Buch lesen: «Texas Heat»
Texas Heat
Barbara McCauley
To Barbara A., Stephanie, Terry and Jolie. Thanks for making this one so much fun.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Prologue
The lawyer’s office smelled of money. Old money. Leather armchairs, dark polished woods, plush hunter green carpet. A bronze statue of a horse and rider, silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun, adorned a tall marble stand and stared solemnly out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking downtown Midland. Silence dominated the room, except for the soft ticktock of the grandfather clock and a woman’s muffled whimpering.
Four chairs faced the lawyer’s desk. Jake Stone sat in the first, his sister, Jessica, beside him and on the end Myrna Stone, their stepmother. The fourth chair sat conspicuously empty.
Norman Woodard, the lawyer, ran a manicured hand over the silver streak of hair above his left ear, then glanced at the clock. “Mr. Stone, it’s already twenty minutes past the hour. We really can’t—”
“We wait.”
“But—”
Jake lifted his gaze sharply to the man. “I said, we wait.”
Woodard’s lips tightened, but he said nothing.
Jessica laid a hand over Jake’s and he felt the tension slowly ease from his shoulders. His baby sister was no baby anymore, he realized with a note of regret. He could still clearly remember twenty-six years ago, the day his parents had brought her home from the hospital. He’d been only eight at the time, and all he’d seen sticking out of that pink blanket were two huge blue eyes and a crop of shining black hair.
The memory of that day and the happiness in his parents’ eyes brought reality crashing back down. They were both gone. His mother twelve years ago, now J.T. Jake closed his fingers tightly around his sister’s. At least he still had Jessie. Jessie and... He stared at the empty chair.
“Mr. Stone,” the lawyer tried again, “your brother was given sufficient notice of the day and time of this meeting. I suggest we—”
Tipping back his Stetson, Jake straightened in his chair, knowing that his height had intimidated more than one man. “I just buried my father two days ago, then drove three hours for this meeting. I have two hundred head of cattle to feed, fence to ride and a hay trailer with a flat tire. If I can wait—” he settled back in his chair “—then so can you.”
“Mr. Woodard.” Jessica leaned forward, and Jake noticed the weary tone in her voice. “These past few days have been difficult, and I’m afraid we’re all a little tired. I’m sure my brother will be here any minute.”
“Maybe Mr. Woodard is right,” Myrna said, worrying the handkerchief in her hands. “After all, it is getting late.”
Jake turned to his stepmother. A former Miss Houston, she still looked pretty good at fifty-two. Her blue suit hadn’t a wrinkle, nor was one bottle-red hair out of place. Not even a smudge of mascara, though she’d been sniffling and dabbing at her eyes for the past forty-five minutes.
“Maybe Mr. Woodard here,” Jake said, narrowing his eyes, “doesn’t know that flying in from South America isn’t exactly a trip to the corner store. And maybe if you hadn’t insisted on a funeral that took less time than picking up hamburgers at a drive-through, my brother might have made his father’s burial, too.”
Myrna’s jaw went tight at the sarcasm, but she said nothing, just turned away and stared blankly out the window. For once, Jake thought, the woman knew when to quit.
The clock chimed the half hour.
They waited.
He’d show up. Jake knew he would. It didn’t matter that Jared had been gone for three years. It didn’t even matter that he hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral. All that mattered was that when Jake had finally managed to get a hold of his brother in Venezuela, Jared had said he’d be here. And if it meant camping out in this stuffy lawyer’s office until he showed up, then by God, that was what they’d do.
When the three-quarter hour chimed, Mr. Woodard stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said curtly, tugging on the jacket of his precision-cut, tailor-made suit, “I’ll go see about having something brought in. Some sandwiches, perhaps, and some drinks—”
“Make mine a rare roast beef” came a deep voice from the back of the room, “and a tall cold beer.”
All heads jerked around at the unexpected order. Jared Stone stood in the doorway, his hand on the knob. His denim jacket was worn, but clean, his thick black hair ruffled as if he’d been in a windstorm. A half smile deepened the creases beside his mouth and his eyes—Stone trademark blue—widened with pleasure as he stared at a brother and sister he hadn’t seen in three years.
