Читать онлайн книгу «His Brother′s Fiancee» автора Jasmine Cresswell

His Brother's Fiancee
Jasmine Cresswell
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.LostOne groom. Emily Sutton is up to her ears in the final plans for her lavish society wedding when her fiancé informs her that he can't marry her.FoundA stand-in at the altar: her fiancé's black sheep brother. Emily assumes Jordan Chambers has saved her from the embarrassment of being publicly jilted in order to salvage an important business merger between their families. But Jordan's not motivated by family at all. What he's always wanted is Emily, and he's not about to squander his only chance.Finders Keepers: bringing families together


Finders Keepers: bringing families together
Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.
Lost
One groom. Emily Sutton is up to her ears in the final plans for her lavish society wedding when her fiancé informs her that he can’t marry her.
Found
A stand-in at the altar: her fiancé’s black sheep brother. Emily assumes Jordan Chambers has saved her from the embarrassment of being publicly jilted in order to salvage an important business merger between their families. But Jordan’s not motivated by family at all. What he’s always wanted is Emily, and he’s not about to squander his only chance.
“Why have you dragged me in here, Jordan?”
“I thought it might be a good idea if we got married tomorrow.” Jordan made the suggestion with a casualness that would have been entirely appropriate if he’d been suggesting that she might like to try out a new restaurant for brunch on Sunday.
Emily clutched the back of the nearest chair. Jordan had asked her to marry him. She was quite sure she’d heard him do that. Unless she was hallucinating. Was she? She felt her mouth start to drop open again, and she hurriedly closed it.
“I don’t think marriage would work out too well for us,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft and nonthreatening. She even managed a small, reassuring smile. When dealing with lunatics, it was best to be gentle. “Thanks for asking, Jordan, but if you remember, we don’t like each other. I have this quaint, old-fashioned dislike of men who sleep with other men’s wives.”
Dear Reader,
Long before I became a romance writer, I was an avid reader of all types of romances. I love Cinderella stories, and stories in which the heroine transforms herself from quiet, mousy wimp into a strong, sexy, achieving woman. Best of all, I confess to enjoying the marriage-of-convenience plot, even though it could be considered among the most artificial and contrived of romantic story lines.
In days gone by, women often found themselves in situations from which the only possible escape was to make a marriage of convenience. Consequently, authors of historical fiction can have a lot of fun playing with this theme. But nowadays, with endless opportunities open to most women, it’s much harder for an author of contemporary romances to dream up circumstances in which a woman might consider making a marriage of convenience.
Emily Sutton, the heroine of His Brother’s Finacée, is an educated, professional woman from a loving family background, and yet, she finds herself agreeing to marry Jordan Chambers, the outcast younger son of the upper-crust Chambers family. Of course, the temporary marriage of convenience soon begins to turn into a passionate affair of the heart, although there are a few obstacles to be overcome along the way before Emily and Jordan can have their happy ending.
I hope you find their story fun, and that you will enjoy this installment of the TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS series.
Sincerely,
Jasmine Cresswell
His Brother’s Fiancée
Jasmine Cresswell

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Acknowledgments
Jasmine Cresswell is acknowledged as the author of this work.
Dedication
For Angela Naylor Candlish, who likes to read all the same books I do!
Trueblood, Texas
The Cowboy Wants a Baby Jo Leigh
His Brother’s Fiancée Jasmine Cresswell
A Father’s Vow Tina Leonard
Daddy Wanted Kate Hoffmann
The Cowboy’s Secret Son Gayle Wilson
The Best Man in Texas Kelsey Roberts
Hot on His Trail Karen Hughes
The Sheriff Gets His Lady Dani Sinclair
Surprise Package Joanna Wayne
Rodeo Daddy B.J. Daniels
The Rancher’s Bride Tara Taylor Quinn
Dylan’s Destiny Kimberly Raye
Hero for Hire Jill Shalvis
Her Protector Liz Ireland
Lover Under Cover Charlotte Douglas
A Family at Last Debbi Rawlins
THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY
The year was 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprec-edented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there was still hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunite with their families. After reading notices in news-papers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anni-versary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.
Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.
Contents
Chapter One (#ue6263e69-ec5b-564c-b7bb-a01f6f7bba66)
Chapter Two (#u7b6aab6a-ab92-505e-9bc1-ccba6633a6af)
Chapter Three (#u4eb05fff-5f40-59dd-8e68-31adaa38b516)
Chapter Four (#u6b2565e2-536c-52a5-b772-9fc818185d05)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
EMILY SUTTON’S fiancé caught up with her in the library of the elegant San Antonio mansion where he lived with his parents. Michael Chambers was normally blessed with a ready smile, but Emily noticed that today he looked somber, even a little nervous. How odd, she thought. Michael’s self-confidence was usually as vast as the state of Texas; it was one of the characteristics that had first attracted her to him.
“Hi, Michael, what’s up? You’re looking worried.” She was already running late for her appointment at Finders Keepers, but she paused in the doorway, her arms clutched around the massive three-ring binder that contained the complex details of their wedding arrangements.
