The Tycoon's Instant Daughter Page 11

  “You think so?” Kate’s blue eyes were wide.

  Cord shrugged. “Hell. You know our father. With him, anything is possible.”

  “The thing about the land deal is pretty strange, too,” Rafe said. “I remember all the old stories Dad used to tell about the Johnsons—how they had it all way back when. And then, by the thirties, they were dirt poor and working for us. What Dad never said was how they managed to lose what they had. To think that maybe Great-Grandfather Caine stole it from them is pretty damn ugly.”

  Cord sipped more wine. “The question is, should we be looking into all this?” He sent Hannah a conspiratorial glance, one that made her skin feel warm and her silly stomach jittery. “Hannah suggested we could hire a private investigator to look into both the drownings and the land deal. The idea has merit, I think. Brett Larson has the biggest detective agency in the area. We could—”

  “Wait,” Kate said, her voice gone tight and her face suddenly just a little too pale. “We don’t really need to call Brett at this point, do we?”

  Her brothers shared a look. Then Jack said, “Kate’s right. I’m here. And I’ve got the time at the moment. I’ll do a little nosing around.”

  “Let’s start with the drownings,” Cord suggested.

  “Fine. I’ll find out what I can about what happened out on Stockwell Pond twenty-nine years ago.”

  “What went on between Kate and the man named Brett Larson?” Hannah asked Cord at eleven-fifteen that night, after Becky had been fed, changed and put to bed—hopefully for the last time that day.

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “She looked a little pale, when the name came up.” Hannah kept her voice low, in order not to disturb the sleeping baby.

  “We grew up with Brett. His mother worked for a judge who owns the estate that borders this one.”

  They stepped into the playroom. Hannah pulled the door shut behind them. “But what happened between Kate and Brett?”

  “They were engaged, at one time.”

  “And?”

  “It didn’t work out. She married someone else.”

  “And the marriage?”

  “It didn’t last.”

  Hannah pulled one of the sturdy child-size chairs out from under the matching child-size table. Scooping her skirt close to her legs, she sat. “So do you think she’s still pining for Brett Larson?”

  Cord was standing over her, looking down, a half smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “My sister is a Stockwell. A Stockwell does not pine.”

  She slid off her shoes and wiggled her toes. “Oh, sorry. I suppose I should have known that. And you didn’t really answer my question.”

  “You’ll have to ask Kate.”

  “Now, why did I know you’d say that?”

  “You’re a nosy woman, Hannah.” Somehow, he made it sound like a compliment.

  She beamed up at him. “Why, thank you.” She gestured at his feet and let him have all the twang she could muster. “Kick your shoes off. Sit a spell.”

  He surprised her by doing just that, shucking off those fine Italian shoes of his and plunking himself right down on the rug at her feet.

  They talked for over an hour—about Caine and the mysteries behind all the strange things he had said.

  And about Jack. “He didn’t say it in so many words,” Cord told her, “but he’s here because of our father.”

  “Because he’s so ill?”

  “Because he’s dying. In spite of the way Caine’s always treated him, Jack will stick by him till the end.”

  “Is that another Stockwell trait? Loyalty?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He was looking a little grim. Hannah cast about for some way to lighten the mood. “Look at it this way. Maybe you’ll get to play a little pinochle while he’s home.”

  He leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed against her knee. Little prickles of sensation radiated out from the point of contact. “Only if you’ll be my partner.”

  She should have moved her leg away, so he couldn’t brush against it again. But she didn’t. “It’s a game for four. If we’re partners, then someone will be left out.”

  “We’ll play on a night when one of the others isn’t around.”

  She heard herself murmuring, “I’d like that,” as a voice in the back of her mind asked her what in the world she thought she was up to, agreeing to partner with Cord Stockwell in double deck pinochle, letting him brush his shoulder against her leg and not doing a thing to prevent it from happening again.

  It did happen again. And again.

  And each time it happened, she smiled and pretended she didn’t even notice, while every nerve she had was fizzing and popping like the bubbles in a sparkling glass of champagne.

  It was after midnight when he left. He scooped up those expensive shoes of his and gathered his strong legs under him, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

  She jumped to her feet and trailed behind him to the door. And then, shamelessly, she leaned there in the doorway and watched him walk away toward his bedroom at the end of the hall. He had the broadest, strongest looking shoulders. And a woman could go weak in the knees looking at that tight rear end of his. When he reached his door, he turned and saw her watching.

  She felt the color rise in her cheeks, but she didn’t turn away. They stared at each other for several lovely seconds. And then, at last, he turned the doorknob and disappeared into his room.

  “Come down to dinner again tonight,” he said the next day during their stroll on the grounds.

  She was utterly shameless. She didn’t even hesitate. She said, “Thank you very much, I believe that I will.”

  He brought Jack to meet Becky in the afternoon, and that evening in the sunroom, Jack reported that he’d spent several hours at the library, studying back issues of the Morning News. “The way I remember it,” Jack said. “Caine always claimed the accident happened on the Fourth of July.”

  “Yeah,” said Cord. “That’s how I remember it, too. Fourth of July, twenty-nine years ago next month.”

