Always a McBride (4 page)

Over the years, he'd lost track of the number of times he'd contemplated that meeting, but as he undressed and climbed into the big, old-fashioned poster bed that dominated the room, he found he couldn't concentrate on the old, familiar image as he usually did. The quiet stillness of the house surrounded him, and through the open
window, a gentle breeze stirred the night air with a freshness that reminded him all too clearly that he wasn't in San Diego anymore. Just that easily, he found himself appreciating the line-dried sheets—and thinking of Phoebe Chandler.

He could still smell the scent of her shampoo.

Irritated that he'd even noticed, he swore softly in the darkness. What the devil was wrong with him? He was on a mission and it had nothing to do with an innkeeper's granddaughter. Granted, she had a natural beauty that had caught him off guard, but she wasn't his type. He liked his women sophisticated and worldly, and from what he'd seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. Not that it mattered. He didn't have time for women right now. The only thing he was interested in was finding his father…and making him pay.

Satisfied that he had his priorities straight, he deliberately put her from his thoughts and concentrated instead on what he was going to say to Joe and Zeke McBride when he approached them about Gus. He generally didn't like to plan things too much—he worked better when he went with his instincts. Tracking down Gus McBride, however, was too important to leave to chance.

So, just as he did when he was working on an important trial, he tried to work out every possible contingency. Normally, he could have worked well into the night on a case without ever growing sleepy, but it had been a long, emotional day and evening. He yawned…and felt himself losing ground. With a sigh, he gave up the fight and let himself drift toward sleep.

His last thought should have been about his father. Instead, a whisper of the night breezes drifted in through
the open window, teasing him with a sweet, faint scent that reminded him inexplicably of
her.
Like it or not, she was his last thought before he fell asleep.

 

When Phoebe came downstairs the next morning, dawn was still nearly an hour away. It was her favorite time of the day. There were no telemarketers calling on the phone, no TVs or radios blaring, no trucks shifting gears as they made their way down Main Street. Quiet echoed like a sigh, and for a while, at least, Phoebe could almost believe she was the only one in town awake. She loved it.

Unfortunately, this time she had to herself couldn't last. Although her guest hadn't told her what time he would like breakfast, she had a feeling he was an early riser. She'd be lucky if she had another two hours to herself. She planned to enjoy it before she had to deal with Mr. Personality.

A grin tugged at her lips at the unexpected nickname her psyche had come up with for Taylor Bishop. She didn't mean to be mean. After all, she didn't even know him. Like everyone, he was bound to have some good qualities. And she had to admit, he was an incredibly good-looking man. Looks, however, weren't everything. She'd never met anyone who could push her buttons so easily. And he planned to stay the entire time her grandmother was gone!

If he'd been anything other than a writer, she might have been groaning at the thought. But she doubted that she would see much of him. If he wasn't off somewhere doing research, he would, in all likelihood, be holed up in his room writing. If she was lucky, the only time she'd have to deal with him was at breakfast. And once
the other guests arrived, she'd spend most of her mornings in the kitchen.

The cooking, more than anything else, was what she was really looking forward to. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, and as she stepped to the pantry to pull out her baking supplies, she could already taste the Virginia ham, apple strudel, and hot, homemade croissants that were planned for part of the morning menu. Mr. Personality hadn't blinked twice when she'd showed him to his room. She'd like to see similar restraint when he sat down to breakfast. If he was expecting ordinary bacon and eggs, he was in for a surprise.

Grinning at the thought, she'd just stepped out of the pantry, her arms laden with ingredients, when she thought she heard a cry in the predawn quiet. Surprised, she stopped in her tracks, listening. Then she heard it again.

“Oh, my God!” she said softly, “that sounds like puppies!”

Hurriedly dumping her supplies on the kitchen table, she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer by the refrigerator, then quickly unlocked the back door and rushed outside just as what sounded like an entire litter of puppies started to whimper and howl from under the porch.

The hems of her nightgown and robe trailing behind her, she flew down the steps, only to laugh when she peered under the porch and found six lab-mix puppies staring up at her warily. “Oh, poor babies! Are you hungry? Where's your mama?”

For an answer she got wagging tails, puppy grins and a couple of brave woofs. Just that easily, they stole her heart. Murmuring soothingly, she held out her hand to them. “It's okay. I won't hurt you. I'm just going to
take you inside and find you something to eat. C'mon, that's it. Oh, aren't you sweet!”

