Kate didn’t expect to see Daegan again, especially not at the local coffee shop where she usually stopped on her way back from the college, but there he was big as life, smiling at the waitress who was refilling his cup. One long jean-clad leg stretched into the aisle by the table and the sleeves of his cotton work shirt were rolled up, showing off tanned, muscular arms. A five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, and he seemed at ease in the worn mock-leather booth. She nearly hesitated at the door, but as if he’d sensed her arrival, he swiveled his head at the sound of the door opening and sent her a crooked half-smile, one that suggested they shared a secret—a private secret. Her stupid heart fluttered and she called herself six kinds of fool. This was the one man—the only man in all of Hopewell—that she should avoid at all costs. “Kate!” His voice was friendly and smooth, his gray eyes warmer than she remembered. “Have a seat.” The last thing she wanted to do was to be trapped in a booth with him and be caught trying to make idle conversation. He was too full of restless energy for her, too starkly rugged, too damned male. It had been nearly a week since she’d last seen him, and in that time she’d calmed a bit. Laura hadn’t called with any mind-numbing news that he was a serial killer or child molester or even traffic violator, but still she had to be wary. He’d admitted that his cousin had died as the result of some kind of fight—who knew what other secrets he k ept hidden behind his easy smile? Before she could take another seat, other customers in the little café had twisted their necks to view her. Rather than give them more room for gossip —it was hard enough knowing that most of the townspeople viewed her as an oddity because of Jon and his strange premonitions—she walked up to O’Rourke’s booth and plopped down on the opposite seat. She didn’t even protest when he motioned for a waitress to bring her a cup of coffee. “Small world,” he said with a devilish glint in his eye. “Small town, or haven’t you noticed?” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Just the way I like ’em.” “You’ve lived in the city?” she asked innocently, though her nerves were stretched tighter than fence wire. What was she doing pumping him for information? What could she possibly expect to learn? “Nah, but I’ve been in enough of ’em to know that I’m a country boy at heart.” Again that country-boy charm. “Are you?” She leaned back in the seat and was about to ask him where he was from when the waitress, Tami Lynde, daughter of the shop’s owner, brought a cup of coffee and asked Kate if she’d like anything else. Wishing she’d never st epped foot in the door, Kate declined and then felt her back stiffen when she spied Carl Neider, Todd’s father, saunter through the door. He was a huge bear of a man with hands like meat hooks, the start of a beer belly, and a flat face covered by a dark beard beginning to streak with gray. His eyes were wide-spaced, small and mean, and when he smiled, he showed off a mouthful of gold crowns. “Friend of yours?” Daegan asked when she watched Neider take a booth on the other side of the café. “Hardly.” She poured a thin stream of cream into her cup and listened to the sounds of quiet conversation, rattling utensils, and the squeaking of a slow-turning ceiling fan mounted high over head. “His son Todd is a big kid who’s taken delight in humiliating Jon. Called him names, picked fights with him, bullied him—you name it. All the usual.” Watching the clouds roll up in her brew, she sighed. “I can’t just blame him, of course. Sometimes Jon asks for it.”
“No one asks to be humiliated.” O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed on Neider as he sipped from his cup, and again Kate felt that underlying current of energy, that raw force that was a part of this man. His jaw clamped tight and Kate decided she wouldn’t want to cross him. Not ever. From the back behind the counter, the short-order cook yelled at Tami over the sizzle of the fryer. When Daegan focused on Kate again, all the warmth had evaporated from his eyes and she felt that same premonition of fear—of danger that seemed to lurk just beneath his “good ol’ ranchin’ boy” surface. “You’re right,” she said. “Anyway, Jon’s bigger now, able to take care of himself better. Hopefully he’s smarter, too.” “Is he picked on for no reason or is it because of that sight he’s got— because he sees things others don’t?” She didn’t move and the cup she’d been raising to her lips stopped in midair. Clearing her throat, she set the steaming mug down and frowned. “You’re very direct.” “You brought it up.” She couldn’t argue the point. Resting her elbows on the table, she folded her hands and dropped her chin on her linked fingers so that she could hold his gaze without flinching. “That I did, Mr. O’Rourke, and the reason I did is because the things that have been said to Jon, the cruel remarks, the vicious jokes, the hateful names wound de ep. It doesn’t matter that the person who hurls the taunts his way is jealous or scared or feeling inferior. All those ugly words are painful. They scar. Not only him, but me, too, because I love him.” All through her tirade Daegan stared at her. His gaze never once moved from her face, and his lips, already thin, creased into a hard, uncompromising line. “Do you know what it feels like to be called names—to feel out of place —to think that you’re not as good as the rest of the kids?” A shadow passed behind his eyes, a pain-filled shadow that quickly disappeared. “Afraid so,” he drawled. “Maybe it’s a rite of passage. Part of growin’ up.” “It shouldn’t be.” “Amen.” She lifted a shoulder and sighed. “So that’s why I get a little defensive and overprotective. My mother bear claws begin to show and my instincts tend to work overtime and get me into trouble with my son.” “Why?” “He seems to think that I’m in his way,” she admitted, though she knew she shouldn’t confide in him, shouldn’t trust him with any secrets close to her heart. “He’s convinced that I should ke ep my nose out of his business.” “Maybe you should.” “He’s only fifteen.” “How does his dad figure in?” She nearly choked on a swallow of coffee. “His father?” she r epeated, astounded that this man would bring him up. “His father’s gone. Jim died before Jon was born.” “I didn’t know... and he had no st epfather?”
