Lone Star Rancher

“It should be okay. Roy can’t possibly know where I am. Violet and I were careful to talk away from my condo and never on the phone.”

A sardonic expression flickered through his eyes. “A wise precaution, I’m sure,” he murmured.

Jessica realized he didn’t take the threat seriously. Another thought—almost as horrifying as that of being stalked by a madman—came to her. Surely he didn’t think she and Violet had planned her visit in order to…to…well, to catch his attention.

That idea had never entered her mind.

Anger bubbled in Jessica. Her friend had told her many times while they were growing up that the boys had to fight off females all the time. Huh. If he was conceited enough to think she was chasing him, he could think again!

“You seem to have lost your Texas twang,” he said, falling into step beside her as she continued her stroll around the grounds, heading for the stables to see if they kept horses at this ranch.

“Most of it,” she agreed. “I still say ‘y’all’ when I get excited.” She kept her smile polite but remote.

“I miss it,” he said suddenly.

She was certainly shocked to hear that. “I’m sure you get plenty of down-home dialect from the locals.”

He nodded and smiled. “I still don’t understand everything the owner at the tractor place says. His son clues me in when I look blank.”

She thought of long-ago days and laughed. “The way Violet did for me when we were kids.”

“Yeah.”

While his tone was somewhat amused, there was a seriousness about him that didn’t invite levity.

Violet had told her Clyde had been hurt by the death of his first love when he was fresh out of college and the triplets were trying to realize their dream of owning a ranch. The woman had died in an auto accident, apparently the day they were to be married.

Violet had also warned that Clyde never, ever spoke of it. For a time, Jessica had thought it was her job to ease his hurt. But she’d been young and romantic back then, she mused, excusing the impressionable girl she’d once been.

“He needs to listen to his heart again,” her friend had told her gravely.

Fine. Maybe he’d meet some woman who would bowl him over and bring out those devastating smiles more often. That woman wouldn’t be her, though.

“Here,” he said. He held out his hand.

When she extended hers, he dropped a set of keys onto her palm. She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“There’s a station wagon in the garage. Feel free to use it. The other key is to the front door. We don’t lock it, but once in a while the cleaning lady does. I don’t want you to get locked out.”

“Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

He hesitated. “If you need something at the grocery, there’s one on down the road about five miles. You don’t have to go to the one in Red Rock.”

“That’s good. I’ll get cereal and nonfat milk, if you don’t mind my using the refrigerator.”

“Be my guest. My mom would love to see something in it besides beer, soda, orange juice and moldy lunch meat.”

He actually laughed. It was so enchanting Jessica could only gaze at him, spellbound, for a second. Then she smiled and stuck the keys in her pocket.

“See you later,” she said, then snapped her fingers at the dog. “Come on, Smoky. You can be my guide while we explore the ranch.” She paused and glanced at her host, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “If that’s okay?”

Clyde nodded. With his long, easy stride, he headed for a pickup parked next to the stable, then paused. “My parents may drop by later. Tell ’em I’ll be back soon and that Miles will be here tonight. They’re staying at the Double Crown this week.”

“Right.”

After he drove away, Jessica strolled the grounds and admired the many flowers. She assumed his parents’ visit had something to do with the mysterious body found in Lake Mondo. The murder hadn’t made the national news, but it had caused a big flurry of gossip and speculation in their corner of Texas. She and Violet had discussed the story at length.

The deceased man had had a birthmark on his right side, one that looked like a double crown—the same birthmark that Ryan Fortune had and that his father had named his ranch for.

Only it didn’t come from the Fortune bloodline.

Ryan Fortune’s father, Kingston, had been an abandoned baby, left on the doorstep of Hobart and Dora Fortune, who’d lived in Iowa. The kind and loving couple had adopted the child and raised him as their own. Kingston had grown up and moved to Texas where he became very wealthy.

The birthmark on Ryan was assumed to come from the Fortune family line, but it came from his biological grandfather, Travis Jamison. Travis had gone into the army, leaving behind a young, pregnant woman. Eliza Wise had deserted her baby and left Iowa to make a new life.

