The Brands Who Came For Christmas Read online

Chapter 6

  Caleb sat in his father’s office, in his father’s chair, trying to keep the most prestigious law firm in Oklahoma up and running while his dad slowly made his peace with retirement. But despite the weight of the job, not to mention the decision hanging over his head, or the nip of winter in the air outside, his mind was far away….

  It was in a little town in springtime. By a waterfall. With a girl named Maya Brand.

  Hell, it had been more than eight months. He should have forgotten about her, about that night, long before now. She certainly must have forgotten about him. Then again, he wouldn’t know if she hadn’t. He’d lied about his name that night. She had no clue who he was. Hell, she’d been worried about him having enough cash for the boarding house, as he recalled.

  He sighed deeply. That had been real, that night with Maya. He hadn’t spent a real, genuine night with a woman since. He’d been trying, with his frequent jaunts to political functions and state events. But mostly, the women who were on his arm were after something. Prestige, standing, power. Money. Usually money. They were phony, done up, made up, cinched up, dressed up, surgically enhanced, and polished to the point where the genuine parts were too well hidden to detect.

  Maya hadn’t wanted anything from him. She didn’t think he had anything to offer. But she’d liked him anyway. She’d liked him enough to want to spend the night in his arms. It had been so honest, and so simple, and so incredible with her….

  Hell, he had to stop thinking about that woman.

  He glanced at the stack of memos and unopened mail on the desk, and began flipping through it to distract himself. The sight of a manila envelope with a Big Falls, Oklahoma, postmark caught his attention.

  Odd.

  He grabbed the envelope, tore it open and reached inside. Then he pulled out an 8 x 10 glossy photo of a woman who looked to be about eleven or twelve months pregnant. He smiled a bit at the sight of her belly, stretched to the size of a beach ball. His gaze moved slowly upward over the figure in the photo. She stood with one hand on the small of her back, a strand of mink brown hair hanging in her face, her eyes….

  And then he froze. That face. Those eyes.

  An expletive burst from him without warning.

  His office door flew open, and Bobby McAllister, his ambitious right-hand man and future press secretary, should he decide he needed one, burst in, looking around with wide eyes. “What’s wrong!”

  Blinking slowly, licking his lips, his head spinning with disbelief, Caleb turned the photo over. There was one word on the back. Congratulations.

  Caleb’s throat went just as dry as desert sand. All this time…my God, she’d been alone, all this time….

  “C.C., what is it?” Bobby asked again.

  Caleb bit his lips. “Exactly how long has it been since April first?” he asked.

  “April Fools’ Day?”

  Caleb almost moaned, but instead only nodded.

  Bobby thought for three seconds, then said, “About…eight or nine months. Why?”

  “About eight or nine months? I need to know exactly.”

  Blinking, Bobby whipped out his pocket calendar, flipped pages and said, “Thirty-seven weeks and two days.”

  “And how long does it take a woman to give birth?”

  “Nine mo—”

  “Exactly how long?” Caleb said, stopping Bobby before he finished speaking.

  Swallowing hard, Bobby tapped his smartphone. “Forty weeks is full term. Boss, why are you asking such odd questions? What’s going on?”

  He looked at Bobby. Bobby read the look, turned, closed the office door. When he turned back again, Caleb held up the photo. “Thirty-seven weeks and two days ago, I spent the night with this woman.”

  Bobby’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He strode forward, snatched the photo from Caleb’s hand. “According to the date, this was taken the day before yesterday.”

  “I know.”

  Flipping it over, Bobby read the back. “This is…this is extortion! Blackmail. They can’t get away with this!”

  Frowning, Caleb said, “Who can’t?”

  ‘‘Jacobson, of course. Your only real opponent for the senatorial race.”

  “I haven’t even declared my candidacy yet.”

  “He knows the game. He knows that’s just a formality. This is a preemptive strike. Who else would want to get this kind of dirt on you, C.C.?”

