His mom and dad
were coming to the Finals. Cooper had been on the circuit for nearly twenty
years, and this was the first time they'd agreed to come see him ride. He knew
they watched him on television because sometimes his dad would call to critique
his ride or his mom would call to see how badly he'd been injured. But they'd
never come to an event before.
Cooper wasn't
quite sure how he felt about that. Glad that they would finally get to see him
ride before he retired. Terrified they'd see him fail.
"Hey,
Cooper. Where've you been? Haven't seen you out much this trip."
He looked
behind him to see Leanne strutting her stuff, with the requisite big hair
sprayed to a plastic sheen, overdone makeup and fake eyelashes, low cut jeans,
and shit kicker boots. Her brightly-colored top was tied just under an
impressive pair of fake boobs. There'd been a time when Leanne had given him a
place to stay, a warm bed, and a home-cooked meal when he came to Cincinnati,
but this time he hadn't bothered to look her up.
"Not
feelin' up to partyin' these days, Leanne."
She sidled up
close behind him, thrust her pelvis against his butt, and slid her arms around
his waist. "We could take the party back to my place, just the two of us.
I have some steaks in the freezer and beer in the fridge."
Cooper removed
her hands from his belt buckle and stepped away. "Not this time."
A hurt look
passed across her face before her eyes turned frosty. "Well, ain't that
just great. All these times you've taken advantage of my hospitality and suddenly
I'm not good enough? Is that it?"
"No,
that's not it." Cooper sighed. Actually, that was part of it, but he
didn't want to hurt her. He just wanted her to go away. "I got hurt pretty
bad last month. I'm still recovering, and I have to be in top form for the
finals. Just trying to take things easy."
Leanne perked
up a bit. "Are you gonna give me a buckle this time? I mean, with you
about to retire and all, what do you need them for?"
Cooper's head
snapped up. "Where did you hear that?"
"Here and
there. You know how people talk."
"Well, I'm
not dead yet, so don't go planning my funeral. Have you ever known me to give
up my buckles? I send 'em home to my dad. So no, sorry. You won't be getting
one this time, either."
Leanne gave him
a murderous look and turned on her pointy-toed boots, forgetting to swing her
hips as she stomped away. Moments later she was sidled up to another rider and
getting the attention she seemed to think she deserved.
Cooper chuckled
and shook his head. So much for true love.
The thought of
retiring filled him with anxiety. This was the only life he'd known since he
was a green kid in hand-me-down spurs. He knew he could teach on his friend's
ranch like he'd been doing in the off season for years. But with his parents
getting older, he needed to think about going home. But he also thought about
having a family of his own. He hadn't met the right woman yet, and probably
wouldn't back in the two horse town of Morris Springs.
Then again, he
sure wasn't finding what he wanted on the bull riding circuit.
He wanted a
real woman, one with all her own equipment, a fresh-scrubbed, clean face, who
wasn't looking for a ride and a buckle. That wasn't too much to ask for, was
it?
Now that he'd
screwed his chance to sleep in a real bed this trip, Cooper retreated to his
cheap motel room and stretched out on the worn out mattress. His joints ached
and he was tempted to take another pain pill, but he resisted. He had to ride
later that evening and he needed his mind clear. It took every bit of concentration
he had to stay on a bull, and the pain pills dulled his senses.
After tossing
and turning for nearly an hour, he gave up and took the medication. He set the
alarm so he wouldn't oversleep, and finally drifted off.
Three hours later,
the alarm dragged him from a deep sleep. Just as he'd feared, his brain felt
fuzzy and his reactions sluggish. He took a shower, turning the water to cold
in an effort to shock his body awake. He only had a few more weeks to go before
Vegas. He was in a good position, points wise. But the toll on his body was
mounting and every ride seemed harder than the one before. Tonight he'd drawn a
rambunctious bull he'd never managed to ride to the buzzer. But there was no
way in hell he'd let that bull throw him this time.
"Good Lord, ladies. I do believe I've died and gone to
cowboy heaven." Carol Tanner glanced around the decorated dance hall at
the local cowboys, decked out in their Saturday night best--tight-fitting,
starched blue jeans, brightly decorated shirts, hand-tooled leather belts, and
boots that probably cost them a week's pay. She deliberately skipped her gaze
over Jake Reilly, whose intense gaze hadn't wavered from her face since she
stepped into the building. Tonight she'd forget about Jake and enjoy herself,
or die trying.
But as hard as she tried to ignore him, she had to admit he did
look hot tonight. Pissed, but hot.
"Now that is one fine example of prime male
physique." Jean Sutherland sighed as a tall, muscular cowboy passed by.
"Just another reason to love this town," Nancy Phillips
drawled, with a wink aimed at the cowboy under discussion. "So why are we
just standing here? Let's go see what kind of trouble we can stir up."
Logan and Megan Tanner shook their heads and laughed as the
three single women headed into the crowd on the dance floor. Logan took baby
Charlie from Megan's arms and kissed his wife's cheek. "I'm glad I married
you before that bunch had a chance to corrupt you with their wild ways."
Megan grinned. "Who said I wasn't corrupted? I married
you, didn't I?"
"So you did." He turned to his daughter, Katie.
"Listen, you can go meet up with your friends, but do not go outside after dark, do you understand? Most of these cowboys
are harmless enough, but some are drifters that we know nothing about. And
check in with Megan or me every hour."
Katie sighed. "I'm not a kid, Dad. See you in an
hour." She hurried off, waving at a group of girls gathered around the
groaning buffet tables.
Logan watched her go, wishing she was still young enough
that he could keep her by his side. She'd grown into a beautiful young girl. No
longer a child, but not yet a woman. "Remind me again that she's still only
fourteen?"