Christopher Jamison, Travis’s descendent through his legitimate children and therefore cousin to Ryan Fortune, was the murdered man. He’d been a math teacher in Seattle, Washington. His fiancée seemed to think he’d come to Texas in search of his family.

Ah, well. It was none of her affair. Jessica threw her arms wide and raced down the sunny slope of the grassy lawn toward the line of trees, Smoky prancing at her heels.

There she discovered a creek running freely over a bed of sand and smooth stones. She kicked off her shoes and waded in it, feeling as buoyant as the happy child she’d once been. For the first time in weeks, she was free of worry, free of work…free, free, free!

Three

Jessica stopped at the back door. Inside she could hear the laughter of a woman, then the deeper chuckle of a man, also her host’s rich baritone. She listened but couldn’t detect any other voices in the house. The guests were most likely Clyde’s parents.

She opened the door and felt the cooler, drier effect of conditioned air on her face. The day had gotten much warmer that the previous one, and the humidity was high. As a result, she was rather bedraggled.

After she’d explored the home area of the ranch that morning and found a lovely little lake formed by an earthen dam on the creek, she’d returned to the house and had a solitary lunch. Actually Smoky had kept her company. She’d napped, then set off exploring again in midafternoon. It was now almost six.

She quickly glanced around the pleasant kitchen. Yes, there were three people present. All eyes turned to her.

“Hello,” she said, drawing on the poise learned during her years in New York. “I’m Jessica, Violet’s friend. I spent a lovely weekend at your home last summer.”

“And brought a lovely basket of flowers. I now use the basket on my desk to hold my mail,” Lacey Fortune said, coming forward to take Jessica’s arm and lead her into the room. “Patrick, you remember Jessica, don’t you?”

“Yes. She beat the socks off all of us at tennis.”

“It’s my height,” Jessica explained, shaking hands with Clyde’s father. “It makes serving easier.”

She’d learned to play the game as a teenager at the Double Crown Ranch when she’d gone there with Violet. She and her friend had played regularly until this year when the demands of their careers had intervened.

“I’ve brought food,” Lacey continued, motioning toward the counter next to the refrigerator. “The boys live on air and liquids, it appears. I hope you like steak and shrimp.”

“Yes.” Jessica glanced at Clyde. She noticed he and his father each had a glass of the iced tea she’d made at lunch. She was thirsty, too, but first she needed a bath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up and change. Smoky and I have been exploring the ranch this afternoon.”

“She likes to wade barefoot in the creek,” Clyde said in a somewhat lazy, somewhat amused drawl that sent an unexpected tingle through her nerves.

“How could you know that?” she asked.

“The foreman at the egg barn heard Smoky barking and checked it out. When he spotted a strange woman romping in the creek with the dog, he called my cell number and wanted to know if I had a…”

Jessica found herself hanging on the words as Clyde paused, as if censoring the foreman’s term for her.

“…a guest at the house,” he finished.

Jessica frankly doubted that “guest” was the word used.

Lacey laughed and returned to putting the groceries into the proper storage bins. “Did Clinton think she was your, ahem, lady friend?” she teased with open delight, giving the younger two a speculative perusal.

Jessica felt Clyde’s dark gaze drift over her in an insouciant manner that almost felt intimate. It lingered at her legs for a second before returning to her face.

“Yes,” he said. He paused before asking her, “I told my parents why you’re here. Do you mind?”

If he’d already explained her presence, there was hardly any point in objecting. She refrained from mentioning this obvious fact and shook her head instead.

“You and Violet both work too hard,” Lacey scolded. “I’ve often told her to bring you out for Sunday lunch, but you rarely take a weekend off,” she said.

“I’m frequently out of town or out of the country, according to what season it is,” Jessica told the friendly older woman to excuse her lack of visits.

Actually she didn’t want to impose on their friendship or give the impression she was a stray who couldn’t make it on her own in the city. She was a big girl and she’d made her own way in the world for a long time.

“Yes, well, no wonder you needed to rest and get away from it all,” Lacey said.