“I never remarried,” Kate admitted, then drained her cup. This conversation was getting personal—too personal. “Why not?” “What about you?” she said, turning the tables on him. “Is there a Mrs. O’Rourke?” He shook his head. “I’m not the marrying kind.” That, she believed. “Neither am I,” she said, fishing in her purse. “I mean I was, with Jim, but... well...” She found her wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. “I guess he was just a hard act to follow and I didn’t have all that many offers. Lots of men—at least some of the ones I dated— considered Jon extra baggage. Can you imagine? The fact that he has this sight made it all the worse. But it’s worked out just fine,” she assured him. “Jon and I are all right.” She slapped the bills on the table. “I’ll buy,” he insisted. “Thanks, but I’m used to paying my own way,” she r eplied. “Fact is, I like it that way.” With that she swung out of the restaurant and made a beeline to her car. Being around O’Rourke was just too unsettling. He was too direct, too restless, and too damned sexy. His eyes, so de ep and gray, his hands, big, calloused, the backs dusted with dark hair, his jaw firm and square. For crying out loud, she’d never, never looked at a man so intently since Jim. Calm down, she told herself and ignored the pounding of her pulse. He was just a man. Nothing to be afraid of. At least not yet. She climbed into her station wagon and jammed her key into the ignition. Her new neighbor had learned more than she’d intended to tell him about Jon today, but now it was her turn. As she checked her rearview mirror to back out of her parking spot, she made a note to call Laura tonight and find out what her sister had dredged up on a would-be cowboy named Daegan O’Rourke. So now what are you going to do, O’Rourke, kidnap the boy? Daegan dug his heels into the old gray he’d bought at a local auction and glowered at the fence line, as if he gave a good goddamned what happened to this place. The sorry rusted wire and rotted posts weren’t any of his concern—just part of the lie, a lie he was getting damned sick of. The truth of the matter was he was looking beyond the fence and through a scraggly thicket of pine and spruce, to Kate Summers’s house. The trees veiled his view, but he caught glimpses of the white 1920 s vintage cottage with its wide back porch and blue trim. The yard, dry and spotty, was partially obscured by a row of raspberry canes and a vegetable garden. An apple tree stood near a weathered building that was probably a pump house or woodshed, and a long, sun-bleached rope dangled from one of the lower branches. He spied the path Jon used to sneak over here and couldn’t stop a smile. The kid was sly, but Daegan had felt the boy’s eyes on him while he was watching television, known he was being observed. He’d let it go on long enough for Jon to trust him and see that he was just another lonely bachelor rancher. Ha! Another lie. Daegan couldn’t hardly open his mouth without veering from the truth these days. He needed to approach Kate again, but he hadn’t figured out how. After lucking out and meeting her in the café, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Ms. Summers, so now it was his move. If he could come up with one. Flattening her tire, pretending to need the use of her phone, waiting at the coffee shop where he knew she stopped after work—he’d played out all his “coincidences.” Now he’d just have to call her up and pretend to be interested in her. Trouble was, he might not be
pretending. She was starting to get to him, Kate Summers was. Complicated and pretty, she wasn’t the type of woman who usually attracted him. Smart women with sharp tongues, de ep thoughts, and stormy pasts were usually too much trouble. But Kate was different. And she was the adoptive mother of his son. He gritted his teeth and fought a headache. Christ, what a mess! Usually riding cleared his head, though he rarely saddled up an aging plow horse that he’d saved from the glue factory such as this gray. Years ago, he’d discovered the thrill of racing across acres of open land astride a swift horse. In his early twenties, after his brush with the law, a hitch in the army, and a brief career as a private investigator, he’d pointed his nose toward the western horizon. He’d landed in Albuquerque, then drifted through Laramie before ending up in western Montana, where he served as a guide to tenderfoots. Eventually he’d