LITMIR.BIZ

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I can’t think of what it could be.”

      “Have you talked to her about what’s wrong?” Blake asked as he motioned for the waitress to refill their coffee cups.

      Nash waited for the woman to walk away before he nodded. “I’ve asked her several times, but she won’t tell me.”

      Blake frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Patricia.”

      “No, it doesn’t.” His father hesitated a moment before giving Blake a meaningful look. “I do have a theory though.”

      “What is it?”

      Nash met his questioning gaze head-on. “I think it might have something to do with Trina.”

      At the mention of his mother’s name, a tight knot formed in the pit of Blake’s stomach. “What makes you think Trina has anything to do with Patricia being upset?”

      “You know how she is,” Nash said, shaking his head. “She thrives on upsetting others and if she’s not stirring up some kind of trouble or meddling in someone’s life, she’s not happy.”

      “But that doesn’t mean she’s involved in what’s bothering Patricia,” Blake said evenly.

      Trina Watters Fortune was difficult at the best of times and at her worst, a vindictive, unreasonable shrew. But she was still his mother and Blake felt a certain obligation to defend her.

      “It didn’t even occur to me to suspect that she was until I saw Patricia’s reaction when Ivy mentioned Trina’s name in passing.” Nash lifted his cup and, staring at Blake over the rim, added, “Patricia turned white as a sheet and had to leave the room.”

      Ivy Woodhouse had been the family’s chef as long as Blake could remember, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, there was something about the woman that he’d never liked. “What did Ivy say about Trina?”

      “It wasn’t what she said—it was Trina’s name that sent Patricia into a tailspin.” Nash set his cup back down on the table and shook his head. “You still have contact with Trina, don’t you?”

      “Some,” Blake admitted slowly.

      “Do you think she’s behind whatever is wrong with Patricia?” Nash asked point-blank.

      Blake started to tell his father that Trina couldn’t possibly be responsible for everything that had gone wrong in Nash’s life, but stopping himself, he gave his father a meaningful look. “Ever since you threw Trina out for cheating on you and divorced her, I’ve been listening to you blame her for everything that’s gone wrong in our family.”

      “She’s a—”

      Blake held up his hand to stop his father. “And on the other hand, whenever I’m around Trina, I have to listen to her tirade about how you ruined her life and how unfair you were to her. And I’m sick and tired of it.”

      Nash looked taken aback. “I didn’t realize—”

      “That’s because from the time you and Trina split, you’ve both been too busy using me as a pawn in your little game of revenge and one-upmanship,” Blake interrupted. “When I was younger, each time it was Trina’s weekend for visitation, I got the third degree about what was going on at home—what you were doing and who you were seeing. Then when I returned to the estate, when you weren’t telling me I should be more like Case and Creed, I had to listen to you complain about what a gold digger Trina is and how she tricked you into marrying her after the death of your father.”

      They were silent for some time before Nash finally spoke. “I understand the position we’ve put you in. It couldn’t have been easy for you or Skylar.” Nash wasn’t offering an apology, but then Blake hadn’t expected him to.

      “I survived,” Blake said, finally shedding the feeling of being torn between his parents.

      His father nodded. “I’d say you not only survived, but you’ve done quite well for yourself, son. You’ve accomplished quite a bit since leaving Dakota Fortune, and you’ve made quite a name for yourself without my backing.” Nash’s voice turned gruff. “I’m proud of you, son.”

      In that moment, Blake felt closer to his father than he ever had. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot coming from you.”

      Nash drew a deep breath, scooted his chair back and stood up. “Well, I think I’d better get back to Sioux Falls to see about Patricia.”

      Blake rose to his feet to walk out of the coffee shop with his father. “Now that you’ve checked out my operation, you and Patricia will have to come back and spend a little time here in Deadwood.”

      “We’ll do that,” his father said, shaking Blake’s hand.

      “Give Patricia my best.”

      Nodding, Nash walked out of the hotel and climbed into the back of a waiting limousine.

      Stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his suit pants, emotion filled Blake’s chest as he watched the long black car pull from beneath the covered entryway and disappear down the circular drive. For the first time in his life, Nash had acknowledged Blake’s accomplishments without comparing him to his older brothers … and it felt good. Perhaps this was the first step in forging a new relationship between father and son.

      “Blake, have you seen today’s newspaper from Sioux Falls?”

      Propped up against the pillows on his bed, Sasha had chosen to read while he watched a baseball game on television. But in retrospect, she wished she’d opted for a nap. Dreaming, even if it had been a nightmare, would have been a lot less disturbing than what she’d just read.

      He shook his head without looking up from the game. “No, why? Did they mention something about the opening of Fortune’s Gold?”

      “You might say that.”

      Something in her tone must have tipped him off that she was far from pleased with what she’d read because he turned his head to give her a questioning look. “What did they say?”

      She pointed to the society column as she handed him the newspaper. “See for yourself.”

      His graphic curse reverberated around the room the moment he saw the pictures and read the caption. “Where the hell did this gossip monger come up with her information? And who took these pictures?”

      “Your guess is as good as mine.” Too upset to sit still, she got out of bed and began to pace the length of his bedroom. “I know we haven’t been trying to hide the fact that we’re seeing each other. But I certainly didn’t expect to see not one, but two pictures of me in the newspaper with a headline that reads Social Climber Sasha Kilgore Ditches One Fortune Brother in Favor of Another.”

      “The picture of me kissing you was taken in the coffee shop the day of the grand opening,” he said, studying the image.

      “And the one of Creed dancing with me was taken at Case and Gina’s wedding reception in February.” She shook her head. “But I don’t find the pictures as upsetting as what the columnist wrote about me. She portrays me as a social mercenary trying to play one brother against the other.” Thoroughly miserable, tears filled her eyes as she turned to look at him. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

      “I know, sweetheart.” Blake tossed the newspaper aside, got out of bed and walked over to pull her into his arms. “Anyone who knows you won’t believe a word of it.”

      “But there are thousands of readers who don’t know me and they—”

      “Aren’t important,” he said, sliding his hands up and down her back in a soothing manner. “We know the truth and that’s all that matters.”

      As his tender touch chased away some of her tension, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his solid support. “I suppose you’re right. But I can’t understand why the columnist had to be so vindictive in

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