front. A sure way to lose. Jared was fine with that.

A loud snort sounded from the enclosure next to them. Chuck scooted away from the fence. “That bull is a menace.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t have saved him.”

Sometimes Jared agreed. Angel Maker had earned his name. He’d nearly gored a half dozen of Jared’s best hands. The black bull from hell pawed at the dirt, giving Jared the evil eye. He’d saved the bad-tempered beast from being put down after a deadly episode at the San Antonio Rodeo earlier this year. The bull’s bloodline would solidify Jared’s place as the premier stock supplier for the Professional Bull Riders rodeo circuit. His money might come from oil and gas now, but at his heart he was still a rancher, and the rodeo was in his blood.

Besides, Jared had a penchant for lost causes...at least those that didn’t touch his heart.

Angel Maker butted his head against the fence. This time Ned joined his son, away from the pen. Jared bit back a smile. If the animal had wanted to do any real damage that pen wouldn’t stop him. “He likes you.”

The older man bit out a curse. “You gonna say something to those oil guys or not?”

“You signed a contract. They have a right to cross your land on the road.”

“I changed my mind.”

Yeah. He wanted more money. Jared recognized the gleam in Ned’s eye. The Criswells had a weakness for gambling—and Chuck had developed a rep for being particularly unlucky. Rumor had it that between the football play-offs, Super Bowl and the latest NCAA basketball tournament, the Criswells had cleaned out their bank accounts.

“If you don’t knock down that dam, Ned. I’ll do it for you.”

“I don’t like threats. You’re worse than your old man, King. And he was an SOB.”

“You took advantage of him and nearly cost Dad our land,” Jared said, with a bite. “But I’m not the pushover my father was. The Army taught me how to fight.”

Ned’s face paled, but like most cowards, he didn’t face a battle, he ran.

“This isn’t over.” He turned to his son. “Start the truck.”

Chuck ran over to the brand-new F-350 and jumped in. Ned followed and heaved himself into the front seat. “I’m keeping the dam.”

Chuck gunned the accelerator, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Jared rubbed his brow where the headache had erupted just beneath the surface. Ned had to know he was on thin ice diverting a waterway that flowed across more than his own property. Problem was, bureaucracy could take months to deal with it and the spring livestock needed that water.

“I say we send some equipment in and bust a hole in the dam.” Jared’s foreman sidled up to him. “The Criswells won’t give in,” Roscoe Hines said under his breath. “They’re getting desperate.” He glanced at their newest hand. “Tim, try to distract Angel Maker.”

Jared kneaded the base of his neck in exasperation. “Ned was a bully when he screwed my dad. He hasn’t changed. He won’t back off even if it’s in his own best interest. Using water as a leverage to change our deal is a mistake. He’s doing a lot of damage and he won’t win. Our contract is ironclad.”

The clatter of wooden planks and the banging of metal clamored from Angel Maker’s pen.

“Speaking of bad blood...” Roscoe raced to the bull’s pen. “Get out of there, Tim.”

The eighteen-year-old hand jumped over the fence and out of the pen. Angel Maker rammed the wood, and it creaked under the two-and-a-half-ton bull’s weight.

Tim’s freckled-face had gone red with exertion. He bent over and sucked wind, but his eyes gleamed with challenge.

Roscoe shook his head in incredulity and sauntered back over to Jared. “That kid’s either going to be a hell of a good hand, or he’s going to wind up dead.”

“I’m betting the former,” Jared said. “Reminds me of Derek the first time you guys drove up to the ranch after Dad hired you.”

“That son of mine was some daredevil, that’s for sure.” Roscoe smiled, that proud grin only a father could have for his son. “He said he’d come visit soon, but every time he makes plans, work interferes.”

“We need to get him out here, see if he’s forgotten how to ride.”

Man, they’d had fun together as kids on a ranch with no fences, no boundaries. The moment Derek had arrived on the ranch he and Jared had been inseparable. There’d been hard work and a lot of chores; they’d gotten into their share of trouble, but Jared hadn’t minded. They’d faced the discipline together. From junior high rodeo through high school football, up through and including enlisting at the Army recruitment office. Strange how life had taken them in different directions. Their paths had diverged so much, he hadn’t seen Derek in a couple of years.

“He likes his new job?”

