Mistaken for a Mistress Page 2

  Time might be on Ford’s side in this instance. “I’m going to clear him. Whatever it takes.”

  “Grant said you’d try that,” Caroline said. “He also said you needed to let the police and the justice system handle it.”

  “Handle it?” With every ounce of his waning composure, Ford tempered his tone. “As far as they’re concerned, they have their man. I’m not going to just lie down and let Grant rot in jail on the off chance they drop the charges. While I’m here, I’m going to do some digging on my own.”

  Cole sent him a look of understanding. “I figured you would, and I don’t blame you. I also have some information that might help you do that. It involves Spencer’s administrative assistant at Ashton-Lattimer, Kerry Roarke. I saw them together in a restaurant several months ago when I was with Dixie. Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on, especially since she’s the one who claimed she overheard Grant threaten Spencer.”

  “Grant told me about that, and he also said it was true. That’s why I’m not sure she’ll be of any help.”

  Caroline wrapped one arm around her son’s waist, as if she needed physical support. “Ford, we all know that Spencer has left a trail of scorned women. I’ve always thought that one day he would meet up with one who wouldn’t tolerate his antics. Maybe Kerry Roarke is that woman.”

  A trail of scorned women that had included Ford’s own grandmother, and Caroline. “Then you’re thinking that maybe this Kerry did him in?”

  “She has a solid alibi,” Cole said. “Something about taking some kind of night class. But she might have hired someone to do it.”

  Caroline frowned. “But that would take money, and as far as I know she doesn’t have any.”

  “I’ll find out.” That, and everything else he could about Kerry Roarke. “Any idea where I can locate her?”

  “She still works at Ashton-Lattimer, and that’s all I know,” Caroline said. “Spencer’s nephew, Walker, should be able to help. He was running the company until last month. Even though he was very loyal to Spencer, and not overly fond of us, he should be reasonable.”

  At least that was something Ford could work with. “If you can give me his number, I’ll call him after I get checked into a hotel. Any suggestions on where I should stay?”

  “You can stay at The Vines with us.” Caroline’s voice was soothing despite Ford’s turmoil.

  “Thanks for the offer, but Napa’s too far away from San Francisco. If I’m going to check out this Roarke woman, I need to be in the city.” He also needed to be close to his uncle, even if he couldn’t see him.

  “You’re going to have to be careful, Ford,” Cole said. “If she finds out you’re an Ashton, she’s probably not going to talk to you, especially if she’s involved in some way.”

  “I’ll handle it.” And he would. He had no tolerance for women with little regard for decency. Women like his own mother who’d abandoned her kids, just like her own father had abandoned his children. Spencer Ashton might have had a reputation of being a womanizer, but it still took two to have an affair, so that made this Kerry Roarke as guilty as Ford’s grandfather, even if it turned out she wasn’t guilty of murder. But someone was guilty, and it wasn’t Grant.

  Caroline wrung her hands over and over, another sign of her distress. “Lucas and Eli send their regards. They’re sorry they couldn’t come but they had to stay at the winery to prepare for the crush. Jillian and Mercedes also told me to tell you they hope to see you soon, too. They just couldn’t bear to be here, but they’re keeping you and Grant in their thoughts.”

  Ford took her hands into his. “It’s okay, Caroline. It would’ve been tough on the girls, having to confront the man accused of killing their father.”

  Fury flashed in Cole’s eyes. “He wasn’t much of a father, Ford. Not like Grant was to you. It’s tough on all of us because we believe Grant’s innocent, not because of Spencer’s death.”

  Ford shook Cole’s hand again. “I appreciate your support.”

  “Not a problem. You’re family.” Cole gestured toward the door. “We can drive you to a hotel. The car’s out back. Kent told us we needed to leave that way to avoid the press.”

  Ford definitely wanted to avoid the press, and any pictures in the paper that might identify him. If he was going to approach this Roarke women, he needed to pretend to be someone other than an Ashton.

  Once they reached the door, Caroline turned to Ford and gave him a pleading look. “Please be careful, Ford.”

  Oh, he intended to be careful. Very careful. He also intended to clear his uncle of all charges, no matter what it might take. Even if he had to lie.

  Kerry Roarke had learned one very important lesson early in life: always be wary of a man’s motives.

  She’d never forgotten that lesson, and some people simply didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to get involved with any man. Particularly her gal pals with whom she’d spent the regular Friday-evening preweekend celebration in a trendy Nob Hill bar, listening to them drone on and on about their active sex lives and Kerry’s lack thereof. As she’d told them time and again, she wasn’t interested in “finding a guy,” for reasons they could never understand.

  They’d departed a few minutes ago to ready for their routine club hopping, leaving Kerry with the usual admonishments to get a life. They’d also left her with two top-grade condoms that they’d slipped into her purse. Condoms or not, Kerry wasn’t on the prowl today, or any day for that matter. She had a career in the making and a bitter past hanging over her head.

  That’s why she chose to remain at the lounge, a relatively safe place to unwind. Sure, she’d been hit on by her share of businessmen who frequented the place after work, but she’d honed the art of put-downs and prudish airs. For the most part, those skills had left her out of the line of fire of most men with lust on their minds, except for one disgustingly persistent boss who was fortunately now out of the picture, God rest his demented soul.

