Must Love Cowboys (18 page)

“That's good.” I wasn't surprised. Until that first brush with death, most people didn't think too much about dying. Fortunately, Mom had seen the need for that sort of planning with Grandpa long before I did.

“We'll have to break the news to him at some point. Might be best if we play that by ear.”

“I guess so. Although I should probably tell him we read his letters before one of the guys lets it slip.” I was already wishing I hadn't promised to sit down for a chat with Calvin before dinner. Considering those letters had been sent to my grandfather, I was the one who needed to confess. Then again, Grandpa had never said I shouldn't read them. He'd only asked me to give them to Calvin along with his medals.

Hmm…

Then there was that old adage that you might as well tell the truth because people were bound to discover your secrets anyway.

I finished up in the kitchen and headed into the mess hall where Calvin was watching CNN.

He glanced up when I came in and muted the sound. “Hey, Tina.”

I took a seat in the chair across from him. “You look comfy.”

“I'm a whole lot more comfortable here than I was in that hospital,” he declared. “They were real good to me, but I'm happy to be home.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “The guys will be glad to see you. They've been pretty worried.”

His eyes misted slightly. “They're a good bunch.”

I certainly couldn't argue with that. In a very short time, they'd not only grown on me, they had nearly cured my shyness. “Yes, they are.” Resting my hands on my knees, I leaned forward. “While you were in the hospital, Angela asked us to try to locate your family. The guys helped me read through the letters you sent to Grandpa in the hope that we might find some names.”

He reacted with a disgusted snort. “Like anyone would care. Besides, I'd much rather have Angela or Dusty making decisions for me than someone I haven't seen or spoken to in years.”

“Then you need to write that down and make it perfectly clear what your wishes are. Don't leave any room for guesswork.” I started to quote all the things Mom and I had done with respect to Grandpa's affairs, but I doubted I would need to.

He nodded. “I told Angela I would. I've already caused her enough worry.”

One obstacle left to overcome…
“We did find out a few things about your family—some I think you should know.”

“Go on.” His tone was casual—even disinterested—but I caught a glimpse of curiosity in his eyes.

“Once we figured out your sister's name, I ran a search to see if we could contact her.”

He snorted again but didn't comment.

“We found several things—the record of her marriage to Franklin Caruthers, newspaper articles about charity work she'd done, stuff like that. In the process, we ran across her husband's obituary.” I paused, letting that sink in. “And then we found hers. She died this past January.”

A slight frown was the only visible indication he'd even heard me. “S'pose I could've expected that. She was a good bit older than me. Would've turned seventy-four this year.”

“She was your only relative?”

He nodded. “Far as I know, she was—'cept for that grandson that got taken away from her.” Arching a brow, he added, “But I guess you read about that in my letters.”

“Yeah. Sorry for invading your privacy, Calvin. But those letters were all we had to go on. Under the circumstances, we felt it was justified.”

Smiling, he leaned forward and patted my arm. “I'm not fussin' at you, Tina. I know how much pain it probably caused you to read them.”

“No kidding, although reading them helped me understand a few things about Grandpa.” I sat up straighter, shaking off the tendrils of melancholy that threatened to bind my lips together. “There's one other thing I ought to tell you. In Jeannine's obituary, you weren't listed as one of her survivors. It made me wonder if the Jeannine Caruthers we found really wasn't your sister after all.”

“Married to Franklin Caruthers, the oil baron, or whatever they call themselves these days?” He nodded. “Yeah. That's Jeannine, all right.”

“Seems pretty tacky not to even mention you.”

His indifferent shrug suggested the initial pain, if any, had already worn off. “Maybe whoever wrote the obituary didn't know she had a brother. To be honest, I'm not too surprised.” A fleeting frown furrowed his brow. “I'd like to take a look at it, though. Just to be sure.”

“No problem.” I rose from my chair. “I'll get my computer and be right back.”

Rushing into my room, I unplugged the laptop with trembling fingers. I shouldn't have been nervous about any of this—after all, it was nothing to do with me—and yet I was. Returning to the mess hall, I set the computer on the coffee table and clicked the bookmark.

“Here,” I said, turning the screen toward him. “The only survivors mentioned are from the Caruthers side.”

