The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO (2 page)

Bryn smiled, though her aunt couldn't see her. “Allen deserves a share of the wealth. And I'll put it in a special account for his college education and whatever else he might need down the road. It will give him a secure future, and that's important. I'll be home in four weeks. Don't you worry about me.”

They chitchatted a few more minutes, but then Allen demanded Aunt Beverly's attention. Bryn clicked the phone shut and blinked rapidly to stave off a wave of loneliness and heartache. She had never been away from her baby more than a night or two.

Allen would be fine. She knew that. But she felt like she'd been given a life sentence without parole.

She changed into comfortable jeans and a petal-pink sweater. It was time to check on Mac.

She tiptoed as she neared his room. He needed his rest desperately. Fortunately, this entire wing of the house was quiet as a tomb, so maybe he was still sleeping. Everything in his luxurious but masculine suite was designed for comfort, so as long as his medication was relieving any pain, he should be recovering on schedule.

But she knew as well as anyone that grief manifested itself in serious and complex ways.

Her foot was moving forward to enter the room when she realized Trent was sitting on the side of his father's bed. She caught her breath and drew back instinctively.

Trent murmured softly, the conversation one-sided as Mac slept. Bryn couldn't make out the words. Trent
stroked his father's forehead, the gesture so gentle a huge lump strangled her throat.

The old man was feeble and frail in the large bed. His eldest son, in contrast, was virile, strong and healthy. Seeing Trent show such tenderness shocked her. He had always been a reserved man, self-contained and difficult to read. Striking and impressive, but a man of few smiles.

His steel-gray eyes and jet-black hair, dusted with premature silver at the temples, complemented a complexion tanned dark by the sun. Despite the years he'd been gone from Wyoming, he still retained the look of one who spent much of his time outdoors.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to enter the room. “When is his next doctor's appointment?”

Though her words were soft and low, Trent snatched back his hand and rose to his feet, his expression closed and forbidding. “Next Tuesday, I think. It's written on the kitchen calendar.”

She nodded, her voice threatening to fail her. “Okay.” She tried to step past him, but he put a hand on her arm.

Trent was raw with grief over the loss of his brother. He could barely contemplate the possibility of losing the old man so soon after Jesse's death. How could Bryn still turn him inside out? His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to let her know he wouldn't be a pushover.

He put his face close to hers, perhaps to prove to himself that kissing her was a temptation he could
withstand. “Stay out of my way, Bryn Matthews. And we'll get along just fine.”

This close he could see the almost imperceptible lines at the corners of her eyes. She was not a child anymore. She was a grown woman. And he saw in one brief instant that she had suffered, too.

But then she blinked and the tense moment was gone. “No problem,” she said, her voice quiet so as not to wake her patient. “You won't even know I'm here.”

 

Trent strode outdoors blindly, feeling suffocated and out of control. He needed physical exertion to clear his head. A half hour later, he slung a heavy saddle over the corral rail and wiped sweat from his forehead. Working out at the gym in Denver wasn't quite the same as doing ranch labor. The chores here were hard, hot and strangely cathartic. It had been a decade since Trent had played an active role in running the Crooked S. But the skills, rusty as they might be, were coming back to him.

He had repaired fences, mucked out stalls, hunted down stray calves and helped the vet deliver two new foals. Up until yesterday, his brothers, Gage and Sloan, had done their part, as well. But they were gone now—for at least a month—until one of them returned to relieve Trent.

A month seemed like a lifetime.

Trent's father employed an army of ranch hands, but in his old age, he'd become cantankerous and intolerant of strangers—reluctant to let outsiders know his business. He'd fired his foreman not long before Jesse's death.
The tragedy had taken a toll on all of them, but Mac had aged overnight.

Even now, eight weeks after Jesse's death, Trent was blindsided at least once a day by a poignant memory of his youngest brother. The coroner's report still made no sense. Cause of death: heroin overdose. It was ridiculous. Jesse had been an Eagle Scout, for God's sake. Had someone slipped him the drug without his knowledge?