"Fourteen going on twenty," Megan said. "It's
all uphill from here."
"Logan, Megan. Good to see you stepping out for a
change." Jake Reilly handed Logan a beer. "You want me to get you
something to drink, Megan?"
"I'd love a root beer, Jake. Thank you."
When he came back with the icy drink, his face was stormy.
"That sister of yours is asking for trouble," he told Logan.
"Why? What's Carol up to?"
"Out there on the dance floor, making eyes at those
range rabbits. Don't even recognize some of those men. Asking for trouble, I'm
telling you."
"She'll be okay. We'll keep an eye on her. Why don't
you go ask her to dance? You're the one she wants to be with, anyway, and you
know it."
Jake shook his head. "I'm going to sit this one
out."
For the next hour, Jake watched from the edge of the dance
floor as Carol two-stepped her way across the room with first one cowboy, and
then another. Every once in a while, he caught her glancing his way--whether to
see if he noticed her or hoping he'd ask her to dance, he didn't know. But he
noticed, all right. How could he help it? With her skin tight jeans outlining
her curves, the close-fitting sweater accentuating her breasts…
His hands clenched into fists as yet another man cut in and
swung her away, out of his sight.
"You'd better go get her, Jake, before you decide to
take out half the town with your fists." Logan leaned against the wall
with Charlie tucked against his chest. The baby was sound asleep despite the
loud music.
"What makes you think she'd dance with me? She hasn't
spoken to me in two years."
"You ready to tell me why?"
"No." Jake scowled at Logan. "It's none of
your business."
"Maybe, maybe not. She is my sister, so I expect anything that has to do with her
happiness is my business."
If someone asked Logan Tanner what hell was, he'd say living in West Texas and working on the family ranch. He hated the wide open spaces, the red dust coating every surface, the sight of pump jacks bobbing up and down, pumping out thousands of barrels of oil, never stopping. The unrelenting sun in the summer, the bone-chilling cold of winter. Every time he returned for a visit, his skin itched as though fire ants marched beneath the surface.
"Come on, Logan. I'm not asking you to move home permanently. But I need your help to take care of Dad and the ranch." Carol slid an arm around Logan's shoulder and squeezed. "He's worried about it and the animals and it's making him anxious and upset, so I told him we'd take care of things for now."
"You don't know what you're asking." He was going to be sick. He couldn't let Carol do this alone, but he couldn't endure weeks, maybe months, out here.
Carol's brown eyes clouded with worry. "It's only for a few months, while he goes through physical therapy. You can design your games as easily here as you can in Dallas, and I can use Dad's kitchen to make my soaps."
"It's more than that, Carol. I can't be this far from home. I have meetings to attend, I have an apartment. I have a life. I can't just pack up and move." Even as he protested, he knew he was stuck. His stomach churned and sweat broke out on his brow.
"Logan, what on earth is wrong with you? You're white as a sheet." Carol took his arm and led him to the window seat beneath a stained glass picture of Jesus holding a young lamb. "Sit down before you keel over. This will be good for you. You've been working too hard, and you need some fresh air and sunshine."
He put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He couldn't spend months listening to the wind howl. Months blistering his hands stringing fence and burning his skin under the blazing sun. Think! There has to be another way. "We can hire someone. I'll pay whatever it costs."
She shook her head. "No. You know Dad wouldn't stand for it. He's always worked the land himself. If we bring someone else in, he'd never forgive us. Like it or not, it's up to us. Or me."
Damned if he did. Damned if he didn't. "But I have to go to Baton Rouge. I have to see Katie, find out if she's all right."
"Logan, I'm sure Katie is fine with her mother. I know you're hurt and angry because Sue Ann won't let you talk to her, but a few weeks isn't going to make that much difference. And your lawyer is working on it, right?" Carol put her hands on her hips, ready to fight for what she knew was right. "There's no one else to take care of Dad, so it's up to us. I don't want to put him in a nursing home."
Logan felt trapped, suffocated as though he'd been buried alive. He'd thought he was free. That he'd never have to return to the life he'd hated since he was twelve years old. "But I have an apartment, a job."
Carol spit out a curse that would have sent Mama running for a bar of soap. "You can sublease the apartment. You can design computer games anywhere. They do have electricity and Internet service out here, you know. They even have running water."
"Very funny. And where will I find someone to sublease the apartment? I can't let a total stranger move in."
"Well, there's Megan, my friend from A & M. She graduates next week and she's looking for a place for the summer. You haven't met her, but I can vouch for her."
"Great. Just what I need, a college kid who'll have wild parties and tear up my furniture."
Carol rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Megan is not a kid, and she's not like that. She's very responsible."
"Uh-huh." Logan wasn't convinced, but his arguments were weakening. He tried to think of another excuse that would keep him out of Lynn County.
"Are you going to help me or not?" She plopped down on the seat and looked up at him through her long, dark eyelashes. "Please?"
Damn it. She'd been doing that since she was old enough to talk. Using that pleading tone of voice that guaranteed he'd give her whatever she wanted. He could only think of one time it hadn't worked. When she'd wanted two of his condoms "just in case" the night of her senior prom. He'd decked Jake Reilly that night, just because Carol had thought of having sex with him.
"Oh, hell." He leaned back and lifted his eyes to the stained glass window. "You'd better stick close by, Lord, or we're all going to hell in a hand basket."
Greendale, Texas 1997
Madelyn Cooper shivered in the
air conditioned doctor's office, wearing only a cloth gown as a shield against
the cold. But it was more than the temperature making her shaky. Being not
quite eighteen, pregnant, and the daughter of a murderer seemed to have the
same effect.