saved enough money to buy his spread in the foothills of the Bitterroots, the first place he’d ever felt was home. And now he was here, astride an old nag, glaring at a ridiculous excuse for a fence while contemplating just what to do about the boy. His son. So now what? He could just wash his hands of the whole situation, but then he remembered Robert and Frank Sullivan. His back teeth ground together. There was no way, no way on this earth, they were going to get their pampered, rich hands on the boy. His boy. Kate’s boy. For the first time in six years he hungered for a smoke. Who would have thought he would have ended up here, staring past the swaying branches of scraggly pine trees, wondering how he was going to approach a woman about giving up her son? “Son of a bitch,” he grumbled, yanking on the reins and heading back toward old Mc Intyre’s house. Ever since meeting Kate at the cafe and admitting to himself that, yes, Bibi’s wild story about Jon’s conc eption was beginning to hold water, he’d picked his way carefully. Kate had obviously been shaken by Jon’s insistence that Daegan had murdered someone and she was still wary when he’d met her in the restaurant. In the meantime, while thinking up an excuse to see her and Jon again, he’d k ept busy. He’d set things up here—cleaned the place, made room for his fax machine, files, and computer to ke ep linked with his ranch in Montana, while ordering feed and veterinary supplies for the animals he’d bought. The old dog had deigned to stick his nose out from under the porch, but snarled every time Daegan came a little too close. Now, Daegan clucked to the horse and ignored the blast of arctic wind that ripped down from the mountains. He needed more information, the kind he could only get from her. A jab of guilt pricked at his mind when he thought of how he was going to use her, how he hoped that she would learn to trust him, so that he could strip her emotions bare to her bones when he stole her boy from her. She’d never trust a living soul again. That thought shouldn’t have bothered him. She deserved it, didn’t she? She’d asked for it when she’d taken money and a child that didn’t belong to her. But she loved the boy. Done right by him. Maybe he was going soft inside, but no matter what she’d done in the past, how many laws she’d broken to end up with Jon, she obviously would walk through hell for him. What more could a mother do? “Shit,” he growled, imagining himself as the cause of a gut-wrenching agony that was soon to darken her whiskey gold eyes.
Nudging the gray, he decided that somehow, some way, he’d have to speak with Kate alone; try and find out if her son was really adopted, even though she’d already claimed the boy was sired by her dead husband. He knew that she’d grown up on a Midwest farm until the death of her father, then, because of her mother’s neglect, she and her younger sister, Laura, were cared for by an aunt and uncle. Kate married her high school sweetheart and they moved to Boston, where she worked as a rec eptionist/secretary for Tyrell Clark, the attorney Bibi had mentioned. Tragedy had struck swiftly. Soon after her one-year-old daughter and husband were killed, Kate had left Boston and moved to Seattle, where she worked part-time, took care of her young son, and managed to earn herself a master’s degree in English. From Seattle, Kate had headed south to Oregon and ended up in this miserable small town. Now an English professor, she taught writing to freshmen at a community college in Bend. As she’d claimed, Kate Summers had never remarried. But her declaration that the boy was fathered by her late husband was false. Either Kate’s gestation period was eleven months, the boy was fathered by a lover she’d sl ept with after old Jim had passed on, or the kid was adopted and the papers were phony. Lie number one. The reins slipped through his fingers and he scowled at the yellow blooms of tansy ragwort that persisted in growing on this rocky scrap of land. An ugly weed and deadly to cattle, tansy seemed to grow where nothing else would take root. A hardy, unwanted pest—kind of like bastard children. Adjusting his hat, he turned the collar of his jean jacket around his neck. The wind was picking up, autumn crisp in the air. Heavy-bellied clouds rolled over the sky, threatening rain for the cracked, parched earth. It looked like Jon didn’t even know he was adopted—had no conc ept that there was an entire