one’s twisting your arm. Certainly not me. I’m sure Logan—”
“So that’s the kid’s name,” Cal interrupted, hearing the wonder in his own voice.
“Yep. Maybe it was fate, or what-the-hell ever, but I ran into Jenkins the other day, and he had the boy with him.”
“Does he look at all like me?” Cal asked in a halting voice, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions stampeding through him. Damn Connie’s hide, he thought, feeling no remorse at all for damning his deceased ex.
If that spoke badly of him, then so be it. He might be a lot of things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. He’d always called a spade a spade, then went for the jugular if the occasion called for it. That was why Uncle Sam had used him to break up one of the government’s toughest international drug rings.
But that period in his life was over, Cal reminded himself. Thus, he had to learn to fit into society, even into his ex’s family, especially now that they had something that belonged to him. However, the thought of having anything to do with Patrick Jenkins and his daughter made his blood pressure rise and his stomach roil.
“It’s hard to tell who a kid looks like, at least for me,” Hammond said at last. “Now that you know where Logan is, what’s your game plan?”
“Don’t have one.”
“You can’t just appear on their doorstep.”
“Why not?”
Hammond rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”
“The sister’s never seen me.”
“Which means you’re going to start with her?”
Cal shrugged. “Possibly. Right now, I have a lot to digest before I make any move.”
“Exactly. And know that I’m here to advise you on the legal side of things.”
“Thanks, because I figure it’s going to get nasty.”
“You can count on that.” Hammond set his cup down, then stared directly into Cal’s black eyes. “It was obvious that Jenkins thinks the sun rises and sets on that boy. He’s not about to give him up without a fight.” He paused as if to let those words soak in. “I’m sure the daughter feels the same way.”
“What do you know about her, other than her name?” Cal asked.
“She’s the owner of a successful plant nursery that supplies the landscaping for her father’s works of art.”
Cal snorted. “So Patrick’s still in the construction business?”
“Yep, and making a fortune, too.”
“He was doing that when I was married to Connie. That was part of the problem. She was Daddy’s fair-haired princess who had everything handed to her on a silver platter.”
“Apparently Emma’s not like her at all, but then who knows? I certainly don’t. All I have to go by are rumors concerning the rich and affluent, which includes the Jenkinses.”
Cal snorted again. “Those people are poison and if I had my way, I’d stay as far away from them as possible.”
“I’m sorry you have to step out of one hornets’ nest into another one.”
Cal shrugged again, then strode toward the door. “You do what you gotta do.”
As if he realized the meeting had come to an end, Hammond shot out his hand. “Let me hear from you.”
“Oh, you can bet on that.”
“Meanwhile, take it easy, get yourself reacquainted with the decent people of the world.”
“Yeah, right,” Cal muttered, then made his way out the door.
Only when he was behind the wheel of his new pickup did he take a breath. Even at that, it was a harsh one. Then he slammed his palm onto the steering wheel, frustration washing over him.
What the hell was he going to do? He wanted to see his son, yet he didn’t. God, the responsibility of just knowing he had a child was overwhelming, especially now. After what he’d been through, he was in no shape to take on a child, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw a gun aimed at his temple while someone laughingly played Russian roulette with his life.
Suddenly Cal broke out in a cold sweat and felt sick. If he hadn’t been driving in a public place, he would’ve pulled over, opened his door, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. But somehow, he found the wherewithal to pull himself together enough so that the nausea passed and his elevated heart rate settled.
Okay, life had dealt him another blow—a personal one, which made it harder for him to deal with—but he was up to the task. If Connie had truly borne him a son, then hell or high water wasn’t going to keep him from at least seeing him. Anything else—well, he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.
The first thing was to get a plan. No big deal. Planning was what he did best. The Jenkinses didn’t know what was about to hit them. He had never backed down from a challenge and he wasn’t about to now. For the first time since he’d surfaced back in civilization, he had a purpose in life.
And it felt damn good.
Two
What a lovely early spring day.
Emma paused and peered at a blue Texas sky that didn’t have one cloud marring its beauty. She could not have asked for better weather, especially for a person who made her living working outdoors with plants. In all honesty, though, she rarely did any of the manual labor. She owned the nursery and the business side of it kept her tied to the desk.
However, there were days, like this one, when she made the opportunity to wander through her domain and smell the roses—so to speak—and tweak plants, wallowing in self-satisfaction over what she had accomplished.
Of course, her father had had a lot to do with the success of Emma’s Nursery. He had given her the capital to get started several years ago—capital that she’d already paid back. But it had been her hard work that had built the business to its present success. Once she made up her mind about anything that was important to her, she wouldn’t give up or give in.
“You’re stubborn and hard-headed to a fault, girl,” her daddy was always telling her, though she knew he admired her tenacity because he was the same way.
“Yeah, girl, you’re a chip off the old block.”
Thinking of her dad, Patrick, brought a wobbly smile to Emma’s lips. While she certainly hadn’t been the fair-haired daughter—Connie had held that honor—at least she, Emma, had always had Patrick’s respect.
He’d made millions in his construction company and was three years past retirement age, but he wouldn’t have any part of retirement. That word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Work and his grandson were what Patrick lived for.
Thinking about Logan
