Linda Warren - Once a Cowboy

“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.”

He drew back. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.” She held his gaze.

An eerie quiet wrapped around them. A cow mooed, the dogs barked in response and trotted to the corral to investigate. The hot sun fueled an unbearable heat. A typical summer day, but there was nothing typical about the innuendoes and unspoken truths.

He studied his hat in his hand. “Why does she think I’m her son?”

“She saw your picture in the paper and you resemble her other sons.”

“That’s it?” His face creased into a frown. “You invade my privacy because this woman thinks I might be her long lost son. You have no proof. Nothing.”

“No. That’s why I wanted to do this discreetly, to keep you from ever knowing—if it wasn’t true.”

“How noble of you.”

“I realize the lady has been grieving for a long time and that she’s grasping at straws, but there is something very similar about all the photos she showed me.”

“Get off my ranch, Ms. Donovan. I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.”

She stood, knowing this conversation was over. He was getting angry.

“And I want my damn comb back.”

She reached into her back pocket and pulled it out. “The lab couldn’t get a clear DNA. They would need your blood or saliva.” She held up a hand as he made to speak. “If you’re curious, here’s my card.” She fished it out of her front pocket. “Just call me.”

“I’m not remotely curious. I know exactly who my parents are. My father was in Germany when I was born, but my aunt was with my mother and took care of us until we flew to Germany to be with my dad. No mystery at all. You have the wrong man.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “The resemblance between you and the Braxtons is too big a coincidence to ignore.” She paused. “The Braxtons have black hair and blue eyes—just like you.”

“You have the wrong man, Ms. Donovan,” he repeated, not even blinking.

She held his gaze. “Prove it.”

He sucked in a breath at her audacity. “I know who my parents are. Believe me, there were times when I wished they weren’t, as all kids do, but I’m stuck with them. My father had black hair and blue eyes. It’s not indigenous to one family.”

“A simple little test, Mr. Hayes, could ease Mrs. Braxton’s mind. After all these years she’s still desperate to find her son. I just want to help her, and hopefully, it won’t be at your expense.”

“I see no need for a test. I’m not her son.”

“If you change your mind, you have my card.” She headed for her car, then swung back. “I’m sorry about the comb.”

He didn’t answer and she made her way back to the city. She didn’t call Mrs. Braxton. She decided to give Brodie some time. It was a very complicated situation and Alex knew she was being pulled more and more into it.

She couldn’t shake that feeling growing inside her—that Brodie was wrong.

BRODIE TOSSED AND TURNED, unable to get Alex Donovan out of his mind. An investigator—that was the last thing he’d expected. But he knew from the start that she wasn’t a girl out for a good time. She was out to destroy his life.

Not her exactly, but her client. And just because he had black hair and blue eyes! He knew who he was. There were no doubts about that. He sat up in bed as something occurred to him. Alex had said the woman was desperate. What if Mrs. Braxton tried to contact his mother? She’d found him so there would be no problem in finding his mother. In Claudia’s fragile health that could be disastrous.