Emily shifted the heavy weight of the binder from one arm to the other. There were moments when she felt sure the inauguration of the president of the United States couldn’t necessitate more paperwork than the elaborate wedding ceremony her mother and Mrs. Chambers had planned over the past three months. Her mother had loved every minute of the planning, of course, even though she and Mrs. Chambers both complained repeatedly that the engagement was much too short for them to put on a truly stylish affair.
Thank goodness Michael needed to have the wedding ceremony behind him before he embarked on his election campaign for governor of Texas, Emily reflected wryly. Otherwise she couldn’t begin to visualize what their respective mothers might have attempted. Importing the royal guards from Buckingham Palace, maybe?
Emily grinned, glad that she’d been able to make her mother so happy just by saying yes to all her fancy wedding plans. She leaned against the door, once again shifting the weight of the binder to her other arm. Michael still remained silent and she felt her first twinge of true concern.
“You look really worried, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He didn’t respond and her stomach lurched with a premonition of disaster. “Michael, talk to me. Has there been an accident? Oh my gosh, is it one of my parents?”
“No, not that…”
“Is your dad’s heart playing up again? Please don’t try to cushion the blow—you’re just making me more scared.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, so ill at ease that his discomfort seemed almost feigned. “I can’t marry you,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “We have to call off the wedding.”
Shock momentarily paralyzed Emily. Then relief surged through her, leaving her knees feeling shaky. She suppressed a slightly impatient sigh. She’d noticed before that she didn’t share Michael’s rather cruel sense of humor, and she was too busy today to be tactful.
Glancing at her watch, she gave a weak smile. “Michael, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to play games. I’ll see you this evening at five o’clock. Remember we have the cocktail reception for the bridal party and family members at your father’s club, and then we have the dinner for out-of-town guests right afterward.”
Compulsively organized as always, she opened the file and read out the column of arrangements that affected Michael. “It’s black tie tonight, of course. My parents are bringing me, so there’s no need for you to pick me up. By now, your brother should already have left for the airport to pick up your groomsmen who are flying in from Dallas. Harrison Turner and Carter Blayne. Those are the two groomsmen I’ve never met, if you remember. They’ll need transportation tonight, because they’re not renting cars for some reason. I have written in on my schedule that your brother will drive them to the dinner, but he hasn’t been pinned down on this, and you know Jordan is always a law unto himself. He may choose to cooperate, or then again he’s just as likely to blow off the entire night’s events.”
She snapped the ring binder shut, taking a calming breath. The mere thought of Jordan was enough to provoke a frisson of irritation so, with the ease of long practice, she switched her train of thought. “Oh, and if you have a spare second, you might go and say a couple of soothing words to your mother. She’s fussing about the dinner menu again, and Sidney is beginning to lose his cool.”
Emily managed a tired smile, although her prospective mother-in-law had been really hard to manage this morning. “Try to convince her that serving smoked pheasant appetizers simply isn’t an option at this point. She’ll have to be content with the ten varieties of hors d’oeuvres she’s already selected.”
Michael rubbed his forehead. “Who is Sidney?”
“Oh, sorry. I’ve spoken to him so often, I forgot you wouldn’t know. He’s the chef at your dad’s club.”
She turned to go, but Michael hurried across the room and grabbed her arm, interposing himself between her and the door. “Damn it, Emily, will you stand still for a minute and stop rattling off lists? I shouldn’t have allowed you to go on about all those arrangements.” He crossed his arms and stared at her with a touch of defiance. “I wasn’t joking just now. I can’t marry you. We have to call off the wedding.”
“Call off the wedding?” Once again, it seemed to Emily that the world stopped. Only this time it didn’t immediately start moving forward again. She blinked and swallowed hard, trying to bring her vision back into focus. “Not…marry me?”
Michael drew in another deep breath and shook his head. “That’s right. I’m sorry, but we have to call off the wedding. I just can’t go through with it.”
Panic froze her in midbreath. Michael was a decent man, her good friend. There was only one rational explanation for what he was saying. She gasped, frantically trying to suck in enough air to speak. “Oh, my God! You’ve discovered you’re suffering from some incurable disease!”
“No.” His manner was so brusque she knew he had to be hiding something terrible.
“Don’t try to protect my feelings—”
“I’m not protecting you!” Michael yelled. He lowered his voice with visible effort. “I’m fine, Emily, never healthier. But I can’t marry you.”
He was serious, Emily realized. Dead serious. Michael was just fine, except that he wanted out of their marriage. Her brain, overloaded with details ranging from the color of the table linen for the prenuptial bridal dinner—cream with centerpieces of yellow rosebuds—to the gifts for her six bridesmaids—specially designed gold pins from Tiffany’s—refused to find space for the unpalatable fact that the reason for all these elaborate preparations had just vanished. On a whim of Michael’s, with no reference to her wishes, the wedding was off.
It was now ten-thirty on Friday morning. On Saturday evening, in less than thirty-six hours, fifty important out-of-town guests and three hundred movers and shakers from the state of Texas expected to see Emily Sutton, heiress to the Sutton land development fortune, married to Michael Chambers, candidate for governor of Texas. Unfortunately, it seemed that half the bridal couple wouldn’t be available.
Moving with great care, Emily walked across to the antique burled-wood desk and set down the ring binder. The 150-page tome of meticulous planning had suddenly been rendered as useless as a dead battery.
