LITMIR.BIZ

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off the walls of this old pine-paneled room that still smelled faintly of the elder McCafferty’s cigars and Nicole’s image came to mind, the only woman he’d ever dated that he’d considered as a mother for his children. And that thought had scared him nearly twenty years ago. It still did because nothing had changed. Oh, there had been a lot of women since he’d dated her; Thorne hadn’t been celibate by any means, but no one woman had come close to touching his heart.

      Until he’d seen Nicole again.

      Not that he wanted a wife or mother for his children or—

      What was he thinking? Wife? Children? Not him. Not now. Probably not ever…and yet…the reason he was thinking this way was probably because of his father’s dying request, his father’s wedding ring, and the fact that his own mortality wouldn’t go on forever. Randi’s situation was proof enough of that.

      Oh, for the love of God. Enough with these morbid thoughts. He looked around this room again and wondered how many deals had been concocted here in the past. How many family or business decisions dreamed up while John Randall had puffed on a black market Havana cigar, rested the worn heels of his boots on the scarred maple desk and leaned back in a leather chair that had been worn smooth by years of use?

      This damned metal band had been his father’s wedding ring, a gift from Larissa, Thorne’s mother, on their wedding day. John Randall had worn it proudly until Larissa had found out about Penelope, the younger woman whom her philandering husband had been seeing. The woman who had broken up a marriage that had already been foundering. The woman who had eventually given John Randall his only daughter.

      And now Thorne’s mother, too, was dead, a heart attack just two years ago taking her life.

      Thorne slid the ring into his pocket and reached for the phone again. He dialed Nicole’s number and hung up when her answering machine picked up. Drumming his fingers on the desktop he wondered if she’d managed to get her car towed, if she’d found another means of transportation and how, as a single mother of four-year-old twins she was getting along. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he reminded himself, bothered nonetheless. He wondered about her marital state—about the man who had been her husband, then forced himself to concentrate on the problems at hand—there were certainly enough without borrowing more. Nicole was a professional, a mother, and a levelheaded woman. She’d be fine. She had to be.

      He heard the sound of the front door opening and the heavy tread of boots. “Anyone here?” Slade yelled, his uneven footsteps becoming louder.

      “In the den.”

      Slade appeared in the doorway. He was wearing beat-up jeans, a flannel shirt and a day’s worth of whiskers he hadn’t bothered to shave. A denim jacket with frayed cuffs was his only protection against the weather. He held a paper coffee cup in one hand. “Good mornin’.”

      “Not yet, it isn’t.”

      Slade’s countenance turned grim. “Don’t tell me there’s more bad news. I called the hospital a couple of hours ago. They said there was no change.”

      “There isn’t. Randi’s still in critical condition and the baby’s holding his own.” Thorne rounded the desk and snapped off his laptop, turning off his link to the outside world—news, weather and stock reports. “I was talking about everything else.”

      “Such as?”

      “To begin with, your friend Striker hasn’t returned any of my calls, Randi’s editor at the Clarion is always ‘out’ or ‘in a meeting.’ I think he’s avoiding me. I’ve talked to the sheriff’s department, but so far there’s nothing new. A detective is supposed to call me back. The good news is that the equipment I ordered for this office is due to arrive today, and the phone company’s gonna come in and install a couple of lines. I’ve talked to an agency specializing in nannies as we’ll need one when J.R. gets home—”

      “J.R.?” Slade repeated.

      “I call the baby that.”

      “After Dad?” Slade asked, obviously perplexed.

      “And Randi.”

      Slade gave out a long, low whistle. “You have been busy, haven’t you?”

      Thorne elevated an eyebrow and remembered that this was his youngest brother, the playboy, a man who had never settled down to any kind of responsibility.

      “All I’ve had time for this morning is a call into Striker and a couple of cups of weak coffee down at the Pub’n’Grub. I ran into Larry Todd down there.”

      “Why does his name sound familiar?”

      “Because he was the man who ran this place when Dad became ill.”

      Thorne settled into his father’s chair and leaned back until it squeaked in protest.

      “Get this. Randi kept Larry on when she inherited the bulk of this place.”

      Thorne remembered, though he hadn’t paid much attention at the time. He’d been in negotiations for the Canterbury Farms subdivision at the time and had been dealing with land use laws, an environmental group, the city council and an accounting nightmare because one of his bookkeepers had been caught embezzling off the previous project. On top of all that, John Randall had died and Thorne, though he’d known his father was dying, had been stricken by the news and assuaged by grief. He hadn’t cared much about the sixth of the ranch he’d inherited and had left Randi, who owned half of the acres and the old ranch house, to run the place as she saw fit.

      “But just last week, Randi called Larry up, told him she didn’t need him any longer and that she’d pay him a couple of months’ severance pay.”

      Thorne’s head snapped up. “Why?”

      “Beats me. Larry was really ticked off.”

      “When did this happen?”

      “A day before the accident.”

      “Did she hire anyone else?”

      “Don’t know. I just found out about it.”

      “Someone would have to come and look after the stock.”

      “You’d think.” He saw movement outside the window and watched Matt hiking the collar of his jacket more closely around his neck as he made his way to the back door. Slade frowned. “Guess I’d better help out with the cattle. I told Larry we’d hire him back, but he’s pretty mad. I thought Matt might talk to him.”

      “Let’s see.”

      They convened in the kitchen where Matt had set his hat on the table and had flung his jacket over the back of a ladder-back chair. He was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee. “There’s nothing to eat around here,” he grumbled as he searched in the refrigerator, then the cupboard. He dragged out an old jar of instant creamer and poured in a healthy dose as Slade and Thorne filled him in on everything they’d already discussed.

      “We need Larry Todd back on the payroll,” Thorne said to Matt. “Slade ran into him today and thought you might talk to him.”

      Matt studied the contents of his cup and nodded slowly. “I can try. But he called me after Randi let him go, and to say he was a little ticked off is an understatement.”

      “See what he wants,” Thorne suggested.

      “I’ll give it a shot.”

      “Convince him.”

      “I’ll try.” Matt slowly stirred his coffee. “But Larry’s been known to be stubborn.”

      “We’ll deal with that. I’ve got a call in to Juanita to see if she’ll come on board again,” Thorne said.

      “She might be working for someone else by now. Randi let her go after Dad died.” Matt hoisted himself onto the counter and his feet swung free.

      “Then we’ll have

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