Lone Wolf
Sheri WhiteFeather
Just one look from her evocative neighbor, Hawk Wainwright, was all it took to set Mission Creek newcomer Jenny Taylor on her toes. But haunting memories from a brutal ex-husband made her wary of his touch.Still, Jenny couldn't help being drawn to Hawk, a lone wolf who had never quite fit into the legitimate Wainwright pack. He knew the pain of being estranged from flesh and blood, and now that the Carson/Wainwright feud was reaching a boiling point, mending fences would have to wait. He would gladly focus his attention on the achingly vulnerable woman next door. Yet, could Jenny trust this kindred spirit with her deep, dark secret and still feel safe in his arms?
CLUB TIMES
For Members’ Eyes Only
Like father, like son…
I put my foot in it this time, members, but I’m going to plead Temporary Hardware Store Stupidity. Okay, so Hawk Wainwright and I smashed into each other when we were both examining screws and washers (no, I didn’t do it on purpose). Can you blame me for getting riled when he growled at me? As if I should do ballet while picking out a washer or a screw! I said, “You are just as crabby as your father.” His death glare catapulted me into another stratosphere and I left the hardware store empty-handed. Oops.
To cheer myself up, I went over to Mrs. McKenzie’s dress shop, because if you stand near the fitting rooms, you can hear the latest water-cooler dirt from the cream of Mission Creek society. Kate Wainwright and Rose Wainwright-Carson whispered about the fact that interior designer Jenny Taylor has a past. (Those quiet ones are always hiding something.) And poor Jenny has Hawk Wainwright as her next-door neighbor. I have to warn her never to borrow a cup of sugar from him!
But here at the Lone Star Country Club, we embrace all—the loud ones (you know who you are), the quiet, the brave, the spineless and even the scary ones of Mission Creek. We are a family.
So bring it on at the Lone Star Country Club. The sooner, the better!
About the Author
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be part of the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series, where she had the pleasure of learning about a wondrous place called East Texas.
Sheri is married to a Muscogee Creek silversmith. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817.
Lone Wolf
Sheri WhiteFeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Welcome to the
Where Texas society reigns supreme—and appearances are everything.
Could a Native American rebel uncover the secrets hidden in his neighbor’s hardened heart?
Hawk Wainwright: An outsider his entire life, Hawk was drawn to his mysterious neighbor whose quiet beauty was impossible to ignore. But this lone wolf would need to overcome his own past before he could plan a future with Jenny.
Jenny Taylor: After an abusive marriage forced her to run away and start a new life, Jenny vowed she’d never fall for someone based simply on looks and lust. Now, though, an outsider seemingly with no hidden agenda has made Jenny feel passion once again…stirring her soul like no man ever has.
The Mercados of Mission Creek: One of the most powerful families in Mission Creek has taken a special interest in the kidnapping of baby Lena. Is it possible that patriarch Johnny Mercado is involved in the abduction?
To Margaret Marbury for offering a much-appreciated membership to the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB.
To the other LSCC authors for their hard work and dedication.
To my husband, Dru, for sharing the hawks in his life.
To Kimberly Payne and her dog, Cheyenne, for inspiring the puppy in this book.
And finally, because the nature of this story is too important to categorize as strictly fiction, I’m including the toll-free number of National Domestic Violence Hotline for anyone who should need it: 1-(800) 799-SAFE.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
One
Hawk Wainwright walked out onto his front porch, then stopped when he saw her.
The pretty woman next door.
She knelt on the grass, planting flowers in her yard. Curious, he watched her.
A soft breeze blew her hair across her face, shielding a delicate profile. She wore old jeans and a simple cotton blouse, but she managed to look ethereal. He suspected her eyes were blue, rivaling the color of the sky.
But the angelic beauty seemed determined to keep to herself. She never spoke to him, never met his gaze or acknowledged him in any way.
Not that Hawk expected special treatment. He wasn’t the friendliest person in the neighborhood. Nor were folks drawn to him. Since his youth, Hawk had been considered an outcast. Then again, he didn’t give a damn about socializing in Mission Creek. This town hadn’t been particularly kind to him, even if it had been home for as long as he could remember. He lived on the outskirts of Mission Creek, and for good reason.
Hawk was the unwanted, illegitimate son of one of the richest men in the county. And being the Wainwright bastard had taught him how to live on the fringes of society, how to thumb his nose at his daddy and his half siblings. They meant nothing to Hawk. Nothing at all.
Nothing but a childhood ache he’d long since outgrown. Standing six foot one with a set of broad shoulders and a pair of dark, unforgiving eyes, he was no longer a kid hoping his prominent, white daddy would notice him.
Thirty-three-year-old Hawk Wainwright was an Apache, a man who trained horses, rescued injured raptors and asked Ysun, the Creator of the Universe, the Apache Life Giver, to guide him.
And who was the pretty lady next door? he wondered, as he started down the porch steps to retrieve his mail. And why was she so shy? So cautious?
Maybe she’d heard the gossip about him. Eight years ago, Hawk had dated a pampered, rich, breathtakingly beautiful white girl. But after they’d slept together, he’d discovered that she had no intention of introducing him to her family or bringing him into her social circle. She had, however, treated him like a prized Indian stud, whispering quite naughtily that her roommate wanted a turn with him.
Stunned, Hawk hadn’t responded to the lewd offer. But just days later he’d approached both girls at a local bar. After kissing one and then the other, he’d quietly told both of them to go to hell. Naturally those hot, public kisses had culminated in a much-talked-about scandal.
But he’d learned his lesson, and these days Hawk no longer felt the need to explore his Anglo side by dating white women. Instead, he avoided them.
He glanced at his neighbor again. She was as fair-skinned as they came, but she still fascinated him. He couldn’t help but admire the way her gold-streaked hair caught the light or the way a spray of geraniums bloomed like a rainbow at her feet.
Let it go, he told himself. Stay away from her.
He turned and opened his mailbox, then sifted through the envelopes until an unfamiliar name printed on one of them caught his eye.
Jennifer Taylor.
He checked the address and saw that it was incorrect. The letter, bearing the logo of a fashion magazine, belonged to the lady next door.
Shooting his gaze in her direction again, Hawk weighed his options. Should he just put the letter in her mailbox? Or use this as an excuse to satisfy his curiosity and talk to her?
Curiosity won, along with a self-admonishing curse. He was doing a hell of a job of avoiding her.
Stuffing his own mail in his back pocket, he headed toward her, cutting across the adjoining driveways that separated their houses.
“Jennifer?” he said when he reached her.
She started at the sound of his voice, which told him she had been unaware of his presence.
Still kneeling on the ground, she looked up at him, shielding her eyes with a gloved hand.
“Are you Jennifer?” he asked.
“Jenny,” she said a little too softly. “I’m Jenny.”
“I think this belongs to you.”
She removed her gloves and stood. But when she reached out to take the envelope, she teetered.
“Are you all right?” he asked. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and the sun flushed her skin, making it look hot and pink.
“Yes,” she said, but her flushed face went pale.
Too pale, he thought.
The envelope fell from her hand, fluttering to the ground. And in the next instant, she was going down, too. Passing out, Hawk realized.
He reacted quickly, even though he had never been in the company of a fainting female before. Reaching forward, he caught her, and she sagged against him like a rag doll.
Unsure of what else to do, he lifted her into his arms and then stood beneath the blinding sun, like an Apache renegade who’d just scared the wits out of an innocent, young captive.
Now he knew why he avoided white women, he mused, mocking his penchant for trouble. He only wanted to meet his new neighbor, not create another scandal.
Hawk adjusted Jenny, cradling her against his chest. She didn’t weigh much, but handling her felt awkward just the same.
He made his porch steps in record time. Turning the doorknob, he shouldered his way inside. Next he deposited her on his cedar-framed sofa, her clothes twisting a little as he did.
Hawk stepped back to study her, hoping she would rouse on her own.
But she didn’t. Jenny remained motionless, her crumpled cotton blouse exposing an intriguing slice of skin just above the waistband of earth-smudged jeans. He couldn’t help but notice her navel. Or the lean, yet feminine curves of her body.
Hawk frowned. Now he really felt like a renegade, checking out an unconscious woman.
Then quit looking, he told himself. And figure out a way to revive her.
