Lone Stallion's Lady (6 page)

He threw back his head and with a primal cry spilled into her, releasing himself. Letting go. He fell against her and sighed, his fingers twining in her hair as he kissed her cheek. “Celia.”

The alias hung in the air.

Her lie.

Her deception.

She opened her mouth, determined to set the record straight. He kissed her again and all her good intentions fled. For this night, she would give in to the desperate urges of her body and when it was over, she’d leave. He’d never know the truth….

Until now, she thought as she stared at the broad expanse of Montana sky. High above, the moon gilded the Kincaid ranch with its pearlescent light. Somewhere far off a coyote cried and Gina rubbed her arms. How could she ever explain what happened? To Trent? To herself?

Was it possible?

“What’s going on?” a deep male voice asked, and she visibly jumped.

Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with Trent Remmington. Moon glow cast his face in silvery
shadows and yet she was able to read his harsh expression and knew that whatever he had to say, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Nothing. I—I just couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe some fresh air would help.”

“Did it?”

“Not so far.”

“I couldn’t get any shut-eye, either,” he admitted as he walked to the fence and leaned against it. “I kept thinking about the night we met in Dallas and how you lied to me.”

Here it comes, she thought, expecting him to lambaste her for keeping her identity a secret. Instead, he blindsided her.

“I didn’t realize it until the next morning,” he admitted, obviously irritated with himself. “But that night we were together, it was your first time, wasn’t it?” He sounded disgusted. With himself? Or her?

“I don’t understand…” She let the sentence drift into the shadows.

“Sure you do. You’d never been with a man before, had you?” His lips compressed. “You—Celia, or Gina, or whoever-the-hell you are—were a virgin.”

“E
xcuse me,” she said, and even in the moonlight he saw the blush staining her cheeks.

“You neglected to tell me you were a virgin.”

“You didn’t bother asking.”

She met his gaze boldly, almost daring him to make some inane comment about being over twenty-five and saving herself. For what? Him? He doubted it and felt like a heel.

“Did it matter?”

“To me?” He shook his head. “But I thought it might to you.” She lifted a shoulder beneath the white terry-cloth of that short little robe thing in what he considered measured nonchalance. Any woman who’d held off that long didn’t take going to bed with a man
lightly. And yet she was the one who had disappeared before dawn.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“What about Jack?”

“What?”

“The guy you were talking to on the phone. What about him?”

She snorted. “My sex life isn’t any of his business.”

He digested this, listened to the sounds of the night—a horse snorting in a nearby field, frogs and crickets competing for air space while a bat swooped from a hidden roost. “So what’s your relationship with him?”

“If you want to know the truth…”

“Well, that would be a nice change of pace.”

Her lips flattened together for a heartbeat, then she added, “Jack and I are very close. Extremely. He would understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better try and get some sleep.” She started to march away, but he was tired of her flouncing exits.

“No way, lady,” he said, grabbing hold of her wrist, spinning her back to face him and feeling how small the bones were beneath his fingers. “I think I deserve some answers.”

“Why?”

“Because the ones I got in Dallas weren’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

“Maybe you just asked all the wrong questions,” she fired back and jerked her arm away from him. He watched as she huffed off toward the house in a blaze
of self-righteous and, as far as he was concerned, undeserved indignation.

“Women.” He wanted to dismiss her, but somehow she’d gotten under his skin. She had from the instant he’d seen her sitting across the dance floor, alone, at a table, sipping wine and dressed to kill. At first he’d assumed she was waiting for someone. A knockout redhead like Gina wasn’t likely unattached, but when the date he’d thought she was waiting for didn’t show up, he’d taken a chance and sent over a drink.

The rest, as they say, was history. He’d helped her “spill” her drink, had plotted to get her up to his room, but sensed that she wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t used to one-night stands. Hell, neither was he. Not any longer. But from his initial glimpse of her he’d known she would be different. Interesting. Intriguing. And she hadn’t disappointed. Just thinking of their night together made him hard. He’d woken up and found her gone, which was unusual. No note, no trace of her. He’d called the front desk and gotten no information on Celia O’Hara.

She’d just disappeared.

He’d decided to track her down, and felt like a fool. Never in his life had a woman walked out on him. Never. And he hadn’t liked the feeling. So he’d gone so far as to call a private investigator who’d done identity checks on people he was considering hiring for Black Gold. The man had come up empty. Celia O’Hara, the paralegal from Southern California, had disappeared.

Or, as he learned later, had never existed. Then out
of the blue he’d gotten that life-altering call from Garrett Kincaid telling him he wasn’t Harold Remmington’s son, after all. Hell, no, he was Larry Kincaid’s bastard.

