what happened?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
“You’re not going to do an assessment for her?”
Jake narrowed his eyes at his brothers, who looked at each other then gave their complete attention to their mugs of coffee.
“Where’d you hear that?”
Lissa shrugged. “Around,” she said airily. “Are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Because?”
“Because,” he said, putting down his knife and fork, “because I’m not—I’m not—”
“Not what?” Em asked, and that was when he remembered he’d still not told his sisters he wasn’t staying.
“Because he won’t have the time,” Jaimie said blithely, “once he’s taken up his duties here.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Jeez, Jaimie,” Caleb said.
Jaimie held up her hands. “What’d I do?”
“What duties?” Jake said carefully.
Travis sighed.
“Well, running El Sueño. Taking it over. You know.”
Jake narrowed his gaze.
“No, I don’t know. You want to tell me what you’re talking about?”
Caleb gave an elaborate shrug.
“Tom Sloane is retiring. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. What does this have to do with me?”
“Well, the General thinks—”
“The General thinks,” Jake repeated slowly.
“So do we. All of us. We hoped you’d step into Tom’s shoes. More than that, actually. We’re all part owners of The Dream, of course, but we want you to be its CEO.”
“The paperwork is all drawn up,” Lissa said.
Caleb and Travis groaned.
“Paperwork?” Jake said carefully.
“Legal documents. Changes to the trust that holds El Sueño, that will reflect you taking over operations.”
Jake looked at his brothers.
“You went ahead and did this even though I told you that I’m not staying.”
“Oh, Jake,” Em said. Her sisters shushed her.
“Well, we were hoping you changed your mind.”
“Didn’t it occur to you to consult me?”
“Sure. But—”
Jake was angry. Angrier than the situation demanded. He knew that—but knowing it didn’t change a thing.
He shoved back his chair, tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet.
“How nice of you all to plan out my life.”
“Hey, man, we aren’t—”
“Yeah. You are.”
“Look, El Sueño needs you. And you need El Sueño.”
And there it was. The cause of his anger. Jake leaned over, slapped his palms flat against the tabletop.
“What am I, the family rehab project?”
“Jake,” Travis said, “we love you.”
“Then don’t play at being my therapists,” he said, and he ignored his sisters’ voices calling after him and got out of the house before he said something he’d truly regret.
His car was where he’d left it last night.
Enough of this, he thought as he got behind the wheel. He had no idea what he wanted to do with his life but one thing was certain.
He wasn’t going to let anyone make his decisions for him.
Not anymore, he told himself grimly as he started the car and got moving.
He should have taken off first thing that morning.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt his sisters. And, dammit, that was exactly what he’d do, if he left now.
He thought about seeking out Travis and Caleb and telling them it was time they learned to mind their own business but he knew what they’d said was true.
They loved him.
And they were worried about him. That was why they’d come up with the half-baked idea of him running the ranch.
The entire Wilde clan had decided he was depressed or suffering from PTSD when, in truth, post-traumatic stress disorder was not the problem.
The problem was, he was a failure.
It started to rain as he turned onto the county highway.
Great. Rain certainly suited his mood.
Had Caleb or Travis told Addison McDowell he needed a reason to feel useful?
Had they asked her to take pity on him?
His jaw tightened.
Was pity at the heart of what had happened last night?
The possibility made him sick. And angry.
There was only one way to get an answer.
Jake pulled onto the shoulder of the road, made a U-turn and headed for the Chambers ranch.
He drove fast and hard, and reached the ranch in half the time it normally would have taken.
His anger was still boiling when he pulled up outside the house.
The rain beat down on him as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Scowling, he turned up the collar of his jacket, stalked up the sagging wooden steps to the porch and jabbed at the bell.
Silence.
“Dammit,” he muttered, and banged his fist against the door.
Nothing.
She had to be inside.
Her car—he could see that it was a plain vanilla rental Chevy—was parked where he’d seen her leave it. In the glow of his headlights, he’d seen her get