Like what? Mouth to mouth?
Oh, yeah. That’s the gentlemanly thing to do, he thought as he rummaged through his kitchen for the first-aid kit he kept on a cluttered shelf.
Hawk grabbed the plastic box, opened it and found what he was hoping to—smelling salts.
Returning to Jenny, he knelt before her, broke the packet and waved it beneath her nose.
She stirred instantly, jerking as she regained consciousness. When their eyes met, he noticed how blue they were. And how wary.
Jenny pulled back, trying to put some distance between herself and the man staring at her. He was much too close, his face just inches from hers. She could see the tiny lines around his eyes, the pores in that rich, copper skin, the small scar near his mouth that gave his frown an element of danger.
His hair fell in an inky-black line, but light spilling in from the window sent a sapphire sheen over each shoulder-length strand.
Around his neck, a turquoise nugget dangled from a leather thong. Both ears were adorned with small black claws—talons as sharp as his cheekbones.
She knew he was her neighbor, but she’d done her best to avoid him.
“You passed out,” he said.
Jenny merely nodded, unable to find her voice. His, she noticed, was as rough as the Texas terrain.
Did she fall into his arms? she wondered, mortified at the thought. All she remembered was the world turning a hazy shade of white.
He sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Has this ever happened before?”
“No,” she lied. She’d fainted once when she was pregnant, but that wasn’t the reason she’d lost consciousness this time. There was no way she could be pregnant. Jenny hadn’t been with anyone since her divorce.
“I’m sorry I troubled you,” she said. “But I’m okay now.” She shifted to a sitting position to prove her point, but the movement lacked conviction. She was still a bit dizzy, her mouth as dry as dust.
He frowned at her, the scar twisting into that menacing shape again. “You don’t look okay to me.” He rose to his full height. He stood tall and powerfully built, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. His clothes consisted of a white T-shirt, dark jeans and a pair of knee-high moccasins.
Clearly, no one would mistake him for anything other than what he was—a tough, striking, modern-day warrior.
“Sit still,” he ordered. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Although she wanted to escape, to rush home and recline on her own couch, she did as she was told. In spite of her neighbor’s gruff demeanor, he seemed genuinely concerned. But Jenny still feared upsetting him. Men, she knew, weren’t always what they seemed.
And this one, with his commanding voice and scarred frown, was probably used to getting his way.
He returned with a glass of ice water and resumed his seat on the edge of the coffee table.
Jenny wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to sit so close, but she couldn’t summon the courage to be that bold. Or that rude, she supposed. He was only trying to help.
“Sip slowly,” he said.
“Thank you.” The water tasted clean and refreshing. Revitalizing. “I just got over the flu. And I was tired of being cooped up in the house.”
“So you went outside and worked in the sun?”
“I enjoy planting flowers,” she responded, hoping it wasn’t a dumb thing to say. Roy used to tell her that she often made dumb, girlish comments.
She tried not to think about her ex-husband and what he would do if he saw her with this man. But Roy was always on her mind, and she was always worried about him being nearby, stalking her the way he’d done back home in Salt Lake City.
“Planting flowers is fine, I suppose. But now it appears you’ve got a touch of sunstroke. No wonder you passed out.”
He shook his head and sent those black talons dancing. Jenny watched them spin, thinking how primitive they made him look.
They lapsed into silence, so she took another sip of water and glanced around his house. The layout was just like hers, she realized, but the decor, with its sturdy furnishings, was undeniably masculine. An oak gun case filled with lever-action rifles made a strong, noticeable statement.
She scanned the rifles, recognizing what appeared to be an original Winchester Yellow Boy, the legendary 1866 model. Western relics had become a significant part of her design business, and she spent most of her free time scouting and researching special pieces.
“By the way, I’m Hawk,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.
“Hawk.” She repeated the name. Somehow it fit. She could see him gliding through the air. Or swooping down to prey on a smaller, weaker animal.
Like an unsuspecting female? she asked herself with a familiar shudder.
She bit her lip. “I should go. I’ve taken enough of your time already.”
“Not yet.”
He reached out and put his hand on her cheek, and she froze, stunned and speechless. His hand was cool and big, his palm rough and callused.
“I think you have a fever.” He moved to her forehead, brushing her bangs aside.
Jenny held her breath, resisting the urge to push him away, to protect herself from the emotion he inflicted. The affectionate gesture brought back too many memories.
But she couldn’t tell him that. Not without admitting that Roy used to stroke her face. And then raise his fists when his temper flared.
Hawk removed his hand. “I’ll get you a couple aspirin.”
“No. I just need to go home and rest.” She rose to leave, handing him the water.
He walked her to the door, then set the glass on a nearby table. “I forgot about the letter you dropped.”
“I’ll get it.” She glanced outside, assuming it was still on the grass somewhere.
“Why don’t you let me find it? I can slip it in your mailbox. You should stay out of the sun. Maybe take a tepid bath to break the fever.”
“All right,” she managed, and Hawk smiled. It gentled his rawboned features, softening the scar and adding a flicker of light to those dark eyes.
“Bye, Jenny.”
“Bye.” She turned away quickly, knowing he watched as she cut across the lawn and headed to her own house.
Taking a deep breath, she stared straight ahead, refusing to glance back or wave or smile. Jenny Taylor knew better than to get too friendly with a young, powerful, good-looking man.
Four days later Jenny wheeled her shopping cart out of the market, her grocery bags filled with frozen entrées, canned goods and fresh salad fixings. Cooking traditional meals for herself was too much trouble, so she prepared quick, simple things. Occasionally she dined out, enjoying the Yellow Rose Café at the Lone Star Country Club. She wasn’t a member of the club, but she was the interior designer who’d landed the prestigious job of designing the decor of the new wing. And although that job was complete, she’d since been hired to redecorate some of the original guest rooms. The Lone Star Country Club was an icon in Mission Creek, a Western resort catering to the crème de la crème of Texas.
“Hey, lady,” a youthful voice called out. “Do you want to adopt a puppy?”
Jenny turned, realizing she was the lady being singled out for the adoption.
Two adolescent boys, brothers, from the looks of them, sat in a shady spot in front of the market, a cardboard box between them.
A small, yippy bark echoed from the box, drawing Jenny closer.
“He’s a real nice dog,” the older of the two boys said. “And he’s the last one. We already gave the rest of the litter away.”
Unable to help herself, she peered into the box. The tan-and-black puppy yipped again, then wriggled uncontrollably for her attention.
The dog had green eyes, a narrow face and large floppy ears. Its rounded feet looked like four white socks.
She knelt to pet him and was rewarded with a sweet doggie grin. He was adorable, she thought, warm and soft and huggable.
Should she take him home? Give him a cozy place to sleep?
Instantly Jenny drew her hand back and came to her feet. How could she commit to a pet? She didn’t know how long she’d be staying in Mission Creek. Or where she would go if Roy found her. In a sense, she lived on the lam, running like a criminal from a nightmarish past.
“Cute critter,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Jenny turned to see Hawk, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, a straw Stetson dipped over his dark eyes. The beaded hatband and lone feather dangling from it made his ethnic features seem more pronounced. The talons in his ears glinted dangerously in the April light.
Her heart slammed into her throat. Was he following her?
Of course not, she told herself a moment later. He had to come into town to shop, too.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine,” she responded, wishing her heart would quit dominating her throat.
Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at the ground. And noticed Hawk’s feet. He wasn’t wearing moccasins today. Instead, he sported a pair of dusty black cowboy boots, the toes turned up, the leather scuffed.
“I just got off work,” he offered.
“Oh.” Was he a cowboy of some sort? A ranch hand perhaps? His clothes were nearly as dusty as his boots.
“I’m a horse trainer,” he said, as though he’d just read her mind. “I lease a barn at Jackson Stables.”
Neither spoke after that. Jenny tried to relax, but she could feel Hawk’s eyes on her.
He stared at her hair, at the gold-streaked tresses that used to be a quiet shade of brown. She touched a strand self-consciously. She wasn’t used to being a blonde yet, but she’d changed the color hoping Roy wouldn’t recognize her so easily.
Hawk shifted his gaze to the dog. “Are you in the market for a puppy?”
