Linda Warren – The Truth About Jane Doe (страница 2)

C.J. chewed her lower lip and walked up the stone path. Then she sat on the top step, tucked her dress beneath her and waited for the inevitable.

Pete sat down beside her, his spurs spinning with a familiar melodious sound. “You went to his funeral, didn’t you?”

She swung her hair over her shoulder and turned to look at him. “Yes.”

Pete removed his hat and scratched his head. He had long gray hair, thinning on top. “Girl, why do you put yourself through such misery?”

She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “He was a friend. I had to say goodbye.”

“Friend?” he bellowed, jamming his hat back on his head. “He was the Townsends’ lawyer, hired to take away from you what was given out of kindness.”

She raised her chin a fraction. “He wasn’t trying very hard. He wanted the Townsends to dismiss the case, to accept their mother’s will. That’s why it’s been months and nothing has been done.”

He shook his head. “Matt Sloan was a good man, I’ll give you that. He had a soft spot for you, no doubt about it, but he was the enemy, girl. You have to remember that.”

C.J. knotted her fingers together and gazed off to the hilly landscape in the distance. Miles and miles of Cober land, but a small part of the enormous tract now belonged to her. Who would have thought that Victoria Cober Townsend, matriarch of the wealthiest family in Cober County, would leave a thousand acres and a hundred thousand dollars to Christmas Jane Doe? Victoria’s family was outraged and determined to break the will at any cost. Their lawyer, Matthew Sloan, Sr., had been C.J.’s ally in a sea of enemies. Now that he was dead, she wondered what the Townsends’ next move would be.

“Pete.”

“Hmm?” He leaned back on his elbows, his eyes following hers to the Cober landscape.

“Why do you think she did it? I mean, really? She knew it would upset her family, but she still did it. Why?”

He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. He knew. The whole town knew the story. He shook his head again. “Got no idea. She was just a good lady always trying to help people, and like Matt Sloan, she had a soft spot for you.”

“Yes,” C.J. murmured, remembering the old lady’s white hair and beautiful blue eyes. “Whenever she saw me, she’d always stop and chat for a few minutes. She’d ask about you and Harry, and she never failed to tell me how pretty I was becoming.” C.J. gave a troubled sigh and pushed her long hair away from her face with both hands. “Do you think she knew my parents?”

Pete leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes thoughtful. “You know the rumors as well as I do, girl.”

“That Rob or John Townsend is my father.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. John Townsend, a retired U.S. senator, had paraded his women in front of his wife. Throughout his political career, he’d brought home his so-called secretaries and aides for lengthy weekends. Why Victoria put up with such behavior had been a mystery to everyone. Their son, Rob, was equally known for his many affairs, chasing women in five counties and several states, even after his marriage. The thought of being the offspring of one of their meaningless affairs was repugnant. Her need to know, though, was greater than any revulsion she felt toward the Townsends.

She frowned. “I can’t see her being so generous to a bastard child of her husband’s, but if she’d learned something about Rob and one of his girlfriends, it might be the answer to all my questions.”

“We’ll never find out now, will we? She’s gone.”

“That’s what’s so frustrating. Why couldn’t she tell me what she knew?”

“Presuming she knew something.”

“Oh, Pete!” she snapped. “She knew something, or all this—” she gestured toward the thousand acres “—wouldn’t be mine.”

His brown eyes grew pensive and for a moment he was silent. “Victoria Cober Townsend was a very kind lady,” he mumbled.

C.J. stuck a hand in front of his face. “Have you got blinders on or something? No one’s that kind.”

“Maybe,” he admitted absently, then asked, “did you see Sloan’s boy at the funeral?”

The soft curve of her mouth tightened a fraction. “Yes, he was with his mother.” Matthew Sloan, Jr., was a man no woman would overlook. Even with her limited experience she realized that. A vivid picture surfaced in her mind. A tall dark-haired man, with prominent features that held a certain sensuality. She detected a slight arrogance in his step and his manner, except when he’d helped his mother. Loving and caring, she’d immediately thought—but she knew better. Rumor had it that the famed New York attorney ripped people apart in the courtroom. She’d do well to remember that.