“Is there some special reason why you no longer want to marry me?” she asked. Amazingly, shock had so stifled her emotions that her voice emerged sounding coolly interested rather than heartbroken.
“There are a lot of reasons,” Michael said vaguely. He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the library, seeming to regain his natural confidence. “For one thing, there’s obviously no sexual spark between the two of us. I know we agreed on this marriage for practical reasons, but in this day and age, doesn’t it bother you that we’ve been engaged for three months and we haven’t found the time to take a weekend away and actually make love to each other?”
Now he noticed that they’d never made love? She’d been wondering for weeks why not. Emily flushed, touching her engagement ring. The four-carat diamond solitaire—big enough to make a statement, not big enough to be vulgar-suddenly felt heavy and out of place on her finger. Twisting the ring, she decided this wasn’t the very best moment to confess that she hadn’t made any sexual overtures to Michael because their celibate relationship had been a source of considerable relief to her.
She gave an explanation she hoped he would accept. “We have frantically busy schedules, both of us. I’m sure our sexual relationship will be just fine once we get around to it.”
“Once we get around to it?” Michael shot her an incredulous glance. “You’re attractive, but you seem to have almost no sex drive. When we kiss, it’s as if we’re friends, not potential lovers. That’s strange, really, considering-” He pulled himself up short. “Anyway, I know this marriage of ours was never supposed to be a love match…”
Wasn’t it? Emily wondered, no longer listening to Michael’s attempt to explain the inexplicable. No, she supposed she had to grant him that much. She’d been determined to make her marriage last a lifetime, and she’d promised as much when Michael asked her to marry him. But neither of them had exchanged vows of everlasting love. Neither of them had mentioned passion. They’d simply committed themselves to a relationship based on friendship, mutual trust and loyalty. The qualities her adoptive parents shared in their marriage. The very qualities Emily had always wanted in her own marriage.
Michael was amazingly good-looking, Emily thought, watching his lips move without hearing a word of what he was saying. She wondered why she’d never felt even a twinge of physical attraction toward him. She pondered this for a second or two, then dismissed the question as one that no longer held any interest for her.
Despite the fact that she had never lusted for Michael’s body during their engagement, she’d intended to be the best possible wife for him, and she’d recognized that included being an active sexual partner. Just last week she’d bought a sexy black negligee for their honeymoon. Surely that proved she was willing to do whatever it took to keep her husband happy.
Sex had always struck her as a significantly overrated activity, but she wasn’t neurotic about it. Damn it, she was not neurotic about sex. Just because she was more aware than some of her contemporaries that getting carried away by passion could have serious consequences, it didn’t mean she was a prude. She wanted children, she knew men liked to have sex on a regular basis, and she was quite sure she could learn to enjoy a modest program of sexual activity. That’s why she’d carefully selected a prospective husband who looked as if he’d know how to go about the whole thing tastefully, without the excessive panting and pawing she found such a turnoff.
Besides, she’d assumed that what she and Michael shared was something much more important than messy emotions like lust and desire. She liked Michael’s company, admired his achievements, and envied his deep family roots. Surely those were better—stronger—grounds for marriage than a physical attraction that was likely to burn itself out within weeks of the honeymoon.
Emily felt a spurt of betrayal when she thought back over the past three months. Michael had assured her numerous times that she was going to be the perfect wife for him, the ideal partner for a man burning up miles on the trail to the governor’s mansion. Only last week, after their dinner with Senator Drysdale and his wife, he’d told her that she was the sort of woman most political candidates could only dream of finding. Socially gracious, well educated, but never pushy, she burnished his image whenever they appeared together, Michael had said proudly. What had happened between last Wednesday and today to change his mind?
Emily realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d given less than half her attention to Michael’s rambling explanation as to why he was calling off the wedding. In the end, though, perhaps it didn’t matter that she wasn’t much wiser about his motives now than she had been ten minutes ago. What could he possibly say that would justify such a crazy decision, anyway?
“I’m counting on you to help me come up with a reasonable explanation for this last-minute cancellation,” Michael was saying, in a jolting echo of her own thoughts. “Neither of us wants to provide any more fodder for the scandal sheets than we need. Our breakup is bound to be reported by the local San Antonio media, especially coming right before the wedding like this. If we’re unlucky, this is a story that could get picked up by the national tabloids. We can’t forget how easily my campaign for governor could hit a roadblock. I know I don’t need to remind you, honey, how important it is that we don’t do anything to derail my fund-raising prospects at this stage of the game. These days, if you can’t please the moneymen, you can’t hope to run a campaign.”
She winced at the endearment, but she could see he hadn’t even noticed the casual intimacy of the way he’d called her honey. Hurt made her angry. “Yes, I can see that your fund-raising prospects are your first priority right now.”
Michael gave no indication that he noticed the sarcasm dripping from her reply. “I knew you’d understand, Emily. I value your opinion, you know, even though I can’t marry you, and I sure would appreciate anything you can think of that would keep my campaign moving along on an upward swing.”
How about a swift kick in the pants, Emily thought wildly. That ought to give him some satisfactory upward propulsion.
“It’s vital for us to have some sort of plausible story to tell before tonight’s dinner,” Michael said. He sent her a smile that Emily found infuriatingly patronizing. “I’m perfectly agreeable to pretending that it’s you who called it off.” His smile deepened, then changed into a warm chuckle. “Who knows? If you’re seen ditching me, maybe that’ll increase my sympathy ratings with the women voters.”