“I don’t think I have enough time for him. My career keeps me busy.” And her fear of being tracked down by her ex-husband kept her on the move. “He is adorable, though.” She gave the floppy-eared mutt a loving glance.
“He looks like he’s got some Australian Shepard in him.” The boys perked up, realizing they had a potential adoptive parent kneeling to check out the dog.
“He’s part beagle, too,” the older kid said.
“That’s some combination.” Hawk picked up the puppy, then stood and faced Jenny. The young dog wiggled excitedly in his arms.
“I’ve never seen a mixed blood quite like this one, have you?”
She shook her head, distracted by Hawk’s choice of words. The dog was a mixed breed. Mixed blood was a term more suited to humans.
And then suddenly she knew why he’d made that subconscious error. Hawk was of mixed blood. She hadn’t noticed the Caucasian in him before, but she could see touches of his white ancestry now. His skin was more copper than brown, and the long, slim line of his nose bore a shape she often associated with English aristocracy. Of course, on Hawk’s strong-boned face, it didn’t look quite so genteel.
Jenny had never given her own ancestry much thought, but she suspected Hawk’s mattered to him. Or at least the Native American side did.
“Will you dog-sit once in a while?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The puppy. I’m thinking about keeping him.”
She gazed at the dog and laughed when he nudged her with his paw. He looked snug as a bug in Hawk’s sturdy arms. Fluffy and sweet. Now she wanted to go back into the market and buy him a cart full of chewy treats and squeaky toys.
“Yes,” she said, without thinking clearly. “I’ll dog-sit as often as I can.”
“Great.” Hawk’s lips curved into that fleeting smile, the one that gentled his features and softened the scar near his mouth.
Jenny only stared. And then her heart went crazy, pounding like an out-of-control drum.
Dear God. How could this be happening? She was attracted to Hawk. After all she had been through with Roy, and now this. She wasn’t ready to feel this way, to confront a physical attraction.
“I have to go,” she said abruptly.
“Are you sure you can’t stay for a few more minutes?” He held up the puppy, and the floppy-eared little guy yipped happily at her.
“No,” she responded a bit nervously. “I can’t.”
Hawk watched Jenny wheel her cart across the parking lot. Why was she so cautious? Why did she run away from him every chance she got?
At this point, he didn’t think his reputation had preceded him. Whatever plagued Jenny went much deeper than frivolous gossip.
There were moments she reminded him of a wounded creature—a skittish filly or a bird with a broken wing.
Of course, Hawk had experience in both those areas. But he’d never gotten close to a woman with a fragile spirit.
Then again, he’d never gotten close to anyone.
“Are you gonna keep the dog, mister?”
He glanced at the kids. “Yeah, I am. Is that okay with you two?”
“Sure. He needs a home.”
Well, he’s got one now, Hawk thought, as the puppy continued to wiggle like a furry, wet-nosed worm. Reaching into his pocket, he removed his wallet and handed the boys some cash.
Dumbfounded, they stared at him. “He doesn’t cost anything. We’re giving him away.”
“I know, but I don’t mind paying for him.” Hawk wanted the dog to know that he was just as valuable as a pedigreed dog with papers. Animals, like humans, he believed, sensed their worth.
“Our dad said he was the runt.”
“Right now maybe. But look at the size of these feet.” He held out one of the pup’s big clumsy paws. “He’s not going to be a runt forever.”
The boys grinned and accepted the donation just as Hawk’s cell phone rang.
He walked away for some privacy. “Hello?”
“Hawk, it’s Tom Jackson. I think you better get back to the barn.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“You’ve got a client waiting on you. And he’s the impatient sort.”
Hawk frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone at the barn, not at this hour. “Then put him on the phone.”
The other man paused. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not. I think you need to handle this in person.”
“All right.” Whoever the client was, he certainly had the owner of Jackson Stables jumping through hoops. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Hawk loaded the puppy into his truck and decided not to speculate about who was waiting for him. If someone had a professional beef with him, he would find out what the problem was and remedy it. Hawk considered himself an ethical man, a man who didn’t brawl over things a firm handshake and a calm, rational attitude could fix.
The commotion next to him caught his attention. The dog wouldn’t sit still. The feisty little critter paced the bench seat, finally settling on Hawk’s lap with an insecure whine.
“It’s okay.” He scratched the puppy’s head. “You can stay there for now. But sooner or later, you’ll have to toughen up.”
By the time Hawk reached Jackson Stables, the dog was asleep. He chuckled and turned into the driveway that led to his barn.
And then he spotted the truck and horse trailer bearing the Wainwright logo.
What the hell was this?
Hawk parked his rig, exited it and set the puppy on the ground.
Squaring his shoulders, he went around to the back of the trailer where he saw none other than Archy Wainwright—the son of a bitch who’d spawned him—leaning against it.
Two
Primed for battle, Hawk forgot all about being calm and rational. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Archy made a slow turn, meeting Hawk’s gaze. He stood tall and well built, a man fit and trim for his age. “I brought you some business.”
“Really?” Hawk’s voice oozed with sarcasm, his blood running cold. “Now, why would you do that?”
“To see if you’re any good.”
Pride, pure and primitive, gushed through his veins. “Of course I am. I’m an Apache. We’ve always been better horsemen than your kind.”
Archy lifted a bushy brow, his clear blue eyes sparkling with challenge. A custom-made cowboy hat rested casually on his head, and his skin was tanned and weathered. Hawk refused to see himself in the other man, even if their height and the breadth of their shoulders were the same.
“My kind?” Archy asked finally.
“Rich, useless Texans.”
The wealthy rancher gestured to the trailer, his tone tight and tough. “If that’s how you feel, then accept the work I’m offering. Prove how good you are, Apache.”
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you.” Nor did he want his father’s tainted money. “You’re nothing to me.” Nothing but the womanizer who’d taken advantage of Hawk’s mother and then refused to acknowledge Hawk as his son. “I’d rather do business with the devil.”
“Well, as it happens, you’re not bearing Lucifer’s name. It’s mine you’re using, and I have the right to know if you can break a horse the Wainwright way.”
“I don’t do anything the Wainwright way,” Hawk said, keeping his voice steady and his fists clenched. “And the only reason I’m using your name is because my mother wanted me to. Now get the hell away from me, old man. And don’t ever come back.”
“You’re a cocky bastard, I’ll say that much for you.” Archy turned his back on Hawk and headed for his truck.
Yeah, I’m a bastard, Hawk thought. But I was once a little boy, an innocent kid who wanted his daddy to care.
The puppy barked at the Wainwright rig, giving Archy a piece of his mind. Of course, the older man was already behind the wheel, his door closed, his windows secure, but the show of loyalty made Hawk feel good just the same. The dog’s youthful voice had lowered an octave, the hairs on his back rising.
Hawk’s hackles were up, too. He’d run into his dad off and on throughout the years, chance meetings neither had orchestrated. But Archy had never come gunning for his son. He’d never looked Hawk straight in the eye and challenged him to prove that he deserved the Wainwright name.
And his doing it today made Hawk hate him even more.
Once Archy’s truck and trailer disappeared down the road, he picked up the pup.
“Let’s go home.” Hawk needed to unwind, to jump in the shower and allow the water to pummel his body. “And then I’m downing a few beers to take the edge off,” he told the dog. “And fixing both of us something good to eat.” He wasn’t about to let Archy twist his stomach into a knot and destroy his appetite.
Twenty minutes later Hawk pulled into his driveway, killed the engine and cursed. He’d just remembered that he hadn’t returned to the market. His fridge was empty.
Damn it. He didn’t have the energy to drive back into town. He couldn’t deal with a public place, all the noise and people.
He wanted to be alone, wanted to shower, drink a few beers, grill a thick, juicy porterhouse and reward the dog with table scraps for barking aggressively at Archy.
But now it seemed Archy had won.
Weary, Hawk leaned against the seat and caught movement through the passenger window.
It was Jenny, he noticed, watering her plants. He sat quietly, just watching her, letting her image soothe his soul. She looked so pretty, so angelic, her floral-printed dress billowing in the breeze.
The puppy stood on his hind legs, determined to check out the view. Hawk smiled. Even the dog wanted to see her.
And then the image spoiled.
Mrs. Pritchett, the snoop from across the street, was heading straight for Jenny.