The examining room door opened
and Doc Myers walked into the room, a frown on his face. "Maddie," he
said with a quick nod.
She tried to smile, but just
didn't have the energy.
"I see you're complaining
of exhaustion. Have you been taking your prenatal vitamins?"
"Yes, every day." She
hated them. They made her nauseous, but so did everything these days. Her whole
damn life made her sick.
Doc wrote on her chart, then set
it aside to check her blood pressure. As he squeezed the bulb and cut off her
circulation, he asked, "Have you given any more thought to what we talked
about last time?"
What a round about way to refer
to abortion. And her answer had not changed, even though her circumstances had.
"I'm not getting rid of my baby, Doc. No way."
Doc sighed and removed the blood
pressure cuff. "Maddie, surely you aren't planning to have this baby after
what's happened? Rand will never forgive you, so any idea you had about
marrying him is gone. Hell, the whole town is against you right now. What kind
of life will that be for a child? You have no one left, your father is in jail,
and you can't even take care of yourself, much less a baby. Being a single
mother is hard enough when you have a support system."
Maddie lifted her chin, defiant.
"I don't care, Doc. We'll be fine."
He shook his head. "No,
Maddie, you won't. You won't be able to find a job. There isn't a single person
in the entire county who would hire you right now. And you need to worry about
reprisals. I don't think you understand how angry everyone is about what your father
did." He listened to her heart and lungs, then hung the stethoscope around
his neck. "Look, I feel bad about what's happened. You've had a rough time
of it since your mom died. I'm going to give you some money, enough to help you
get out of town and make a new start somewhere else."
Maddie shook her head. "I
don't want your money, Doc. I'm leaving for a while anyway. My aunt is coming
to take me home with her until the baby's born. All I need is a refill on my
vitamins to hold me until I find a new doctor."
Doc seemed to relax a bit. He
patted her knee like he had since she was a toddler. "Well, I think that's
a great idea, Maddie. Your aunt lives in Dallas, right? Far enough away and big
enough for you to blend in, hide out. But I still think you should consider
terminating this pregnancy. The last thing Rand needs is for you to spring
something like this on him. Poor boy is devastated. He hates you now, you know."
That broke Maddie's heart. She
didn't kill Rand's parents, though she might as well have. They were dead and
he refused to speak to her. And now her baby would never know its father.
"So," Doc said,
heading for the door, "when do you leave?"
Was it her imagination, or did
he seem especially anxious for her to go? He'd been good friends with the
McCades for many years, so he probably hated her, too. "I'll be gone by
this afternoon, Doc."
"Good. He nodded and
started to leave, turning back for one final shot. "And Maddie? Don't ever
come back."
Gage Deveraux curled his
fingers around the amulet, felt the incredible energy sealed within the
hammered brass, and shuddered. In
the wrong hands... He would just have to make sure it didn’t happen. "Thank
you," he said to the old cleric who had placed it in his hands with great
care. "I will guard it with my life."
"No!" the old man
shouted. "Do not guard it. Destroy it. Take it away in your helicopter and
drop it into the depths of the ocean. Do not keep it. It will destroy you."
But Gage didn’t hear him
over the roar of the blades that churned up the desert sand and flung it into
his face. He waved and jogged toward the chopper, scrambling aboard as it lifted
into the air and swung away towards the base camp.
He settled into the seat
next to the pilot and watched as the old man grew smaller, merely a speck
against the sand. Something nagged at him, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it
was. How had the old man known he’d be in this place, at this time? Why had he
entrusted him with an ancient Babylonian treasure that supposedly held such
tremendous power? And what was he going to do with it, now that he had it?
"ETA twenty-seven
minutes, Captain," the pilot said through the headset.
Gage nodded without taking
his eyes off the amulet. It still pulsed within his hand. Heat radiated from
it, warming the skin of his palm. Maybe the best thing would be to destroy it
so that no one could ever attempt to use its power. But this entire mission was
about stopping those who were stripping Iraq of treasures just like this one.
He would be going against orders if he destroyed it.
Still, even a strong man
could be tempted by power such as this...
CHAPTER ONE
It was a terrible day to
scatter ashes. The night was rainy and cold, miserable with the storm whipping
the ocean into waves that thundered and crashed against the shore behind her.
But Caitlyn Deveraux had missed the last two chances because she hadn’t been
ready to let Gage go. Now that she’d made up her mind, it had to be tonight.
She couldn’t stand to look at the urn on her mantle until the next full moon. A
full moon, exactly at sunset. He’d left precise instructions in his will.
Standing at the end of the
Santa Monica pier, Caitlyn clutched the cold brass vase to her chest as a gust
of wind tried to blow her back from the railing, yanking at her coat and
tossing her hair around her face. She brushed it out of her eyes and tucked the
strands beneath her collar. The rain soaked her face, mixing with the tears on
her cheeks, numbing them. Cold. So damned cold. Drawing on the courage of her
ancestors, even though she continued to pretend they didn’t exist, she removed
the lid and looked inside. Ashes. All that was left of Gage. All that was left
of her family. Of her life.
It was time.
Caitlyn leaned over the
railing, fighting the dizziness. She hated heights, even though there was a
sturdy rail between her and the water, and only her love for Gage kept her in
place. It took two tries to let him go. Before she could lose courage again,
she turned the urn upside down, shook it, and spoke the strange words he’d
written. Words of the Anasazi, the lost
ones--who couldn’t be lost enough as far as she was concerned.
As his remains drifted
toward the ocean, a gale-force gust of wind took her breath away. The ashes
blew back in her face and she gasped, inhaling the acrid residue.
