“You’re an old man,” Tyler said quietly, “and I’d hate to hurt you but so help me, you put a hand on me again and you’ll regret it.”
Jonas stared into Tyler’s eyes. A shudder seemed to ripple through his body and then he gave a curt nod.
“My wife would never forgive me if we bloodied up her precious rug.” He folded his arms and smiled, the very picture of a man in control of himself and everything around him. “If you have a point to make, get to it.”
Tyler lifted his glass to his lips, drank off the last of the bourbon. It went down his throat smoothly, just as silken in taste as Jonas Baron had promised, but it did nothing to ease the knot in his gut. He’d lived without knowing who he was—who John Smith was—for an entire lifetime. Why, suddenly, did it seem to matter so damned much?
“Kincaid? You got something to say, say it.”
“You were right, when you said I wasn’t what I seemed. I’m not a drifter, Baron. I’m not even a ranch hand. Not anymore.” He put the glass down and looked at Jonas. “Did you ever hear of Kincaid Incorporated?”
“Finance? Land development, that sort of thing? Yeah, I might have. So what?”
“I’m that Kincaid.”
“And you come walkin’ onto my land, take a job wrasslin’ stock?”
Tyler shrugged his shoulders. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I’m offering my credentials so you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“Might think you’re crazy anyways, you don’t get to the point. Why are you here?”
Tyler tucked his hands into his pockets and began to walk slowly around the room, pausing every now and then to look at a painting or a bit of sculpture while he struggled for control. Finally he turned and looked at Jonas.
“I was born in Texas.”
The old man stared at him. “Fascinatin’.” He went to the sideboard and refilled his glass.
“In fact, I was born right here, on this ranch.”
“On Espada?” Jonas lifted the glass to his mouth. Bourbon sluiced gently over the rim. “Well,” he said, and barked out a laugh, “fancy that.”
“But I don’t know who gave birth to me, or who my father was.”
“Uh-huh.” Jonas took another drink. The glass trembled in his hand and he set it down, very carefully, on the sideboard. “As I said, this is all fascinatin’ but it’s got nothin’ to do with me. I keep whelpin’ records of calves and horses. The government takes care of everybody else.”
Color striped Tyler’s high cheekbones. Why in hell had he ever come here, or thought he could do this? He was not a man to talk about himself to anybody, and certainly not a man to bare the dark secrets of his past. And yet here he was, dumping the dirty little story of his birth at the feet of a man he’d disliked on sight.
“So,” Jonas said, “is that it? I sure hope so, considerin’ I got those calls to make.”
“No,” Tyler said sharply, “that’s not it.” Dammit, he’d come this far, made a fool of himself already. There was no sense in backing down now. “You had a couple of married men working for you, the year I was born. Their wives were pregnant.”
“Their wives were—” The old man slowly exhaled. “I see. Well, I’ll tell you what, Kincaid, I’d like to help you but I ain’t never had a man named Kincaid workin’ here.”
“That wouldn’t have been his name,” Tyler said gruffly.
“Ah. Well, it don’t matter. This would go back a piece, wouldn’t it? Twenty-five, thirty years? And I don’t have no recollection of—”
“Thirty-five years,” Tyler said. “I was born on Espada, thirty-five years ago, on or about 18 July—”
Jonas stiffened. “July 18, you say?”
“Yes. And I was hoping…Baron?”
The glass fell from Jonas’s hand and rolled across the carpet. Tyler reached him in two quick steps, caught hold of him and eased him into a chair.
“Baron,” he said, looking down into the white face that suddenly looked every one of its eighty-six years, “don’t move. I’ll get help.”
“Don’t need help.”
“Of course you—”
“Don’t!” The old man reached out, clasped Tyler’s wrist. His hand was clammy but his grip was firm. “It’s just—it’s the cigars, that’s all. The cigars.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I’m right as rain.”