  “Me, too,” Kate said. And Rafe nodded as well.

  Jack continued, “So I checked the Morning News for the fifth of July, twenty-nine years ago. Nothing. I broadened my search. By the time I was through, I’d checked all of May, June, July and August.”

  “And?” Kate asked.

  “Nothing. Not about any accident, anyway. And it’s pretty bizarre, because there’s a write-up in the Guide section about the Independence Day party.”

  Hannah cast a puzzled glance at Cord. He explained, “It’s an annual event, every year for the past fifty years or so, here at the mansion. A big Fourth of July party. It lasts from the afternoon into the evening. We serve Texas-style barbecue and just about everything else known to man, from pâté de foie gras to hearts of palm. People use the pool and the tennis courts. And there’s dancing. We bring in a dance floor and set it up out on the east lawn. And then, after dark, we have fireworks over the pond. That’s more of a challenge every year, wrangling the permits to put on the fireworks show. We usually invite about three hundred guests.”

  “Dahling, everybody who’s anybody is there,” Kate told Hannah playfully.

  Jack said, “There’s a lot in that article about what a great party it was that year. Not a single mention of a double drowning, however.”

  Rafe drank from his water goblet. “Did you check the Gazette, too?”

  Jack nodded. “Nothing. And you know, it’s got me thinking back. None of us remember that day. And I can understand why the rest of you don’t. Kate wasn’t much more than a baby.” He looked at Cord. “You and Rafe were only four. But I was six. Of all of us, I should remember, shouldn’t I? If my mother drowned…and during the biggest party of the year? But I don’t. I don’t even remember the party, really. All the Independence Day parties tend to blur together in my mind.”

  Kate suggested gently, “It coul
d be you’re blocking it.”

  Jack looked at his sister straight on. “I’m not. I know what I remember—and I don’t remember that Madelyn drowned.”

  “If she did drown,” said Rafe. “It’s beginning to look doubtful.”

  For a moment, no one spoke as they all pondered the ramifications, should it turn out that Madelyn and Brandon Stockwell hadn’t died in the boating accident, after all. Hannah did find it strange that the four Stockwell siblings had never questioned all this before. But then again, maybe none of them had been ready to seek the truth until now.

  “Give me a week or so on this,” Jack said at last. “I’ll get a hold of some of Dad’s old buddies, set up a few meetings with them and see what I can get out of them.”

  “And then what do we do?” Kate wanted to know.

  “Depends on what I find out.” Jack turned to Cord.

  “Next time the old man decides to confide in you, see if you can get us a few specifics to work with.”

  Cord shook his head. “He’s never anywhere approaching lucid when he starts in with me.”

  “Just get whatever you can. Names of anyone who was there when they drowned, if they drowned. Or, if he starts in on how they ran away, then try to find out where they went. Any little detail could be the clue we need.”

  Cord said he’d do his best.

  The next night, Sunday, Cord insisted that Hannah join them for dinner again. And he didn’t have to insist very hard. Hannah was starting to look forward to her evenings in the sunroom. She loved Becky with all of her heart, but it was nice, once a day, to enjoy a civilized meal with a group of people who could actually answer back when she asked a question.

  That night, Rafe wasn’t there. Kate said he’d told her he’d be gone for a few days. He had to chase some desperado down into Mexico and bring him back to the U.S. to stand trial.

  Cord said, “So we’re a foursome. Perfect for pinochle.”

  Jack turned to Hannah, anticipation on his rugged face. “You don’t…”

  She nodded. “You bet I do.”

  So it was Jack and Kate versus Cord and Hannah.

  They played for two hours, ruthlessly, shouting at each other at the hint of a renege, slapping their cards down in hot defiance, or sitting absolutely silent, all four of them fiercely counting cards, trying to figure out who was likely to have what.

  At a little after eleven, Becky started to fuss, her whimpers reaching them over the monitor Hannah had brought downstairs with her.

  “Baby break,” said Cord. At that point, he and Hannah were a hundred points behind. “Give us half an hour. We’ll be back.”

  “You’re done for,” Jack taunted. “Give it up now.”

  “No way. We’re going to win this thing. Come on, Hannah, let’s get Becky fed and back to bed.”

  They went up the wide stairs side by side. Hannah warmed the bottle, and Cord fed and changed Becky. They were back down in the sunroom in twenty minutes flat.

  The game continued until 2:00 a.m., when Hannah and Cord finally won.

  Jack wanted a rematch. “I know, I know. Tomorrow’s Monday and all you civilians have to work. But next Friday night, what do you say?”

  Cord didn’t hesitate. “I say, you’re on.”

  Hannah and Kate chorused their agreement.

  It wasn’t until near dawn that morning, as she lay in her bed in the nanny’s room, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what was happening to her, that Hannah realized she couldn’t possibly play pinochle with Cord and Kate and Jack next Friday night. By next Friday night, she would be gone. She’d have hired her replacement and she’d be back in her own house where she belonged.

  The idea filled her with misery.

  So she decided she wouldn’t think about it. She’d take care of Becky, conduct the necessary interviews and enjoy Cord’s company. And she wouldn’t deal with the pain of leaving until the time for leaving came.

