Читать книгу The Texan's Secret - Linda Warren, Linda Warren - Страница 9

THE FIERCE AFTERNOON WIND whipped through the landscape like an errant child of Mother Nature, set on doing some damage. Heavy, dark clouds from the north threatened rain, a sure sign that the old lady had not finished her wrath of winter.

Chance Hardin hated March.

And all the agonizing memories it stirred.

He shifted uneasily at the kitchen table on the High Five ranch in High Cotton, Texas, and forced his eyes away from the window. Gripping his warm coffee cup, he stared into its murky depths, seeing a night as dark as the brew inside. Through the blackness the emotions of a twelve-year-old boy surfaced—a boy whose world had been shattered by loud voices, screams—and death.

On a miserable March night.

Chance felt his stomach twist into a knot as his brothers waited. He’d been avoiding this conversation for twenty-two years. How much longer could he stall?

“Come on, Chance.” Cadde was putting on the pressure, just like Chance knew he would. It was part of being an older brother. “You know Dad wanted us to work together.”

You didn’t really know him.

“Yeah.” Cisco, his middle brother, nicknamed Kid, joined in. “The oil business is in our blood. We’ve all been involved in the industry. Now, thanks to Roscoe Murdock, Cadde owns a big part of Shilah Oil. Of course, there were strings attached, but that didn’t stop ol’ Cadde.” Kid slapped Cadde on the back and received a knockout glare in return, that didn’t faze him one bit. “Come on, Chance, we can be the bosses, setting the pace and making Shilah Oil one of the best companies in Texas.”

Chance raised his head. “Roscoe’s daughter, Jessie, owns the biggest part, and she’ll be calling the shots.”

He didn’t know why he felt a need to remind his brothers of that, but the whole inheritance thing was a bit of a shock. Not that Cadde hadn’t earned it. He had.

Roscoe had been paranoid about Jessie’s safety ever since his niece had been kidnapped and murdered. After the tragedy he’d had Jessie guarded twenty-four hours a day. Cadde had told Chance that Jessie was seven at the time, and now she had to be close to thirty.

Even though she was a fully grown woman, Roscoe didn’t let up on his protection of Jessie. On his deathbed he’d made a deal with Cadde, who had been his right hand at Shilah. If Cadde married Jessie and promised to protect her, Roscoe would make him CEO of the oil company and sign over a portion of his shares. Roscoe just forgot to mention that his daughter would inherit the biggest part of Shilah Oil, the company Roscoe and his brother, Al, had started in the forties.

Chance had met Jessie a couple of times when he’d visited Cadde in Houston. She was a petite, dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, and he could see why Cadde had no problem with the arrangement. Not that Chance knew much about it—Cadde’s marriage was his business. He just didn’t figure his brother as the marriage-of-convenience type. Although Cadde would do anything to further his career in the oil industry. It had been his dream since they were kids.

It had been the dream of their father.

“I can handle Jessie.”

Chance came back to the conversation with a start, but kept his emotions in check, as always. Fiddling with his cup, he had to admit that Cadde could probably handle Jessie—the way he handled everything in life, with his confident, can-do-anything air. Just like Kid, Cadde was unstoppable when he had his mind set on something.

“We need you, Chance. Your skill with the rigs is better than that of anyone I know. I want to try the new drilling techniques on some of the old leases, to give those fields a jump start. You’re the man to oversee the job.”

Chance swallowed hard. “I’m happy at Southern Cross.”

Cadde leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his chair making a scraping noise on the tiled floor. “Why don’t you just admit that you still blame Kid and me for the accident?”

The kitchen became painfully quiet. Talking about that horrible night was something they never did. The wrought-iron clock on the wall ticked away precious seconds. Aunt Etta moved from the kitchen counter to stand a few feet from the table, a wooden spoon in her grasp just in case she had to break up a fight, much as she had when they were boys.

A hand lightly touched Chance’s shoulder—a gesture from Uncle Rufus, telling him to keep his cool. Their elderly aunt and uncle had taken the Hardin boys in after their parents’ tragic deaths, and knew them better than anyone.

“I never blamed you,” Chance said clearly and without emotion. That night was too heartbreaking to think about, but he could feel the memory slicing into his brain with a sharp edge of reality. His parents had been returning home to High Cotton from an out-of-town basketball game of Cadde’s and Cisco’s.