Caitlyn dumped the last of
the ashes from the urn and fled, gagging, back across the pier, stumbling along
the boardwalk to her car.
Oh God. To breathe in Gage’s ashes…
"Merry, you need to get that article in by
tomorrow morning if you want it in next month's issue."
Merry Peterson nodded and resumed
typing. "I'm working on it. I'll meet the deadline."
Merry's editor, Jennifer Miller,
laid a folder on her desk. "Here's your next assignment. Your deadline is
in two weeks."
There went her weekend. Merry was
tired. It was nearly Christmas and she hadn't even started her shopping. Though
she didn't care for the commercialism of the holiday, she missed her family and
she wanted to take her time picking out the perfect gifts to send back to Boston
She shoved the thoughts aside and
concentrated on finishing her article on New Year Resolutions. The bi-monthly
issue of Dallas Beats would hit the stands at the end of December, so she
couldn't afford to miss her deadline. The folder on the corner of her desk
tempted her, but she resisted the temptation to see what other nonsense her
editor had assigned her.
Two hours later, Merry finished
the article and sent it to Jennifer. Her curiosity finally got the best of her
and she read her next assignment. Her nose wrinkled with distaste. What was
Jennifer thinking?
Merry tucked the folder into her
laptop bag and hurried outside to catch the last bus. She hated working late, hated
waiting in the dark, freezing, for the crowded bus to arrive. To make it worse,
the bus would be crowded with shoppers and packages. She should have driven her
car to work, but the cost of parking made that impractical.
When it finally arrived, the bus
was overloaded and looked like it couldn’t possibly hold another passenger. But
it was either force her way on or pay more than she could afford for a taxi. Merry
took a deep breath and pushed her way through the crowd.
There wasn’t a single seat left,
and not much in the way of standing room. She grabbed a spot in front of a
department store Santa Claus and smiled at the sight of the man decked out in
full Santa gear. She’d always loved visits to Santa as a small child and
remembered well her disappointment when her mother told her she was too big to
sit on Santa’s knee anymore. And then she'd stopped believing in Santa Claus
altogether.
The bus lurched away from the
stop and almost sent Merry flying down the aisle. Santa grabbed her free hand
and held her in place. "Thanks," she said. "This is going to be
a long ride."
Santa smiled and nodded. "I’d
offer you my seat, but this costume is so bulky, I wouldn’t fit in the aisle."
His voice was deep and smooth,
and he sounded younger than she’d expected. His deep blue eyes twinkled when he
smiled. Merry wished he’d pull off the fake beard so she could see his face. "That’s
okay," she told him. "I’m fine."
That wasn’t quite true. She was far from her family, and she’d be
spending Christmas alone for the very first time. Unexpected tears welled in
her eyes at the thought of the lonely days ahead of her.
"Hey, are you sure you’re
okay?"
Merry nodded. She was too choked
up to speak. Looking around at the other passengers, she noticed that most of
them were with someone else, chatting animatedly over the Christmas carols
playing on the speaker system. Only she and Santa Claus seemed to be alone.
The bus pulled to a stop and two
more passengers crowded on. Merry let go of the pole in the aisle and scooted
back against Santa’s legs to make enough room for a woman with an armload of
boxes. When the bus pulled away from the curb, she found herself sitting in
Santa’s lap.
Before she could scramble to her
feet, the woman with the boxes took her place at the pole and blocked Merry in
so she couldn’t move. "This is so embarrassing," she told Santa. "I’m
sorry."
"I’m not. You’re the
best-looking female I’ve had on my lap all day." He shifted her so that
she was turned sideways, giving her room to move her legs. "As long as
you’re here, why don’t you tell me your name and what you want for Christmas?"
Merry laughed and brushed the
tears from her eyes. "I’m too old to believe in Santa Claus."
"Nonsense. It’s not a matter of age. It’s a
matter of faith. Now what would you wish for if you could have anything?"
It worked. Hot damn! It actually worked. After five years of
research, she--Super Geek Keara Dane--had created a love potion that did
everything she’d dreamed it would do--if the look on her young assistant’s face
was any indication, that is. Gill West looked like a dog getting his first
taste of steak. And she was that steak. Medium rare.
"Gilly, don’t look at me
like that." Good lord, the poor kid might be having some kind of attack. His
eyes were fixed and dilated, his breathing rapid, his skin flushed. Maybe she
should dial 911. "Yoo-hoo, Gill! It’s me, Keara. Your boss, remember?"
She waved a hand in front of his face. He didn’t even blink.
Uh-oh. This could be serious. It
looked like an antidote was the next order of business. In the meantime, she
had to do something about Gill. She couldn’t have him mooning after her in the
lab. If Riley found out, she’d be in big trouble.
"Gilly, go home. Right now.
You can have the week off."
Instead of the excitement at the
prospect of a paid vacation she’d hoped to see, he frowned and shook his head. Then
he took a step closer.
Keara stuck a hand out to halt
his progress, but he took it and licked her palm. Eww-eww-eww, that was gross. She scrubbed her hand on her lab coat
and used her sternest ‘I’m serious’ voice. "Gill, if you don’t go home
right now, you’re fired!"
This time her words seemed to
sink in. His shoulders drooped and she felt like she’d kicked a puppy, but he
pulled off his lab coat and hung it on the rack before he headed out the door.
Thank goodness. If he stayed away
for the rest of the week, she might have time to find an antidote before Riley learned
she’d gone against his orders and developed the potion after all.
At midnight, Keara gave up, put
her experiments away, and cleaned the lab. Riley was due back from California
in the morning, and she didn’t want to take any chances that he might discover
what she’d been up to in his absence. She’d hit him with it at the right time,
once she had the antidote working and he was in the right frame of mind. Preferably
when he was too drunk to remember a word she said.
