Jared's Texas Homecoming Read online

  “If we decided to get married, how soon do you think…?”

  Dana didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jared had already thought through their marriage of convenience.

  “As soon as possible,” he said firmly. “I don’t receive the money from the trust fund until I have a marriage certificate.”

  “Of course, it wouldn’t be a real marriage.” Dana gave him a questioning look. “I mean, you can’t expect me—us…”

  Jared bit back a groan. Oh, he wanted her all right, and if she were honest, she’d admit she wanted him, too. The two times they’d kissed diminished any doubt of that. They’d been nothing less than explosive. “To consummate the marriage,” he finished for her.

  She nodded as a blush covered her cheeks.

  “Dana, if you’re worried I’m going to jump you, I’m not. If you want to take the relationship further, I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Jared’s Texas Homecoming

  PATRICIA THAYER

  To Tyler

  My buddy, I’ll miss sharing my office with you.

  To Hence,

  Your knowledge is invaluable to me; so is your friendship.

  Books by Patricia Thayer

  Silhouette Romance

  Just Maggie #895

  Race to the Altar #1009

  The Cowboy’s Courtship #1064

  Wildcat Wedding #1086

  Reilly’s Bride #1146

  The Cowboy’s Convenient Bride #1261

  *Her Surprise Family #1394

  *The Man, the Ring, the Wedding #1412

  †Chance’s Joy #1518

  †A Child for Cade #1524

  †Travis Comes Home #1530

  The Princess Has Amnesia! #1606

  †Jared’s Texas Homecoming #1680

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Nothing Short of a Miracle #1116

  Baby, Our Baby! #1225

  *The Secret Millionaire #1252

  Whose Baby Is This? #1335

  PATRICIA THAYER

  has been writing for the past sixteen years and has published seventeen books with Silhouette. Her books have been nominated for the National Readers’ Choice Award, Virginia Romance Writers of America’s Holt Medallion and a prestigious RITA® Award. In 1997 Nothing Short of a Miracle won the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Special Edition.

  Thanks to the understanding men in her life—her husband of thirty-two years, Steve, and her three grown sons and two grandsons—Pat has been able to fulfill her dream of writing romance. Another dream is to own a cabin in Colorado, where she can spend her days writing and her evenings with her favorite hero, Steve. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 6251, Anaheim, CA 92816-0251, or check her Web site at www.patriciathayer.com for upcoming books.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  He only came back because of his brother.

  Jared Trager Hastings stepped into his father’s office. The musty-smelling room looked dull and gloomy with its dark-stained paneling and opaque drapes. The heavy oak desk and chairs were the same pieces his grandfather had used years ago.

  With his brother, Marshall’s, death, Jared knew that he had just moved to the head of the line to take over the family business, Hastings Development. That was never going to happen. Jared had always been a major disappointment to his father, unable to live up to Graham Hastings’s high standards. Marsh had been the perfect son. Now he was gone, dead at thirty-one from leukemia.

  A strange numbness claimed Jared. Two brothers couldn’t have been more different—one doing everything to please his father, the other doing whatever possible to alienate the man, including running off at twenty. The one regret Jared had was that he’d missed knowing his brother. Now it was too late.

  Jared checked his watch. He needed to get on the road. It was a long drive to Nevada. Suddenly the door opened and Graham walked in, along with Marsh’s wife, Jocelyn. She was slender to the point of looking frail. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a bun and her eyes seemed too big for her face, but she appeared to be the one helping GH into the room.

  “I thought you’d be gone by now,” his father said.

  Graham had aged rapidly. At fifty-nine, he easily looked an extra ten years older with his deeply lined face and thinning gray hair. Today, his back was bent and his gait shaky.

  Jared refused to let the man rile him. “You asked me to stay so we could talk.”

  “Since when did you care what I wanted?”

  “Like you ever wanted me around,” Jared threw back.

  “Please, no fighting today,” Jocelyn pleaded. “Marsh wouldn’t have wanted this.”

  Jared felt ashamed. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn.”

  She nodded her appreciation. “I’m the one who wanted you to stay, Jared. To tell you how grateful I am you could be here today. If we could have gotten word to you sooner—”

  “Hell, boy,” Graham snapped. “Your own brother was dying and no one knew where the hell you were.”

  Jared clenched his fists to keep from saying anything. He turned to his brother’s widow. “You were saying, Jocelyn?”

  She looked at her father-in-law. “If you’ll excuse us, Graham…”

  “As if anyone here cares what I want….” the older man grumbled as he walked around his desk and collapsed into the chair.

  Jocelyn went to a far corner of the room and Jared followed. “I need to give you something.” She spoke in a hushed voice as she reached inside her purse and drew out an envelope. “Marsh wrote you a letter just days ago.” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “Jared, your brother struggled with himself for a long time, but he felt you deserved to know some things.”

  Jared tensed. “Know what?” He took the envelope from her and began to open it.

