Almost Home (3 page)
K
atherine felt like an
idiot. She should have known
better than to
confide in someone she didn't know. In
Angeles
strange man on the side of the road. But she'd felt like a different person
ever since she'd stepped off the plane in
The man next to her leaned against the side of the car
and crossed his arms in front of his chest. She struck a similar pose, wishing
the tow truck would arrive sooner rather than later.
The minutes slowly ticked by, the silence broken only
by the sound of the birds, the breeze blowing through the trees, and the hum of
a distant tractor. Katherine tried to distract herself by counting the number
of planks in the endless white fence that ran along the side of the road. But
she couldn't concentrate on anything but the man by her side. Tall, lean
muscles in a dark silent package, he completely unnerved her.
She wasn't used to quiet men. Most of the males she
knew moved in perpetual motion and talked more than anyone cared to listen. But
not this man. Now that he'd finished yelling at her about his precious horse,
he'd completely stopped talking.
And he was so rough. He had calluses on his hands; she'd
felt them when he'd grabbed her arms. His face didn't look like it had seen a
razor that morning, or his hair a comb for that matter. He was rugged and wild
and his body seemed poised for action even when he was at rest. She could feel
the tension—or maybe it was her tension. He was the sexiest, most physical male
she'd come across in a long time. The worst thing was that he didn't seem to be
anywhere near as affected by her.
After a few more minutes of restless internal
debating, she slanted a sideways glance at the man beside her and considered
her options. He'd made it clear he wasn't interested in helping her. And a week
ago, make that a day ago, she probably would have just kept quiet until the tow
truck came along. But she was on a quest. She couldn't let one stubborn male
stop her in her tracks without at least trying to push back. She would need
help to find her father, and if this man had lived here a long time…
Oh, heck, what did she have to lose?
"I think my father lived here in 1972," she
said in a rush.
The man slowly turned his head, his mouth tilting
downward in a frown. "I can't help you."
"I don't know his name, but I have an initial."
"That's it?"
"I have other clues, a letter, match covers,
cocktail napkins from Golden's Grill, a cuff link. I know it sounds silly,
probably a wild-goose chase, but it's something I have to do." She didn't
know if he thought she was a lunatic or a fool. Probably both, she decided. "You
see, I don't think my father knew about me. I don't believe my mother told him.
That's what made me stop wishing for the impossible and decide to actually do
something about it. I figure my father has a right to know he has a daughter."
"What if he doesn't want to know?"
"Why wouldn't he?"
"I can think of a lot of reasons." He shook
his head. "You're going to stir up a hornet's nest of trouble, aren't you?"
"I hope not."
"I'm glad I'm not old enough to be your father.
What's your name anyway? I trust you have more than an initial."
"Katherine Whitfield."
"You look like a Kat." Zach's gaze drifted
down her body. "Sleek, sassy, stubborn, and argumentative. You get your
back up awfully easily."
"You've only known me for five minutes."
"In which time you almost ran me over, killed my
horse, and told me you were coming to town to dig up somebody's grave."
"My father isn't dead. At least, I don't think he
is." She paused. It had never occurred to her that her father might be
dead. "I suppose he could be dead," she said finally, "but don't
you think I should know whether or not he's even alive?"
"Don't ask me."
"And I am not argumentative. I always listen and
compromise and work with people. At least people who deserve such
consideration, who don't make judgments about people without even knowing them.
And what is your name anyway?"
"Zach Tyler," he said with a smile teasing
the corner of his lips.
"And your friends call you what? Rude, nasty,
arrogant?"
"They're not that nice."
His grin broadened, and she caught her breath at the
life that came into his face when he smiled with genuine amusement. The sharp
angles of his jaw softened, and the hardness in his eyes vanished, making him
look younger, more carefree, and impossibly handsome.
"Nice to meet you, Kat," he said, sticking
out his hand.
She debated one second too long, and he simply reached
out and took her hand in his. The touch of his fingers was hotter than she'd
expected, and a jolt of awareness rocked through her body, shocking her with
its intensity. It was supposed to be a simple handshake, but instead of
squeezing her hand and letting it go, his fingers pulled her closer.
"Katherine Whitfield," he said, staring into
her eyes. "Sounds like old money, big white house with pillars and a
verandah."
"Mediterranean villa, pool, and an acre of
incredible gardens," she replied breathlessly, her hand still tingling
within his grasp.
"Built to last, I bet."
"It's just a house."
"Spoken like a woman who's never lived without a
roof over her head."
No, she'd never suffered that loss. But a roof wasn't
a family. And a house wasn't always a home.
"Where did you say you come from?"
"
"You're a long way from home. You should go back
there."
"Why?"
He stared at her for a long, expectant minute, his
gaze drifting from her eyes to her lips. He lowered his head, and she
thought—for one insane moment, she thought he was about to kiss her. Instead he
whispered next to her ear, "Because you don't belong here."
The words cut deeply. She'd never felt like she
belonged to anyone or anyplace, not since her mother had died and especially not
since her stepfather had remarried, moving on to a new wife, a new life.
Belonging had always teased the tips of her fingers but never been quite within
her grasp.
Finding her real father could change that. She would
finally have someone who was tied to her by blood. Katherine wouldn't—she
couldn't—let this man, this stranger, this cowboy weaken her resolve to find
her father.