Jessica jumped up from her seat and flew at him, pouncing into his arms as she had when she was a child. Laughing, he lifted her, then spun her around. Jake watched, feeling a strange swelling in his chest as he walked toward his brother. He waited for Jared to put Jessica down before he stuck out his hand.
Jared stared at Jake’s hand and his smile slowly faded. The brothers’ eyes met, held for one long moment, then, not knowing who moved first and not caring, slapped their arms around each other in a fierce hug.
Jessica circled her arms around both of them and the three of them stood there, sharing the joy of their reunion and the grief that had made it happen.
“Welcome, Mr. Stone,” Mr. Woodard interrupted the homecoming. “We’re so glad you were able to join us.”
“My flight was canceled twice,” Jared explained, pulling away from his brother and sister. He noticed his stepmother then and walked over to her. “I’m sorry, Myrna. It must be hard for you.”
Myrna’s lip quivered as she hugged Jared. “He was fine when I went to town. I came home four hours later and found him in the garage. His heart...it just—” She choked back a sob and wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Well, now.” Mr. Woodard cleared his throat. “Since we’re all here, perhaps we can get started.”
Nodding, Jake took his seat. Right now, all he wanted was to be alone with his brother and sister, and the sooner they got this over with, the better.
Jessica sat between him and Jared, and Myrna sidled back into her chair. Mr. Woodard, already seated, leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. “As you may know, your father—” he looked at Jake, then Myrna “—and your husband, came to me six months ago to have a will drawn.”
“Why you?” Jake asked. “Cactus Flat is a lot closer to Stone Creek than Midland. Why would he drive all this way just to have a will made?”
“Your father was well-known in Cactus Flat,” the lawyer responded. “And because the nature of his requests were somewhat...delicate, he thought it best to seek legal counsel elsewhere.”
Delicate, my behind, Jake thought dryly. There hadn’t been one thing about J.T. that anyone would have called delicate. “If you’re trying to say that small towns talk, why don’t you just spit it out?”
Woodard frowned at the expression. “There was a concern on your father’s part for privacy, Mr. Stone.”
Myrna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Jessica looked at Jake, then Jared. A heartbeat of silence filled the room like a lead weight.
Jake stared sharply at the lawyer. “Why don’t we just get on with it.”
Nodding, the lawyer straightened his glasses as he lifted the document from its folder.
“‘I, Jeremiah Tobias Stone,’” he began, “‘of Cactus Flat County, Texas, declare that this is my Will and revoke all prior wills and codicils...’” He droned on, “‘...and I name Jake Stone, my eldest son, as Executor of this Will...’”
Eyes narrowed, Myrna turned to Jake, clearly unhappy at J.T.’s choice of an executor. At the mention of her name, she turned back to Woodard.
“‘...to my spouse, Myrna Stone, I leave my home and its furnishings, plus the surrounding three acres.’”
Myrna’s mouth dropped open. Stone Creek was a total of one hundred thousand acres. “But—” She started to protest, but the lawyer moved on.
“‘...to my son Jake Stone I leave the sixty thousand acres that constitutes Stone Creek ranch, including any existing cattle and assets of that property...’”
Stone Creek Ranch. Jake felt his heart slam against his ribs. He had thought for sure Myrna would get the ranch that he’d run for his father for the past twelve years. Jessica took hold of Jake’s hand and squeezed. He knew she understood how important the ranch and Stone Creek were to him.
“But—” Myrna opened her mouth again.
“‘...to my son Jared Stone, I leave a parcel of fifteen thousand acres containing a closed-down oil well, plus any and all oil-drilling equipment on the property...’”
Jake looked at his brother. He sat stiff in his chair, his hand tightly clasped on the arm, staring straight ahead. The oil well. Jared’s oil well. Three years ago, J.T. had taken it away. Now, in his death, he was giving it back.
Myrna clamped her mouth shut. Her gray eyes glistened with anger, but she said nothing.
“‘...and to my daughter, Jessica Stone, I leave fifteen thousand acres that contain the remains of Makeshift, an abandoned town.’”
Stunned, Jessica sat there for a moment, then as she glanced from Jared to Jake, a brilliant smile spread across her face. Jake knew that Jessica had spent half her childhood in the abandoned town. It had been like a giant playhouse for her. What she would do with it now Jake hadn’t a clue, but he had no doubt she’d think of something. In fact, based on the look in her blue eyes, the wheels were already turning.
