Once a Cowboy (3 page)

Pity, he thought for a nostalgic moment, the blonde was very attractive. And something about the touch of her smooth skin against his sent his thoughts in an entirely different direction.

He released her hand. “I’m Brodie Hayes.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her smile lit up her face. Damn. She wasn’t just attractive. She was beautiful.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening.” She glanced at the TV.

The rise and fall of her breasts against the tank top caught his eye. He pulled himself up sharp. What was wrong with him? This woman wasn’t his type.

“No problem, ma’am.” He turned his attention back to the TV.

“May I please use your bathroom?”

“Down the hall to the right.” He breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared.

A
LEX HURRIED
to the bathroom, locked the door and went to work. She was looking for some of his hair. Bingo. A comb lay on the vanity with black strands in it. Not many, but it might be enough.

Pulling a plastic bag out of her pocket, she slipped the comb into it, then tucked it into her shorts. She flushed the commode and quickly made her way to the den.

Brodie had his eyes on the TV and didn’t even look up.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, sparing her a brief glance.

She had no choice but to leave. He could have been friendlier. She fumed about that all the way to her car. He was probably used to having his pick of women and today he just wasn’t interested. Or he wasn’t interested in her. Why did that hurt?

She’d just invaded his privacy and had stolen something from his house, so if she never saw him again that would probably be for the best—for both of them.

All the way into the city, she knew she had the evidence to prove if Brodie Hayes was Helen Braxton’s son. She’d told Helen the odds were slim and she still believed that.

But those blue eyes were hard to ignore.

The same eyes she’d seen in the photos of the Braxton men. And in Maggie.

F
ROM HIS KITCHEN WINDOW
, Brodie watched her drive away. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he had a feeling the lady wasn’t lost. What was she after? Didn’t matter. He’d never see her again.

A smile tugged at his mouth. Tripp would laugh at him. Brodie was known as a charmer, a ladies’ man around the rodeo circuit. He never met a woman he didn’t like. Or who didn’t like him. So what had held him back with…what did she say her name was? Alex Donovan. That was it. What held him back from getting to know Alex better?

He walked into the den and sank into his chair. Maybe he was getting older. Maybe a nice girl wasn’t on his to-do list. Or maybe his instincts told him Alex deserved better than a walk-away cowboy.

A
LEX CAME THROUGH
the back door and did a double take. Naddy, with her hair in rollers, was in the utility room, stuffing clothes into the washing machine.

“Get your investigating done?” Naddy asked, pouring soap onto the clothes.

“Yes. Thanks for catching on.”

“Might take me a minute, but I always catch on.” Naddy closed the lid.

“Naddy, what are you doing?”

Naddy lifted a sharp eyebrow.

“Okay. Dumb question. I’ll try again. Why are you washing clothes? I usually have to threaten you to get you to do that.”

“I’m going to Vegas and I need clean clothes.” Naddy turned the dial and water spewed into the machine. Alex couldn’t hear over the loud noise so she pulled her grandmother into the kitchen.

“Why are you going to Vegas?”

“Can’t get those idiots in control of the case to listen to me. I’m going in person. Ethel and me are driving.”

“What!” Alex followed her into her bedroom. “You are
not
driving to Vegas. Absolutely not.”

“I drive just as good as when I was twenty, only better. I don’t drive as fast.”

Alex took a calming breath. “You’re not driving to Vegas in your old Buick.”

Naddy placed her hands on her hips. “Are you saying that I’m old?”

“You’re seventy-eight. What do you think?”

“I think I can do what I want.”

“Naddy…”

“Ethel’s seventy-six and she doesn’t drive too bad, except she has trouble staying awake.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex threw up her hands, knowing her grandmother was working her. “I’ll pay for your plane ticket.”

“What about Ethel? I don’t want to go alone.”

Alex gritted her teeth. “Okay. I’ll pay for Ethel, too.”

“You’re such a sucker.” Naddy laughed.

