“So do I.”
“Then you’ll understand when I ask you to leave and tell you that we don’t want any part of your plans to drag up all the scandal about the horse swindle again. It won’t do anyone a bit of good, least of all the people on this ranch. You’ll have to find another way to get elected this time, senator.”
Trask leaned a hip against the back of a couch and turned his attention away from Keith to Tory. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Is that how you feel?” he demanded.
Tory looked at Trask’s ruggedly handsome face and tried to convince herself that Trask had used her, betrayed her, destroyed everything she had ever loved, but she couldn’t hide from the honesty in his cold blue stare. He was dangerous. As dangerous as he had ever been, and still Tory’s heart raced at the sight of him. She knew her fascination for the man bordered on lunacy. “I agree with Keith,” she said at last. “I can’t see that opening up this whole can of worms will accomplish anything.”
“Except make sure that a guilty party is punished.”
“So you’re still looking for retribution,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It’s been five years. Nothing is going to change what happened. Neva’s right. Nothing you can do or say will bring Jason back.”
“Neva?” Trask repeated. “You’ve been talking to her?” His features froze and the intensity of his stare cut Tory to the bone.
“Today,
she ran into me on the street.”
“And the conversation just happened to turn to me.” The corners of his mouth pulled down.
Tory’s head snapped upward and her chin angled forward defiantly. “She’s worried about you, senator, as well as about her son. She thinks you’re on a personal vendetta that will do nothing more than open up all the old wounds again, cause more pain, stir up more trouble.”
Trask winced slightly and let out a disgusted sound. “I’m going to follow this through, Tory. I think you can understand. It’s my duty to my brother. He was murdered, for God’s sake! Murdered! And one of the men responsible might still be free!
“The way I see it, you have two options: you can be with me or against me, but I’d strongly suggest that you think about all of the alternatives. If your father was innocent, as you so self-righteously claim, you’ve just gotten the opportunity to prove it.”
“You would help me?” she asked skeptically.
“Don’t believe him, Tory,” Keith insisted, walking between Tory and Trask and sending his sister pleading glances. “You trusted him once before and all he did was spit on you.”
Trask’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Tory’s younger brother. “Maybe you’d better just stay out of this one, Keith,” he suggested calmly. “This is between your sister and me.”
“I don’t think—”
“I can handle it,” Tory stated, her gaze shifting from Trask to Keith and back again. Her shoulders were squared, her lips pressed together in determination. Fire sparked in her eyes.
Keith understood the unspoken message. Tory would handle Trask in her own way. “All right. I’ve said everything I needed to say anyway.” He pointed a long finger at Trask. “But as far as I’m concerned, McFadden, you have no business here.” Keith strode out of the room, grabbed his hat off the wooden peg in the entry hall, jerked open the front door and slammed it shut behind him.
Trask watched Keith leave with more than a little concern. “He’s got more of a temper than you did at that age.”
“He hates you,” Tory said simply.
Trask smiled wryly and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Can’t say as I blame him.”
“I hate you, too,” Tory lied.
“No, no you don’t.” He saw that she was about to protest and waved off her arguments before they could be voiced. “Oh, you hate what I did all right. And, maybe a few years back, you did hate me, or thought that you did. But now you know better.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.”
“Sure you do. You know that I haven’t come back here to hurt you and you know that I only did what I did five years ago because I couldn’t lie on the witness stand. The last thing I wanted to do was send your dad to prison—”
Tory desperately held up a palm. “Stop!” she demanded, unable to listen to his lies any longer. “I—I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses or rationalizations—”
“It’s easier to hate me, is that it?”
“No—yes! God, yes. I can’t have you come in here and confuse me and I don’t want to be a part of this…investigation or whatever you want to call it. I don’t care about anonymous letters.”
“Or dead calves?”