The Sheikh's Secret Son (9 page)

“It's a shame we have to grow up, isn't it, Ben?” she said as she realized she'd been silent too long. “How much less complicated life was when we were children. I think my largest problem was whether or not Logan and Matt would let me tag along when they exercised their horses. Now we're grown up, or at least we hope so, and there's another generation here at the ranch. My brother Logan, once the Great Playboy of the Western World, has got himself a wife, and a child he hadn't known existed until a few months ago, and Holden and Lucinda are new parents, as well. My cousin Vanessa has married the FBI agent who came to investigate Bryan's kidnapping—and who nearly got himself killed in the process. If I know Vanessa, she won't
settle for less than a half dozen babies of her own. Matt's son has been kidnapped, the infant he and Claudia took in has turned out to be his natural son, and I…and I…”

“And you, Eden?” Ben prompted when she bit her lip, shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said, dredging up a smile from somewhere deep inside her. “I'm just tired, that's all. And you're right, Ben. I'll see Matt first, let him tell me whatever he wants to tell me.”

She sighed as the limousine eased to a stop in front of her uncle's ranch house. “And then I'll kill him. Ah, here's Holden, already coming to meet us. Or
you,
I should say. I hope you meant it when you said you wanted to see some horses, because if I know my brother, you're going to see a bunch of them in the next hour.”

And you won't see Sawyer at all, not yet,
she concluded silently as Holden pulled open the door, giving her a look that told her she, too, was going to be seeing a lot of her brother later this evening. A look that told her while she might be here to talk to Matt she'd also be doing a lot of explaining of her own—after Ben had gone back to San Antonio.

T
he stars shone brightly in the Texas night sky, nearly as clear and shining as those over the skies of Kharmistan, taking Ben back to memories of trips into the desert with his father years ago.

They would sleep under the stars, throwing off all the outward trappings of sheikh and royal heir, returning to the real life that would always be a part of their mostly desert country. Feeling that nomadic blood stirring, breathing in the honey-heavy air of old dreams, new freedoms.

Ben's father had felt the twice-yearly trips necessary, and it was only coincidental that they were also enjoyable, and now held some of Ben's fondest memories of the man, of the country they both loved. The land they and their forbearers held in their hands, land they ruled and were ruled by, land that was their past and held their future.

A man, a horse, a few homely essentials. That was the way to remember who you were, why you were where fate had placed you.

Ben sensed that Texans felt the same feelings, the
same stirrings, the same past that mingled with the future. He felt sure that the man standing beside him now, sipping coffee from a huge mug, had more in common with Sheikh Barakah Karif Ramir than he would believe possible.

He sensed that Holden, like his brother, his cousins, would want to take him apart, piece by piece, if they knew he had loved Eden in Paris and then left her.

And he would not blame them.

Which only made him like these Fortunes even more. They were family. Strong family. The bonds were solid, the roots ran deep. Eden had grown in fertile soil.

The silence grew, soft and companionable above the occasional faint whinny from the stables, the harsh cries of night birds on the hunt, the chatter of crickets. The air smelled of horse, of sweet hay, of wildflowers sleeping in the night.

The sounds were different, the smells were different from his homeland. But the mood was the same. Comfortable. Somehow powerful. The heady aphrodisiac of sturdy land under your feet, the wide sky above. Land that was always there, would always be there. Sky that promised the limitless boundaries of eternity.

Ben took another sip from his coffee mug, then turned to look at Holden. “It is good to be alive, is
it not? For all the trials, the turmoil, the heartaches. For all the worries, both small and global, for all the responsibilities we bear, all the disappointments we must face, it is good to be alive. If only to stand here on a night like this and let sweet peace and simple hope embrace us.”

Holden spilled the dregs of coffee from his cup with a sharp swing of his arm, then shook his head at Ben, smiled. “No wonder Lucinda took me aside after dinner tonight to tell me she thought you were a cross between Pierce Brosnan—her favorite movie star—and her much adored grandfather. My wife is of Native American descent, you know. Her grandfather was, to hear her tell it, a grand old man with a sacred love of the land and a healthy respect for nature, the simpler things most of us are usually too pressured to even notice.”

Ben emptied his own cup into the stable yard, and turned to lean against the five-barred gate, his elbows on the top bar. “I will consider this a very great compliment, to be compared to her revered grandfather—although I do not think I shall comment on her more fanciful statement.”

Holden shrugged, grinned. “Hey, what can I say? She's a new mother. I learned a long time ago not to argue with anyone's mama.”

