Page 89 of A Rancher's Bride
Timothy Carlyn stared at her with something in his eyes that looked suspiciously like tears. “Kelli. Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
He stepped back and gestured them in.
The room they entered held a small kitchen and living space with a worn couch, an older TV, and a kitchen table with four chairs.
Another man rose to his feet from where he’d been sitting at the table, stepping forward to extend a hand. “Dean McCoy.”
Kelli introduced herself, and Luke did the same before Timothy gestured them to the seats.
Luke pulled out a chair, waiting until she settled before adjusting his chair to rest beside hers. Kelli grabbed his fingers like a lifeline.
Mr. Carlyn was still staring, but he shook himself and gestured to Dean. “At Silver Stone you have your…Ashton, I believe? This is my man who helps with all things as necessary. In the field and out of it.”
Kelli eyed the newcomer. The second man was giving her the heebie-jeebies, his judgmental assessment a half a notch away from sniffing as if he smelt shit on their shoes. In spite of her nervousness, his attitude got her back up. “I doubt you do much mucking-out of stalls in that suit,” she said plainly.
Luke covered up a snort of laughter with a cough.
Dean somehow managed to look even more disapproving, but he answered. “Seems we have different areas of expertise, Ms. James.”
The hell?
“That’s enough, Dean. I didn’t want you here in the first place, but you insisted. Make one more smart comment or rude snipe at either of our guests, and I’ll find myself someone new to work with.”
Well, then.
Kelli ignored Dean and focused instead on the man who might be her grandfather. The word alone was enough to make an impossible mess in her brain.
“Luke showed me the pictures, and I’m almost certain the second photo is my mom.”
“Easy to say without proof—” Dean interrupted himself, coughing sternly before starting again. “Excuse me. It would be important if you have anyproofthat you share it with us.”
Mr. Carlyn reached out as if he were going to grab Kelli’s hand before he caught himself, instead folding his fingers together on the table. “When Dean isn’t being a jackass, he does his best to protect my interests. But since I’m the one who approached you, I think it’s completely different than when someone I don’t know shows up on my doorstep claiming they’re a long-lost relative.”
“I don’t know that I have anything that would be proof. And I don’t know where my mom is now. It’s been a lot of years since I last saw her, and I like it that way. When I left, I didn’t take anything of hers.” The money was not going to be mentioned. Kelli pushed the picture back across the table. “I can tell you inside that locket was a bit of purple glass. It was polished—”
Timothy Carlyn’s face went absolutely white.
Luke rose halfway to his feet. “Sir? Are you okay?”
Mr. Carlyn waved him down, pressing his hands to the table and taking a few steadying breaths. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
Kelli glanced at Luke. He nodded. “The glass was polished, not to a shine but rough, like winter frost. It was heart-shaped, and when the locket was closed, the stone was small enough to shift and move. I used to shake the locket sometimes, and Mom would laugh and say that it was her heartbeat.”
It was one of the few sweet memories that had remained.
The serious-faced man in the suit swore softly, the stern unforgiving expression on his face changed to one of incredulousness.
Dean turned to Mr. Carlyn. “I would still insist on a DNA test, just for legal purposes, but that’s pretty convincing.”
“I don’t think she said it to try and be convincing,” Timothy Carlyn drawled. He reached across the table, and Kelli leaned in to accept a third picture. “My wife. She passed away unexpectedly last year.”
Kelli was pretty sure this was what she would look like in another forty or fifty years. “Wow. It’s probably a little self-serving if I say she was beautiful.”
“She was beautiful,” Mr. Carlyn said.
“Youarebeautiful,” Luke announced at the same moment.
Mr. Carlyn reached into his pocket and pulled out something, laying it on the table.