family that was suddenly interested in him. If Kate only knew what she was up against. He didn’t know how he was going to battle the Sullivan money, power, and influence, but at least he realized he was in for a fight. Kate Summers didn’t have a clue—or, he surmised grimly—a prayer. Y ep, he’d have to tread lightly, but at the same time he’d have to move fast. If he’d found Kate and the boy so quickly, so would Robert. That same old empty gnawing scraped at his guts. Whenever he pitted himself against the Sullivan family, he felt it eating away at him. But this time he was determined to win. And Kate Summers will lose. Guilt knifed through his heart, but he ignored the wound. What happened to Kate was too damned bad. She’d started it a long time ago. Daegan had always sworn that if he ever made the mistake of fathering a child, intentionally or by accident, he’d be a part of the kid’s life, but then he hadn’t counted on his one night with Bibi producing anything other than a bad taste in his mouth and a shadow of guilt to chase after him all his days. He couldn’t very well just kidnap the boy as Bibi seemed to think was the answer, and no court in the country would give him custody. And what the hell would he do with a near-grown handful of trouble who could see into a man’s
soul? Disgusted at the turn of his thoughts, he steered the gelding across a dry gulch that had the nerve to call itself a creek, and headed back toward the cabin. A rabbit scurried out of the horse’s path and dust kicked up beneath his hooves as Daegan’s gaze never strayed from the fence line. He noted the posts that needed to be shored up and the spots where rusting barbed wire was stretched out of shape. From the house, the old dog let out a sharp bark. The gelding snorted and his ears pricked forward. Daegan looked up, squinting against a gust of wind and the grit that came with it. Corralled near the barn was Buckshot, a mean-spirited colt and his only possession on the ranch worth owning. But the horse wasn’t alone. Jon was in the paddock with the colt, trying to fling a rope around the animal’s neck. Daegan’s insides clenched. Hell, what did he think he was doing? He kicked his horse and the gelding responded. The kid had balls of steel, Daegan would give him that. Who would have thought he’d trespass again after the scare Daegan had given him the other night? “Idiot,” he ground out, though he felt a stupid sense of pride that the boy had disobeyed his mother and wandered over this way. “Come on,” he urged the horse. Jon managed to swing the rope over Buckshot’s neck, and as the colt sidest epped, the foolhardy kid threw himself onto the horse’s back. “Jesus H. Christ,” Daegan muttered under his breath as he pressed his knees into the gray’s sides. Was Jon trying to get himself killed? Daegan didn’t want to shout, for fear that he would startle the bronc. But it was too late. Buckshot exploded in a fury of flashing hooves and dust. Astride the stubborn colt, without a bridle or a lead rope snapped onto the halter ring, just a little bit of baling twine wrapped around Buckshot’s thick neck, Jon grinned widely. Fool of a kid! The horse shot skyward, leaping and bucking and trying to throw the hundred and fifty unwanted pounds from his back. The dog ran back and forth on the far side of the fence. “Damn it all to hell.” Just what he needed! Jon acting half-brained astride that devil of a colt. Daegan leaned forward and his mount galloped across the arid field, sending up a cloud of dust. Before his horse stopped, Daegan jumped off, vaulted the fence, and was running across the corral. “Hey, now, calm down,” he said as Buckshot lowered his head and kicked up his heels again. Jon, his face the color of skim milk, slid down Buckshot’s neck, but clung on. “For the love of Jesus—” Daegan had learned respect for rodeo horses long ago. He had the scars and stiff joints to remind him just how dangerous a colt on a rampage could be. “Whoa, fella,” he commanded softly as he reached for Buckshot’s halter; but the horse reared high, kicking out his front legs. Steel-shod hooves sliced the air. Daegan lunged forward. Thud! Pain jolted up his arm. He sucked in his breath. “Hang on, Jon.” The boy looked over at him for the first time, and his pale face bleached whiter for being caught in the act. With an ear-piercing whistle, Buckshot bolted. Jon pitched forward. “Nooo—” he cried, but slammed into the dirt. “Shiiit!”