Jessica glanced at Clyde in confusion. He gave her a brief nod as if to say this was all he’d told his parents. She gave him a brief frown to tell him she’d appreciate being clued in on what she was to say. His answering grin was sardonic.

“Violet nagged her until she gave up and came down here,” he informed his parents.

His father chuckled. “That’s our daughter. She takes after her mother when it comes to noble causes…and to bossing others around and telling them what’s good for them.” He gave his wife a friendly tug on her hair as he teased her.

For some reason the couple’s playfulness brought the stereotypical lump to Jessica’s throat. She excused herself and headed up to her room.

Years ago she’d suspected that Violet’s family had considered her a sort of charity case, an underdog that their daughter had taken under her cloak of compassion. The remarks confirmed this suspicion…and hurt in a way she couldn’t explain.

Pride brought her head up and her chin forward as she went into her room. That same pride had made her cautious in dealing with them and was one reason she’d usually declined going to their home when Violet had tried to get her to attend family functions. It was the mother, not the daughter, who had a propensity for “causes,” and Jessica had been determined not to be one.

After showering and drying her hair, she slipped into a pair of pink silk slacks with a white silk blouse printed with pink flowers. A pink stretchy band held her hair away from her face, leaving it free to flow down her back in a nearly straight, shimmering cascade that was part of her casual hometown-girl persona the photographers loved.

She brushed bronze highlights onto her cheeks and a coral pink color onto her lips. A couple of flicks with the mascara wand brought out the length of her eyelashes and the robin’s-egg-blue of her eyes. She pulled on the black ballerina slippers she liked to wear around the house and returned downstairs.

Clyde was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables.

“May I help?” she asked.

“You want to finish the salad?”

“Sure. Are all these to go in it?” She indicated the vegetables on the counter beside the sink.

“Yes. Mom’s a stickler for lots of veggies. Don’t chop them too fine. She likes to be able to identify what she’s eating, she says.”

“Right. Uh, about my being here,” she said, lowering her voice to a near whisper as she came close to him. “Was that all you told your parents—that I was here for a rest?”

“Yes.” His gaze was cool when he glanced at her. “She would worry if she thought one of her chicks was in danger. That includes you, I’m afraid.”

“Me? Why?”

He gave a sardonic snort. “How long have you and Violet been friends?”

“Since we were twelve.”

“That’s twenty-one years. With you both being in New York, that friendship has grown. Mom considers you one of hers now.”

“Oh.” She had to laugh.

“What?” He handed her the paring knife and observed while she sliced carrots into the huge salad bowl.

“When I was a kid I saw a cartoon about a city mouse that visited his mouse cousin who lived on a farm. I’ve always wondered if your family thought I was a country mouse that Violet befriended. I think you just answered that.”

“You’ve traveled far from your roots, Texas gal,” he said in a tone that was husky and, while not exactly harsh, held an undercurrent of accusation, as if she’d done something that personally offended him.

She was intensely aware of his gaze as it studied her face, swept down her body, then came back to her face and locked on her mouth before meeting her eyes.

“I was lucky,” she said. “A fortuitous lineup of the stars that led to success.”

“Not to mention a gorgeous face and the lean, taut body prized by the fashion industry.”

Now he sounded merely ironic, she noted, but still her nerves did their tingly thing. “Actually, I’m not gorgeous,” she corrected, her own voice low and soft, deliberately sexy. “Sondra says I’m ‘striking,’ which is better than mere beauty because it lasts forever.”

“Sondra being…?”

“My agent.”

“Ah, yes. I recall your father worrying when you first went to New York. He said you lived with an older woman, but the woman was divorced, so he and your mother weren’t sure she was a good example.”

Jessica gave him a surprised stare. “You talked to my parents about me?”

He shrugged. “Red Rock is a small town, and we did business at the hardware store. You were frequently the subject of conversation by the locals.”

She nodded and went back to chopping veggies. “People seem to have a proprietary interest when a hometown girl, or guy, makes good. It was nice to come home and know they were proud of me. However, it was Sondra who made most of the decisions early on in my career, and my dad who advised me on saving my earnings. They’re the ones who guided me.”