Trent finished rubbing down the stallion and glanced at his watch. He'd fallen into the habit of checking on the old man at least once an hour, and with Bryn around, that routine was more important than ever. He didn't trust her one damn bit. Six years ago she had lied to weasel her way into the family. Now she was back to try again. The next few weeks were going to be hell.

Especially if he couldn't keep his traitorous body under control.

W
hen Trent stormed out of the room, albeit quietly, Bryn couldn't decide if she was disappointed or relieved. He made her furious, but at the same time, she felt so alive when he was around. Six years had not changed that.

She sat at Mac's bedside for a half hour, just watching the rise and fall of his chest. In some ways, it was as if no time had passed at all. This man had meant the world to her.

When he finally roused from his nap and shifted upright in the bed, she handed him a tumbler of water, which he drained thirstily and placed on the bedside table.

He stared at her, his expression sober. “Do you hate me, girl?”

She shrugged, opting for honesty. “I did for a long time. You broke your promise to me.” When her parents, Mac's foreman and cook, died in a car accident years ago, Mac had sat a fourteen-year-old Bryn down in his study and promised her that she would always have a home on the huge Wyoming ranch where she had grown up.

But four years later that promise was worth less than nothing. Jesse, spoiled golden child and chillingly proficient liar, turned them all against her in one insane, surreal instant.

Mac shifted in the bed. “I did what I had to do.” His words were sulky…pure, stubborn Mac. But knowing how much he had suffered softened Bryn's heart a little.

In spite of herself, forgiveness tightened her throat and squeezed her chest. Mac had made a mistake…. They all had made mistakes, Bryn included. But Mac had done his best to look out for her after her parents were gone. Until it all went to hell.

Then he'd sent her to Aunt Beverly. Punishment by exile. Bryn had been crushed. But six years was a long time to hold a grudge.

She sighed. “I'm sorry Jesse died, Mac. I know how much you loved him.”

“I loved you, too,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes.

His behavior bore that out. Mac hadn't forgotten her. For six years he'd sent birthday and Christmas presents like clockwork. But Bryn, hugging her injured
pride like the baby she was, promptly sent them back every time.

Now shame choked her. Did Mac's one moment of weakness erase all the years he'd been like a grandfather to her?

She took a deep breath. “I came back to Wyoming because you asked me to. But even if you hadn't, I would have been here once I knew Jesse was gone. We have to talk about a lot of things, Mac.” Like the fact that she wanted a paternity test to prove that Jesse was Allen's father. And that her son was entitled to his dead father's share of the Sinclair empire.

Mac's lips trembled, and he pulled the blanket to his chest. “There's time. Don't push it, girl.” He slid back down in the bed and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

Bryn stepped into the hall, leaving the bedroom door open so she could hear him call out if he needed her. The study was only steps away. She couldn't help herself…she went in.

The room seemed benign now, not at all the way she remembered it in her nightmares. That dreadful day was etched in her memory by the sharp blades of hurt and disillusionment. She'd considered herself an honorary Sinclair, but they had sided with Jesse.

“What are you doing in here?”

Trent's sharp voice startled her so badly, she spun and almost lost her balance. She placed a steadying hand on the rolltop desk and bit her lip. “You scared me.”

His scowl deepened. “I asked you a question, Bryn.”

She licked her lips, her legs like jelly. “I wanted to send my son an e-mail.”

Trent's face went blank, but she saw him clench his fists. “Don't mention your son in my presence,” he said, his voice soft but deadly. “Not if you know what's good for you.”

Bryn could take the knocks life dealt her, but no one was going to speak ill of her baby while there was breath in her body.

She squared her shoulders. “His name is Allen. And he's Jesse's son. I know it, and I think deep in your heart, you and Mac and Gage and Sloan know it, too. Why would I lie, for heaven's sake?”

Trent shrugged, his gaze watchful. “Women lie,” he said, his words deliberately cutting, “all the time—to get what they want.”

For the first time, she understood something that had never before been clear to her, especially not as an immature teenager. When Mac's flighty young wife abandoned her family years ago, the damage had run deep.