Daegan’s stomach clenched. Every bone in the kid’s body had to have been jarred loose, especially his shoulder. Daegan leaned down and Jon tried to scramble away. He winced. “Oh, crap.” “Are you all right?” “Does it look like I’m all right?” Jon said angrily, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “It looks like you were a damned fool, playin’ around with that colt.” “You said I could ride him!” “With me around! Damn it, Jon, you could’ve been killed!” “Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” When Daegan tried to touch him, Jon jerked away. “Leave me alone.” “Believe me, I will. I just want to see if anything’s broken.” “I’m fine,” Jon shot back. “Your ma know you’re here?” He tried to lift his shoulder, then sucked in his breath. “Let me take a look at—” “It’s okay! Just leave me alone.” The boy’s eyes, though frightened, were bright with hot defiance. “I don’t think I can do that. Seein’ as you’re on my place—” “So sue me.” “I just might,” Daegan said, ignoring the throb in his arm as he studied the boy and called his bluff. “Trespassing’s against the law—” “You said I could come over and see Roscoe anytime—and besides, you had some of my stuff!” Belligerence, bluff, and bravado all emanated from the kid in hot waves. “That’s why you’re here?” “Yeah.” “And the horse—” Jon frowned and gnawed at his lower lip. “Mom won’t let me ride.” “Why not?” “She thinks it’s dangerous.” “And you just made the mistake of proving her right. Come on, let’s have a look at what damage we’ve got here.” “I’m okay.” “I’ll be the judge of that.” “I said I’m okay! This isn’t a big deal.” He struggled to his feet, biting back pain, his lips pale but his eyes once again dry. “I gotta go.” “I’ll drive you.” “I can make it on my own.” Daegan glanced over to Buckshot, who stood, muscles quivering, at the far corner of the paddock. Daegan thrust his chin in the direction of the mule-headed colt. “All you had to do was ask, y’know.” “And you would’ve let me?” Clear blue eyes stared up at him.
Penetrating eyes. Sullivan eyes. “Alone? Hell, no!” The lips tightened into a line Jon couldn’t suspect reminded Daegan of his unwanted relatives. “See?” “Not without me supervising.” Slapping his hat on his thigh, Daegan straightened. “I would’ve started you off with something a little tamer—like old Loco, over there. After you handled him, okay, we would’ve switched to Buckshot. “Now, come on, I think we’d better get you home.” He offered the boy his hand. It was ignored. “I asked before—your ma know you’re over here?” Silence. Guilty, white-lipped silence. “Didn’t think so. My guess is she doesn’t even know you’re gone.” “How’d you know that?” Jon asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, as if he suspected that he was in the middle of some kind of conspiracy against him. “She home?” “Doesn’t matter.” The kid had a chip the size of Nebraska on his shoulder, and Daegan nearly smiled. He reminded him of himself at that age. Then that cold, unfamiliar fear settled into his stomach. “It might be best if I take you in the truck. That way if your ma’s all bent out of shape and worried sick about you, she can get mad at me instead.” Jon hesitated. “You’d take the heat?” “Didn’t say that. Just said it would be diffused a little. Come on, now.” “No way.” Breath whistling past his teeth, the boy stood, then the color drained from his face, and if Daegan hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have passed out completely. “Great.” Daegan didn’t waste any time, just carried Jon to his truck and the kid had the good sense not to resist. He grumbled a little when Daegan started up the old Ford, but then was silent as he leaned against the passenger door and stared through the grimy windshield. The lane was filled with potholes and the truck jostled and jolted. “You forgot your stash,” he said. “Can’t ke ep it at the house anyway.” Jon scooted lower in his seat. “It’d be best if Ma didn’t know what it is.” “Figured as much.” “You aren’t gonna tell her, are you?” “What? About the Playboys and the booze? If I was going to say anything, I would have. I didn’t rat you out about sneaking over to my place, did I?” “No,” Jon said suspiciously. “And I’m not going to.” Jon let out his breath in a rush, and Daegan realized he’d just climbed a huge hurdle toward gaining the kid’s trust. He set the emergency brake. “Your mom is home?” Daegan clarified over the frantic barking of the pup.
