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They’d entered the older, central part of the house. The living room had been left dark, but lamplight glowed through the open door of the dining room on the far side.
“There’s more than one way to see to family,” Jordan said. “If it weren’t for my investment business, we’d be selling off parcels of land to keep this place solvent. Picture ugly housing tracts in all directions.” He paused, dismissing the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
Jordan’s smile was forced. Just being with Angie ripped open old wounds, probably as much for her as for him. They were both playacting tonight, making believe the past didn’t exist. But how long could they keep up the pretense before the masks fell away?
The hand-hewn table was medieval in size, a relic of the days when the ranch had entertained flocks of guests. Tonight Angie and Jordan sat alone at the end nearest the kitchen, eating chicken and sausage paella with crisp green salad and red wine. Carlos, Marta’s shy young nephew who’d served the meal, had been friendly. But, then, he hadn’t been here four years ago, Angie reminded herself. Odds were he and Justin would never have met.
Her gaze shifted to her dining partner. She’d never had a problem telling Justin and Jordan apart, mostly because of how they’d behaved toward her. But tonight, with Jordan making an effort to be pleasant, the resemblance was uncanny. Except for the awkwardness that hung between them, it could’ve been Justin sitting across from her, smiling and making small talk.
“My calendar’s clear for tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking Lucas would like to see more of the ranch—with you along, of course.”
Hadn’t he resolved to keep his distance? Angie squelched the urge to argue. Lucas, she knew, would love an outing. “What a coincidence. My calendar’s clear, too,” she said.
“I know you’ve ridden a little. We can take horses up to the springs for a picnic. You’ll want to hold Lucas on your lap, but I’ve got a gentle old mare that’ll be fine with that.”
“Sounds good.” It was like Jordan, she thought, to plan the day and assume she’d just go along. Justin would’ve come up with the idea, then left her to carry out the details.
The silence had grown awkward. Angie scrambled for a new subject. “I’m surprised you aren’t married by now, Jordan,” she said.
“I was. Three years ago. Needless to say, it didn’t work out.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“About what you’d expect. She wanted a social life. I was always working. I wanted a family. She wanted fun. Somebody else came along.” He took a sip of Cabernet. “Can’t say I blame her for what happened. After eight months we were both ready to pull the plug.”
“You wanted a family?” Somehow that surprised her.
“After Justin’s loss, I felt I owed it to my parents to continue the Cooper line. But it was a bad idea. I don’t have the patience to be a decent husband, let alone a decent father.”
Angie had gone cold beneath her sweater. Was this why Jordan had brought Lucas here—to serve as the ready-made family heir?
It was a monstrous burden to place on a small boy. But then, she should’ve guessed what Jordan had in mind. He wasn’t thinking of Lucas. He was looking for a convenient way to discharge his family duty.
What would that mean for her? Was Jordan planning to ease her out of the picture? What if she chose to leave? What if she met someone and wanted to get married? Would Jordan fight her to keep his brother’s son?
Her first impulse was to confront him. But a blowup on her first night here wouldn’t be wise. She would bide her time, Angie resolved. She would watch and be wary. Any decision she made would be in the best interest of her son.
Even if it meant taking him away from this place.
She stared down at her half-finished plate, her appetite gone. “I should get back to Lucas,” she said, standing. “He might wake up and be frightened.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Jordan had risen, too.
“No, it’s all right. Finish your dinner.” She spun away from the table and plunged into the shadowed living room. With her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the stairs. She headed straight for them.
“Angie! Wait—!”
Something crashed to the tiles as she stumbled against a side table. Her first frantic thought was that whatever she’d broken had to be expensive. As far as she knew, Meredith Cooper had never paid less than eight hundred dollars for a piece of pottery.
Her second thought was that she’d hurt herself. A sharp throbbing came from just above her knee, where she’d struck the edge of the table. Clutching the spot, she crumpled onto a nearby footstool.
“Are you all right?” Jordan’s face emerged from the darkness. He crouched beside her.
“I’ll pay for what I broke,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “No matter how much it cost or how long it takes… .”
“The damned thing’s insured. Don’t worry about it. Let’s have a look at you.”
Switching on a table lamp, he lifted her hand away from the injury. As his fingertips explored the rising lump, their touch sent shimmers of heat up her thighs. She was acutely aware of his nearness, the scent of his hair, the sound of his breathing. A moist ache stirred in the depths of her body.
“You’ve got a nasty bruise,” he said. “We keep an ice bag in the kitchen. Hang on. I’ll fill it for you.”
“Please don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” Her heart was pounding. She needed to get away.
“No bother. It’ll only take a minute.” Rising, he strode back through the dining room and through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Angie waited until the door had closed behind him. Then she pushed to her feet, limped out to the patio and fled up the outside stairs.