“Or maybe they’ll all start wondering what I found wrong with you,” she said.
His worried frown instantly reappeared. “Damn! I was joking, but you have a point. Hmm…we’ll have to think about that some more. There must be some way for us to pull this one out of the hat.”
“Consult with your campaign manager,” she said, her jaw clenched. “I’m sure Jeff Greiff will have an opinion. He always does. After all, this is a political issue, isn’t it? There don’t seem to be many emotions involved.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, suddenly solemn. “At least on my side, there’s quite a lot of feeling, even though we both recognized this was pretty much a marriage of convenience. I really do care about you, Emily. It’s just that I need to be so careful—“ He pulled himself up short. “Anyway, thanks for suggesting I should get in touch with Jeff. That was a great idea, I’ll give him a call.”
“Sure. Don’t let me keep you.”
Her sarcasm finally penetrated Michael’s cloud of self-absorption. He had reached for his cell phone, but he put it down on the desk without dialing, his expression contrite and faintly ashamed. “I’m real sorry, Emily. But this will turn out for the best, you’ll see.”
He leaned forward and, to her horror, she realized he was planning to hug her, or maybe even give her a comforting kiss. She hastily stepped backward, out of his reach.
“Don’t touch me!” She was humiliated by the hurt and panic that she could no longer screen out of her voice.
Michael’s expression softened into a sympathy that she didn’t want and couldn’t bear to see. “I have a high regard for you and your adopted family, Emily, a very high regard. Even though things haven’t worked out between the two of us, I’m glad that my father and yours have already entered into a business partnership for that new land development in Laurel Acres. And I want you to know that if I can count on your father for the promised campaign contributions, then he can count on me to get him all the introductions he can possibly use for his other business projects. Any doors that might have been closed to him in the past…well, I’ll personally guarantee to make sure that they spring open. The Chambers family name carries a lot of power in this state, and you’ve earned the right to have me use some of that power on behalf of your adoptive family.”
Earned the right? The shock was well and truly wearing off, Emily realized. She was so hurt by Michael’s suggestion that their engagement had been nothing more than a subsidiary clause in a business deal, and so disgusted by his casual shattering of their promises to each other, that she was about to say all sorts of things she would undoubtedly regret. Thinking first and speaking much later had prevented her from making a lot of bad mistakes in her life. No point in changing the habits of a lifetime at this traumatic moment. What she needed to do right now was to get out of here so that she could draw the tattered remnants of her pride and dignity back around her.
Averting her eyes, she picked up the wedding arrangements binder and clutched it to her chest, deriving irrational comfort from its familiar weight, even though all the documents tucked carefully inside were now so much waste paper.
“I can’t stay talking to you any longer, Michael. I have an appointment all the way across town.” She was fiercely glad now that she’d never told him about her decision to consult with Dylan Garrett of Finders Keepers. Especially glad that she’d never even breathed a hint as to why she might want to hire the services of a private investigator. Her desire to find her birth mother seemed an intimate yearning that she was glad she’d never shared with Michael.
She glanced at her watch, surprised that some part of her brain was still functioning clearly enough to enable her to note that it was 10:38. “Unless the traffic is miraculously light, I’m going to be late.”
“Of course, don’t let me keep you. We’re just about finished here, aren’t we?”
“You could certainly say that.”
“Then I’ll let you go.” Michael was obviously as anxious to get away from her as she was to get away from him. She could see his fingers quivering over the buttons of his cell phone. “I really appreciate how understanding you’ve been about this, Emily. I knew you would be, though. You’re one class act, but you know that, don’t you?” He looked at her almost wistfully. “In so many ways, you’d have made the perfect governor’s wife.”
She was a class act in grave danger of tossing her cookies if she didn’t get out of this room in the next thirty seconds. Without saying another word, Emily swung out of the library, proud that she was sufficiently in control to close the door quietly behind her.
Emily had never made a scene in her life, and she wasn’t about to give Michael Chambers the satisfaction of seeing her create one now. When you had no idea where you came from, it wasn’t a good idea to give people cause to ask questions about your stability, or even your manners.
Ever the lady—even if she hadn’t been born one—Emily walked quietly from the room.
CHAPTER TWO
THE NEXT TIME Emily was consciously aware of her surroundings, she found herself facing a set of imposing barred wrought-iron gates. Unable to proceed, she was forced to stop driving. She drew her Ford Explorer to a halt, her hands starting to shake on the steering wheel when she realized that she had arrived at the Double G Ranch on the far northwestern outskirts of San Antonio.
Good grief, if she was at the Double G, she must have driven clear across town at the height of midday traffic! Try as she might, she couldn’t summon a single memory of seeing another vehicle, or stopping for a traffic light. She could only be thankful that she hadn’t killed anyone in the process of getting here.
Although a traffic accident might be one solution to her dilemma, she thought with a touch of hysteria. Maybe she could stage a fake accident, smash up the car a bit, and feign head injuries. How about pretending to have amnesia? Then Michael could sorrowfully announce to the 350 assembled guests that since his fiancée had lost her mind, they were postponing the wedding.
