That Last Night In Texas. Ann Evans
as it cooled. For just a few moments, a hard knuckle of anger sent a jolt through his body.
Why had Cassie kept him in the dark all these years? How did she dare? By what right…?
Restraint shattered inside him. Only one way to find out.
Ethan threw the rental car in Reverse, heading back toward the I-10 and the Flying M Ranch.
WHEN HE STOOD AT THE ranch’s front door, he was a little calmer, but not by much.
There were questions he wanted answers to, but he wasn’t likely to get them if he came charging in full of righteous indignation. Conquering the impulse to pound his fist on the thick wood, Ethan drew a huge breath and knocked with all the practical determination of a traveling salesman.
He wasn’t expecting Cassie to answer. A housekeeper had led them to the backyard earlier that afternoon, but when the door swung wide, it wasn’t either woman.
It was Donny.
For a moment Ethan was completely tongue-tied, something that rarely happened to him anymore. He felt slightly breathless, as though he’d been jogging. Worst of all, he couldn’t seem to stop staring.
The boy, either uncomfortable under Ethan’s scrutiny or simply impatient, shifted. He jerked his chin up in acknowledgment.
“Hey,” he said without any particular grace. “You’re the guy who was here earlier.”
“Yes,” Ethan answered. “And you’re Donny.” Named after Cassie’s old man, he supposed. He wondered what would happen if he added, “And I’m your father.”
But of course he said nothing like that. Instead, he gave the boy a smile. “Are your parents home? I’d like to speak with them.”
“Dad’s staying at River Bottom. Mom’s in the Torture Chamber.”
Josh was staying at his parents’ old place, instead of here with Cassie? What did that mean?
Ethan lifted one brow. “Your mother’s in the Torture Chamber?”
“It’s just a gym, but that’s what she calls it. She hits the hot tub almost every night, but she should be out soon.”
Ethan enjoyed a fast, private fantasy about how Cassie would look relaxing in bubbling, steamy water up to the swell of her breasts. He might be furious with her, but when he’d first seen her this afternoon, it had pained him to accept the brutal truth. Over the years he had convinced himself that she meant nothing to him anymore, but his body, his senses, seemed to have remained infatuated.
It annoyed him that just the sight of her could still pack that kind of wallop. He shut those thoughts down before they could take hold. “Can I wait?”
“I guess,” Donny answered with a shrug.
The kid led him across the oak-floored foyer, into what Ethan remembered as the living room. It looked the same as when Mac McGuire had been alive. Lots of heavy furnishings, a high-end Western theme courtesy of Neiman Marcus. Leather and suede and beaten iron.
Ethan moved to the center of the room, then turned toward his son. Donny was slipping into a denim jacket. The dog Ethan had seen earlier came up to join them, and the boy leaned down to give its head a scratch.
“I gotta go,” he said. “You can park it here until Mom gets out. Will you tell her I’m going for a walk? We’re just going down to the pond. I like to look at the moon on the water while Zig chases frogs.”
Something in the boy’s tone made suspicion blossom in Ethan’s mind. Before he could stop himself he asked, “Is that really where you’re headed?”
Donny’s posture developed a distinctly offended stance. His jaw looked rock solid. “Dude, are you calling me a liar?”
Not a very good start, Rafferty. Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. I was young once, and too many details always made my mother suspicious. You need to keep it simple.”
Hot color swam in Donny’s cheeks. There was a long moment of silence while the boy nibbled at his bottom lip uncertainly and swept his gaze over Ethan.
Finally, he said awkwardly, “Okay, I’m going down to the barn to see my new horse. I’m just hanging out with him, though. No riding in the dark, no messing around trying to teach him tricks. So Mom doesn’t need to freak out. Tell her that. But only if she asks where I am. Deal?”
“Seems fair.”
As though satisfied, Donny nodded and snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come on, Zig.”
Before he could get to the doorway, Ethan called out, “Hold on a minute.”
Donny blew out an audible sigh as he turned. Were all twelve-year-old boys like this? How would Ethan know? He’d never spent much time around children, so he had virtually nothing for comparison.
“Would you mind telling your mother I’m here?”
The boy left the room, and Ethan heard him tromping heavy-footed down the hallway.
A few moments later, he heard Donny shout, “Mom! You got company!”
Ethan couldn’t hear a response over the sound of Donny talking to the dog and his boots returning to the living room. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but just before he turned to leave with Ziggy at his heels, he seemed to remember his manners.
“You want anything?” he asked. “Water? Iced tea?”
Answers, kid. That’s what I want. But all Ethan did was politely decline. In another moment, the boy banged out the front door, and he was alone in the Flying M’s living room.
The place was tomb-quiet, as though brooding about the crisis threatening its owner. He’d only been in the ranch house a few times, and he’d forgotten how big it was. Impersonal and stiff in spite of the massive fireplace and warm, earthy colors. Back in Colorado Springs, he’d built an entire cabin for himself that wasn’t much bigger than this room.
No wonder Cassie had decided he wouldn’t fit in here. It was true.
To keep himself occupied while he waited, he roamed the room, trying to admire Tim Cox paintings and Remington sculptures that spoke of wealth in a Western world. The Flying M must still be doing all right. Mac McGuire’s little girl didn’t seem to have lost her father’s fortune over the years.
Of course, she’d had a husband to help her.
A long bookcase stood against one wall. Ethan stopped in front of it, remembering that trophies had been displayed here once. Now it was full of memorabilia and framed pictures.
He studied the lineup of photographs. Cassie’s father, astride a black stallion. A shot of Josh Wheeler, shaking hands, accepting an award from some organization. His parents were here, too—a younger version of Josh standing between them in cap and gown.
Gradually the pictures became more current, and Ethan immediately realized that it had been a mistake to wander over here.
Josh with Donny astride his first horse. Cassie and a younger Donny opening Christmas presents in front of a towering fir. School photos. Vacations. There was one of the three of them at a football game, the confident young family linked together by laughter. Josh Wheeler’s arm was draped around each of them. Cassie’s head lay against his shoulder and a gap-toothed Donny grinned up at them both.
The three of them. Tight-knit. Loving. Perfect.
To his surprise, Ethan felt a cold hand seize his heart as he replaced the photograph. The pure pain of time lost exploded within his chest. Twelve years of missed opportunities. Twelve years of memories from a boy’s childhood that could never be re-created. Ethan’s son didn’t know him from Adam.
Deep inside, there was the cruel, bleak knowledge that Donny had grown up calling Josh Wheeler “Dad.”
Ethan moved away from the