The Truth About Jane Doe. Linda Warren
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to his brain, he told himself. He was here to make her an offer, that was all, and he had to do it soon.
“My name is Matthew Sloan, Jr., and I’d like to speak with you, Miss Doe.”
C.J. slid from the horse in a graceful movement and handed the reins to Harry. “Would you rub Midnight down while I talk to Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
“You don’t have to talk—”
“It’s okay, Harry.”
“You sure?”
She regarded Matthew speculatively. “I’m sure, but if he gets out of line, I’ll let you shoot him. How’s that?”
Matthew didn’t find that amusing, but Harry did. A grin cracked his worn face as he led the horse away, the dogs obediently at his heels.
The only reaction C.J. noticed was a tightening of Matthew’s lips. The New York lawyer—the Townsends’ new representative—was tough, and she wondered how to handle him. She knew without a doubt that Matthew Sloan, Jr., was here on the Townsends’ behalf. Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
She said his name slowly, drawing out each syllable in a mocking sort of way. She was baiting him, trying to throw him off guard, Matthew realized. C. J. Doe wanted the upper hand. As he watched her toss her black hair over her shoulder and felt a warmth curl through his stomach, he had to admit she probably already had the upper hand.
The thought made him stiffen his backbone. “I’ve taken over the Townsend case from my father and I’d like to talk to you about it.”
She shrugged. “What’s to talk about?”
“The Townsends would like to make an offer.”
“An offer?”
The sun was hot and he ran a finger around the collar of his white shirt. “Could we talk someplace where it’s more comfortable?”
C.J. eyed him for a moment, wondering if it was wise to extend hospitality to Townsends’ new attorney. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.
“Sure,” she finally replied, and led him toward the long porch at the front of the cabin.
Her back was straight as an arrow and her shoulders appeared slightly tensed, as if she was bracing herself for the worst. He could almost see the wall she’d built around herself, a wall strengthened by years of hurt and disillusionment. What would it take to breach that wall, to make her smile, hear her laugh?
He closed his eyes for a second, forcing away such thoughts. He wasn’t here to wonder about C. J. Doe. As he opened his eyes, he caught sight of long black hair swaying against her jean-clad bottom—shapely and rounded just enough to seriously distract a man. A jolt of sheer pleasure shot through him, which he quickly curbed.
Matthew followed her up the steps and tried to focus his attention on the surroundings. Everything was clean and orderly; not a weed grew in the flower beds, and logs were stacked neatly by the door for firewood. Not exactly what he’d expected from the Watson men. The scent of honeysuckle floated to his nostrils.
At one end of the porch hung a wooden swing, which squeaked as she sat on it. Matthew took the chair that was propped against the wall.
She stared at him with a direct gaze and he found himself staring back. He’d met a lot of lovely women, but he’d never met anyone as striking as her. Creamy skin sun-kissed to a warm gold, delicately carved facial bones, a pert nose and bow-shaped mouth. Thick dark lashes framed emerald-green eyes. And all that black hair, silken tresses that flowed around her, magnified the beauty of her eyes.
“You’re staring.” Her quiet voice stopped his avid inspection, and he was about to apologize for his gauche behavior when she asked, “Do I remind you of someone?”
Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and her mouth softened into a hint of a smile. While his senses absorbed the pleasure of that near smile, he understood what she meant. She thought she reminded him of someone—someone who could be related to her.
Matthew cleared his throat. “No, you don’t remind me of anyone.” That was true. He’d never seen anyone like her.
The sparkle died in her eyes, and Matthew wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. But like everyone else in this town, he hadn’t a clue who had left her on the Watsons’ doorstep. All he knew was that he liked looking at her—too much.
Swallowing hard, he returned to business. “As you know, the Townsends are eager to get their land back.”
She didn’t respond, just stared at him with unwavering eyes.
Matthew came right to the point. “They’re willing to offer you a million dollars.”
A million dollars! The trump card, she thought. Mercy, the Townsends knew how to get a girl’s attention. But that was all they got. This only increased her belief that the Townsends had something to hide.
With a slow hand she tucked her hair behind her ear. “The land is not for sale.”
He expected surprise, jubilation, something besides that stubborn expression.
“It’s a very generous offer.”
“The land is not for sale,” she repeated.
He leaned forward, realizing this wasn’t going to be as easy as he or the Townsends had anticipated. “A million dollars, Miss Doe. Think what you can do with all that money.”
She didn’t say a word, just kept her green eyes focused on him.
“You can travel, leave Coberville, make a new life for yourself.”
One eyebrow rose slightly. “And what would I be called in this new life, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”
He was taken aback by the question, and for once words failed him.
“Money can’t buy me my true identity,” she told him.
“But it could change a lot of things.”
“It would change nothing for me, Mr. Sloan, Jr. I would still be C. J. Doe.”
His eyes held hers and he knew C. J. Doe was fighting her own inner struggle, a struggle she’d fought all her life, because of not knowing who she was. He searched for a way to reach her. “You should talk it over with someone. Your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer” was the startling reply.
Matthew frowned. “But the lawsuit was filed six months ago. Surely someone has advised you.”
Her eyes darkened. “Your father said to let things ride, and eventually they’d work out.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up one hand to ward off the nagging feeling building inside him. “My father advised you?”
She nodded.
Matthew’s body went rigid with shock. He couldn’t believe his dad would advise both sides. Something was wrong.
He took a cautious breath. “My dad was the Townsends’ attorney. He had no right to advise you.”
“He was only trying to help me.”
“Still…”
“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you how sad I was at his passing. He was one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”
There was such sincerity in her voice. Her condolences were nothing like the perfunctory gesture Rob Townsend had made. God, that shouldn’t matter. What mattered was getting this case resolved. But nothing was going as he’d planned—or expected. She was beginning to make him feel like a bumbling first-year law student.
The thought sent all his legal instincts into action. “Miss Doe, if you don’t take the money, do you know what that’ll mean?”
She tilted her head slightly.