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Shaman wasn’t surprised to see that it was practically falling off its hinges. “This is a firetrap. Wonder why it hasn’t been condemned?”
Tempest didn’t answer, and he moved a few fallen clumps of plaster out of her way as she moved through the dark foyer. It was as if she was mesmerized. Shaman’s heart beat hard, and for some reason he wished he had one of his guns on him. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling, as it always did before danger hit in the war zone.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, reaching out to grab Tempest’s hand. “Trust me, I can afford to take you to a decent hamburger joint.”
She walked into the kitchen, compelling him to go with her. He was sure he saw something skitter under one of the counters, and wondered why she wasn’t frightened out of her wits.
“Someone’s been here,” she murmured. “Someone’s living here.”
Now he was truly creeped out. “I’m all for excitement, but trespassing’s usually frowned on.”
She turned to look at him. “This is my house.”
He hesitated, glancing around him, trying to square the beautiful woman with the rattrap she claimed was hers. “I don’t get it.”
“This is where I grew up.” Tempest shrugged. “So now you know.”
He pulled her to him. “It was probably a great home in its day.”
“It wasn’t.” She leaned against his chest. “They don’t condemn this house because it’s mine.”
“I don’t think you’ll be living here,” Shaman said. “Although you might consider renting it to the Munsters or the Addams Family. A Morticia type would probably really dig it.”
“You don’t like it? This isn’t your dream home?” Tempest looked up at him. He could see her bright eyes in the darkness, and he wondered why she had brought him here.
“I like you,” he said, “and I think you’re hot wearing spiderwebs.” He brushed one off her cap and kissed her on the nose. “You know, I bet you could convince me to—”
“What are you doing in my house?”
A man’s voice erupted behind them, and Tempest shrieked, clinging to Shaman for just an instant.
Then she moved away, though he tried to shield her. “This is my house. What are you doing here?”
A flashlight shone on her, cutting the darkness. “Zola?”
She stepped closer, though Shaman tried to hold her back. “Bobby Taylor?”
“Yeah.” He shone the beam at Shaman. “Who’s he?”
“Never mind.” Tempest snatched the flashlight from the man, nearly giving Shaman a heart attack. She shone it in the guy’s face. “What are you doing in my house?”
“I’m staying here. And it’s not like you need this joint, sister.”
Chapter Four
Tempest put the flashlight on the counter so the beam pointed to the ceiling, illuminating the room with a small circle of light. “I’m not your sister, Bobby.”
She felt Shaman move closer to her, and was warmed by the protection she knew he offered. But she could handle this.
“Don’t want him to know?” Bobby jerked his head toward Shaman. “Zola’s mom had a special relationship with my father, Bud. She’s the love child. So yes, Zola, you are my half sister.” Bobby smiled, which annoyed Tempest. “Even if you don’t want anyone to know, everybody does. There’s no need to deny it.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care what anybody thinks.”
“Now that you’re a big star, you could help me get the family place back. It’s mine and my siblings’,” Bobby said. “Jonas Callahan stiffed our father out of Dark Diablo. Dad was not in his right mind when he sold it. That land was worth a lot more than what Callahan paid for it.”
“Yet he left you none of his money,” Tempest said. “I would think that speaks pretty loudly. Anyway, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my house.” She glared at Bobby.
Shaman stood stiffly next to her, coiled, ready to strike. She doubted Bobby knew how much danger he was in.
“I didn’t figure my sister would mind.” The man shrugged. “You know, if you’d care to speak on our behalf in the lawsuit, testify to the fact that Dad wasn’t in his right mind when he sold the land or when he wrote his will, we’d cut you in on the deal.”
She crossed her arms. “Just so you know, this is Shaman Phillips. He’s working at Dark Diablo.”
Bobby turned his full attention to Shaman. “You work for Callahan?”
Shaman didn’t reply. Tempest had a feeling silence was deadly, and put her hand in his, trying to let him know he didn’t have to worry about protecting her. “Yes, he works for Jonas.”
Bobby looked at her with loathing. “So you’re in bed with the Callahans.”