Lucas was asleep in his father’s childhood bed, his hair a dark spill on the pillow. Aching with tenderness, Angie gazed down at him. Her son was so precious, so innocent and trusting, and she was all the protection he had.
All she wanted was what was best for him. But how could she know what that was? Was he safer in this place with no gangs, no sirens, no gunshots in the night … or would he be better off far away from the cool, calculating man downstairs whose agenda hadn’t yet come to light?
The boxes from Lucas’s old room were piled next to the bed. Angie had unpacked his clothes but left his toys, books and other small possessions for tomorrow. Now she found herself rummaging through the cardboard cartons, her fingers seeking then finding the familiar shape, the oval frame surrounding a childproof Plexiglas surface.
The moon gleamed through the window, casting its soft light on Justin’s photograph. Angie’s finger brushed the corner of the smiling mouth. This man was Lucas’s father, not the gruff, scheming imposter who masqueraded behind the same face. She would remember that truth in the days ahead, and she would make sure Lucas remembered it, too.
Setting the photo on the nightstand, she turned it toward the bed, where the boy would see it when he awakened. Then, with a last glance at her sleeping son, she tiptoed out of the room.
Three
Jordan was at the kitchen table, drinking his early morning coffee, when a rumpled elf appeared in the doorway. Lucas’s cowlick was standing straight up. His blue-striped T-shirt was inside out and his sneakers trailed untied laces.
He stared at Jordan for a thoughtful moment. “Are you really not my daddy?” he asked.
“I’m really not your daddy.” Jordan tried to ignore the unaccustomed tug at his emotions. “I’m your uncle Jordan, and that’s what you can call me.” He looked the boy up and down. “I take it you dressed yourself. Where’s your mother?”
“Mommy’s asleep.” His wide dark eyes, so like Angie’s, roamed the kitchen. “I’m hungry. What’s to eat?”
Jordan rose. Most days, coffee was all the breakfast he wanted. Marta wouldn’t be here till after eight, and it was barely seven. He could hardly let a child go hungry that long. “What do you like?” he asked.
“Pancakes.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do.” There was a box of pancake mix in the cupboard. Gathering dishes and utensils, Jordan set to work. The first three pancakes stuck to the griddle and ended up in the trash. On the next try he had better luck. He was able to drop three respectable-looking pancakes onto Lucas’s plate.
The boy stared at the pancakes and shook his head.
“Now what’s the matter?” Jordan demanded.
“Mommy makes pancakes like a teddy bear. I want a teddy bear.”
Blast it, where was the boy’s mother? Jordan sighed. “So how do I make a teddy bear?”
“Like this.” Lucas arranged the pancakes to form a head and ears. “But the head is bigger and they’re all stuck together.”
“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Jordan muttered as he spooned batter onto the hot griddle. With careful turning he just managed to get his creation off in one piece. “How’s this?” he asked as he eased it onto the plate.
“Not as good as Mommy’s. But you’ll do better next time.”
Jordan turned off the stove, added butter and syrup to the lopsided teddy bear pancake and poured a glass of milk. Then he sat down to finish his lukewarm coffee. Lucas was digging into his pancake like a little trooper.
Justin’s son.
Jordan sensed impending chaos. He was just beginning to realize how a child—and that child’s mother—would affect his well-ordered life. Having them here wouldn’t be easy. But if anything could be done to repay the terrible debt he owed his family …
“Lucas Montoya! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Angie stood in the doorway, hastily dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt. Her feet were bare, her hair tousled, her face a thundercloud.
Two thoughts flashed through Jordan’s mind. The first was that, even early in the morning, Angelina Montoya was one sexy woman. He could get used to seeing her like that—uncombed and sleepy-eyed, her feet bare and her shirt clinging to her trim little body. The second thought, more sobering, was that she hadn’t given Lucas his father’s name. Sooner or later, whether she liked it or not, that would have to be remedied.
“Uncle Jordan made me a teddy bear pancake.” Lucas flashed her a syrupy grin.
“Oh?” She frowned. “You didn’t have to do that, Jordan. I’ve made my son’s breakfast every day of his life. There’s no reason that should change.”
She was glaring at him as if he’d tried to kidnap the boy. Jordan got the message. The battle lines had been drawn. “I was here and he was hungry,” Jordan said. “Sit down and I’ll make you some pancakes, too. Do you want teddy bear or regular? I do both.”
“Just coffee. I’ll get my own.”
“Cups are on the second shelf. Help yourself.” Jordan willed himself to be annoyingly cheerful. “Did you tell Lucas we were going out for a ride this morning?”
“A ride? On horses? Like cowboys?” Lucas was all eyes and ears.
“Maybe.” Angie sat down at the table and swirled cream into her coffee. A bewitching spark danced in her mahogany eyes. “First show me how fast you can finish your breakfast, get cleaned up and make your bed. Then we’ll see. OK?”
