Thunderbolt over Texas Page 8

  “It was me,” said Sydney. She didn’t want to break up this happy family. They loved each other. They meant the world to each other.

  “Will you two stop?” asked Kyle.

  “Katie,” said Cole. “After the baby thing—”

  Katie turned a shade paler.

  “—I thought your stress level would drop if I got married and had babies.”

  “We weren’t really going to have babies,” Sydney put in. “We were just going to let you think we’d have babies. It seemed like the perfect plan. I’d get the Thunderbolt. You’d probably get pregnant. By the time we got divorced, you’d be okay again.”

  Katie turned to Kyle. “You went along with this?”

  “I—”

  “We talked him into it,” said Cole. “I talked him into it. Thing is, Katie. I’m going to make it come true.”

  The breath rushed from Sydney’s lungs and she blinked at Cole’s rugged profile. Because of last night? Because of what they’d shared?

  Was it possible? Did Cole think there was something growing between them?

  Her chest expanded with a warm glow. She had no idea how they’d work it out, but the thought of Cole wanting to try settled around her like a soft blanket.

  “As soon as I divorce Sydney,” Cole continued, and Sydney’s heart went flat, “I’m going to find another wife. A real wife. I’m going to take on some of the responsibility of this damn dynasty.”

  Cole’s words died away to silence and Sydney took an involuntary step back.

  Of course he’d find a real wife. What on earth was she thinking? Cole couldn’t do New York, and Sydney wasn’t staying in Texas. Her career and her life were about to take a quantum leap. The sky would be the limit after the Thunderbolt show.

  Katie stared at her, and Sydney forced out a shaky laugh. “See? It’ll all work out.”

  “Cole,” said Kyle. “You don’t have—”

  “My mind’s made up.” Cole rubbed Katie’s shoulder. “I just hope I can find a wife who’ll hold a candle to you.”

  Katie wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Sydney.

  Sydney moved closer. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.” Katie had come to a perfectly logical conclusion.

  She nodded her agreement. “Okay. But we probably shouldn’t tell Grandma it’s a sham.”

  Cole looked at Kyle, and Kyle looked at Cole.

  “You’re right,” said Cole. “We still have a wedding to plan.”

  Sydney parked herself on an old workbench to watch Cole finish the window repair. It had seemed like a good idea to give Katie and Kyle some time alone. She wanted to ask Cole about his marriage promise, but she didn’t want him to think she cared.

  If she didn’t care, would she ask or stay quiet? Hard to know. Probably ask. After all, it was all academic to her.

  She made up her mind. “Cole?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Were you serious? Or were you just trying to make Katie happy?”

  “Serious about what?”

  “Finding a real wife.” She hated the pain that flashed through her chest when she said those words. It was almost as though she was jealous. Which made no sense. She was never going to see Cole again after the museum show. That had always been the plan.

  Just because she’d slept with him, she didn’t need to get all moony-eyed about it. She’d slept with men before. Men she’d liked and trusted. But she’d never gone around the bend over it. She’d never started imagining forever. Never even been jealous of the women they might date in the future.

  Cole nodded as he hammered tiny nails around the wood that held the new glass. “I am putting too much pressure on Kyle and Katie. It’s time I held up my end of the family.”

  “Do you think planning to marry some unknown wife is such a good idea?”

  He stopped hammering and gave her a long look. “Yes, I do.”

  “It doesn’t strike you as just a little bit self-sacrificing?”

  He went back to hammering. “Not really. We Texans take loyalty and honor very seriously.”

  Sydney shifted on the bench. “Ouch.”

  Cole shrugged. “Not a criticism.”

  “Yeah, right.” Obviously her values were a question mark in his mind. She might be fine for a night in bed, but she sure didn’t meet his standards for a wife.

  Good girl, bad girl again. At least this time she knew which one she was.

  “We can probably move the marriage plans up,” he said.

  Sydney nodded. “That’s good.” The sooner she got away from him, the better.

  “If Grandma suspects anything,” he continued, “it’ll be that you’re pregnant and we need a quickie wedding.”

  “But you’ve only known me a few days.”

  He pounded in a final nail and dropped the hammer into his belt. “I travel a lot. She’ll assume we’ve met before.”

  “Of course.” Sydney nodded. Because a bad girl is always good for a one-night stand when a guy’s on the road. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus on business. “I’ve asked a colleague to start preparing for the show.”

  Cole gave a nod.

  “Is there any way I could take a look at the Thunderbolt before the wedding?”

  “I guess so. What for?”

  “It’ll help me conceptualize a display for it. It would really help if I could take a couple of pictures to send to the museum.” Business, business. All business. She could do this.

  Cole stood back to scrutinize the job. “I’ll drive you in as soon as I can get away.”

  Six

  One thing about having Katie in on the marriage plan, it meant Sydney didn’t have to see nearly as much of Cole. While she waited for the trip to Wichita Falls, she made museum arrangements by long distance and spent some time visiting Grandma.

  Sydney was growing to like the eccentric old woman. Grandma was smart, opinionated and had one zinger of a sense of humor. She also told stories about the Thunderbolt and about her early years in Texas that fascinated Sydney.

