Part 28 (1/2)

”And what were you going to tell me if you found her?”

”I figured seeing her again would make up for what I did. I'm sorry if I made your pain worse. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

”It's not enough to say that you're sorry. It's not enough. d.a.m.n you!” She paced around the room, restless and reckless and wanting to break something. She saw their wedding photo sitting on the dresser, and couldn't stop herself from picking it up and throwing it against the wall. The gla.s.s shattered as it fell to the ground. But it wasn't enough to break just her picture. So she reached for the vase filled with water and flowers and sent it hurtling across the room. She moved on to the other dresser and the bedside tables, sweeping off the lamps and the knickknacks and all the things that filled her life. And when she was done, she collapsed on the bed. ”I hate you, Harry. Why did you do this? Why?”

”I wanted to stop the pain.”

”Who's Katherine's father?” Claire asked abruptly.

”I don't know.”

”More lies? Tell me now or risk losing what little we have left.”

Chapter 17.

Mary Jo knew it was both cowardly and undignified to search through J.T.'s things when he wasn't home. But she didn't feel she had any other choice. She had to know for sure if J.T. was Katherine Whitfield's father. If he was, he had to have fathered Katherine in the weeks before their wedding, which meant he was sleeping with someone else at the same time he was vowing to love her forever.

Over the years she'd gotten used to the idea that he might be cheating on her, especially since he hadn't made love to her in a long time. It wasn't difficult to jump to the conclusion that his needs were being met elsewhere. But the thought of those needs being met in the midst of their courts.h.i.+p was more difficult to swallow, and the thought of J.T. having a child, when he obviously couldn't father one with her, made her feel only that much worse about her infertility.

The doctors had never specifically pointed her out as the culprit. Somehow it was the two of them together that just didn't work. But if J.T. had a daughter, then it was obviously her own failure as a woman that had prevented them from conceiving a child.

As Mary Jo paused in the doorway to J.T.'s private sanctum, his study-once her father's study-she considered her options one last time. She'd always respected J.T.'s privacy. Perhaps she was stupid, but she'd never opened his mail and she'd been content to let him handle the checkbook and the bank accounts on his own. Her mother had always left the business to her father. It was the way Mary Jo had been raised, and she'd never thought to change.

But she knew that their business was failing. She had J.T.'s behavior as proof, not to mention the rumors swirling around the horse circles that their farm was on the decline. It broke her heart to think of the ranch leaving the family, but if J.T. was running it into the ground, then she might have to step in and do something with her 51 percent share of the business.

When she'd made her threat to J.T. about selling out to Zach Tyler, it had been just that-an impulsive threat. Now she wondered if she might actually have to do it. If Katherine Whitfield turned out to be J.T.'s daughter, that would place her in line to eventually inherit the farm, and Mary Jo couldn't stand by and let that happen. She'd rather Zach Tyler had it than some b.a.s.t.a.r.d child of her husband.

It was ironic that her father had wanted her to marry J.T. because he didn't believe a woman could run the ranch. She wondered what her father would think if he could see the results of his matchmaking.

If she sold her half to Zach Tyler, J.T. would be forced out. And Zach could save the ranch the way he'd saved Stanton Farms when Harry had had his heart attack. It was an idea that had begun to take hold and grow in her head. She'd stood by and let things roll for far too long. There was no one else who could save the farm but her.

Mary Jo walked into the study and picked up the photograph of her father that still sat proudly on the corner of the desk. J.T. had once told her he'd never admired a man more than he'd admired her father.

But J.T. was letting her father down. His drinking, his womanizing, his gambling, had gotten out of control. She had to put a stop to things. She just needed some proof, something to hold up to J.T. to refute his lies.

J.T. was a pack rat. He'd always saved everything, every sc.r.a.p of paper, every receipt, every birthday card. She just hoped his tendencies would help her discover the truth about an affair that had to have occurred almost twenty-eight years ago.

Mary Jo still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the idea of J.T. being a father. They'd spent so many years trying to have a baby. Well, she thought, stiffening her spine, if he did have a daughter, then that daughter could keep him company while he found a new job and a new family. Because Mary Jo was was.h.i.+ng her hands of him.

