The Mccaffertys: Slade

Every once in a while one of the brothers or Randi asked a question. Jamie always had an answer.

“I’ll want to put my fiancée’s name on the deed,” Matt said, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“So you’re getting married.” Jamie scribbled a quick note on her copy of the documents. “When?”

“Between Christmas and New Year’s. I tried to talk her into eloping, but her family had a fit. As it is, it’s pretty short notice.”

Jamie lifted an arched brow. “So another McCafferty bachelor bites the dust.”

“Ouch,” Thorne said, but one side of his mouth curved upward. “That just leaves Slade.”

For a second the Ice Woman seemed to melt. Her hazel eyes found his. A dozen questions lurked therein. “I thought you were married.”

“Never,” he replied. Seated low on his spine, sipping coffee, he stared straight into those incredible eyes.

“But…I mean…” She seemed confused, then quickly shoved whatever she was thinking out of her mind and pulled her corporate self together. “Not that it matters. So…” She swung her head toward Matt who was seated at the head of the table near the china closet. “What’s your fiancée’s name?”

“Kelly Dillinger, but it will be McCafferty by the end of the month.”

“She’s the daughter of Eva Dillinger, who was our father’s secretary.” Thorne’s mouth turned down and Slade’s stomach twisted at the thought of his old man. He missed him, true, but the guy had been a number-one bastard most of Slade’s life. “The deal is this. Dad reneged on paying Eva the retirement that he’d promised her and so we—” he motioned to include his brothers and sister “—through the trust, decided to make it good. Your firm handles the disbursements.”

Jamie gave a quick nod as if she suddenly remembered. “I’ve got the papers on the trust with me,” she said, riffling through her briefcase and withdrawing another thick file.

“Good.” Thorne nodded.

“But Kelly’s name needs to be on the deed to the ranch,” Matt insisted.

“Duly noted.” Jamie penned a reminder on the first page of the contract allowing Matt to buy out his brothers. “I’ll see that she’s included in the final draft, then she’ll have to sign, along with the rest of you, and Mr. Kavanaugh. I’ll leave you each a copy of what I’ve drawn up and you can peruse everything more closely. If you all agree, I’ll print out final copies and we’ll sign.”

“Sounds good.” Matt picked up his set of papers as Jamie straightened her pile and thumped it on the table. With a well-practiced smile that didn’t light her eyes, she glanced at each McCafferty sibling before sliding all the documents into her briefcase.

So rehearsed, so professional, so un-Jamie Parsons. At least the Jamie he remembered. As he observed her, Slade wondered what it would take to catch a glimpse of the girl hiding beneath the neatly pressed jacket and skirt.

“So…Matt, you and your wife will be living on the property…Thorne and Nicole are building nearby and Randi will eventually move back to Seattle. I’ve got all your addresses except Slade’s.” She stared straight at him. “Where do you call home these days?”

“I’ve got a place in Colorado, outside of Boulder, but…I haven’t decided if I’ll stay there or sell it. In the meantime, I’m here, so you can use the address of the Flying M.”

“Fair enough.” She glanced again from one McCafferty sibling to the next. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Thorne glanced at his sister. “We’ve got a little situation and I’d like some advice on it. As you know, Randi, here, had a baby a couple of months back and the father hasn’t stepped forward and made any claim of custody yet, but—”

“Hey!” Randi shot out of her chair and skewered her brother with a don’t-even-go-there glare. “Let’s not get into this. Not now.”

“We have to, Randi.” Thorne was serious. “Sooner or later J.R.’s dad is gonna show up. I’ll bet on it. And he’s gonna start talking about custody and his rights as a father and I’d like to know what we’re up against.”

“This is my problem, Thorne,” Randi said, leaning over the table. Pushing her face as close to her oldest brother’s as was possible, she hooked a thumb at her chest. “Mine. Okay? Not yours. Not Matt’s. Not Slade’s. And certainly not Jansen, Monteith and Stone’s!” Her eyes snapped fire, her cheeks flushed and she glared at Thorne for a long moment. No one said a word. Finally, Randi swung her gaze toward Jamie. “No offense, okay, but I can handle this. My brothers are just mad because I haven’t told them who the baby’s father is. Not that it’s any of their business.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Slade reminded her. “Someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Again, it’s nobody’s business.”