“He seems to. Makes more money than I ever dreamed.” Roscoe shook his head in befuddlement. “Not sure how exactly. Something to do with computers.”

“He was always book smart,” Jared said. He’d have to give his old friend a call. Roscoe had been looking a little under the weather lately. Jared couldn’t convince his foreman to see the doc. Maybe Derek could.

The roar of an engine broke into his thoughts just as a baby blue Mustang drove up to the main house about fifty or so feet away.

“You expecting someone?” Roscoe asked, eyeing the vehicle.

“Not that I know of.” Who’d drive a dang fool car like that onto his ranch?

“Maybe someone else on the hunt for all those greenbacks you got stashed in the bank.”

Jared scowled at his foreman. A few five-times-removed relatives had come out of the woodwork once word of the oil went public. Jared had tried to help until they’d made it clear they hadn’t wanted a leg up, but a perpetual handout. Once he’d cut off the money, they’d disappeared once again.

The car stopped and the engine went quiet. It sat there for several moments until one long, shapely leg, then another, stepped out.

The woman ran her fingers through her hair. The sun gleamed off the blonde locks. Roscoe let out a long, slow whistle.

Jared couldn’t move. He blinked once. Then again.

It couldn’t be. Not her.

She stood still, in her four-inch heels and tailored dress, looking like a city girl who had been dropped into a foreign land. She tucked her short hair behind one ear and hesitated, turning in a circle, taking in the lay of his ranch.

He fought the urge to wash the dirt away and waited, his breath quickening as the lines of her back then the curves of her front came into view. It was her, all right. He didn’t know her name, but what he did know made his libido perk up and his heart thud to attention for the first time in the eighteen months since he’d held her in his arms.

Unable to stop himself, Jared crossed the yard. The closer he got, the more he noticed the fidgety movement of her hands.

At least she couldn’t hide her nerves. Made him feel a bit better, because his damn hands were shaking too.

About ten feet away from her, he paused.

She faced him and lifted her gaze to his.

His breath caught. It was her. She was here. On his land. Exactly like he’d dreamed more times than he could count.

Her cobalt blue eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe it was him.

Well, ditto.

The rumblings of a tractor, the whinny of the horses, the snort of Angel Maker faded into the background. The world melted away; his heartbeat whooshed inside his head.

She blinked and glanced over her shoulder into the vehicle.

Her movement shocked him back to reality. He strode toward her, forcing himself not to hurry too fast.

“I’m surprised,” he said, determined to keep his tone nonchalant.

“As am I,” she said.

Her voice was a bit huskier than he remembered. He studied her face and detected tension around her mouth, redness staining her eyes.

They stared at each other, the awkward silence continuing far too long. What was he supposed to say? I came back to the hotel room but you were gone? Or maybe the more appropriate, So, we slept together a year and a half ago and the earth moved. What’s your name?

At that moment, Velma marched down the steps of the main house, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Not much gave away her age, except her silvered-auburn hair and her devil-may-care curiosity. She wasn’t shy about inserting herself into almost any conversation either.

She shot him a piercing stare and tilted her head. He could see her interest building. A small curse escaped under his breath. His housekeeper was more like his grandmother than anything. She’d worked for the King family as long as Jared could remember. She knew him too well, and unfortunately, she’d developed a sixth sense whenever Jared found himself in a situation that could turn awkward at any moment.

Her gaze alternated between him and their visitor. “Quite a set of wheels, boyo. You must be drooling.”

She sent him that knowing gaze she’d used when she knew he wanted something in the worst way. She had no idea. Unfortunately, Jared could feel the heat flooding his cheeks.

“And who might your friend be?” Velma asked with a satisfied grin, walking boldly over and sticking out a hand to introduce herself.

“I’m Courtney Jamison,” the woman responded. A nervous smile tilted their visitor’s lips.

Courtney Jamison. He let her name settle across his mind. It suited her. It screamed New York and the Waldorf Astoria where they’d met. It definitely didn’t suit the Last Chance Ranch. Not by half.

A cry sounded from the car.

“You have a little one?” Velma asked, her smile lighting as bright as the West Texas sun on a clear day.

“His name is Dylan.” Courtney reached into the backseat, fiddled with something in the car and pulled a baby from the vehicle.

“Almost a year?” Velma asked.