Three hundred and fifty guests. Emily’s hands started to shake again. She’d tried so hard to be a source of pride to her parents. The Suttons had showered her with love and attention from the day they picked her up at the adoption agency, when she was only two weeks old. Achieving her maximum potential had seemed the least she could do to demonstrate her gratitude. Now she appeared doomed to shatter their pride in a big way, in the most public of settings. How in the world was she going to face them?
Her hands simply wouldn’t stop shaking. She gripped the wheel, forcing herself back to an approximation of calm. Take things one step at a time. By chance, she’d made it here to the ranch without mishap. On time, no less, so she might as well keep her appointment. When she’d finished her consultation with Dylan Garrett, there would be more than enough hours left in the day to track down her parents and pass on the shocking news that their weekend schedule suddenly had plenty of free time in it.
First she had to get through the closed gates. Small tasks seemed very difficult when half your brain was nonfunctioning. Emily rubbed her pounding forehead. How was she supposed to get inside? There were video monitors mounted on the decorative stone gate posts, but she couldn’t see any handles or locks on the gates themselves. Belatedly, she remembered that Carolyn had warned her about the secured entrance to the ranch. She’d been instructed to press the buzzer right below the videocam and request admittance.
Okay, Emily decided. She could manage that.
Hot, humid air assailed her as she rolled down the window. The temperature had been in the nineties for the past several days, and there was no rain in the five-day forecast, no expectation of a return to the eighties anytime soon. She’d been happy about the dry spell when she heard the forecast this morning. Now she wished rain would pour down in torrents. If there could only be a flood, just a little one, with nobody drowning, would that be sufficient excuse to call off the wedding?
Despite a fervent prayer for lightning bolts and thunder claps, the sky remained stubbornly cloudless, without the tiniest hint of an impending shower, let alone a flood of torrential rain. Thunderstorms, she could only conclude, were not delivered on demand to save people from social embarrassment.
Sighing, she pressed the intercom button. “This is Emily Sutton. I have an appointment with Dylan Garrett of Finders Keepers.”
“Hi, Emily. This is Carolyn. I’ll let you in.”
The gates swung open, but Emily didn’t drive through them. Instead, she stared at the electronic speaker as if it had sprouted fangs and poison pincers. Carolyn St. Clair! Her maid of honor. Good grief, she was truly losing her mind. How could she possibly have forgotten that Carolyn would be here, at the Double G Ranch? How could she have forgotten that the main reason she’d chosen Dylan Garrett to be her investigator was because her best friend Carolyn worked for Finders Keepers?
“Hey, Em, are you there? Or have we lost you to a daydream about your honeymoon?” Even over the intercom system, Emily could hear that Carolyn’s voice was tinged with friendly laughter. What in the world was she going to tell her? Carolyn was probably the kindest, most sympathetic woman in San Antonio, but that didn’t make it any easier for Emily to confess that she’d been dumped by her fiancé, hours before the wedding.
Whatever story she settled on, Emily decided, she couldn’t break the news over an intercom. She cleared her throat. “I’m here, Carolyn, and the gates are open. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the head of the stairs. When you’ve parked the car, you’ll see the signposts to our office.”
The gates swung closed behind her, and Emily followed the winding, tree-shaded drive to the ranch. The driveway was almost long enough and wide enough to be considered a road, and on another day, in different circumstances, she might have been intrigued by this chance to observe one of the San Antonio region’s oldest and most successful cattle ranches. As it was, her brain was so stuffed full of worry that she could just as easily have been driving to the local mall for all the attention she paid to the view.
Parking on a flagstone apron shaded by a pair of giant live oaks, she followed rustic wooden signs that pointed her to a side entrance and a stairway that led up to the second-floor offices of Finders Keepers.
As promised, Carolyn greeted her at the head of the stairs. “I’m glad you could make it, Em. With the wedding tomorrow, I half expected to get a phone call saying that some last-minute glitch in the arrangements was keeping you in town.”
“No.” Emily drew in a shaky breath. “I decided to get the hell out of Dodge for an hour or two and leave everyone else to cope with the disasters.”
Carolyn laughed. “I should have known you would be much too well organized to be panicked just because several hundred of the most important people in Texas are coming to watch you get married. Now me, I’m already chugging antacids just because I’m going to be your maid of honor. I know people aren’t going to pay the least bit of attention to anyone except you, and maybe a glance or two at Michael, but I’m not used to moving in the sort of high-society circles that you inhabit, and I don’t want to mess up.” She rolled her eyes. “The Chambers family is so nose-in-the-air Old Money that I’m never quite sure whether to curtsey or tell them to lighten up and get a life.”
This was simply awful. Emily wondered if she should faint, have hysterics, or cut short her torture by jumping out of the nearest window. “Look, Carolyn, you probably need to know that you don’t have to worry anymore about being—”
A man came out of a door to her left. “Ms. Sutton? I’m Dylan Garrett, one of the partners in Finders Keepers. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Years of social training took over and Emily extended her hand, smiling politely. “Yes, I’m Emily Sutton. It’s good to meet you, Dylan.”
“I’ll get back to straightening out the petty cash accounts,” Carolyn said with a quick wave. “See you tonight, Em. I’m looking forward to it.”
