Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers.
Blaize should be used to life throwing him twists by this point. Unless he uncovered a hidden tackle box full of cash at the ranch, he wasn’t sure how to save it. His brothers were united against him. Kit, of all people, had been the one to convince them to sell.
What was she thinking?
Maybe he should jump at the opportunity to rid himself of the responsibility of the ranch. He couldn’t. Taking away Kit’s home felt like the worst kind of wrong. He knew in his heart that she didn’t want that to happen.
Could he make his brothers see it, too?
Cormac Wilde’s death might have brought Blaize back to Maverick Pass, Texas, where Blaize had grown up, but raising a daughter might make him decide to stick around once the dust settled.
Damn that he’d lost touch with his brother and pushed Kit away. Guilt punched him again. If he’d done a better job of staying in touch, he might not have been blindsided by the state of the ranch.
Kit had dropped a bomb on him about his father. He needed to have a sit-down with her to find out what in Cormac’s past could possibly excuse his behavior.Complicateddidn’t begin to describe Blaize’s emotions since hearing of the man’s passing. His brothers must’ve been in the same boat. They all had a difficult relationship with their father, ifdifficultwas the right word.
Digging into Stephanie/Sharon’s background could stir up big trouble based on Thomas’s reaction. It dawned on Blaize that the car attacker from the other night might have been related to her and not someone from Carys’s past.
Speaking of Carys. Blaize hadn’t felt an emotional pull this strong since…well…ever. The redheaded beauty challenged every belief he ever held about how deep an attraction could run and how impossible it could be to fight against it. This one was stronger than he dared admit to himself or anyone else. Seeing her hold the child stirred up a whole bunch of feelings that had been dormant. Becoming a father had been put in theFor Other Peoplecategory once Lynn closed the door to the possibility. After the terminal diagnosis, any thoughts of changing her mindhad to be put on the backburner so he could care for Lynn. She’d been dead set against adoption, too. Said she couldn’t see putting a child through her mood swings.
Blaize had had the same concern even though he hadn’t owned up to it with her.
Now that being a parent might not just be possible but could be a safety net for a little girl, too, he needed to deal with feelings that had been shoved down so deep he wondered if they could be resurrected.
There was another consideration. If he didn’t take the spit test, could Carys let him keep Rue and then walk away like he’d never argued against the idea of her being his biological child?
She might’ve been one to bend the rules when necessary but that was big.
He was getting ahead of himself. They needed to figure out who this Stephanie/Sharon person really was, and they had a solid lead.
Blaize finished getting dressed and packed up the few clothing and supplies he’d brought, tabling those thoughts for the time being.
“Are you ready to roll?” Blaize asked Carys.
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Let’s go,” he said, taking the lead after shouldering his backpack.
Once safely in the Jeep, Carys asked, “Should we check on how things are going back home?”
She probably meant home as in Maverick Pass and not home as in the ranch. He still liked hearing how the word rolled off her tongue so easily and how natural it sounded in conversation.
“I texted earlier, but a phone call would be good.” He motioned toward his phone, which he’d placed inside the cupholder. “Do you mind? They won’t pick up if you call. Kitis trained not to answer calls from strangers.” He chuckled. “It goes against her nature.”
“Sounds like Kit.” She picked up the phone. The screen came to life. “You don’t password protect your cell?”
“No need. I live alone and I work alone.” Why did that make him sound so lonely all of a sudden?
Speaking of lonely, he remembered one of the people he’d spent time talking to at Deep Roots Bar. Sierra Jones. She’d walked up to the stool beside him and asked to sit. The fact that she was alone and not with girlfriends didn’t raise any big red flags. Deep Roots was the kind of place where folks showed up when they didn’t want to be alone and didn’t necessarily have to talk to anyone. It was dimly lit inside, a place where conversations were more like a quiet hum.
The first night Sierra had walked up beside him, he barely noticed her. Would she be considered beautiful by most standards? She was tall with long legs. Her long straight dark hair fell between her shoulder blades. She always wore a skirt that hugged her hips and highlighted one of her best features, her legs. She had almond-shaped, catlike green eyes accented with black eyeliner. She smelled of expensive perfume and carried a handbag that he was sure was designer. Yet she had a salt-of-the-earth quality that made her easy to talk to. Or maybe it was the whiskey. Hell, he didn’t know.
“No answer,” Carys said.
“We’ll try again in a few minutes.”
“Do you think everything is all right?” she asked.
“I hope so. We’ll give it a minute.”