He’d been about to shelve looking for the woman, had even called his own private investigator and told him to quit searching—and now she’d fallen into his lap. Not as Celia O’Hara, the paralegal intent on becoming a lawyer, but Gina Henderson, a P.I. who had pulled the wool over his eyes and been investigating him, for crying out loud!

He kicked at a rock and sent it careening into a fence post. From the porch the old pooch gave up a soft woof.

The worst part of it was, he was still attracted to her. She’d lied to him, deceived him, played him for one helluva fool, yet Trent could hardly be around her without getting an erection that just wouldn’t quit. It was ridiculous. Foolish. His reaction to her was way out of line, as if he were a horny nineteen-year-old kid instead of thirty-two and supposedly an adult.

But then everything about his life was a little out of whack right now. He’d considered phoning Blake and talking over the entire situation with him, but had decided against it. He and his twin, though identical in looks, were worlds apart in their thinking. Trent had always wondered about those twins who grew up wearing the same clothes, being each other’s best friend, riding matching bikes. He couldn’t imagine it. He’d been into leather jackets, jeans and T-shirts in high school. Blake had gone for a preppier look. Trent had
ridden a motorcycle hell-bent-for-leather whenever he could, picked up more than his share of speeding tickets and was lucky he’d never spent a night in jail. Blake had driven their mother’s car when they lived at home, a dependable sedan when they were away at boarding school, put his nose firmly to the grindstone and with the idea of becoming a doctor chiseled into his brain from a young age, had put his goal in front of everything else. He’d even married well, a girl from a socially acceptable family, then moved to California where he’d set up practice as a pediatrician.

Trent had almost envied his brother’s vision for his life, but that vision seemed to be blurring as Blake had divorced and, if Trent had read the last telephone conversation correctly, Blake was looking for more in his life.

Whatever the hell that meant.

With a final glance at the stars, Trent slapped the top rail of the fence and walked toward the house. The smell of fresh-mown hay lingered in the air but was laced with the trace of Celia—damn, he had to get it right—Gina’s perfume. If he listened real hard, he was certain he heard the rush of water through the creek that cut through some of the pastures. Horses nickered softly, grass rustled and the wind sighed through the few sparse trees. The old Kincaid house rose out of the land and sprawled wide.

Home?

Trent snorted and examined the mansion with a jaundiced eye.

He didn’t think so.

“Okay, so where are we?” Jack asked from their office in L.A. as Gina, sipping coffee and fighting a headache from too little sleep, wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear. She was sitting in a worn leather desk chair in the den and was looking through the open window to a view of the stables and several interlocking paddocks.

“Garrett’s talked all of the brothers into coming here. They start arriving early next week. Well, except for Trent Remmington. He kind of jumped the gun and showed up before I got here.” Leaning back in the chair, she watched Trent and Garrett talking to Rand Harding, the ranch foreman. They were seemingly discussing the small herd of cattle that had just been driven into one of the pens, dusty coats catching rays of early morning light. Disgruntled, they bawled as the men who, deep in conversation, pointed from one steer to another.

“Gina?” Jack’s voice brought her back to the present. “So, all of Larry’s sons will be there?”

“Just the illegitimate ones, I think. Garrett didn’t say a word about Collin or Melanie, the kids Larry had with his wife. So we’re expecting six, five more. I still haven’t located the baby or his mother.” She frowned as this little mystery was the only part she hadn’t been able to figure out. Who was the last woman Larry had been involved with and where was she? Gina had always relied on gut instinct and feminine intuition. Right now she had a feeling that Larry’s youngest child, who was little more than a baby, was nearby.

“If the baby exists.” Jack was skeptical. One note in a personal journal didn’t mean that there was a seventh illegitimate son, or so he’d said time and time again. “Six is enough, don’t you think?”

“I know, but searching through Larry’s things, it just seems that there might be a much younger sibling.” She took another swig from her now-cold coffee and frowned. “One who was born in the last couple of years.”

“You’re sure about this?” her brother asked, and her nerves were instantly strung tight. Jack was well-meaning but overprotective. He was often second-guessing her and always cautious, to the point that she wanted to scream. Eight years her senior and having spent time working for the Los Angeles Police Department, he was forever afraid she might get hurt.

“I’m not sure about anything,” she admitted, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “But I have this gut feeling that there’s another son.”

“Here we go again. Instinct over facts.” He laughed and she imagined his hazel eyes crinkling in amusement.

“It’s worked before.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“But you’d like to.”

“Ah, baby sister, you know me well,” he teased.