Too bad he rarely drank.
"Hurry, Mommy. I wanna ride before it gets
dark!" Melanie stomped her small foot and stuck her bottom lip out in an
exaggerated pout.
“Calm down, honey. It won't be dark for a while yet. You
have plenty of time." Sandy Morrow brushed her daughter’s blonde curls back
from her forehead and relished the feel of the soft strands against her palm.
God, she loved her little girl. A tomboy with a pixie face, Mel was a constant
whirlwind of activity who tackled every task with a single-minded determination
Sandy wished she could tap into for herself. She was also stubborn and
hard-headed on occasion, and Sandy knew she let her get away with it too often.
Melanie looked forward every evening to getting on her
tricycle, a "berfday" gift from her Uncle Ryan, and setting off on
new adventures, usually with her best friend, Jenny, in tow. But Jenny was on
vacation this week, so Melanie had been at loose ends and more demanding of Sandy’s
time and attention than usual.
While her four-year-old chatterbox kept up the running
demands to go outside, Sandy changed from her navy-blue pinstriped jumpsuit
into a pair of well-worn denim cutoffs and a bright red tank top with a big
yellow smiley-face on the front. She took her long hair down from its French
twist and immediately felt her headache ease. She left her feet bare because
she hated wearing shoes unless it was absolutely necessary.
In the kitchen, she filled a glass with sweet iced tea
while Melanie tugged on her shirt as she hopped impatiently from one foot to
the other. Sandy sighed and left the kitchen, crossed the short hall that led
to the foyer, and opened the front door. As soon as she stepped outside, her
daughter dashed out behind her, slamming the door in her impatience. Sandy
winced and rubbed her forehead.
Melanie ran for her tricycle as Sandy settled into the
swing on the wide front porch. "No farther than Jenny's house, then right
back, understand?" Melanie waved without turning around and continued down
the sidewalk.
A door slammed next door and a booming male voice
yelled, "Jason, get in here right now!"
Oh, Lord, please. Not again. Since they'd moved in two
weeks ago, the Thurmans had fought constantly. Screaming and yelling seemed to
be their only method of communication, with slamming doors and rattling windows
added for emphasis. Not once had Sandy heard them use a normal tone of voice.
All she wanted when she got home from work was a tall,
cold glass of tea, the peaceful rocking of the old front porch swing, and time
with her daughter. A few minutes to relax wasn't too much to ask, was it? Why
couldn't the Thurmans have chosen somewhere else to live? Their constant fights
made her stomach churn.
The Thurmans didn't belong in her quiet, family
neighborhood. The streets were laid out so that most of them were dead-end,
making traffic slow and sparse. It was a safe haven for the kids, a place to
ride their bikes and skateboards, or to play soccer in the street. Now they had
a teenager--an angry teenager with a drivers license--to watch out for.
Finally, after another door slammed hard enough to
rattle the windows, the noise abated next door and Sandy breathed deeply as her
taut muscles began to relax. She let one bare foot drop to the floor, pushing
the swing in a soothing rhythm. Her eyes drifted closed. Just for a minute.
The front screen slammed next door, the loud snap
jolting her upright. She glanced over to see Hunter Thurman, hands fisted in
his front pockets, jaw tightly clenched. He didn't seem to notice anything
around him as he glared at his porch floor.
When she'd first met him, Sandy was instantly attracted.
It should be a sin for a man to look that good. He was tall and powerfully
built, with thick black hair and chiseled features. He carried himself with the
grace of an athlete and the perfect posture of a soldier. He'd greeted her with
a wonderful little-boy smile, full of mischief, that crinkled his eyes and made
her breath catch. Just shaking his hand had made her heart race.
Today he was wearing soft,
form-fitting jeans and a green chambray shirt. She'd bet the jewel tone of the
shirt brought out the depth of color in his hazel eyes. Eyes that made her
think of moonlight and kisses, soft sheets and tangled limbs. Things she, as a
single mother with responsibilities, shouldn't be thinking about.
Caramia Kensington glanced around the lush hotel room and let out a sigh that was one part satisfaction and two parts jealousy. Satisfaction in a job well done. Jealousy that the only thing she’d get out of it was a paycheck.
She’d created a seduction scene fit for a king, a sheik, or, in this case, the heir to a banking fortune. The room glowed with the flickering light of a hundred small candles, pulsed with the low background of sensual music, heavy on the bass as requested, enticed with the heady aroma of ylang-ylang and rose. As Cara checked last minute details to ensure everything was perfect, she wished once again that she could be on the receiving end of such decadent attention. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed.
Blonde hair caught back in a pony tail, all-American girl-next-door complexion totally void of makeup, and a red and white striped t-shirt barely tented by her average B cup—the wholesome package didn’t exactly equal the kind of woman who would drive a man wild and make him willing to spare no expense to see to her pleasure. She felt a little like Cinderella dreaming of going to the ball.
But since her check ran into four figures for setting up tonight’s little scene, she couldn’t complain. Much.
Cara ran her finger down the edge of her list, mentally checking off each item. Chocolate-covered strawberries: check. Champagne
She grinned at the last item. Sam evidently liked to think positively...or he thought he had a reputation to maintain. Okay, what else? Fruit tray, vegetable and cheese and bread trays, bottles of red and white wines, whiskey, and vodka. Soft drinks in the mini-fridge. Bowls of various kinds of chocolates and nuts placed around the room. Soft porn DVD’s stacked on the TV stand.
Vases of flowers, brilliant with color and heavy with fragrance, blended rather than competed for attention. Music played quietly in the background.