The older woman glared at Hawk’s truck, telling him all he needed to know. She’d seen him pull up, and now she was going to warn Jenny about him.
He knew exactly what she would say. Watch out for that one, dear. He’s just like his mama. She seduced Archy Wainwright, ruining that poor man’s marriage.
Hawk closed his eyes. His mother had died a long time ago, but her name was still being dragged through the mud.
And Hawk, of course, had created his own scandal, the kissing escapade Jenny was sure to hear about.
Jenny felt someone nearby. She turned and saw a gray-haired woman making determined strides to reach her.
Sensing trouble, she adjusted the hose nozzle, shutting off the water. The lady wore an old-fashioned housecoat and a pair of white sneakers, her face pinched in a superior expression. She wasn’t collecting for a charity or selling door-to-door cosmetics. This busy bee had “nosy neighbor” written all over her.
“I’m Mrs. Pritchett from across the way.” She pointed to a prim yellow house. “And I’ve been worried about you. The way that man watches you.”
Jenny’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Did this have something to do with Roy? Had this lady see him lurking about? “What man?”
“Why, that Indian, of course.”
Jenny’s heartbeat stabilized. Roy wasn’t the man in question. “You mean Hawk?”
“Who else would I mean? I saw what he did last week. He carted you right into his house.”
“I wasn’t feeling well that day,” she explained, defending her neighbor. “I’d spent too much time in the sun, and I fainted. Hawk was kind enough to help me.”
Mrs. Pritchett motioned to his driveway. “He’s sitting in his truck, watching us right now. Or watching you, I should say.” She pointed a bony finger, a gesture not unlike the one the Wicked Witch of the West used on Dorothy. “I’d stay away from him if I were you. He isn’t the type a pretty, young thing like yourself should trust.”
Jenny glanced quickly at Hawk’s truck, catching a glimpse of him behind the wheel. “He was a perfect gentleman,” she countered, even though his rugged good looks and dark, penetrating eyes made her much too aware of being female.
“How would you know? You were unconscious.” The other woman cleared her throat. “Do you know who he is? Who his parents are?”
No, Jenny thought, but you’re just dying to tell me.
“His mother is dead now, but she went by the name Rain Dancer. She was tall and slim, with hair down to her rear.”
Was long hair a sin? Jenny wondered.
“Well, Rain Dancer set her sights on a married man. A rich, prominent rancher, no less. And being the way men are, he couldn’t resist her. Slut that she was.”
Jenny flinched. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Pritchett to be quite that cruel. “So this wealthy rancher is Hawk’s father?”
“That’s right. Archy Wainwright. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Stunned, Jenny widened her eyes. She hadn’t just heard of him, she was indebted to him. The Wainwrights were founding members of the Lone Star County Club, and it was Archy who’d recommended her to Joe Turner, the architect overseeing the renovations at the club.
Mrs. Pritchett moved closer, delighted by Jenny’s reaction. “Hawk isn’t a legitimate member of the Wainwrights, even though he uses their name. They don’t recognize him as one of their own. But who can blame them? That half-breed is trash, just like his mother. Why, a while back he actually kissed two white girls in a bar, one right after the other. Spicy kisses, if you know what I mean. Then he walked out of the place without uttering a word.” Mrs. Pritchett moved closer still. “It was quite a scandal, considering those young ladies were high-society types.” She snorted. “No one knows why he provoked a scene like that. But I’ve heard several theories. Some say—”
A vehicle door slammed.
Jenny and Mrs. Pritchett turned simultaneously.
Hawk had exited his truck and now trapped Jenny’s gaze from across the yard. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what Mrs. Pritchett had been saying.
“Oh, my.” The older woman took a step back. “He’s coming this way. Why, the nerve.”
Yes, he was coming their way—all male and all muscle, the puppy from the market at his heels.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “Jenny. Mrs. Snitchett.”
“Pritchett,” the old woman corrected, glaring at him with her wicked-witch sneer.
“Of course.” One corner of his mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “Mrs. Bitchett.”
The old lady huffed. “I don’t have to stand here and take this.”
“Then don’t,” Hawk said.
Mrs. Pritchett pointed her finger at him. “I warned her about you.” She turned to Jenny, her finger still raised. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With that, she stalked across the yard, holier and mightier than thou.
Hawk and Jenny stared at each other. Suddenly neither of them knew what to say. She chewed her bottom lip and he stood like a statue, the feather on his hat lifting in the breeze.
“She’s a malicious old woman,” Hawk said finally.
“She certainly doesn’t like you.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He paused, then blew out a breath. “But I would appreciate it if you reserved judgment and formed your own opinion of me. You know, instead of letting the gossip sway you.”
Jenny nodded. “I think that’s only fair.”
“Thanks.”
He sent her one of those fleeting smiles, and she felt an uncomfortable stir of attraction. Did he really kiss those two girls?
“I guess I should let you finish watering.” Hawk glanced at the flower beds. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
Jenny turned and saw why he was apologizing. His new pet had uprooted every last one of Jenny’s geraniums and was grinning at both of them like a mischievous hyena. And to top it off, the dog was covered in mud.
“You little scoundrel.” Hawk grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck, the way a scolding mother dog would do. “I’ll buy you another batch of flowers, Jenny.”
He gave the dog an exasperated glance, and the little scoundrel swished his tail, spraying his master with mud.
Hawk cursed, and Jenny stifled a giggle. A second later they both burst out laughing.
“Will you help me hose him off?” Hawk asked when their laughter faded. He still held the dog by the scruff, but the pup squirmed something fierce.
“Sure.” She turned on the water and decided she liked Hawk Wainwright. But then, she liked his father, too. She stole a glance at Mrs. Pritchett’s house, certain the old woman watched from her window.
Was it true that the Wainwrights didn’t acknowledge Hawk? It did seem odd that he lived in a modest home, while Archy and his family resided on a sprawling ranch.
“Can you adjust the water level?” he asked.
“Oh, of course.” Jenny turned the flow to a mild spray, and between the two of them, they got the puppy clean.
Hawk still had flecks of mud on his jeans, but she noticed he was smiling.
Jenny smiled back at him, and the moment turned soft and gentle. The puppy rolled in the grass, kicking up his feet and exposing his belly.
“Will you have dinner with me?” Hawk asked.
Jenny’s breath lodged in her throat. Was he asking her on a date? A quiet meal, companionable conversation, a good-night kiss?
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—
“I’ll order a pizza, and we can sit on my porch,” he suggested.
Her breath returned, and she pulled oxygen into her lungs. Pizza on his porch. That sounded safe enough.
“All right,” she heard herself say.
He smiled again, and she wished his smile wasn’t so charming. Roy’s smile had been charming, too. He’d been her white knight, the man who’d swept her off her feet. And then dragged her into a dungeon of pain.
“What do you want on it?”
Still lost in thought, she gave him a blank look.
“The pizza,” he clarified. “What toppings would you prefer?”
Suddenly she couldn’t focus on something as simple as pizza. Not with the dungeon lurking in her mind, the dank, cold reality of knowing Roy was out there somewhere. How often did she wake up screaming? Or hug her knees to her chest and cry?
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Order whatever you want.”
“Of course it matters. You must have a preference.”
Did she? She used to eat what Roy told her eat, dress in the clothes he told her to wear, be the wife he wanted her to be.
“Pineapple,” she told Hawk. Roy hated pineapple on pizza. “And Canadian bacon.” Her ex-husband detested that, too.
“You got it. Now I better hop in the shower. I’ll come by and get you when the food arrives.”
He picked up the puppy, and Jenny watched him walk back to his house. The dog peered over his shoulder, and she smiled, feeling a spark of freedom, a shimmer of independence.
But when she went inside to bathe and put on some clean clothes, she panicked. Roy would kill her if he knew she was having dinner with another man.
Not figuratively kill her. He would actually put his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her.
But Roy wasn’t here, she reminded herself. And they were divorced. She had every right to share a pizza with her neighbor.
Her tall, gorgeous neighbor. The man who made her heart beat much too fast.
Hawk told himself he wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t a schoolboy with a foolish crush. He was a grown man who’d quit dating ages ago.