Hungry and lonely, they cautiously came out from under the porch, and within seconds, little tails were wagging in greeting. Laughing, she scooped them all up and carried them inside.

 

His head buried under a pillow, Taylor came awake to the sound of yapping puppies and a woman's delighted laughter floating on the morning air. Disoriented and still half asleep, he found himself fascinated by the sweetness of the sound. Had someone new moved in next door? he wondered sleepily. She had a laugh like an angel. Who was she? He hadn't seen anyone new….

She laughed again, but this time, the fog of sleep clouding Taylor's brain parted and images of last night came rushing back. The wreck, Liberty Hill, Phoebe Chandler.
She
was the one downstairs, the one laughing, the one who fascinated him.

He swore softly, unable to believe he was thinking of her again. He kept waking up during the night because of her—every time he'd closed his eyes, all he could see was Phoebe, standing in the light of the entry hall in her old-fashioned gown and robe, her hair flowing around her shoulders as she opened the door to him. And now here she was, back again, walking out of his dreams into his waking thoughts.

And it was damn irritating! he thought, scowling. He didn't have time to lie around thinking about the old-fashioned lady downstairs. He had work to do. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed his clothes and stepped across the hall to the bathroom. Once he had a shower, he'd get on the phone, order a rental car from Colorado Springs, then get to work finding his father.

Ten minutes later, when he headed downstairs, he was all business. He'd ordered the rental car and decided to start his search for his father by paying a visit to the two McBrides listed in the phone book. No addresses were listed but he didn't expect that to be a problem. He'd call both McBrides at nine, and if he couldn't track them down, he'd walk over to the sheriff's office and see if he knew the McBrides. Surely in a town the size of Liberty Hill, the sheriff had to know just about everyone.

His thoughts on what he would say to the McBrides when he finally found them, he had no intention of eating breakfast. The scent of baking apples and cinnamon was incredible, but he intended to skip the traditionally elaborate meal that came with the cost of his room. He just didn't have time.

Considering that, he should have headed for the front door the second he reached the bottom of the stairs. But in the kitchen, Phoebe laughed softly and murmured something he couldn't quite catch, and with no conscious decision on his part, he found himself following the sound of her voice.

She was dressed as she had been last night, in the soft, flowing gown and robe that had made his sleep so restless, and for a moment, he cynically wondered if the lady always cooked breakfast in her nightclothes or if she had just done so this morning for his benefit. Then he realized she didn't even know he was watching, and he felt like an idiot.

All her attention was focused on the puppies, who were climbing all over each other, tumbling into her lap, their little tails wagging happily as they tried to get to her. Squirming and wiggling, they licked her on the
face, making her giggle, and for the first time since his mother had died, Taylor found himself fighting a smile.

No woman had a right to look so pretty in the morning. She'd piled her hair up off her neck with a clip, but other than that, she'd done little to make herself beautiful. Her face was free of makeup, and she hadn't even bothered with shoes. From where he stood, Taylor could see her bare toes peeking out from under her gown and robe. Her nails were painted with a delicate pink polish, matching the natural blush of her cheeks, and with no effort at all, he could see her sitting in the old-fashioned bathroom, her foot propped against the clawfoot tub as she painted her toenails by candlelight.

A cynical man, Taylor readily admitted that he liked women who were sophisticated and politically well connected. From what he'd seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. He shouldn't have found her the least bit appealing. But he couldn't take his eyes off her. As he watched, she picked up each puppy, kissed it on the nose, and placed it in the cardboard box she'd used to make them a bed. With a will of their own, his eyes lingered on the curve of her mouth. Would her lips taste as soft as they looked?

Caught off guard by the direction of his thoughts, he would have sworn that he didn't make a sound, but suddenly, Phoebe glanced up and found him standing in the doorway. Not the least bit self-conscious, she smiled. “Good morning. I'm sorry I'm not dressed yet. I had a few unexpected guests under the back porch this morning. I hope they didn't wake you.”

“I'm an early riser,” he said gruffly. Nodding at the puppies, he said, “Where's the mama?”

“I don't know,” she said with a shrug as she gave the last puppy a kiss and placed it in the box before
rising to her feet. “I'm afraid she's abandoned them. There was no sign of her, so I called Merry McBride. She'll be by later to pick them up.”

