Moonlight And Mistletoe

Chapter Two

Shayna snapped her eyes open and stared at the cabin’s vaulted ceiling, trying to figure out what had disturbed her nap. Snuffly snores drew her attention to the floor next to the couch, where her hundred-pound German shepherd snoozed. She rolled over and smiled at the sleeping giant—not much of a guard dog, but for her, Brinks was the perfect companion.

She registered the muffled crunch of tires on gravel half a second before the sound of a car door slamming finally roused the dog—and answered the what-woke-me-up question. Brinks jumped to his feet and ran to the front window.

She sat up just in time to see a masculine silhouette move across the curtain. Dread set her teeth on edge. She wasn’t surprised that Kyle Anderson had tried to follow her home, but she was flabbergasted that the stubborn fool had succeeded. There were no street signs on the mountain. Here, directions were given in terms of burned barns and tree stumps.

She was still several steps from the door when he knocked. Brinks rushed forward, a low growl sneaking past his bared teeth. Shayna laid a reassuring hand on his head. “Sorry, pup, but his spoiled city hide is probably too tough to chew.”

Secretly wishing she were ornery enough to ignore him, Shayna pushed back the curtain. Other than his flapping coattails and wind-tossed hair, it was like someone had superglued an immovable statue to her front porch. A two-hundred-year-old oak should be so sturdy.

Over his shoulder, the sky sagged low and gray. While she’d napped, this morning’s bad weather had turned downright nasty. If the temperature kept falling, there’d be sleet before nightfall. Which made getting rid of her uninvited guest even more critical.

Mentally gearing up for battle, she shooed Brinks out of the way and opened the door. A blast of frigid air whipped across the front porch, spilling a hunk of thick blond hair across Kyle’s forehead before racing through the narrow wedge of the open door.

His gaze flicked over her, head to toe. She knew she looked sleep-rumpled and sloppy but darned if she’d fidget and primp for him. “Yes?” She didn’t hold the door open or invite him in out of the cold. Rudeness went against her grain, but sometimes a girl had to break the rules.

His nose glowed Rudolph-red, yet he somehow managed to appear patiently inquisitive, as though he could wait all afternoon if need be. “You don’t look too busy at the moment. Perhaps now’s a better time for our discussion?”

Shayna bit her cheek to keep her lips from curving. Despite her pique over this man’s nerve, she couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. He’d have made one heck of a defensive tackle. Eye on the quarterback and don’t stop running till you’ve mowed him down.

Only problem was, that made her the quarterback—but she planned to stay on her toes till the end of this game. Which meant she had to maintain control.

“Fine. But let’s make it quick. The storm’s moving in.” She stepped back and reluctantly invited him in.

Kyle shuffled forward a step, and stopped immediately when Brinks issued a growled warning, his bared-tooth snout level with Kyle’s most vulnerable parts.

She grabbed the dog’s leather collar and attempted to pull him back, but the mutt refused to budge. “As you see, he’s a mite overprotective, so you’d best mind your manners.”

“Hey, boy.” Kyle spoke softly, holding his palm near Brinks’s snout. The dog took his time before accepting the offered sniff, and rather than his customary lick of approval, Brinks backed off just enough for Kyle to enter, then sat, keeping their visitor well within his sights.

Bolstered by the rare glimpse of Brinks’s underused guard dog skills, Shayna pushed the door closed against the wind’s pressure. She had promised to hear Kyle out. She hadn’t said a thing about being pleasant.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson. One cup of coffee and then you’re gone.”

Kyle’s jaw ached with the effort of keeping his teeth from chattering. His custom-tailored suit and silk-lined Armani wool coat were no match for the frigid temperature and howling wind. He’d held on to his stern posture by willpower alone, but Christ, he’d been seconds from folding when she’d finally opened the door.

Of course, he’d prefer death by icing to having that behemoth dog pin him to the wall by his balls. He wanted that partnership, but he didn’t want it that badly.

Keeping one eye on Cujo, he assessed Shayna’s personal space, looking for insight into her character, the kind of impressions and vibes you couldn’t access through paper trails.

The cabin’s spacious main room had the wide-open feel of a converted warehouse loft. In L.A., this space would rent for a small fortune. Wide-planked pine floors bore the scars and marks of old age beneath a sheen of polish. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new and old, littered with an abundance of odd-shaped pillows in every color imaginable. The overall effect was vivid and energetic, yet still homey and comfortable.

“Great space.” He followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice the sway of her full hips or the way her black leggings hugged her short but shapely legs.

“Thanks.” She gestured toward a sturdy oak chair. “Sit.”

The pony she called a dog was sprawled out in front of the fridge, his jet eyes sparkling, as if the mutt found humor in her ordering Kyle around. Refusing to be intimidated by a house pet—or his fierce-looking owner—Kyle removed his damp coat and threw it over the vacant chair she’d indicated.

