Hearing approaching voices, he turned to see a tall, middle-age man with sun-weathered skin in jeans, boots, and holding a Stetson walk into the great room with a familiarity that put Andre's teeth on edge. "h.e.l.lo, there," he said in a friendly manner, holding out a hand and moving toward him. "I'm Cal Stutz. I understand you say you're Ben Jr.'s boy?"

"That's right. Andre Laughlin," he said, shaking the man's calloused palm.

"Andre," Cal repeated, turning to Victoria, who'd followed after him, and raising a brow. "Well, I guess I don't go by my given name, either. Some people call me Ted, but I prefer Cal, for California. I've been ranching here all my life. My son's Teddy."

Andre fought down his immediate dislike of the man and managed a tight smile, but Cal had already turned his attention to Victoria, again.

"Teddy's here," he told her.

"In town, or at the ranch?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Here at the ranch. Got him working for me, for a while. We'll see how long that lasts." He switched back to Andre. "So, how long are you staying?"

The presumption that he would be leaving outraged Andre. "I plan to make Castilla my home. It's where I'm from."

"Uh-huh." He just managed to keep from exchanging another glance with Victoria. "Well, looks like it's old home week for a lot of people. You'll get to meet your cousin and your . . . I don't rightly know. Is Tucker a second cousin, or a first once removed? Dang, but that one's always been a poser."

"If you are Andrew Laughlin, then Tucker is your first cousin, once removed," Victoria said with certainty.

Andre knew about the boy, and he didn't like the warm tone to Victoria's voice when she talked about him.

"That sounds fairly distant," he said, fighting back the urge to remind her yet again that he was Andrew Laughlin.

"He's my great-grandson," Victoria defended.

Andre had pretty much dismissed the boy as a threat to his inheritance. Sure, the kid was Craig's grandson, but by all the laws of inheritance that should matter, Andre was the one in direct succession, not Stephen, nor Craig's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son, West, nor the issue of either of them. But Victoria wasn't greeting Andre with open arms the way she should whereas she seemed to be antic.i.p.ating this child's arrival. Cold snakes of fear wriggled through him at the thought that he might have already been usurped and that set off splitting pain inside his head. He had to turn back to the vista of land to hide his expression.

"When are they showing up?" Cal was asking.

"Later today. Maya's got Tucker's room ready, and also the nanny's, who'll be arriving with him, I'm told."

"Something wrong with the nanny?" Cal asked, hearing the disapproval Victoria didn't try to hide.

"I'm just not certain she's the right choice. We'll see." Clearly she didn't want to talk further in front of Andre. In a louder voice, she said primly, "Mr. Laughlin, I need to be sure you are who you claim to be-"

"Your grandson," he said tightly, fighting through the pain.

"And that will take some time. I have your number and my lawyer will call you once the verisimilitude of your claim is established."

Cal said, "Ma'am, I sure love it when you use big words."

Victoria actually laughed and Andre ground his teeth together. Luckily, the first wave of the attack was subsiding and he was feeling better.

"When Teddy gets here, let me know," Victoria said.

"He hasn't changed any," Cal admitted a bit dolefully. "Still walking that line between what you should do and you shouldn't."

"Hmmm . . ." Victoria didn't seem to know what to say to that.

Andre turned back around, wondering what that was all about, but of course they didn't tell him. And then to add insult to injury, Cal said to him, "Come along, son. I'll walk you to the door. And you get off your feet, now," he told Victoria.

"Don't nag me," she said, but a smile threatened her stern lips.

Andre had no choice but to follow Cal Stutz to the door, and he hated every second of it. By the time the door was closed firmly behind him, his blood was boiling. Victoria-his own grandmother-was way too friendly with the help. This wasn't right. It needed to be stopped. He was going to stop it. And they needed to learn that he was The Messiah, and he was going to have his rightful place at the head of this family, even if he had to kill for it.

West was about a half hour from the I-5 turnoff when his cell rang, and he answered through the Bluetooth receptor at his ear. "Laughlin," he said, reading the number and seeing it was Pete Dorcas.

"Where you at, man? Thought you were coming in," his old partner said.

"Tomorrow. I got stuff to do today."

"Yeah? Well, stuff's happenin' here. Your French friends are callin'. You know, the ones you told to call you here? Even though you're not officially here and so they call me? They say they're lookin' at a homicide."

"They're certain?" West asked, ignoring the jab. He'd pressed the gendarmerie as much as he could and given them Dorcas's number. He had purposely been vague about his liaison with the LAPD, letting Dorcas field the calls and be the go-between. For that price, he had to put up with some s.h.i.t from his partner.

"Head injury killed her, but someone had choked her with some kind of chain. Maybe didn't kill her, but it wasn't friendly, either."

West nodded. "There were marks on her neck, but I didn't get a good look." He'd practically been shoved aside by the French authorities. "Why'd they take so long to get back to me," he grumbled.