  Chapter Ten

  On Monday, there were four nanny candidates to see. On Tuesday, there were six. And on Wednesday, five.

  None of them were right.

  Hannah was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find the woman she sought.

  But she wasn’t wondering all that hard. And neither was Cord, apparently. Though they talked all the time, at length, on any number of diverse topics, they never discussed the nanny problem. He hadn’t asked in days how she was doing with her search. And she never volunteered any information about it. It just seemed safer somehow, to stay away from that particular subject.

  All three nights—Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday—Hannah ate dinner in the sunroom with Cord and Kate and Jack. Rafe was still off in Mexico, or wherever the hunt for the latest fugitive from justice had taken him. On Wednesday, Jack said he’d met with a couple of Caine’s past associates. Both had proved unforthcoming on the subject of Madelyn and Brandon and what had really happened to them. So he’d paid a visit to the county courthouse. He had found no records of Brandon’s and Madelyn’s deaths.

  “While I was there,” he said, “I tried to check into the other thing—the land deal?”

  Cord picked up on the operative word. “You tried?”

  “Right. The Grandview County Courthouse burned to the ground back in 1912. Everything, including all deeds, tax and assessment records, burned with it.”

  “Great,” Cord said darkly.

  “I’ll keep checking around.”

  “Whatever you can find out…”

  Jack looked wearier than usual. “So far, unfortunately, it’s not a hell of a lot.”

  Thursday morning, Cord came to the nursery at seven, as he always did now. He fed and changed Becky and then he told Hannah that he was flying down to Houston for the day.

  Gently he laid his daughter in her crib. She looked up at him, waving her arms and legs, making happy sounds. “I’ve got a dinner meeting,” he added, still bent over the crib. “So I’ll just stay over and fly back tomorrow morning.”

  Somehow, Hannah’s poor heart had become a lead ball, a dead weight in her chest. Tomorrow would be Friday. Lord. Friday already. Today or tomorrow, she would have to find the new nanny. She intended to return to her apartment by tomorrow night, to give herself the weekend to get back to her old routines. And Monday morning was supposed to find her right where she really belonged—behind her desk at Child Protective Services.

  In the meantime, though, she’d allowed herself to look forward to every minute she could spend with Cord. And now, fool that she was, she felt cheated that he’d be gone the whole day and part of tomorrow. She knew she had no right at all to such feelings. But that didn’t do a thing to stop her from having them.

  Just as she was telling herself to buck up and get real about all this, he glanced up from the crib and right into her eyes. “Come with me.”

  Her silly heart stopped being a lead ball and became a hot air balloon. It floated, utterly weightless, high in her chest. Yes. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She and Becky could go with him.

  She stared at him, thinking that she would go anywhere with him—to Houston, to Timbuktu, to the ends of the earth.

  He straightened from the crib. “Pack light. It’s only overnight. No need to bring the whole closet—how are you in small planes?”

  She blinked. “Small planes?”

  “Stockwell International owns several airplanes. We’ll be taking the Cessna this time. But really, it’s nothing to worry about. The cabin is pressurized. Becky should do fine.”

  She stared at his beautiful mouth, thinking that she wanted, more than anything, to go with him.

  But she couldn’t.

  “Cord…”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that way you said that.”

  “Cord, I am sorry. I’d love to go with you, honestly. But I—”

  “No buts. Nothing’s stopping you. You pack the clothes. You get on the plane. In no time at all, you and Becky are in Houston—with me.”

  �
�No. Really, I—”

  “Really you, what?” His expression had hardened.

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  He swore, with feeling. “It’s a great idea. It’s the only idea.” He took a step toward her. “Start packing.”

  The look in his eyes sent a delicious, forbidden thrill coursing through her. Her hot air balloon of a heart pumped higher, harder. “No. Sincerely, I just can’t.”

  “You want to go. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “What I want isn’t the issue.”

  “It sure as hell is. What’s stopping you?” Before she could answer, he answered for her. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing,” he repeated, and took another step toward her. “Just say yes.”

  “No.” She backed up two steps, her bare feet whispering over the starry rug. “Cord. Please. Stop this. I really can’t. I’ve got interviews today.”

  “Cancel them.” He kept coming.

  And she kept backing up. “No. No, I’m not going to do that.” Her feet reached smooth wood floor. “I’m…” She hated to say it, but he was forcing her to. “I’m running out of time, Cord. They’re expecting me at work on Monday.”

  “You are working. You’re working for me.”

  She backed through the door to the playroom. And he came right with her.

  “Cord, please, I only have a few more days. I can’t afford to go flying off to Houston.”

  Still, he came toward her. “You can afford it. I’ll make it more than worth your while. How much do you want? Name your price.”

  She put out a hand. “Stop.”

  He froze, and so did she, in the middle of the playroom. There was a distance of about four feet between them. In that space, the air seemed to shimmer with tension—with heat.

  Hannah realized she was holding her breath. She let it out with great care. “It’s not the money. You know it’s not.”

  “Then what the hell is it?”

  “Cord. This…arrangement we have, it’s only temporary. We can’t let ourselves forget that.”