“What about my husband’s other assets?” Myrna asked expectantly.
Woodard shook his head. “J.T.’s accountant sent me the past three years of financial statements, Mrs. Stone. It seems that all of his cash and liquid assets were drained to remodel his private residence. There’s only a few thousand left, and as stipulated in the will, that money will be equally divided amongst you and his children.”
Jake watched Myrna’s face turn white at the lawyer’s unexpected news. The woman had spent the past ten years building and continuously remodeling a two-story, six-thousand-square-foot monument to herself, and now she had the nerve to sit here and look surprised because there was no more money. If he didn’t feel so damn ticked off about it, he might have actually laughed at the irony of it all.
A sour taste rose in Jake’s throat. It would hardly affect Myrna, anyway. She not only had money from her first husband, but her own father, Carlton Hewitt III, owned half of Houston and was busy trying to buy the rest, as well. What the hell was a few thousand more or less to her, in land or money? Her father had always given her everything she’d wanted. To himself, and to Jared and Jessica, it was the difference between losing Stone Creek or preserving their father’s legacy.
And that, above anything else, was what Jake intended to do.
“Well, then,” Myrna said crisply as she dropped her handkerchief into her purse and snapped it shut, “if that’s all, then—”
“I’m afraid it’s not, Mrs. Stone.” Everyone turned and looked at the lawyer. He appeared slightly uncomfortable. “There’s still one more bequest in the will.”
“To the tune of ten thousand acres, I believe,” Jake said thoughtfully.
Woodard nodded.
“J.T.’s entire family is sitting in this room,” Myrna said sharply. “Who else would my husband leave anything to?”
The lawyer glanced at the document and read, “‘To Emma Victoria Roberts Stone.’” He lifted his gaze as he stared at the Stone children. “J.T.’s nine-year-old daughter.”
No one moved. It seemed as if no one breathed. Her face rigid, Myrna gripped her black leather purse so tightly it creaked. “Mr. Woodard, J.T. and I were married for eleven years. Surely I’d know if he had...that is, if there was an indiscretion of that nature. There must be some mistake.”
“I realize what a shock this must be to you all, but your husband did, in fact, father a child, Mrs. Stone. While he was married to you.”
“A sister?” Jessica whispered, leaning forward in her seat. “We have a sister?”
“Yes, Miss Stone.”
Disbelieving, Jessica glanced at both her brothers, then back to the lawyer. “But...how?”
Jared looked at Jessica and raised a brow. “We’ll talk later.”
Jessica frowned at him. “What I mean is, why didn’t we know? How could he not tell us?”
Woodard adjusted his glasses. “It was only recently that your father himself found out. As of this time, I’m afraid our information on the child is extremely limited. We do know that she’s nine years old, and we believe she’s living in the South somewhere, but that’s about it. Your father hired a private investigator to find her, but unfortunately J.T. passed away before the man could locate the mother or the child. However—” the lawyer looked at Jake “—your father has requested in his will that Jake continue the search.”
Ignoring Myrna’s incredulous look, Jake stared straight ahead. An affair. His father had had an affair.
And I have a new kid sister.
“This is ridiculous.” Myrna’s voice was tight with anger. “Even if there is a child—and I certainly don’t believe there is—what difference does it make now? J.T. is gone. There’s absolutely no reason to look for her.”
Jessica put her hand on Jake’s arm. “Of course we’ll look for her. Won’t we, Jake?”
Jake looked down at his sister. “She’s a Stone, isn’t she?”
Jessica hugged him, knocking off his Stetson.
“Never a dull moment,” Jared said, shaking his head and smiling.
“You sure as hell can say that again,” Jake replied, returning his sister’s hug. “Welcome home, little brother.”
One
The town house was expensive. White wrought iron, beveled windows, shiny brass mailboxes. The taxi slowed, then pulled to a stop in front of a small brick security building nearly engulfed by a creeping vine with pink flowers. The guard behind the polished glass window glanced over his newspaper at the taxi and frowned slightly.
The driver turned to his passenger. “You want me to wait?”
That was a good question, Jake thought. He might be here thirty minutes or thirty seconds. Hell, the woman might not even open the door, in spite of the fact she knew he was coming. It had taken five months after J.T.’s death to track her down, and according to the private investigator, she’d been less than welcoming. Getting her to agree to this meeting had been about as easy as branding a loose steer.