  Despite Kerry’s guardedness when it came to the opposite sex, one man standing near the bar’s entry, a pilsner of beer gripped in his hand, had definitely earned her interest, mainly because he stood out from the regulars. He wore a plain navy sport coat over a white tailored shirt, sans tie, like most of the bar’s male patrons in attendance. But his dark jeans spanning long solid legs and his brown leather cowboy boots didn’t quite add up to corporate mogul. Considering his tanned skin and sandy blond hair cut into spiky layers, he might pass as a surfer. A really, really stunning surfer. But most surfers she’d known were a little more lean. A little less buff. Buff worked for her, if she was at all interested. Which she wasn’t. Not in the least. All right, perhaps a tiny bit interested, but not enough to call him over to join her for a drink.

  You need to take a few risks, Kerry….

  In an attempt to ignore her friend’s unsolicited advice, and the handsome stranger, Kerry concentrated on visually tracking a drop of condensation on the glass of club soda. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop the occasional need to glance at him in spite of the lack of wisdom. Yet when he pushed off the wall and headed in her direction, she gave him her complete attention.

  He definitely wasn’t from the city; his gait alone indicated that. In her world, most people were always in a rush, and that applied to walking, talking and working. Not this particular man. He maneuvered his way through the tables slowly, practically sauntering toward the bar. The closer he came, the taller he seemed, his confidence overt with every step he took.

  Yanking herself back into reality, Kerry took a quick drink and set the glass back down. She kept her eyes lowered, as if the soggy cocktail napkin happened to be a work of art. She heard the scrape of a stool and raised her gaze to stare ahead at the collection of liquor bottles stacked on the shelves behind the bar. But in her peripheral vision, she could see that he’d taken a seat two stools down. A comfortable distance, and a definite message he wasn’t seeking her out.

  That should relieve her, but instead
she was disappointed. Though she shouldn’t be. No matter how nice looking he might be, this man was a stranger, and most strangers meant certain danger. Right now, she really needed to finish her drink, grab her purse and go home. She really needed to have some dinner and watch a classic movie with Millie, her eccentric and beloved landlady. She really needed to quit shooting the cute guy covert glances lest he catch her. At least she wasn’t panting, not yet, anyway.

  “Excuse me.”

  Kerry froze middrink, the glass gripped firmly in her hand, a very good thing, otherwise she might be wearing the remnants of her soda. She took a quick gulp then leveled her gaze on the man not quite beside her—and immediately met a cliché. Bedroom eyes. Blue, blue bedroom eyes. Eyes as brilliant as Millie’s collection of Austrian crystal.

  When she realized she was staring, Kerry cleared her throat in an effort to clear away the embarrassment. “Were you addressing me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you live here?”

  A typical pickup line, aside from the ma’am part. “I’m not really into residing in bars. Too noisy.”

  He grinned, and Kerry nearly slid off the stool. Did he have to have dimples to match the little cleft in his chin? And did he have to have a dark shading of whiskers to match his eyelashes? Which was kind of odd considering the lightness of his hair. But she doubted his blond highlights came from a bottle. Most likely from the sun. Perhaps he was a surfer disguised as a cowboy. Probably not a first in California.

  He folded his hands in front of him. Large, sturdy hands with square, blunt fingers. A man’s man hands. “I meant do you live in San Francisco?”

  “Yes, I do.” For ten years now, many of which hadn’t been all that great.

  “Good. Then maybe you can help me.” Fishing into his jacket’s inside pocket, he pulled out a number of brochures and fanned them out in front of him on the bar. “I’m only going to be here for a couple of days, and I can’t decide what I’m supposed to do first. Any suggestions?”

  Oh, she had a suggestion, all right. He needed to put a bag over his head before she went blind from his sheer beauty. She could be polite without fawning over him. After all, he seemed harmless, in a risky kind of way. “Let me see what you have, there.”

  After gathering up the brochures, he slid onto the stool beside her, bringing with him a subtle scent of cologne. Nothing overpowering, like most men at the office. A nice clean smell somewhere between fresh cotton and cool water. Nice, very nice. And so was he when he stuck out his hand and said, “Ford Matthews.”

  She took his hand into hers and noticed the calluses immediately, and the strength of his grip, although it wasn’t overpowering. Just firm and solid and patently masculine, as she’d expected. After he’d called her ma’am, she’d also expected a little more country in his speech but he had no real discernable accent. In fact, he sounded fairly articulate. “I’m Kerry Roarke,” she said right after he released her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Kerry.”

  “Ford’s an interesting name.” But not exactly foreign to her. “For some reason, I think I’ve heard it recently, although I can’t remember where.”

  “A lot of people own one.” He grinned again and streaked a hand over his chin. “I could see you in a red Mustang convertible.”

  “Not hardly.”

  “Not even when you were sixteen?”

  At sixteen she’d had nothing but the clothes on her back and a huge chip on her shoulder. “I’ve never owned a sports car.”