Oh, God! Should she keep Dylan waiting while she told Carolyn what had happened? Panic started to whirl in Emily’s stomach and she leaned against the banister, afraid she might pass out if she didn’t grab on to some solid support.
“Come into my office and we’ll get started,” Dylan said, taking the decision of what to do next out of her hands. “I know how busy you must be, and I’ll try to do this as fast as we can.” He held the door, standing back so that she could pass him.
He would never know what an effort of will it required to straighten her shoulders, move away from the support of the stair rail, and follow him into his office, Emily thought.
“What a pleasant room,” she said as Dylan closed the door behind them. Her reaction was mechanical, but as she spoke, she realized she had instinctively responded to the simple, masculine comfort of the room. As a trained interior designer, it was second nature for her to notice the settings people chose to live and work in, and she heartily approved Dylan’s taste.
The office had walls of natural stone and rough-hewn timber, contrasted with sections of whitewashed plaster that gave the whole room an airy feel that was simultaneously timeless and fashionably rustic. The furniture was obviously custom-designed to fit the niches and contours of the room, and the natural clutter of a working office was cleverly contained within several purpose-designed cabinets and open tray systems.
“You have wonderful natural light, and you’ve made the most of the available space,” she said, looking around. “You must enjoy working here.”
“I sure do. It’s turned out well, hasn’t it?” Dylan sat down behind an oversize desk and gestured for her to take the comfortable armchair that faced him. “It’s hard to imagine that this second floor has been part of the ranch for a hundred years, but it wasn’t much more than wasted space until my sister and I decided to convert the area into our offices.”
“With Carolyn to keep the administration running smoothly, and this great setting to impress your clients, I’m sure Finders Keepers will soon be the most successful investigative firm in the state.”
Dylan grinned. “We can only hope. But let’s get down to business. I know this is a very busy day for you and I’m sorry we couldn’t arrange to get together any earlier. You’re the only person I know whose schedule is more full than mine right now.”
Emily managed a sickly smile. If only he realized just how empty her schedule was about to become.
Dylan gave her an intent look, then leaned back in his chair, deliberately casual. “Tell me what you would like Finders Keepers to investigate for you, Ms. Sutton. Carolyn said that it was a family matter, but that’s all she told me.”
“Call me Emily, please.” She had agonized over her decision for weeks before coming to consult with Dylan Garrett. Ironically, now that she was here, her emotions were so numb that it didn’t seem such a big deal after all. “I’m here because I need you to find my birth mother,” she said.
“Need?” Dylan asked mildly. “Do you really need to find your birth mother for something like medical reasons, or was that just a figure of speech?”
“A figure of speech. At least I think it was.” Emily smiled wryly. “I don’t have any hereditary diseases as far as I know, and psychologically I’m sure I’ll survive if I never find out who my birth mother was, but I guess I’ve grown more and more curious about my origins as I’ve gotten older. Don’t get me wrong. My parents, Sam and Raelene Sutton, are wonderful people. They’ve given me a great education, a secure home, and lots of material possessions. Most of all, they’ve loved me more than any child could possibly hope for. In fact, they were such terrific parents I made it all through the teenage years without ever once being tempted to run away to search for my ‘real’ mom. So I guess it kind of took me by surprise a couple of months ago when I found myself wondering about my birth mother.”
“You never thought about her before? That’s unusual for an adopted child.”
“I thought about her occasionally, but not with any real intensity. On my birthdays, I would wonder if she remembered the day I was born, and if she missed me. But suddenly, after twenty-seven years, I have this nagging sense of urgency, and I’ve even started to dream about her at night. It’s as if time’s running out for me to find her. When I’m awake, the feeling of urgency isn’t so strong, but I keep asking myself how she’d feel if she knew her daughter was about to get married—“ Emily stopped abruptly.
Fortunately, Dylan misinterpreted the reason for her sudden silence. “It’s not surprising that you should start questioning the circumstances of your birth now you’ve reached the point in your life when you might have children of your own. Even so, before I agree to proceed with the investigation, I’d like to reassure myself that you’re aware of the risks involved.”
“Risks?”
“Emotional risks, chiefly. Although sometimes there are practical risks, too.”
“I’ve considered the risks,” Emily said. “I realize this search will impact my adoptive parents as well as me. Obviously, I don’t want to hurt them—”
“Have you told them what you’re planning to do?”
Emily shook her head. “No, not yet.”
Dylan sent her a quizzical look and she acknowledged his tacit question with a rueful smile. “I’m not chickening out. Honest. I don’t think they’ll be hurt by the idea that I’ve chosen to look for my birth mother, but they’ll be…anxious. Why worry them needlessly? Carolyn says your success rate in finding missing family members is very high, but even you must have the occasional failure. I didn’t want to get everyone worked up over something that might fizzle out into nothing.”
“You have a point. But we’re proud of our record, even though we’ve only been in business a short time, so I’m optimistic that we can find your mother. However, there are still a couple of warnings I need to run by you before we start the investigation. Until quite recently adoptions were governed more by custom than by law. Nowadays, most states insist on full disclosure, and open adoptions are the norm, with all the important facts on the table. But thirty years ago, case workers figured birth records were closed forever, and nobody was going to be hurt if they polished the truth to make it more palatable to adoptive parents.”