What would he do if she wasn’t around? Take the kid to a clinic? Try and do a little first aid on the boy himself? From the looks of Jon’s scowl, that wasn’t going to happen. “She’s here.” Daegan parked his truck, letting it idle, and the kid shoved open the door and es caped. Daegan had no choice but to follow. The screen door flew open, and Kate, in old jeans and a green sweater, rushed onto the porch. “Houndog, hush!” Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that seemed to be falling apart, and her expression was confused, worried. “Jon? But I thought...” She glanced into the house as if her eyes had deceived her and he would appear in the doorway of the kitchen instead of in the front yard. Her eyes rested on Daegan for an uncomfortable instant before her gaze crashed full force on her son again. “What’s going on? Are you all right?” “Fine,” the boy said, his eyes trained on Daegan, daring him to say anything. “He was thrown from one of my horses.” “One of your horses?” The corners of her mouth drew down and the wariness he’d witnessed the other day appeared in her eyes. “Jon?” “I’m okay.” “But you were supposed to be upstairs—I was in the kitchen—I didn’t hear you leave...” Again her eyes, the color of whiskey in the sunlight, pinned Daegan. “What was he doing on your horse?” There was a small, in voluntary tightening of her muscles. “For that matter, why was Jon at your place?” “I think he came over to look after the dog. You’ll have to ask him. I wasn’t at the house when he decided to see if he could tame Buckshot.” “Buckshot?” Her eyebrows lifted a little. “Jon, what the devil’s going on here?” “I snuck out.” He walked to the porch and leaned heavily against the rail. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “So what?” “So what?” She threw her hands to the heavens. “You’re already grounded because of the suspension last week and the fight and—” She cut herself off, glanced at Daegan again, and blew a few strands of sun-streaked hair from her eyes. “Look, before I go flying off the handle again, I guess I owe you an apology,” she said without much conviction. “I don’t know what he was doing at your place, but I’m sorry if he inconvenienced you. Thanks for rescuing him.” “You might want to have his shoulder looked at. He landed pretty hard.” “It’s fine!” Jon said. “Maybe,” Daegan admitted. “Could just be bruised.” “And he didn’t rescue me, okay?” Jon glared at his mother. His color was all wrong—the summer tan now a milky shade and his lips were bloodless. He was hurting, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Kate was having none of his martyrdom and show of false courage. “Let’s take a look.” Eyes flashing defiantly, Jon gritted his teeth as she lifted his T-shirt and gingerly touched his skin. He sucked his breath in a hiss of pain as his back and stomach were exposed. Obviously embarrassed, Jon avoided Daegan’s eyes as his mother examined him. A dark scarlet blush climbed steadily up his neck to burn in his cheeks.
Kate frowned. “Already bruised.” Letting the T-shirt fall back, she said. “We’d better run to the clinic for a couple of X-rays. Get in the car, Jon. I’ll find my shoes and purse.” “I don’t need X-rays,” Jon said vehemently. He scowled at Daegan as if he’d been betrayed. “Better safe than sorry.” “I’m okay, Mom.” “What possessed you to go joy riding?” Turning to face Daegan, she folded her arms under her breasts. “Or was this your idea?” “He didn’t know about it,” Jon admitted. “I was just lookin’ after Roscoe and I saw the horse and—” “Oh, Lord, Jon, don’t you know any better? Let me grab my keys...” “Geez, Mom, I’m not a baby!” Her temper snapped. “Then quit acting like one. Don’t argue with me!” “I’m not a little kid, all right?” An angry look crossed his young features, and Daegan gleaned that the war between mother and son ran de ep. They might love each other, all right, but Kate was probably overprotective. The boy was trouble waiting to happen. A bad mix. Daegan knew it all too well. It was time to leave. “I hope he’s okay,” he said, then pointed a finger at Jon’s chest. “Look, Jon, you’re welcome to come over and see the dog any time—but you might be a little careful around Buckshot.” “He won’t be around Buckshot again.” “It would be all right, if I was there. Let me know what the doctor says.” He touched the boy on his good shoulder, half expecting him to pull away. Instead, Jon froze, his eyes turned dark, and he stared at Daegan as if he’d never seen him before this split second. Daegan’s insides jelled. “Who was the guy you killed?” Jon asked, and Kate, who was already opening the screen door to the house, paused. “I told you. No one. The closest I came was a knife fight with my cousin years ago and it was bloody. That’s how I got this...” He motioned to his ear, where the lobe was missing. “But—” “He died.” Shit. “I told you that before.” “But not later, like you wanted me to think, but right then and there.” Daegan saw the fear in Kate’s eyes and knew he had to nip this in the bud. “That’s not quite the way it happened. It was ugly. My cousin jumped me from behind.” “Why?” Jon demanded. Daegan shook his head. “He was mad at me. We were both young and full of piss and vinegar. He came at me with a crowbar and a knife, and by the time it was over, we were both busted up pretty bad. To tell you the truth, I was afraid I had killed him, with his knife.” Kate was staring at him with wide, horrified eyes and a piece of Daegan’s soul seemed to wither a bit. “As I said, we were both hurt pretty bad, but I made it to a phone and called the police. By the time they got there, he was dead.” “So you—you—” “Dear God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “No. I left him alive. But the police questioned me over and over again. Fortunately there was a witness who claimed he saw me run to the phone