“But you’re the one who put in the hours of work,” he reminded her. “In the store your father displayed pictures of you at your first job. I have to admit I wouldn’t have recognized you. You looked very different from the long-legged teenager I remembered.”

Jessica felt heat skim her cheeks. She hoped he didn’t also remember that, at nineteen, she’d had a terrible crush on him. She’d wanted to make him notice her.

Looking into his eyes, she suddenly understood the dark moodiness in those depths. He, Clyde Fortune of the famous Fortune family, was attracted to her.

Instead of feeling elated, she was disappointed. He was attracted to the persona developed by her career—the casual, laughing and oh-so-sexy summer blonde who was poised, outdoorsy and cosmopolitan.

That was the way the fashion photographers saw her and what they picked up in the photo sessions. It was the persona she and Sondra had decided to cultivate long ago, but whether in New York, Paris or Milan, she knew, at heart, she was simply a Texas gal a long way from home.

She focused her attention on the task at hand and away from the banked embers of interest that resided in his gaze. It needed only a spark between them to set the flames to a fiery glow. She wouldn’t provide that spark.

He headed for the door. “I’d better get the grill started so we can eat. Miles should be in soon. The folks are staying at the Double Crown, so they won’t be spending the night.”

“Are they here for the funeral?”

He frowned. “What do you know about that?”

“Violet explained the connection to Ryan Fortune. It was also in the San Antonio paper. My sister read it and called me.”

“Did she also relate the local gossip?”

Jessica shook her head. She and her sister had speculated on the dead man’s relationship to the mighty Fortunes of Texas, but she wasn’t sure what gossip Clyde referred to.

“Some people think Ryan might have murdered Christopher Jamison to keep his father’s true origins a secret.”

Jessica was shocked at the idea. “No one knowing Ryan Fortune would believe that.”

“No?” Clyde questioned. “Then you don’t know your fellow Texans as well as I assumed you did.”

With that, he left. She continued preparing the salad. When she finished, she stored the stuff in the refrigerator, which was now filled with all kinds of healthful food, including nonfat milk and yogurt, two of her usual food staples.

After pouring a glass of iced tea, she went outside. She found Clyde on the other side of the pool/guesthouse at a built-in grill.

“Well, what have we here?” an appreciative male voice inquired. “Ah, yes, the fair Jessica.” Miles, the youngest of the triplets, looked her over. “Very fair indeed. The duckling has changed into the swan, brother. You didn’t mention that when you reported she’d arrived.”

“Hello, Miles,” she said, holding out her hand.

Instead of shaking it, Miles tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to a table under an arbor covered with rose vines. He held a chair for her, then took the one beside it.

“So start at the beginning and tell me of your life in the big city,” he invited. He took a drink of beer and gazed at her in open admiration.

Jessica was used to this kind of attention, so it didn’t rattle her at all, unlike the black scowl she was getting from Clyde. She tried to figure out if she’d done something wrong. Nothing came to mind.

“Both Violet and I have been busy,” she began. “We try to meet for lunch at least once a week.”

From the side of the house came the tinkling laughter of his mother. Patrick and Lacey joined them on the patio. She held a posy of late summer blossoms in her hand.

“A centerpiece for the table,” she said. “Miles, come help me find a vase for them. Are we going to eat out here or in the house?” she asked Clyde.

“In the house. We’ve had a new hatch of mosquitoes since the storm.”

Lacey smiled at Jessica. “They leave terrible itchy bumps on me, but never seem to bite the men.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Jessica murmured, wishing a swarm would descend on Clyde. What the heck had she done to tick him off?

“The steaks will be ready in ten minutes,” he said. “Miles, if you’ll bring the shrimp when you come back out, I’ll put them on.”

When the other three went inside, Jessica surveyed the grounds and didn’t glance at Clyde, who now wore dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his arms.

“Miles, you might recall, is something of a tease,” Clyde said without preamble. He gave her a stern glance.

“Yes? Is there a message for me in that statement?”

“Don’t get your hopes up that it means anything when he flirts with you.”

She did a slow burn. “Actually,” she murmured wickedly, “I have my hopes centered on you.”

He choked on his beer.