He studied it carefully. “Yep. Every last one is a Caruthers. 'Course, without knowing that grandson's name and ignoring me for most of her life, there aren't any others she could've listed.”

“No cousins or anything?”

“I'm sure there are some, but none we ever knew. As I recall, my mother had a brother who lived somewhere back east with the rest of her family. I never saw any of them, and my dad was an orphan.”

I reminded myself once again that not all families were alike, and that family ties could sometimes be more irksome than comforting. Some were downright dangerous. Spotting a link to an online guestbook, I clicked on it, without giving a thought to whether Calvin would want to add anything to it or not.

As soon as the page loaded, my jaw dropped—and not only because of the vast number of entries in the book. At the top of the page in bold red lettering was a request for Calvin Joseph Douglas to please contact the legal firm of Jamison and Markovitch. There was even a hyperlink.

A glance at Calvin proved he was as astonished as I was. “Interesting,” he said after a few moments' scrutiny. “Wonder what they want me for?”

“No telling. What I can't figure is why this would be on the guestbook when there was no mention of you in the obituary. Do you…” I hesitated, unsure how to put it. “Do you think the reason you weren't mentioned in the obituary was because no one knew you existed until after her will was read?”

This time,
his
jaw dropped. “What? You think she actually left me something?”

“Kinda seems that way, doesn't it? After all, you
are
her nearest living blood relative. And she was a very rich woman.”

“But we haven't spoken in years,” Calvin protested.

I shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to reconcile but didn't know how to contact you. She could've stipulated in her will that you needed to be found.”

“Seems like she could've done that before she died, doesn't it?”

“Maybe she tried and couldn't find you—or died before she had the chance. I found you in a White Pages search without any trouble, but I had a recent address to begin with. She wouldn't even have known which state you were living in.”

“I'll grant you that,” he said. “I never told anyone where I was headed when I came here, except your grandpa. Far as I was concerned, he was the only one who needed to know.”

No wonder they'd kept in touch. “If you were one of Jeannine's beneficiaries and she'd left a record of your address, the executor of her estate would've sent you a letter when she died.” I'd had some recent experience with wills and such, my current whereabouts being the result of another document in which Calvin had been named. “That is,
if
she named you as a beneficiary. If so, I can't believe this is all they've done to try to find you. I mean, what are the odds you would ever see this?”

“Not very good,” he agreed. “'Specially since I didn't even know she died.”

“There's one way to get all the answers.” I slid the mouse pointer over the hyperlink. “All we have to do is email her lawyers.”

I might've been dying of curiosity, but Calvin didn't seem particularly interested. He leaned back in his chair, looking a bit more haggard than he had earlier. “Let me think about it for a while.”

Given his current state of health, I didn't want to push it. After copying the law firm's web address, I closed the computer. “No problem. I bookmarked the page. We can go back to it anytime.”

God only knew what Jeannine might have left Calvin, although I seriously doubted it would have been her entire fortune. Her husband had children and grandchildren from his previous marriage, which meant she would only have the portion she received after his death. Still, even that could've been pretty substantial unless there was a really stringent prenuptial agreement in place.

I couldn't wait to hear Wyatt's take on the matter.

“Guess I'd better get back to the kitchen.” I picked up my computer and nodded at the television. “See anything interesting on the news?”

“No,” he replied. “Nothing good, anyway.”

No news is good news.
There was a boatload of truth in that. Happy times and status quo had never been newsworthy. Unfortunately, reporters rarely had to look very hard to find something to talk about, even on a peaceful ranch in Wyoming.

I paused in the doorway. “Ever make Yorkshire pudding to go with the roast beef?”

“Might have,” he replied, grinning. “That is, if I knew what it was.”

“It'll be a surprise.” Never having made enough for a bunkhouse full of cowboys, I figured I might even surprise myself if it turned out okay.

I knew the recipe by heart, but mentally doubling the quantities as I headed back to my room was a bit of an eye-opener. At least I knew there were enough pans and sufficient oven space in which to bake such a huge amount.

I had the second batch in the blender when the door swung open and Wyatt stepped inside. One glimpse of his tall figure—hat, boots, chaps, and all—had my uterus twisting into a tight knot that suddenly burst, flooding my senses with a shot of nirvana that doubled me over.

A spontaneous orgasm? Was there really such a thing?

