Sterling inhaled deeply, looking as if his youngest daughter’s words had pained him. Finally, he stuck out a hand and offered it to Roarke.
“Thank you for getting me out of there.”
He shook his father’s hand. “You’re welcome.”
“Now that you’re here, you’ll be able to investigate further. Someone set me up and as soon as I find out who, there’ll be hell to pay. I can’t live like this.” He indicated the ankle bracelet again. “Not to mention what it’s doing to my name and the value of our business. You have got to get to the root of this. Find out who did this to me. To all of us.”
His father had a stable of high-priced lawyers. So how in the hell had he suddenly been tasked with being the lead investigator responsible for clearing Sterling Perry’s name?
“I brought my case file, and there are a few people I’d like to question. See if they can shed a little more light on how this all got started.” Roarke indicated the messenger bag Angela was carrying.
“Good, let’s step into the den and talk shop.”
“Now?” Roarke hoped to get a moment to regroup before sitting down to discuss the case.
“Can’t think of a better time.” Sterling headed into the den.
Roarke groaned, taking the bag from his sister as he followed his father to the den. He hadn’t been there five minutes and already Sterling was manipulating him. He couldn’t get on that return flight to Dallas fast enough.
He took a seat and met his father’s stare. “Do you have any ideas about who might’ve set you up?”
“You’re damn right I do.” His father flicked a glance toward the entry hall, where his sisters were chattering about putting the pies on plates. Sterling closed the door, then sat in a leather wingback chair identical to the one in which he was seated.
“Ryder Currin is trying to destroy me, as sure as I’m sitting here looking at you.” Sterling pointed a finger emphatically.
“Ryder Currin?” Roarke repeated the name, but more quietly after his father shushed him. The two men had been rivals for as long as Roarke could remember. And with the latest chapter of the Texas Cattleman’s Club being established in Houston, both men were vying for leadership roles. Then, there was the fact that his sister Angela was seeing the man. “Look, I know there’s no love lost between you two, but do you honestly think he’d go to such lengths to ruin you?”
“Do you honestly believe it’s a coincidence that all of this is happening when I’m making a bid to be president of the Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club?” Sterling retorted.
His father went to the bar and poured them both a glass of whiskey. Roarke accepted it gratefully and sipped. The tension in his neck melted a little as heat from the premium whiskey spread through his body.
“First, Ryder Currin takes a sudden liking to my girl out there.” Sterling nodded toward the door. “Next, I’m accused of running a goddamn Ponzi scheme. Then a dead body is found at my construction site.” He took a long pull of his whiskey, then set the glass down hard on a nearby side table. “No, sir. Ain’t no way this is all a coincidence.”
“I’ll grant you that,” Roarke acknowledged, taking another sip of his whiskey. “And it may very well be connected to the Texas Cattleman’s Club coming here to Houston. But it’s a long stretch to accuse Ryder Currin of being behind it all.”
“Why am I not surprised that you’d take his side?” Sterling groused, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and refilling his glass.
“I’m not taking his side, Ster—” Roarke inhaled a deep breath, then released it. “I’m not taking his side. But I won’t accuse a man of such serious crimes without a shred of proof. If we go to the prosecutor with a hunch and some conjecture, we’ll get our asses handed to us. You’re out right now—” Roarke pointed to his father with the same hand in which he held his glass of whiskey “—because I had provable facts when I contacted the prosecutors and investigators on this case. We’ll find a way to exonerate you of these false charges and clear your name. But we do it the right way. That’s the only way this works. Got it?”
The old man shrugged and rubbed a hand over his head. “Fine. We’ll do things your way. For now.”
“Good.” It was the best Roarke could hope for. He drained the remainder of his whiskey and stood. “Now, I’m starving and I’m pretty sure I smell fried chicken. Oh, and there’s pie.”
“What kind?” Sterling asked.
A half grin curled Roarke’s mouth. “Texas pecan fudge from Farrah’s.”
Sterling nodded approvingly. “Sounds good.”
Maybe he’d found the key to enduring the next three days with his father. A vat of premium whiskey and a whole lot of pecan fudge pie.
Roarke made his way upstairs, where his bag had already been taken, to get ready for dinner. But he couldn’t get the image of the gorgeous woman he’d encountered in the line at Farrah’s out of his head.
Ryder Currin slid into a booth at Farrah’s Coffee Shop across from Angela and her brother, Roarke. He’d had the results of the paternity test delivered to his office at Currin Oil. They’d arrived a few hours earlier, but he hadn’t bothered to open the envelope. He knew full well what the test would reveal.
“Thought you’d want the honors.” Ryder shoved the large white envelope across the table to Angela.
Her hands were trembling as she picked the envelope up and handed it to Roarke. “Actually, Roarke, I think you should be the one to open it.”
Her brother ripped the envelope open unceremoniously and scanned its contents. Roarke’s gaze met his as he slid the paper to his sister.
Angela’s blue eyes quickly skimmed the document in search of the answer she so desperately needed.
“There is no way the two of you are biologically related.” She squeezed her brother’s hand briefly, then turned her attention to Ryder. “I owe you quite the apology.”
“Sounds like my cue to leave.” Roarke stood suddenly. Unlike his sister, who was elated by the news, Roarke seemed neither relieved nor disappointed by the paternity results. His expression was unreadable. “I have a few people to talk to about...a case I’m working on while I’m here.” He leaned down to kiss his sister’s cheek, then shook Ryder’s hand and left the shop.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Angela said once they were alone at the table. “Sorry seems like such an inadequate word.”
“Maybe start with the fact that you should’ve believed me when I told you I never laid a hand on your mother that way.” The muscles in his jaw tensed.
As a young hand working for Angela’s wealthy grandfather, Harrington York, on what was now called the Perry Ranch, he’d had a boyish crush on her
