Tyler slipped from the examining table. The room spun a little; he shut his eyes, waited a couple of seconds, then opened them again.
It was over. His search for his identity, his quest for his roots—it was over, over and done with, and he wished to God he’d never embarked on it in the first place.
What had he learned, that could possibly make his life better? That his mother hadn’t abandoned him? Well, yeah, that was good to know—but was it really better to know he’d been abandoned, instead, by his father? That his mother had died, knowing her baby was going to be given away?
She’d died thirty-five years ago. A lifetime ago, and nothing he could do now, nothing he’d intended to do now, could change that.
Tyler walked down the silent hospital corridor.
He’d come to Texas determined to find answers, and he’d found them…but he’d found something else, too, something he’d never even known he was looking for.
And he’d lost it.
His footsteps slowed. They were still in the waiting room, the Barons and Caitlin. He paused just outside the doors. He could see them, all of them. The perfect family. Marta was seated on the couch again, smiling up at Travis and Gage and Slade. Caitlin was sitting beside her but suddenly she looked up and saw him…
Looked at him as if he were a stranger, then turned away.
Tyler began walking. His steps quickened, his shoulders straightened. What in hell was the matter with him? He hadn’t lost anything. He hadn’t found anything, either, except an old man who didn’t want him any more today than he had thirty-five years ago. As for love…Love? He laughed as he stepped out into the heat of the afternoon. What was love, anyway? A man saw a woman he wanted, he played the game, said the right things, hung around and, eventually, he took her to bed. That was exactly what he’d done with Caitlin.
If it weren’t for the stress of the last couple of weeks, he’d never have deluded himself into thinking he felt anything more than desire for her. If he ever loved a woman, it would be someone like Adrianna. Someone sophisticated. Urbane. Someone who knew the real Tyler Kincaid, the man in the Armani suits, not the guy in jeans and T-shirts and boots.
Not the guy who’d once sat watching the sun rise over the gentle Texas hills, while he held a soft, sweet woman in his arms.
Tyler cursed, climbed into his truck, threw it into gear and shot away.
* * *
His home in Atlanta was just as he’d left it. The marble foyer gleamed; the chandelier glittered. There was a stack of mail on the hall table and he sorted through it but none of it seemed important, and after a couple of minutes, he tossed it aside.
There were only a few messages on his answering machine. He’d checked it while he was away so he didn’t expect much that was urgent to be on it now. He was right. There wasn’t. The only message he listened to, in its entirety, was from Adrianna.
“Darling,” she said in her soft, upper-class drawl, “I called your office and your secretary told me you were away. Now I understand why you haven’t phoned. You must be terribly busy, but do get in touch, when you have a minute. You missed the Forsythe’s party but there’s one coming up at the Hutchinsons’ that sounds like fun.”
Tyler went into his kitchen, took a bottle of ale from the refrigerator, opened it and went back into his study. He hit the replay button and listened to Adrianna’s message again while he tilted the bottle to his lips.
She wasn’t just beautiful and bright, she was clever. She knew how to handle a man. He hadn’t called her in almost three weeks but you’d never know it. She’d managed to make it sound as if there were a perfectly reasonable explanation for his silence.
Caitlin would probably have marched up to his door and demanded to know if he was deliberately trying to avoid her. Caitlin would…
Tyler frowned.
What did it matter what Caitlin would do? She wasn’t in his life anymore. She’d never been in his life, not in the life that mattered. Even trying to imagine her here, in this house, in his circle of friends, was laughable.
He was Tyler Kincaid. He didn’t belong on a Texas ranch, with manure on his boots and dust on his jeans. He belonged here, in a world he knew. A world he’d created, with his own two hands. And Adrianna fit into that world, perfectly.
Tyler picked up the telephone. Adrianna was right for him. Or someone like Adrianna. A woman he could think about when he was with her, not think about when he wasn’t. One who’d never intrude, get into his head when he didn’t want her there. One who wouldn’t expect him to carry her, naked, into the dawn of a new day; who wouldn’t look at him with her heart and her soul visible in her eyes…
“Dammit,” he said, and slammed down the phone.
He was tired. Of course he was tired. He’d driven from Texas to Atlanta, done it damned near straight through with only a couple of bathroom breaks and endless cups of strong, black coffee.