“I just want to know who my mother is and why she chose to give me up for adoption,” Emily said. “I’m prepared to face whatever you find.”
“Are you certain? Even if it turns out that you were born while your mother was in prison? Or maybe she had so many sexual partners nobody has any idea who your father is? Or how about if she’s a married woman, living in the suburbs with a second family and children she chose not to give up for adoption? How badly is that going to hurt you? Then there are the practical risks I talked about. You’re a successful professional woman, with wealthy parents. What if your adoptive mother hits you up for money?”
“Actually, I’ve thought about all those possibilities, and I’ve decided I want to know the truth, whatever it is,” Emily answered without hesitation. Surprisingly, a fierce desire to find her birth mother was one of the few emotions she could still feel through the numbness induced by Michael’s rejection.
She realized she was gripping the edge of the desk, and she uncurled her tense fingers. “I appreciate the warnings, Dylan, and I’m prepared to face the worst, but I don’t think I’ll have to. The adoption agency provided some pretty specific details about my background. They said my birth mother was a nineteen-year-old student at the University of Texas. My father was also a college student, although he was a couple of years older. They had a brief affair, but by the time my birth mother found out she was pregnant, my father had already graduated—”
Dylan shook his head, interrupting her. “Emily, every client who walks through these doors seems to have been told a version of the same story. Middle-class couples were more willing to adopt babies from middle-class backgrounds, so that’s what the agencies provided—babies supposedly born to innocent young girls who had made a mistake. The truth might really have been that the birth mother was an illegal immigrant toiling in a factory sweatshop and boosting her income by working as a prostitute, but somehow she always got transformed into a college student who made a mistake.”
“Sometimes it must have happened that way, though. College students do have unplanned babies.”
“Yeah. Sometimes. Not as often as you might expect.” Dylan leaned forward, his gaze intent. “I had a case where an older woman found out the truth about her past and wished she hadn’t. The illusions of a lifetime were badly shattered and she’s coping with information she’d have preferred not to have. Let me give you one last warning, Emily. Don’t open the box unless you’re one hundred percent sure you want to see the contents.”
Emily knew adoption agencies often lied about the circumstances of the birth parents…knew that her mother might be someone society would deem unworthy. Her dubious genetic heritage was one of the reasons she had always been so anxious not to disgrace Raelene and Sam. She didn’t want to give people cause to whisper that bad blood always tells in the end. But the time had come in her life when she needed to replace comforting myths with the truth.
“I’m prepared for whatever you find out,” she said quietly. “I want to open the box.”
“Okay, I believe you.” Dylan relaxed and gave her a warm smile. “Now I’m finally going to quit with the dire warnings and tell you one of my favorite adoption stories. Almost the first client this agency had was a man in his forties. His adoptive mother had just died, and he’d decided to start a search for his birth mother. We found her without too much difficulty, and they had a great reunion. It turned out his birth mother had been widowed a year earlier and had been looking for her son ever since. But it gets even better. Yesterday, I had a phone call from my client. His birth mother and his adoptive dad have just gotten engaged and he called to invite me to the wedding. Isn’t that a great story?”
“It sure is. It’s the sort of fairy-tale ending every adopted child dreams of.” Emily concentrated on feeling happy for the bride and groom, and not wallowing in self-pity for herself and her broken engagement.
“I have a bunch more great adoption stories, but with your tight schedule, I guess we need to get down to business.” Dylan’s manner became brisk. “I’ll need your birth certificate and the name of the agency that arranged the adoption. I assume you can give me that much?”
Emily nodded. “I sure can. The adoption was arranged through the Lutheran Family Services. Unfortunately, their records were all destroyed in a fire, and the agency itself is no longer in business, which is why I couldn’t take this investigation any further myself. I didn’t know where to start.”
She laid a brown envelope on the desk. It contained the meager records of her adoption. “Other than the story I told you about both my parents being students at the University of Texas, I don’t have any leads to give you, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. It’s my business to generate leads. That’s why we charge the big bucks.”
Emily acknowledged his smile. “Yes, Carolyn already provided me with your fee schedule. It took me a couple of days to recover, but I’m no longer in a state of total shock.”
“Good.” Smiling, Dylan pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Don’t worry, Emily, we earn our high prices. We’ve traced birth parents with less information than you’ve given me, and quite quickly, too. So my advice is that you should enjoy your wedding, have fun on the honeymoon, and by the time you’re back in town again, I hope to have news for you.”
He glanced down at some notes on his desk. “I have your address and phone number here—365 Market Street. Is that going to change after you’re married?”
Emily felt her smile freeze. Good grief, here was another problem she hadn’t thought of. She was about to become a homeless person! She’d sold her small but beautiful condo with views over the River Walk because she’d expected to move into Michael’s self-contained apartment within the Chambers mansion. Her furniture was in storage, and she’d been camping out for the past ten days at her parents’ house. The new owners had already moved into her condo, and she had no place to go. Because much as she loved her parents, she simply wasn’t going to continue living with them. She never again wanted to put herself at the mercy of their well meant but smothering protection.
It took significant effort, but she managed not to let her worry show. “I’m not living at the Market Street address anymore, but I’ll make sure Carolyn has my new address and phone number,” she said. “I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.”