"'Cause maybe they knew you were fudgin' some about your job?"

"Did they send a copy of the autopsy report?"

"Not yet."

Before he'd left Fort-de-France, West had notified the police that Teresa had been seen on the pier, and they'd thanked him for the information and said they were looking for the boat she'd been on. "Did they say anything else?"

"Nope. You can call 'em tomorrow. Now, you also asked me about the Cantrells."

West's interest sharpened. "That's right. You find something interesting?"

"Here's what I know: There's a brother and sister left. Their father's the one made the money. Older brother got it all, until the accident that killed him. Now, it's split between the deceased older brother's wife and his younger brother and sister. House is with the wife, but it's supposed to go back to the family, according to Diane Cantrell, who showed up at the station in person and made it pretty clear she doesn't much like the wife, Kelly . . . no, Callie, and this Callie is still living at the house and Diane is working to legally evict her. I talked to the family attorney first, a William Lister who apparently told this Diane that we were on the case, so Diane shows up at the station and just goes off. I listened to her as long as I could stand, then gave her your name. Told her that you'd call her."

"Thanks," West said dryly.

"Like I said, man. This is your baby."

West glanced in his rearview mirror to Callie's silver Lexus, which was following at a safe distance behind him. He felt kinda sleazy, checking up on her now, and he sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to hear anything bad at this point. He wanted Callie. Had from the moment he'd first seen her and thought she was Teresa, which was probably the kind of thing that should send him to a therapist's couch. And he knew, deep in his gut, that he'd never felt this way about Roxanne . . . had never felt this way about any other woman.

"And he wasn't happy with the wife, either, according to the sister," Dorcas was saying, and West snapped back, realizing he'd maybe missed something important.

"Who?"

"The younger brother. Derek Cantrell. Ain't you listenin'? According to Diane, Derek wants Ms. Callie out too. The house is worth a few mil but Ms. Callie's not budgin'."

"But the house is hers."

"Not supposed to be. I'm just sayin' what they said. Diane thinks Ms. Callie has always been after the family money, and now she's got the upper hand."

West thought about what Callie had said about her husband, Jonathan, knowing Teresa. It had been constantly in the back of his mind ever since she'd mentioned it. He just needed some time to be able to follow up, and to date, time was the commodity he hadn't possessed. He wanted to know more about Jonathan Cantrell, for sure, but first things first.

"I'll call Diane back," West said, not sure when that would be exactly.

"That woman's a piece of work, for sure. Kinda hot in that b.i.t.c.hy thrown-you-down-on-the-ground-and-stomp-on-you-before-s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g-your-brains-out way. Maybe too scary to act on, though. Y'know?"

"But you think she's telling the truth?" West asked, trying to keep the thread of the conversation on track. Dorcas had a tendency to categorize women by how they'd be in the sack, which was sometimes colorful, and always beside the point.

"She believes what she's sayin'. Don't necessarily make it true."

West let the matter of Diane Cantrell lie for a moment. "Teresa Laughlin was living in Los Angeles when she met my brother. She met him at a bar. I don't know which one yet, but I'm going to find out. This was about six years ago. I think she might've come back to LA after his death. She probably had a California driver's license. See what you can find on her. I want to know where she lived, what she did." And if she continued her relationship with Jonathan Cantrell in there somewhere.

"It's not like I'm sittin' on my hands here," he protested.

"I'll be at work tomorrow, and if I'm reinstated, I'll get on it myself. But anything you could find out would help."

"Yeah, yeah." A pause. "Gonna be good to have you back."

"Gonna be good to be back."

He clicked off the Bluetooth, glanced back again to Callie's car. Five minutes later he saw the exit for Castilla, put on his blinker, and took the off ramp.

Callie inhaled a deep breath as she followed West's Explorer off the freeway and toward the town of Castilla. She'd seen the sign on the freeway extolling Laughlin Ranch beef and the Laughlin BBQ restaurant. Now, she saw more signs for the barbecue and one for the gift shop, The Bull Stops Here, but they bypa.s.sed the main section of the town and turned onto a road that ran dead east, which presumably led to the ranch itself.

What a complete change for Tucker. She slid a look to her rearview mirror and saw his head was bent forward. He'd conked out almost immediately once they'd hit the freeway. Too much excitement, too much worry about what was in store for him. Callie wished she could protect him and decided if there was any way possible, she would spend the night at the ranch tonight. She was basically his only stability in a strange new world.

Her gaze next touched on her shoulder bag, which was sitting in the pa.s.senger seat. Besides her clothes and toiletries, she'd stuffed the bank statement with the automatic charge from Security One inside as well. She'd called Security One before she left the house, but they hadn't picked up and she hadn't bothered to leave a message. It would be one more nagging annoyance she'd need to deal with when she finally decided to cut ties with the Cantrells once and for all, but it could wait. Everything could wait until she was certain Tucker was settled.

