Almost Home Read online

  "Yeah, but I wouldn't plan on driving it."

  She frowned, then scrambled to her feet. She strode over to her car and yanked open the door to the backseat. "Oh, thank goodness."

  Zach got up and walked over to the car, expecting to see her reaching for her makeup case, but the large cedar chest in the backseat was obviously not filled with cosmetics. "What's that?"

  She patted the top of the chest with a loving hand. "This is my past and maybe -- just maybe my future."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It's a long story."

  He didn't like her evasive answer. "Where are you headed?"

  "Paradise Valley."

  His gut tightened. "Why?"

  She seemed taken aback by his question. "Why not?"

  "It's not exactly a hub of nightlife."

  "I'm not looking for nightlife. I'm looking for a place called Golden's Grill. Do you know it?"

  Zach felt a chill run through his body. He didn't like the look in her eyes. She certainly hadn't come from wherever she'd come from to go to Golden's Grill.

  "I know Golden's," he said reluctantly.

  Her mouth blossomed into a sparkling, hopeful smile that stole his breath away. "Then it really exists. I hoped it would still be there."

  "Why do you want to go to Golden's?"

  "I'm looking for someone."

  "Who?"

  She didn't answer right away, and his uneasiness deepened. She was here to cause trouble. He could feel it in his bones.

  "My father," she said finally.

  "Who is your father?"

  "I don't know."

  "If you don't know, then how are you going to find him?"

  She hesitated. "Maybe you could help me.”

  "Me? No way." He uttered a short harsh laugh. "I don't look for fathers, mine or anyone else's. In my experience, the best family is no family." He stared down the empty highway. "Where the hell is that tow truck?"

  Chapter Two

  Katherine felt like an idiot. She shouldn't be confiding in someone she didn't know. In Los Angeles she wouldn't have dreamed of talking to a strange man on the side of the road. But she'd felt like a different person ever since she'd stepped off the plane in Louisville.

  The minutes slowly ticked by, the silence broken only by the sound of the birds, the breeze blowing through the trees, and the hum of a distant tractor. Katherine tried to distract herself by counting the number of planks in the endless white fence that ran along the side of the road. But she couldn't concentrate on anything but the man by her side. Tall, lean muscles in a dark silent package, he completely unnerved her.

  She wasn't used to quiet men. Most of the males she knew moved in perpetual motion and talked more than anyone cared to listen. But not this man. Now that he'd finished yelling at her about his precious horse, he'd completely stopped talking.

  And he was so rough. He had calluses on his hands; she'd felt them when he'd grabbed her arms. His face didn't look like it had seen a razor that morning, or his hair a comb for that matter. He was rugged and wild and his body seemed poised for action even when he was at rest. She could feel the tension -- or maybe it was her tension. He was the sexiest, most physical male she'd come across in a long time. The worst thing was that he didn't seem to be anywhere near as affected by her.

  After a few more minutes of restless internal debating, she slanted a sideways glance at him and considered her options. He'd made it clear he wasn't interested in helping her. And a week ago, make that a day ago, she probably would have just kept quiet until the tow truck came along. But she was on a quest. She couldn't let one stubborn male stop her in her tracks without at least trying to push back. She would need help to find her father, and if this man had lived here a long time... Oh, heck, what did she have to lose?

  "I think my father lived here in 1972," she blurted out.

  The man slowly turned his head, his mouth tilting downward in a frown. "I can't help you."

  "I don't know his name, but I have an initial."

  "That's it?"

  "I have other clues, a letter, match covers, cocktail napkins from Golden's Grill, a cuff link. I know it sounds silly, probably a wild-goose chase, but it's something I have to do." She didn't know if he thought she was a lunatic or a fool. Probably both, she decided. "You see, I don't think my father knew about me. I don't believe my mother told him. That's why I've come here. I figure my father has a right to know he has a daughter."

  "What if he doesn't want to know?"

  "Why wouldn't he?"

