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CHAPTER ONE
“I’m countin’ on you, boy. Now that Dave’s gone, all his mother and me got left is the thought that he might have left himself a son or daughter. Don’t know if it’s true, you know, but he mentioned something about it the last time we spoke to him.” The old man’s voice cracked. “You let me know, hear?”
“Will do,” Luke Gates promised, cursing himself as he slammed the phone down. How had he gotten himself roped into this mess? Sweat ran down his back, and the sweltering heat of the September day seemed worse in the confines of this tiny, top-floor apartment of an old carriage house in Southern Oregon.
In Luke’s estimation, Ralph Sorenson should do his own damned dirty work. What the hell was Luke doing, getting caught up in an old man’s hopes and dreams that were bound to cause nothing but heartache and pain? So the old man thought he had a grandson. So he hoped that Luke would find the kid. So he was going to pay him to do it. Big deal.
But it was. When it came to money, Luke had been born with a weakness, a hunger for it. Having grown up dirt-poor, tossed around from one aunt to another, constantly reminded that he was “another mouth to feed” and that he must “earn his own keep” had only fostered his drive and need to chase after the almighty greenback.
But this job might be too much.
Ralph was pushing. Too hard. But then, the old man was desperate.
Luke’s stomach curdled as he thought of the heavy-bodied man who had helped turn him from a hellion into a decent-enough businessman. Luke had never known his own father, and Ralph was the closest thing he now had to family. He supposed, under the circumstances, the reverse was true as well.
But still, the thought of dragging forgotten skeletons out of closets and digging up innocent people’s lives didn’t appeal to him.
Not so innocent, he reminded himself.
Ralph Sorenson deserved to know his own flesh and blood. Who cared if it fouled up some woman’s life? And besides, there was a pile of money involved.
Telling himself it didn’t matter what he thought, Luke yanked on his favorite pair of boots and headed outside. Pausing on the upper landing of the staircase, he felt the impact of the late afternoon. The air was as dry as a west Texas wind, and the September sun merciless. Just the way he liked it.
Sliding his key ring from his pocket, he hurried down the flight of stairs and strode across the patchy dry lawn to a spot of concrete by the garage where his pickup leaked a little oil. He’d lived here for a couple of weeks and planned to stay until he could make the old ranch house livable. It would take a little doing, even by his spartan standards.
A crow cawed angrily from an eave of the main house, a massive Victorian complete with gables, shutters and gingerbread trim. The turn-of-the-century home had been divided up some years back and now had several apartment units ensconced within its century-old walls.
He heard the sound of tires on gravel. A convertible, belching blue exhaust, the engine knocking out of synch, careened into the drive. The driver, a red-haired woman he’d caught glimpses of before, stepped on the brakes. She was out of the car before it stopped rolling.
“Hi!” She waved.
What was her name? Katie Something-or-other, he thought—a relative, maybe a sister, of Tiffany Santini, the widow who was his landlady.
Katie strode toward him with an air of confidence he found refreshing. A mite of a thing with fiery red hair, a sprinkling of freckles over a pert little nose and a pixie-ish jaw, she didn’t dally. Sunglasses covered her eyes. “You’re Luke Gates, aren’t you? I’ve seen you around here, and I always wanted to introduce myself.” She flashed him a smile that wouldn’t quit, the kind of thousand-watt grin that beautiful women used to get what they wanted. Her hand was already outstretched as she marched up to him. “I’m Katie Kinkaid, Tiffany’s sister—well, half sister really.” Her teeth were a set of pearls that were straight enough except for a small, sexy overlap in the front two, and her face was flushed, as if she’d been running. He could do nothing but accept the small hand that was jabbed his way.
“Glad to meet you,” he drawled, though he wasn’t really sure. Katie struck him as the kind of woman who could steamroll right over a man even though she was only a couple of inches over five feet.
“Me, too.” She shook his hand crisply, then let it drop. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen my son around here, have ya? He’s ten going on sixteen, got reddish-brown hair and is about yea tall.” She gestured with the flat of one hand to the height of her opposite shoulder. “He’s usually moving about a billion miles a minute, and he’s been spending a lot of time hanging out here with Stephen in the last day or two.”
Luke knew the kid she meant. A gangly kid always on the go. “I think I’ve seen him,” Luke allowed with a flick of his gaze toward the back porch. “But not today.”
“Hmm.” She shoved her bangs from her eyes, and the scent of some flowery perfume teased at his nostrils. “Tiffany said something about taking the kids out to the farm—you know, the old Zalinski place that Santini Brothers Enterprises bought for their latest vineyard and winery. They probably just haven’t gotten back yet.” She slid her sunglasses off her nose and chewed on one arm as she squinted down the length of the driveway. “I guess I’ll just have to w
ait.” Pausing for a second, she turned her attention back to Luke. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask ever since I first saw you, what brings you to Bittersweet?”
“Business.”