“So how ‘bout it?” The cabbie grew impatient. “You want me to wait or not?”
Jake grabbed the small duffel bag on the floor beside him and shook his head. “I’ll call.”
The guard watched carefully now as Jake paid the fare. It wasn’t as if Jake didn’t understand the man’s concern. This section of Atlanta, Georgia, was much more accustomed to CEOs in tailored suits than a six-foot-four cowboy in a black Stetson and blue jeans.
Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Jake approached the wary guard. “Afternoon.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’m looking for number 312, Miss Roberts’s place.”
The man lifted his bushy gray eyebrows and set his paper aside. “And you are?” he asked, pulling out a clipboard.
“Jake Stone.”
The guard scanned his daily list of permitted admittances. “Yes, Mr. Stone. Miss Roberts is expecting you. Second sidewalk, turn left. She’s the third place in.”
He pushed a buzzer and a huge gate opened. Jake stepped inside, then turned to look back when the gate clanked shut behind him. Damn. He felt as if he’d just stepped into prison. What the hell kind of place was this that needed high gates and security guards? No place he’d want his kids to grow up. But then, he thought with a frown, since he had no kids and remarriage was definitely not in his plans, where his children were or weren’t raised was hardly something to consider.
Shaking his head, Jake followed the guard’s directions. Magnolia trees shaded the walkway and bright pink flowers filled the beds. Everywhere he looked was green. A lush deep green that one rarely saw in west Texas. Jake had forgotten there were so many shades of green.
Carolyn, his ex-wife, would have loved this place. The thought made Jake instantly hate it. He wanted out of here, and the sooner, the better.
But he was here for Jessie, Jake reminded himself. He knew that his sister would skin him alive if he didn’t come back with some kind of good news. Even Jared had seemed anxious, Jake recalled, remembering the smile in his younger brother’s eyes when they’d said goodbye at the airport. It had been a long time since Jared had smiled or seemed enthusiastic about anything, and there was nothing Jake wouldn’t do to keep that smile there.
Number 312. Jake stood in front of the door and stared at the shiny brass numbers. A knot began to form in his gut, and though he never would have admitted it, not even to Jessie, a sudden rush of excitement swept through him. Emma Roberts Stone. J.T.’s child.
His sister.
* * *
“Is he really my brother?” Emma asked for at least the third time in the past half hour. “Is he really?”
Savannah pulled a brush through the child’s shining black hair and felt the same twitch in her stomach she’d felt every time her niece asked that question. “We don’t know that for sure, Pecan. That’s why he’s coming over, so we can talk about it.”
“It’s almost time,” Emma said excitedly, twisting her head to glance at the clock. The neat ponytail Savannah had just pulled together disintegrated.
Frowning, Savannah straightened Emma’s head and tried again. “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop fidgeting, we’ll never get your hair done.”
The truth, Savannah realized, was that it was her own shaky hands causing the ponytail’s demise. He’d be here any minute. Any second.
And she was about to tell the biggest lie of her life.
Forget the ponytail. It didn’t matter. But what happened in the next few minutes did matter. More than life itself. Savannah set the brush on the armchair and turned her niece around to face her. Kneeling in front of the child so their eyes met, Savannah touched Emma gently on her cheek.
“Emma, you know I love you more than anything in this world, right?”
Emma nodded, her blue eyes narrowed at the serious tone in her aunt’s voice.
“And you know that before your mommy went away she asked me to watch over you and take care of you, too?”
She nodded again.
“That’s why you need to do as I asked. You’ve got to stay in your room and let me talk to this man first. I need to make sure that he is your brother.”
Emma drew her brows together. “How will you know?”
Savannah brushed the bangs from the child’s face. “You let me worry about that, Pecan.”
“Is he going to want me to go live with him?” Emma asked quietly.
The fear in Emma’s voice had Savannah pulling her niece into her arms. “Do you think I’d ever let anyone take you away from me?”
The child shook her head.
“Of course I wouldn’t. You and I are a team. And I intend to keep it that way.” Savannah tightened her hug. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Okay.” Emma hugged her back.
Smiling reassurance she didn’t feel, Savannah set her niece away from her and looked into her face. “And stay in the bedroom until I tell you to come out.”