“I knew you were playing me from the start. You wouldn’t do laundry unless you were after something. And you’d better not crow too much or I’ll rescind the offer.” She paused. “Does Buck know you’re going?”

“No. You can tell him after I’m gone.”

Alex shook her head. “Oh, no. You tell him before you leave.”

“Honeychild.” Naddy put an arm around her shoulder and Alex caught a whiff of Ben-Gay. “Why do you always want that family connection to be there? It isn’t. I was a bad mother, a terrible mother. I admit that. Bucky has a right to hate me. I was young, stupid and had no idea how to raise a kid. He grew up the hard way, by himself with a string of step-daddies.”

Alex had heard this a million times and Naddy wasn’t getting around her by using that bad-mother routine. “All the same, you’ll tell him.”

“Did I say you were a sucker? Crafty is more like it.”

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said, walking away.

“Want to help with my laundry?”

“No, thanks,” Alex called, running up the stairs.

She laid the plastic bag with the comb on her dresser. In the morning she’d call a lab they used to run the test.
She’d also call Helen so she could give a sample to see if Brodie was her son. One little test, but it could change a lot of lives.

That night she went to sleep seeing the bluest eyes in Texas.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
she awoke to loud voices, which was reminiscent of her childhood. Evidently Naddy had told Buck she was going to Vegas. She didn’t bother going down. They’d yell and scream until one of them was out of breath.

She changed into jeans and a knit top. She brushed her hair and clipped it behind her head. After applying the barest of makeup, she headed downstairs.

“Don’t think I’m paying for this crazy trip!”

“I never asked you for a dime.”

“Yeah, right.”

Alex walked between Buck and Naddy. “Good morning, all. Think I’ll get my coffee on the way to work.” With her hand on the doorknob, she looked at her father. “Is the air fixed?”

“I had to work on the damn thing myself and I got it going for now. Bert’ll fix it this morning.”

“Really? The old push method didn’t work?”

Buck glared at her. “Don’t start with me. I’ve already had it with Naddy. Going to Vegas. That’s insane.” He pointed a finger at his mother. “Don’t come back to this house with a man in tow. That’s all I got to say.”

“Bucky, you take all the fun out of life.”

“Don’t call me Bucky.”

“I had those teeth fixed, didn’t I?”

Buck slammed out the door and Alex stared at her grandmother. “This certainly isn’t the Cleaver household.”

Naddy chuckled. Alex used to sit for hours watching reruns of
Leave It To Beaver,
wishing she had a mother like June and a father like Ward. How unrealistic was that? Not to mention outdated.

“More like a soap opera,” Naddy muttered.

Alex only grinned. “When are you leaving?”

“Ethel’s daughter is dropping her off and we’re taking a cab to the airport.”

“Be careful.” Alex hugged her.

“If I was careful, I wouldn’t have any fun.”

Alex smiled on her way out the door.

Buck wasn’t in the office so she didn’t know where he was, but at least the air was working. She called the lab to set up the DNA test. She dropped the comb off and called Helen, who was eager to help by giving her DNA. Now they waited.

As Alex worked on other cases, she kept thinking about Brodie. Maybe someday she’d have the opportunity to apologize for stealing his comb.

B
RODIE WOKE UP
to quiet, like always. That’s the way he wanted it. His friends called him a people person because he acted outgoing on the rodeo circuit, but he was really a loner. He enjoyed the peace and the quiet. Maybe that had something to do with age, too.

When he was younger, partying was in his blood. The more people around him, the better he liked it. Today life was more sedate and that suited him. He was comfortable with his life choices, but he’d probably always
regret the rift with his parents. At least they’d tried to work through it as a family. That was important to him.

He showered and slipped into jeans. After shaving, he reached for his comb, but it wasn’t there. He looked in the drawer, then the cabinet. The comb had disappeared. He’d had it yesterday when he’d combed his hair to go see his mother. That was the last time he’d seen it.