  Like the time the pack string stepped in a wasps’ nest. The first horse through was stung once and did a little crow hop off the trail. His burden of flour and utensils stayed put. The second horse through was a bomb-proof mare. She barely flinched when three wasps stung her rump.

  Unfortunately, the third horse through took the brunt of the attack. He was a reliable four-year-old entrusted with the month’s supply of whiskey. The horse leapt off the ground, all four feet in the air. His frantic bucking loosened the pack saddle, sending the whiskey swinging under his belly.

  The unnatural load spooked him even more, and he ran hell bent for leather into the creek. Though the cowboys raced to his rescue, the precious cargo was washed over the falls.

  The cook was so frightened at the prospect of showing up at the cattle drive without a fresh whiskey supply that he rode two days and two nights to restock.

  When Cole finally announced he had time to take Sydney to the city, she eagerly hopped into his pickup. She couldn’t wait to see the Thunderbolt, even if it meant a two-hour drive alone with him.

  “Haven’t seen much of you,” he commented as they pulled onto the main road.

  “Haven’t seen much of you, either,” she returned, gauging his tone, wondering how to read him and annoyed that she felt the need to try.

  He shrugged. “Had work to do.”

  “Me, too.” She did have a life. It wasn’t as if she’d been pining away, wondering if he regretted their lovemaking, or if he’d found any likely Susie Homemakers to take her place.

  “Have I done something to annoy you?” he asked.

  Did he mean other than announce to his family that he was finding a “real” wife just as soon as he dumped her?

  “I’m not annoyed,” she said.

  “So this is the level you’ve picked for our relationship?”

  The level she’d picked? “You wanted something mor
e?”

  He shrugged, flipping on his right signal and leaving the gravel road behind in favor of the four-lane interstate. “You must admit, it all turned on a dime there after Katie got in the loop.”

  “Ah.” Sydney nodded, wishing she could control the jealousy cresting in her veins. “So you did want more sex.”

  He twisted his head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry about that. I guess I did turn off the tap all of a sudden.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he glanced to the highway and back to her again. “Was there a particular reason you backed off?”

  She shrugged. No reason that was remotely logical, just a horrible, kicked-in-the-gut feeling when he’d rejected her. “We didn’t need to pretend anymore,” she said.

  “You mean, the Thunderbolt was in the bag.”

  “Yeah. Right. Something like that.” She turned her head to look out the window.

  “I see.”

  “Okay.”

  “Fine.” He pressed on the accelerator and turned up the radio.

  Neither of them spoke until they hit Wichita Falls.

  At a traffic light in the heart of downtown, Cole turned on the left turn signal and waited for a space in traffic. “This is it.”

  Despite his brooding presence, Sydney’s stomach leaped in anticipation. “Which one?”

  He pointed to a tall, gray office tower as he angled into a parking spot in front.

  Sydney scanned the building. This was it. The treasure of a lifetime was waiting inside for her. Despite her anger with Cole, she felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

  They entered the building and took an elevator to the tenth floor. The brass sign on the oversize office doors read Neely And Smythe, Attorneys-At-Law.

  “Auspicious,” said Sydney.

  “It’s been the family firm for four generations.”

  “And the Thunderbolt’s been here the whole time?”

  “Most of it.”

  “I’m getting goose bumps.”

  As he opened the door, Cole gave her his first smile in three days.

  It felt good. Way too good. Pathetically good.

  She preceded him into the reception area, and a smiling brunette woman greeted them warmly. She sat behind a marble counter in a room decorated with leather furniture and fine art.

  “Mr. Neely can see you right away,” she said to Cole.

  Cole moved to open another doorway that took them to a private hall.

  A balding man met them at the far end of the hallway. He shook hands with Cole then turned to Sydney. “Joseph Neely.” He offered his hand to her. “I understand you’re here to see the Thunderbolt.”

  “I am,” she agreed. “Sydney Wainsbrook.”

  “I enjoy an excuse to look at it myself,” he said, turning his key in the lock and pushing the door inward.

  “It’s pretty exciting,” she admitted.

  “I’ll leave you two alone then.” Joseph Neely gestured to the interior of the office.

  Sydney went in first, blinking to adjust her vision to the dimmer light.

  Cole came in behind her and pointed to a round, mahogany meeting table.

  She followed his signal and everything inside her turned still. Laid majestically out on a purple, velvet cloth, was the Thunderbolt of the North. The brooch of kings. The stuff of legends.

  Sydney sucked in a breath. It was large, boldly crafted, magnificent in every way. The polished-gold lightning bolt was scattered almost randomly with rubies, emeralds and diamonds. It was big. It was audacious. It was everything she’d ever hoped for.

  She circled it, running her fingers across the soft cloth, letting them get close, but not touching the treasure. “You are one lucky man,” she said in a reverent, husky voice.

  His voice was equally hushed. “Sometimes I think so.”

  “This is the thrill of a lifetime.”

  “You can touch it, you know.”

  She rubbed her fingertips together, sensitizing them. Then she leaned in ever so slowly, resting her hips against the edge of the table.

  After a long minute she dared to touch the bottom point of the brooch.