Hawk had occasional sex of course. Quiet, discreet affairs with women from his own race, women who accepted the lone wolf in him. But he didn’t date. And he especially didn’t court blue-eyed, color-treated blondes.
Like Tanya.
He’d been on the verge of falling in love with Tanya, of losing his heart and soul. But he was just a game to her. She’d only wanted him because he was dark and forbidden, the Indian stud, the back-street lover who was supposed to service her. And her roommate.
He picked up the pizza, balancing two cans of soda on top of the box. Jenny wasn’t anything like Tanya. Blue eyes and bleached hair didn’t make them the same.
Hawk headed for the door and felt something nudge his boot. He looked down and saw the pup, eager to go with him.
“I don’t think so, pal.”
The puppy whined, and Hawk felt like a heel. “All right. But behave yourself. We’ve got a lady to impress.”
The dog grinned, and Hawk narrowed his eyes. Was he being conned?
“I’m not sure I can trust you.”
He received an innocent bark in return, a sound that translated to I’ll be good. I promise.
“You better mean that.”
Another gentle bark. I do.
“You won’t take off running once you get a lick of freedom?”
“Woof,” the dog said again, his green eyes big and beguiling. No, sir. Not me.
Hawk opened the door, and the ball of fur flew past him. He cursed and nearly dropped the pizza.
Chasing the damned dog wasn’t possible, so he placed the food and drinks on a small table on his porch and strode across the lawn to Jenny’s house.
The puppy was already waiting on her doorstep, where he’d left muddy footprints. He wasn’t covered in the stuff, but he’d obviously taken a detour through the flower beds to reach his final destination.
“Don’t you dare grin at me,” Hawk warned.
The dog sniffed a fern, instead.
Jenny’s porch was cozier than Hawk’s. She’d decorated it with a gathering of potted plants. A swing that had been there for years creaked in the breeze.
He knocked and waited for her to answer.
She appeared in a white blouse and jeans, her gold-streaked hair fastened in a ponytail. The ribbon-enhanced style made her look sweet and girlish.
And it made Hawk feel as if he was fifteen again, too tall for his age, with sweaty palms and boyish desire that heated his loins.
“The pizza is here,” he said.
“Okay.” She knelt to pet the dog and laughed when she spotted his dirty feet. “He can’t keep those socks clean, can he?”
Hawk was still stuck on how pretty she looked, on how mouthwateringly good she smelled. He detected the faint aroma of raspberries, dipped in just a hint of custard. Or whipped cream. Or just plain feminine skin.
“You smell like dessert.”
She looked up at him, her voice suddenly shy. “It’s one of those body mists. I bought it at the market today.”
“I like it.”
She smiled, barely meeting his gaze. “Thank you.”
They walked side by side to his house, the puppy dancing around them.
He offered her one of the cedar chairs and handed her a soda and a slice of pizza, then realized he should have brought a couple of plates outside, not to mention a napkin or two.
Well, hell. He probably seemed uncivilized, like the barbarian most people thought he was. “I’ll be right back.” He left and returned with the plates and napkins.
Jenny accepted both gratefully. He sat in the chair opposite hers and went after two slices of pizza. He was starving, his stomach grumbling at the mere sight of food. He took a hearty bite and frowned at the dog. The little scoundrel was begging.
He tore a corner of the crust and handed it over. He’d already scrambled the puppy the last two eggs in the fridge, but now the pooch wanted pizza, too.
“I’m buying some dog food tomorrow,” he said. “And I’m going to train this guy to behave.” Hawk looked at Jenny. “I’m good with animals.”
She watched the dog hit him up for another bite. “Yes, I can see that you are.”
“They don’t usually take advantage of me. In fact, they never do.”
“Which one of us are you trying to convince?” she asked. “Me or him?”
“You.” Hawk smiled at her. “He already thinks he can con me.” He shifted his gaze to the dog. “But you’re in for a rude awakening, you mangy mutt. Enjoy your last few hours of freedom, because in the morning, you’re headed for boot camp.”
The dog yawned, and Jenny laughed. “Have you thought of a name for him yet?”
“No.” Hawk opened his soda and took a swig. It felt good to be near Jenny, to look into her eyes and see a glimmer of friendship brewing. “I’ll probably name him the Apache way.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’ll give him a temporary name until he earns another one.”
“I think he’s already earned a name.”
She pointed to the dog’s feet, and Hawk grinned.
“Muddy,” they said in unison, laughing like a couple of kids who’d just shared a private joke.
But all too soon, their laughter faded. They sat across from each other, their gazes locked, the sun setting in the sky like a rebellious streak of fire.
Heat crackled between them, the kind of energy that stilled the air.
She twisted the napkin on her lap, and he felt like a dumbfounded fifteen-year-old all over again.
“I think Muddy is a perfect name,” he said, grasping for something to say.
“So do I.” She latched on to his words like a life-line, glancing at the dog for a diversion. “It fits him.”
“Yeah.” He told himself to keep the conversation going, to not let the heat come back. Not now, while they were still stumbling into a newfound friendship.
“Do you want to come to the South Texas Raptor House with me sometime?” he asked.
She made a puzzled expression. “What’s a raptor?”
“A bird of prey, like eagles, owls, falcons and hawks. I volunteer at a center that’s dedicated to rehabilitating injured raptors and releasing them back into the wild. Of course they have some permanent residents, too. Amputees and other birds that can’t survive in the wild.”
She studied him as though analyzing his association with the center. “Did you earn your name, Hawk?”
“Yeah, I did. But I was just a boy at the time. I came across a Cooper’s hawk that had been hit by a car. I wanted to scoop it up in my jacket and take it home, but somehow I knew better. I sensed that I wasn’t qualified to handle it.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran home and told my mom, and she contacted the Raptor House. They cared for it until it was well enough to be released.” He smiled at the memory. “I felt like I’d done something really important, like I was part of that hawk’s survival, part of its spirit. My mom called me Hawk after that.”
“And you learned to work with raptors when you were old enough?”
“That’s about the size of it.” He took another swig of his soda. He was glad she hadn’t questioned him about his birth name. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been named Anthony Archibald Wainwright after his father. Of course Jenny probably didn’t know anything about Archy, other than what Mrs. Pritchett might have told her. Jenny didn’t run in the same social circle as the Wainwrights, of that much Hawk was certain.
“So, are you interested in a tour of the center?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, but I have a busy week coming up.”
“There’s no rush.” Sooner or later he would get to know Jenny Taylor, who she really was and why she seemed so secretive.
Three
The Lone Star Country Club spanned two thousand acres of prime Texas land. The main clubhouse, a four-story pink granite building, had French windows that overlooked the rolling lawn of the award-winning eighteen-hole golf course. Six tennis courts and three swimming pools provided the members with athletic entertainment. The Empire Room, the Men’s Grill and the Yellow Rose Café prepared meals to suit every occasion.
Jenny entered the Yellow Rose Café, where a hostess greeted her.
“May I sit in Daisy’s section?” she asked.
“Certainly.” The hostess smiled and led her to a table that offered an enchanting view of the patio.
Jenny liked the sunny decor. Yellow-gingham tablecloths added a touch of spring, as did the planter ablaze with marigolds, petunias and snapdragons. The planter separated the café from a small, bustling bar, making a pretty yet practical statement. Everything about the country club fascinated her, and she was grateful for the opportunity to continue her association with it. Her work was the one source of pride in her life, the foundation for her sanity.
She glanced at the menu and decided on some light fare. She’d just completed a meeting with the painting contractor, but she had other meetings after lunch. This wasn’t a leisurely day.
“Hello, Jenny.”
Daisy arrived at the table, pen and pad in hand. The waitress was a stunning bleached blonde, with a dark complexion and a curvaceous athletic build. But in spite of her beauty, Jenny sensed something sad about her. There was pain in her eyes, deep and unsettling, a look Jenny often recognized in the mirror.
Was Daisy Parker running away from her past, too? Hiding the way Jenny was? Keeping secrets that haunted her at night?
Daisy always had a ready smile, but that didn’t mean a thing. She still seemed nervous somehow, preoccupied and fearful.
“What can I get you today?” Daisy asked.
“The mixed greens and a glass of raspberry iced tea.”
“What kind of dressing?”
“The house will be fine.”