  Caleb shrugged. Silently, he thought perhaps Bobby was taking his candidacy a bit too much for granted—especially now. But he didn’t say that out loud. No sense sending the ambitious young genius into panic mode. “I don’t think it’s blackmail, because they don’t ask for anything. And if it was Jacobson this envelope would have been delivered to the press, not to me. Don’t you think?”

  “Well then…who is it? You think it’s the woman?”

  He shrugged. “Could be. I didn’t think she knew who I was, but I suppose she could have found out.” He sighed, lowering his head. It hurt deeply, to think that Maya might have seen through his facade of being an unknown drifter. It had been so special to have someone be attracted to him for him, not for his name or his legacy. He gave himself a shake and went on. “Now she probably figures I owe her. And I suppose she’s right, at that.”

  “Oh, for crying out—are you saying you think this bull is true? You think you fathered this woman’s child in one night? For God’s sake, she was probably pregnant before you ever met her. She was probably looking for some rich scapegoat to pin it on.”

  He drew a deep breath, sighed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why the hell not?” Bobby was so upset his voice squeaked on the question. He tossed the photo down and awaited an answer.

  “First, because she didn’t have a clue who I was—”

  “Or so she made you believe,” Bobby interjected.

  “And secondly, because she was…not that kind of girl.”

  Bobby stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Not that kind of girl. She was not that kind of girl? C.C., have you gone out of your mind here or what?”

  “She was a virgin.”

  Bobby just blinked at him. Then he looked at the photo and blinked again. “But…she’s…my age.”

  “I’ve got to go out there, Bobby.”

  Bobby’s head came up, eyes wide. “Oh, no. No way. That’s the worst thing you can possibly do right now.”

  “I’m going. Make something up. Cover for me. Say I’m sick with the flu and taking a few days off. Or better yet, say I needed some private time for the holidays. There’s only a week until Christmas, so that sounds reasonable. Say anything you want, Bobby, but I have to go out there. I have to see her.”

  Bobby closed his eyes, shook his head. “If this leaks—”

  “It won’t.”

  Bobby groaned softly, his hand going to his forehead as if to ward off a headache as he paced the office three times. Then, finally, he sighed and faced Caleb again. “Where will I be able to reach you?”

  “On my cell, where there’s a signal. It’s a town called Big Falls,” he said. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  He tucked the photo back into its envelope, tucked it under his arm and started for the door.

  “Boss?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, turning.

  “Don’t let this woman play you for a fool.”

  He felt his lips pull into a bitter smile. “Don’t you worry, Bobby. I’m a grown-up.” But he didn’t feel like one. He felt sick and queasy and lightheaded.

  He left the office, taking the elevator to the basement parking garage and then driving back to the mansion. But the symptoms didn’t ease up. His hands were shaking, for crying out loud! His palms were damp. He didn’t know what the hell to think. He was so distracted that he drove the Lexus right through two stop signs on the way home, and at the second one, he nearly got hit. He skidded to a stop in the driveway, ran straight upstairs and tugged a suitcase from underneath his bed. He whipped open
the closet and stared in at the rows of expensive suits, the drawers full of designer shirts.

  And then he thought to himself, what if she wasn’t the one who sent that photo? What if she still didn’t know who he was?

  Okay, so it was wishful thinking. But it could happen, right? And if there was even a chance….

  He thought about her eyes, the honesty in them. And how sincere she’d seemed when she’d talked about trying to be respectable, to get the town’s elite to accept her. He’d believed her.

  He still believed her. Damn, what must this pregnancy have done to all her efforts? He winced at the thought.

  Slowly he reached for the bottom drawer and pulled out his entire collection of worn-out jeans—all three pairs. He put two in his suitcase and put one pair on. He dug for sweatshirts, found an old fleece-lined denim coat way in the back of his closet, and dug out that stupid battered cowboy hat, as well, for good measure. He wanted to see her as a man—not as a billionaire.

  He finished his packing hastily, then carried the suitcase, coat and hat downstairs and set them on the floor near the back door, before forcibly slowing himself down, taking a few calming breaths.

  He couldn’t just walk out on his father without a word.

  Look at what had happened last time. Stiffening his spine, he went to his father’s study.