Chuck Hardin had pulled two shifts on an oil rig and then had taken his wife and Chance to the game because his sons had wanted him at the state championship. Speculation was he’d fallen asleep at the wheel. Chance knew differently. Dozing in the backseat, he was the only one who’d survived that fatal crash as the car had swerved, left the road and hit a tree. And the only one who knew what had really happened that night.

He planned to take that secret to the grave.

Cadde eased back, his dark eyes pinned on Chance. All three brothers had the deep brown eyes of their father. “You’ve been different ever since. Distant. Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth.”

Chance didn’t squirm. He met Cadde’s stare. “Losing one’s parents can change a person.”

“Yeah,” Kid interjected in a nostalgic tone. “We’ve all changed, but it’s time for us to be family again—the Hardin boys taking on the world.”

That sounded good to Chance, but he couldn’t weaken. Guilt beat at him like a persistent hangover. If he spent more time around his brothers, he wouldn’t be able to keep his secret. Telling them would destroy their love and trust of their father, as it had destroyed his. He wouldn’t do that—ever.

Uncle Rufus stood. In his seventies, bowlegged and a cowboy to the core, Rufus Johns spoke little, but when he did, they listened. He and Aunt Etta had worked for the High Five ranch since they were teenagers, and lived in a small house not far from the big house, as they called the Belle residence on the ranch. Now Rufus, as he’d been many times when they’d lived with him, was again their mediator.

“Your brothers asked you a question. It requires a simple yes or no. What’s your answer?”

Chance clenched his jaw and willed himself to relax. “No. I have a good job at Southern Cross and I’m not interested in leaving it for the oil business…just yet.”

“Damn it.” Cadde hit the table with his fist, making the coffee cups rattle.

Aunt Etta tapped his shoulder with her spoon. “You’re not too old for me to use this on, you know. Respect your brother’s decision. You and Kid can get into enough trouble on your own.”

Cadde hooked an arm around Etta’s thin waist and pulled her to his side. “Aunt Etta, Chance is missing out on the biggest opportunity of his life.”

“That’s his choice.”

“I just…”

Cadde’s words trailed away as five-year-old Kira Yates burst though the back door, followed by her parents, Skylar and Cooper. Kira eyed the two strangers and edged her way over to Chance. “Look what I drew in school.” She handed him the paper. It was a child’s drawing of a family.

Chance introduced his brothers to Kira.

“I’m gonna have a brother, too.” Kira pointed proudly to the picture.

“I see. Very good.”

Kira carried the picture to Etta.

“What a little artist you are.” The elderly woman kissed the top of her head. “Miss Dorie is waiting for you in the parlor.”

“Gotta go.” Kira darted away.

Sky, the youngest Belle daughter and five months pregnant, walked over to the table. “My, my, the Hardin boys are back in town. Lock up your daughters, folks. They can’t be trusted.”

Kid got to his feet and hugged her. “Dane used to say that all the time.” He, Cadde and Chance had grown up with the Belle sisters, and Dane Belle had been like the father they’d lost.

Sky winked. “Especially to his daughters.”

Kid rocked back on his heels with the crafty grin of a possum eating honey. “Have no idea why.”

Of all the brothers, he hid his pain in humor and romancing the ladies. He was well known for it. Cadde was the driven one, set on making his dream come true. Chance, on the other hand, buried himself behind a veil of secrecy. The accident had affected all their lives, one way or another.

Cadde rose and hugged Sky and shook Cooper’s hand. “I heard you’re the owner of High Five now.” When Cooper had allowed himself to fall in love with Sky, he’d decided to stay in High Cotton forever, so he’d approached Caitlyn and Maddie, the other two sisters, with an offer they couldn’t refuse.

“Yep, and I heard you’re the owner of an oil company.” Cadde, Cooper and Judd Calhoun, owner of Southern Cross, were about the same age and had gone to school together, along with Maddie’s husband, Walker. High Cotton was a close-knit community of family and friends.

Cadde nodded. “I guess we’ve grown up.”

“Sobering, isn’t it?” Cooper replied, while shaking Kid’s hand. “Still riding shotgun?” Cadde and Kid were fourteen months apart, and so close, people often thought they were twins. The humorous Kid always kept the deep and brooding Cadde in line with his antics, or more accurately, kept him on his toes.

“Yeah.” Kid’s infectious grin widened. “Someone has to keep an eye on Cadde or he gets a little too intense.”