Everything was ready, and her latest client was due any minute. She flipped off the overhead lights, switched on the miniature lights--and turned the room into a fairy land.
Oh my. It was gorgeous. She took a couple of photographs to add to her website before she backed out of the room and eased the door closed behind her.
“It’s beautiful.”
Cara spun around and saw nothing but a broad expanse of silk-covered muscle. She thought she recognized the voice, the scent, the rock-hard body. But it couldn’t be. He wasn’t due in town until Monday.
She looked up. “Gray! What are you doing here? We don’t start training until next week.”
Grayson Montgomery wrapped his work-roughened hands around her arms and set her back far enough to look down into her eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cara.”
“Huh? My birthday isn’t until tomorrow.” And she really didn’t want to think about it before then, either. She’d be—omigod—thirty! A small gasp escaped before she could stop it.
Gray grinned, showing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth that were the result of years of orthodontics and caps—the latter thanks to his love of contact sports.
“I see you remember our agreement, Caramia.” He made her name sound like a lover’s caress.
Cara tried to back away, but the closed door at her back blocked her retreat. “No, I’d totally forgotten that silly promise. I figured you had, too.”
His head dipped and she turned her face to avoid the kiss. Gray didn’t miss a beat. He kept going until his lips grazed across her collarbone, sending heat flaring through her midsection. Damn him. Why did he insist on teasing her like this? She wasn’t his type, really, so it couldn’t be true interest on his part.
He went for the outdoorsy types; the rock climbers and skydivers and parasailers. The closest she got to the outdoors was her one true love—swimming. Put her in water, and she was in heaven. Saltwater or fresh, lake or ocean. So long as it was clear and wet, she was happy.
But Gray had consented to work with her to improve her general level of fitness on the condition that she gave it her all and didn’t give up halfway through. She’d agreed, but that wasn’t supposed to start until Monday. This was Friday. He was three days early.
Or else he was right on time. He couldn’t be serious about holding her to that old, outdated promise. Could he? But he’d turned thirty last week. She turned thirty tomorrow. And he was here.
Regina Baker was going to strangle Sam Hyatt.
She swiped the back of her hand across her sweaty face,
leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek. He'd promised to be home by the time she
finished today, and here it was after six p.m. and no Sam. It looked like she
wouldn't get paid today like he'd promised. And darn it, she needed that check.
Someone like Sam didn't understand the concept of living
paycheck to paycheck. He'd never experienced an overdrawn checking account, the
frustration of overdue bills. All he had to do was snap his fingers and money
appeared like magic.
Reggie gathered up her tools--shovels, rakes, hammers,
stakes, water hoses--and loaded her pickup. She took her time, stalling, hoping
Sam would show up before she finished. But no, she was ready to leave and still
no Sam. He wasn't answering his cell phone, either. She'd left him three
messages already. Which meant she would have to face the intimidating George
and ask if Sam had left a check for her.
Reggie smoothed her unruly hair into a semblance of a pony
tail, scrubbed her face with the corner of her shirt, and dusted her hands on
her blue jeans. Not that it would do a bit of good. Sam's butler would still
look at her like she was a cockroach trying to find a way into the pristine
Hyatt mansion.
She took a deep breath and rang the bell.
The butler opened the door and looked down at her. He didn't
say a word, just waited for her to state her business.
"Hi, George." Reggie straightened her shoulders
and lifted her chin with an air of false bravado. "Did Sam leave a check
for me?"
George shook his head. "Not that he mentioned,
Miss."
Darn. "Well, do you know where I might find him?"
"I'm not at liberty to divulge Mr. Hyatt's
schedule."
"Come on, George. You can drop the act with me. You
know darned good and well Sam and I have been friends since he was still in
short pants. I need the check for this job or they're going to repossess my
truck."
Did the corner of his mouth just twitch? She'd never thought
George might actually have a sense of humor.
"Well, you didn't hear this from me, Miss Baker. But
you might try to catch him at the club."
He started to close the door, but Reggie stuck her foot
inside. "Wait! Which one?"
His eyebrows arched. "Why, the Manor Country Club, of
course."
Reggie stared at the elaborately carved door. Of course.
Like it was the only club in existence. Sheesh.
She drove across town, fighting the horrific rush hour
traffic, afraid Sam would be gone by the time she arrived. Her gas tank was
dangerously close to empty, she had no cash on her, and her bank account was as
empty as her tank. If Sam wasn't there, she was sunk.
The reality of what she was about to do sank in as she
pulled into the drive behind a stream of new Mercedes, BMWs, Corvettes and
Hummers. Her ten year old truck let everyone know she didn't belong there.
Angel Kensington could feel the panic attack coming on.
Sweaty palms, rapid heartbeat, chest pain, choppy breathing. She searched the
kitchen for a distraction and grabbed a cinnamon roll from the counter. She
peeled a section off and popped it into her mouth, concentrating on the flavor,
the texture--anything but what her younger sister Cara wanted her to do.
Caramia put a hand on Angel’s shoulder. "I know how
hard it will be for you, really. But this is the most important day of my life.
Doesn’t that mean anything? "
She shrugged Cara’s hand off and moved to the other side of
the center island. "You should know better than to even ask. Let Reggie do
it." Angel turned to their mother. "Mom, tell her. Tell her I can’t
do this."
"Don't bring me into this. It wasn't my idea."
Anna Kensington wiped the kitchen counter with a dishrag, shaking her head as
her daughters continued to argue.
"Just tell me why," Cara begged. "You at
least owe me that much."