No one had been here, not even the cleaning lady. So what could have happened to it?
Wait a minute.
The lady in the Jeep had used his bathroom. Could she have taken his comb? What the hell would she want it for? It didn’t make any sense, but he was becoming increasingly intrigued. Why would Alex Donovan steal his comb?

Next time he would be more careful who he let use his bathroom. It was a comb, less than five bucks so what did it matter? Sometimes girls who followed the rodeo circuit would steal an item that belonged to a cowboy they had a crush on just to have something to connect them. But Alex didn’t seem like a groupie and she hadn’t come on to him. She was friendly, that’s all.

So what was going on?

Finding another comb, he finished dressing and headed for the barn. He saddled his horse, Jax, a thoroughbred quarter horse he’d gotten from Colter, who raised them. With the dogs trotting behind him, he checked the herd and all the water troughs to make sure the cattle had water in the searing heat.

Riding gave him peace and he enjoyed the movement, the rhythm, even the sun on his face and the calluses on his hands. He knew who he was—a cowboy
in control. As his boots touched soil again the comb business nagged at him.

Suddenly he wanted to find the lady in the Jeep—Alex.

Brodie arrived at his mother’s around ten. Propped up in bed, his petite, fragile mother looked pale yet she seemed much better than yesterday. Cleo fussed about, fluffing pillows and straightening the bed linens.

“Brodie, my son,” Claudia said. “I’m sorry I scared you yesterday.”

He sat in a Queen Anne chair, his hat in his hand, feeling out of place. “How are you today?”

“Much better.”

“She should,” Cleo said. “I’ve been waiting on her hand and foot. You know you’re not helpless, Claudie.”

Cleo was the antithesis of his mother—she was strong, resilient and resourceful. But Claudia, her older sister, was her Achilles’ heel.

“Cleo, please. I don’t want to argue today.”

“Me, neither. And I don’t plan on staying in every night, Claudie, so get used to it.” Cleo winked at Brodie. “How about a cup of coffee, cowboy?”

“I’ll settle for iced tea.”

“You got it.”

After Cleo left, Brodie searched for the right words and knew there weren’t any. He carefully placed his hat on his knee. “Mother, you can’t expect Cleo to stay home all the time. She’s sixty-four and enjoys her friends.”

“Men friends, you mean.”

“Whatever.”

“She’s been married three times and has absolutely nothing to show for it. You’d think she’d appreciate a roof over her head.”

He grabbed his hat and stood in a quick movement because he was about to lose every ounce of patience he’d been blessed with. “Cleo is not your personal slave and she has a right to her own life, whatever that might be.”

“You always take her side.” Claudia sank farther into the pillows with a hurt expression.

“It’s not about sides, Mother.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Tell you what. I’ll check in to getting someone to stay here when Cleo is out. That way it will be easier for both of you.”

“You know you remind me of your father when you do that?”

“What?” He was disconcerted for a moment.

“Your father. Tom always ran a hand through his hair when he was agitated. His hair was dark and thick like yours.”

She talked as if he didn’t remember his father, but he remembered him very well. When his father crammed a hand through his hair, Brodie quickly disappeared. That meant a stern lecture was about to ensue.

He shook the thought from his mind. “Mother, did you hear what I said?”

“I don’t want a stranger in the house. Why can’t you stay with me?”

That took the air right out of his chest. He and his mother weren’t close. They’d been estranged for a lot of years. When he’d left college, his father had told him to never come back home, that neither he nor Brodie’s mother supported his decision to ride professionally. And Brodie was no son of theirs if he chose that life. His mother was always the buffer between Tom and Brodie, but this time she stood stoutly behind her husband’s decision.

He knew they thought he would change his mind and they had to be united and strong in their stance. Somewhere inside him he found the courage to walk out the door, realizing he was leaving his childhood behind but hoping to find the man he was supposed to be.

The first two years he had no contact with them at all, then he called home one Christmas. That started periodic phone calls, which usually ended with his mother begging him to stop the silly foolishness of the rodeo. His father’s words were always terse. When his father had attended the national finals, they’d finally made their peace. He accepted that Brodie was different than him.