“Daddy, Mommy,” Kira called from the parlor. “Gran’s waiting. We’re having a tea party.” Dorthea Belle was the matriarch of the family and everyone loved her. Just as her son, Dane had, she made the orphaned Hardin boys feel like family.

“This could take a while.” Cooper delivered the words with a Texas-size smile. Family suited the man. “Stay as long as you want and visit.”

As Cooper left, Chance reached for his hat. “I’ve got to get back. Judd and Cait are gone for a week and I don’t want to stay away too long.”

“Damn.” Kid snapped his fingers. “I was hoping to see Caitlyn.”

Chance sighed. “You can’t flirt with her like you used to or Judd will give you a king-size headache.”

Kid shook his head. “Can’t believe she finally married him.”

Caitlyn was the oldest Belle daughter and Kid had always hit on her. Hell, he hit on all the sisters—that was his nature. He never met a woman he didn’t like. The Belles never missed a chance to set him straight. They’d lived so close they were like brothers and sisters—and they’d fought like siblings. Cait would vow never to speak to Kid again. In the next instant they’d be racing their horses to the general store, or off across the nearest pasture, argument forgotten.

Chance had thought that Cait would never leave the place of her birth, but love was a powerful force. Her marrying her archenemy from the neighboring ranch came as a surprise to everyone, except Chance and her sisters. Since her teens, Cait had been in love with Judd, but it had taken years for them to work out their differences.

Even though Chance and Cait talked a lot, he’d never told her his secret. He’d never told anyone.

“Give it a rest, Kid,” Cadde said. “You were never serious about any of the Belles. They were family.”

“That’s what made it so much fun,” he replied with that silly grin. “They knew I wasn’t serious. You know how Caitlyn is when she’s mad? With just a frown, she can make a grown man take ten steps backward without even thinking or blinking. Hell, I had fun getting her angry.”

Etta gave him a strange look. “Sometimes I worry about you, boy.”

Kid hugged her. “Ah, Aunt Etta, I’m just joking. You know me. I’d never touch one of Dane’s daughters. Hell, he’d have killed me, but that didn’t keep me from teasing them.”

“Yeah.” She pointed a finger in his face. “You leave the girls alone. They’re happily married, with babies.”

“Pay no attention to him, Aunt Etta,” Cadde told her. “He’s always about a pint short on his blood supply.”

“Now wait a minute…”

Cadde ignored Kid and turned to Chance. “The offer is still on the table. Think it over. We want you with us.”

Chance nodded and walked out. As he got into his truck, he couldn’t deny that the offer was tempting. When they were younger, their father would say he didn’t want them toiling in the oil fields all their lives like he had. That as brothers working together, they could accomplish anything—be the bosses, not hands. That’s why Chance never saw what was to come—the horrible truth. The man who’d spouted family values, loyalty and love was a phony. His other two sons still idolized him. So how could Chance destroy that illusion?

With his jaw clenched, he turned from High Five onto the blacktop county road that led to the Southern Cross ranch. When Judd had offered him the job of foreman, Chance had been happy for the opportunity to cowboy again. He was tired of the grime and muck working as a roughneck, and wanted to settle down for a while. Also, Aunt Etta and Uncle Rufus were getting older, and he thought they might need him close by.

The Hardin home place was about a mile beyond the Southern Cross. Chance was glad he didn’t have to ride past it every day, but there were times when he was checking fences and he’d glance across the road and see the small, white frame house nestled among the oak trees. His pulse would quicken and nausea would gnaw at his insides for a second.

None of the brothers had been inside the house since that fatal night. Dane and his cowboys had moved all their clothes and belongings into Aunt Etta and Uncle Ru’s spare bedroom. In that tiny room they’d grieved, bonded tighter and learned to live again—all thanks to Dane Belle.

After a week of them not knowing what to do with themselves, Dane had said, “Boys, you’ve been dealt a mighty blow—some men would break under the sadness and pressure. But as a tribute to your parents you have to show you’re Hardin stock, tough and unbreakable.” He had given them a moment to digest that, and then added, “Let’s go. There’re cows to be fed.”

When they weren’t in school, Dane had kept them busy. They’d thrived on his attention. He’d taught them how to cowboy and how to be tough. Dane was a gambler and they’d all benefited when he won big. When Cadde graduated from high school, Dane had bought him a brand-new Chevy pickup. Aunt Etta had said it was too much, and Uncle Ru had agreed.

Cadde had held his breath as he’d waited for Dane to talk them into allowing him to keep the gift. And he had. Cadde had left for Texas Tech University in Lubbock to get a petroleum engineering degree. The next year Kid had followed in his own new truck.

