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“Is there a reason?” But his eyes belied him, and she saw in their blue depths a hint of worry.
“Ralph Sorenson called today.”
His smile fell away from his face.
“He wanted to come out and meet Josh, and during the course of our conversation—which could only be described as tense, at best—he let it be known that he’s grateful to you for finding his grandson and that you’ll be paid for your trouble.”
Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten, and his face, so congenial minutes before, took on the expression of a harsh, unbending cowboy. “You want an explanation.”
“Not just an explanation, but a damned good one,” she clarified, her fingers curling around the strap of her purse.
Luke glanced at the house. “Maybe we’d better go inside.”
“So Josh can hear this? He doesn’t much like you, to begin with. I think this would only make things worse.”
“Fair enough.” He rested his buttocks against the fender of his pickup, folded his arms over his chest and stared so hard at her she nearly looked away. But she didn’t. She was too hurt. Too upset. And too damned mad.
“When Ralph and I made the deal on the ranch, he sweetened the pot a tad.”
She was shaking inside. She didn’t want to hear his confession but wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This was a man she had trusted, believed in, made love with. She’d given him her heart, though she’d die before admitting it. And he’d betrayed her. Used her. Played her for a fool. Well, she wasn’t having any more of it. “How did he ‘sweeten the pot’?”
“A few more dollars if I found out whether or not his son had fathered a child.”
She’d suspected it, of course, been darned-near sure that this was the explanation she would eventually hear after her talk with Ralph Sorenson, but the bald facts, the depth
of the deception that went into the lie, hit her hard, like a blow to the stomach. “I hope it was worth it,” she said through lips that barely moved. Inside she was shaking, quivering with a rage that burned bright in her soul.
“Katie—” He reached for her, but she ducked away, holding up her hands as she backed up a step and shook her head.
“Enough already.”
“Just listen.”
“I think I’ve heard enough to last me a lifetime, Gates.” She turned on her heel and marched to her father’s Jeep.
“If you would let me explain…”
“What?” Again she turned. “How you lied to me? Deceived me? Seduced me? Used me and my son for your personal gain? Is that what you want me to listen to? Well, forget it. It’s over, Luke.” She felt a tiny shaft of sadness. “It really was over before it began.” She yanked open the door of her father’s rig. “The only thing you need to remember is that the rent’s due on the first.” She slid into the hot interior and told herself it was better this way. Pumping the gas and turning on the ignition, she was reminded that she’d done just fine without Luke Gates in her life before; she could darned well do it again. She didn’t need anyone but Josh.
She reversed into the street, her eyes trained on the rearview mirror, then she threw the Jeep into first and roared away from Luke Gates. This time it would be forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Katie pulled into the drive of her old cottage and felt a tug on her heartstrings. She climbed out of the Jeep and walked the familiar path to the back door, smiling as she saw Josh’s old basketball hoop still hanging lopsidedly from the garage. The trail Blue had worn from the front of the house to the back was still visible, a crooked ribbon of dirt in the grass, and the vegetable garden, hardly more than a tangle of weeds, displayed a few pumpkins yet to ripen, a couple of oversize zucchini squash and three vines of tomatoes with fruit threatening to rot.
She’d hired a yard crew to clean up the place, and repairmen were scheduled to fix the dripping bathroom faucet, sagging gutters and somehow shore up the garage. Jarrod had promised to mend the screen, and the twins had volunteered to patch the nail holes in the walls and help her paint next weekend. By then, she hoped, she’d have a tenant to help pay for the upgrades as well as cover the payments on her mortgage.
She heard the crunch of tires on gravel before she saw the nose of a maroon minivan pull in behind the Jeep. A tall, lean man climbed from behind the wheel, and she had the vague sensation she’d seen him somewhere before. His hair was a little long and shot with the same gray that silvered his short-cropped beard and mustache. Dark glasses covered his eyes, and the bill of a baseball cap shaded his forehead.
“Are you Katie Kinkaid?”
“Yes.”
He grinned and showed off white teeth that seemed in contrast to his disheveled appearance. He wore brown coveralls that had a few oil spills on them, and a faded red rag, streaked with grease, poked out of his back pocket.
“Hi.” His hand shot out, and she noticed his fingernails were dirty as she offered her palm and felt the strength of his clasp. “Benjamin Francis.” He nodded toward the house. “This is a nice place, looks like it might work for me and my wife. I work at a gas station in Ashland, and she teaches preschool.”
That explained his work clothes, though she wondered why there wasn’t a logo for the station or his name embroidered on his coveralls. There was something about him that didn’t ring true, made her ill at ease, though she couldn’t explain why.
