Billy glared at Geoffrey, glanced at Will, and muttered, "To h.e.l.l with it."

He felt the pain all the way to his elbow when his fist landed satisfyingly on Geoffrey's strong, aristocratic chin. The other man went down in a heap next to Summer.

Billy leaned over, gripped Summer's hands, and pulled her carefully to her feet. "You all right?"

She avoided his eyes by dusting off her f.a.n.n.y and seemed more embarra.s.sed than injured. "I'm fine." She looked down at Geoffrey, who was out cold, and made a face. "You shouldn't have done that."

Billy let go of her hands. "You're right. I know better." He shook his head in disgust. "I couldn't help myself." He gestured toward the fallen man and said, "If he's what you want, Summer, help yourself. I've got to get home."

"Billy..."

He was feeling sick inside, wondering what kind of trouble he'd made for himself, especially when Summer clearly hadn't appreciated the effort he'd made to defend her.

He slid across the hood of his truck without waiting for her to make excuses or explanations and dropped to the ground in front of the driver's side door. He was inside and had the engine revved before she could say anything other than his name.

He leaned across the seat to look at her one last time over Will's head and said, "Good-bye, Summer."

He gunned the engine, anxious to be gone. All he had to do was pop the clutch, give it some gas, and he'd burn rubber out of here. Then he glanced down at his sleeping son.

He couldn't afford to go tearing around town like some teenager. He was twenty-seven years old. He was a TSCRA field inspector-at least for the next twenty-four hours. And he was a father.

Billy let out the clutch and gave the truck enough gas to pull slowly and carefully onto the two-lane road that led home.

Chapter 2.

SUMMER WAS BENT OVER GEOFFREY, WHO WAS still out cold, when she heard her father mutter, "I should have known something like this would happen. That Coburn kid is pure-D trouble wherever he goes."

She rose and faced her father in the blue neon light that reflected off the whitewashed adobe walls of the Armadillo Bar. "Then why did you send Geoffrey out here, Daddy?"

"He's going to be your husband. He should be the one to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"That no-account-"

"Stop right there," Summer said, taking the two steps to bring her toe-to-toe with her father. "You of all people should know better than to call Billy names."

She could feel the hesitation before he said, "Billy told me that you know about...that I'm not...that you're..."

She'd never known her father to have difficulty speaking his mind. That he couldn't even finish his sentence spoke volumes about how carefully he was treading to spare her feelings. It was exactly why she hadn't wanted him to know she knew the truth about her birth.

Because it would change everything.

She'd struggled for two years with the realization that her dearly beloved father wasn't even related to her. She was neither fish nor fowl. Not a blood relative. Not adopted. She might be legally legitimate, since her parents had been married when she was born, but she hadn't investigated, fearing what she would discover.

The one thing she'd ever wanted out of life was to be mistress of Bitter Creek. But how likely was that once she-and her father-acknowledged that she wasn't even a real Blackthorne? It was far better not to know for sure what her status was. At least this way, she could pretend everything was all right, instead of knowing for certain that it wasn't.

Regrets were useless now. It would be a relief to give up the burden of knowing such an awful secret. She and her father would both have to adjust to their new relationship. Whatever it was.

She looked up and said, "I know everything, Daddy. I have for a long time."

He lifted a brow in question.

"Everything," she repeated, meeting his gaze steadily. "That I'm not your daughter. And that Billy is your son."

Blackjack heaved a gusty sigh, took off his hat, and plowed a rough hand through his silver-tipped black hair, before snugging the expensive Resistol down low on his forehead. "Dear G.o.d in heaven. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want things to change between us."

He started to say something and stopped.

"Say it," she urged. "Whatever it is, Daddy, I can handle it."

"I wanted to protect you from the truth," he said. "So much so that-"

"Daddy, I-"

"Shut up and listen," he said. "The whole reason I've stayed married to your mother for the past two years is that she's been blackmailing me, threatening to tell you the truth if I tried to leave her. If I'd known that both our secrets were out-that Billy's my son, and that you're not my daughter-I'd have divorced her faster than that," he said, snapping his fingers in front of her nose.

"And married Lauren Creed?" Summer blurted.