Dane’s daughters had different mothers, so Maddie and Skylar lived out of state and spent holidays and summers on the ranch. Caitlyn was the only sister raised on High Five. With Chance’s brothers gone, that had left him and Cait. They’d graduated together. And just like his brothers, Chance got a truck. Cait got a car.

She’d been furious, for she’d wanted a truck, too. Dane had said that women don’t drive trucks—they drive cars. For a solid month she’d refused to drive the car, but eventually gave in.

Dane’s gambling and drinking took a downward spiral in his later years, and he’d passed away. It was a blow to everyone at High Five, to the community, and to the Hardin boys. Chance supposed everyone had to die. He just wished he didn’t think about it so much.

Dane would be pleased to know that his girls were all happy, and living in High Cotton. Maddie had married Walker, the constable, and they had three kids. Cait and Judd had twin boys. Dane’s wild daughter, Sky, was expecting her second child. Dane was surely resting in peace.

Chance just wished…

The brutal wind tugged at the three-quarter-ton truck as if it were a play toy. Spring was knocking on winter’s door, but winter, Mother Nature’s stepchild, was set on claiming more time. She would soon tire, though. Calving season was around the corner at the ranch and Chance would be busy. He wouldn’t have time for a lot of thinking, especially about his brother’s offer.

But as he drove steadily homeward, he had to wonder how long he could continue to keep his secret.

Could a Hardin be that strong?

SHAY DUMONT GLANCED at the directions in her hand while keeping an eye on the road. Southern Cross couldn’t be much farther. Miles of ranch land with thick woods and swaying grasses flashed by. She chewed on a nail, then forced herself to stop the bad habit. But here she was, on this lonely road in the middle of nowhere. It was a little unnerving.

What she had planned was unnerving, too.

How much farther could it be? Then she saw the huge stone entrance and the wrought-iron arc with the name Southern Cross welded on it. Bingo! This was it. Her heart raced and her clammy hands gripped the steering wheel. She’d waited years for this day, and nerves weren’t going to get the best of her.

The Calhouns were going to get the shock of their lives. Her mother had told her to enjoy every minute of the confrontation, but she’d never enjoyed hurting anyone. That wasn’t Shay’s nature.

She passed the entrance. For the first time she realized how hard this was going to be. Taking a deep breath, she looked for a place to turn around. Pasture lands stretched on either side of her, enclosed with barbed wire fences. No Trespassing signs were attached to the wire every half mile or so.

Before she could maneuver the car to the side of the road, her cell phone buzzed. She reached in her purse for it and clicked On.

“Have you reached the ranch?”

“Yes.” Just what she needed—her mother giving her more instructions. Shay let out a long breath, made a U-turn and drove back, the wind giving her an extra push.

“You know what you have to do.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Shay tried to hide the bite in her voice, but failed. “How’s Darcy?”

“She’s in the living room with Nettie. The quicker you get back here the better. That kid is getting on my nerves with her loud, squeaky voice. Why you took her in is still beyond me.”

Shay’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel. She was the legal guardian of eight-year-old Darcy Stevens. Shay and Darcy’s mother, Beth, had been very good friends. When Beth, a single mom, had asked her to be her daughter’s guardian if anything ever happened to her, Shay had agreed. In their twenties, neither had dreamed that tragedy might strike them so young, but it had. Beth was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and had died within months.

Darcy was filled with so much anger at her mother’s death that Shay was at a loss sometimes about how to deal with her. She sucked at being a mother.

“I’ll be back as quick as I can. She does fine with Nettie,” Shay replied. Her mother’s cousin, who lived next door, was a lifesaver.

“Avoid that Hardin boy who’s the foreman. He could be trouble.”

“I don’t plan on talking to any of the cowboys.” A Hardin was the last person she wanted to meet.

“Don’t you let me down.”

Shay clicked off with the words ringing in her ears. They epitomized her whole life. Her mother had probably started saying them to her in the crib. Where most kids had cereal for breakfast, Shay had been spoon-fed guilt. She did not have a Cosby kid’s childhood. It was more like a Hallmark afternoon special.

But today she was going to make up for a lot of that.

By doing exactly what her mother wanted.