“You have, I believe, just shown yourself to also be a very wise man, like your wife's grandfather.
Do you mind if I tell you something I learned years ago? I read that it was proposed by William Penn, who first settled your Pennsylvania, I believe, that the American Indian is in fact descended from the original tribes of Israel. He compared the skin tone, the high-bridged noses, the general countenance, stature and body shape, even some similar customs, and concluded that your wife's forbearers had migrated West through Asia, crossed a now disappeared land bridge to Alaska, and then settled in various parts of North America. There are even ancient Indian legends that seem to support Penn's suppositions. In all, it remains an interesting theory, that we possibly were once all the same people.”

“That it does,” Holden answered, petting the soft velvet nose of a horse that had ambled over to the fence. “There's also a theory that Japanese sailed to the East long centuries before the Spanish conquest and integrated with the Quechuan, Incan populations in highland Peru. But don't take that as a history lesson, because I could be wrong on most of it, okay?”

Ben's smile was warm, thoughtful. “Do you ever think, Holden, that if we trace our history and our hearts, that we truly are all one people? Or perhaps we do believe that, and still persist in behaving like children, fighting with our siblings.”

The horse moved away, and Holden sighed,
watching the animal before he blended back into the night. “I can't thank you enough for being here this evening, Ben. Just in case you didn't know that I invited you here for another reason besides showing off the Double Crown horses. I thought we needed a neutral party here tonight, to take some of the edge off the news we received this morning.”

“I am happy I could be of service. About your cousin, Matthew,” Ben added, nodding, “I am sure you must all be in some sort of shock. I know I was rather worried about Eden for a while, although she seemed happier after speaking with your cousin. Less shocked, more worried. I am not sure, however, which I prefer her to be.”

“It's Matt's explanation, Ben,” Holden said as they both moved away from the fence, started back toward the lights from the house. “It sounds like something out of a soap opera. He's Taylor's father, but the only way he could be—according to him—is if someone somehow got hold of the donation he made to a sperm bank in California years ago, when he was a medical student there. He didn't do it for the money, like many medical students do, but because he believed medical technology is meant to help create life for those who could not otherwise hope to hold a child in their arms. Idealistic, I agree, but that's how he felt.

“He swears on his mother's grave that he's been
faithful to Claudia from the day they met, and I believe him. Hell, I've never seen a man so upset, so totally at sea. I mean, they both love Taylor with all their hearts, and really want to raise him…but none of us could have been prepared to hear that the child is really Matt's son. But my Uncle Ryan is standing by his son, and so am I. We all are. Sheriff Grayhawk is going to investigate this sperm bank lead in an effort to get to the bottom of this.”

Ben nodded, understanding easily. “Family is family. There is no greater bond.” He looked toward the house, saw the figure standing on the porch. “Ah, I believe my keen desert eyes see Mr. Ryan Fortune waiting for us, Holden. Shall we join him?”

Holden laughed, and Ben saw that his small joke had further relaxed the man, which had been his intention. There had been too much tension stretching in the air since he arrived at the ranch, even more tension than he believed could be caused by today's development with Matthew Fortune. So he assumed that his presence was, perhaps, a little intimidating.

And he had not liked the way everyone had looked at Eden when they entered the house, their eyes more full of questions than clouded by the dilemma of Matthew and young Taylor.

In fact, Ryan Fortune, Eden's uncle, and definitely the patriarch of the Fortune tribe, had eyed him as
closely as Nadim watched the ambitious Minister of Public Funds. The scrutiny had almost made Ben feel guilty, as if he had committed some crime, one of which he was not yet aware. One he could be punished for at any moment. Punished for, and then banished.

Yet Ryan Fortune was all smiles when they reached him on the porch, telling Ben again how grateful he was that he had brought his niece to the Double Crown.

“Eden is with Claudia now, and they're having a woman-to-woman talk, I believe. Eden has always been very good with that sort of thing. If she hadn't gone into law, I believe she might have made a fine diplomat. However, as she's probably going to be with Claudia for some time, she asked that I say her good-nights for her,” Ryan said.

Ben was familiar with the term “bum's rush,” and he was pretty sure he was suddenly close to the “Here's your hat, what's your hurry” speech.

“Uncle Ryan?” Holden said, seemingly caught between surprise and embarrassment. “It's only nine o'clock. Surely you aren't saying Ben should leave already?”