  "I can think of a lot of reasons." He shook his head. "You're going to stir up a hornet's nest of trouble, aren't you?"

  "I hope not."

  "I'm glad I'm not old enough to be your father. What's your name anyway?"

  "Katherine Whitfield."

  "You look like a Kat." Zach's gaze drifted down her body. "Sleek, sassy, stubborn, and argumentative. You get your back up awfully easily."

  "You've only known me for five minutes."

  "In which time you almost ran me over, killed my horse, and told me you were coming to town to dig up somebody's grave."

  "My father isn't dead. At least, I don't think he is." She paused. It had never occurred to her that her father might be dead. "I suppose he could be dead, if he is, I should know that, shouldn't I?”

  "Don't ask me."

  "And I am not argumentative. I always listen and compromise and work with people. At least people who deserve such consideration, and what is your name anyway?"

  "Zach Tyler."

  "And your friends call you what? Rude, nasty, arrogant?"

  "They're not that nice," he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

  She caught her breath at the life that came into his face. The sharp angles of his jaw softened, and the hardness in his eyes vanished, making him look younger, more carefree, and shockingly handsome.

  "Nice to meet you, Kat," he said, sticking out his hand.

  She debated one second too long, and he simply reached out and took her hand in his. The touch of his fingers was hotter than she'd expected, and a jolt of awareness rocked through her body, shocking her with its intensity. It was supposed to be a simple handshake, but instead of squeezing her hand and letting it go, his fingers pulled her closer.

  "Katherine Whitfield," he said, staring into her eyes. "Sounds like old money, big white house with pillars and a verandah."

  "Mediterranean villa, pool, and an acre of incredible gardens," she replied breathlessly, her hand still tingling within his grasp.

  "Built to last, I bet."

  "It's just a house."

  "Spoken like a woman who's never lived without a roof over her head."

  No, she'd never suffered that loss. But a roof wasn't a family. And a house wasn't always a home.

  "Where did you say you come from?" he asked.

  "California."

  "You're a long way from home. You should go back there."

  "'Why?"

  He stared at her for a long, expectant minute, his gaze drifting from her eyes to her lips. He lowered his head, and she thought -- for one insane moment, she thought he was about to kiss her. Instead he whispered next to her ear, "Because you don't belong here."

  The words cut deeply. She'd never felt like she belonged to anyone or anyplace, not since her mother had died and especially not since her stepfather had remarried, moving on to a new wife, a new life. Belonging had always teased the tips of her fingers but never been quite within her grasp.

  Finding her real father could change that. She would finally have someone who was tied to her by blood. Katherine wouldn't -- she couldn't -- let this man, this stranger, this cowboy, weaken her resolve to find her father.

  She pulled her hand out of Zach's grasp. "I'll leave when I'm ready and not a second before." She spun on her heel and stalked down the highway, fuming every step of the way. Her anger probably would have fueled a long hike into the next town, but a few more yards down the highwa
y made her realize she could hardly leave her rental car, not to mention her hope chest in the backseat. She stopped abruptly, took in a deep breath, and counted to ten. Then she slowly made her back to him.

  * * *

  Zach was relieved when Katherine turned around. It was a long walk to Paradise, especially in her heels. She was completely out of place, and she should go home before she got herself into any more trouble. Still, he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty. He'd struck her with the same words that had always hurt him the most. You don't belong here. Even though it was the truth, he probably shouldn't have said it.

  "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he said.

  She was close enough to hear him. But she didn't reply, just stared down the empty highway and tapped one foot restlessly against the concrete.

  "Fine, have it your way," he called out, leaning against her car. What did it matter if she was angry with him? In a few minutes she'd be out of his life -- well, at least out of his immediate vicinity. If she had any sense, she'd leave the past where it belonged. No good ever came out of digging up a secret someone had buried with deliberate purpose. Zach knew that better than anyone.