What was she doing? Shay’s mind reeled with unsettling thoughts, and she misjudged the distance to her purse. Her cell phone fell to the floor. Reaching for it, she turned the wheel too far, and the car slid off the road. Quickly overcorrecting, she glanced up and saw a silver truck heading straight for her. She jerked the wheel and the car left the road and barreled across a bar ditch, through a fence, and kept going.

She screamed when a tree came out of nowhere. Frantically, she jammed her foot on the brake, and the car spun, her head hitting the wheel. A searing pain shot through her, followed by a soft white light and then darkness.

CHANCE PULLED OVER to the side of the road and jumped out, poking 911 into his cell. He gave his name, location and a few details. The wind tugged at his hat, so he threw it into the backseat.

The operator told him there was a bad wreck on US 290 and that all available ambulances were en route there. She said she’d send one as soon as she could. As they spoke, Chance paused briefly on the shoulder of the road and took in the situation. The car had crashed through a fence, grazed a tree and was resting in the creek.

“Can you see anything?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes. The car is in Crooked Creek.”

“I’ve notified the volunteer fire department in your area and the constable. Help is on the way. Check and see if anyone is injured.”

Clutching his phone, Chance ran down the slope and leaped over the ditch. Please, not another wreck on a dreary March day, was all he could think.

“A small Chevy is slowly taking in water,” he reported to the dispatcher. He stepped into the creek to take a closer look. “Only one person in the car—a woman. Her head is resting against the steering wheel.”

“Does she have on her seat belt?”

Chance peered inside. “Yes.”

“Air bag inflated?”

“No.”

“Do you see blood?”

“No. But there’s water on the floorboard and it’s rising.” His eyes shifted to the front of the car. “Steam is coming from under the hood, but I expect that’s from the hot motor hitting water.”

“Yes, probably. Can you open the door?”

“Just a sec.” Shoving his cell into his jeans pocket, he grabbed the handle and yanked on it. “No. It’s jammed and the water is holding it tight,” he said, anxious moments later. The wind whipped the water against his legs and tousled his hair. His efforts on the door made the car inch farther into the creek.

Damn!

Memories beat at him. His mother’s blonde hair covered in blood flashed through his mind. Chance hadn’t been able to save her. But he would save this woman.

“Do you hear a siren?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Try the other doors.”

He did as instructed, but none would open. “They won’t budge, and the water is rising. It’s up to her waist. Where in the hell is everyone?”

“An ambulance has been rerouted from US 290, but that’s twenty miles away. High Cotton is one of those remote communities we have problems with, but the fire department should be there.”

“They’re not.” Chance bent and gazed in at the unconscious woman again. Her blonde hair was long and the tips were now touching water. “This lady doesn’t have a lot of time.”

“Okay. I just heard from High Cotton’s fire chief. They’re having trouble with the truck.”

“Damn.” They were always having problems with that old fire engine. They’d been having fundraisers for a new one and had applied for a grant from the state of Texas to help with the cost. But this lady needed help now.

“Just stay on the line.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but this car is filling up fast.”

“Okay. Do you have anything to break a window?”

“I have a crowbar in my truck.”

“Get it, and wait for instructions.”

Gulping a breath, he ran back to his truck for the implement, then sloshed back into the creek to the stranded vehicle. “Now what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Break the driver’s side window, but be careful.”

Switching to speakerphone, he placed his cell on the roof of the car, then looked inside again. The driver was still out cold, leaning toward the right, that was good. She was farther away from the door.

With one swing, he shattered the window. Luckily, it broke into a sheet of tiny cubes and he was able to break it away from the frame. Pieces of glass fell into the water and others dropped into the car. As he worked, sweat rolled down his face despite the relentless wind.

“It’s done,” he said.

“Check and see if she has a pulse.”

He brushed her long hair aside and felt the smooth skin of her neck. A faint rhythm beat against his fingers and he let out a long breath. “Yes, she’s alive.”

“No help yet?”

“No, and the wind is not helping. The car is not stable.”

“Can you get her out?”

Chance took another deep breath. “I’ll try.”

“Just be sure to brace her neck.”

After making sure there were no jagged glass edges left in the window frame, he reached in, stuck his hand in the water and felt for her seat belt. It made a swishing sound as it slid back into its holder. With a grunt, he grasped her under her armpits and tugged, maneuvering carefully to pull her through the window. The buoyancy of the water helped. At one point the car swayed, and he held his breath.

Finally clear, Chance braced her head on his chest and dragged her away, leaving a wet trail in the mud.

He gently laid her on the grass. While supporting her neck, he managed to struggle out of his wet shirt and stuff it under her head. Then he hurried back for his phone.