Angel scowled. Why couldn't Cara just accept no for an
answer and let it go? She'd managed to go sixteen years without letting anyone
in on her darkest secret, and she didn't intend to start now. "Two
reasons. I don’t want to have a panic attack in front of all those people, and
you know that’s a distinct possibility. Second, I don't want to be paired up
with Mitch Turner, but it's inevitable if he's going to be Gray's best
man."
Cara sighed. "You can take your meds before the
ceremony to take care of the first problem. As for the second, you won't be
paired up with anyone. All you have to do is walk out with Mitch, then you can
stay as far away from him as you want the rest of the time. It's not like I'm
asking you to date him."
Damned good thing, but she still didn't want to do this. How
could she not, though, without looking like a self-absorbed bitch? She'd tried
very hard to not let her mother and sister know how often she had the attacks,
or how bad they were. If they knew, they’d worry a lot more than they did now,
and her mother would hover. She knew sixteen years was way too long for it to
affect her. But she couldn't help it. She'd tried to put the past behind her,
just forget it, but nothing worked.
The panic attacks came without warning. Stress made them
more frequent and stronger. Being in the wedding, being near Mitch, would shoot
her stress levels through the roof. Maybe if she doubled up on Ativan…
"Fine. But I don't want to be dressed up like some fancy peacock. I get to
choose my dress or no deal."
"No problem. You and Reggie and I will go shopping
together. As long as I get to choose the color, you two can do the rest."
Cara let out an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you. I want this wedding to
be perfect, but how could it be without you in it to share it with me?"
"Just promise me you won't try to do any matchmaking,
or even try to make me dance with Mitch. Because I won't do it, and I won't be
ladylike about saying no." Angel turned and fled the kitchen before Cara
could press her for more details. Mitch seemed like a genuinely nice guy, but
she didn’t trust him. She knew his family, and if he was anything like them, he
had an ulterior motive behind those boyish good looks and southern charm.
Ever since Cara and Gray had gotten back together, Mitch had
made it his personal quest to draw her out. She didn't want to be drawn out.
She liked her life just the way it was--safe and uncomplicated.
She had her online friends and her photography business to keep her
busy. She didn't need, or want, a man in her life. She'd been there, done that,
and had the heartbreak to show for it. 
When Cassie Mills decided to moonlight, she was thinking of something along the lines of taking in typing or writing resumes. Demonstrating Purple Plumes of Passion didn’t even cross her mind.
“Come on, Cassie. At least give it a try,” her best friend Julia Sorenson pleaded. “I’m making so much money, I’m thinking about quitting my day job.”
“My mother would kill me.” That was an understatement. Sarah Jane Mills was the queen of appearances. If company came to visit, the house underwent a full, rigorous cleaning. It didn’t matter if the visitor was the preacher, family, or the Orkin man. Shoot, if her mother had a housekeeper, she’d make sure the house was spotless before the woman arrived to clean.
“Damn it, Cassie. When are you going to quit worrying about what your mother thinks? You’re an adult, entitled to live your own life. Your mother isn’t worth all the angst you go through. It’s time to cut those apron strings.”
Julia arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, reminding Cassie that her own brows were way past due for a wax. And she needed a manicure and pedicure, too. Damn, there went this week’s deposit to her savings account.
“I know, I know. But now’s not the time to push her buttons. I just need to find a part-time job checking groceries or something.”
Julia pushed a piece of paper across the Formica-topped table. “Read that and I’ll bet you change your mind.”
Cassie scooted her breakfast plate out of the way and picked up her coffee cup. The Lone Star Diner, famous for its cheap, home-style bacon-and-eggs breakfast, was their favorite Saturday morning meeting place. It hadn’t changed a bit since 1970, when her mom and dad had carved their initials into the tabletop over milkshakes one Saturday afternoon. The initials were still there, right under her saucer.
“I’m not going to change my mind.” But she picked up the paper and glanced at it anyway. Julia’s earnings for the first quarter jumped out at her. “You’re kidding me. For working part-time?” That part-time income was more than twice what Cassie made working forty hours a week, and Julia didn’t even have to put up with Belinda the Barracuda to get her paycheck.
Julia smeared strawberry jam over her toast and used the knife to draw an x in the air. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Sex toys are hot. Everyone who comes to the parties buys something. Some of them drop a couple hundred bucks without batting an eyelash. I just take their money and dance all the way to the bank.”
Cassie sighed. She wished she could be more like Julia, not worrying about what other people thought. But in the back of her mind, she could hear her mother’s voice-- “Cassandra Jean, what will the neighbors think?”
“That’s great for you, but I’d get fired, not to mention disowned, if anyone found out I was selling that stuff. I can’t do it.” But it was tempting. Surely, for that much money she could hold up a big, purple dildo with a straight face, right?
“Look, you want to move to Seattle so you can live in peace, sans relatives, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then one, you need money for the trip. Two, you need deposits for an apartment and utilities, DSL, groceries, and linens and three, you need money for all those other incidentals you always forget to count, plus money to live on for a couple of weeks until you get your first paycheck. So, how much are you putting aside each week right now?”
Cassie thought about the anemic balance in her savings account. Not much. “I try to put a hundred a month aside, but things come up.” Like the brow wax. And the manicure. And it was time to have her hair trimmed. “Maybe I’ll just find the perfect man and get married, and we’ll move away together.”
Julia crossed her arms and sighed loudly. “Look, how about just giving this a try? I’ll let you use my kit for the first party, you can see if you like it, and if you do, you can buy your own stuff out of your profits. That way it won’t cost you anything up front.”
That seemed fair enough. But there was still that one nagging problem. “But what if my mother finds out?”
Julia slapped her palms on the table hard enough to rattle the silverware, drawing stares from the other diners. “If she does, so what? If she says anything about it, tell her to fuck off. It’s about time you did that anyway.”