"As long as this is a night for confessions, yes," her father said. "I love Ren. I've loved her for as long as I can remember. Fate dealt us a bad hand. She ended up marrying Jesse Creed thirty-seven years ago, and I ended up marrying your mother. But Jesse's been dead nearly four years... and I'm still not free."

Summer pressed a fisted hand to her heart. She felt an actual physical ache in her chest at the thought of her father in love with someone besides her mother. Despite what he'd told her, she didn't want her parents splitting up. A family in one piece-even if it showed dangerous signs of cracking-was better than a family broken apart.

"I thought you stayed married because Mom would get half-maybe even more than half-of everything in a divorce," Summer said.

Blackjack huffed out a breath. "Two years ago I told her I didn't give a d.a.m.n, that I'd give her everything. That's when she resorted to blackmail."

Summer gasped, horrified at what she was hearing. It was unthinkable that her father had considered giving up Bitter Creek. His prize possession was a map of the original ranch boundaries drawn in 1864, which hung in a place of honor over the fireplace in the parlor. Each succeeding Blackthorne had purchased, procured, or, in some cases, purloined more land-including her father.

The immense boundaries had been redrawn over the past hundred and thirty-odd years to create an empire that ranged over eight hundred square miles, making Bitter Creek as large as some small northeastern states. She'd always believed her father loved Bitter Creek more than anything or anyone. Obviously, she'd been wrong.

"You love Ren that much?" she asked.

"More than life."

"And you didn't divorce Mom and marry Ren because-"

"Because I didn't want you hurt."

Summer stared at her father, not believing what it seemed he was saying. The ache in her chest was back. She'd never believed he could love her so much when she wasn't even really his daughter. But here was proof that made her throat go tight and her nose sting with tears.

He'd been willing to sacrifice Bitter Creek to have Lauren Creed. Yet he'd given up Ren because he'd wanted to ensure that Summer remained happily oblivious to the unhappy truth. She was old enough now, and had made enough choices of her own, to realize the enormity of the gift he'd offered her.

"Daddy..." Her father's face was blurred by tears as he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight, rocking her from side to side.

"Everything's going to be all right now, baby. You'll be getting married and-"

"No, Daddy. I won't." Summer pushed at her father's shoulders until he let her go. She tried to look him in the eyes, but the annoyance she saw there caused her to lower her gaze. "I can't do it. I can't marry Geoffrey."

She glanced at her father's face, which was set in angry lines. A tear dropped onto her cheek and slid down. "Please, Daddy-"

"Get rid of those tears," he said, pulling a hanky from the back pocket of his Levi's and offering it to her.

She'd learned very young that tears were effective when she wanted her way. But the days were long past when she wanted her father to see her breaking down in stressful situations. In the two years since she'd turned twenty-one she'd worked hard to have him consider her as someone capable of running Bitter Creek.

She'd hoped that by marrying she could convince Blackjack that she possessed the maturity and steadiness required of someone in control of a ranching empire as vast as the Bitter Creek Cattle Company.

But if her father divorced her mother, there might be no ranch left for her to run. So there was no reason to marry anymore except love. And she didn't love Geoffrey ... enough.

"You picked Geoffrey," her father argued.

"As the best in a long line of prospective husbands you've thrown at me, Daddy," she said, as she dabbed at her tears with his hanky.

"You told me you loved him."

"I did," she said. As much as I've been able to love any man. She'd decided there must be something wrong with her, since she couldn't seem to care deeply for any of the men who'd proposed marriage to her over the years. The man she'd liked best was Billy, and she'd refused his offer of marriage two years ago because she had been too surprised by his proposal to consider her best friend in terms of a husband.

There was something wrong with her, all right. She just had no idea how to fix it.

Blackjack eyed her speculatively. "Are you telling me that two weeks before the wedding you've suddenly changed your mind?"

Her stomach churned and she tasted bile at the back of her throat. Was she really going to end her engagement two weeks before her wedding? Was she really going to hurt Geoffrey like that? What had changed, really? Geoffrey's conduct tonight hadn't been the best, but jealous men weren't known for their rational behavior.

She'd known from the beginning that Geoffrey's feelings for her were considerably stronger than hers for him. But she'd thought she could make the marriage work. Why did the thought of a life with him now seem like a prison sentence?

