it is, son, but not officially. Not yet.” She stepped closer and hugged him around his waist, too short to put her arms any higher.
He patted her shoulder, thinking again. Had he really heard her correctly? He set her away from him. “You’re saying I have to see whoever’s in the living room or lose my inheritance?”
“We’re not going to disinherit you, Nick.” She turned and sat on the corner of the bed. “Would it work if I did? Would you talk with a counselor?” She wrung the corner of her apron around her hands, obviously distressed. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”
“What? Working my own ranch? Men have been doing it for centuries.”
“You know what I’m talking about. Sweetheart, you barely sleep. Don’t you think your dad and I hear every time you wake up? Or creep down the hallway to watch television? Or even play those games on your laptop at all hours?” With a long sigh she sat on the edge of the bed.
“That’s all normal, the doctors told you—”
She closed her eyes. She waited for him to finish. Her manners had never allowed her to talk over someone else.
“You’re out the door before dawn,” she continued. “And not back inside until nine or ten at night. Straight to your room and screaming from your nightmares when you do fall asleep.”
“I didn’t know you could hear me.” His parents had never said a word. What part of his nightmares had they heard? “Do you think talking about this with a stranger is going to help?”
His quiet mother brushed a tear from her cheek. He was lost, unable to respond. It hadn’t always been that way, only since...
“It’s worth a try.” Juliet Burke put her hands on her thighs and stood. “But that’s not who’s waiting for you.”
Man alive, he’d almost agreed to talk to a shrink. His mother didn’t know just how close he’d been to caving. He hated seeing her so concerned. Hugging her tight to his chest, he was unable—or unwilling—to look into her sad, worried eyes.
“Come on, Mom. It’s getting better,” he lied. He faked a smile as he released her, crossing his fingers that she’d relax and believe him for a day or two. “Does breakfast come with this meeting?”
“Of course. I was just waiting for you to get up before putting the biscuits in the oven. Beth’s drinking coffee and we’ll visit while you shower.”
“Beth Conrad? The DEA Amazon that hates my guts? The woman who swore she’d lock me up for obstruction if I interfered in her investigation again? That Beth?”
“She doesn’t hate you, sweetheart. She’s come to ask a favor.” His mother moved and gently shut the door as she left.
“The last favor she asked for involved me walking down a long pier and jumping head first into a dry lake.”
“I heard that.”
* * *
BETH CONRAD HEARD IT, TOO. She silently slipped back to the ancient fireplace in the living room as Juliet’s footsteps started down the hallway. Yes, she’d been listening to a private conversation, but she didn’t actually have a good track record with Nick Burke. It grated her last nerve to ask him for anything. It didn’t matter that technically she wasn’t the person who was asking.
“Need some more coffee?” Juliet asked, wiping her palms across the embroidered apron. The smile on her face hid any of the anxiety that had been in her voice a few moments ago.
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Or at least I am at the moment. I’m not certain how crow tastes and might choke a little once Nick is out here.”
Juliet laughed.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Juliet. Your son and I haven’t been the best of friends since I was transferred here. The little I’ve gotten to know about him suggests he won’t capitulate.”
“Nonsense, you don’t know each other and have only met under the most stressful situations.” She held up a hand and paused.
Beth had only met Juliet and Alan Burke a couple of weeks ago. After the disastrous operation in the mountains, Nick had driven Beth to the Alpine emergency room. Then he’d stuck around to give her a lift back to the bed-and-breakfast where she’d been staying. His parents had misunderstood his cryptic message and rushed to the hospital, thinking their son had been shot again. After a sigh of relief, they’d waited with their son and had insisted on taking her to dinner. Nick had fumed and protested the entire way to the café.
“Okay, I hear the shower running so we can really talk now,” Juliet said. “This is beneficial for you both, Beth. We’ve gone all through this.”
“Yes, ma’am. But just for the record, I protested then and I’m protesting now. Kate McCrea should never have twisted her husband’s arm to request that I reside at the ranch. He’s a Texas Ranger and technically my boss. I don’t know why she asked that I be kept on the task force, I should add.” If he hadn’t, she’d be out of the DEA and searching for a new job.
Instead she’d act like a sitting duck. A dangling carrot they hoped to lure the perpetrator into making a move against her with. Tasked with the covert job of finding ruthless informants passing information to gunrunners and drug smugglers. Honestly, acting as bait was the only skill she felt competent in providing McCrea’s task force.
And until someone nibbled the bait, they were conducting interviews and trying to covertly connect the dots.
“No one did any arm twisting. After you saved my son’s life, on top of everything that’s been happening in these mountains, no one had to tell me you were an agent. Kate just confirmed what branch of the government you worked for. She’s almost a member of our family. And I only assumed there was a task force involved. No one told me anything.” Juliet smiled and raised her eyebrows as if asking a question.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the investigation. I won’t ever be, even if I stay here. And your family may be in danger.”
“We already are, dear. This is a risk we’re willing to take by staying and not selling to the corporations trying to buy us out. We just need to convince Nick that you should be here.” Juliet rose, lining up the coffee pot with the sugar and creamer. “I need to get those biscuits in the oven.”
“I’m completely inadequate, especially helping in the kitchen, but I’ll try.”
“You’re not inadequate, just out of your element. Now, you wait right there for my pig-headed son,” she said.
There was no way to keep from liking Nick’s parents. Especially Juliet. Her husband had been very ill for quite some time, but the woman never had a bad word or complaint. Nick was her only child and suffered from PTSD after being shot last year. His state of mind was evident to everyone who knew him—and even those who didn’t know him well.
One night together and she’d witnessed the tension, his avoiding sleep as long as possible, the slight shaking in his hands when others spoke of the cartel.
Juliet was at the swinging door to the kitchen. “I’m very concerned because my son was shot, nearly died and then almost killed a