Cassie laughed. You did not tell Sarah Mills to fuck off. “You’re right. I know you are. But the very idea scares me to death.”
“Which idea? Selling sex toys, or telling your mother to fuck off?” Julia cocked an eyebrow, and Cassie knew Jules was waiting to see if she was going to cave to her mother’s disapproval, or take a chance on putting her plan in motion.
She looked up and grimaced. “Both.” When Julia crossed her arms again and glared at her across the table, she gave up. “Fine. I’ll try it. But I’m not promising anything.”
Julia grinned. “As soon as you get that first paycheck, you’ll be hooked. I guarantee it.”
“Hooked, or hanged? Oh God, I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
Seeing Fitzgerald Real Estate Development Corporation on the door in gold letters normally filled Lacy with pride, but today it only reminded her how much she’d let her father down. Again.
He waved her into his office. "Sit."
She sat. When he used that tone of voice, she knew better than to argue.
Her father leaned back in his chair and stared at Lacy as though he had no idea who she was. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he still saw her as a thirteen year old who’d just lost her mother, her anchor in life.
She waited for him to speak, silently berating herself for getting into this mess. It was like being back in high school, waiting for the principal to decide whether she should be expelled or just suspended for smoking in the girl’s room. That hadn’t totally been her fault either. She’d done it on a dare, then the witch that bet her had tattled.
Her father breathed deeply, wincing a bit as he inhaled. He didn’t look well. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? His skin seemed more wrinkled than usual, his shoulders more stooped. He sagged against his chair, as though sitting up took a great deal of effort.Before she could ask if he felt okay, he picked up a pen and tapped it against his chin a few times.
"Lacy, you're twenty-five years old. You've been out of college for three years, yet you've done absolutely nothing with your degree. Your work history is sporadic at best."
What could she say? He was right.
"This latest stunt is the last straw.”
"But Daddy, Suzanne and I were just having a little fun at Savvy’s to celebrate my birthday, and somehow I ended up trying to make some old lecher believe I was a hooker as a joke. How was I supposed to know he was an undercover cop?"
He glanced her way and she looked down, pretending to study her fingernails. They’d had this conversation before. Different details, maybe, but still the same.
"It's a damned good thing they took you in front of Judge Hayden. At least he knows you well enough to know you weren't really soliciting."
Lacy looked out the window, away from her father's piercing glare. She could barely see Central Expressway through the rain. "You're right, Dad. I'm sorry."
“I don't know where I went wrong. I tried my best to raise you right after your mother died, but somewhere along the line, I failed." Her father set the pen back on his immaculate desk top and leaned forward, his gaze direct and determined.
She didn’t dare look away first. She was almost afraid to blink.
"I'm cutting off your allowance. You'll either have to get a job or move back home, but I refuse to finance your escapades any more."
Oh my God. This was the absolute worst, the meanest, cruelest thing he could do. She was dead broke at the moment, and most of her credit cards were at the max. If he cut off her allowance now—"You wouldn't. You couldn’t." But she knew, even as she said it, that it was a mistake.
Her father looked up and grinned, as if she’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. Damn! When was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? There was nothing he loved better than a good challenge. “Wanna bet?"
She thought for a moment. He could, and he would, cut off her allowance. Up until now he’d been fairly generous, giving her pretty much whatever she needed without asking too many questions. Looked like those days were over. Should she take him up on it? She’d never lost a bet with him, but there was always a first time. “What are the stakes?”
He thought for a moment before he leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll give you five hundred thousand and—”
“Just like that? You’re going to give me a half-mil and let me fly off to Monte Carlo?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Listen up, or you’ll miss the terms. My patience only extends so far. If you aren’t willing to grow up and show some responsibility, you won’t get your hands on a dime. Is that what you really want?”
“Of course not, Daddy.” She tried to look repentant.
Her father flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the desktop. “Like I said, I’ll give you five hundred thousand, and you’ll use the money to start a business. I’ll let you choose what kind, as long as it’s a real business and not some cockamamie get-rich-quick scheme. You’ll have a year to get it up and running—and in the black—and you’ll do it with no outside funding, no help from anyone. If you accept anyone’s help, you forfeit immediately.”
Lacy considered the idea. She’d thought about putting her fashion design degree to work but hadn’t been in any hurry to give up the party life for a permanent nine to five. But she could do it. She had some talent.
“What do I get if I win?”
“I’ll turn the entire Chase account over to you instead of making you wait another five years to get it.”
That made her sit up and take notice. There was a couple of million dollars in that account. “And if I lose?”
“You’ll marry Devin Myers. As soon as the year’s up, or as soon as you forfeit.”
At least now she knew what was really behind this deal. He’d been trying to marry her off to Devin since she’d graduated. She shouldn’t be surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. “No. I know you think Devin would be the perfect son-in-law, but he’s not. He’d bore me to death in fifteen minutes flat. Pick someone else.”
He shook his head. “Devin is dependable, he’s learning the business, and he’ll be a good, steadying influence on you. It’s Devin or no deal, no money, and no allowance. What’s the matter? Don’t think you can do it?”
The gleam in his eye was a challenge she couldn’t resist. The old coot thought he could beat her. But he never had, not once in twelve years. There was no reason to think he might this time, either. And if she lost, she’d take her punishment, marry the Dweeb, and divorce him as soon as possible. All she needed was an ironclad pre-nup. One she wouldn’t tell her father about. One that would help her avoid consummating that marriage if she lost.
Just the thought made her stomach roll. No way. She just wouldn’t, couldn’t, lose.
Lacy looked up and met his gaze. "You're on."