It made her ashamed to realize how abominably she'd been using Geoffrey. When was she ever going to grow up and act like an adult? When was she going to start exhibiting the responsible, trustworthy behavior she wanted her father to see in her? She wanted his respect. She wanted his approval. And she didn't know what else she could do to earn it, except marry Geoffrey.

She just couldn't do it.

She supposed she was as spoiled as Billy had accused her of being. Sacrifices had never been necessary, because someone else had always been willing to make the sacrifice for her. First Billy by leaving and taking his secret with him. Then her father, by staying married to her mother to keep Summer ignorant of the truth.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, meeting his gaze and feeling the weight of his disappointment fall on her shoulders.

"I don't know what your mother's going to say about this," he said. "You know how many plans she's made."

Summer nodded dumbly. Her mother had planned everything. Summer's wedding was going to be the social event of the season, with everyone from the Texas governor on down invited to the ceremony at the Bitter Creek First Baptist Church and the reception afterward in the Castle, the thirty-thousand-square-foot wood-frame house which generations of Blackthornes had called home.

Geoffrey moaned.

"We'd better get him back to the Castle," Blackjack said.

Her father pulled Geoffrey upright and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of horse feed, as though he'd never had a life-threatening heart attack four years before.

"Momma would have a heart attack herself if she saw you doing something this strenuous."

"What your mother wants won't be an issue much longer," Blackjack said.

Her father laid Geoffrey in the back seat of the extended-cab pickup and Summer got in beside him, cradling his head in her lap. As her father drove them home, she used the hanky he'd given her to dab at the blood that oozed from the cut in Geoffrey's chin, where Billy had struck him.

"Oh, Geoffrey," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

She became aware that he was awake when she felt his hand on her cheek. "Some knight in shining armor I turned out to be," he said. "I'm the one who's sorry."

She pressed his hand to her cheek, then removed it and held it in her own as she stared down into his shadowed face. "Billy and I..."

"I'm listening."

That was the problem with Geoffrey, Summer thought. He was a really good man. Someone who listened. Someone who loved her. She'd be a fool to let him go. She'd tried to love him. Really, she had. But the most she'd ever felt for him was... affection. She wasn't sure precisely what she ought to feel when she was with him, but the deep respect and liking she felt no longer seemed like enough to plan a lifetime together.

She glanced at her father in the front seat and realized she didn't want to break it off with Geoffrey here, where her father would hear every word they said. The least Geoffrey deserved was the chance to vent his feelings in private. She absently brushed his chestnut hair away from his forehead. "We need to talk," she said softly.

She put her fingertips across his lips and added, "When we get home."

Geoffrey was staying in one of the guest rooms at the Castle, and when they arrived home, Summer stood on tiptoe to kiss her father's cheek and said, "Good night, Daddy. Geoffrey and I are going to have a nightcap in the library."

Her father lifted a brow but said nothing. She waited at the foot of the stairs until he made it to the top and turned in the direction of her mother's bedroom.

Geoffrey resisted when she led him toward the library. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her face away, so his lips only brushed her cheek. He lifted his head and looked down at her, confusion rife in his eyes. He didn't force himself on her, like some other man might. Geoffrey was much too nice to do something like that.

I must be an idiot even to think about letting a good man like this get away.

"What's wrong, Summer?"

"Please, Geoffrey, let's go into the library, where we can talk," Summer pleaded, taking his hand and leading him in the direction she wanted him to go.

"Are you sure this couldn't wait until tomorrow?" he said, gingerly working his chin. "I might be able to talk a little easier by then."

"This isn't going to be easier tomorrow."

"All right, Summer. You know all you have to do is ask."

Summer smiled wanly. Geoffrey was such a nice man. She hated doing this to him. He followed her into the library, innocent as a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Once Geoffrey was seated in one of the wing chairs in front of the stone fireplace, Summer began pacing restlessly from one end of a wall of ancient, leather-bound tomes to the other.

"Come here and sit on my lap," Geoffrey encouraged, patting his knee. "Whatever the problem is, I'll kiss it and make it better."

"Don't patronize me," Summer snapped. "I'm not a child."