She just hoped she could go through with it. She'd never been alone-not once in her entire life. She'd never even left home, only changed bedrooms. Mary Jo glanced away from the large gla.s.s-covered mahogany desk to the closet door that led into a small room filled with filing cabinets. She had a feeling anything from that far back would be in the closet.

Mary Jo walked into the closet and stared at the shelves lining all three walls. There were several two-drawer filing cabinets as well, and she started with those, leafing through file after file with a ruthlessness that built with each pa.s.sing moment. Most of the business records were in the farm office, so these were J.T.'s personal files.

Everything seemed in order, surprisingly in order. Until she hit the credit card files. Sitting down on the floor, she spread the bills from the last year in front of her. Flowers, lingerie, hotel rooms-there were charges for them all, places she'd never been, shops she didn't know existed, many of them near racetracks across the country. Each charge made her blood boil and her resolve grow stronger.

Ruthlessly she pushed the bills back into the folder and moved down to the next drawer. She wasn't interested in the past year. She needed to go further back.

An hour later she was left with the shoe boxes lining the top shelf. She pulled down two, sneezing at the flurry of dust along the lids. J.T. must not have looked at these boxes in a while. She took them down to the floor and opened the first one. Her eyes widened in surprise. Love letters she'd written to J.T. lay in piles in the box. She couldn't believe he'd saved them.

She stopped to read a few lines here and there, not realizing she was crying until her tears smeared the ink on the page. She'd been so young, so foolish, so desperate to have a man in her life. She'd thrown herself at J.T. as if he were the last man on earth. As the letters became too painful to read, Mary Jo set them aside. She didn't want to be reminded that she had once loved her husband.

Shoving the lid back on the first box, she reached for the second one. As she opened it, a lavender scent drifted into the room. It was Margaret's scent, she realized instantly. But why would Margaret's scent linger in a shoe box all these years?

Mary Jo reached for an envelope. With shaky fingers she opened the seal. Inside was a single photograph, a gloriously beautiful color shot of Margaret Stanton lying on a couch completely naked.

Mary Jo's jaw dropped open as she saw Margaret in all her beauty, a s.e.xy, inviting smile on her lips, a beckoning tilt to her head. She tried to breathe, but found it difficult to catch her breath. J.T. and Margaret? She'd thought they were just friends...

”Mary Jo?”

She heard her name being called, but she couldn't respond. She couldn't look anywhere but at the picture in her hands.

”What are you doing?”

Mary Jo looked up at J.T. He stood in the doorway, rage on his bl.u.s.tery red face, fear in his eyes.

”You were in love with Margaret,” she said in confusion.

”Those are my private things. You have no business looking at them.”

”Why didn't you tell me?” She searched his face for some clue, but J.T., the man she'd lived with for twenty-seven years, seemed like a complete stranger.

”There was nothing to tell.”

”Obviously there was.” She held up the photograph in her hand.

”I meant to give it back to Margaret after we got married, but she disappeared. I've forgotten I even kept it.”

”Really? How convenient.”

He seemed taken aback by the harsh tone of her voice. ”What do you want me to say? I married you, didn't I? Doesn't that prove something?”

”It proves you wanted my daddy's ranch. Did you take this photo of Margaret? Were you sleeping with her at the same time you were sleeping with me?” Her voice rose with her anger. ”Were you whispering in her ear while I was planning our wedding?”

”You're getting hysterical.”

She could hear the hysteria in her voice, but she didn't care, and she didn't want to calm down. ”How many other women have there been? Or do you even know? I found all the receipts for the flowers, the hotel rooms. You've spent more money on your s.e.x life than-”

”Than we spent on your infertility?” he interrupted.

”My infertility?” She could barely think, she was so angry. ”My infertility? What does that mean? Do you have proof that you can father a child?” She rose to her feet. ”Tell me that Katherine Whitfield is not your daughter. Tell me again that you never cheated on me before we were married. Obviously there was Margaret. Did you sleep with Leeanne, too? And what about this Evelyn Jones? Who was she? Tell me, J.T. Let me hear the truth finally. You owe me that at the very least.”

J.T. turned and walked out of the closet.

”d.a.m.n you, answer me,” she screamed, running after him. She'd thought he'd left the room, but stopped abruptly when she saw him sitting in the chair behind his desk clutching his heart, a panicked expression on his face. A terrible fear raced through her body. ”Oh, my G.o.d! What's happening?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then his eyes went wide and stark and terrified.