“Nine months,” Courtney said softly, looking straight at Jared.

“A big boy then.”

Nine months. That meant she got pregnant about eighteen months ago. New York.

It couldn’t be. It was just one night. One...

As if in a trance, he closed the distance between him and Courtney. He stared into the little boy’s eyes. One brown. One green. The baby had heterochromia. Just like him.

Jared held out his hand. It shook. Dylan leaned against his mother’s chest and dipped his face into her neck.

“Dylan,” Courtney whispered. “This is your daddy.”

The words struck Jared harder than Angel Maker’s most vicious charge. His mind whirled in denial even as the truth peeked at him from beneath long, baby-fine lashes. He couldn’t deny that he stood face-to-face with the one thing he’d never believed he’d have.

Dylan tilted his head and a smile lit his face. He leaned forward with outstretched hands. Jared bent closer. The baby grabbed his hat and threw it to the ground, chuckling.

“Takes after you, boyo,” Velma said. “That’s plain to see.”

A strange white noise buzzed in Jared’s ears. He shook the static away. “How did you find me?” he asked, barely able to croak out the words.

He didn’t want to say more. Velma and Roscoe both had big ears, and they were obviously curious. He’d be fielding a whole lot of questions before sunset hit anyway.

Jared picked up his hat and held it toward Dylan. He couldn’t take his eyes off the baby. The little guy grabbed the brim and tugged.

Strong grip, his son had.

His son.

What was he supposed to do about that?

“I saw a news story about the bull you saved. That’s how I found you.” Courtney nodded toward Angel Maker, who appeared to be eyeing Tim for a second soul-fearing battle. “That’s him?”

“In the flesh.”

He wouldn’t be diverted by that animal. He had a million questions, but he’d start with one. “Why are you here, Courtney?”

Her name caressed his tongue, and he lingered on the taste for a moment.

She glanced away, not meeting his gaze. Something didn’t feel right. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened to attention. She chewed on her lip and seemed to be searching for the words.

“You could’ve called,” he said. “Or had a lawyer contact me. Instead, you traveled halfway across the country with our son with no way of predicting my reaction. Why?”

She straightened her back and lifted her chin. At this angle, he could take in every detail of her reddened eyes and tightly drawn lips. Something was definitely wrong.

“I came for your help. Someone has threatened to kill our son.”

* * *

COURTNEY HAD NEVER seen anyone react so fast. The words had barely left her lips when Jared’s gaze scanned the perimeter. The muscle in his jawline pulsed, and a flat, dangerous stillness settled through his body.

“Come with me,” he said, gripping her arm with a firm hand.

He didn’t take a second look at Dylan, didn’t hesitate. He pulled her toward the sprawling ranch style house and glanced over his shoulder. “Roscoe, check in with the hands. I want to know if anyone’s seen anything...off.”

“But we’ve already doubled security because of—”

“Triple-check everything,” Jared snapped.

The grizzled cowboy didn’t hesitate. He gave a curt nod and hurried into a huge barn past the pen holding the angry-looking bull.

Courtney had never experienced a more surreal moment. Jared didn’t question her; he didn’t look at her like she was crazy. He simply acted.

He shuffled her up the steps and across the wide wooden porch. He opened the screen door and held it while she disappeared inside. She couldn’t quite accept the foreign place where she found herself. On an actual Texas ranch in the middle of nowhere after a too long drive from an airport that had taken all of ten minutes to walk from one end to the other.

Not to mention she currently stood only a short city block away from a vicious-looking bull, several stereotypical cowboys, a bevy of horses and a large barn. If it hadn’t been for the beat-up pickup truck she’d parked besides, she’d have wondered what century she’d landed in.

“Velma, lock the front door, shut the curtains and stay inside,” Jared ordered the woman hurrying behind them. “I don’t want either of you out in the open until I know exactly what’s going on.”

The housekeeper didn’t pause or argue, but moved in a whirlwind to follow his instructions. Jared tugged on Courtney’s arm. Normally she would have resisted the manhandling, but he’d stunned her. She hadn’t even showed him the note yet.

“My luggage—”

“I’ll bring it in later.”

The curt words brooked no argument. At Jared’s tone Dylan squirmed in her arms, whimpering a bit. She bounced him, holding him closer. “It’s okay, Jelly Bean. We’re going to be fine.”