“Unfortunately,” she cracked.

“So, how’re you going to go about locating the kid?”

Gina’s eyes narrowed as she thought. “I’ve gone through the regular channels, checked hospital records, birth announcements in the paper, adoption agencies and
lawyers, so now I’m going to listen to some good old-fashioned gossip. There’s a place where everyone in Whitehorn seems to gather—a diner called the Hip Hop Café.”

“So what if that tack doesn’t work?”

“Well, I don’t know. Back to square one. I guess I’ll just have to talk to Winona Cobbs, she’s something of a psychic around these parts, I hear. Maybe she can just read some tea leaves or gaze into a crystal ball or read a few palms or something.”

“Oh, brother.”

“No, in this case, it’s ‘Oh, half brothers.’”

“Very funny,” he drawled, then chuckled. “Listen, take care of yourself and—”

“Don’t do anything dangerous. Watch your back and call you if there’s a hint of trouble. Have I got it down, Jack?” She couldn’t help needling him.

“I guess. Hey, one more question. How’re you getting along with Remmington?”

She glanced back to the window and discovered Trent was no longer with Garrett and Rand. “That’s a tough one,” she admitted, “considering the circumstances.”

“Well, keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

“Love ya, kiddo.”

“Love ya, too, old man,” she teased and, as she hung up, glanced at the date on the display of her laptop computer. It had been more than a month since the night she’d spent in Dallas with Trent and… Oh, Lord. A familiar worry wormed through her brain again. Her throat
tightened as she stared at the date, then brought up the screen for April. There it was, big as life—the little mark she always made that reminded her of her last period.

More than six weeks ago.

Her heart sank.

She’d never been this late. Never.

Nor have you ever slept with anyone before…and unprotected sex at that. Oh, Gina, what were you thinking? You’re smarter than this.

There had to be some mistake. Had to.

So she either was sick or she was pregnant.

It was time to find out which.

Winona prided herself on her ability to read people. It wasn’t just their expression or their body language that gave away their inner thoughts. Oh, no. It was much more. She was certain each person’s aura manifested itself, and if most people took the time, they, too, might view what she found so obvious.

As she walked down the dusty street, she noticed more than most people. Jordan Baxter had paused in the awning of the bank building, checked the lazy flow of traffic, then jaywalked across the street. He was concentrating so hard, his eyebrows cinched together under the brim of his hat, his lips all drawn up as if he’d been sucking on lemons. Anyone who glanced in his direction could tell that he was as mad as a nest of hornets just shot with a hose.

But Winona knew there was more to it than simple ire.
The look on Jordan’s face was reserved for those times when he had to deal with the Kincaids. He’d never gotten over the fact that his mother had been just another notch on Jeremiah Kincaid’s belt. Poor Jordan, he was forever trying to prove himself as good as the Kincaids. No doubt he’d heard a whole passel of them were due to arrive.

Jordan blew past and didn’t even shoot his disdainful once-over her way. But then, he was a little intimidated these days. He’d tried to buy her land on the highway, attempted to force her out of the Stop-n-Swap, but she’d told him to leave her alone, that she’d ricochet all his bad energy back in his direction if he tried it. He’d laughed at her until a few little “accidents” had occurred all around him. Unnerved, he’d taken her advice to heart, backed off, and seemed to now save his frustrations for the Kincaids.

Well, good luck. In Winona’s opinion, bad karma begat only bad karma. As long as Jordan dwelled on the negative, he’d never prosper. All his money and possessions would give him little joy.

She wiped at her head with a handkerchief and paused on her way to the bank when she noticed a rig pull into a parking spot in front of the Hip Hop Café. A tall redhead practically flew out of the shiny Ford. She was a pretty girl with a strong stride, determined set to her chin, and a no-nonsense attitude that caught Winona’s eye. But there was more to her than that, Winona thought. This gal looked like a woman on a mission.

That was the trouble with the young people today;
they were all moving way too fast. The young woman, whoever she was, had better slow down because if she didn’t she was headed for a fall. Winona had a sixth sense about these things.

“Oh, that Larry Kincaid, he loved women. Didn’t matter if they were married or not. He charmed the socks off ’em. Well, the socks and a whole lot more.” Seated at the first booth of the Hip Hop Café, Lily Mae gave an exaggerated wink, showing off an eyelid covered in bright blue eyeshadow.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Gina, if there was a female within fifty miles of him, she was fair game as far as he was concerned,” the little old lady said with a smug I’ve-seen-it-all smile. A friendly thing, Lily Mae was anxious to give out as much information as she could, but even she couldn’t keep up with Larry Kincaid’s exploits.