The Mccaffertys: Slade. Lisa Jackson
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her face as close to her oldest brother’s as was possible, she hooked a thumb at her chest. “Mine. Okay? Not yours. Not Matt’s. Not Slade’s. And certainly not Jansen, Monteith and Stone’s!” Her eyes snapped fire, her cheeks flushed and she glared at Thorne for a long moment. No one said a word. Finally, Randi swung her gaze toward Jamie. “No offense, okay, but I can handle this. My brothers are just mad because I haven’t told them who the baby’s father is. Not that it’s any of their business.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Slade reminded her. “Someone’s trying to kill you.”
“Again, it’s nobody’s business.”
“Like hell.” Slade glowered at his sister. Sometimes Randi could be so bullheaded she was just plain stupid. “Your safety is our business.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You can’t even remember what happened!” Slade countered, disgusted with his half sibling. “At least that’s what you claim.”
“It’s true.”
“Okay, fine, then help us out. We’re just trying to keep you safe. To keep J.R., or whatever the hell you call him, safe, okay? So quit being so damned bristly and give us a clue or two! Who’s the kid’s dad?”
“This isn’t the time or place,” she warned, every muscle tightening.
Thorne held up a hand as if to somehow quiet Slade. “We’re just trying to help.”
“Back off, Thorne. I said I can handle it. He’s my baby and I would never, never do anything to put him in jeopardy, for God’s sake. Now, I agreed to stay here for a while, until this whole mess is cleared up, but that doesn’t mean my life is going to stop, so just back off!”
Matt shook his head and stared out the window.
“Women,” Slade growled, and Jamie’s spine stiffened.
Instead of snapping back at his remark, she visibly shifted, as if deciding it was her job to diffuse the argument rather than aggravate it. “Custody rights aren’t my area of expertise, but, if you decide you do want some legal advice, I can hook you up with Felicia Reynolds. She handles all the custody cases for the firm.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll contact her.” Randi shot Thorne another warning glare before dropping into her chair. “Maybe.”
Jamie snapped her briefcase closed. “Let me know if you want to get in touch with her.”
“I will,” Randi said, firing Thorne a look meant to not only kill but to eviscerate, as well.
“Okay.” It was Jamie’s turn to stand. “If any of you has any questions, you can call me through my cell phone, as I don’t have a phone number here in town yet, or you can leave a message with the office and they’ll get in touch with me. I’m staying at my grandmother’s place and as soon as the regular phone is hooked up, I’ll let you know.”
The meeting was over.
Everyone shook hands.
All business.
Somehow it galled the hell out of Slade, but he found her coat and helped her into it.
Without a backward glance, she walked out the door, her black coat billowing behind her, her briefcase swinging from one gloved hand. Slade hesitated, couldn’t help but watch as she climbed into her car and drove away, tires spinning in the snow.
“Randi’s right. You did date her,” Matt said as Slade closed the door and, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, strolled back to the living room where his brothers were waiting. Matt knelt at the fire, prodding the blackened log with a poker while Thorne rummaged in the old man’s liquor cabinet.
“I saw her a few times,” Slade admitted, leaning one hip on the windowsill. This conversation was getting them nowhere and he didn’t want to discuss it. Seeing Jamie again had brought back a tidal wave of memories that he’d dammed up a long, long time ago.
“Oh, come on, Slade. You saw her more than a few times.” Randi hobbled into the room, then fell onto the leather couch. “Let’s see,” she said, her features pinching as she tried to recall images from the past. Slade sensed he wasn’t going to like what was coming next and he braced himself. “The way I remember it, you dated Jamie for a couple of months while you were broken up with Sue Ellen Tisdale, right?”
“I remember you with Sue Ellen,” Thorne added. Great. Just what he needed: his family dissecting his love life.
“But,” Randi added, “once Sue Ellen came to her senses and came running back, you dropped Jamie like a hot potato. I thought you were going to marry Sue Ellen.”
Slade snorted; didn’t comment.
Thorne pulled out a bottle of Scotch. “So did I.”
“Everyone did.” Randi wasn’t about to let up. “Probably even Jamie.”
“Again, your memory amazes me,” Slade commented.
“As I said, ‘bits and pieces.’”
“Is that right?” Matt prodded the fire with a poker. “You really tossed Jamie over for Sue Ellen Tisdale?” His tone implied that Slade was a first-class idiot.
“That’s not exactly what happened. Besides, it was years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter when it happened.” Randi rested one heel on the coffee table. “Face it, Slade,” she said as the fire began to crackle, “whether you want to admit it or not, about fifteen years ago, you were the son of a bitch who broke Jamie Parsons’s heart.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WELL, THAT WENT SWIMMINGLY,” Jamie rumbled under her breath as she carried her briefcase and a sack of groceries into her grandmother’s house. Driving into town from the Flying M she’d second-guessed herself and cursed C. William “Chuck” Jansen a dozen times over for assigning her to the McCafferty project.
“Since you’re heading to Grand Hope anyway, I thought you could help the firm out,” Chuck had said as he’d sat familiarly on the corner of the desk in her office, one leg swinging, his wing-tip gleaming in the soft lighting. His boyish smile had been wide, his suit expensive, his shirt, as always, starched and crisply pressed. He’d tugged at his Yves St. Laurent tie. “I think it would be a good idea to put a face on Jansen, Monteith and Stone for the McCafferty family. John Randall McCafferty was an excellent client of the firm and the partners would like to keep the McCaffertys’ business. Maybe even get a little more. Thorne McCafferty is a millionaire several times over in his own right, and the second son, Matt—he owns his own place. He’s basically a small-time rancher, but he also seems to have some of that McCafferty-Midas touch. The third son…”
Jamie recalled how Chuck’s brows had knit and his lips had folded together thoughtfully while she had conjured up a few unwelcome memories of Slade and nearly snapped her pen in two. “Well, there’s always one in the family, I suppose. The third son, Slade—he never amounted to much. Lots of potential, but couldn’t get it together. Too busy raising hell. He drove race cars and rode rodeo and even led expeditions for extreme skiing, I think. Always on the edge, but never getting his life together.
“But John Randall’s only daughter, Randi—she’s a real firecracker—takes after the old man. No wonder she was named after him.”
Jamie tried to ignore the comments about Slade and concentrated on his half sister. She remembered Randi as being smart, sassy and McCafferty-stubborn.
“She’s got her own daily column, ‘Solo’ or ‘Being Single’ or something,” Chuck had continued. “Writes for a Seattle newspaper. There’s some talk of syndication, I think. And Thorne mentioned that she could have been working on a book at the time of the accident.”
“Thorne