“Like hell.” Slade glowered at his sister. Sometimes Randi could be so bullheaded she was just plain stupid. “Your safety is our business.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t even remember what happened!” Slade countered, disgusted with his half sibling. “At least that’s what you claim.”

“It’s true.”

“Okay, fine, then help us out. We’re just trying to keep you safe. To keep J.R., or whatever the hell you call him, safe, okay? So quit being so damned bristly and give us a clue or two! Who’s the kid’s dad?”

“This isn’t the time or place,” she warned, every muscle tightening.

Thorne held up a hand as if to somehow quiet Slade. “We’re just trying to help.”

“Back off, Thorne. I said I can handle it. He’s my baby and I would never, never do anything to put him in jeopardy, for God’s sake. Now, I agreed to stay here for a while, until this whole mess is cleared up, but that doesn’t mean my life is going to stop, so just back off!”

Matt shook his head and stared out the window.

“Women,” Slade growled, and Jamie’s spine stiffened.

Instead of snapping back at his remark, she visibly shifted, as if deciding it was her job to diffuse the argument rather than aggravate it. “Custody rights aren’t my area of expertise, but, if you decide you do want some legal advice, I can hook you up with Felicia Reynolds. She handles all the custody cases for the firm.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll contact her.” Randi shot Thorne another warning glare before dropping into her chair. “Maybe.”

Jamie snapped her briefcase closed. “Let me know if you want to get in touch with her.”

“I will,” Randi said, firing Thorne a look meant to not only kill but to eviscerate, as well.

“Okay.” It was Jamie’s turn to stand. “If any of you has any questions, you can call me through my cell phone, as I don’t have a phone number here in town yet, or you can leave a message with the office and they’ll get in touch with me. I’m staying at my grandmother’s place and as soon as the regular phone is hooked up, I’ll let you know.”

The meeting was over.

Everyone shook hands.

All business.

Somehow it galled the hell out of Slade, but he found her coat and helped her into it.

Without a backward glance, she walked out the door, her black coat billowing behind her, her briefcase swinging from one gloved hand. Slade hesitated, couldn’t help but watch as she climbed into her car and drove away, tires spinning in the snow.

“Randi’s right. You did date her,” Matt said as Slade closed the door and, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, strolled back to the living room where his brothers were waiting. Matt knelt at the fire, prodding the blackened log with a poker while Thorne rummaged in the old man’s liquor cabinet.

“I saw her a few times,” Slade admitted, leaning one hip on the windowsill. This conversation was getting them nowhere and he didn’t want to discuss it. Seeing Jamie again had brought back a tidal wave of memories that he’d dammed up a long, long time ago.

“Oh, come on, Slade. You saw her more than a few times.” Randi hobbled into the room, then fell onto the leather couch. “Let’s see,” she said, her features pinching as she tried to recall images from the past. Slade sensed he wasn’t going to like what was coming next and he braced himself. “The way I remember it, you dated Jamie for a couple of months while you were broken up with Sue Ellen Tisdale, right?”

“I remember you with Sue Ellen,” Thorne added. Great. Just what he needed: his family dissecting his love life.

“But,” Randi added, “once Sue Ellen came to her senses and came running back, you dropped Jamie like a hot potato. I thought you were going to marry Sue Ellen.”

Slade snorted; didn’t comment.

Thorne pulled out a bottle of Scotch. “So did I.”

“Everyone did.” Randi wasn’t about to let up. “Probably even Jamie.”

“Again, your memory amazes me,” Slade commented.

“As I said, ‘bits and pieces.’”

“Is that right?” Matt prodded the fire with a poker. “You really tossed Jamie over for Sue Ellen Tisdale?” His tone implied that Slade was a first-class idiot.

“That’s not exactly what happened. Besides, it was years ago.”

“Doesn’t matter when it happened.” Randi rested one heel on the coffee table. “Face it, Slade,” she said as the fire began to crackle, “whether you want to admit it or not, about fifteen years ago, you were the son of a bitch who broke Jamie Parsons’s heart.”

CHAPTER THREE

“WELL, THAT WENT SWIMMINGLY,” Jamie rumbled under her breath as she carried her briefcase and a sack of groceries into her grandmother’s house. Driving into town from the Flying M she’d second-guessed herself and cursed C. William “Chuck” Jansen a dozen times over for assigning her to the McCafferty project.