  “Actually, neither have I. I’m more into trucks. That’s the going thing where I’m from.”

  Kerry toyed with the disintegrating napkin beneath her glass to avoid his unbelievable eyes. “Where are you from, Ford?”

  “A small town in the Midwest.”

  “The Midwest covers a lot of territory. What state?”

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “Kansas.”

  That slight hesitation bothered her a bit, but then maybe he was ashamed of his roots. That she could relate to. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a farmer. I own a few acres cultivated in corn. A few horses and cows.”

  Another of Kerry’s expectations met, and very refreshing. She didn’t like pretentious, wealthy men in the least. “Farming must be a tough business.” And the reason for his sun-burnished skin and sun-bleached hair.

  “It can be tough. Long hours, but I like working the land with my own hands.”

  And he owned hands that looked quite skilled, probably at everything. “It sounds intriguing.”

  “Not really. In fact, it’s pretty boring if you’re not in the business. But it’s a good way to make a living if things are going well.”

  “And you’re your own boss.”

  “Yep, I am.”

  Yep. Another indication of his down-home heritage. “That must be nice, being your own boss. I hope to be that someday. I’m guessing you’re not in town on business then.”

  “Nope. Just pleasure.”

  In Kerry’s experience, when a man said “pleasure,” he usually followed it with a suggestive look. Not this enigma named Ford. He seemed refreshingly real. But what he seemed and what he was could very well be two different things. She’d given up gullible when she’d learned the true definition of “the mean streets.”

  “What do you do for a living?” He sounded sincere, another rarity for Kerry.

  “Right now I’m working in an investment banking firm. I was an executive administrative assistant, but I’ve recently been demoted to human resources, due to circumstances beyond my control.”

  “Did you cross the boss?”

  “Actually, he died.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was murdered.”

  If Ford was at all shocked, he didn’t show it. “Did they catch the guy who did it?”

  Warning bells rang out in Kerry’s head. Loud ones. “Who said it was a guy?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I just assumed it would be.”

  “You’re not lying to me about being a farmer, are you?” She sent him a questioning look to match her query.

  A flash of confusion crossed his face. “No, why would you think that?”

  “Because for the past three months, I’ve been hounded by the press. And I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you’re a reporter looking for information. If you are, I have nothing to say.”

  “I promise I’m not a reporter. Not even close.” When he slid off the stool, Kerry assumed he was leaving. Instead, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, thumbed through it then said, “Damn.”

  She rested her elbow on the bar and propped her chin on her hand. “Forget your credentials?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah, I did. My driver’s license. I don’t think the guy checking me in at the airport gave it back to me.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Not if I want to get back home.”

  “I meant that’s convenient, not having anything to prove who you are.”

  He sat back down and released a rough sigh. “I went to college and I have a business degree. I nearly flunked English twice, couldn’t write a decent essay to save my life and never even considered writing for a newspaper. Nowadays, I spend a lot of my time walking through manure and talking to heifers.” He grinned. “The four-legged kind, so don’t think I’m making some kind of sexist comment.”

  His smile could wither the most stoic woman, even Kerry, and that was more than obvious when she gave him one in return. “You did clean your boots before you came in here?”

  “I have on new boots, bought special for the trip. I had to drive all the way into Kansas City to get them. My hometown only has a post office and a drugstore, which also serves as the grocery store. One stoplight, and that’s only been there for about five years.”

  He seemed genuine, but she still had questions. “You don’t have three kids and a wife back home, do you?”

  “No way. Slim pickin’s in small towns
these days.”

  Slim pickin’s in big cities, too, Kerry thought. She studied him again and didn’t see anything that would indicate he was lying. She would just have to trust her instincts on this one, and her instincts told her he was sincere, aside from being simply sensational in the looks department. Besides, she didn’t intend to do anything but have a brief conversation before she headed home.

  “Okay. I guess you’ve convinced me you’re not some media hound.” She gestured toward the stack of brochures. “Now hand over the tourist stuff and I’ll tell you where you need to go.” And she would definitely tell him exactly where he could go if she found out he had been lying to her.

  After he slid the brochures in her direction, she began to eliminate them one by one. “Boring.” She came to the next. “Great, if you like crowded buses.” She tossed aside another. “Too much money.” She kept going until she’d exhausted all possibilities then handed them back to him. “None of this is worth your while.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Several places off the beaten path, a few of the better tourist attractions not to be missed. The night tour of Alcatraz is pretty interesting.”

  His expression went suddenly serious. “Prisons don’t interest me at all.”

  More warning bells sounded. “You haven’t been in one, have you?”

  Finally his smile returned, a guarded one. “No. But I did have a distant cousin who did time for cattle rustling.”

  “People really still do that?”

  “Yeah. When they’re desperate.”

  Kerry knew all about desperation. But she didn’t know what prompted her to ask, “Have you had dinner?” Maybe her attraction to him. Maybe her co-workers voices encouraging her to take a chance now and again. This might be considered a colossal chance, but one she felt the need to take.

  “Nope, haven’t had anything since peanuts on the airplane. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Plenty. What do you like to eat?”