Sidney Sheldon's Reckless by Sidney Sheldon Read Free Book Online Page B

he wrote to Tracy. The antiques business is booming. Who else am I going to leave it to?
    Jeff knew that Blake Carter, the old cowboy who ran Tracy’s ranch and had practically raised Nicholas, was a far better, safer, more solid father than he could ever be. Like Tracy, he wanted their son to have a stable, happy life. So he’d made the ultimate sacrifice and walked away. Tracy loved him for that more than anything.
    It bothered her sometimes that everything Nick knew about her and his real father was a lie. My own son doesn’t know me at all. But she took comfort in Blake Carter’s words. “He knows you love him, Tracy. When all’s said and done, that’s all that matters.”
    At last the huge pile of kit was named and folded. Tracy stretched, poured herself a bourbon and threw another log on the huge open fire that dominated her open-plan living room. She watched it spit flames high into the air, crackling so loudly it sounded like a gunshot. Warm, comforting smells of pine resin and wood smoke filled the room, mingling with cinnamon from the kitchen. Tracy sighed contentedly.
    I love this place.
    With her slender figure, shoulder-length chestnut hair and lively, intelligent eyes that could change from moss green to dark jade according to her mood, Tracy had always been a beauty. She was no longer a young woman, but she still exuded an intoxicating appeal to the opposite sex. There was something unattainable about her, a spark of challenge and temptation in those unknowable eyes that transcended age. Even in jeans, Ugg boots and a roll-neck sweater and without makeup, as she was now, Tracy Whitney could light up a room at a glance. Those who knew her best, like Blake Carter, saw something else in Tracy—a sadness, deep as the ocean, and beautiful too in its own way. It was the legacy of loss—lost love, lost hopes, lost freedom. Tracy had survived it all. Survived and thrived. But that sadness was still a part of her.
    Tracy sipped the dark liquor, letting its warmth slide down her throat and into her chest. She shouldn’t really be drinking—it was only four in the afternoon—but after all that damn sewing she deserved it. Plus it felt like evening. Outside twilight was already making way for darkness, with the indigo sky fading slowly to black. On the ground, snow lay feet thick and pristine, like frosting on a wedding cake, punctured only by the dark green spruce and pine trees, reaching their leafy arms up to the heavens. The house was at its best in winter, when its floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the snowcapped Rockies at their most magnificent. The term “splendid isolation” could have been coined for this place. It was one of the main reasons Tracy chose it all those years ago.
    A loud knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
    Tracy smiled.
    So much for isolation.
    The ranch’s position might be remote but Steamboat Springs was still a small town and Tracy was the mother of one of its more troublesome teenagers. Her mind ran over the possibilities as she walked to the door.
    School counselor?
    Principal?
    Irate mother of an eighth grade cheerleader?
    Sheriff?
    Oh God, please not the Sheriff. Blake would hit the roof if Nick had been running one of his scams again. Last time he’d managed to reprogram the school library computers to show that half of the middle-school students were entitled to rebates. The school had erroneously paid out more than two thousand dollars to Nick’s buddies before the head librarian got wise and called the cops.
    Sheriff Reeves had gone easy on Nick that time. But one more screw up and he’d have to make an example of him.
    Tracy put on her most gracious smile and opened the door.
    A waft of freezing air hit her. Tracy shivered.
    Two men were standing on her porch. Both wore long cashmere coats, trilby hats and scarves. One of the men she didn’t recognize. The other, very unfortunately, she