“What’s happening? Can you hear me?” he heard the dispatcher calling.

“I have her out on the creek bank.” He knelt beside the unconscious woman. “She has a slight gash on her forehead.”

“Is she bleeding?”

“Not much.” He glanced toward the sky and saw the dark thunderclouds gaining force. “Where in the hell is that ambulance? It’s fixing to rain.”

“Stay calm.”

“Listen, this woman needs to get out of the weather.”

“Check her arms and legs to see if anything is broken.”

He ran his hands over her limbs. “Doesn’t seem to be and I can’t see any more blood.” He made a quick decision. “I’ll take her to the Southern Cross ranch a mile down the road. Route the ambulance there.”

“They’re about ten minutes away.”

Raindrops fell on his hand. “We don’t have ten minutes.”

“Okay. Just be careful with her neck.”

“I will.” Losing no time, Chance shoved his phone into his back pocket again and gingerly scooped her into his arms, making sure her head was braced against his shoulder. As he started toward his truck, he heard a swooshing sound and turned to see the car submerged in the water, with only the roof showing.

Staggering in his wet boots and jeans, he climbed onto the road and hurried to the vehicle. After depositing her on the passenger side, he repositioned his shirt beneath her head, then tilted the seat back. Blood covered her forehead, but the gash had stopped bleeding. Her skin was pasty white and her hair seemed to be everywhere.

He fished his phone out of his pocket. “Thanks for your help. We’re on the way to Southern Cross.”

“The woman was lucky to have you around. Good luck. The ambulance should be there shortly.”

As soon as he clicked off, the cell buzzed again. It was Walker, the constable. Finally.

“Hey, Chance. I’ve been at the courthouse in Giddings and I just got the news about the wreck. How’s the driver?”

Chance glanced at her. “She’s still out and I’m taking her to Southern Cross. The volunteer fire department sure didn’t help.”

“Henry couldn’t get the truck started. It’s time the community did something about that or we’re going to have a major fire and the whole town is going to suffer.”

“Yeah.” Chance snapped the woman’s seat belt into place and ran around the truck, his boots sloshing. He crawled into the driver’s seat, still talking to Walker. “Maybe this will encourage everyone in High Cotton to get behind the project.”

“We can only hope. I’m on my way.”

Within minutes Chance rolled into the driveway of the ranch. He called Renee, Judd’s mother, to announce his arrival with a casualty.

Renee opened the door at once. “Oh, good heavens, come in,” she said as he carried the patient up the steps. Thunder rumbled in warning and heavy rain began to fall. He’d made it just in time.

“My boots and jeans are wet and muddy, Renee,” Chance said apologetically.

“Not a problem! I can clean up a little mud,” she said.

Chance wiped his boots on the mat as best he could, then carried his load inside. Renee spread sheets on the sofa in the den and he gingerly laid the unconscious woman on them.

“What happened?” Renee asked, glancing from one bedraggled figure to the other.

“She ran off the road into Crooked Creek and I had to pull her out. I’ve already called 911 and Walker.”

“Good heavens.”

Chance pointed to the woman’s face. “She has a cut on her head.”

“I’ll get some supplies.”

As Renee hurried away, the woman stirred. “Oh, o-o-oh.”

“Lie still,” Chance instructed. “You’ve been in an accident.”

Renee came back and cleaned the cut with warm water and applied a bandage. “That should hold you until the paramedics arrive.”

Their patient looked around and Chance noticed her eyes were green, a startlingly brilliant color. The kind of eyes that caught a man off guard with their intensity and beauty. She was pretty, too, with a pert nose, clear classic features and gorgeous blond hair streaked with a lighter color he was sure was artificially produced. Definitely not a country girl. She had a big city look about her, and he wondered what she was doing around here.

“Where am I?” Shay blinked, feeing disoriented.

Someone patted her arm. “Don’t you fret, sugar. You’re fine. The paramedics should be here soon.” It was a woman’s voice, sure and confident, with a Southern drawl.

Paramedics?

“You’re at the Southern Cross ranch,” a male voice said. Shay glanced up to see a handsome man with wet, disheveled hair staring down at her. His face was lean, his muscled body was showcased in a white T-shirt, tight jeans and cowboy boots. A cowboy? His eyes were like dark chocolate, tempting, sinful and good for her heart. Had she died and gone to heaven, and was he her reward for putting up with all the crap in her life? Oh, he was a very good reward. Now she felt giddy and…

What did he say?

