Almost Home (6 page)

"You
got
hit by a shot of bourbon."

"Bourbon?" she
echoed in confusion. "Maggie said you were trouble."

His spine stiffened. He
should have known somehow this would turn out to be his fault. "I didn't
throw the drink at you, sweetheart."

"You didn't?"

"No." Zach
glanced over at J.T., who seemed to be in shock. He was staring at Katherine
and shaking his head, as if he had no idea what had happened.

"I thought this was
going to be a nice place," Katherine said with a sigh. "Golden's. It sounded
so romantic."

"Romantic? If you want
romantic, you'd better get the hell out of
Paradise
,"
he said sharply. "Because this town isn't about nice—it's about winning.
And you just got in the way."

"Are you all right,
miss?" the bartender asked, handing her a dry towel.

"Yes, I'm fine,"
Katherine said, wiping her eyes. Now that the shock had worn off, she was
acutely
embarrassed at being the center of attention. The
entire room seemed to be filled with men—big men, small men, hairy men, bald
men. Katherine blinked her eyes a few times, trying to clear her vision. But
there was no doubt that the half circle surrounding her was all male, and their
expressions ranged from curiosity to embarrassment at the behavior of one of
their own. "Could I just sit down for a minute?"

"Sure," the bartender said, pulling out a
chair for her at a nearby table. "She's all right," he said to the
crowd. "Go back to your seats. Show's over." He turned to Katherine,
concern etched in his dark blue eyes. "Is there anything I can get for
you?"

"No, I'm fine. Who—who threw the drink at me?"

The bartender tipped his head toward a man standing
against the bar dressed in a gray plaid shirt and old blue jeans that were
buckled under his protruding gut. "He did."

"Was he aiming for me?"

"No," the bartender said. "He was just
mad at Zach."

Katherine looked into Zach's grim face. "I guess
I should be grateful I didn't walk into a fist."

"I told you to go home. You should have taken my
advice."

"What's his name?" she asked, ignoring his
comment.

"J.T. Baker."

"J.T." she echoed, her stomach twirling in
sudden madness upon hearing his name. Her gaze darted back to the man. He had
to be in his late forties, early fifties—the right age. But the thought of this
man, with his red sweaty face and glazed, drunken eyes, being her father was
hard to swallow.

The bartender leaned forward, lowering his voice. "J.T.'s
going through a rough patch, miss. Lost his prize stallion a few months back."

Oh, God, this was about another horse. She should have
figured. How the heck had she landed herself in a town where folks cared more
about their horses than people?

The man called J.T. suddenly moved. He stumbled over
to the table, looking both embarrassed and angry. "I'm sorry about that. I
didn't mean to hit you with my drink. I don't know why…"
He shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know
why I did that. I guess I had a little too much to drink." He rubbed a
hand over the top of his balding head.

"A little?" Zach interrupted. "You—"

Katherine squeezed Zach's arm, sensing that there was
more between these two men than bourbon in her face. "It's all right. It's
over. In fact, I think I'd like to go back to the hotel. Would you walk me out?"

Zach looked like he wanted to say no, but then he
shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I was leaving anyway."

Katherine stood up and walked toward the door. Zach
put a steady hand on the small of her back. It was a simple, polite gesture,
but it felt good, especially with so many people watching. She needed to ask
questions about her father, but she could hardly do it now with half the town
wondering who she was and what she was doing there.

Zach opened the door for her and she stepped out on
the sidewalk. Twilight had come to
Paradise
,
the crescent moon rising higher in the sky as the stars began to shatter the
darkness with their light. For a moment Katherine simply breathed in and out
and looked at the night sky, calmed by the cool quiet and the dark shadows.

"This is better," she murmured.

Zach watched her through narrowed, dark, unreadable
eyes. "This is better?"

"Yes." She raised her hand toward the sky. "There
are so many stars. It's a different sky than in
L.A.
"

"Maybe you can just see it more clearly."

"Maybe. I don't seem to have gotten off on the
right foot here."

"That's because your foot doesn't belong in
Paradise
."

"You're not going to start that again?"

"Katherine, you've been in town less than
twenty-four hours and you've already totaled your car and walked into the
middle of a bar fight. Hasn't it occurred to you that this trip might be a bad
idea?"

"What were you fighting about?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on. I got a drink tossed in my face. I'd
at least like to know there was some purpose to that argument."

"Sorry, can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Look, J.T. was drunk. He was itching for a
fight, and I'm his favorite target. You just got in the way. Do you want a ride
to the hotel?"

"It's only a few blocks."

"It's on my way. Come on. My truck is just around
the corner."

"All right." She didn't really need a ride,
but she wasn't quite ready to say good night. She followed Zach around the
corner to a dark brown pickup truck and waited while he unlocked the door for
her. "Thanks for helping me—again," she said with a small smile.

"No thanks needed." He held the door open
for her.

"Why do so many people in town dislike you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Who doesn't like me?"

"Well, that man in the bar for one. And Maggie
Harper said you couldn't be trusted."

"Maggie Harper, huh? Well, she probably knows
what she's talking about."