Why had Daisy lightened her hair? she wondered. For the same reason she herself did? Or was Daisy just a brunette who wondered if blondes really did have more fun?
Maybe it was silly to worry about Daisy, but Jenny couldn’t help it. Deep down, she wanted to befriend the woman, get close to her, ask if she needed help. But how could Jenny aid someone else? Her own emotions were still a mess. She barely had the strength to confront her own fears, let alone tackle Daisy’s problems.
The waitress sent Jenny one of those carefully controlled smiles and darted off with her order.
A short time later Jenny’s meal arrived. As she ate, the café bustled around her, members of the country club coming and going.
Just as she finished her salad, she spotted Archy Wainwright across the room heading her way. She reached for her tea and acknowledged his gaze.
Archy was a business associate, someone she respected and admired. But discovering that he was Hawk’s father put an odd spin on seeing him.
“Well, hello, Jenny,” the older man said when he reached her table. “May I?”
“Yes.” She gestured for him to join her and scanned his features with newfound interest, looking for a likeness to Hawk. She couldn’t find an overwhelming resemblance, but she had to admit that Hawk had Archy’s powerful stature and deep, gruff voice.
“I hear you’ve been doing an outstanding job,” he said. “The board is pleased with your work. And your dedication. You’ve put in some long hours.”
“Thank you. I enjoy what I do. And the overtime keeps me busy.”
“Glad to hear it.” He gestured to Daisy, and the waitress came right over. “I’d like a cup of coffee, darlin’, and bring Jenny a piece of that tasty apple pie.”
“Thanks, but—” Jenny tried to protest, but Archy cut her off, giving Daisy more instructions.
“Don’t mind her, just bring the pie. And be sure to put everything, including that rabbit food she ate for lunch, on my tab.”
Daisy obeyed his command. Within minutes Jenny had a fresh-baked dessert sitting in front of her.
“It’s delicious,” she said after she’d taken a bite.
“Nothing beats a slice of warm apple pie. Now tell me, Jenny, have you made some friends in Mission Creek? Working overtime is fine, but socializing is important, too.”
“I…” She stalled to take a much-needed breath. “I had dinner with a neighbor last night.” With your son, she added silently.
“That’s good. Now the reason I stopped by was to let you know the club is hosting a spring ball, and you’ll be receiving an invitation.” He lifted his coffee, his eyes on hers. “I can arrange an escort for you, if you’d like. Unless, of course, you’ve already made the acquaintance of an appropriate young man.”
Momentarily stunned, she stuck her fork into the pie, trying to gather her wits. A spring ball? An appropriate young man?
Like Hawk?
Jenny tried not to panic. No, not like Hawk. She couldn’t ask him to a ball his father had invited her to. Nor could she dance with him. She was barely handling the first few stages of friendship.
“This would be good business,” Archy said, sensing her apprehension. “You’ll rub elbows with all the right people.”
People who might hire her for future projects, she realized. Yes, it was good business, but she couldn’t do it.
“It’s still a month away,” he added. “So you’ve got time to buy a fancy dress and go to the beauty parlor or whatever it is you women do to make men fall at your feet.”
She managed a weak smile. “I’m flattered by the invitation, but I’m not much for parties.”
Archy shook his head. “You’re too pretty to be a wallflower.”
And she was too edgy to date. “I’m still getting settled in. New town. New people. I’m just not ready for a ball.”
“All right. But if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”
The pie hit her stomach like a rock. She had the feeling Archy wasn’t going to let this lie. He would continue prompting her for the next few weeks.
Maybe he thought it was his duty to bring her out of her shell, to introduce her to Texas society.
The older man had taken her under his wing since the day she’d arrived on the job, guiding her in a paternal fashion.
And she had been touched by his kindness, by the softness she saw in his eyes.
But things seemed complicated, now that she’d met his illegitimate son.
Jenny worked another long day. When she pulled into her driveway, dusk had fallen.
She sat in her car for a moment, then decided she wouldn’t be able to relax until she told Hawk about her association with his father.
Although she wasn’t certain that their budding friendship could take the strain, she knew it was the right thing to do.
She’d promised to form her own opinions of Hawk, not judge him on the basis of hearsay, and he owed her a similar courtesy. She’d met Archy before she even knew Hawk existed. She wasn’t betraying one for the other.
Jenny knocked on his door, expecting to hear the puppy bark. But when Hawk answered her summons, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, she lost her composure.
His hair, long and damp, was combed away from his face, making the sharp talons in his ears stand out even more. His chest, broad and bare, exposed a knee-weakening display of muscle. She didn’t dare peek at his stomach.
“Jenny,” he said. “You look great.”
“Thank you.” She smoothed her jacket. She wore a professional beige suit, the skirt riding several inches above her wobbling knees. Her blouse and pumps were beige, as well. The only spot of color was a blue silk scarf. She knew it matched her eyes.
She didn’t comment on how he looked. What did one say to a half-naked man?
“Come in.” He stepped away from the door, and she entered his house.
She tried to relax, but couldn’t quite manage it. She hadn’t expected to catch him fresh from the shower.
“Where’s Muddy?” she asked.
“Asleep. He tired himself out, chewing half the pillows in the house. I might have to crate him during the day. Or bring him to the barn, I suppose. He’d probably get into less trouble there.” Hawk gestured for her to sit. “Do want you a soda? Or a beer or anything?”
“No.” She glanced at the couch, but couldn’t bring herself to sit. “If this is an inconvenient time, Hawk, I can stop by tomorrow.” When his hair wasn’t damp. When he wore more clothes. When she could think clearly.
“I wasn’t doing anything. You’re welcome to stay. I’m just going to grab a beer. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She sat primly on the edge of the couch, and he returned with a bottle of Mexican beer.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head, then glanced around the room. He’d given the house a cabin-type feel, with rough woods and animal skins. His moccasins were tossed in a corner, and an end table was littered with old newspapers. Masculine clutter, she supposed, although she didn’t have any experience with it. Roy had been fanatical about keeping things tidy.
She spotted a framed photograph on another small table. The little boy in the picture had to be Hawk, the woman holding him, his mother.
Rain Dancer.
The name fit. She was the most exotic-looking woman Jenny had ever seen. One could imagine her dancing in the rain, her jet-black hair glistening beneath the moon.
No wonder she’d bewitched Archy.
She was spellbinding.
Jenny turned to find Hawk watching her. He’d taken a chair near the fireplace. His jaw was set in a tight line, his eyes suddenly more black than brown.
“Did Mrs. Pritchett say something about me again?” he asked. “Or about my mother?”
“No. I haven’t seen Mrs. Pritchett. But I spoke to your father today. Archy Wainwright is a business associate of mine.”
Hawk didn’t move, not one muscle. He didn’t even blink. “A business associate?”
“Yes.” Jenny folded her hands on her lap. Suddenly the room seemed smaller, the walls more compact. She wished there was a window open, a shift of air. “I’m an interior designer. I came to Mission Creek to work with the architect on the renovation of the new wing at the Lone Star Country Club. And now that it’s complete, I’m redecorating some of the original guest rooms.”
“And what do you think of good old Archy?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a cynical smile.
“I like him,” she answered honestly. “He’s been very kind to me. I landed the Lone Star Country Club contract because of him. He recommended me to the architect.”
Hawk took a swig of his beer, but his eyes were still dark and unyielding. “How did Archy become familiar with your work?”
“I was the designer on a chain of steak houses in Utah. Archy is affiliated with the owner.” She continued to keep her hands clasped on her lap. “I won an award for that project. For the authenticity and creativity of the Old West theme.”
“Have you told him I’m your neighbor?”
“No.” She felt as though she was being interrogated for a crime. “I didn’t feel it was my place. I don’t know anything about your relationship with your father, Hawk.”
“I don’t have a relationship with him. He’s never acknowledged me as his son. Surely Mrs. Pritchett told you that much.”
“Yes, but if you want to tell me your side of the story, I’m more than willing to listen.”
“What’s the point?” He pulled on the beer again. “It won’t change your mind about Archy.”
At a standstill, they stared at each other.
Jenny took a ragged breath and made the first move. “You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time that I thought I could be friends with. I’m not very social, and…” She paused to study his hardened features, stopping herself before she told him too much, before she admitted that she wasn’t allowed to have friends in the past, that her acquaintances consisted of Roy’s peer group.