I had no idea, but any man whose mere presence could do that to a woman was a force to be reckoned with. Dean had certainly never had that effect on me. No wonder Wyatt had made me so nervous in the beginning. How on earth had I ever kept from throwing myself into his arms?

However, instead of being pleased to the point of cockiness, he seemed concerned. “You okay, babe?”

Not wishing to give him any more power over me than he already had, I gasped out the first word that popped into my head. “Cramps.”

Under the circumstances, it might have actually been true. But if I'd ever had a cramp like that one, my monthly period would've been something to look forward to rather than grudgingly endure.

A moment later his hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me upright and into his arms. The kiss that followed turned me to mush and would have relaxed any internal spasms my uterus could dish out short of labor pains. I was floating, drifting on a cloud—until I realized my feet truly had left the floor.

“Been waitin' all day to do that,” he said as he set me back on my feet.

His voice sounded rough, almost desperate. Was he really as anxious to see me and make love with me as I was to be with him? It seemed impossible. I'd had enough to keep me busy for most of the day, but during the drive to Rock Springs, he'd been on my mind constantly.

“Me too.”

He kissed me again, then leaned forward, touching his forehead to mine. “Cramps, huh? Does that mean I can't, um, see you tonight?”

His disappointment was transparent, but thanks to the sexy novels I'd read, I knew all sorts of things a woman could do to a man without actually having intercourse. I aimed what I hoped was a beguiling smile at him and nodded. “Unless you're out chasing bad guys all night.”

“Don't plan to be, but you never know.” He seemed to hesitate, shifting his weight from one booted foot to the other. “If it wasn't for bad guys, we might not have had any reason to get together.”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. What did he mean by that? Was he thinking the passion had only sparked between us because of all the mystery and intrigue? Maybe. To be honest, I'd wondered about that myself—what with the whole heat-of-the-moment thing and all.

I opted to play it cool. For once. “I'm sure we would've found an excuse eventually.” I followed that up with a wink. “Can't fight fate, you know.”

His posture relaxed slightly. “Is that what you think this is? We're fulfilling our destiny or something?”

“Could be,” I replied. “Either way, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

There. I'd said it. I was leaving myself wide open to whatever happened between us—and I hoped it wouldn't end anytime soon.

A glimmer of a smile enhanced his slow nod. “Me neither.”

He drew in a breath as though about to make an additional comment, but seemed to think better of it, stopping before his mouth formed the first word. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he leaned closer and kissed me again, momentarily disrupting my train of thought and eliminating anything else I might have said.

My lips tingled and my heart was still doing flip-flops as he turned and sauntered from the room.

It didn't take a mind reader to know there was something he wasn't telling me—or at least didn't
want
to tell me—and he certainly knew the best way to keep me from plaguing him with questions. Those kisses of his were enough to silence a magpie. Still, I couldn't help wondering whether his secret had some bearing on his decision to give up firefighting to become a cowboy.

Maybe.

Probably.

Oh, bloody hell…
I didn't have the first clue as to what went on in his head. Men might claim their thoughts were simple and straightforward, but I knew better. They could twist events and react to them in even more bizarre ways than women did. Wyatt would tell me what the problem was at some point. Until then, I would simply have to wait. Whatever happened, I had no intention of holding that lack of communication against him. Considering our first meeting, it was a wonder we'd come this far.

I finished fixing dinner with the scent of Wyatt McCabe filling my head, which might have been responsible for the enormous salad I threw together. I preferred to chalk it up to Calvin's return, especially since I wound up making a broccoli and cheese casserole in addition to the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. After all, it wasn't every day a guy got out of the hospital after nearly dying. He needed at least one option that didn't contain enough fat and cholesterol to give him another heart attack.

With a sigh, I realized the days of cooking without regard to anyone's health were over. From now on it was back to the heart-healthy diet I probably should've been serving up from the start. No more pie and cookies for dessert. No more baked potatoes with butter and sour cream. I drew the line at eliminating red meat—not that I could've gotten away with that on a cattle ranch—but the other restrictions would take a lot of the fun out of the job. I wondered how many accolades I would receive for serving up sugar-free Jell-O for dessert instead of peach pie.

Maybe if I made Jigglers…

I reminded myself that when it came to heart disease, Calvin's smoking habit was probably his most significant risk factor. Now that he'd quit, his next hurdle would be to avoid gaining weight, although as skinny as he was, I doubted it would be a problem, at least not at first. Maybe the sugar-free Jell-O could wait for a bit.