“Not so much.” She heard what sounded like a growl come from Shaman, and squeezed his fingers.
It didn’t seem to help. He was like a crouching panther, his tight muscles bunching.
“It never occurred to me before,” Bobby said, “but Dad left his money to someone. The will was sealed, so we never knew, but now that I think about it...” He stared at Tempest. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Why would Bud Taylor leave me a dime?”
“Because he loved your mother, though he would never have married her. She was trash, of course, from the wrong side of town—”
“Then he wouldn’t have left her daughter anything.” Tempest tried to squeeze Shaman closer, so he’d know he didn’t have her permission to go ape-wild on Bobby. He wanted to, badly—she could feel it. “Bobby, I want you out of my house.”
“I’ve got no place to go,” he said.
“Go back to wherever you came from.” She glanced around the dark house. “How are you surviving here, anyway?”
“I don’t need much. There’s some broken furniture, so it’s like camping. Besides I’ll have plenty of money once the judge forces Callahan to give us what’s ours.”
“Go,” Shaman said. “Go and don’t come back. Or you’ll deal with me.”
“And you’re a tough guy, right?” Bobby retorted.
“Something like that,” Shaman said, his tone deceptively easy.
Bobby considered him for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “I’ll go. But one day, you won’t have a job at Dark Diablo. You’ll be the first person I fire,” he told Shaman. “Hope you don’t need your job too bad. And I’ll own this house,” he told Tempest. “You could have been nice, could have shared with your brother who’s down on his luck.”
“I could, but I’m not going to,” Tempest said. “Get out before I call Sheriff Nance.”
Bobby snatched his flashlight off the counter, then sauntered out the door. The kitchen went dark again.
“That was pretty crazy,” Shaman said.
Tempest finally shivered. It was nerves, but not good nerves, not like she had before she went on stage. This was more of a bone-deep trembling, from the past smacking her right in the face. “Yeah. It was.”
“You trying to scare me off, Cupertino?” Shaman asked, putting his arm around her and walking her to the front door. She could still feel the tension in his body; it radiated from him.
“Maybe,” she said. “Is it working?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” he answered, helping her into his truck. “I don’t know that you can scare me off.”
He went around to get in the driver’s seat, and she suppressed another shiver until he’d climbed in. She quickly locked the doors, and he acted as if he hadn’t noticed. “I wanted you to know where I came from, Shaman. I knew you’d understand.”
He pulled away from the small, decrepit pile of wooden misery where Tempest had grown up. “I don’t know that there’s anything to understand. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I haven’t been back here since I left,” she said softly. “And I’ve never told anybody I dated about my family.”
“So this is like a real first date,” Shaman said, trying to unload some of the tension.
Yet the tension wouldn’t leave her. “I just knew I could tell you, because you’re not some rich guy who’s never worked a day in your life. You haven’t had everything handed to you. I mean, I feel like you could understand.”
“Oh, I get it. Because I’m a working stiff.” He laughed. “Cupertino, you got a bad-girl fantasy going on? Rich girl meets bad boy?”
“No,” she said, annoyed. “I just feel like you and I are a lot alike somehow. That maybe we’re from the same place.”
“It’s okay,” Shaman said. “I get what you’re saying. And I don’t care about your skeletons, beautiful. Now tell me where you want me to take you for our date. A beer is sounding real good to me right now.”
“I do not have a bad-girl fantasy, or whatever you said,” Tempest said, still inwardly writhing over the skeletons that had popped out unexpectedly from her closet. “I don’t have any fantasy at all concerning you,” she fibbed.
“We’ll have to work on that. I’ve got plenty of fantasies that have your name on them.”
She sniffed. “Really?”
He reached for her hand, kissing her fingers. “Feed me, and maybe I’ll show you.”
“Turn right at the stoplight. You can get a beer at Shiloh Bill’s.”
“That’s my girl,” Shaman said, and Tempest decided maybe the night was looking up. As long as she didn’t think about the past, everything was fine.