  The wheelchair turned slowly when he entered the room. Cain didn’t use it all the time—only when he was tired or stubborn. He could walk, though his uneven gait required the use of a cane. His stern face was more disturbing now, since the stroke. One side reflected his feelings—that side was looking decidedly pissed off just now—while the other side remained lax and limp.

  His father lifted his good hand, and Caleb saw the photograph he was holding. He glanced quickly around the room, half expecting to see Bobby lurking in a corner somewhere, but there was no sign of him.

  “No, it wasn’t Bobby,” Cain said, speaking from one side of his mouth, his words still slightly slurred. “But I did call him. Whoever sent this to you at the office wanted to be sure you got it. Sent a copy here, as well. And I’m glad they did. This is something I ought to know about, don’t you think?”

  “No. You don’t need the stress of this—and I can deal with it. I’m about to deal with it.”

  “Sit down, son.”

  “Father, I’ve made my decision. I have to go out there, see for myself what’s going on.”

  His father glared at him, and Caleb finally sat down. He didn’t like upsetting the old man. He didn’t want to set off another stroke, or worse. Mean as hell he might be, but he was also in a fragile state right now, though he would rather die than admit it.

  “You were a twin, you know.”

  Caleb sighed, closing his eyes, wishing to God his father would deliver any other long practiced speech than this one. He hated this one.

  “Your mother carried two of you. Two boys. One bigger, stronger, and the other small and weak. Only one of them born alive.” He knuckled a button, moving his wheelchair closer. “The doctors said it was just as well. One strong child was much better off than two weak ones. As it was, the stronger of the two survived. And that one was you.”

  “Right.” Caleb had never accepted this, and it was largely why he refused to go by the name Cain. But though he rejected it, hearing it dug deep. “I’ve heard this story a hundred times, Father, and it has no more merit now than it ever did. Fetuses do not think or plot or conspire. I didn’t kill off my weaker brother so I could survive, and the fact that I lived and he didn’t is nothing more than genetics.”

  “Garbage!” his father said in a burst “You’re my son. Your mother died giving birth to you. You carry my name. So you’ll always do what you must to survive. You understand?”

  He opened his mouth to argue, closed it again, and said nothing, getting up to leave.

  “I was a twin, too, you know.”

  Caleb, frowning, turned to stare at his father. “No. I didn’t know that. You never told me.”

  “It never came up. My birth was just like yours, Caleb. The stronger twin survived, the weaker one didn’t make it.” He shook his head. “It’s genetics, yes, but it’s also a marker, Caleb. A reminder that the strong survive, and that we, you and I, were destined for something more than ordinary men. And that sometimes sacrifice is necessary to keep the dream alive.”

  “It was a quirk of fate. Not a sign from God,” Caleb told him gently. “Dad, you and your destiny had nothing to do with your twin dying. No more than I did with mine.”

  Cain shook his head stubbornly. “Nothing can ruin a political career faster than a woman and a sex scandal, Caleb. Nothing. Now you take my advice. You pay this woman enough to keep her quiet, and then, later on, you get a DNA test done very quietly. If it’s yours, you pay her some more. All it takes. Send her and the child away somewhere. But do it all through third parties. Send Bobby out there, or Martin and Jacob Levitz. They’re your lawyers, that’s what they’re paid for. Just don’t get personally involved in this.”

  Slowly, Caleb went to his father. Keeping his tone low, he said, “I’m already personally involved, Dad. It doesn’t get much more personal than this. And I may be your son, but I’m my mother’s son, too, God rest her soul. And I think she’d want me to do the right thing here.”

  His father’s head came up, one eye snapping with anger, the other dull and glazed over. “She died so you could be born to carry on this family’s proud tradition! She would want you to protect that legacy at any cost!”

  Caleb smiled, leaned in and clasped his father’s hand once, firmly. “If I have a child, won’t he be a part of that legacy?” He sighed when his father didn’t waver in the least. “I have to do what I think is right, Dad. I’ll only be gone for a few days. You’ve got your nurse and the household staff, and if you need anything they can’t handle, call Bobby.”