"I can't believe you're so bad. You've helped me
twice in one day."

He gave her a warning shake of his head. "Don't
start thinking of me as some sort of white knight. I've never beer partial to
that color."

She'd noticed. Dark gray shirt, black jeans, cleaner
than the ones he'd worn earlier but very much the same. He looked good in
black, she decided, strong, masculine, sexy, maybe even a little dangerous. But
it didn't seem to matter. Despite the warning from Maggie, despite the fact
that she'd landed herself in trouble both times in his presence, she found
herself wanting to linger in his company.

"Did you really help your father steal half the
town's money?" she asked, somewhat surprised by her own boldness. But once
the question was out, she found she desperately wanted to know the answer.

Zach sighed. "Get in the truck, Katherine."

"None of my business?"

"That's right."

"I'm sure someone will tell me."

"Probably without your even asking."

Katherine got into the truck as Zach slammed her door.
This conversation wasn't going much better than their previous ones. Zach slid
into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"I heard your car won't be ready for a few days,"
Zach said as he drove down the street. "I car have someone drive you into
Lexington
or
Louisville
tomorrow if
you want to catch a plane home. I'm sure the rental-car agency can send someone
out to get your car when it's ready."

Katherine didn't say anything for a moment. She looked
out the window at the quaint, old-fashioned shops on

"Is that man—J.T., you said his name was?"

"Yeah.
What
about him?"

She heard the wary note in
his voice but ignored it. "Is he married?"

"For a long time."

"How long?"

"I don't
know—twenty-plus years."

"Does he have
children?"

Zach shot her a quick look,
then turned the truck in to a parking space in front of the hotel. "No
kids," he said abruptly, "And I don't want to know why you're asking."

"I can't help
wondering. Did he live here in 1972?"

"You can't look at
every middle-aged man and imagine he's your father."

"It's hard not to.
Especially because of his name."

"I thought you didn't
know your father's name."

"His first initial was
J
."

Zach stared at her for a
long moment. "Do you
want a daddy so bad
you'll let yourself hope that some drunk in a bar is your father?"

He made her sound stupid, needy, desperate, and
unloved. Damn him.

"Forget it." Katherine opened the car door
and got out. She wasn't crazy to want to find her father, but she had taken
leave of her senses to imagine that Zach Tyler was a nice man.

Zach wasn't taking care of her because he wanted to.
He'd just gotten stuck with her—like so many other people in her life. He wasn't
with her by choice, but by duty or courtesy or maybe guilt. She was a fool for
mistaking politeness for friendship.

Zach met up with her on the sidewalk. He grabbed her
arm as she started to walk away. "Look, Katherine—"

"No, you look," she interrupted, pulling her
arm away from him. "I don't need your advice. I do not need you to tell me
to go home when I'm perfectly capable of making that decision on my own."

"You don't know what you're getting into."

"So what?"

"You
could
get hurt."

She looked him dead in the
eye. "I am not your responsibility. I am not even your friend. So it
shouldn't matter to you what I do, or whether or not I get hurt in the process."

He didn't say anything for
a long moment. "You're right. It doesn't matter to me."

She swallowed hard, his
words cutting to the quick, even though she'd practically demanded such a
response. "Then we're agreed that I can do what I want."

"I'm sure you always
do what you want."

Katherine stared at him,
realizing that he didn't
know her at all. She
almost never did what she wanted. Most of the time she considered pleasing
other people her first responsibility and pleasing herself a distant second.
But Zach Tyler had pegged her as a spoiled, stubborn, selfish city girl. They
really had nothing else to talk about. So why wasn't she moving? And why wasn't
he?

She looked into his eyes to find him staring back at
her with a look too personal, too direct, for two strangers. "I should go."

"You should," he said obliquely.

"I mean into the hotel."

"Right."

But neither one of them moved, and the air between
them sizzled. She'd never felt anything like it. This rough-edged cowboy had
somehow gotten under her skin.

"You're wrong about me," she said abruptly,
crossing her arms protectively in front of her. "I'm not who you think I
am."

"You don't know what I think."

"You don't like me."

His lips curved into a wry smile. "Not liking you
is not the problem and you know it."

A shiver shot down her spine. "I just came here
to find my father, Zach. I'm not interested in—anything else."

"I don't recall offering you anything else."

She licked her lips. "I'll say good night then."

"Good night."

She started to move toward the hotel, when he caught
her by the arm once more. This time there was no anger to blur the heat of his
touch, the strength of the connection.

"Zach?" she asked, not sure what she wanted
him to say.

"J.T. Baker runs the Pederson Stud Farm," he
said abruptly. "It's about ten miles east of town. Ask at the hotel and
they'll give you directions. His wife, Mary Jo, is a nice woman, kinder than
most. I can't say the same for J.T."

"Why?"

"I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

"Thanks for the tip."

"If J.T.'s your father, I don't think you'll be
thanking me."

"Maybe he's not," she said, suddenly
realizing the search for her father might produce a man she didn't particularly
want to call Dad. Funny, but the idea had never occurred to her until just this
minute.

Zach smiled. "It finally sunk in, didn't it?"