“I don’t see how we can be friends,” Hawk said. “Not with the way you feel about Archy.”
She stood, the wobbly feeling coming back to her knees. “I know. But I can’t make myself dislike him.” The opportunity Archy had given her to come to Texas had changed her life. It had allowed her the chance to escape, to start over somewhere new.
Because Hawk remained silent, she walked to the door. “I should go home now. I’m tired and hungry.” And hurting. She hadn’t realized how important Hawk had become until this moment.
Their blossoming friendship had given her a glimmer of hope, a belief that they shared something unique. That she could spend more carefree evenings eating pizza and chatting with a man who wasn’t asking more from her than she was capable of giving.
But now he wanted her to choose sides, to pick him over his father.
It was an unfair demand and one she refused to be forced to make.
Jenny raised her chin and left Hawk’s house, determined to prove her point.
But as soon as she reached her front door, the familiar threat of tears stung the back of her eyes, reminding her of how lonely and isolated she really was.
Hawk hadn’t seen Jenny for nearly a week. And now he stood by the bed of his truck on a quiet Sunday morning, wondering what to do with the flat of flowers he’d purchased for her.
He’d gotten them to replace the geraniums Muddy had torn from the ground, but he didn’t know whether to leave them on Jenny’s porch or just go ahead and plant the damn things.
Hawk glanced at the dog. Muddy was loose on the lawn, playing in the grass, staying out of trouble for once.
He lifted the cardboard flat, deciding he’d leave them on Jenny’s porch. Why deprive her of the joy of arranging them? She liked planting flowers, and he would probably bungle the job, anyway. He didn’t mind mowing the lawn or pulling weeds, but decorative gardening eluded him.
Hawk carried the load with ease—until he reached Jenny’s steps, where he nearly stumbled.
She sat on the porch, occupying the swing, pretty as a spring picture. A simple white cotton dress draped her ankles, and her hair was loose and just a little bit messy.
He set the flowers near the rail.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I told you I would replace them.”
Their eyes met, and for instant, he imagined touching her hair. A wild strand blew across her face, as rebellious as the South Texas wind.
He could smell the enticing aroma of citrus groves stirring in the air. Or was the fresh scent coming from Jenny?
Hawk wanted to tell her that he missed her, but he couldn’t bring himself to say something like that. They barely knew each other. He had no business missing her.
He frowned and she glanced away. She looked so damn vulnerable, so lost.
Like a dove with damaged wings.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her gaze shot back to his. “For what?”
“For being an ass.” Why did women always make men explain themselves? Why wasn’t “I’m sorry” ever taken at face value? “For getting ticked off about your business association with Archy.”
“You’re not angry because he recommended me for a job. You’re angry because I like him.”
Hawk frowned again. He couldn’t stand the thought of Archy influencing her life. It just gave him one more reason to hate the man.
Frustrated, he fantasized about kicking the porch rail and splintering the wood, but he held his temper. He wouldn’t let Archy rule his emotions.
“We should spend more time together, Jenny.”
Her eyes grew wide. “We should?”
“Yeah. If you’re still willing, I want to be friends.”
“I’m still willing.”
“Good.” When he sat beside her, the swing creaked. She smiled shyly at him, and he inhaled her fragrance.
“It is you,” he said.
“What’s me?”
“The lemons I smell.”
“It’s another one of those body mists,” she responded, rocking the swing a little, her voice as shy as her smile. “I bought the variety pack.”
Suddenly Hawk got a craving for lemon meringue pie. Well, hell, he thought, maybe he wanted more than friendship. Maybe he wanted to explore the man-woman thing happening between them and see how good it felt to kiss her.
Silent, they both watched Muddy toss a new toy around Jenny’s yard. At some point the dog had followed Hawk onto her property.
“He plays fetch,” Hawk said. “But he’s not consistent. Sometimes he’d rather eat the ball.”
She laughed, but the silence that followed became awkward. That man-woman thing was creeping in, and he sensed it made Jenny uncomfortable.
She was attracted to him, but she didn’t want to be, at least not in a physical sense, he thought. But why?
“So you’re originally from Utah?” he asked, realizing he knew little about her.
“Yes. Salt Lake City.”
“Do you still have family there?” he asked.
“No.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” he responded, realizing getting Jenny to talk about herself wasn’t easy.
Well, one of them had to open up, he thought. “Do you still want to hear my side of the story?” he asked.
She turned to face him. “You mean about Archy and you and your mother?”
He nodded.
“Yes, I’d like that very much. I saw your mother’s picture. She was very beautiful.”
So are you, he wanted to say, still itching to touch her hair, to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
To kiss her.
When she blinked those stunning blue eyes, he cleared his throat.
“My mom worked at the Lone Star Country Club. That’s how she met Archy. She was a riding instructor. Of course, Archy didn’t need to learn to ride, but he was around the stables quite a bit.” Hawk paused, then explained further. “The Wainwrights and the Carsons used to own the horses at the club. And I suppose they still do. Have you met the Carsons?”
“Most of them. They’re the other family who established the club. I’ve heard there’s a feud between the Carsons and the Wainwrights.”
“Yeah, it’s been going on since 1927 or so.” And Hawk had been tempted to join the feud, to ally himself with the Carsons, to work on their ranch just to spite Archy. But he’d stayed away from both wealthy families. “Anyway, Archy and my mom had an affair. She knew he was married, but she’d been young and naive, just impressionable enough to believe he would leave his wife. Of course, he never had any intention of ending his marriage. When my mom told him she was pregnant, he refused to acknowledge that the child she carried was his.”
“What did Rain Dancer do?”
For a second Hawk only stared. He wasn’t aware that Jenny knew his mother’s name. “She left town and went to live with my grandmother in Oklahoma. We’re Chiricahua Apache. Most of the Chiricahua live on a reservation in New Mexico, but there is still a small number residing in the vicinity of Apache, Oklahoma.”
“So were you raised in Oklahoma? Did you come back to Mission Creek on your own?”
“No. My grandmother died when I was five, and Mom decided to return to Texas to introduce me to my father, to make another attempt to get Archy to acknowledge me.”
“She could have filed a paternity suit.”
“Yeah, she could have. But she was too proud to do that. Besides, this wasn’t about money. It was about honor. And love.”
Jenny smoothed a strand of her hair. She watched Hawk with a gentle expression, with compassion in her eyes. “Do you remember meeting Archy for the first time?”
“Yeah.” Hawk recalled it vividly. “He looked at me for the longest time. And for a moment I thought he was going to smile or ask me a question. Or shake my hand. But instead, he turned to my mom and said, ‘He’s not mine. Anyone can see that he’s not mine.”’
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Hawk blew out a tight breath. “When Archy walked away, my mother said, ‘He knows you’re his, and someday he’ll come forward and give you his heart.’ I wanted so badly to believe that.”
Muddy leaped up the porch steps and skidded onto the wood. Jenny leaned down to pick him up. As she resumed her seat, his dirty feet made marks on her clean white dress.
Content to be in her arms, the pup quit squirming and calmed down, settling into her lap. Hawk envied him the luxury, the warmth, the soft feminine touch.
“I can’t believe Archy did that to you,” she said, continuing their conversation. “He seems kinder than that.”
“I guess that’s what my mom thought, too.” But Archy had that effect on women, a charm they couldn’t seem to resist. Hawk knew better. “The one bright spot was that Archy’s wife left him when she found out about me. He didn’t get away with being a liar and a cheat. Of course, he blamed me for the destruction of his marriage, and so did his other children. Walking around with the Wainwright name isn’t easy, but I won’t give it up. My mom wanted me to have that name. In her eyes, it legitimized my birth.”
For a moment he thought about Archy’s recent challenge regarding his name. There was no point in mentioning that to Jenny, he supposed. He didn’t intend to hear from his dad again. “The Wainwrights are rich and powerful, so that makes people curious about me, too. But I’ve learned to deal with the gossip, with people like Mrs. Pritchett.”
Jenny stroked the dog. “Mrs. Pritchett said some awful things about you and your mother. The next time I see her, I’m going to tell her that she has no business spreading vicious rumors.”
