The past is never too far behind…
The McCaffertys: Thorne
When Thorne McCafferty rushes home to the family ranch, he is thinking only about whether his sister Randi will survive the car wreck that has put her in the hospital. He never expects that Randi’s E.R. doctor will be Nicole Stevenson.
Nicole has never forgotten the teenage passion she shared with Thorne…or the sting of his unexplained rejection. Now she’s all grown up—but he still affects her in the very same way. Will they both be able to move beyond their pasts for a second chance at a happy ending?
The McCaffertys: Matt
Matt has never met a woman who wouldn’t succumb to the McCafferty charm. But beautiful Kelly Dillinger, the cop assigned to his sister’s hit-and-run case, proves indifferent to his attention. Her all-business attitude pricks his ego…and fires up his blood. The more she resists, the more determined he becomes to break down her defenses. Matt might think that law enforcement is no place for a lady, but he might soon find himself making a plea for passion.
Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Bestselling Jackson cranks up the suspense to almost unbearable heights in her latest tautly written thriller.”
—Booklist on Malice
“When it comes to providing gritty and sexy stories, Ms. Jackson certainly knows how to deliver.”
—RT Book Reviews on Unspoken
“Provocative prose, an irresistible plot and finely crafted characters make up Jackson’s latest contemporary sizzler.”
—Publishers Weekly on Wishes
“Lisa Jackson takes my breath away.”
—New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
Rumors: The McCaffertys
The McCaffertys: Thorne
The McCaffertys: Matt
Lisa Jackson
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Contents
The McCaffertys: Thorne
Lisa Jackson
Contents
Prologue
Last summer
“The truth of the matter, son, is that I’ve got a request for you,” John Randall McCafferty stated from his wheelchair. He’d asked Thorne to push him to the fence line some thirty yards from the front door of the ranch house he’d called home all his life.
“I hate to ask what it is,” Thorne remarked.
“It’s simple. I want you to marry. You’re thirty-nine, son, Matt’s thirty-seven and Slade—well, he’s still a boy but he is thirty-six. None of you has married and I don’t have one grandchild—well at least none that I know of.” He frowned. “Even your sister hasn’t settled down.”
“Randi’s only twenty-six.”
“High time,” J. Randall said. A shell of the man he’d once been, J. Randall nonetheless gripped the arms of his metal chair, often referred to as “that damned contraption,” so tightly his knuckles bleached white. An old afghan was draped over his legs though the temperature hovered near eighty according to the ancient thermometer tacked to the north side of the barn. Across his lap was his cane, another hated symbol of his failing health.
“I’m serious, son. I need to know that the McCafferty line won’t die with you boys.”
“That’s an archaic way of thinking.” Thorne wasn’t going to be pushed around. Not by his old man. Not by anyone.
“So be it. Damn it, Thorne, if ya haven’t noticed I don’t have a helluva lot of time left on this here earth!” J. Randall swept his cane from his lap and jabbed it into the ground for emphasis.
Harold, J. Randall’s crippled hunting dog, gave off a disgruntled woof from the front porch and a field mouse scurried into a tangle of brambles.
“I don’t understand you,” J. Randall grumbled. “This could have been yours, boy. All yours.” He swept his cane in a wide arc and Thorne’s gaze followed his father’s gesture. Spindly legged colts frolicked in one pasture while a herd of mottled cattle in shades of russet, black and brown ambled near the dry creek bed that sliced through what was commonly referred to as “the big meadow.” The paint on the barn had peeled, the windows in the stables needed replacing and the whole