Chapter Thirteen #3
Now she faced the prospect of Lila, whom she barely tolerated, and the people she would invite in to share the place—not a Culhane in the lot of them.
The Culhanes had been family. Now her family was gone.
Jasmine tossed a towel over her bare legs. The afternoon sun was hot enough to burn—time to go back to her boring, air-conditioned room. But she was in no hurry. She could always enjoy a cold drink at the poolside bar.
The call to Mariah had left her unsettled.
In a way, it would be a relief, not needing to attend Darrin’s funeral.
But where was the closure? Where was the chance to say goodbye to her only brother?
She’d never liked him much, but they’d shared some happy memories.
And they’d supported each other through the crises of their parents’ divorce and the arrival of Lila.
Now she felt strangely alone. She couldn’t depend on her mother or even on Sam.
“Excuse me, miss.” The male voice sounded relatively young. Maybe one of the pool boys. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you happen to be Jasmine Culhane?”
Startled, she sat up and lifted the brim of her hat.
He was standing in silhouette with his back to the blinding sun, a tall, lean figure wearing a cowboy hat.
His hand reached toward her, holding a mojito.
“The bartender told me you liked these,” he said.
“I heard about your brother—so sorry for your loss. I’d spoken briefly with him on the phone and was looking forward to meeting him in person.
Then I heard about that awful accident.”
Jasmine sat up and took the icy drink from him, pressing it to her hot cheek before taking a sip.
“Thanks. That tastes good,” she said, “Now, suppose you tell me who you are and why you just brought me a drink. If this is a pickup, you’re wasting your time. I’m already taken, and he packs a pistol.”
He moved a nearby deck chair to her side, sat down, and took off his hat. Out of the glare now, he appeared to be a little younger than she was and handsome like a very young John Wayne. His hair was dark, thick, and neatly trimmed, his jaw nicely squared.
As he shifted in the chair, giving her a glimpse of his profile, she felt an odd flash of recognition.
She could’ve sworn that she’d never seen him before.
But something about him was almost creepily familiar.
But then, in her former profession, she’d met a lot of people.
Maybe she’d signed an autograph for him back in the day.
She sipped the mojito, savoring the tangy chill as the liquid slid down her throat. He studied her with curious eyes. Jasmine was accustomed to being hit on by men, but she didn’t get that vibration from this attractive young cowboy. It was time she found out what he wanted.
She met his gaze over the frosted rim of her glass. “I believe I asked you to introduce yourself,” she said. “Speak up or leave.”
“Sorry. You must think I’m an idiot. It’s just that I’m overwhelmed, seeing my half sister for the first time.”
Jasmine’s first reaction was shock. Her second was suspicion. This cowboy had appeared out of nowhere with an unbelievable story. If he was lying, maybe trying to scam her out of some cash, he had a lesson to learn.
She set her emptied glass on a side table. “You really are an idiot if you think you can fool me. Who are you really?”
“My legal name is Hayden Barr,” he said. “If you’re following the events in the Run for a Million at South Point, I won the cutting challenge on Thursday. It was in the papers.”
“Unlike some members of my family, I don’t pay much attention to horse events. I had too much of that growing up. How did you know where to find me?”
“Your brother mentioned you were in town when we spoke on the phone. The rest was easy. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for your sympathy,” Jasmine said. “But what I really want to know is what proof you have that we’re related. If you don’t have that proof, we’re finished here.”
“Understood.” He fished a folded sheet of paper out of his hip pocket.
“My mother died of cancer when I was fourteen. On her deathbed, she told me that nine months before I was born, she’d had an affair with Frank Culhane—an affair they’d ended because they were both married to other people. I’m Frank’s son—your half brother.”
Jasmine forced herself to take his revelation calmly.
If Hayden Barr was telling the truth, she wasn’t alone.
She had a brother, a possible friend and confidante.
The news could be wonderful. But what if he was lying?
Or what if he only wanted to take advantage of her? Red lights flashed in her head.
“My father got around. That part doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “But your word isn’t proof. Is Frank’s name on your birth certificate?”
“No. My mother’s husband, Chet Barr, is listed as my father. But this DNA test I had done confirms the truth.” He unfolded the paper and thrust it into her hands. Jasmine studied it a moment. Something, she realized, was missing.
“Wait,” she said. “This test confirms that you’re not related to Chet Barr. But that’s all. You didn’t test your DNA against my father’s. You’ve got nothing here.”
“I didn’t have his sample for the test,” Hayden said. “But look at me, Jasmine, if I may call you that. I’ve seen his photos—there’s one on the wall in the equestrian complex. I look a lot like him—the thick hair, the eyebrows; it’s almost like looking into a mirror.”
Jasmine studied his earnest face. “Well, maybe not quite a mirror. I do see a resemblance, but that doesn’t constitute legal proof.” She gave him a laser-focused glare. “Exactly what is it you want from me, Hayden?”
“I want a sample of your DNA,” he said. “If the test shows that you’re my sister, that would be enough to prove that Frank Culhane was my father.”
His request put Jasmine on instant alert.
Maybe the young cowboy was on the level.
But DNA could be used in ID theft, blackmail, and other crimes.
Her DNA would have been on the mojito glass.
Maybe he’d planned to take it, she thought.
But glancing down, she saw that the glass had been whisked away by the efficient hotel staff.
He would have to get it directly from her.
“And then what?” she asked. “Assuming you could get proof, what would you do with it?”
“Change the name on my birth certificate. And get to know my new family, if they’ll have me.”
“Your new family would be me. The rest of the Culhane bloodline is either dead or unborn. We’re finished here, Hayden. I’m not reckless enough to give my DNA to a perfect stranger, especially if he claims to be my brother.”
As she looked back at the cowboy, his image began to blur. Even through her sunglasses, the light behind him was blinding. Spasms of nausea churned in her stomach.
She struggled to stand, but her legs felt as if they’d liquified beneath her. Maybe she’d gotten too much sun. Or—God forbid—maybe she shouldn’t have trusted that mojito.
“You need to lie down, Jasmine.” Hayden was helping her up, supporting her by the arms and shoulders in a solicitous manner that wouldn’t draw attention.
“Let me get you up to your room. Here, I’ve found the key card in your purse.
The elevator is just inside. Come on. Don’t worry, Sis. I’ve got you.”