“I’d prefer to stand.” He leaned against the counter.

“Suit yourself.” Neither of them spoke while she got the coffee going. When she turned, the glint in her sleepy amber eyes warned him she intended to fire the first shot.

“So, tell me, Mr. Anderson—” she folded her arms and glared at him “—what kind of proposal does Dr. Walker have for his bastard daughter?”

Her bluntness surprised him. He’d expected her to dodge the point as long as possible. “You’re aware of Ms. Hoyt’s plan to blackmail my client?”

“Yes, but I made it clear to her that I don’t want any part of it.”

“Unfortunately, she’s decided to proceed anyway.”

“I figured as much, but regardless, Patty’s actions have nothing to do with me.”

“That’s a very naive statement, considering your mother’s blackmail threats center around your birth.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps, but without my help, her claims are just hearsay, right?”

“Hearsay?”

She spun and started rummaging in the cabinets but not before he saw the tinge of pink staining her cheeks. When she blushed, she reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. All that naturally unadulterated beauty in a sea of silicone implants and hair extensions.

“I’m a big Law & Order fan,” she mumbled, pulling down a couple of coffee cups and filling them.

“Me, too.” He accepted the cup she handed him, handle out, to avoid the possibility of brushing fingers. “Without your corroboration, her claims would indeed be hearsay, if the matter went to trial, but Patty isn’t threatening to sue Dr. Walker in a court of law. She intends to drag him through the court of public opinion.”

“Ah.” She smirked, intelligence sparkling in her eyes. “A much more dangerous venue for your client, to be sure.”

Kyle hid an unexpected grin behind his cup. He’d always admired women with quick wits. “In light of recent career developments, my client is justifiably interested in maintaining his good public reputation.”

She snorted, obviously not buying his PR spiel. “Either way, I won’t become involved. If your client wants to keep his ex-mistress quiet, why doesn’t he just pay her off?”

“Because this isn’t the first time she’s promised to take the money and disappear forever.”

She didn’t look a bit surprised. “Still not my problem.”

“True, but you are a part of the solution.” Offering her his most reassuring smile, he removed a bulky envelope from his breast pocket. “Dr. Walker and I have formulated a simple resolution, one that insulates both himself and you from Patty’s threats, both present and future.” He held the envelope out. “Take a look. It’s a very…generous compromise.”

Kyle’s wording was eerily similar to what he’d told her in that hotel lobby. Unsettled, Shayna took the envelope and slid a shaky forefinger under the seal. Instinct told her this would not be good.

Watching the papers emerge, she felt as anxious as a tourist at a snake-charming demonstration. Rationally, she knew the papers couldn’t harm her, but that didn’t stop her inner warning alarms from clanging ninety to nothing.

Her teeth worried the inside of her lower lip as the pages slipped free. Atop the bundle was a cashier’s check, made out to her, for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Stunned, she tentatively touched the dollar amount, half expecting the check to be a mirage. When it didn’t vanish under her fingers, she forced her slack jaw back into place. A familiar sick pain twisted in her gut. Patty had said Walker would pay big bucks to keep Shayna’s existence a secret, and she’d been right.

So much for her hope that the other fifty percent of her DNA contained a smidge of human decency. Obviously, Patty Hoyt and Steven Walker were cut from the same cloth.

“Ms. Miller?” he asked gently.

Floundering to make sense out of what was happening, she shifted her focus to his face. One side of his mouth kicked up, cranking his dimple to life. That pleased, confident smile brought the entire bizarre situation into crystal clear focus.

This man expected her to be thrilled, to simply agree to whatever Walker had in mind, pocket the check and send him on his merry way. No doubt with a grateful hug and hearty thank-you. She’d never been so disappointed or outraged in her entire life.

“Shayna?” Kyle’s normally robust voice was smoother than fresh cream. “I’m sure that much money comes as a shock—”

“Shock? It’s an insult!” she hissed. She could practically feel the blood draining from her face. Brinks immediately scrambled to his feet and came to stand at her side, his massive body braced against her hip.

Her temper, which normally took forever to erupt, rose to a full boil as she bundled the wad of papers, check and all, and chucked them at the trash. They bounced off and landed under the table. The placid look on Kyle’s face melted into confusion, but not even temporarily rendering him speechless could lessen Shayna’s anger.

“What does your no-good client expect in return for a quarter of a million dollar payoff, Mr. Anderson? Maybe he wants me to murder Patty and bury her body on my mountain?”

“No, of course not. Shayna, calm down—”

“Calm down! I don’t think so. How dare that…that—” she couldn’t come up with a word vile enough to describe Dr. Walker “—that man, try to buy me off.” The last words emerged as a shriek, but she was beyond caring. How dare he suggest she sell her pride.