“OK! I’ll be lightning fast, you’ll see!” He cleaned his plate and dashed for the door. Picking up her coffee, Angie strode after him.
Jordan followed her with his eyes. Angie was a good mother—loving, firm and protective. She’d done a fine job of raising Lucas on her own. But the boy was a Cooper. Justin would want him to have everything this ranch, and the Cooper money, could provide for him.
Jordan was just beginning to realize what he’d taken on. This wasn’t a short-term arrangement. Justin’s son wouldn’t be of age for another fifteen years. As things stood now, Angie had full legal custody of the boy. She could leave tomorrow and take him anywhere she chose. She could even meet someone, marry and allow her new husband to adopt Lucas.
Jordan knew he couldn’t let that happen.
It would take good lawyer to help secure Lucas’s place in the family. The legal process was bound to take time, especially if Angie chose to fight him at every turn. For now, it would be up to him to make damned sure the woman was happy enough to stay put.
He couldn’t bring Justin back or undo the tragic events he’d helped set in motion. But restoring his brother’s son in the Cooper family might, at least, grant him a measure of redemption.
By nine o’clock they were on the trail. The docile bay Jordan had chosen for Angie moseyed along at a plodding gait. Lucas, sitting astride her lap, giggled with delight. What could be more exciting than a ride on a real horse?
The well-worn path wound through piñon-covered hills to descend into a broad arroyo where spikes of yucca and clumps of blooming chamisa rose against adobe-colored ledges. Some distance ahead, Angie knew, the way would narrow, ending where a waterfall cascaded down the canyon wall.
The last time she’d ridden this trail, it had been with Justin. They’d taken a picnic to the waterfall and made love at sunset on the blanket they’d brought. Now it was Jordan who rode beside her on the splendid palomino she recognized as Justin’s former favorite.
Her bruised knee twinged as she shifted in the saddle. Her face flamed at the memory of last night—Jordan’s hand gliding up her leg. In the embarrassment of the moment, she hadn’t really noticed just how intimate it had been, letting him touch her like that. Remembering it now, the intensity of her response shocked her. She tried to tell herself it was because he looked so much like Justin. But that didn’t explain it. Justin was gone, and behind that well-loved face was a very different man.
Today, dressed in faded denims, a western-style shirt and a weathered Stetson, Jordan looked more at ease than Angie had ever seen him. He sat a horse as if he’d begun riding at Lucas’s age, which he probably had.
They said little, depending on Lucas’s chatter to fill the awkward silence. He talked mostly to Jordan, asking childish questions that Jordan answered with surprising patience.
“Are you a real cowboy, Uncle Jordan?”
“I just play at being a cowboy. But there are some real cowboys on the ranch. They work here, taking care of the cows and horses.”
“Can I be a cowboy, too?”
“Maybe not a real one. But you can play at it, like I do.”
“Can I have a horse?”
“Lucas,” Angie warned, “you mustn’t ask Uncle Jordan to give you things.”
Jordan’s gaze narrowed. “Before you get a horse you’ll have to be big enough to take care of it. That’s going to take some time. But you might be old enough for a puppy.”
“A puppy!” Lucas squirmed with excitement.
“Only if your mother says it’s all right, of course.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Angie gave Jordan an annoyed glance. It wasn’t that she’d mind having a puppy around. Lucas would love a dog. But why couldn’t the man have asked her first?
She needed to have some serious words with him. Just because she’d agreed to move out to the ranch, that didn’t mean that she was going to let Jordan take over her life, or Lucas’s. He had no right to make decisions about her son’s care.
For the sake of Lucas’s safety, she’d live under the same roof with the man. She’d even force herself to be civil. But she wasn’t going to let herself fall for the “concerned uncle” act. She’d continue to monitor every conversation with him with a healthy dose of suspicion.
It didn’t matter that four years had passed. Jordan still had his own agenda. And she could never trust him to be on her side.
Angie’s chance to bring up the puppy came after lunch. They’d spread a blanket on the grass at the base of the waterfall, where they’d feasted on Marta’s cheese empanadas and piñon nut cookies. Lucas’s presence had kept their conversation on neutral ground, but now he was curled on the blanket, fast asleep in the warm sunlight.
“Looks like we could be here awhile.” Jordan leaned back against a boulder and crossed his long, booted legs at the ankle.
“I’m afraid so.” Angie felt strangely tongue-tied. “Wake him now and he’ll be as cranky as a little bear.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” His slow grin was so like Justin’s that Angie felt a lump rise in her throat.
“About that puppy,” she said.
His only response was the subtle twitch of one eyebrow.
“You should know better, Jordan.” She spoke in an impassioned whisper. “Getting Lucas’s hopes up before you’ve cleared it with me—it’s unfair. Worse, it’s underhanded. If I say no, I’ll be the villain.”
His expression didn’t change. “Why say no? The boy could use a playmate. A dog would be good for him.”