“Heard in town he’s gonna clear up all his father’s open cases before he heads back to New York.”

Her lips compressed into a thin line. “Yes,” she murmured. Matthew Sloan, Jr., would not be a friend the way his father had been.

Pete voiced her thoughts. “He ain’t like Matt Sloan. He ain’t gonna care about you. He’s gonna care about winning. That boy always liked to win.”

C.J. had heard Matt say the same thing about his son. Matthew Sloan, Jr., didn’t like to lose and he rarely did. In her heart she knew the Townsends would eventually hire big guns to bring her down. Going down wasn’t in her plans, though. If she’d learned anything in her life, it was how to survive. The land and money would give her independence and security, and they showed her that Victoria had thought of her as a person in her own right. Matthew Sloan, Jr., would not snatch it away from her without the biggest fight of his life.

A gunshot echoed in the distance. C.J. and Pete exchanged a knowing look, both aware that Harry was out hunting. “I’m not eating whatever he’s killed this time,” C.J. said with a grin. “Armadillos and rattlesnakes aren’t exactly to my taste. I prefer the food at the supermarket.”

“Whoever your parents are, they have highfalutin’ taste,” Pete grumbled.

Did they? she wondered. What were they like, these mysterious people who’d left her on a stranger’s doorstep? Over the years she’d run through a range of emotions—sadness, anger, rage, confusion. Now she just had a burning desire to know the truth. To know why her mother had abandoned her and left her to face an unforgiving world alone. Why didn’t she want me? That question taunted her dreams and tormented her waking hours, but the answer always eluded her.

She flexed her fingers, feeling the answer was now within her grasp. Victoria Townsend’s will had stirred things up. People were talking, asking questions. That was fine. She wanted them to talk, to remember. Then, and only then, would the truth emerge.

MATTHEW POURED ANOTHER CUP of coffee and glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. He wasn’t used to going to bed this early. In New York his head rarely hit the pillow before two in the morning, but here life was different. No crowds, noise or bright lights. Just a simple way of living he remembered well.

Growing up in Coberville, he had always yearned for something more. Excitement. Adventure. After graduating from Harvard, he knew his parents had secretly wanted him to come back to Coberville and practice law with his father. But his dreams were bigger than Coberville. Although he admired his father, he hadn’t wanted to be a small-town lawyer. He’d been lured by New York—facing interesting legal challenges, big courtroom drama and, of course, the big bucks had something to do with it, too. Sometimes, though, he wondered what he was trying to prove.

He sighed, knowing it made little difference. Whatever his choices, his parents had always loved and supported him. Now it was time to return some of that support. His mother needed him. But how long could he stay here?

Matthew’s thoughts shifted to his dad. Thank God he’d gotten home in time to see him before his death. Emphysema from years of smoking had finally taken its toll on his lungs. He could barely breathe or speak, but he had gripped Matthew’s hand with fierce determination, uttering, “Case.” Matthew assured him he would take care of all his clients, and the stress on his face had eased.

Glancing up now, he saw his mother standing in the doorway. Belle Sloan, a petite woman with curly salt-and-pepper hair, wore a sad expression on her usually serene face.

Matthew was instantly on his feet. “What is it, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing.” She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand as she walked to the refrigerator and removed a carton of milk. “I just couldn’t sleep. I can’t get used to that empty space beside me.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Matthew hugged her. “It’s going to take time.”

“I know.” She pushed out of his arms and poured milk into a pan. “A glass of warm milk, and I’ll be fine.”

Matthew had his doubts about that. He wished he could soothe her pain and take the sadness from her eyes, but there was nothing he could do and that hurt him the most.

They sat at the kitchen table, Matthew sipping his coffee and his mother her milk. He glanced around, realizing this big warm kitchen hadn’t changed since he was a kid. White cabinets trimmed in blue, a darker blue counter, stove and a large oak table where all their problems had been solved.