Surprised, Taylor couldn't believe his luck. When he'd taken the room last night and learned this woman was handling the bed and breakfast for her grandmother, he'd never dreamed she would know a McBride. “Who's she? Does she own the local animal shelter or what?”

“Actually, she's the vet,” she replied. “She'll take care of the puppies and find them good homes.”

Taylor opened his mouth to grill her about what she knew about the McBrides, only to remember just in time that he was supposed to be a writer, not a lawyer. He could ask as many questions as he wanted—he just couldn't cross-examine her as if she was on the witness stand.

So with a casualness he was far from feeling, he frowned and said, “McBride…that name sounds familiar. Is her husband a rancher in the area?”

Phoebe laughed. “McBride is her maiden name. Her husband's Nick Kincaid, the sheriff. Her family ranches, though. In fact, there's been a McBride ranching in Liberty Hill for over a hundred years. You definitely need to talk to them for your book.”

Stunned, Taylor couldn't believe she'd given him so much information so quickly. Were the McBrides she spoke of his father's family? His mother had said his father was a cowboy. How was he related to Merry, the vet? And how did Phoebe Chandler know so much about the family?

Curious, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and asked her just that. “How do you know the McBrides? Are you friends with them or what?”

She smiled. “I've known them all my life. My grandmother and Sara McBride are best friends.”

“And Sara McBride is…”

“Merry's mother. She and Myrtle have known each other forever. They were in first grade together, went to college together, and were in each other's weddings. I can't think of any major event in my grandmother's life that Sara wasn't there for. They're like sisters.”

“So what about Mr. McBride? What's his name?”

“Gus.”

She said his father's name so casually and didn't have a clue what she'd given him, Taylor thought. He'd found the son of a bitch! And he hadn't even been in Liberty Hill an hour. Never in a million years had he dreamed finding his father would be this easy. Now he just needed his address.

He couldn't, however, come right out and demand it, not without raising Phoebe Chandler's eyebrows. So he swore silently, clamped a lid on the anger that always boiled in him whenever he thought of Gus McBride, and reminded himself that he had a role to play. “If Sara's your grandmother's age, Gus must be getting up there in age, too. Is he still ranching? Or don't ranchers retire? What's his story?”

Surprised, she blinked. “Gus? Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? He died years ago.”

S
tunned, Taylor stood as if turned to stone. Gus was dead? He couldn't be, not now that he was so close to finding the jackass. God couldn't be so cruel.

But even as he tried to convince himself that Phoebe had to be mistaken, he only had to look at her face to know that there was no question she was telling the truth. She knew the McBrides. She had no reason to lie.

And that's when it hit him. There would be no revenge; Gus wouldn't have to account for his misdeeds. The bastard had used his mother, then walked away from her, leaving her pregnant and alone, with nothing but years of hardship and poverty ahead of her. And what punishment had he received for that? A life of wealth and privilege on one of the largest ranches in the area, a wife and children who'd never known what a skunk he was, happiness.

Bitterness coiled like a snake in Taylor's stomach. It just wasn't fair, dammit! He didn't care for himself so
much, but for his mother. She'd come from a well-to-do family who'd lived by high standards. When she'd gotten pregnant without the benefit of a wedding ring on her finger, they'd shunned her, thrown her out, shut the door in her face. She'd never seen her parents again, never had any contact with her family at all. All because of Gus McBride.

“What do you mean…he died years ago?” he asked harshly. “When? Five years ago? Ten? He must have been a young man!”

“Oh, he was,” Phoebe assured him. “If I remember correctly, it seems like Joe had just graduated from high school, so Gus was probably in his mid forties—I was just a kid at the time, so I don't really remember the particulars, except that he had a heart attack. It was a shock to everyone. He just dropped dead out on the ranch one day.

“The whole family was devastated, especially poor Sara,” she continued. “She was devoted to Gus—from what I remember, they had a wonderful relationship. No one thought she would ever marry again, but I guess time really does heal all wounds. She and Dr. Michaels had been friends for years when they suddenly realized they were in love. They're in Mexico right now on their honeymoon.” Smiling fondly, she said, “They had a wonderful wedding. The whole town turned out for it.”

Taylor almost told her he couldn't have cared less about Sara McBride or her wedding. She was the woman his father had left his mother for, and for no other reason than that, he wanted nothing to do with her. Phoebe Chandler would no doubt be horrified by that, but dammit, the truth of the matter was, his mother's life would have been a hell of a lot happier if
it hadn't been for Sara. Considering that, who could blame him for disliking her, sight unseen?

