to the end of her driveway. When Rachel reached the road, she couldn’t pull out on the street. A large dark sedan parked in front of her driveway, blocking her exit.
Already upset about the events of the evening, she didn’t feel like confronting the driver, or anyone for that matter. The interior of the vehicle was dark, but she could see the shadowy shape of someone inside.
Rachel honked her horn. The vehicle remained where it was. Not a light came on inside or out.
Anger shifted to concern. Was the driver injured or unconscious? Was that why he wasn’t moving?
Pushing her own heartache aside, Rachel unclipped her seat belt and climbed out of her Jeep. “Hello!” she called out loudly enough to be heard by the driver inside the car.
The person didn’t move and the interior remained too dark to make out the face to see if his eyes were opened or closed.
Rachel edged toward the vehicle. If this was a ruse to get her out of her car to abduct her, she didn’t want to get too close. But she had to get close enough to tell whether or not the driver was in physical distress.
As she neared the front fender, the engine roared to life and the car shifted into Reverse, backing up so fast the tires squealed, leaving a thin layer of rubber on the pavement.
Alarmed, Rachel backed a step up onto the driveway. She was partly relieved the car had moved, even though the movement was odd. Why would a person wait until she’d almost reached the car before he revved the engine and backed out of the way?
Convinced the driver was on drugs or drunk, Rachel glanced over her shoulder at her Jeep.
The squeal of rubber on asphalt made her turn back to the big sedan. It screeched to a halt and the headlights flashed on, the high beams blinding her.
Raising her hand to block the light, she backed another step up the driveway.
The engine revved again and tires spun on the pavement, the vehicle rocketing forward.
Stunned, Rachel froze as the heavy sedan barreled straight for her. When the car bumped up over the curb, slamming metal against concrete, Rachel finally snapped out of it, but too late to avoid impact.
She knew it was going to hit her—all she could do was minimize the impact. As she’d seen done in the movies by trained stuntmen, she slammed her hands on the hood of the vehicle and swung her legs up and to the side like a gymnast on a vault. She slid across the hood, smacked into the glass and rolled off to the side, landing flat on her back. Her head bounced on the concrete.
Pain flashed through her and the streetlight on the corner blinked out.
* * *
Noah headed for Adair Acres, the only home he knew. He drove through the gate, past the guesthouse and straight for the stable. At least the horses weren’t deceitful and out to question his every move. They could care less how much money he had or how he planned to spend it. All they wanted was to be treated with respect and be fed regularly. Why couldn’t life be that simple?
The last person he could count on had just proved to him that he couldn’t trust anyone at all. He shoved the gearshift into Park, climbed down from his truck and strode into the stable.
Diablo nickered from his stall, pawing at the door for attention.
Noah grabbed a brush from the tack room and led the stallion out of his stall, tying his lead to a post. Then he brushed the horse from nose to tail, one long, smooth stroke at a time.
At first Diablo tossed his head and stamped his hooves. Either he was able to sense Noah’s unrest and it made him uneasy, as well, or he was impatient for another ride out across the fields, the wind in his mane.
Forcing himself to slow down and take it easy, Noah soothed the horse and continued brushing with calmer motions until the stallion stood steady, accepting the attention.
When he was done, he stroked the horse’s velvety soft nose. “I trust you more than any of the Adairs, and you threw me this morning.”
Diablo nickered, almost as if chuckling at his accomplishment in unseating Noah.
“Yeah. I deserved it. I was pushing you too hard when it was my own problem.” Noah sighed. “The question is what should I do?”
“If you’re waiting for the horse to answer, you might be waiting awhile.” Carson Adair, with his light brown hair cropped short and military bearing from years in the Marine Corps, stood ramrod straight, his arms crossed over his chest in the open doorway to the stable.
“He’s the only one who makes sense.”
Carson’s lips twisted and he nodded. “You have a point. Things have been insane around here.” Carson’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together. “Landry tells me you talked with Rachel.”
Noah grabbed the horse’s lead, walked him back to his stall and settled him in. “Are there any more spies I should be aware of? Hell, if you’d just asked, I’d have told you everything I know. Even as cousins, I thought we were family.”
“Like you, we don’t know who to trust. They still haven’t caught our father’s killer.”
Noah stepped back as if he’d been slapped. “Good Lord. Did you think I’d done it?” Noah closed and secured the stall door before facing Carson. “Should I add ‘potential murderer’ to the title of ‘gold-digging secret son’ as a caption on my dossier?”
“He was your father, too.”
“It takes more than a sperm donation to be a father.”
Carson snorted. “Tell me about it. Reginald Adair was too busy looking for you to be much of a father to the rest of his children.”
“At least you had each other.” Noah carried the brush into the tack room.
“He might not have been much of a father to us, but he left a significant chunk of his estate to a son no one seemed to be able to find. When Georgia suggested you might be that missing son, naturally, we thought you might have ulterior motives.”
“Naturally.” Noah snorted. “Like I might have ingratiated myself with the family in order to knock off the old man?”
“Think about it. Our father is shot to death and you came back to Adair Acres. The will was read and then Georgia pointed out how much you looked like her stepmother. The pieces all fell into a strange place. What would you have done if you were us?”
Noah let Carson’s words flow over him and settle into the crevices of his mind before answering. “I would have asked me what the hell I was up to.”
Diablo nickered and tossed his head over the top of the stall’s gate.
With Carson’s explanation making more sense than he liked, Noah needed to keep moving. He walked to the stack of hay on one end of the stable, broke off a couple sections of one bale and carried it back to Diablo’s stall, dropping it into the manger.
Noah dusted the hay from his hands and shirt. “Did you really think I could have killed your father?”
“Not