The Matthews family had come along to fill in the gaps. For more than a decade, Bryn and her mother had been the only females in an all-male enclave. And Bryn had assumed that trust was a two-way street. But when Jesse swore that he had never slept with Bryn, Mac and Trent had believed him. It was as simple as that.

Bryn chose her words carefully. “I don't lie. Maybe you've had bad luck with the women in your life, but I can't help that. I told the truth six years ago, and I'm telling the truth now.”

He curled his lip. “Easy for you to say. With Jesse not here to defend himself.”

She tamped down her anger, desperate to get through to him. “Jesse was a troubled boy who grew into a troubled man. You all spoiled him and babied him, and he used your love as a weapon. I have the scars to prove it. But Jesse's gone, and I'm still here. And so is my son. He deserves to know his birthright—his family.”

Trent leaned back against his wall, the hard planes of his face showing no signs of remorse. “How much do you want?” he said bluntly. “How big a check do I have to write to make you leave and never come back?”

The bottom fell out of her stomach, and her jaw actually dropped. “Go to hell,” she said, her lips trembling.

He grabbed her wrist as she headed for the door. “Maybe I'll take you with me,” he muttered.

This time, there was no pretense of tenderness. He was angry and it showed in his kiss. Their mouths battled, his hands buried in her hair, hers clenched on his shoulders.

At eighteen she'd thought she understood sex and desire. After Jesse's betrayal, she'd understood that his love was an illusion. As was Mac's…and Trent's.

Now, with six years of celibacy to her credit and a heart that was being split wide open with the knowledge that she had never stopped loving Trent Sinclair, she was lost.

The kiss changed in one indefinable instant. She curled a hand behind his neck, stroking the short, soft
hair that was never allowed to brush his collar. His skin was warm, so warm.

She went limp in his embrace, too tired to fight anymore. Her breasts were crushed against his hard chest. Her lips no longer struggled with his. She capitulated to the sweetness of being close to him again. A sweetness tainted with the knowledge that he thought she was a liar. That she had tried to manipulate them all.

Gradually, they stepped away from a dangerous point of no return. Trent's expression was closed, his body language defensive.

She nodded jerkily toward the desk. “I'll use the computer later. I'm sure you have work to do.”

When he didn't respond at all, she fled.

 

Trent was not accustomed to second-guessing himself. Confidence and determination had propelled him to success in the cutting-edge, fast-paced world of solar and wind energy. When he'd received the call about his father's heart attack, Trent had been in the midst of an enormous deal that involved buying up a half-dozen smaller companies and incorporating them into the already well-respected business model that was Sinclair Synergies.

Except for some start-up cash that had long since been repaid, he'd never relied on his father's money. Trent was damned good at what he did. So why was the CEO of said company cooling his heels in Wyoming shoveling literal horseshit?

And why in the hell couldn't he read the truth in a
woman's eyes? A woman who had stayed in his heart all these years like a bad case of indigestion.

Had Jesse lied? And if so, why? Mac, Sloan, Gage and Trent had doted on the little boy who came along three years after his one-after-the-other siblings. Jesse had suffered from terrible bouts of asthma, and the entire family rallied whenever he was sick. So, yeah—maybe Bryn was right. Maybe they
had
catered to Jesse's whims, especially when their mother bailed on them. But that didn't mean Jesse was a bad person.

Heroin overdose.
Trent shifted uneasily in Mac's office chair. Going through the books was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Jesse had never been a whiz at math, so God knows why Mac put him in charge of the finances. His youth alone should have been a red flag. And his inexperience.

Already, Trent was uneasy about some ways money had been shifted from one account to another. A heart-to-heart with Mac was in order, but until the old man was a little steadier on his emotional feet, Trent would hold off on the questions.

Which brought him back to Bryn. What was Mac thinking? Why had he brought Bryn back to Wyoming?

Trent shoved back from the desk and stood up to stretch, his eyes going automatically to the magnificent scene outside the window. Wyoming was his birthplace, his home. And he loved it. But it had not been able to hold him…or Gage or Sloan, either, for that matter.