  A horn blasted as Billy Dawson pulled up in his orange and red tow truck. Billy hopped out of the truck with a long-legged youthful gait and adjusted his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His white blond hair drifted past his collar, and a patch of freckles spread across his face with his look of disbelief.

  "How did you do that, Zach?"

  "He didn't do it, I did," Katherine said. "Can you get it out?"

  Billy sent Katherine a long, appreciative look. "You bet I can. Where are you headed?"

  "Paradise Valley."

  "No kidding. Well, today is your lucky day, because that's where the nearest garage is."

  "And how far away is that?"

  "A few miles. Are you visiting anyone in particular?" Billy asked. "I'm from Paradise, born and raised. I know where everything is."

  Zach sighed. At this rate, it would be dark before Billy hooked up the car. "Billy, do you mind? I've got things to do."

  Billy frowned at him. "I'm being friendly."

  "I'm just passing through," Katherine said, exchanging a quick glance with Zach.

  She didn't have to bother. Zach had no intention of helping her open up that can of worms.

  "Do you think you can get my car out of that ditch?" she asked.

  "Absolutely," Billy replied. "Zach, you want to give me a hand?"

  "Sure." Zach would have done anything if it meant getting Katherine on her way. He didn't have time for big blue eyes or soft lips or thick blond hair.

  It took them fifteen minutes to angle the car out of the ditch. While Billy was making the final hookup, Katherine opened the door on the passenger side of the truck and climbed in, leaving enough room for Zach to squeeze onto the front seat.

  When he didn't move, she frowned. "Aren't you coming?"

  Get in that truck right next to her? Feel her thighs against his, be a whisper away from her full breasts?

  "Sam's going to send someone back for me," he said tersely.

  "Oh." She licked her full lips, and Zach's breath caught in his throat. He wanted her to go, and fast, before he got into the truck next to her, before he convinced himself she needed his help getting into town, getting into the hotel... getting into bed.

  "Well, thanks for staying with me," she said. "I'm sorry I almost hit your van. I hope your horse is all right."

  "He'll be fine." Zach wasn't so sure about himself. He moved forward to shut the door for her, then paused, knowing he couldn't leave her without one word of warning. "Be careful, Kat."

  "Why?"

  "This isn't California. This is horse country."

  "I don't understand."

  "Family, bloodlines, tradition, they're pretty damn important around here. No one wants a scandal. And they won't take kindly to a stranger asking nosy questions."

  "Those things are pretty important to me, too. I'm not trying to cause any trouble."

  "You know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions."

  "I can't quit. I've always done the safe thing, taken the easy way out." She glanced back at where Billy was finishing the hookup and lowered her voice. "If I don't do this, I'm afraid I'll never do anything. I'll never take the big chance. I'll never walk out on the high wire."

  She looked him straight in the eye, and he could see the desperation, the need to prove something, if only to herself. Zach shut the door between them, because if he spent one more second in conversation with her, he had a feeling he'd be out on that high wire along with her.

  "You coming, Zach?" Billy asked.

  "No. Sam will be back for me."

  "You sure?" He tipped his head toward the truck. "I think she likes you."

  "That woman is trouble with a capital T."

  "Just your type. By the way, great race on Sunday. Rogue surprised a lot of people. If he hadn't stumbled out of the gate, who knows what would have happened? Of course, J.T said Enrique gave Rogue the rail when he should have kept him outside."

  "Nobody gives Rogue anything. He takes what he needs." Zach was glad to change the conversation to horses. He was only too happy to be reminded that Rogue was his first, last, and only priority.

  "Can Rogue take the Derby?"

  "Maybe," Zach said, deliberately casual. He didn't give a damn what people thought now, only what they'd think after the first Saturday in May.

  Billy nodded. "I figure he'll be a long shot, but might be worth a few bucks."

  Zach shrugged. "Do what you want."

  Billy tipped his head toward the woman sitting in his front seat. "Think she'd go out with me?”

