Roughneck Cowboy. Marin Thomas

then the front door opened again and an elderly gentleman stepped outside. There was no doubt in Travis’s mind that the man was Dominick Cartwright. He stood tall and straight with dark hair and a white mustache. “Matt? What’s going on out there?” He headed toward the group.

      “Duke and I will take care of it, Dad!” the cowboy shouted.

      Travis’s mother hadn’t mentioned a third child in her diary entries, so he had no idea who Duke was, but the cowboy must be Matt—his mother had mentioned an older brother by that name. As his father drew closer, Travis suddenly wanted to run. To pretend he’d never learned of his mother’s secret. To reject the idea that he was part of a family he hadn’t known existed most of his life.

      Charlie hopped out of the truck and joined Travis, sliding her hand into his. He squeezed his daughter’s fingers embarrassed by the need for her support.

      Despite the fact that there must be more than thirty years difference in their ages, the old man’s chiseled face was a dead ringer for the one that met Travis in the mirror each morning. They shared the same nose, high cheekbones and thick, black eyebrows. If there was any doubt, the pronounced Adam’s apple sealed the deal.

      “Dominick Cartwright?” Travis said, cursing the break in his voice.

      The old man stiffened. “Who are you?”

      Disappointment stabbed Travis, but he squelched the feeling. Now was not the time to feel. “Travis Cartwright. According to my mother, Charlotte Keegan- Cartwright, I’m your son.”

      Dominick stumbled back and the other men steadied him. Masculine hands covered in a network of thick veins clenched into fists. He opened his mouth, then shut it so tightly his lips vanished beneath the mustache as he stared at Travis.

      Unfazed by the tension between the adults, Charlie asked, “Are you my grandpa?”

      Before Dominick had a chance to answer, Duke said, “Help Dad inside, Matt.”

      Travis’s brother took Dominick’s arm and led him away. Once the two were out of earshot, Duke said, “You better be for real or you’ll have a lot to answer for.”

      Travis nodded toward the house, where a group of women and children had gathered on the front porch. “I don’t want to intrude. Charlie and I will return in a couple of days.”

      “No one drops a bomb like you just did and walks away. C’mon.”

      He was grateful Charlie hadn’t released his hand as they followed Duke. If he wasn’t so agitated, he’d laugh at himself—the big, bad roughneck afraid of a few rich people.

      “What’s the matter, Duke?” one of the women asked when they neared the porch steps.

      “We’ll talk inside.”

      The crowd filed into the house, then Duke motioned Travis and Charlie ahead of him. They joined the others in the crowded foyer. Dominick stood to the side, staring into space.

      After a tense silence, Charlie blurted, “How come no one’s talking?”

      A pregnant woman with blond hair smiled. “I’m Renée.” She set her hand on the shoulder of a young boy. “This is my son, Timmy.” The woman motioned across the foyer. “You’ve met my husband, Duke.”

      A tall woman with long black hair and a quizzical expression stepped forward. “I’m Samantha.”

      My sister. Travis and Samantha shared the same dark eyebrows, olive skin and jet-black hair. Unlike his brother, Matt, whose blue eyes, brown hair and paler complexion favored their mother.

      Samantha slipped her arm through the man’s next to her and hugged a little boy close. Both males wore identical eyeglasses. “My husband, Wade, and our son, Luke.”

      “I’m Amy, Matt’s wife.” A petite woman with curly hair motioned to two little girls. “Our daughters, Rose and Lily.” The girls giggled and hid behind their mother’s legs.

      “I’m Charlie.”

      “That’s a weird name for a girl,” the boy wearing glasses said.

      “Charlie’s my nickname.”

      “What’s your real name?” the boy asked.

      “Charlotte. That’s my grandma’s name, too.”

      The adults froze at Charlie’s announcement.

      “Where’s your grandma?” the little girl in pigtails asked.

      “She died. And I don’t have a mom. It’s just me and my dad now.” Charlie fidgeted next to Travis, unaware of the bombshell she’d dropped.

      Samantha slapped a hand over her mouth and tears flooded her eyes. Matt’s face drained of color. Travis searched out Dominick, but the old man had disappeared. A moment later, the echo of a slamming door thundered through the hallway.

      Chapter Two

      Travis wasn’t sure if his physical presence or the news of his mother’s death had caused his estranged father to leave the group. Regardless, Travis decided he wasn’t ready for this confrontation. “Charlie, let’s go.”

      “Wait.” The blond woman named Renée stepped forward. “We were about to serve dessert. Please stay.”

      “Last one to the kitchen’s a rotten egg.” Timmy took off, and the other kids followed. Renée held out her hand to Charlie.

      Noticing Samantha’s pleading expression, Travis decided it wouldn’t hurt to answer a few questions about their mother. “Go ahead,” Travis urged his daughter.

      Matt’s wife kissed his cheek, then joined the others in the kitchen. Samantha gazed into her husband, Wade’s, eyes and Travis swore the couple shared an entire conversation without speaking a word. Wade hugged her, shot Travis a be-nice-to-my-wife glare and left.

      “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” Duke said before vacating the hallway.

      Travis nodded to the door Dominick had slammed moments earlier. “Maybe you should check on your father.” He’s yours, too. True, but for all intents and purposes, he and Dominick Cartwright were strangers who happened to look alike.

      “This is unbelievable.” Samantha cast a worried glance down the hallway.

      “We could all use a drink,” Matt said. They filed into the parlor and Travis positioned himself in front of the windows. His sister collapsed on the leather sofa and Matt poured scotch into three glasses at the wet bar. After serving the drinks, he sat in the chair near the fireplace.

      Travis swirled the gold liquid in the crystal glass, thinking this was a three- or four-shot occasion—not a one-shot. He wasn’t a conservative drinker, thanks to his chosen career. As soon as his two-week rotation on the rig ended and he stepped onto the mainland, Travis and his coworkers headed straight for the local bars to blow off steam. Even though he hadn’t seen the harm in his bi-monthly binges, his mother had nagged him to cut back on his alcohol consumption. He hadn’t appreciated her concern until she’d been diagnosed with cancer. After helping to raise Charlie, Travis owed his mother a lot more than a promise to watch his drinking. He would have done anything for his mom if it would have cured her illness.

      Then she’d died and he’d discovered his whole life had been a lie. He’d grown up a latchkey kid, living in one-bedroom apartments because that’s all his mom could afford on a secretary’s salary. Only when he’d landed the job on his first rig had they been able to scrape together the down payment for a small house. He hadn’t resented going without as a child—it was all he’d ever known. But the knowledge that he was the son of a wealthy oilman made him bitter.

      “If you didn’t look so much like our father,” Matt said, “I’d accuse you of fabricating the story of Charlotte’s death in order to blackmail Dad.”

      “I’ve