Gage had developed a bad case of wanderlust at an early age…and Sloan—well—Sloan's brilliance was
never going to be challenged by ranching. Had Jesse felt the need to be his father's heir apparent? It didn't fit what Trent knew of his baby brother's temperament, but what else could explain Jesse's role in running the ranch?

At one time the Crooked S had been the largest cattle operation in a six-state area…back when Mac was in his forties and had a brand-new twenty-year-old bride at his side. Now it was nothing more than acres of really valuable land.

What would become of the ranch when Mac was gone?

Trent waited until he heard Bryn talking on the phone in her bedroom before he went back in to check on his dad. Mac was sitting up in bed, and already his eyes seemed brighter, his skin a healthier shade. Had something as simple as bringing Bryn home wrought the change?

Trent sat down in a ladderback chair near the foot of the bed and hooked one ankle over the opposite knee. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “You're looking better.”

Mac grunted. “I'll live.” The two of them had never been much for sentimentality.

Trent smothered a smile. “Do you feel like going for a ride? I need to pick up a few things in town. Might do you good to get out for a couple of hours.”

His father seemed to wilt suddenly, as though his burst of energy had come and gone in an instant. “Don't think I ought to try it yet. But maybe Bryn would like to go.”

Trent stiffened. He wasn't ready to spend the hour and a half it would take to go into Jackson Hole and back cooped up in a car with the woman who was tying him in knots. “I'd say she's still tired from her trip. And I can be there and back in no time.”

Mac's dark eyes, so much like his son's, held a calculating gleam. “Bryn promised to pick out a new blanket for my bed at the Pendleton store. You know how women are…always shopping for something. I don't want to disappoint her. And you can have dinner before you drive back. Julio and I are going to play poker tonight.”

Julio was one of the ranch hands. Trent sighed. He knew when he'd been suckered. But he wasn't going to fight with his dad…not yet.

Moments later, Trent knocked on Bryn's door. It was slightly ajar, and he waited impatiently until she finished her phone conversation.

 

Bryn ground her teeth when she realized Trent was standing in the doorway. Maybe she should put a cow bell on him so he'd quit sneaking up on her. “What do you want?” The curt question was rude, but she was still stinging from their earlier encounter.

Trent's expression was no happier than hers. His lips twisted. “I'm supposed to take you into town with me to do some errands…a blanket my father mentioned? And he wants me to take you out to dinner.”

She cocked her head, reading his discomfort in every taut muscle of his lean body. “And you'd rather wrestle with a rattlesnake…right?”

He shrugged, leaning against the door frame, his face impassive. “I'm here this month to make my father's life easier. And if that means allowing him to boss me around, I'm willing to do so.”

“Such a dutiful son,” she mocked.

His jaw hardened. “Be out front in twenty minutes.”

Bryn fumed as he walked out on her, and she locked her door long enough to change from jeans into nice dress slacks and a spring sweater. She didn't understand Trent at all. But she read his hostility loud and clear. From now on, there would be no kissing, no reliving the past. She was here to right past wrongs, and Trent was no more than a minor inconvenience.

She managed to make herself believe that until she climbed into the passenger seat of a silver, high-end Mercedes and got a whiff of freshly showered male and expensive aftershave.
Oh, Lord.

Her stomach flipped once…hard…and she clasped her hands in her lap, her feet planted on the floor and her spine plumb-line straight.

The atmosphere in the car was as frigid as a January Wyoming morning. Trent turned the satellite radio to a news station, and they managed to complete the entire journey in total silence.

He let her out in front of the Pendleton store. “I've got some business to attend to. Can you entertain yourself for an hour or so?”

She sketched a salute. “Yes, sir. I'll be right here at six o'clock.”

His jaw went even harder than before, and his tires squealed as he pulled away from the curb.

Bryn's brief show of defiance drained away, and her bottom lip trembled. Why couldn't Trent let the past stay in the past? Why couldn't they start over as friends?

She picked out Mac's beautiful Native American–patterned blanket in no time, and visited a few more of the shops down the street, managing to select gifts for her aunt and for Allen. A friendly shopkeeper offered to stow Bryn's bulky packages until Trent returned, so Bryn took the opportunity to stretch her legs.