After his father had died and Claudia had moved to Dallas, he and his mother started building a new relationship. Talking to his mother for any length of time had always been a chore for him. The conversation always came around to his choices in life and how bad they were.

Hours with her could make him old before his time.
But she was his mother and he loved her. A few hours weren’t going to kill him. Guilt was a powerful thing. It turned cowboys into sissies.

“It’s not like you have a wife or anything,” Claudia said at his hesitation.

“I have a ranch to run. It’s very time-consuming.”

“I never understood your interest in cows and horses. I thought you would outgrow it.”

He clamped his jaw tight. “No, Mother. That’s not going to happen.”

“I see that now.”

An awkward pause followed.

Claudia tied the bow on her bed jacket. “I am proud of your success, though. Your father was, too.”

“Really?” He didn’t quite believe that.

“Of course we were. It was just hard for us to accept your lifestyle.”

“You make it sound like I was into some sort of deviant behavior.” He clenched a fist to keep his cool.

She looked directly at him. “Why do you get so angry when we talk?”

“Maybe because you criticize.”

“Do I?” Her green eyes feigned innocence. “I don’t mean to.”

Brodie had had enough conversation. “It’s after ten. Aren’t you getting up today?”

“In a little while. Those spells take so much out of me and some days it’s just taxing to get out of bed.”

“Getting upset doesn’t help.”

“I know. I’m just a lonely old woman.”

The guilt bored into his chest like the horn of a bull.
He bit the bullet and said, “I’ll stay with you when Cleo goes out.”

Claudia smiled. “Thank you, darling.”

He drew a deep breath. “But, Mother, we have to talk about your fear of being alone.”

She shifted uneasily in the bed. “You know I’ve never liked to stay by myself and ever since your father died it’s gotten worse. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.”

“Maybe you need to get out more.” Recently she hadn’t been involved with her social functions.

“Maybe.”

“Call your friend Ruth and get back into the bridge group. You always enjoyed playing. And what about the Heart Association fund-raiser and luncheon? That’s your pet project and they need your help.”

“I’m tired, darling. I think I’ll just rest.”

For the first time he realized his mother might be going through depression and he planned to mention that to the doctor. He didn’t like seeing her this despondent.

B
RODIE DECIDED
to let Alex keep his comb—for now. He had more pressing matters to deal with. Later, though, he would find out why she saw a need to steal something from his home.

He spent two nights at his mother’s watching chick-flick movies. His mother talked about his childhood, his father and her life as an army wife. She talked and he listened. As a single male, he realized this was probably the lowest point in his life—spending evenings with his mother. What had happened to the charmer who had a
different woman every night? He’d just hit rock bottom. He had to get his mother back into the swing of living.

T
HE HOUSE WAS VERY QUIET
without Naddy. She’d called and said they’d arrived safely so Alex didn’t worry. But with Naddy there was always cause to worry. She tended to do the unexpected.

Alex and Buck finished the cases for the DA and Buck was pleased because in both cases the attorneys were able to secure a guilty verdict.

The DA had its own investigators, but when they needed someone to go the extra mile they knew who to call. Buck was known for getting information out of the person without them knowing it. Everything Alex had learned about investigating, she’d learned from her father.

That morning Buck said, “I’m off to the coast for a few days of fishing.”

“Oh?” She looked up from reading the paper.

“Yeah. Bert’s putting a new heating-and-cooling unit in so it’s no use hanging around here.”

“What? You never mentioned that.”

“Thought I did.”

“No. I would have remembered it.”

“Well, you might think about taking some time off, too. We have the Cryder and Wilcox cases next week and we might as well start fresh.” He poured another cup of coffee. “I’m going to hook up my boat.”

Time off. That sounded wonderful to Alex. She had a friend, Patsy, in Florida she could visit and lie on the beach with drinking piña coladas. As she jumped up to call Patsy, the phone rang.