  Jocelyn stopped him and glanced at his father. “Not here. When you’re alone, read it.” She released a long breath as if a weight had been lifted off her. “Marsh wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes like all of us, but I loved him.” She brushed the tears from her cheek. “And I know it gave him comfort to be able to say what he had in his heart. He did love you, Jared.”

  Jared took the letter, then he pulled his sister-in-law into a tight parting embrace. Unable to speak, he nodded his goodbye and left.

  Later, sitting in his truck, Jared opened the envelope. There were several papers clipped together. On top was Marsh’s letter.

  Jared,

  I know it has to be strange to hear from me like this. It’s been a long time, and no one is sorrier than I that we lost touch. I used to think if things were different, maybe if Mother had lived, you wouldn’t have left home.

  I’ve always envied you, Jared. You never felt the need to live up to the rigid Hastings standards. You set your own. Of course it’s easy now to look back and see our mistakes. And I’ve made many, which leads me to what I have to say.

  Nearly six years ago, while going through Mother’s things, I discovered a picture and an old letter that led me to San Angelo, Texas, searching for a man named Jack Randell. A man that our mother once loved. I never found Randell. I located his family, but decided not to pursue it any further. I regret that, because in my search I discovered things…many things you have a right to know. Please, Jared, read the letter.

  There’s more to the
story. While I was in Texas, I fell in love with Dana Shayne. I didn’t stay because I was to marry Jocelyn, a choice I’ve never regretted. But I recently learned I’d fathered a child. I’m thrilled, but I regret that I’ll never be able to see my son, Evan. So I’m asking you to go in my place. I’ve set up a trust for the boy so he’ll be taken care of. But he needs to know his family.

  I know it’s a lot to ask, but please, Jared, don’t let Father in Evan’s life. I’m afraid of what he might try to do if he learns about him. You can’t let GH ruin another Hastings.

  Also, San Angelo just may have some answers for you, too. I’m sorry I’m not around to help, but read Mother’s letter. It explains a lot of things.

  Always,

  Your brother,

  Marsh

  Jared couldn’t believe what he’d read. He ran his hand over his face, not surprised to find tears. Marsh had a son. A child he would never know. With a shaky hand, he reached for the yellowed envelope addressed to Audrey Trager, opened the flap and took out the single sheet of stationery along with a picture. It was a younger version of his mother.

  Dressed in brightly colored Western clothes, Audrey Trager wore a rhinestone crown on top of her blond hair. The white ribbon draped across her had the bold lettering, Western Days Rodeo Queen 1971. Next to her stood a tall man dressed in jeans and a Western-tooled shirt. He had dark hair, partly covered by a large black Stetson. Grinning at the camera, he had Audrey pressed against his side.

  On the back of the photo, was written, “Audrey Trager, Western Days Rodeo Queen, and Jack Randell, bull-riding champion.” Jared then unfolded the single piece of paper that had only one paragraph.

  Audrey,

  I’m sorry to hear your news, but I told you from the beginning that all I could give you was a few good times. Now it’s time I move on. As for the baby, you’re on your own. Guess I forgot to mention I’m already married. So you might want to get rid of the kid.

  Jack Randell

  Jared’s heart pounded in his chest as he reread the paragraph that suddenly changed everything. He checked the postmark, six months before his birth date. Damn, he wasn’t Graham Hastings’s son. That explained so much. The man’s anger, the resentment…the hatred. Jared glanced down at his fisted hand and the crumpled letter inside it.

  So he’d been passed off to one bastard by another. To another man who didn’t want him. As if he had a choice about who his father was. It didn’t sound like Jack Randell was any better at the job.

  But that didn’t stop Jared from wanting to find out the truth.

  Chapter One

  She was doing this for Evan’s sake.

  Dana Shayne dreaded the trip into town, but it had to be done. She closed the door to the house and walked down the porch steps with her four-year-old son in tow. Evan’s dark, wavy hair was neatly combed for a change, and his best jeans and striped T-shirt had been freshly laundered. On his quickly growing feet, he wore his black-tooled cowboy boots that Bert had taught him—to her dismay—to spit-shine.

  Her son looked up at her. “I saved my ’lowance, Mom. Can we get ice cream?” he asked, using his best, how-can-you-resist-my-face? look. Then he added a few blinks over his chocolate-brown eyes.

  Dana doubted they’d have anything to celebrate today, but she wouldn’t deny him the simple pleasure of an ice-cream cone. “Sure we can, honey. That sounds good.”

  She opened the door to her daddy’s old 1970 Ford crew cab truck and helped Evan into the safety seat in the back, then went around to the other side. She checked her gathered print skirt and white short-sleeve cotton top. Already the late-spring weather caused her to perspire, and today of all days she needed to look cool and confident. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Wilson at the bank to see her sweat.

