refusing any outward show of emotion from her brothers, preferring to stand in an oversize, gauzy black dress apart from the rest of the family, while a young preacher, who knew very little of the man in the coffin, prayed solemnly. Most of the townspeople of Grand Hope came to the service to pay their respects.
She had to have been four months pregnant at the time. Thorne would never have guessed as they paid their last respects on the hillside. But then he’d been lost in his own black thoughts, the ring his father had given him the summer before hidden deep in his pocket.
John Randall hadn’t been a churchgoing man. Under the circumstances, the young minister whose eulogy had been from notes he’d taken the day earlier, had done a decent enough job asking that the blackheart’s soul be accepted into heaven. Thorne wasn’t certain God had made such a huge exception.
“Randi’s kept her life pretty private.”
“Haven’t we all?” Matt remarked.
“Maybe it’s time to change all that.” Thorne ran a hand through the thin layer of dust that had collected on the mantel.
“Agreed.” Matt lifted his glass and nodded.
The front door banged open. A gust of cold wind blew through the hallway and Slade, wiping the rain from his face, hitched himself into the living room. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch.
“Any word on Randi?” Making his way across the braided rug, Slade found an old-fashioned glass in the cupboard and without much fanfare, poured himself a long drink from the rapidly diminishing bottle of Scotch.
“Not yet. But I’ll check the answering machine.” Matt crossed the room and disappeared down the hallway leading to the den.
“She’d better pull out of this,” Slade said, as if to himself. The youngest of the three brothers, Slade was also the wildest. He’d left a trail of broken hearts from Mexico to Canada, if rumors were to be believed and never had really settled down. While Matt had his own ranch, a small spread near the Idaho border, Slade had put down no roots and probably never would. He’d done everything from race cars, to ride rodeo, and do stunt work in films. The scar running down one side of his face was testament to his hard, reckless lifestyle and Thorne had, at times, wondered if the youngest McCafferty son harbored some kind of death wish.
Slade stood in front of the fire and warmed the backs of his legs. “What’re we gonna do about the baby?”
“We take care of him until Randi’s able.”
“Then we’d better get this place ready,” Slade observed.
“The orthopedist called earlier,” Matt said, entering the room. “As soon as some of the swelling has gone down and Randi’s out of critical condition, he’ll take care of her leg.”
“Good. I put a call in to Nicole. I want to meet with her so that she can tell me about Randi’s doctors and her prognosis, rehab, that sort of thing.”
“Nicole?” Matt replied, his eyes narrowing as if struck by a sudden memory. “You know she mentioned that you knew each other, but I’d forgotten that you were an item.”
“It was only a few weeks,” Thorne clarified.
Slade rubbed the back of his neck. “I hardly remember it.”
“Because you were off racing cars and chasing women on the stock car circuit,” Matt said. “You weren’t around much when Thorne got out of college and was heading to law school. It was that summer, right?”
“Part of the summer.”
Slade shook his head. “Let me guess, you dumped her for some other long-legged plaything.”
“There was no other woman,” Thorne snapped, surprised at the anger surging through his blood.
“No, you just had to go out and prove to Dad and God and anyone else who would listen that you could make it on your own without J. Randall’s help.”
“It was a long time ago,” Thorne muttered. “Right now we’ve got to concentrate on Randi.”
“And that’s why you called Dr. Stevenson?” Obviously Matt wasn’t buying it.
“Of course.” Thorne sat on the arm of the leather couch and knew he was lying, not only to his brothers but to himself. It was more than just wanting to discuss Randi’s condition with her; he wanted to see Nicole again, be with her. The strange part of it was, ever since seeing her again, he wanted to see more of her. “Now, listen,” he said to his brothers. “Something we’ll have to deal with and pronto is finding out who the father is.”
“That’s gonna be tough considerin’ Randi’s condition.” Slade rested a shoulder against the mantel and folded his arms over his chest. “Just how long you plannin’ on stickin’ around, city boy?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Aren’t there some big deals in Denver and Laramie and wherever the hell else you own property—things you need to oversee?”
Thorne resisted being baited and managed a guarded grin, the kind Slade so often gave the rest of the world. “I can oversee them from here.”
“How?”
“By the fine art of telecommunication. I’ll set up a fax, modem, Internet connection, cell phone and computer in the den.”
Matt rubbed his chin. “Thought you hated it here. Except for a few times like that summer after you graduated from college you’ve avoided this ranch like the plague. Ever since Dad and Mom split, you’ve spent as little time here as possible.”
Thorne couldn’t argue the fact. “Randi needs me—us.”
Matt added wood to the fire and switched on a lamp. “Okay, I think we need a game plan,” Thorne said.
“Let me guess, you’ll be the quarterback, just like in high school,” Slade said.
Thorne’s temper snapped. “Let’s just work together, okay? It’s not about calling the shots so much as getting the job done.”
“Okay.” Matt nodded. “I’ll be in charge of the ranch. I’ve already talked to a couple of guys who will help out.”
Slade walked to the couch and picked up his jacket. “Good enough. Matt should run the place, he’s used to it and I’ll pitch in if we need an extra hand. Thorne, why don’t you give Juanita a call? Maybe she can help with the baby. She’s had some experience raising McCaffertys, after all, she helped Dad with us.”
“Good idea, as we’ll need round-the-clock help,” Thorne decided.
“We’ll get it. Now, the way I think I can help best is by concentrating on finding out all I can about what was going on in our sister’s life, especially in the past year or so. I have a friend who’s a private investigator. For the right price, he’ll help us out,” Slade said.
“Is he any good?” Thorne asked.
Slade’s expression turned dark.