“Since you’re heading to Grand Hope anyway, I thought you could help the firm out,” Chuck had said as he’d sat familiarly on the corner of the desk in her office, one leg swinging, his wing-tip gleaming in the soft lighting. His boyish smile had been wide, his suit expensive, his shirt, as always, starched and crisply pressed. He’d tugged at his Yves St. Laurent tie. “I think it would be a good idea to put a face on Jansen, Monteith and Stone for the McCafferty family. John Randall McCafferty was an excellent client of the firm and the partners would like to keep the McCaffertys’ business. Maybe even get a little more. Thorne McCafferty is a millionaire several times over in his own right, and the second son, Matt—he owns his own place. He’s basically a small-time rancher, but he also seems to have some of that McCafferty-Midas touch. The third son…”

Jamie recalled how Chuck’s brows had knit and his lips had folded together thoughtfully while she had conjured up a few unwelcome memories of Slade and nearly snapped her pen in two. “Well, there’s always one in the family, I suppose. The third son, Slade—he never amounted to much. Lots of potential, but couldn’t get it together. Too busy raising hell. He drove race cars and rode rodeo and even led expeditions for extreme skiing, I think. Always on the edge, but never getting his life together.

“But John Randall’s only daughter, Randi—she’s a real firecracker—takes after the old man. No wonder she was named after him.”

Jamie tried to ignore the comments about Slade and concentrated on his half sister. She remembered Randi as being smart, sassy and McCafferty-stubborn.

“She’s got her own daily column, ‘Solo’ or ‘Being Single’ or something,” Chuck had continued. “Writes for a Seattle newspaper. There’s some talk of syndication, I think. And Thorne mentioned that she could have been working on a book at the time of the accident.”

“Thorne McCafferty used to work here, didn’t he?” Jamie had asked, twiddling her pen and not liking the turn of the conversation. Especially not any reference to Slade.

“Yes, yes, that’s right. He was a junior partner years ago. Then went out on his own. Moved to Denver. But he still throws us a bone once in a while. So, I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be a plum to nail down the corporate account, steal it away from that Denver firm he deals with?” Chuck’s eyes had sparked with a competitive fire Jamie hadn’t witnessed in a while.

“I thought you were going to retire.”

“In a couple of years, yes,” he’d admitted, winking at her. “But why not go out in a blaze, hmm? It’ll only make my share of the firm worth more, hence my retirement…we could buy a sailboat and sail to Tahiti or Fiji or—”

“I’ll still have a job.”

“Not if you marry me.”

She’d squirmed. Chuck had been pressuring her lately and she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. There had been a time when she’d thought that enough money could buy happiness, that the reason Slade McCafferty hadn’t been interested in her was because she was poor, from the wrong side of the tracks, and didn’t have the social status of Sue Ellen Tisdale. But over the years she’d changed her opinion about financial success and its rewards. She’d met plenty of miserable millionaires.

“Listen.” Chuck had rapped his knuckles on the desk as he’d straightened. “Think about it when you’re in Grand Hope. Being Mrs. Chuck Jansen wouldn’t be all that bad, not that I’m pressuring you.”

“Right,” she’d said, and managed a smile.

“We’ll talk when you get back.” He’d said it with the same confidence he oozed in a courtroom.

“What a mess,” Jamie muttered to herself as she adjusted the thermostat while, presumably, back in Missoula, Chuck was waiting, expecting her to get off the fence and accept his proposal.

But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Why?

Chuck was smart. Educated. Clever. Good-looking. Wealthy. His share of the business was worth a bundle and then there was his stock portfolio and two homes.

He also has a bitter ex-wife, her mind nagged. And three college-age kids. He doesn’t want any more.

Jamie thought of Randi McCafferty and her newborn son, the way the baby’s eyes had twinkled in adoration at his mother. Her heartstrings tugged. God, how she wanted a baby of her own, a baby to love. Could she marry Chuck, become a stepmother to nearly grown children, never raise a daughter or son of her own, one she conceived with a husband who made her heart pound and brought a smile to her lips? For a second Slade’s face flashed through Jamie’s mind. “Oh, stop it,” she growled at herself in frustration. Just because she’d been thrown back here and had to face him, she’d started fantasizing. “You’re pathetic, Parsons. Pa-thetic.” She started to unpack the groceries, but couldn’t forget how surprised she’d been at Slade’s easy manner with his twin nieces and tiny nephew. Who would have thought?