  Dana started up the truck and headed toward San Angelo. Passing the Lazy S Ranch sign that her granddaddy had put up years ago when he’d settled in West Texas, she suddenly felt sad. How much longer would a Shayne own this land? This had been her and Evan’s only home. How could she leave it? But since her father’s death, she and the sixty-five-year-old foreman, Bert, couldn’t handle the place alone, and not many ranch hands would work for what she could afford to pay.

  Dana had hoped to expand the cattle operation. Maybe if she had done it a year ago, she’d be able to pay the upcoming balloon mortgage payment. But there wasn’t enough money. As if on cue, the truck hit a rut in the road and she groaned. So many things around the ranch needed fixing, not just the road, but the roof on the house and barn, along with most of the fencing.

  Dana sighed. Somehow she had to convince the bank that if they lent her more money, she could make a go of it.

  “Hey, Mom,” Evan called from the back seat. “I’m gonna get pep’mint.”

  Dana smiled and turned to her son. “Peppermint sounds good. I think I’ll have that, too.” She couldn’t believe how fast her baby had grown. He’d soon turn five, and this fall he’d be heading off to kindergarten. No doubt the separation would be tougher on her than her son.

  A horn sounded and Dana turned back to the road only to discover she had wandered into the path of another vehicle. With a gasp, she jerked the wheel to pull the truck back on her side. Overcompensating, she ended up going off the shoulder and into the high grass. The truck bumped and bounced but she managed to keep it under control until it finally stopped. That’s when she heard the screech of tires, followed by a crash.

  With her heart beating like a drum, Dana managed to put the truck in Park and unbuckle her seat belt. She turned around to Evan. “Are you okay?” Her hands were shaking as she reached for him. She caressed his face, trying to soothe his fears.

  “Mom, that was scary.”

  She saw the fear in his eyes and his trembling lip. She stroked his arm soothingly. “I know, honey, but we’re okay.” She didn’t want to remove him from his safety seat, not until she checked on the other vehicle. “Mom needs to check on the people in the other truck. So you have to stay here.”

  The child nodded. “Hurry, Mom.”

  “I will,” she promised as she climbed out of the cab. Her legs were weak, threatening to give out, but she gathered her strength, knowing someone could be seriously hurt. She raced across the deserted two-lane road to the late-model Chevy extended cab with Nevada plates. With the new highway, hardly anyone used this road, not unless they were coming to the Lazy S. Seeing the bent hood and hearing the sound of steam from the radiator, she knew there could be serious injuries.

  “Oh, God, please, don’t let anyone be hurt,” she chanted as she ran to the driver’s door and found a man slumped against the wheel. When she jerked the door open, he started to lift his head and groaned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  “Wait! Don’t move, you could be hurt.”

  “If a devil of a headache counts, I’m dying.”

  Dana watched as the man raised his head all the way and turned toward her. He had thick, raven-black hair and deep blue eyes. He had at least a day’s growth of beard, but not enough to hide the cleft in his chin. She didn’t see any sign of injury or blood.

  “Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?” She examined his broad shoulders and his chest covered by a denim shirt. Her gaze moved down over long, muscular legs encased in faded jeans. On his feet he wore crepe-soled work shoes, instead of the area’s standard cowboy boots.

  “No, and if the air bag hadn’t gone off, I’d have been fine.”

  Somewhat relieved, she finally noticed the evidence of the deflated bag hanging from the steering wheel. “It probably saved your life.”

  The man looked toward the front of his truck. “At least I’m better off than Blackie.”

  “Blackie. Who’s Blackie?”

  He did it then. He smiled. “Blackie is my truck.” He started to climb down.

  “Wait, you shouldn’t move.”

  “I’m just going to stretch my legs and try to clear my head.” He managed to get out of the truck and sto
od. She reached out to assist him, gripped his large forearms, then quickly released him when she realized he was doing better without her help.

  “I think you should sit down.” When he ignored her suggestion, she watched vigilantly for any sign that he might pass out. He seemed pale, but that could be the powder from the air bag. He didn’t appear to have any visible bumps or bruises on his head, but she couldn’t take any chances. “Do you want me to drive you to the doctor?”

  He stared at her. “Why?”

  “Because, you could be hurt and…I was the one who ran you off the road.”

  “You did kind of take your half out of the middle.”

  “I only glanced at my son, and when I turned back there you were. This is the main road to my ranch. No one comes this way, unless they have business at the Lazy S.” She paused, knowing she caused the accident and couldn’t afford to upset this man. “I know that’s no excuse….” She brushed her hair from her face. “I’m sorry. I’m Dana Shayne. My ranch is the Lazy S and it’s just over the rise.”

  He hesitated as he looked her over. “I’m Jared Trager.”

  She didn’t recognize the name and she’d lived all her life outside San Angelo. No doubt he was a drifter. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mr. Trager?”

  He nodded. “It’s Jared. I could use something for this headache.”

  “Then let me take you back to the house. You can also call for a tow truck from there.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No, of course not,” she said. She watched as he took a duffel bag from behind the seat then reached into the bed of the truck and took out a toolbox.