Tomorrow, he thought as he went up the stairs, tomorrow, he’d phone Adrianna. He’d phone his vice president and his secretary, tell them he was back and that things were returning to normal. Better than normal. That deal in Stockholm was probably still on the table. He’d tell his people to set up a meeting, fly to Sweden, make an offer.
Maybe he’d take Adrianna with him. Maybe not. Tyler smiled as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Scandinavian women were spectacularly beautiful. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Just what he needed, just the thing to stop him wondering, as he had from the start, if Caitlin’s eyes were gold or brown or green, and how her hair could look like autumn and feel like silk as it drifted over his naked skin…
His mouth thinned.
“Stop it,” he said sharply.
He finished showering, fell into bed…and dreamed of sunrises and soft sighs when he finally managed to fall asleep. He awoke before dawn and worked out in his private gym until his mind felt clear. Then he showered, phoned his office—and Adrianna.
By five o’clock, he’d held three meetings, spoken with Stockholm, lunched with his broker and talked with his travel agent about spending a few days in Sweden. By six, he’d showered and shaved in his private bathroom, changed into a tux and climbed into his Porsche for the trip to Adrianna’s apartment.
“Tyler, darling,” she said when she opened the door, and she went into his arms. He knew, as he held her, that she didn’t really want to go to the Hutchinsons’ party, that what she wanted was for him to strip her out of her black silk gown and out of the black lace garter belt and bra she was probably wearing underneath. His hands went to the zipper at the back of the gown, and all at once he thought of sundresses the colors of flowers, of scraps of white lace, and his hands stilled.
“We don’t want to be late,” he said lightly.
By seven, he was drinking vintage champagne from Baccarat flutes and wondering how red wine in plastic glasses could have tasted better.
By eight, he was eating beef Wellington and wishing it were barbecue.
By nine, he knew it wasn’t working.
His body was in Atlanta but his heart and soul were in Texas. And, dammit, if Caitlin McCord was too stubborn, too pigheaded, too just plain impossible to admit that she loved him the way he loved her because, by God, he did love her, he always would, and he was tired of pretending he didn’t. If she wouldn’t admit it, well, it was up to him to make her acknowledge the truth.
Some women could be wooed with candlelight and flowers. Some could be persuaded with soft lights and softer music, but he knew damned well none of that would work with Caitlin. A man had to take a tougher stand with a woman like her. He had to show her who was in charge…
Show her that she held his heart in her hands, that he couldn’t live without her any more than she could live without him, and if he had to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to do it, by God, he would.
He drew Adrianna into a quiet corner of the Hutchinsons’ house and took both her hands in his.
“Adrianna,” he said so
ftly, “Adrianna, I’m sorry. You’re a wonderful woman. A beautiful woman—”
“But you’ve found someone else.”
“Yes,” he said, because she deserved honesty. “I have. Believe me, Adrianna, I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
Adrianna smiled, cupped his face with her hands, rose on her toes and kissed his mouth gently.
“You’re a fine man, Tyler Kincaid,” she said softly. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
“Am I?” he said, in surprise.
Tears glittered in her eyes. “You are. And I’m sure the lucky woman you’ve fallen in love with knows it, too.”
Tyler smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed her mouth, as gently as she’d kissed his.
He moved quickly after that, as if every second were urgent. He drove home, put on his jeans and his T-shirt and his boots, drove to the airport and chartered a plane. The pilot raised his eyebrows when Tyler said he had to be in Texas before sunrise, but he said it was no problem.
They touched down on the Baron airfield at some hellish hour of the early morning. Tyler half expected Abel or one of the men to come stumbling out of the bunkhouse as he made his way toward the main house but nobody did.
He smiled grimly.
Maybe the Baron cowpokes were accustomed to people flying in at all hours but he was pretty sure they weren’t accustomed to what came next.
He rang the doorbell, rang it again, then pounded on the door with his fist. Lights blazed on inside but Carmen got to the door first.
“Señor Kincaid?” She blinked blearily at him. “What is the matter, señor?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” Tyler said, and moved past her, into the foyer. “I’ve come for Caitlin McCord.”
Marta came down the stairs, clutching a blue robe to her throat. “Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes,” Tyler said. “I’m sorry to barge in on you this way, Mrs. Baron.” His voice softened. “I called the hospital. They told me Jonas—they said your husband will be fine.”