Ironic, she thought, touching her flat abdomen. But, once upon a time…

“Don’t even go there,” she chastised herself, stocking the cupboard with a few cans of soup and a box of crackers, then stuffing a quart of milk and jug of orange juice into the old refrigerator.

She remembered turning into the lane of the Flying M this afternoon. Her nerves had been stretched tight as piano wire, her hands sweating inside her gloves. But that had been just the start of it. Finally facing Slade again—oh, Lord, that had been the worst; more difficult than she’d even imagined.

He’d changed in the past fifteen years. His body had filled out, his shoulders were broader, his chest wider, though his hips were as lean as she remembered. At that thought, she colored, remembering the first time she’d seen him without clothes—at the swimming hole when he’d yanked off his cutoffs, revealing that he hadn’t bothered wearing any underwear. She’d glimpsed white buttocks that had contrasted to his tanned back and muscular legs, and caught sight of something more, a part of male anatomy she’d never seen before.

Oh, God, she’d been such an innocent. Of course he’d changed physically. Hard-living and years had a way of doing that to a body. Slade’s face was more angular than it had been; a thin scar ran down one side of his face, but his eyes were still as blue as a Montana sky.

She’d noticed that he’d limped slightly. And there was something in his expression, a darkness in his eyes, that betrayed him, a shadow of pain. Okay, so he had his war wounds; some more visible than others. Didn’t everyone? She folded the grocery sack and slipped it into the pantry.

She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between Sue Ellen and him, though she imagined Sue Ellen was just one of dozens. The McCafferty boys had been legendary in their conquests. Hadn’t she been one?

“Who cares,” she growled as she picked up her coat and hung it in the hall closet where Nana’s vacuum cleaner still stood guard. All the McCafferty boys had been hellions, teenagers who had disregarded the law. Slade had been no exception. While Thorne had been an athlete, and toed the line more than either of his brothers, Matt had been rumored to be a lady-killer with his lazy smile and rodeo daring, and Slade had gained the reputation of a daredevil, a boy who’d fearlessly climbed the most jagged peaks, kayaked down raging rivers and skied to the extreme on the most treacherous slopes—all of which had been accomplished over his father’s vehement protests.

But it had been a thousand years ago. She’d been a rebellious girl trying to fit in. Not a grown woman with a law degree. Sensible, she reminded herself. These days she was sensible.

And sometimes she hated it.

* * *

“DON’T LECTURE ME,” Randi ordered as Slade walked into the den. She was seated at Thorne’s computer, glasses propped on the end of her nose, the baby sleeping in a playpen in the corner.

“Did I say a word?”

“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your face. You’re an open book, Slade.”

“Like hell.” He propped a hip against the edge of the desk. “I think you and I need to clear the air.”

The corners of her mouth tightened a fraction. “Just a sec.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “You can’t believe how much e-mail I’ve collected…” With a wry smile, she clicked off and added, “It’s great to be loved. Now, as I was saying, don’t start in on me about the baby’s father. It’s my business. So if that’s what you mean by ‘clearing the air,’ let’s just keep it foggy.”

“Someone tried to kill you.”

“So you keep reminding me, over and over.” Something darkened her eyes for a heartbeat. Fear? Anger? He couldn’t tell, and the shadow quickly disappeared. Standing slightly, she leaned over the desk, pushing aside a cup of pens and pencils. “I get enough advice from Thorne. And Nicole. And Matt and even Juanita.” Pointing an accusing finger at his nose, she said, “From you, I expect understanding.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me to understand.”

“That I need some space. Some privacy. Come on, Slade, you know what it’s like for the whole damned family to be talking about you, worrying about you, clucking around like a bunch of hens. It’s enough to drive a sane person crazy. That’s why you and I both moved away from Grand Hope in the first place.”

“So who says you’re sane?”

“Oh, so now you’re a comedian,” she quipped, smothering a smile as she took off her glasses and leaned back into her chair. Large brown eyes assessed him. “What’s with that private detective?”