Of its own accord, her mind went back to that last meeting with Derek and Diane, which made her grimace with distaste. Luckily, her attention was jerked back to the present when she saw West's Explorer crest a small hill and disappear. Half a minute later, she followed after him and then before her was a thick grove of California black oaks that spread for a number of acres, only petering out when it reached a series of rolling hills that seemed huddled against today's gray skies. Up to this point, the landscape had been virtually flat gra.s.sland, but here was an oasis of green that she suspected had been purposely planted. West's Explorer turned north into a long lane bordered by the oaks. Callie followed and a wide canopy of branches reached overhead as they drove along the extensive drive, which suddenly opened to the Laughlin ranch house sitting like a queen on a throne at the end of a long carpet. The two-story structure had two wings, which pushed backward from the drive. There were several trucks parked to the east side and West pulled up next to one.

Exhaling, Callie slowed to a stop beside his car and switched off the ignition. West was already out of the Explorer and now he came to her window, throwing a glance back toward Tucker whose eyes were trying to open as Callie slid the window down.

"Home, sweet home," West said dryly, and pulled open her door.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

From his vantage point at the top of one of the hills about a quarter mile away, Andre trained his binoculars on the ranch house. Because of all the d.a.m.n trees he had limited vision to the front of the house; he could see for miles out the back with the paddocks, fencing, and in the distance the small, hazy shapes of cattle. The sky was overcast and the temperature was cooling off, the weather system more like that of January than October.

He watched a dark-haired man get out of the car. His cousin, West Laughlin, Victoria had said, though he wasn't really a Laughlin and therefore didn't count. From everything Andre had been told Benjamin Sr. and Victoria were too uptight, repressed, and infused with a different century's morals to consider as a rightful heir any child from Craig's dalliance with one of their employees.

He might have to take care of him, but he wasn't really the problem. The boy, though . . . the way Victoria obviously felt about him . . . he was going to have to be dealt with.

He watched West open the door to the silver Lexus that had followed his Explorer to the front of the house. A woman stepped out, her red-gold hair shining in the late afternoon sun.

A jolt ran through him and he gasped, "Teresa!" before he realized this had to be the nanny.

Teresa is dead. She's dead. Never to return.

But for a moment, watching the woman, he wasn't entirely sure.

The front door was opened by a tall, rangy man with salt-and-pepper hair and a weathered face. Callie inadvertently squeezed Tucker's hand a little tighter as the man stepped back and said, "Well, come on in." Even though he oozed bonhomie she hadn't felt this nervous since she'd first met Jonathan's sister and brother, and that hadn't gone well.

"I'm Cal," he said, sticking out a hand. "You must be the nanny."

Callie reluctantly released Tucker's hand to shake Cal's. "Callie Cantrell."

"Cal and Callie," he responded with a grin. "That's gonna make things hard around here."

"I hope not," Callie said lightly.

"And you must be the little man Victoria's been expecting," Cal said, bending down to Tucker's level.

Tucker gazed at him solemnly and stayed silent.

West brought up the rear and Cal stood up and thrust out his hand again. "Good to see you again, son," he said. "Your grandmother's in the dining room."

"Thanks," West answered.

Cal glanced down again at Tucker, who had reclasped Callie's hand. He chuckled. "Cat got your tongue, huh?"

"No." Tucker frowned at him, then looked up at Callie.

"It's an expression," she told him. "A funny way of saying that you're being kind of quiet. Tucker's first language is French," she added for Cal's benefit.

"Well, parlez-vous francais!" Cal declared, amused.

"Cal is the Laughlin Ranch manager," West said as they moved through the foyer and into the house.

Callie caught a glimpse of the great room with its curved beams, river rock fireplace, hanging lights made from deer antlers, and an expanse of oak flooring that was artfully arranged with groupings of couches and chairs before she was ushered into the dining room with its cathedral ceiling and ma.s.sive plank table of black walnut.

At the end of the table sat a woman with silvery-white hair swept up and clipped at the back of her head. Her strong face was webbed with tiny lines, but her blue eyes were sharp and intense. "I prefer a straight-backed chair," she said. "You must be Mrs. Cantrell."

"Please call me Callie," she answered.

She would have walked toward her and offered to shake her hand, but Victoria pointed to a chair and said, "Have a seat," then turned her attention to Tucker, who was clamped onto Callie's hand like a vise. As soon as Callie started to sit, he grabbed the next chair, but Victoria said, "No, come here, Tucker. Let me get a look at you."

"Try not to scare him," West suggested with a faint smile.

"I'm not going to scare him," she snapped back.

"You already are. Give him a chance." West looked toward Cal, who was standing at the door that obviously led to the kitchen. "He's been wanting to see the horses since we got here."