I was mulling over recipes with “healthy” ingredients when the guys came in to get the plates.

The pudding came out perfectly—puffy, buttery, and lightly browned—and I carried the first dish into the mess hall with pride, leaving Nick to follow with the second batch.

Mr. Kincaid peered at it with interest as we set the pans on the table. “What the devil is that?”

I glanced at Calvin, who had probably guessed what it was from our earlier exchange. However, it was Wyatt who spoke.

“Yorkshire pudding,” he said with a touch of nostalgic fervor. “Haven't had that since I was a kid.” He stole a peek inside the ceramic pitcher sitting next to the platter of roast beef. “I see you made plenty of gravy to go with it.”

“You betcha.” I smiled, absurdly pleased that Wyatt had been the one to correctly identify one of my favorite, if somewhat obscure, side dishes. A flush rose in my cheeks before drifting downward to create a warm, cozy sensation around my heart. At one time, I wouldn't have dared look such a man in the eye, but I was able to do it now, further enhancing the connection between us. Unlike the intimidating glare I knew him to be capable of, his gaze was gentle and inviting, combining with a smile so genuine, they stole my breath and comforted me at the same time.

I could almost feel myself falling in love with him, and I didn't want to look away. Didn't want to break the spell…

“Have a seat, Tina,” Bull urged. “I gotta try that stuff.”

The spell might have been broken, but there was an empty chair beside Wyatt. I wondered if he'd saved it for me.

The pressure of his hand on my knee as I sat down told me he had done just that. The cozy feeling intensified to the point I was surprised Bull didn't remark on what was surely a visible change in my aura. Fortunately, his eyes were aimed at the food rather than at me.

“Pudding, huh?” Sonny said with a dubious frown. “Doesn't
look
like pudding.”

“It's more of a bread, actually,” I said. “You make it with eggs, flour, and milk like a pudding, only it isn't sweet.”

“It's British,” Wyatt said, as if that explained everything, and perhaps it did. “Trust me, you'll like it.”

Mr. Kincaid gave an official welcome-home speech for Calvin's benefit, and after that, we dug into dinner like the celebration it was. Sonny declared it the best meal he ever ate in his life. I doubted Calvin appreciated that sentiment, but he didn't fuss about it. For once, Bull didn't say much of anything, being too busy making the last of the pudding and peach pie disappear.

The warm fuzzies persisted throughout the meal, becoming even more pronounced when Wyatt followed me into the kitchen to help with the dishes. The whole evening had a happily-ever-after vibe to it. I could actually see myself living here with these men for the rest of my life—especially Wyatt. I cautioned myself that I was thinking such thoughts much too soon. This entire episode might simply turn out to be the one bright spot in my otherwise humdrum existence that I would look back on with fondness in my later years. I might fall in love with Wyatt only to have something horrible happen to him.

My, how optimistic.

I reminded myself that I often engaged in tragic fantasies during that particular phase of my menstrual cycle. I'd learned to see it for what it was and put a lid on it, but I wasn't always successful.

“Calvin looks pretty good,” Wyatt said, interrupting my morbid ruminations. “Did you tell him about us reading his letters?”

“Yeah. Figured it was best to come clean. I told him about his sister dying too.”

“How did he take the news?”

“Pretty well, I think. He didn't know she'd died, which made me wonder if maybe she wasn't the right Jeannine Caruthers.” I set a stack of plates in the sink, then turned to face him. “I showed him the obituary. He said the woman we found was definitely his sister, but we stumbled on something else—something that puts a completely different spin on several things.”

“Sounds interesting. What is it?”

Someday I would get used to Wyatt's uniquely shaped eyebrows, but for the moment, I was still fascinated by them, especially when arched in surprise. I shook my head. “I'd rather show you. I want to get your gut reaction.”

“I'm
really
curious now.”

I glanced at the sink. “Come on, then. This won't take long, and the dishes could stand to soak for a bit.”

I led the way to my room and logged on to my laptop. I'd left the browser open on the guestbook page, and it only took Wyatt a few moments to scan the contents.

“Definitely interesting,” he said. “Although I can't imagine why anyone would ever think he would see this.”