“Striker?”

“Yeah, him. I hear he’s your friend.”

“He is.”

“Humph.” She frowned, fluffing up her short locks with nervous fingers. “There’s a reason they’re called dicks, you know.”

He snorted. “Testy, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are. We don’t like being watched around the clock, spied upon, our lives being dissected. Tell him to lay off. I don’t like him digging around in my personal life.”

“No way, kiddo. It was my idea to bring him into the investigation.”

“And it was a bad one. We don’t need him.” She was adamant. “We’ve got the sheriff’s department. Detective Espinoza seems to be doing a decent enough job. Kelly should never have quit the department to work with Striker.”

Something was going on here; something Randi wasn’t admitting. “Is it Striker you don’t like? Or P.I.s in general?”

“Both. Aren’t the police enough?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Kurt’s just trying to help us find the bastard who wants you dead. You might be a little more helpful, you know. It’s like you’re hiding something.”

“What?”

“You tell me.”

“I would if I could,” she snapped. “But that’s just not possible right now. However, if I remember anything, anything at all, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Yeah, right. Then try concentrating on something besides people I dated fifteen years ago.”

Randi’s eyes narrowed. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? What happened with Jamie?”

“I haven’t thought about it much.”

“Until now.” His sister’s smile was nearly wicked. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he said, knowing as the word passed his teeth it was a lie. Jamie had gotten to him. Already. And he felt an unlikely need to explain himself, to set the record straight about the Sue Ellen thing.

Or is that just an excuse to see her again? Face it McCafferty, you haven’t been interested in a woman since Rebecca, but one look at the lady attorney and you’ve barely thought of anything else.

“So what’re you working on?” He pointed at the computer and shoved his nagging thoughts aside.

“Catching up on a billion e-mails,” she said. “I’ve been out of the loop awhile. It’ll take days to go through all of these and I’ve got to get my own laptop back. This one is Thorne’s and I don’t think he appreciates me monopolizing it as it’s his main link to his office in Denver.”

“He’s got a desktop ordered. It should be here any day.”

“That’ll solve some problems.”

“Where’s your laptop?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know…I can’t remember…but…why don’t you ask Kurt Striker. I hear both he and the police have been in my apartment. Damn.” She raked her fingers through her short, uneven hair, and when she looked up at Slade, her expression was troubled. “I’m really not trying to be a pain, Slade. I know everyone’s trying to help me, but it’s so frustrating. I feel like it’s really important for me to get back home, to look through my stuff, to write on my own computer, but I can’t remember what’s on the damned thing, probably just ideas and research for future columns, but I feel like it could help—that it might be the reason some psycho is after me.”

“Maybe it is,” he said. “Juanita said you were working on a book.”

“So I’ve heard. But…” She sighed loudly. “I can’t remember what it’s about.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to find the damned laptop, won’t we? Striker’s still working on it.”

“Striker. Oh, great,” she muttered as Slade left her.

In the kitchen, he yanked his jacket from a hook near the back door and walked outside. The late-afternoon sky was already dark, the air brisk.

Overhead, clouds threatened to dump more snow. Not that he cared. He climbed into his pickup, started the engine and cranked on the wheel. He’d drive into town, have a drink and…and what?

See Jamie again ran through his mind.

“Damn it all to hell.” He threw the truck into first and reached for his pack of smokes. He’d always gotten himself into trouble where women were concerned and he knew, as the tires slid on a slick patch of packed snow, that he hadn’t changed over the years.

He could deny it to himself up one side and down the other, but the truth of the matter was, he intended to see Jamie again and he intended to do it tonight.

* * *

SHIVERING, JAMIE CHANGED INTO soft jeans and her favorite old sweatshirt before she clamored down to the kitchen where she found a pan, washed it, heated the soup and crushed oyster crackers into the beef and vegetable broth. She imagined Nana sitting across the table from her, insisting they say grace, watching her over the top of her glasses until Jamie obediently bowed her head and mouthed a prayer.

It wasn’t that Jamie hadn’t believed in God in those days, she just hadn’t had a lot of extra time to spend on her spiritual growth—not when there were boys to date, cars to carouse in and cigarettes to smoke. It was a wonder she’d graduated from high school, much less had been accepted into college.