Southern Cross?

She tried to sit up, winced and lay back as pain ripped through her head. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident, sugar,” the woman said.

“You ran your car off the road into Crooked Creek,” the cowboy added.

Bits and pieces fitted together in Shay’s head like one of Darcy’s puzzles. “A silver truck was headed straight for me. I tried…”

“That was me, and I was on my side of the road.” His voice was deep and commanding, with a Texas accent much like Matthew McConaughey’s, but delivered with an edge of censure. That rankled, even if the sound set off unexpected waves of pleasure.

Shay narrowed her eyes, then winced. “You ran me onto the shoulder.”

“You did that all by yourself.”

“Now let’s don’t quibble.” The woman intervened, as if used to dealing with cantankerous children. “I’m Renee Calhoun and this is Chance Hardin, the foreman of Southern Cross.”

Renee Calhoun.

Chance Hardin.

Oh, no! This just wasn’t her day. The names settled in Shay’s stomach like sour milk. Now what should she do?

The woman who had broken up her parents’ marriage was a couple of feet away. Shay squinted at her. She seemed perfectly normal, dressed in a cream linen blouse and pants. Her dyed blonde hair hung like a bell around an attractive face. From her mother’s description, Shay had expected Renee to have horns and a tail, next-of-kin to the devil.

Maybe this was good luck, Shay thought. She had a foot inside the house, and soon, when she’d regained her equilibrium, she’d tell this hellish woman a thing or two.

The cowboy looked down at her with those dark, dark eyes and she resisted the urge to wriggle. What was he thinking? It was hard to tell, since the blackness of his eyes seemed to block out his emotions as if he were wearing sunglasses. Did he know who she was? Of course not. Shay was getting paranoid. She couldn’t think about Chance Hardin.

She looked around the room. Cathedral ceilings with wagon wheel chandeliers met her gaze. The walls were a rich mahogany done in a picture-framing style. Photos of Judd Calhoun, his wife and twin sons took pride of place. A huge stone fireplace covered one wall and was adorned with a rustic Texas star. A wedding photo of Renee and Jack Calhoun graced the intricately carved wood mantel.

Shay stared at the man—her father—and felt no emotion other than anger. How could she? She’d never known him. He’d kicked her mother out when he’d met Renee, his first wife, and wanted to remarry her. He didn’t even care that Blanche was pregnant.

For so many years Shay had dreamed of being here, inside Southern Cross, to get a glimpse of where she should have been raised. But oddly, and fittingly, she felt out of place. This wasn’t Huckleberry Lane, where she lived with her mother and Darcy.

Thoughts of the little girl filled her aching head. Darcy didn’t like being alone with Blanche, and Shay had to let her know she’d be back soon.

“May I have my purse, please?”

Renee and Chance exchanged a glance.

“It was in your car,” the cowboy said.

“I know. I need to make a call.”

“You don’t remember?”

“What?” Why was he talking as if she were five years old?

“After I pulled you out, the Chevy sank into Crooked Creek. I’m sure everything in your purse is ruined.”

Oh, no! She’d just paid off her car loan and now the vehicle was gone. A wave of regret washed over her. She should never have let Blanche talk her into this. Jack Calhoun was dead and nothing could change the past. Shay had to get out of here and fast.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Renee asked in a kind, soothing voice. Shay hated that.

Spit fire or something. Please don’t be nice. She caught the cowboy’s eyes. Chance Hardin’s concerned gaze was doing a number on her resolve. And her conscience.

“Shay,” she replied, her voice low.

“How pretty.” Renee patted her arm again. “For a pretty young lady.”

For some reason tears stung the back of her eyes. Her mother had never called her pretty or ever paid her a compliment. The gesture coming from Renee Calhoun was almost too much, on top of everything else that happened on this horrendous day.

“Thank you,” she managed to answer, before the sound of a siren startled her. “What’s that?”

“An ambulance. You need medical attention. I’ll open the front door.”

Renee walked away and Shay stared at Chance. She didn’t have any choice but to enlist his help—a Hardin’s help. Why did he have to be here?

“Please, I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance.”

“You probably have a concussion.”

She forced herself to sit up.

He practically leaped to her side. “Whoa. You shouldn’t have done that.”

She frowned, which made her head hurt that much more. “What?”

“You shouldn’t have sat up until the paramedics arrived.”