“Thanks, but she won’t listen. She’s already formed an opinion of you now, too.” And that meant Jenny would become part of his world. “Being my friend isn’t going to be easy,” he said. “People will wonder about you. They might even make up stories about us. They’ll think I’m corrupting you.”
“I know,” she responded quietly.
Yes, he thought, she knew. But knowing might not be enough. If their relationship stirred up too much gossip, Jenny’s reputation could suffer.
Hawk hoped and prayed that he was worth the risk.
Four
A week later Jenny spent the morning at the Lone Star Country Club stables, wandering around the facility, hoping to feel some sort of connection to Hawk’s deceased mother. It seemed like an odd thing to do, but Jenny couldn’t help herself. She was curious about Rain Dancer, curious about the woman who’d given birth to Archy Wainwright’s illegitimate son.
Caught up in the moment, Jenny studied the breezeway barn, the fenced arena and the paths leading to South Texas riding trails. Spring bloomed in the air, carrying the scent of hay, horses and flowers.
Money bloomed in the air, too. The aura of wealth.
And Jenny stood in the center of it all, wondering about a woman who had worked there thirty-four years ago.
She couldn’t condone Rain Dancer’s affair with a married man, but she could picture her, young and naive, caught up in a world not her own.
Had she been in love with Archy? Had he simply swept her off her feet?
Maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe Rain Dancer had knocked Archy off his feet. Maybe the beautiful Apache had been everything his wife wasn’t.
Archy’s wife could have been staid and cold—the overly proper, calculating socialite. Then again, she could have been kind and loyal, someone her husband had treated like a doormat.
Either way, Archy Wainwright was becoming less and less of a hero in Jenny’s eyes. What he’d done to Hawk proved that he—
“Are you planning on riding today?” a masculine voice asked from behind her.
Jarred from her thoughts, Jenny turned to face the intruder.
“Archy?” For a moment she wondered if he was a figment of her imagination, an unwelcome apparition she’d conjured out of thin air.
He stood tall and broad, his gaze fixed steadily on her. The brim of his hat shaded his face, but his eyes crinkled warmly at the corners.
He looked fatherly somehow. Big and protective.
He moved closer, and she cursed her emotions. She wanted to hate him, to blame him for hurting Hawk, yet somehow she knew the older man cared about her.
It made no sense. How could he treat her like a daughter and turn his back on his son?
“I’m not riding today,” Jenny said finally. “I’m just touring the stables.” Searching for a connection to Rain Dancer, she added silently. Trying to satisfy her curiosity about Archy’s clandestine lover.
Was it a coincidence or a strange twist of fate that he’d shown up this morning?
“Have you toured the barn?” he asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Then allow me to be your guide. I’m familiar with the stock.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch was firm yet gentle. She thought about Hawk’s mother and Archy’s scorned wife, wondering if they had screamed and clawed at each other the way wounded women often did.
Jenny couldn’t imagine fighting over a man, but she knew how it felt to have someone break her heart.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just a little preoccupied.” What would he say if she told him what was on her mind?
He gave her shoulder a paternal squeeze and led her to the barn, alive with sights and sounds. Grooms went about their daily routines, and horses whinnied, as if chatting with their equine neighbors.
Archy gestured to a flashy bay. “If you decide to ride, I recommend a Wainwright mount.”
“As opposed to a Carson mount?” Jenny asked, knowing he was teasing about the notorious feud.
He laughed. “Why, of course.” His laughter faded, and he made a serious face. “Did you know that the Wainwrights and the Carsons have an heir? My oldest daughter married one of the Carson boys, and they just had a baby.”
Which, Jenny assumed, added even more fuel to the feud. Archy’s eyes held plenty of emotion.
“Congratulations,” she said, realizing Hawk was an uncle, as well. The Wainwrights might not accept him, but he was still their blood.
He grunted. “My new grandson is a fine boy, but I don’t know how in hell I’m supposed to share him with Ford Carson.”
“Very carefully,” she suggested, thinking about the baby she’d lost.
He turned to look at her. “You’re a nice girl, Jenny. Too nice, I suspect.”
She frowned at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m worried about you.” He shifted his stance, his boots scuffing the ground. “Have you heard the rumors, the things people are starting to say? It’s a bunch of crap, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean being talked about hurts any less.”
Because her palms turned clammy, she rubbed them on her jeans. “What rumors?”
“They say you’re having some wild, crazy affair.” Archy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think it’s necessary to mention your alleged partner’s name. We both know who he is. And we both know he has a seedy reputation. He could ruin a nice girl like you.”
“He’s a good person,” Jenny defended. “He’s my friend.” And this conversation was making her uncomfortable. Needing a breath of fresh air, she headed for the door, passing a row of box stalls on her way out.
Archy followed, and they stood beneath the vast Texas sky, a warm breeze stirring between them.
“You have no right to warn me about him,” she said.
“So the gossip doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me.” It made her stomach roil; she didn’t want to be the subject of lewd speculation. “But I’m not doing anything wrong. And Hawk,” she added, using the name Archy was avoiding, “isn’t taking advantage of me.”
The older man held up his hand. “Then I’ll back off. But I swear to you, little lady, if he hurts you, I’ll come gunning for him.”
Jenny didn’t respond, but apparently Archy didn’t expect her to. He walked away without another word, which told her she was trapped between the father and the son, between two men who hated each other.
Hawk checked his watch, wondering if Jenny would come outside tonight. Meeting on his porch while Muddy played on the lawn had become their neighborly routine.
And now he was worried that she wouldn’t show.
Muddy raced around the grass, darting in and out of the shrubs. He still wasn’t the most well-behaved critter, but he had a personality that made him more human than dog.
The pup barked, and Hawk came to his feet. That was Muddy’s “Hi, Mom” greeting, which meant Jenny had decided to join them, after all.
Hawk crossed the lawn, then stopped when he saw her.
Her hair was pinned up in a messy style, her feet were bare, and her dress caught the rays of the setting sun. She looked at one with the elements, like a rose blooming right before his eyes. For an instant Hawk thought he could see her spirit, the beauty that lived inside her.
And then the image was gone, burned away by the frown in her eyes.
He moved closer. “Evening, Jenny.”
“Hawk.” She sighed, and he knew her distress involved him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I saw Archy at the club today. It was a personal meeting.”
He tried to subdue the blast of anger. “Personal?”
She nodded. “I vouched for your character. I told him what a good person you are.”
“You did?” Stunned, he could only stare.
“Yes. He found out that we know each other, and he warned me to be careful around you. But he did it in a concerned way, more out of respect for me than a grudge against you.” She paused, visibly uncomfortable. “It was so awkward. I feel as if I’m caught in the middle somehow.”
Hawk felt exactly the same way. He didn’t like Jenny being put in a position where she felt she had to defend him, especially to that son of a bitch Archy. But more importantly, her support pleased him. For the first time in his life, someone had stood up for him. Someone gave a damn.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, but she didn’t smile. “There’s more, Hawk.”
He braced himself for another blow. His life, it seemed, was full of them. Hard knocks. Fists to the gut.
“There’s a rumor going around that we’re lovers. Mrs. Pritchett probably started it, but apparently it’s circulating all over town.”
He hadn’t braced himself well enough. This unexpected blow hit him straight in the groin. It was, he decided, a blend of discomfort and arousal, something he’d never experienced before.
He didn’t want the folks of Mission Creek gossiping about him and Jenny. He didn’t want his life to taint hers. But on the other hand, imagining himself as her lover had an appeal he couldn’t deny.
“They’ve got us sleeping together already? Jeez, I’ve never even been in your house.”
“I’ve been in yours.”
True, but she hadn’t been anywhere near his bed. Or near his body. He met her gaze, wishing she found a little humor in this. Something, anything to ease the tension. And the tightness beneath his zipper.
“I’m sorry, Jenny.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
Maybe not, but his arousal made him feel guilty as hell. “I think we should have a talk. I should probably tell you about my past. You know, since you’re stuck with the stigma of being my supposed lover.”
She twisted a strand of her hair. Stray locks spilled from the topknot pinned haphazardly on her head, giving her a tousled, just-out-of-bed quality.
“Are you going to tell me about those two girls?”
He nodded.
“Did you actually kiss both of them?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks colored, and he figured her face would be flaming like a flamingo by the time he got to the sex part.
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