Katherine pulled her hand out of Zach's grasp. "I'll
leave when I'm ready and not a second before." She spun on her heel and
stalked down the highway, fuming every step of the way. How dare he try to tell
her what to do? He didn't know one damn thing about her, yet he'd already made
up his mind that she didn't belong.
Her anger probably would have fueled a long hike into
the next town, but a few more yards down the highway made her realize she could
hardly leave her rental car, not to mention her hope chest in the backseat. She
stopped abruptly, took in a deep breath, counted to ten, then to twenty, shot
him a dark look, and counted another ten before walking back toward him.
Zach let out a breath as Katherine turned around.
Thank God, she'd stopped. It was a long walk to
especially in her heels. She was completely out of place, and she should go
home before she got herself into any more trouble.
Still, he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. He'd
struck her with the same words that had always hurt him the most.
You don't
belong here.
Even though it was the truth, he probably shouldn't have said
it.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?"
She was close enough to hear him. But she didn't
reply, just stared down the empty highway and tapped one foot restlessly
against the concrete.
"Fine, have it your way," he called out,
leaning back against her car. What did it matter if she was angry with him? In
a few minutes she'd be out of his life—well, at least out of his immediate
vicinity. If she had any sense, she'd leave the past where it belonged. No good
ever came out of digging up a secret someone had buried with deliberate pur
pose
.
Zach knew that better
than anyone. Not that she'd take his advice and give up. Some people had more
courage than brains.
A horn blasted, and Zach turned in relief to see Billy
Dawson pull up in his orange and red tow truck. Billy hopped out of the truck
with a long-legged youthful gait and adjusted his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His
white blond hair drifted past his collar, and a patch of freckles spread across
his face with his look of disbelief.
"How did you do that, Zach?"
"He didn't do it, I did." Katherine walked
back to join them. "Can you get it out?"
Billy sent Katherine a long, appreciative look.
"You
bet I can. Where are
you headed?"
"
"No kidding. Well, today is your lucky day,
because that's where the nearest garage is."
"And how far away is that?"
"A few miles. Are you visiting anyone in
particular?" Billy asked. "I'm from
born and raised. I know where everything is."
Zach sighed. At this rate, it would be dark before Billy
hooked up the car. "Billy, do you mind? I've got things to do."
Billy frowned at him. "I'm being friendly."
"I'm just passing through," Katherine said,
exchanging a quick glance with Zach.
She didn't have to bother. Zach had no intention of
helping her open up that can of worms.
"Do you think you can get my car out of that
ditch?" she asked.
"I'll sure do my best," Billy replied. "Zach,
you want to give me a hand?"
"Sure." Zach would have done anything if it
meant getting Katherine on her way. He had a strong sense of self-preservation,
and everything inside him screamed caution. He didn't have time for big blue
eyes or soft lips or thick blond hair. His heart thudded against his chest as
she turned to look at him with a quizzical eye.
"I think he needs your help," she said.
Zach started as he realized Billy was waiting for him,
a knowing gleam in his eyes.
"Not bad, huh?" Billy muttered as Zach
walked over to him.
"The car?"
"Not the car—her. Where did you meet her?"
"She almost crashed into my trailer. That's how
she ended up in the ditch. She was speeding, completely reckless."
"Sounds like your type of woman."
Billy darted away before Zach could hit with him a
decisive
No way in hell is she my type.
Probably just as well the kid
was busy. Zach wasn't sure he could make it sound as convincing as he wanted.
It took them fifteen minutes to angle the car out of
the ditch. While Billy was making the final hookup, Katherine opened the door
on the passenger side of the truck and climbed in, leaving enough room for Zach
to squeeze onto the front seat.
When he didn't move, she frowned. "Aren't you
coming?"
Get in that truck right next to her? Feel her thighs
against his, be a whisper away from her full breasts?
"Sam's going to send someone back for me,"
he said tersely.
"Oh." She licked her full lips, and Zach's
breath caught in his throat. He wanted her to go, and fast, before he got into
the truck next to her, before he convinced himself she needed his help getting
into town, getting into the hotel
…
getting into bed.
"Well, thanks for staying with me," she
said. "I'm sorry I almost hit your van. I hope your horse is all right."
"He'll be fine." Zach wasn't so sure about
himself. He moved forward to shut the door for her, then paused, knowing he
couldn't leave her without one word of warning. "Be careful, Kat."
"What do you mean?"
"This isn't
"I don't understand."
"Family, bloodlines, tradition, they're pretty
damn important around here. No one wants a scandal. And they won't take kindly
to a stranger asking nosy questions."
"Those things are pretty important to me, too. I'm
really not trying to cause any trouble."
"You know what they say about the road to hell
being paved with good intentions."
"I can't quit. I've always done the safe thing,
taken the easy way out." She glanced back at where Billy was finishing the
hookup and lowered her voice. "If I don't do this, I'm afraid I'll never
do anything. I'll never take the big chance. I'll never walk out on the high
wire."
She looked him straight in the eye, and he could see
the desperation, the need to prove something, if only to herself. Zach shut the
door between them, because if he spent one more second in conversation with
her, he had a feeling he'd be out on that high wire along with her.