  Straightening, he turned and walked out of the room, even though his father’s voice shouted after him all the way. He only stopped long enough to pick up his suitcase, and then he headed out.

  Two hours later, tired and wary, Caleb pulled into the parking lot of the OK Corral, that saloon he remembered so well, in the middle of Big Falls, Oklahoma. He hadn’t been here in the winter before. It was nothing like the city, and he couldn’t help feel a little stirring of the senses as José’s truck rolled over the narrow roads and in between hillsides that looked wild and ominous. They were almost bare of leaves, some of those trees, and the ground was brown and barren.

  He wondered why there were no cars in the lot at the Saloon. Then he realized he had arrived in the middle of a Monday afternoon. The Corral probably didn’t even open until nightfall. He’d driven Maya home, past a boarding house as he recalled but it had been dark as pitch and he barely remembered which way he’d taken her.

  He looked up and down the road. Saw a few men in red-and-black flannel, and some in camouflage from head to toe, hurrying to their pickups with gun racks in the back windows and shotguns in the racks.

  Hunting season. This was not the city. Here, if you were a man, you owned a gun and knew how to use it. And hunting season was the be all and end all of your holiday experience.

  Swallowing hard, he got out of the truck and started on a path designed to intercept one burly hunter before he reached the front door of the ammo shop. He paused briefly to snap up his fleece and denim coat and wondered if the thing looked rural enough to get him by.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and he managed to draw the big guy’s attention. Jowls and whiskers was the impression he got when the man faced him.

  “You lost?” the stranger asked.

  “Actually, I, uh…I’m looking for a place to get a room. I didn’t see a hotel in town anywhere, so I thought….”

  “We ain’t got no hotel,” the fellow said, putting the accent on the first syllable.

  “That’s what I thought when I didn’t see one,” he said. “I seem to recall there was a boarding house l
ast time I was here, but I’ve forgotten where, exactly.”

  The fellow shrugged. “Yep. There’s a boardin’ house, all right. You might could get a room there. But I don’t know for sure.”

  “Er…right. I might…could. If I knew where it was.” The man just stared at him, chewing. “Can you tell me how to get to the boarding house?” he asked, figuring direct was the way to go here.

  “End of the road, on yer left. ‘Bout a mile up.” He pointed.

  “Thanks. Good luck with the hunting. I, uh, hope you catch a big one.”

  “Catch?” The guy grinned almost ear to ear and strode away, shaking his head. “He hopes I catch a big one,” he muttered, chuckling to himself all the way into the shop.

  Caleb stared after him, saw him speaking to the fellow at the counter, and then they both looked his way and laughed some more.

  Hell. He was fitting in here like a duck would fit in at a henhouse. He was going to have to do better.

  He turned to go back toward the pickup and came face to face with a young woman with short black hair and dark eyes. For a moment they stared at each other as recognition clawed at his mind. And then it seemed to hit them both at once. She was one of Maya’s sisters—he’d met her at the saloon that night.

  Even as his mind grasped who she was, hers seemed to identify him. Because her eyes went narrow and her lips thinned.

  He thrust out a hand in greeting. She thrust out a fist in a right hook that caught him in the jaw and made lightning flash in his brain.

  When he shook his brains back into order, he found himself on his butt on the ground and she was revving the motor of a well-worn minivan and speeding away.

  He rubbed his jaw. Hell, he hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but he hadn’t expected an ambush, either.

  The question was, would Maya be as glad to see him as her sister had obviously been? Suddenly he was having second thoughts about finding out. Maybe he’d better try to get the lay of the land just a bit first—rather than waltzing right out to that cozy little farmhouse with the red shutters, right away. Even if he could remember where it was. Maybe it would be wise to make sure there wouldn’t be armed infantrymen, or maybe just sisters, lining the driveway, with the intent to blow his head off first and ask questions later.

  Swallowing hard, he nodded. To the boarding house…then he’d see.

  Getting to his feet, he got back into his gardener’s pickup truck and twisted the rearview mirror to get a look at his jaw.

  Shoot. It was already starting to bruise.