look up to. A man who cared about him and wanted to teach him the things a father taught his sons.
Working with and hanging around Reginald’s children, whom he’d thought were his cousins, he’d finally gotten a feel for what it would be like to have siblings and be a member of a large family. Growing up as an only child, he’d always wished he had a brother to go fishing with or a sister to tease and protect.
He’d envied Reginald’s children, wanting what they had. Not the money or the lifestyle of the rich, but a big family, people he could count on to always be there for him.
If he really was Reginald Adair’s long-lost son, he had two half brothers and a half sister. The two boys and the girl, now grown, he’d come to respect and care for when he’d been there that summer so long ago.
If? His thoughts churned. The DNA test had been conclusive. There was no if about it. He was Reginald’s son.
In this day and age, how could someone get away with stealing a child and hiding him for all those years? Everything he knew about his life had been a lie. All the times he’d asked his mother about his father, she’d lied to him. She’d told him that his father died before she’d given birth. All the while his father and his mother had been alive and well, grieving the disappearance of their son.
That his fake mother was related to his father—and knew how devastated he’d been by the loss of his son—was impossible to fathom.
All those years, growing up isolated in France, he could have known the joy of having brothers and sisters, sitting at a table filled with family, laughing, joking and sharing each other’s lives.
All the years he could have spent with his family, getting to know and love them, were lost. Now that he knew who his real father was, the man was gone. Murdered before Noah had the chance to get to know him as a father.
As his horse galloped over acres and acres of grassland and rolling hills, all Noah could think was that he’d learned who his father was too late to get to spend time with the man. To get to know him.
Reginald Adair was dead. Shot to death in his office almost four months ago, and the authorities still hadn’t identified a suspect in the murder case.
Noah would never have the opportunity to know his father.
The stallion had the bit between his teeth and ran like the wind, pounding the hard-packed earth, never seeming to tire.
Noah let him run until they neared one of the streams running through Adair Acres, the one with the waterfall and the large pool, surrounded by evergreen trees and rocky ledges to stretch out on.
When Noah pulled back on the reins, Diablo pulled harder against him, increasing his speed instead of decreasing.
It became a battle of the wills between the man and the stallion.
Noah dug his feet into the stirrups and pulled back as hard as he could on the reins until the horse’s bottom jaw nearly touched his chest. Not until then did he finally slow, dancing sideways, whinnying, air huffing from his nostrils in angry puffs.
The big horse came to a jolting halt, reared up on his hind legs and pawed at the air.
“Whoa, Diablo,” Noah said soothingly. He feared some of his anger and disturbed feelings had rubbed off on the horse.
As the horse rose on his hind legs, Noah leaned forward, his feet in the stirrups.
Diablo dropped to the ground, landing hard, jolting Noah in the saddle. Then he kicked up his hind legs, arched his back and bucked, trying to unseat the man as he dragged hard on the reins.
“Whoa, fella.” Noah held his balance for the first eight seconds. When Diablo pulled a quick twist, however, Noah wasn’t ready and was sent flying through the air to land hard on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Diablo reared again and took off like a crazed animal, running hell-bent for leather back to the barn.
When Noah could breathe again, he pushed to his feet and dusted off his jeans. “Damned horse.”
Since it was a good thirty-minute hike from the barn, Noah debated starting back. One glance around at where he was and he changed his mind. The one place in the world that calmed his soul was this spot on the Adair ranch.
The creek, filled with crystal-clear water, ran between the rolling hills, cutting through rocky crevices and long, flat pastures. And if he followed its path upstream, he’d find the waterfall and the naturally formed pool where he and his cousins—siblings—used to swim. With the air warming nicely, swimming was a distinct possibility, and it would delay his return to the ranch house, where he’d have to face up to his new role in the Adair family.
And what that role was, he had no idea.
Pushing all thoughts of his new status among Reginald Adair’s offspring, he hiked upstream to the pool, kicked off his boots, pulled his shirt over his head and shucked his jeans. Without giving much thought to how cold the water might be, he dove in.
As soon as he hit the surface, the cool water shocked him out of his musings and reminded him he was alive and the pool was all his to enjoy without interruption. The media wouldn’t swarm him and his family wouldn’t be following him around to see what he would do next like some trick pony in a sideshow.
It was just him, the chill water and sound of the cicadas chirping. He swam the length of the pool and back several times until his body warmed despite the coolness of the water. The sun found its way through the trees overhanging the rocky shoreline, speckling the water and making it shine like diamonds.
Noah wished he could stay out there, away from everything. Away from having to make decisions about what he was now going to do with his life. Before the DNA test, he’d been content to work on the ranch as a ranch hand and operate his import-and-export business out of the guesthouse on Adair Acres.
Knowing he had a controlling interest in the property, he wondered if he would be expected to do something other than work the ranch. He had never fit in with the corporate world and he didn’t want to live in a city.
Hell, he had everything he’d ever wanted in life. Why did it have to cause him so much heartache and introspection? He wished he had someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t a member of the Adair family. An unbiased individual he could bounce his thoughts off of without worrying whether he was encroaching on their territory or stealing their inheritance.
An image of Rachel Blackstone appeared in his thoughts. The pretty socialite with wavy dark brown hair that kissed her shoulders and a slim body with all the right curves sprang to mind. He’d spent weeks teaching her how to ride, always maintaining his distance, regarding himself as her social inferior. She was a member of San Diego’s social elite. A child of the privileged class. He had been the ranch hand, the poor cousin to the megarich Adairs.
Rachel had never made him feel inferior. She’d always talked to him as an equal, asking questions about his life as if she really cared.
For a few brief moments, he’d considered asking her out on a date. When he gave himself enough time to think it through, he realized it was ridiculous to think he could mingle in the same social sphere. He didn’t attend charity balls. He’d eaten out at nice restaurants, but not as nice as the ones she’d be used to. What did he have to offer as a ranch hand, making a living teaching
