Page 44 of Silent Deception
“Right.”
A corner of Trevor’s mouth lifted. “And that would have nothing to do with Cody’s pretty momma.”
“I’m thinking about the boy, not her,” Ryan retorted.
“Riiiight.”
Trevor’s Texas drawl filled the word with implications Ryan didn’t want to think about. But he couldn’t deny that Kristin had lurked at the edge of his thoughts twenty-four/seven since he’d arrived in Homestead...and for the past fifteen years.
He’d long since realized he wasn’t ever going to marry, though. Not with the kind of career he had, the kind of risks he took every day. The divorce rate among his fellow Rangers was astronomical, and seeing firsthand what a bitter breakup did to the children, he would never take the risk.
Maybe Kristin brought back memories of when he’d believed differently. It didn’t matter. Soon he’d be leaving for the East Coast, while she was obviously settling in for the long haul on her homesteaded land.
But she and her son deserved so much more than a legacy of lost trust and the shame of Nate’s misdeeds. Had hereallystolen the money? How could anyone be sure, when the ranch records were so flawed? If Clint’s failures meant Nate was still taking the rap for something he hadn’t done...
On his way back to the office, Ryan set his jaw and made a silent vow to himself.
Before he left Texas, he was going to uncover the truth about what had happened here over the past few years. Perhaps Oscar had been the one who’d taken off with the money, or perhaps the losses were simply the result of massive incompetence.
Given Clint’s history, it wasn’t beyond belief that there might’ve been other reasons for that money to disappear.
Kristin believed in her father’s innocence, and even Trevor had doubted his guilt. Whatever the answer was, Ryan was going to find it.
* * * *
CLINT PACED THROUGHhis spacious bedroom with a highball in his hand and a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the dresser, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his tie loose.
He’d had Trevor fly him back to San Antonio in the ranch helicopter for the afternoon, where he’d met with his campaign manager to discuss next year’s election. After a late dinner with some of his cronies, he and Trevor had flown home at about midnight.
It had been a long, difficult day. He was exhausted. But he already knew that sleep would elude him, just as it had the night before. Charlotte was here in the house somewhere, though he hadn’t seen her since that first chance meeting.
The thought made him want to smash his glass into the fireplace.
He’d had so many years of solitude. Peace. Utter control. And now she was back.
He stalked to the king-size bed, with its cool sheets turned down at a precise angle each night by Adelfa. Fresh, crisp sheets every night. He considered, then discarded the possibility that he might be tired enough to sleep anyway, and jerked open the sliding glass doors to step out into the crisp night air.
An ancient live oak shaded the enclosed courtyard by day. At night, it filtered lacy moonlight onto the stone walkways and flowering bushes, the wrought iron benches. He tipped back the glass and finished off his bourbon, welcoming the smooth liquid fire down his throat as he headed for a bench at the base of the oak.
Where maybe he could sit and doze.
It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone.
“We used to come out here together,” Charlotte said as she stepped out of the shadows. “Remember?”
Her throaty chuckle reminded him of all the times they’d met out here under the moonlight. The early days of their marriage, when they’d been young and wild, their verbal battles sometimes escalating into a different kind of passion.
There was none of that passion in him now. He turned to go, but her soft laughter stopped him.
“We were all wrong for each other, weren’t we?” She stepped closer, her shimmery white robe glowing in the moonlight. “A disaster from day one...yet we sure didn’t go wrong with those boys. Until the divorce, anyway.”
“Oh?” He scoffed. “Tell me where we went right—no wait a minute, you weren’t around.”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. “I might have been, except...”
“Right. The gallery. Your...your...friend.”
“Harris?” She sank onto a bench. “You never believed me. You just assumed.”