Smiling, she took a long, cool drink of iced tea.

“I really don’t see why I have to come along,” Jessica said on Sunday afternoon.

“So I can keep an eye on you,” Clyde answered.

“No one knows where I am. Except your family,” she added. “Now everyone will.”

“The people in Hanson Park probably won’t recognize you,” he said calmly. “Keep your sunglasses on and the hat pulled low.”

She felt like a latter-day Mata Hari, on a mission and trying to keep up a pretense of disguise. Clyde had insisted she attend the funeral of Christopher Jamison rather than stay at the ranch alone all afternoon and evening. It would be very late before they returned home, he’d said.

His parents would be with Ryan Fortune and his wife, Lily. Miles was coming in his own truck. She and Clyde were in the station wagon, which was clean and more comfortable for the trip than the pickup, he’d told her.

She didn’t recall his being so bossy years ago.

After flicking a piece of lint off the navy blue pants suit, she sighed, settled into the seat and gazed at the landscape, a cloud of depression hovering over her. Funerals were hardly joyous occasions.

Unfortunately, where the rich and famous congregated, the press also made an appearance.

“I told you I shouldn’t have come,” she muttered.

“The police will keep the reporters at bay,” Clyde said, driving through an ornate wrought-iron gate to a private parking area after an officer had checked his identity and waved them through.

Two reporters pushed forward, but they were ordered back behind the police barriers that cordoned off the lane leading to the church and cemetery.

When she and Clyde got out of the station wagon, Jessica kept her wide-brimmed lacy hat on, effectively covering her hair, which she’d twisted up on the back of her head. Very dark sunglasses hid her trademark blue eyes.

The funeral chapel was filled to overflowing. The entire Fortune family was there, it seemed. Jessica recognized most of those from Texas. Ryan’s twin daughters, Vanessa and Victoria, were present with their husbands.

Jessica nodded to them, then to Lily, Ryan’s wife. His third wife, she recounted. Apparently they’d been in love long ago, but fate had intervened. Now they were together again and very happy in their marriage, according to Violet.

Clyde made sure she stayed close to him, as if he’d put a claim in on her. Whenever his suit sleeve brushed her arm, shimmering tingles flowed through her like champagne bubbles dancing through her blood. It was disconcerting to be so aware of another person.

The last time she’d felt so utterly alive, she’d been nineteen and in the throes of her first great love.

With him.

“Clyde, Jessica, this is Blake and Darcy Jamison,” Lacey introduced the parents of the deceased young man. “You’ve already met Clyde. Jessica is a longtime friend of our daughter, Violet.”

“How do you do?” she said politely. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

She really was. She couldn’t imagine a worse pain than losing a child. Violet had told her of the death of a patient and the woman’s unborn child just before Jessica left New York. It had been a terrible case, and the family had blamed Violet and the neurosurgeon who’d performed the risky surgery for the tragedy.

The Jamisons’ son had been a handsome young man in his prime and a respected teacher. It was sad.

“This is our youngest son, Emmett,” Mr. Jamison said.

Emmett Jamison was around Clyde’s height and had the muscular build of someone who stayed in shape. He had short dark hair and attractive green eyes that seemed to take in everything going on around him without overtly noticing anything in particular. From the slump of his shoulders, he seemed overwhelmed by the death of his older brother.

During dinner the previous evening, Jessica had heard Lacey mention that Emmett was with some government agency now, but he’d once had a career as a legal advisor on Wall Street.

An interesting career change. She wondered what had prompted it.

There was also another Jamison brother, according to Lacey, one who was estranged from the family and hadn’t been seen in a long time. Jessica couldn’t imagine deliberately cutting herself off from her parents, sister, a very nice brother-in-law and two adorable nieces.

At least a dozen reporters stood at the fence to the Hanson Park cemetery and jotted down notes as the silent group gathered inside the lovely grounds for the last ritual of the service.

Jessica noticed eyes on her—it was impossible to disguise her height although she wore flats—and the photographers who snapped pictures of everyone who passed through the gate. She hid behind Clyde’s greater bulk as much as possible in an attempt to keep her identity unknown.