“Okay.”
The doorbell chimed and they both jumped.
Savannah’s stomach tightened. She looked anxiously at the door, then back to Emma. “Go on now, sweetie. I’ll let you know when it’s all right to come out.”
Once her niece had left, Savannah took a deep breath and glanced at the window beside the front door. She saw the outline of a tall man through the partially closed blinds. Maybe he’d go away if she didn’t answer. Just give up and go back to Texas. But she knew better. A man didn’t spend months tracking someone down and fly all this way just to turn around and leave. He wasn’t going to give up and he wasn’t going to leave. She had to go through with this. Be done with it now.
He knocked this time. Loudly.
Heart pounding, she moved to the door and opened it.
His black hat was the first thing she noticed about the man, and it struck her how appropriate that seemed. And tall. Good God, he towered over her own five-foot-seven frame, and his denim-clad chest and shoulders filled the doorway.
“Miss...Roberts?”
He did not smile as he stared down at her with intense blue eyes. If anything, he was frowning. She watched as he removed his Stetson, revealing hair dark enough to be considered black and a small jagged scar by his right temple.
No doubt this man would try to use his size and menacing looks to intimidate her, Savannah thought with annoyance. He was probably used to women—and men—taking a step back. Resisting the temptation to do just that, she lifted her eyes and met his gaze squarely.
“Mr. Stone.” She offered her hand to him and he took it, closing his long fingers over hers. A working man’s hand. Large and callused. She felt strength emanate from him. And determination. Two qualities that could make this meeting difficult.
She pulled her hand from his. “Come in, please.”
He dropped his bag on the front porch and stepped inside. His boots sounded heavy on the marble entry. Drawing in a slow, deep breath to steady herself, Savannah closed the door, then gestured to the living room sofa. “Why don’t we talk in here?” she said, moving past him.
Confused, Jake stared after the woman. He thought for a moment he had the wrong place, or maybe she was the one who was confused. But she’d looked right at him with eyes as green as a spring meadow and said his name. She couldn’t be Angela Roberts, he thought, narrowing his eyes.
Could she?
He watched as she walked away. From her tan high heels to the tips of her honey blond hair, she spelled money. And sex appeal. Definitely sex appeal. Her soft Southern accent flowed over him like warm silk and the faint scent of peaches drifted from her creamy white skin. Her legs were long and slender beneath her knee-length beige skirt, her breasts full and round under a long-sleeved white silk blouse.
Jake could understand how J.T. might have been tempted to take this woman to his bed. Lord knew, he certainly was.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and realized he hadn’t moved. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Something was wrong, he thought, and followed her into the other room. Very wrong.
She sat on a rose-colored high-back chair and he heard the soft whisper of her stockings as she crossed her legs. He sat on the sofa across from her and sank into the cushions. Too soft, he thought almost irritably. And white. He almost laughed at the thought of this sofa in his living room. He’d take his firm leather couch over this silly piece of fluff any day.
Glancing around the room, Jake took in the feminine contents: lace curtains, crystal vase on the glass coffee table filled with fragrant pink flowers. Pastel watercolors of garden cottages. A floor-to-ceiling oak bookcase with hard-bound novels and floral-framed photographs. Based on the town-house exterior, everything on the inside was exactly as Jake would have imagined. He looked at the woman sitting across from him. Well, almost everything.
Savannah didn’t like the way Jake Stone was staring at her. Scowling was a more appropriate word. She’d heard that cowboys were the silent type, but this was ridiculous. Other than her name, he hadn’t said one word to her. And though she’d already acknowledged that the man had a rugged appeal, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps he’d been kicked by one too many horses.
“Mr. Stone,” she said curtly, “could we please dispense with the amenities and get right to the point of your visit? I have an appointment in a little while and I’m afraid I haven’t much time.”
Jake’s frown deepened. He’d nearly drained what was left of his savings to buy a plane ticket, left two hundred head of cattle and spent an entire day traveling just to get here, and she hadn’t much time? He’d promised Jessie he wouldn’t lose his temper no matter what, but this woman was sorely trying his patience.
“I believe Samuels Investigating has already explained in detail why I’m here, Miss Roberts,” he said dryly. “But just in case there’s some confusion on your part, I’ll explain again. I’m here to meet my sister.”