He didn’t look right as rain, Tyler thought, and felt a whisper of guilt. In the past couple of hours, Tyler’d fought with a man old enough to be his grandfather, wrestled him into submission, interrogated him…
“No need to mention this to anybody,” Jonas said gruffly.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Good. Good.” Jonas rose to his feet. His color was coming back, and the hand he lay on Tyler’s shoulder was steady. “Well, Kincaid, I wish I could help you, I truly do, but if there was men workin’ for me all those years ago with wives with big bellies, I don’t recall it.”
Tyler nodded. In his heart, he’d expected as much. As for the feeling that there were secrets here, at Espada…if there were secrets, they were Baron secrets, and had nothing to do with him.
“It was just a shot in the dark,” he said softly.
The men began walking to the door. “Glad to have met you,” Jonas said, and grinned. “I’ll bet this is the first time the head of a big company like yours got horse turds on his boots.”
Tyler worked up a smile. “I had lots of horse turds on my boots, when I was a kid.”
“Grew up on a ranch, did you?”
“For a while. It was a state home for boys.”
“Did you, now?” Jonas looked at him. “Got yourself in some trouble, huh?”
“Some.”
“So, that’s where you learned about horses.”
“Yeah.” Tyler smiled again. “I was pretty good at it, too.”
“Accordin’ to my stepdaughter and my foreman, you still are.” Jonas cleared his throat. “Did you ask Abel about these here big-bellied ladies supposed to have been on Espada, thirty years ago?”
“Thirty-five. No, no I didn’t. I wanted to speak with you first.”
“Well, don’t you never mind, boy. I’ll ask him. Ol’ Abel’s probably not gonna know nothin’, either, but he’s more likely to talk to me than to a stranger, jes’ in case he does.”
Tyler turned to the old man. “Thanks,” he started to say, but the word caught in his throat. For the last few minutes, Jonas Baron had spoken pleasantly, his tone had been friendly, but now that he was looking into the old man’s eyes, what he saw was the fiery glitter of hatred—or was it fear?
Tyler’s own eyes narrowed. The old son of a bitch was conning him. Hell, he’d almost succeeded. Baron was hiding something instinct told him would lead to the truth about his birth.
“Somethin’ wrong, Kincaid?”
Plenty, Tyler thought, but he smiled and shook his head.
“Not a thing,” he said pleasantly. He put out his hand, sensed more than saw Baron force himself to take it. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem.” Jonas pulled back his hand and stuck it into his pocket. “Bet you’re goin’ to head back to Georgia now, huh?”
Tyler waited a second before answering. “It’s your bet, Baron. You put it on whatever horse you think will win.”
The last thing he saw, as he walked out of the room, was the collapse of Jonas Baron’s cocky, all-knowing smile.
The sight filled Tyler’s heart with pleasure.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAITLIN stared at the library door after she’d slammed it behind her.
“The hell with the both of you,” she muttered.
Tyler Kincaid and her stepfather deserved each other. They were both bullheaded, opinionated, arrogant jackasses. For all she knew, they might just end up squaring off again. This time, though, there’d be nobody to stop them.
Good, she thought grimly, as she walked toward the front door. Maybe they’
d knock each other senseless.
Now, that was a pleasant prospect. She smiled, just contemplating it. It was what the two men deserved, Jonas for coming to her defense when she hadn’t needed defending and humiliating her in the process; Tyler for thinking he could drag her into his arms and force his kisses on her in broad daylight while she struggled to shove him off her.
Caitlin stood still.
She had struggled, hadn’t she? Of course she had. She’d fought like a wildcat. She hadn’t wanted Tyler to kiss her or touch her, hadn’t wanted his hands on her bare skin or his mouth, hot and open, on hers…
“Catie?”
Startled, she swung around. Her stepmother was standing at the entrance to the dining room, brows raised, a quizzical smile on her face.
“Marta.” Caitlin took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips, too. “I—I didn’t realize you were standing there.”