But Jake wasn’t thinking of sugar and caffeine; he was studying Sarah’s classic features again—her wide brown eyes and lightly tanned skin. Her sideswept bangs and shoulder-length blond hair.
He realized that his suspicions were still only that. But none of Sarah’s coloring had shown up in her daughter.
None of it.
Suddenly, every warning he’d given himself about taking his time and gaining her confidence deserted him. He had to know. His chest was on fire, and he had to know.
“Does her other grandfather spoil her, too?” he asked as she turned toward the house.
“What?”
He fell into step beside her. “You said your father spoils her. I asked if her other—”
“No, her other Grandpa passed away.”
“And by that, you mean your ex-husband’s father?” he persisted. Or did she mean his father? He’d told her that night that his dad had died before Jake had a chance to meet him.
Sarah moved faster through the grass. “My late husband’s father passed away, yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change my daughter.”
No, dammit, he wouldn’t excuse her. He’d come here looking for answers, and he wasn’t leaving until he got them. Kylie waved from the screen door, and a small voice cautioned, Don’t press your luck. But he couldn’t listen. Just one question. Maybe two.
“How old is she, Sarah?”
She started up the steps. “She’s two.”
“When will she be three?”
On the porch now, Sarah whirled on him, her dark eyes full of fire and fear. But was she afraid because a lingering conversation might tip her father off that they had a past, or because she was keeping a secret she didn’t want Jake to know?
“What is this?” she asked in a low, shaky voice. “An occupational hazard? Do you interrogate everyone you meet?”
Jake raised his hands and backed off. He’d pushed too hard. If Kylie was his daughter, he didn’t want to antagonize Sarah, because he wanted to be part of her life. If she wasn’t, he didn’t want to look like a fool. He’d already shared too much of himself with this woman, and the last thing he wanted was to look weak in her eyes. Though why he cared, he didn’t know.
The radio in the Jeep squawked loudly, and a distorted voice hailed him. Jake sent a frustrated look at the car. “No, I don’t interrogate everyone I meet. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I’d just like for us to be friends.”
The radio squawked again.
“Please…” he said, sidling away. “Just give me a minute to answer that, then we can finish talking. Okay?”
But by the time he’d reached through the window, grabbed the mike and looked up again, Sarah was gone and both front doors were closed. “Yeah, Maggie,” he said through a sigh. “What’s up?”
A cattle theft, that’s what was up. Two auction-ready steers were missing from the Wilson ranch. Jake drove out there and checked the cut fence line, then listened to Hap Wilson’s diatribe about shooting first and asking questions later if he found anyone near his stock again. Then Jake returned to the office without a shred of evidence, knowing that chances were, the people who’d taken Wilson’s cattle would never be found—not unless they made a habit of it and got sloppy.
It was close to five-thirty when Jake parked the Jeep in Sarah’s driveway again and got out. Three visits in one day made him feel more like a stalker than a man trying to get at the truth, but he couldn’t help himself.
Until this afternoon, all he’d had were suppositions. Now he had more. It wasn’t the most commendable thing he’d ever done, but a trip to the courthouse had told him that Kylie had been born on April 18.
April was nine months from July and the Founder’s Day celebration.
Quickly ascending the steps to the wraparound porch, Jake rang the bell, waited a moment, then jabbed it again. He could hear it chime inside the house, but there were no footsteps on their way to him, no high-pitched baby giggles and running feet. Still, he had a strong feeling that Sarah was inside.
For a second, he considered checking the garage in the back to see if her car was there. But he knew if Sarah saw him do it, it would make her even more wary and defensive.
He rang the bell again. And once more, all he got for his trouble was silence.
Frustrated, Jake pulled a hand over his face, then yanked off the Stetson that matched his uniform and tugged it back on. All right, he thought, descending the steps again. She’d won this round. But she couldn’t avoid him forever.
“Jus’ whisper?” Kylie murmured again.
Sarah nodded and kept her voice low. “Yes, baby, this is a funny game. We just whisper.” She was holding Kylie again and trying to keep her still, two rooms away from the long panes of glass fronting the porch. Sarah peered through the dining room’s slightly open French doors, into the parlor and finally through the lace shades and curtains. She exhaled in relief when the white Jeep did a two-point turn in her driveway, coasted down to the road and disappeared. Thank heaven she’d seen him pull in and had time to shut off the TV.
Three visits in one day? She didn’t know how, but somehow, Jake suspected that Kylie was his child. That second visit he’d paid on them had had nothing to do with his wanting them to be friends. Worse, his showing up here had drawn curious looks from her father, and she wasn’t ready to make explanations to him yet.
“Oh, sweetie,” she murmured. “What are we going to do?”
Feathery eyebrows dipped as Kylie seemed to consider her answer for a moment. Then she ventured, “Have cake?”
Despite the conflicting feelings of fear and attraction that still shivered through her, Sarah had to smile. “Good idea. We could both use some chocolate. But let’s have supper first.”
Only one person knew that Kylie’s father was a deputy sheriff from one of Montana’s northern counties—Sarah herself. She hadn’t even told her parents because she’d feared they’d track him down and demand that he “do the right thing.” Now, two nerve-racking days after Jake’s last visit, she was about to add another name to the list.
The bell over the door jangled as Sarah carried Kylie and a small tote bag full of toys into the noise and bustle of Aunt Ruby’s Café. As usual, the restaurant rang with country music, clanking silverware and the buzz of lunch-time diners. Sarah scanned the crowded tables and bright red booths, then moved forward.
Ruby Cayhill hadn’t been hard to spot. The elderly proprietress was the only person in the café under five feet, over seventy-five and wearing red high-top sneakers. The red cardigan topping her white uniform dress flapped around her skinny frame as she approached them. Though the tiny woman insisted that everyone call her Aunt Ruby, her only blood kin were the Dalton brothers who owned the Brokenstraw Ranch.
“Afternoon, Sarah,” she sang out, carrying two empty coffeepots toward the lunch counter. She grinned at Kylie. “Hi there, sweet pea. You look like a gal who’d like some French fries.”
Sarah managed a smile. “She sure would. It’s all she’s talked about since I told her where we were headed.” Falling into step with Ruby, Sarah glanced down at the hairnet capping the woman’s frizz of gray curls. “So how’s business?”
“Fine as frog hair.” Ruby cackled. Pale blue eyes twinkled behind her wire-rimmed spectacles. “Cash register’s been ringin’ since sunup.” Moving behind the counter, she rinsed the empty pots, then rigged the coffeemakers with fresh grounds and water.
“How’s everything