He thought, however, that he was hiding his hostility well. He wasn't. Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his expression because Phoebe's smile suddenly faded, and her eyes searched his. “What is it?” she asked, frowning. “What's wrong?”

Wrong? he wanted to growl. What
wasn't
wrong? When he'd taken a leave of absence from the firm to track down his old man, everything had seemed so simple. Unfortunately, the joke was on him. Gus was dead, and that was that.

Angry, bitter, his plans all shot to hell, he had to get away, had to think. “Nothing,” he lied. “I just realized that I left my notes at home, and I need them for the book.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Is there someone you can call to send them to you?”

“No,” he replied shortly. “I'll just have to redo the research. Is there a library around here? I can probably get what I need from the local history books.”

There was no research, of course, no work he had to do except figure out where he went from here. Phoebe, however, accepted his story without so much as a blink. “It's down the street on the right,” she said. “Across from the post office. You can't miss it. It's in the only redbrick building on Main Street.”

Gruffly thanking her for her help, he turned to leave, but he'd only taken two steps when she cried out, “Wait! What about breakfast? I can have it ready in ten minutes.”

“Save it,” he growled. “I'm not hungry.”

He was gone before she could stop him, leaving her staring after him with her mouth hanging open. That
was it? He wasn't hungry? After she'd gotten up before the crack of dawn to cook breakfast for him? He couldn't be serious!

But the front door slammed behind him, and just that quickly, she was alone. Glancing at the apple strudel, Virginia ham and croissants she'd already made for breakfast, Phoebe didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Why, out of all the people she could have had for her first guest, had Taylor Bishop landed on her doorstep? Did the man know there was a reason the inn was classified a bed and breakfast? Breakfast was included with the cost of the room! What was she going to do with all this food?

 

It was a beautiful summer morning, cool and clear, and under other circumstances, Taylor would have enjoyed a brisk walk. But as he strode quickly down the street toward the library, every step he took echoed the anger seething inside him. Damn Gus McBride! For as long as Taylor could remember, he'd hated the faceless, nameless man who hadn't been there for him as other fathers were for their sons. He'd only wanted the answer to one question—Why?—and now he wasn't even going to get that. Because Gus McBride was dead and had been for a long time.

And that, more than anything, was what infuriated him the most. For years, he'd resented a man who was already dead, and he hadn't even known it. He felt like a fool. Somehow, he should have known, dammit. But not even his mother had guessed that Gus McBride was dead. If she had, she would have been devastated, and for the life of him, Gus didn't know why. The man had never loved her or he wouldn't have walked away from her. As far as Taylor was concerned, the jackass hadn't
respected her, either, or he wouldn't have had sex with her without protecting her.

He should have had to answer for that, if nothing else, Taylor thought grimly. It was no more than he deserved. But, no! In this, too, he'd somehow managed to escape the repercussions of his behavior. Taylor knew he was being unreasonable—Gus hadn't died deliberately so he wouldn't have to face his illegitimate son—but that's what it felt like. And it infuriated him that Gus had that much control over his emotions, that this man that he had resented for as long as he could remember could tie him in knots from the grave and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

What the hell was he going to do now?

Fuming, unsure what his next move would be, he almost walked right past the library. There was, he thought grimly, no longer any reason to keep up the charade that he was a writer. He might as well go back to the Mountain View Inn, pack his bags, and head back to San Diego. There was nothing he could do here.

But instead of returning to the inn, he found himself walking up the front steps to the library, after all. This was, he thought bitterly, his one and only chance to find out everything he could about Gus McBride and try to understand what his mother had possibly seen in such a worthless man. Then he planned to go home and forget the man he should have grown up calling Dad ever existed.

His chiseled face set in grim lines, he stepped inside the library and wasn't surprised to find it practically deserted. After all, it wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning. An old woman sat at a desk in the genealogy area, obviously working on a family tree, and a thin man with bottle-thick glasses was comfortably en
sconced in an old leather chair in the periodical section, reading the Denver paper. Other than the librarian, who was busy dusting the shelves, they had the place to themselves.

Which was just the way he wanted it, Taylor thought as he found the local history section and the newspaper archives. He wanted to be left in peace to satisfy his curiosity about Gus, then he was getting the hell out of Liberty Hill.