“I’m fine, really.” Brushing her hair from her face, she wondered what had happened to her hair clip. And she realized for the first time that she was wet. Damn! Chance must have saved her life. Just what she needed—more guilt. Forcing negative thoughts aside, she appealed to him. “I don’t have health insurance and I can’t afford an ambulance or a hospital bill.”

The candor in her voice got to Chance—and the fear. What was she afraid of?

“I’m sure you can make payment arrangements.”

She laughed, a sound like a frightened child’s. “I don’t have any extra money and…” Her voice trailed off as two paramedics wheeled in a stretcher.

One medic checked Shay’s pulse and blood pressure, then took her temperature. Next he removed Renee’s bandage and studied the cut. “Doesn’t look bad,” he said as he applied ointment and another bandage.

“I’m fine,” Shay insisted.

The man shone a small penlight into her eyes and asked her to follow his finger.

While the paramedic continue to examine her, Chance moved away to speak to Renee. “She doesn’t have health insurance and doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Well, hell, I’ll pay the bill,” the older woman offered. “She needs help.”

Shay overheard her and axed that idea immediately. “No. No. You’re not paying the bill. I’m fine. I’m not going to a hospital.”

Renee pulled Chance farther aside and whispered, “What do you have in mind?”

“Can she stay here tonight? I’ll get her a rental car first thing in the morning.”

“If the paramedics say she’s okay, I don’t see why not.”

The attendant stepped back with his hands on his hips. “It would be best to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“I’m fine, really,” Shay replied again in that nervous tone.

“What do you think?” Chance asked the man.

“She can focus and her eyes are clear, so I suppose if she refuses to go we can’t make her. But if she grows dizzy or passes out, you need to get her to a hospital.”

“We will,” he promised.

The medic looked at Shay. “Stay awake for a while and see your doctor as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

As the ambulance left, Renee said, “Well, it looks as if I have a houseguest. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll get you some dry clothes.” She hurried away, her shoes tapping on the hardwood floor.

Shay glanced at Chance, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Thank you.”

She managed to look coy, inviting and desperate all at the same time. His heart knocked against his ribs like a bronc about to be broken. “You’re welcome.” He swallowed hard, this unexpected attraction hitting him like a sucker punch. His next words came out terse. “What’s your last name? And your auto insurance company?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll make some calls for you so I can get you a rental in the morning. But I need information.”

She seemed to hesitate. “Stevens,” she finally answered. “But I’ll call my insurance company.”

Fear still tinged her voice, and Chance knew something wasn’t quite right. “Fine. You can use the phone in your bedroom.”

“Okay, but I really need to go home.”

A reasonable request. Maybe he was making something out of nothing. “You said you wanted to call someone?”

Shay chewed on a fingernail. “Yes. I’ll use the phone in the bedroom to check on my mother. She’s dying of lung cancer and a cousin takes care of her when I’m not there.”

Chance was taken aback at the turmoil in the young woman’s life, and against his better judgment he could feel himself being pulled into her problems. Before he could form a response, the doorbell rang.

He handed her his cell. “Call your mother. I’ll make sure you get home tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Shay replied, quickly punching in a number as he walked to the door.

Walker stood on the threshold. “Is the woman okay?”

Chance stepped out onto the veranda. “She’s a little shaken up and refuses to go to the E.R.”

“The volunteer fire department is now at the site. Henry finally got the truck running. Since the rain is letting up, a wrecker is also there to pull the car out. I’m pretty sure it’s totaled.” The constable pulled his Stetson low to keep the wind from taking it, and glanced over Chance’s wet appearance. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”

Everyone knew of his parents’ deaths. It had happened on the same county road, closer to Giddings. Though only twelve, Chance had worked valiantly to get his parents out—but they were already dead.

“I’ve developed Teflon feelings,” he joked.

“Yeah, right.” Clearly, Walker didn’t believe him for a minute. “You get any information from her?”

“She said her name is Shay Stevens.”

Walker frowned. “That’s strange. The license plate must not have been secured properly, because I found it in the grass. I ran a check with the Department of Public Safety just in case she was still unconscious, and it’s registered to Shay Dumont from Houston.”

“Hmm.” Chance rubbed his jaw in thought. That name ran a bell, but he couldn’t place it. That niggling feeling returned. The lady wasn’t who she said she was. He felt a moment of regret. He was beginning to like her. Now he had some questions was determined to get answers—one way or another.

Who was she?

And what did she want in High Cotton, Texas?