“No, of course not,” Ryan Fortune said, looking at his nephew with an intensity that probably had the man wondering if he had a coffee stain on the front of his white shirt. “It's just that we've had a
problem at the
saw
mill, Holden. Somebody forgot to latch something or other, and somehow logs have…have
escaped.
I think you might want to get on the horn, contact the manager up there and find out the extent of the damage before something
else
happens and things get
worse.
”

Holden stood very still for a moment, his eyes shifting from side to side, then said quickly, “Of course, of course. I'll get right on it, Uncle Ryan. Ben,” he then said, turning to extend his hand to Ben, who kept his face carefully emotionless, “I hate to rush away like this, but I do have to take care of this. Uncle Ryan will make sure you and your staff know the way back to San Antonio. Although we'd all be pleased to have you visit again soon, if you can manage to include us in your schedule.”

“I am sure that would be possible, Holden, especially as you have promised me a day-long ride around this fine property. As it is, I should be getting back to the hotel. Nadim, my advisor, will be keeping a light on, you understand, pacing and worrying like an old hen with one chick. That amuses me, but I cannot soothe my conscience with the thought that he deserves a little worry from time to time.”

Within five minutes, the assembled Fortunes had said their good-nights and Ben found himself back in his limousine, the driver making his way slowly
over the dark, twisting road that led back to the main gates. He lowered the side window, reluctant to leave the smells of grassland and meadows, wondering if Eden truly had been too involved with her cousin's wife to personally bid him good-night.

There was something going on at the Fortune ranch. Something that included Matthew Fortune's new problem, but it was not limited to that problem. Ben had been raised to scent out intrigue, and there had been intrigue aplenty tonight, easily sniffed out over the aroma of fine food, over the lush smells of the night.

Somewhere, deep inside himself, he could not dismiss the niggling feeling that
he
had something to do with that air of intrigue, of nervousness, of a secret not meant to be shared.

The limousine came to a gentle stop and the glass divider between Ben and the hired American driver slid down. “Yes?” Ben asked, leaning forward, trying to look past the limousine's headlights. “Is there something wrong? An animal on the road?”

“No, sir,” the driver said as Ben heard car doors closing behind him and Haskim opened the back door of the limousine, poked his head inside to check on his prince.

“Not an animal,” the driver went on. “A child. I caught a glimpse of him as the headlights hit the side of the road when we turned that last corner.
Over there, sir, in that small clump of brush. I think he's hiding out.”

“A child? Are you sure? It is past nine o'clock, and dark. What would a child be doing out here this late at night? Haskim, you will approach the child, slowly and carefully, so as not to frighten it, and bring it to me. No, wait, I will go with you. After all, it is not as if I cannot do things for myself.”

“I'll back up a little once you get out, sir,” the driver said. “That way the headlights will make it easier for you to see him if he tries to run away. That's what's wrong with the world today, sir, you know. Parents letting little kids run wild, all times of the day and night. The child didn't look to be any taller than my boy, Sam Houston, and he's only seven. You get him, sir, and we'll put a little fear into him, teach him not to go running wild.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ben said, rolling his eyes as he looked up at Haskim, then levered himself out of the limousine, stepping into the tall grass beside the roadway, allowing Haskim to lead the way forward, toward the clump of what the American driver had called brush.

“I hope the child knows his name, Haskim,” he said as they walked along, trying to see in the dim light of the headlights. “There must be dozens of families living within the large confines of this splendid ranch. Now, go slowly, Haskim. We do not
want him to bolt and try to escape us, for he could be hurt running into the darkness.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Haskim answered, holding his right hand quite near his hip.

Ben took hold of his left elbow and pulled him to a halt. “Haskim, I am assuming that there is a pistol beneath your
kibr,
am I right? And if I am, do you seriously believe it will be necessary to protect your prince by shooting a young boy?”

“No, Your Highness,” Haskim said, bowing his head. “I am ashamed, Your Highness, and beg your forgiveness.”

“Granted,” Ben said, grinning. “Unless the
kid
shoots me, of course.”

“Your Highness?”

“Oh, relax, Haskim. I think you are watching too many American television shows. Not everyone in America carries a weapon. Now, stay here. I think I see him. He may be less frightened by my presence if you and your
kibr
and
kaffiyeh
are not so much in evidence. You look like Casper's cousin, the Not So Friendly Ghost, standing out here.”

“Your Highness?”

Leaving Haskim where he stood, a bright white beacon of flowing cotton in a dark night, Ben slowly approached the clump of brush, holding out his hand, a smile on his face. “Do not be afraid, little one. I mean no harm. Come, I will take you home.”