“Alex, it’s Lou at the lab.”

This was it. He had the results of the Braxton DNA test. She braced herself.

“I’m sorry. We can’t get a clear DNA from Mr. Hayes’s hair. We’ll need blood or saliva to complete the test.”

“Thanks, Lou. I’ll get back to you.”

She hung up cursing. Damn. This could have been so easy. How was she going to get his blood or saliva? By asking, like she should have done in the first place.

Being discreet had its advantages, but the ethics of this whole situation bothered her. She’d wanted to make things easy for Helen and Brodie—that’s the only reason she’d stolen the comb. Ever since she’d done that, though, it had been niggling at her.

She’d have to do this by the book, as Buck had taught her. She’d have to tell Brodie Hayes the truth. He deserved that and it would keep her principles about her job intact. She grabbed her purse, heading for Brodie’s ranch once again.

Parking at the house, she spotted him at the corrals on a horse, herding cattle into a pen. Plumes of dust spiraled around him. His truck and trailer were backed up to a loading chute.

Without a second thought she walked to the pipe corral. He dismounted and closed the gate, his gaze swinging to her. His loose-limbed strides brought him closer and she thought again how incredibly sexy he was. Today there were no starched clothes. His chambray shirt and jeans were worn, his boots dusty and his Stetson stained with sweat.

The hat pulled low hid his eyes, but from the firm set of his jaw she knew he wasn’t happy to see her.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice unfriendly.

“May I speak with you please?”

“Lady, I’m rather busy at the moment.” Those blue eyes blazed. “And people who steal are not people I want to talk to.”

“If you’ll give me a few minutes, I can explain.”

He seemed to think about it. “You’ve got five minutes.” He meandered around cows to a gate, his dogs behind him. Within seconds, he was standing next to her and his nearness seemed to cut off her breathing.

The heat was suffocating her even more. “Could we sit somewhere?” She blinked against the sun.

He turned toward the barn and she saw a bench beneath an oak tree. She sat down, glad of the shade. He remained standing, staring at her with narrowed eyes. The bluest blue was frosty and she felt a moment of trepidation.

The dogs sniffed at her feet and she patted them. “What’s their names?”

“Buck and Butch.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

“You find that funny?” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

“No. Yes…you see, we call my dad Buck.”

The little bit of conversation seemed to relieve the tension and he sank down by her. “Who are you?”

She took a moment, then said, “I’m a private investigator.”

He looked at her with a startled expression. “Are you investigating me?”

“Yes.”

Brodie was taken aback. He’d never met a detective who looked quite like her before, with soft brown eyes, high cheekbones and a bow of a mouth. A kissable, tantalizing mouth. Her blond hair was pulled back like the other day, but today she wore snug-fitting jeans and a knit top. She appeared more like a model than a detective.

He swallowed. “Why?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain.”

He thought for a minute. She took his comb, which probably had strands of his hair on it. Oh no. He jumped to his feet. “Were you trying to get my DNA?”

Her eyes grew big, as if she didn’t quite expect him to grasp that so quickly. “Yes.”

“Who is it?”

She frowned. “What?”

“I assume some woman I’ve slept with is trying to find out if I’m the father of her child. Who is it?” Just saying the words caused a painful knot to form in his stomach. He was always careful, always used protection, but there was always that slim chance.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing like that.”

He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Then what is it?” Relief oozed out of him. He could actually feel it.

“Do you know a Helen Braxton?”

“No. Never heard the name. Who is she?”

There was silence for a moment.

Alex took her time, not knowing quite how to do this. The paternity thing threw her and she wondered just how many women there’d been in his life. Probably more than he could remember. His relief was very
evident. She was getting sidetracked and she brought her thoughts back to his question.

There wasn’t an easy way to do this so she just came out with it. “Someone stole her baby from the hospital nursery almost forty years ago.”

The dark eyebrow rose again. “So? What does that have to do with me?”

She stared at him. “She thinks you might be her son.”