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“What happened?”

“On one of her binges she managed to set our house on fire.”

His breath caught in horror. “Kaitlyn,” he began, then stopped, having no idea what to say. It was a moment before she went on.

“She staggered outside in a drunken haze. Never even thought of me. Beau—my dog—woke me and we got out my back window. My—” Her voice broke. She swallowed. Oddly, she turned to look at the painting again, then went on. “My father thought I was still inside. He went back in to try and save me. He didn’t get out.”

It took everything he had to keep his voice anywhere near level. “She…survived?”

“Yes. The drunk survived, and the sweet, wonderful man who loved me died.”

He didn’t miss the implication that it was her father, not her mother, who loved her. “How old were you?”

“I’d just turned nine.” Years younger than he had been. Just thinking it brought back memories of the pain, the disbelief, the raging anger. “Life’s unfairness sucks. But then you knew that.”

The last words were choppy, as if she’d fought saying them. He understood. And he did know.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t usually pour that out to virtual strangers.”

To him, that felt like a compliment. “Sometimes that’s easier,” he answered.

“Yeah.” She drew in a deep, audible breath. Then, steadily, she said, “Shall we get started? I get the feeling you’d like this whole thing over as soon as possible.”

“Nothing personal,” he said quickly.

She gave him another of those killer smiles. “I understand.”

She glanced back at the painting, and he said rather quickly, “No photographs of that. That’s…”

“Private. I understand that, too. What I was going to ask was if that location is here, on your ranch?”

“Yes. One of Dad’s favorite spots. And for all of us, now.” And before he’d thought he was saying, “You want to see it? It doesn’t look like that now, of course but—”

“I’d love to.”

“Do you ride? You can’t really drive there.”

“No,” she said, and there was a touch of that sadness again. “I always wanted to, was going to take lessons, but then…”

Her voice trailed off. There was no doubting why. He could see it in her eyes again. No doubt that had been about the time her mother had destroyed their lives.

“If you want to try, we’ve got a lapdog of a horse, perfect for a beginner.”

He saw a different sort of wistfulness, more of a longing, come into those huge brown eyes. “I’m supposed to be working,” she said.

“So bring your gear. Take a shot or two.”

She looked at him steadily for a moment. He wondered if she somehow knew he was stalling to keep from letting her, or worse the reporter, into his sacred space. Although again it flitted through his mind that if it was just her, he wouldn’t mind so much. Maybe it was her eye for an image. Or her obvious perception. Or maybe it was something about the way Jillian had treated her, still nagging at him. He, like his mother, and his brothers for that matter, all had a tendency to root for the underdog. And he’d say that was exactly who Kaitlyn was in this relationship.

Or maybe it was just his reaction to what had happened to her as a child, how her father had died. The story was certainly horrifying enough.

Or maybe it was something entirely different.

Chapter Eleven

They walked towardthe second barn, which she noticed looked newer than the smaller one he’d indicated was also his living space. This one was also about twice the size.

“A recent addition?” she asked.