  "Now, I'd say that's a real long shot." Zach watched as Billy hopped into the truck and took off down the highway. He didn't think Billy Dawson had even the remotest chance of getting a date with Katherine Whitfield. He was far too young. She was more interested in the fifty-year-old generation.

  The thought of Katherine nosing around Paradise Valley for her long-lost father was actually somewhat amusing. It was about time someone else caused a scandal, and Zach sure wouldn't mind seeing one of the good old boys caught with his pants down, even if it was twenty something years after the fact. His mind whirled with likely candidates. Maybe he shouldn't have encouraged her to go back to California. A little fireworks right before the Derby might make the race even more interesting, especially if Katherine's father turned out to be someone in the racing world, someone with a horse, someone with an agenda, someone with little to gain and a lot to lose.

  Zach set off down the highway, preferring to walk rather than wait. He could think of two or three good men to play the role of Katherine's long-lost father. And two or three wives who'd probably hang them for it. Not that anyone in Paradise would willingly admit to such a devastating secret, not in a valley where breeding the purest of bloodlines wasn't just a hobby but an obsession. A bastard daughter wasn't going to please anyone. He just hoped Katherine was prepared. She might be willing to walk out on the high wire, but he had a feeling she had no idea how far she might fall.

  * * *

  Brooks, Pederson, Stanton, Malloy -- Katherine ran her finger down the list of names. Upon her arrival at the one and only hotel in Paradise, she'd discovered a directory of horse farms in the downstairs gift shop and figured it was as good a place as any to start her search.

  The three biggest farms in the area appeared to be owned by the Brookses, the Pedersons, and the Stantons, which didn't make any difference to her, except that the S logo next to Stanton reminded her of the sign on the van she'd nearly crashed into a few hours earlier.

  Maybe Zach Tyler worked for Stanton Farms. That might be helpful. Meanwhile she ran down the list of names again, noting how many of the owners' first names started with the letter J. She began to wonder if there was some law in this small town to name every available male Jim, John, Jeff, Joseph, Jerry, or Jack.

  Her q
uest suddenly seemed impossibly daunting. This could quite easily be a wild goose chase. But the items in the chest and the questions they posed were driving her crazy. She couldn't quit -- at least not yet.

  Closing the directory, she got to her feet. Her hotel room was on the small side but comfortable with a red and black feather bedspread on the full bed and some charming country knick-knacks on the matching bedside tables. There was an overstuffed red armchair in one corner of the room, with lacy doilies on the sleeves, and a television set hidden inside a large oak armoire.

  It wasn't sophisticated by any stretch of the imagination but it was warm and cozy, and she felt more at home here than she'd ever felt in her stepfather's mansion in Beverly Hills.

  Walking across the room, she knelt down next to the chest. Slipping her fingers under the latch, she lifted the lid and pulled out a corner of the quilt. She pressed it to her face and inhaled the sweet scent of lavender. How could the scent be so strong after so many years?

  She took a deep breath, the luscious perfume teasing her with a memory she couldn't quite grasp, a voice she could almost hear, a picture she could almost see. She knew she'd smelled the lavender before, but she couldn't remember where.

  Closing her eyes, she willed herself to find the memory buried deep in her subconscious, but no image came to mind, only the smell of lavender, the faint sound of music, classical perhaps, and soft notes that matched a gentle laugh.

  "Mom," she whispered. "Is that you?"

  Her mother's face came to life in Katherine's mind. She could see Evelyn's light brown hair and the clear blue eyes that always seemed to hold a glimmer of sadness. They were looking at her now, warning her to be careful.

  Why hadn't her mother told her about her father? Why the big secret? What had she been trying to hide? Whom had she been trying to protect?

  She opened her eyes with a sigh, wishing for the impossible, one last conversation with her mother. There were so many things she wanted to ask her. Why didn't you send the letter? Why did you hide the chest in the attic? Why did you marry Mitchell anyway? Was it to give me a father? To make me stop asking questions about my real father?