booth and another couple of men came along, two-bit thugs probably, who robbed my cousin and finished the job.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. “If I hadn’t run to call the police, maybe I could have saved him. Maybe not. Maybe that makes me guilty of murder. All I know is I’d give anything to relive that night again,” he said with conviction. “There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t wish I could change things. But I can’t. I have to acc ept that.” “Jesus,” Jon whispered, whether in awe or revulsion, Daegan couldn’t tell. The boy’s threat worked and Daegan dropped his hand. Kate’s breath whistled between her teeth. “Go inside,” she said to her boy. “And I’ve already warned you about the language.” “Wait a minute, Mom. Didn’t you hear what he just said? O’Rourke—” “Go inside,” she r epeated. “Do it! Now.” Jon scrambled through the front door. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Your story is —” “Ugly.” “Yes, and to be truthful, it scares me.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, as if protecting herself, she stared him straight in the eye. “I think it would be best, for all of us, if Jon stays here where he belongs. If he wanders your way again, please, just send him home.” Daegan stood his ground. “It’s too bad you had to find out my de epest secret,” he said and he meant it. Telling her too much about his fight with Stuart, giving her a glimmer into his private life, was dangerous. “So is that it? Nothing else?” One side of his mouth lifted. “You expect something worse than me being hauled into jail for questioning in a murder?” “No... I guess not.” He didn’t believe her. She had trouble meeting his eyes. Now, it was her turn. “What about you?” he asked. “Me?” “Any skeletons in your closet?” he asked as a lonely hawk circled overhead and the wind seemed to die for an instant. He counted out the beats of her heart in the pulse at the base of her throat while she hesitated and looked away toward the mountains to a spot only she could see. “None that I can share,” she finally said. “What happened to Jon’s father?” “What?” She jerked. He had her attention now. “How did he die?” “An accident. Hit and run,” she said, swallowing hard. “He and my little girl were walking and they were both killed.” Her voice was the barest of whispers, and Daegan experienced the unlikely need to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and comfort her, to lie and tell her things would be better when he knew they were only going to get worse. Much worse. Instead he scowled at the ground and rammed his hands into his pockets. “Jim never even saw Jon.”
“That’s a shame. Your son’s a good boy. His father would have been proud.” She stared at him as if he’d just said the world would come to an end in ten minutes. Her fingers fluttered nervously and she wiped them on her jeans. “Yes, well, I, um, need to get Jon to the doctor.” She started to head to the house, but stopped. “You know, sometimes Jon, he—well, he says things he shouldn’t.” “He’s a boy. They tend to do that.” Daegan saw the questions in her eyes, and behind her, through the screen, he noticed the boy’s pale face staring at him through the mesh. “Don’t we all?” He started to turn back to the truck. “Mr. O’Rourke?” “Daegan. I thought we were past that. We’re neighbors, remember?” How could she forget? He could be a murderer. The criminal. The man who may have sired her son. His comment that Jon’s father would be proud of him nearly caused her knees to buckle. Her throat so dry she could barely speak, she said, “Daegan, right. This fight with your cousin—where did it happen?” “Back home.” She didn’t let up. “Which is?” “Canada. A little town in Alberta, near Calgary. Good luck with the boy.” Daegan turned and walked back to his tired-looking pickup and Kate watched him leave, not moving, just staring after the battered old Dodge as gravel spewed from its balding tires and the engine growled, leaving a plume of blue exhaust in its wake. Jon let out a long, low whistle, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. “Did you hear that? He all but admitted it.” “I heard,” Kate said, rubbing her arms to get rid of the goose bumps that rose on her flesh. She was suddenly cold as death. Who was Daegan O’Rourke really? Stranger, neighbor, sexy-as-all-get-out cowboy, and possibly a murderer. The criminal. If so, why was he here? What did he want? If he’d intended to take Jon away, he’d had ample opportunity this afternoon. Maybe he was just an innocent cowboy with a colorful, though shady, past. Sure. And she was the Virgin Mary. “My friend’s still looking through some of the old documents and files, but so far we haven’t come up with much,” Laura said, sounding as if she were in the next room instead of over two thousand miles away in Boston. Kate fingered the cord and leaned a shoulder against the refrigerator. Through the window she watched as Jon, his arm in a sling, threw the tennis ball across the yard for the puppy, who merrily gave chase. “There were dozens of kids born around Jon’s birthday in the greater Boston area. I started with the date on his doctored birth certificate and went forward and backward a week, though you’re certain he was only days old when you got him.” “Positive of it,” Kate said. “The umbilical cord stump didn’t fall off for days.” “Okay, so I’m sorting through, trying to find out if any of the infants were born to single mothers, but my guess is that whoever doctored the certificate somehow managed to get into the computer data as well.” “Wonderful,” Kate said sarcastically.
