Necessary Secrets. Barbara Phinney
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shrugged and turned her attention to a small room nearby.
Anger swelled in him. All of this foolishness could be avoided, if Sylvie would tell him what he wanted to know. “How did Rick die?”
Sylvie stiffened as she swung away from him. “I told you I can’t talk about it. I signed a nondisclosure agreement. You’re familiar with those, aren’t you? Legally binding documents that say you can’t say anything—even if you want to? Look, I know you’re hurting, but recounting Rick’s last hours isn’t going to bring him back. It’s only going to torture you.”
She didn’t meet his steady gaze. She was hiding behind a rule, a contract, just like his ex-wife had hidden behind her own privacy when he’d asked her who the father was.
Sharply, he pulled the anger in. He wasn’t angry with Tanya. She’d been lucky enough to find love again quickly. Her baby had been a shock and a complication, and he still wasn’t sure how to take it, but now he focused on the fact that the kid would be loved and cared for.
Would Sylvie’s baby have that good fortune? Of course. Whether she realized it or not, Sylvie was already displaying strong protective instincts. She wanted Rick’s baby…and she didn’t want him.
A knot formed in his stomach. “Your candor isn’t going to shock me, Sylvie, so don’t try to use it as a weapon.”
Her expression suddenly softened. “Rick was like that, too. Never bothered by my forthrightness. I admired that in him. A lot of soldiers resented me and my attitude. I could never figure them out. They didn’t mind women in the army, and would say we had to be ‘one of the guys.’ So I was one and they resented that. But Rick didn’t care. He was—” she paused “—reasonable.”
The knot tightened. “Reasonable? That’s all you have? Rick was a hell of a lot more than reasonable. He had to have been to father that child of yours!” He tried to clip his growing irritation, but hell, how could she just tag on some blasé term?
Sylvie reddened, a reaction he hadn’t expected to see. He plowed on, regardless. “Rick must have cared for you. He wasn’t the kind of person who would screw a woman simply because it felt like a good idea.” The coarse words tasted bitter on his tongue. He hated them. But looking at her go from red to white, he was glad he’d struck a nerve.
“I know what Rick was like. We did talk when we were stuck alone in that truck.”
“You did more than talk.”
“What we did and why we did it are none of your business.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you really mad at, here? Me, Rick, or the ex-wife you grew apart from?”
Any sharp retort he had inside snapped back at him like a taut rubber band. She spun away from him and bustled into a small room.
“We keep all the tools in here,” she gritted out. “I need you to fix the zoo paddock first. Bruce, he’s the pot-bellied pig, keeps slipping under the fence. He’s already dug through a camper’s garbage. I’m thinking that if you take some of the wire that’s behind the barn and bury it where he’s been digging, we should thwart him good. When you’ve done that, the front steps need nailing down again.”
She was ready to leave him to his chores, stalk right past him, in fact, when she frowned at his clothes. “You should change.”
He looked down at his shirt. He had packed one set of old shorts and a couple of T-shirts, in case he could squeeze in some jogging, but that was all. He hadn’t figured he’d be sticking around all summer.
He looked into the toolroom. Well, at least he’d still be exercising.
“Sylvie?” A voice called from deep within the barn.
She slipped past Jon. “Yes, Lawrence?”
Jon followed her out of the toolroom. A tall, wiry, white-haired man appeared. He looked at Jon with a sharp frown.
Sylvie made the simplest of introductions. “Jon is the brother of one of the soldiers I knew in Bosnia.”
Lawrence nodded, silently taking in Jon and his toodressy-for-the-barn clothes. The old man turned back to Sylvie. “Heard you puking again this morning.”
Jon also looked at him. Apparently, the idea of mincing words didn’t exist on this ranch.
“You’ll notice Lawrence has learned the Mitchell art of diplomacy,” Sylvie said. “He’s worked for my father and grandfather.”
“I’m too old to beat around the bush.”
Sylvie drew in a long breath, steeling her shoulders at the same time. “I’m surprised you’ve waited so long to say something. I’m pregnant, okay?”
Lawrence shrugged and headed into the small toolroom, talking as he went. “You want me to do the wagon tour tonight? The sign-up list at the office is full.”
“Yes, thanks.” She shut her eyes, and Jon watched her swallow.
Behind both of them, Lawrence chuckled. “Hard to believe after all those rough roads and ol’ army trucks, you’re brought to your knees by a homemade prairie schooner and a simple pregnancy.”
“Thanks, Lawrence, you always make me feel better.”
He turned to Jon. “Here camping?”
“Sylvie offered me a job for the summer.”
“Really?” Lawrence squinted at him. “Can you ride?”
Jon glanced over at Sylvie, who also waited for his reply. “I did a two-year stint with the mounted unit in Toronto.”
Lawrence quirked an eyebrow at Sylvie, who added, “Jon’s a police officer in Toronto. But he’s only needed here to do the yard work and general maintenance. I don’t see any reason to have him riding around with you all day.”
“Then you may want him to run into town with you. The shipping company called. Your unaccompanied baggage has finally arrived.”
“Good. It’s about time.” She smiled at Lawrence. Hardly broad, it was gentle, patient, so different. “Why don’t you help me with it? I have a gift for you in it.”
Lawrence chuckled and smiled back.
Now that was interesting. She was obviously very attached to the old man. Jon tucked that mental note away for future possibilities.
But the old man shook his head. “Not today, I’m afraid. We’ve got four stupid head of cattle that have broken through the fence and wandered up the trail. They gave three hikers quite a scare when they chased them.”
Jon spoke up. “I’ll take you into town, Sylvie. It’ll give me a chance to buy more appropriate clothes. And you can get your car, if you’re feeling up to driving home, that is.”
At his subtle challenge, she shot him a suspicious look. Then, catching sight of the uplifted corner of his mouth, the look shifted. Her smooth, lush lips parted, her eyes widened.
The mote-filled air around them heated and thickened. And the moment lingered.
Jon stared at her. In his line of work, he only ever saw the innocent, haunted look Sylvie now wore on the faces of child victims.
Innocent? Surely he was mistaken. He had to be missing something here. Damn it, something to do with Rick?
He stared harder at her, silently willing her to speak. Tell me what you can’t say, Sylvie.
She blinked away the haunted expression, and immediately the coolness returned. “Sure we can go now. I’m fine.”
No, she wasn’t, his intuition whispered. Jon pursed his lips into a tight line. Maybe the look had been a product of heat and hormones. Pregnant women glowed, they said.
“Then it’s settled,” Lawrence said, oblivious to the disturbing undercurrent flowing between