Savannah refused to even blink as she stared back at Jake. “And what exactly makes you think Emma is your sister?”
She was cool, aloof even, and except for the tightening of her fingers around the arm of her chair, Jake would have thought her bored. There was something going on under that enticing skin of hers, he realized, and though the idea of exploring that territory appealed to him on a physical level, logic refused to give him more than a passing fantasy.
“Nine years ago you had an affair with my father, J.T. Stone. You disappeared and, according to hospital records uncovered by the P.I., you had a baby seven months later.”
She lifted her chin. “That hardly proves your father is responsible.”
Jake raised one eyebrow. “Are you saying you were sleeping with two men at the same time?”
Savannah felt her neck, then her cheeks, grow hot. She’d known this was going to be difficult, but she hadn’t counted on Jake Stone being so blunt. Damn the man! “Nine years is a long time, Mr. Stone. Whatever happened then has no bearing on now.”
The white silk blouse she wore contrasted sharply with the blush on her face, and her reaction to his question surprised Jake. He wouldn’t have thought a question of standards would have bothered her. “What did happen?”
It wasn’t so much the question he asked as the way he asked it that made Savannah nervous. He was suspicious, she knew it. And she wished to God she could answer him, but the truth was, she didn’t know what had happened. Not once in nine years had Angela even hinted at Emma’s parentage or the circumstances behind it. With both J.T. and Angela gone, perhaps no one would ever know for sure. “It was just one of those...situations,” she said carefully. “There was no reason to burden your father with my...condition.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if assessing her and her answer. “Did you love him?” he finally asked.
“I love Emma,” she answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. “That’s all that matters now. She and I are very happy with the way things are.”
She followed his gaze as he looked around the room. “Things appear to be very good, Miss Roberts. Do you have a...roommate?”
Savannah bristled at the implication in his sarcastic tone. She realized an expensive town house like this one would be difficult for most single women to maintain. Lord knew, she never would have been able to afford it on her teacher’s salary, but for Angela it had been no problem. The lease was paid up for another four months; then Savannah knew she’d have to move to a smaller place.
“No, Mr. Stone, I don’t have a roommate. I don’t need or want one.”
He raised one brow, and when his gaze settled on the hairbrush she’d left lying on the armchair, his eyes narrowed. “And Emma,” he said, staring thoughtfully at the brush, “what about her?”
Savannah gritted her teeth at Jake’s question, but if answering a few questions would get rid of the man, then she was happy to oblige. “She attends a prestigious private girl’s school, has piano lessons every Tuesday and soccer on Saturdays. Other than an occasional argument over eating spinach or picking up her dirty clothes, the two of us get along beautifully.”
Jake rested his arms across the back of the couch. His gaze dropped to her left hand. “So you never married.”
“No.”
“And Emma doesn’t know who her father is.”
Savannah’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“Is that your answer or Emma’s?”
Savannah felt as if a band were cinching around her chest, squeezing the breath from her. “I asked you before what you want with us, Mr. Stone. I’ll ask you that again.”
“And I’ll answer you again. I’m here to meet Emma.”
“And if I agree, then what?”
“She’s my sister. The Stone family never walks away from one of their own.”
Panic filled Savannah at Jake’s comment. What was he saying? That he wanted to take Emma? She’d never let that happen. Never. She’d run so far the Stone family would never find her or Emma.
Shoulders stiff, Savannah stood and faced Jake. “Why you think you have the right to waltz in here and make demands is beyond me, but as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is through. I think you better leave, Mr. Stone.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he slowly let his gaze scan her, starting at her legs, hesitating at her breasts, then finally resting on her face. The perusal was long and detailed, and as furious as it made her, Savannah also felt a hot swirl low in her stomach. Clenching her fists, she started to turn toward the front door.
“How old are you, Miss Roberts?”
She went still at his question, then slowly turned back to face him. “Excuse me?’
“I said—” Jake stood “—how old are you?”
Savannah nervously brushed her hair back from her face. “What business is that of yours?”
“I would guess you’re around twenty-five or -six.”
She said nothing, just stared at him.
“And that would make you about sixteen or seventeen when you had an affair with my father.”
Dammit, dammit! There’d been too many years separating her and Angela. Savannah had tried to look older. Conservative clothes and extra makeup. Obviously she’d underestimated Jake Stone.
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