Hands fisted at her sides, fury blackened the edges of her vision. “He’s afraid of what Patty’s information will do to his precious reputation, so he sends you down here with a counteroffer. Of all the rotten, lowdown, dirty—”

“Shayna!” Kyle’s shout ended her tirade. She barely heard Brinks’s growl over the roaring in her head. Kyle grabbed her arms and gave her several firm shakes. “Breathe, Shayna, breathe.”

Shocked, she drew in a gulp of air. Her temper had never before gotten so out of hand that she nearly passed out. Hell, she didn’t even know she could get that mad.

“Better?” Kyle asked gently, slowly releasing his hold on her arms.

Embarrassed, she nodded. Fearful her knees would give out any second, Shayna threaded her fingers into Brinks’s fur and tensed every muscle in her body. “Your time is up, Mr. Anderson. I think you should leave now.”

Brinks seconded the order with a teeth-baring snarl.

Barely holding herself together, she marched back to the front door, listening to the slap of Kyle’s thin-soled shoes and the patter of Brinks’s nails crossing the wood floor behind her. Her fingers shook as she yanked the door open. Another gust of wind roared inside, but she was too numb to feel the cold. Anger made an excellent insulator.

Kyle tossed a last wary look at Brinks. If not for the dog, Shayna knew Kyle wouldn’t have left without a fight. Feeling deflated, she leaned against the door and waved Kyle toward the front porch. Unfortunately, he stopped in the open doorway and turned to face her. His unexpected maneuver put them much too close for rational verbal communication, but pure stubborn pride wouldn’t allow her to back off a step.

He put a knuckle under her chin, leaving her no choice but to meet his gaze. Gone was his practiced charm and polish. All she saw was kindness and concern. The warm combination made her as light-headed as her earlier debilitating burst of temper.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Shayna, but you have to realize this isn’t over. Please read the agreement. You’ll see that Walker’s only trying to make things right.”

He sounded so convincing that it took her a second to remember he was a master player, a lawyer, a professional manipulator. A man not to be trusted.

Frowning, she stepped back from his tempting touch and straightened her spine, doing her best to look strong and intimidating. “You can tell your client that unlike my mother, I cannot be bought.” Then, before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face.

Kyle swore viciously as his dumpy rental slogged down the curvy mountain road. This should have been a one-day assignment. Get in, get her signature and get out. He hadn’t expected to be delayed by a tiny package of grit and pride. Shayna Miller’s disdainful glare had made him remember what he’d once been—the delinquent son of a two-bit criminal, a kid without hopes or dreams. A kid without a future.

But that kid was gone. Kyle had locked him away a long time ago.

The tires squealed as his foot agitated the accelerator. The car zoomed too fast around a corner, sending the tail end flying dangerously close to the mountain’s edge and his briefcase to the passenger floorboard. He eased off the gas. Struggling to regain his composure, he drew in a lungful of dry, forcefully heated air.

Law had been an ironic yet deliberate choice. He’d vowed to become his father’s complete opposite. He’d worked hard, graduated at the top of his class, and after taking a grunt position at Thomas, Peake and Moore, had worked his way up, establishing a reputation for unconventional yet effective tactics while always working within the bounds of the law. Seeing that stricken look on Shayna’s face had made him feel like a heartless jackass, no better than the Walkers and Patty Hoyts of the world.

She obviously despised Patty and Walker, and he couldn’t blame her. At least she’d lucked out and somehow landed with James Miller, who, from all reports, had managed to give her a mostly happy childhood. That put her miles ahead of most children in that situation.

Still, his instincts kept insisting something didn’t add up. Most people would be overjoyed to receive a quarter of a mil, but not Shayna. She had freaked out, gotten so overwrought she nearly passed out.

Although, he had to admit that the melodramatic line about murdering Patty had almost been funny—until her face had turned blue. She’d reminded him of one of his foster sisters, who used to hold her breath until whatever adult was in charge gave in to her demands.

Was that it? Had she—like her mother—put on an act and tried to play him for a fool? Her response had been frighteningly real, but a good con woman needed Oscar-caliber acting skills.

The ping of his BlackBerry cut off his internal line of questioning. He was expecting word regarding pieces of Shayna’s background report that hadn’t been completed this morning when he’d left L.A. Maybe whatever information Amanda, his secretary, had dug up would explain whether Shayna’s irate, over-the-top response to Walker’s offer was genuine or not.

Amazed to be getting cell reception amid the massive, shadowy trees and steep, rounded slopes, Kyle made a grab for his fallen briefcase and the cell phone tucked inside. The lightweight car veered to the right. Jerking upright, he overcorrected. The tires skied over the road’s glassy surface, sending the car sideways down the mountain. The tail flared, throwing him into a full skid.

Hands gripped tightly at ten and two, Kyle steered into the skid. The drum of adrenaline rushing through his brain blanketed out all sounds. His lungs froze. Suddenly the swirling stopped, replaced by a swift loss of altitude. The car hit ground with enough force to rattle his skull but not enough to deploy the airbags.