* * *
SHILOH BILL’S WAS A cozy mom-and-pop shop with lots of plants sprucing up the place, and a piano player in the background. Shaman felt himself slowly starting to relax. The whole incident with the vagrant had really teed him off—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to remove a guy’s head more.
It was Cupertino. She was driving him mad.
“What are you going to eat?” she asked, looking at him with big, inquiring eyes. He figured most girls wouldn’t have wanted to go out in a cap and wearing no makeup, but she hadn’t mentioned it. Shaman wondered if she knew how sexy she was, and decided Cupertino was too secure to care, whether she was wearing holey jeans or a ball gown.
“I’m going to have a salad and veggie quesadillas,” Shaman said. “Maybe some Oreo pie for dessert.”
“Didn’t you eat today?” she asked, obviously teasing him.
“Bodyguarding makes me hungry.” He reached for the chips in the center of the small table between them in the booth.
“Bodyguarding?” she said, one brow arching.
“Yeah. Do I get extra points for it?”
She laughed. “I can take care of myself, Shaman. And you just like to eat. It has nothing to do with me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” He sipped his beer, drinking in Cupertino, feeling relaxation stealing over him like a welcoming hug. “So, I have to ask you something.”
She leaned back. “I can’t promise to answer.”
“This is an easy question. My curious, naturally suspicious mind thinks Bobby’s right. Bud Taylor left his money to you.”
She looked at him without blinking. “They teach you puzzle solving in the military, or is it a natural talent?”
“Both. I’m right, aren’t I?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the money.”
He heard the hedge in her answer. “But you did have it.”
Her mouth twisted, and he wanted to kiss her soft, sweet lips. “If I did, Phillips, I would have donated it all to charity.”
“Would you now?” he said, knowing she’d just answered the question without answering it. A tall, thin waitress with gray hair and penciled eyebrows came over to take their orders, and when she’d left, Shaman looked at Tempest with a grin. “So which charity is your favorite?”
“You might notice that the library has had a major face-lift,” she said, her tone airy. “The structure was sound, but the outside needed work and the inside needed cosmetic renovation. Also, the book selections required serious updating. I think the money must have been appreciated, because your niece spent her summer devouring several shelves of books, and still likes coming here for reading material. Her nana Moira—Chelsea’s mother—apparently spent the summer dragging Cat to the library, helping her find her footing among the classics. I deem the project a success, if Cat and Moira think that highly of it.”
Shaman whistled. “You’re amazing.”
“Not really. It wasn’t my money, and I didn’t need it. The town of Tempest did. I figure no good civilization grows without excellent resources.”
He dragged a chip through the salsa. “I guess Bobby would have a fit if he knew.”
She shrugged. “That’s his personal problem. Anyway, the way the story went, at least the way I heard it from Shinny and Blanche, is that Bud Taylor couldn’t stand his kids. Said they were like vultures waiting for him to die, and he didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go out and make successes of themselves as he had. He didn’t believe in leaving them money.”
Shaman sighed with appreciation as their orders were placed in front of them. “It’s probably true. Everyone should make their own mark in life. Waiting for a handout is a sign of weakness.”
“I knew you’d understand,” Tempest said. “I admire you for being a self-made man.”
He wasn’t certain how admirable he really was. “So I take it no one knows your deep, dark secret.”
“Not a soul. Well, Bud’s lawyer does. But no one else, not even Shinny and Blanche.” She dug into the fajitas she’d ordered. “There was no point in telling anyone. Bud wouldn’t have wanted anything named after him. I didn’t know him very well, but I figure he wasn’t that kind of man. And anyway, I don’t necessarily believe the rumors are true about him being my dad. I had a father.” She stopped, looking faraway for a moment. “I didn’t really know him, either. Mom didn’t talk about him much.”
The salad was delicious, as were the quesadillas, but Shaman suddenly had another topic on his mind. “So, I heard Cat was hinting around about me marrying you.”
Tempest blinked and put her fajita down. “She didn’t say anything like that to me.”
“Oh, boy.” Shaman shook his head, realizing his niece had pulled yet another fast one on him. “That little devil.”