Deciding to start with the end of his father's life and work backwards, he pulled out the newspaper archives and began searching for his obituary. A computer would have made the job go much faster, but the Liberty Hill library was obviously caught in a time warp. There wasn't a computer anywhere in sight.

Not that that was a problem, he soon discovered. Even though Gus had died years ago, searching for his obituary wasn't nearly as difficult as it would have been in a city. Liberty Hill was a small community, and there were only a few deaths recorded in the local paper each week. Finding the obits from twenty years ago only took a matter of minutes.

GUS MCBRIDE DIES!

The all-cap headlines of the obituary seemed to jump right off the page and slap him in the face. Taylor stiffened, and just that easily, found himself reading about his father's life.

Later, Taylor couldn't have said how long he sat at one of the library's time-worn oak tables, staring at his father's faded obituary, before the words finally sank in. Phoebe had, without being aware of it, already informed him he had a sister. Now, it turned out, he had another sister and two brothers. When he'd planned the trip to Liberty Hill to search for his father, he'd known, of course, that there was a good possibility that he had a couple of half brothers or sisters walking around Colorado that he knew nothing about. He'd never dreamed there were four of them.

And he felt nothing. Nothing but resentment.

If his mother had been alive, she would have been less than pleased with him. In spite of the fact that she'd been disowned by her own parents, she'd valued family and had always regretted the fact that she couldn't give that to him. Although she'd never discussed the matter with him, he knew she would have wanted him to give his father's other children a chance if they showed an interest in developing a relationship with him.

It wasn't going to happen.

At the thought, he could almost hear his mother clicking her tongue at him in disapproval. But it took more than blood to make a family. The
legitimate
children of Gus McBride had been raised on the family ranch.
They
had grown up with all the rights and privileges of a McBride. They knew who their father was, their grandfather, where the family came from, where they, themselves would live and die. Hell, they even knew where they would be buried!

And what had been his birthright? Because of Gus McBride, he hadn't had a father, hadn't had grandparents—on either side! When he was little, there'd been no father to chase away the boogeyman in the closet when he had bad dreams, no dad to teach him to fish or hunt or the million and one other things a good father taught his children.

His mother had tried to step up and fill the roll of both parents, and he had to give her credit. She'd done a damn good job. But she couldn't do it all. She was a woman, and there were times when she had to deal with her own fears. She'd needed a man, a husband, to protect her, just as he'd needed a father. They'd had neither.

Because Gus McBride had been halfway across the country, protecting his
real
family.

And Taylor would bet money that Zeke, Merry, Joe and Jane weren't scared at night when they were growing up. They hadn't worried about the bills or having enough money for new clothes for school each year. They didn't hate the neighborhood they had to live in. They'd grown up in the Colorado Rockies, for heaven's sake, on a ranch that was started by some of the first
settlers in the area. That alone was like growing up in a national park.

Did they know how lucky they were? Growing up, they'd had it all. Taylor wouldn't have been surprised if they'd thought their daddy was a saint. He wasn't. Unfortunately, they'd never know that.

Unless he told them.

Deep down inside the very core of him, a voice reminded him that he wasn't the kind of man—or lawyer—who hurt innocent people. Normally, he would have agreed, but the bitterness that rose in him every time he thought about Gus McBride drowned out his common decency. All he could think of was that it wasn't fair that his father had escaped the consequences of his actions by dying. The truth had to be told.

And he was just the person to tell it, he thought grimly. The only problem was, it wasn't just Gus's children who needed to be told the truth about him. He wanted Sara to know. She was the one Gus had left his mother for. She was the reason he'd grown up without a father. If it hadn't been for her, his mother would probably have contacted Gus as soon as she found out she was pregnant. She'd loved him. Because of Sara, she'd spent the rest of her life without him.

Nothing he could do now could change that or the heartache his mother had suffered. He still intended to tell Sara just what kind of man her deceased husband was, if for no other reason than it was time the truth came out. The only problem was…she was on her honeymoon and he didn't know when she was coming back. It didn't matter, he decided. He could wait.

 

“Oh, Phoebe, they're adorable!” Merry McBride Kincaid cooed as she cuddled one of the puppies that
had showed up under Myrtle's back porch earlier that morning. “Are you sure you don't want to keep one? It seems like fate that they ended up here, almost as if they're supposed to belong to you. Maybe you should reconsider.”