  She immediately snatched her hand back, a chill creeping into her veins. She felt it again, and her world came to a screeching halt.

  “Cole?” she ventured slowly, stomach clenching.

  “Yeah?” He’d moved closer, but his voice seemed to come from a long way off.

  She tested the bottom diamond one more time and her heart went flat, dead cold.

  “This is a fake.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Cole, studying Sydney’s shocked expression.

  “It’s a fake,” she repeated more passionately.

  “Right,” Cole drawled, glancing down at the brooch. Somebody had bypassed the alarm and broken into the lawyer’s safe to reproduce the Thunderbolt without anyone noticing. That was likely.

  “When was it last appraised?”

  Cole tried to figure out where she was going with this.

  “When?” she demanded.

  “It’s been closely guarded for hundreds of years.” The odds of it being a fake were ridiculously slim.

  Had Kyle been right about her? Was this some kind of an elaborate con?

  “What are you up to?” he demanded.

  “I’m up to giving you my professional opinion.”

  “Uh, huh.” He struggled to figure out her angle. How she could turn this little ruse to her advantage?

  She pointed to the brooch. “See those diamonds? The little ones on the points?”

  He glanced down. “Sure.”

  “They’re cut.”

  “So what?”

  “So, nobody faceted diamonds until the fourteenth century. They didn’t have the tools. The process hadn’t been invented. I don’t know who made this brooch, but it sure wasn’t the ancient Vikings.”

  Cole’s gaze shot back to the Thunderbolt. He’d seen it dozens of times. It looked the same. It always looked the same.

  But she was sounding alarmingly credible, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how lying about its authenticity would help her get her hands on it. His stomach sank. He had to allow for the possibility that she was telling the truth.

  Her voice went up an octave. “Cole, you’re not reacting.”

  He lifted it, holding the glittering gold to the light, speaking to himself. “Who would fake it?”

  “We need more information,” said Sydney, squinting at the jewel. “I have a friend who’s a conservator. She could pinpoint the date more closely, give us somewhere to start.”

  Ah. Okay. There it was. He could see the scam now.

  “You have a friend,” he mocked, palming the brooch.

  “Gwen Parks. She’s worked at the Laurent for—”

  “And your friend is going to come out and value my brooch?”

  Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not going to value it—”

  Cole let out a chopped laugh. “Let me guess.” He took a pace forward. “It’ll be worthless. You’ll offer to take it off my hands. And the next thing I know it’ll be on display in New York.”

  Sydney’s expression lengthened in apparent horror. “Cole, I’d never—”

  “Never what?” He stepped closer to her again. “Never try anything and everything to get your hands on the Thunderbolt? Never lie? Never cheat? Never marry me or sleep with me?”

  She clenched her hands into small fists. “I really don’t give a damn what you think of me right now. But the brooch is a fake. Get my expert. Get your own expert. Take it to the Louvre. But if you don’t find out when it was faked, you’re never going to find out why it was faked, you are never, ever going to have a hope in hell of getting the real one back.”

  Cole stared at her in silence. Was she serious? She looked serious.

  He opened his palm and inspected the brooch.

  “Think about it, Cole,” she stressed. “Run it through your suspicious, little mind. How
could I possibly get away with it? How, in the world, could I think for one minute that I could get away pretending the Thunderbolt was a fake?”

  Cole closed his hand again, letting the points of the brooch dig into his palm.

  She was right. But who would fake it? Who could fake it? And who could do it so well that nobody had ever noticed?

  There were no pictures of it in circulation. It would have to be somebody who had access to it for more than—

  A light bulb exploded in his brain. He stomped his way to the office door, flinging it open.

  “Joseph!” he bellowed.

  The lawyer appeared almost immediately, bustling his way down the corridor. “Mr. Erickson?” His voice betrayed his obvious concern.

  Cole stepped back into the office and closed the door for privacy. “We need an appraiser. Now.”

  “A conservator,” said Sydney.

  Both men turned to look at her.

  “A museum conservator,” she repeated. “One who specializes in gems and jewelry.”

  “Is something wrong?” asked Joseph Neely.

  “The brooch has been faked,” said Cole, watching the man closely. Somebody at the firm could easily be the culprit.

  Neely was silent for a long moment. He didn’t look guilty, but his lawyer brain was obviously clicking through the implications. When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasp. “I don’t see how it could have—”

  “We need to find out when and how and why,” said Cole, accepting that Sydney was telling the truth.

  This was a catastrophe.

  His chest tightened at the thought of his grandmother’s distress. He had to help her. He had to protect her.

  No matter what happened, she could never find out.

  In Neely’s office eight hours later, the words on the newly penned conservator’s report blurred in front of Cole’s tired eyes. Joseph had offered the use of the facilities as long as they needed them. It was probably half generosity, half concern for the firm’s liability. Cole didn’t particularly care which one. He just wanted some answers.

  After gauging the level of expertise at the local museum, he’d given in and flown Sydney’s colleague Gwen Parks down from New York. The two women had talked technical for a couple of hours, quickly losing Cole. But it didn’t matter. The only thing important to him was the final verdict.