“I’ll ke ep looking.” “Thanks.” She rubbed the top of a pumpkin she’d picked from the garden, the one chosen to be this year’s jack-o’-lantern. “What about the cowboy?” “Since he claims to be from Canada, I’ll check with immigration to see if anyone named Daegan O’Rourke ever changed his citizenship. That’ll take a while. “As for him starting out around here, there were several Daegan O’Rourkes, if you can believe that, born in the greater Boston area thirty to forty years ago. None of them has a criminal record that we can find or a physical description. We’re still checking to see if any have moved or stayed in Massachusetts. It’ll take a couple of days, maybe even a week or so.” Kate groaned and leaned her head against the wall. “Sorry, Kate, but my friend and I have to do this on our free time.” “I know. Thanks.” “So are you still convinced that the cowboy next door is someone to avoid?” “Definitely,” Kate said, but wondered if it were possible. Jon already had developed an attraction-aversion to the man and even she found him interesting—in a purely male-female way. But that was crazy. She’d never gone for the faded jeans and worn-down boots type, never found any of the men in town overly attractive, but Daegan O’Rourke was different, he stood out in a crowd. She didn’t admit her feelings to Laura, but otherwise she filled her in, including explaining about Jon’s interest in the man, his accident with the horse, and conceding that they’d been lucky. Jon’s shoulder had only been bruised, his pride wounded more than anything else. But then there was O’Rourke to deal with—whoever he was. “Let me get this straight,” Laura said. “You think that Daegan might be Jon’s father. Why? Because of some silly premonition? Do they look anything alike?” “A little,” Kate said. “The coloring’s about the same exc ept Jon’s eyes are a clearer blue. O’Rourke’s are gray—flinty.” “Not enough, Kate.” “Okay, so there’s some resemblance, I think. The shape of the face and skin tone. Jon’s hair is a little lighter.” “Oh, for God’s sake. That’s not enough. Jon’s left-handed—what about O’Rourke?” “Don’t know.” “And Jon’s dimple?” “O’Rourke doesn’t smile much.” “Then you don’t have much to go on and you might ask yourself something. Assuming that O’Rourke is Jon’s father—and that’s a helluva assumption from the sound of things, but we’ll go with it for now—why would Jon’s dad show up all of a sudden out of the clear blue, fifteen-plus years after the fact? Wasn’t he supposed to be some kind of violent lowlife? From what you’re telling me, you have a cowboy who’s maybe a little rough around the edges, who was jumped by his cousin and ended up hurting him—maybe even killing him by accident, but really, all things considered, he sounds like a good enough guy.”
“Good guy,” Kate r epeated, though some of what Laura was saying echoed her own thoughts. So far O’Rourke had only helped her—with her tire and with her son. He wasn’t even angry that Jon had wandered over to his place uninvited and taken it upon himself to ride one of the horses. All in all, he’d been a model neighbor. “That cousin ended up dead,” Kate pointed out, her stomach churning. “Okay, okay. What was the cousin’s name?” “He never said.” “It would help if we had a little more information to go on.” Kate tapped her fingers against the wall. “I know, I know. I just don’t think I can bring it up again.” “Maybe you won’t have to; Jon seems to be doing a pretty good job of it himself.” Outside, Jon threw the ball high into the air and Houndog ran around in circles, his head pointed skyward. Could Jon really be Daegan’s son, or was she just grasping at straws? What had Jon said—something about a good man and a bad one showing up here? Maybe Daegan was the good. She shuddered. Who, then, was the bad?