Dylan wasn’t a detective for nothing. She’d thought she managed to convey that information rather calmly, but he sensed the anxiety lurking only a hairbreadth beneath the cool surface.
“Emily, what’s bothering you?” he asked quietly. “I assumed it was the search for your birth mother that had you on the edge, which is why I pressed you hard about the risks involved. But I’ve been watching you closely, and I’m fairly sure it’s not this investigation that has you half a step away from full-blown panic. It’s something else. Can I help?”
“No, but I really appreciate the offer. It sounded genuine.”
“It was. I have broad shoulders if you feel the need to unload a problem.”
It occurred to her that Dylan would be an easy man to confide in. It also occurred to her that he must encounter people all the time who were struggling with heartbreaking, life-or-death dilemmas. She suddenly realized that 350 disgruntled guests didn’t amount to a life-or-death problem. As for heartbreaking… Her heart, now that she stopped to think about it, seemed remarkably unscathed by Michael’s casual termination of their engagement. Her pride was rubbed raw and she was panicked by the sudden upheaval in her plans for her future, but there was no gaping wound in her emotions. In fact, for a bride jilted almost at the altar, she was embarrassingly free of grief.
Emily flashed Dylan her first genuine smile in several hours. “I’ve just this minute come to the conclusion that I don’t have much of a problem at all. Other than the fact that I’ve been indulging in an exaggerated case of self-pity, which I plan to snap out of right now. Thank you again for your excellent advice.”
“You’re welcome.” Dylan grinned. “Sometime you must let me know what I said that was so insightful.” He walked her to the door. “You’d probably like to see Carolyn before you leave. Her office is two doors down. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. I’ll look forward to hearing from you as soon as you have any news about my birth mother.” Emily said a final goodbye and marched purposefully down the hallway to Carolyn’s office. The door was open and she stepped inside without knocking.
“I’m not going to marry Michael,” she announced. “You’re the first person to hear the news.”
The sky didn’t fall and the walls of the building remained standing. In fact, her announcement seemed considerably less amazing once she’d actually spoken it out loud.
Carolyn, who’d been working at a computer, swiveled around on her chair and looked at Emily without saying anything. Her expression revealed nothing at all about what she was thinking, not even that she was surprised.
“You want to sit down and tell me about it?” Carolyn asked finally.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” Whatever story she invented for the benefit of the world at large, Carolyn was her best friend and would have the plain, unvarnished truth. But not right now. Not today.
“I’ve been really stupid, and it still feels too frightening to talk about,” Emily said by way of explanation. Her heart might not be shattered, but it could still ache for dreams and hopes that weren’t going to be fulfilled. “Give me a few hours to get my head fixed on straight and then I’ll share all the gory details.”
“Okay. Subject closed. So what shall we do tonight?” Carolyn rallied like the trooper she was. “Want to come to my place and eat popcorn and watch bad movies? Hop on a plane to Dallas? Drive into the country and spend the night at a motel, drinking champagne and dissing men? You name it, I’m game.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, feeling tears spring into her eyes. “You’re a wonderful friend, Caro. But I think what you should do tonight is attend the Sutton-Chambers bridal dinner at the San Antonio Federal Club. Trust me, the food’s going to be spectacular. The champagne is all from France, and there are a bunch of cute guys coming, and most of them dance really well.”
“But I thought you said you weren’t going to marry Michael?”
“I’m not. But it’s too late to cancel the bridal dinner. Everything will have to be paid for anyway, so somebody might as well eat all the fancy food Mrs. Chambers has spent three months selecting.” Emily was quite proud of her smile. “The bride and groom will be missing, but that should at least make for some interesting table gossip.”
“Well, I don’t know, Em…”
“Go, Carolyn. Please. I want you to. You bought a super new dress, you told me so. You might as well wear it and leave all the men of San Antonio eating their hearts out because you’re so unattainable.”
Carolyn laughed. “You’ve got me mixed up with you,” she said. “You’re the one who left a trail of broken hearts when you accepted Michael’s proposal.”
Emily sent her friend a grateful smile. It was so typical of Carolyn to say something to boost her morale. “Thanks, Caro. I wish we could have lunch together so you could pay me lots more slick compliments, but I ought to get back, I suppose. I can’t put off talking to my parents any longer.”
“Do you want me to call any of the guests? Warn the other bridesmaids? Anything along those lines?”
Emily felt herself break out in a cold sweat at this reminder of what she would shortly be facing. “I don’t know what to say….” She drew in a steadying breath. “No. Don’t tell anyone that the wedding’s off. I think it’s best if we just let everyone turn up for the bridal dinner tonight and then my parents will have to make some kind of an announcement.”
Carolyn sent her a look of real sympathy. “You went a bit white around the gills when you said that. Are you okay to drive yourself home, Em?”
“Yes, I’ll manage. I’m fine, really.” She looked at her watch and realized that she’d left the Chambers’ home well over two hours ago. “Wow! I really have to get back and face the music. I’ll be in touch soon, I promise. Take care, Carolyn.”
“You, too, Em. Drive carefully. Love ya.”
“Love you, too, babe.”
Carolyn watched her friend leave. “But you didn’t love Michael,” she muttered under her breath. “Thank goodness you realized that in time to get out of marrying him.”
CHAPTER THREE
EMILY DIDN’T NEED to ask where everyone was when she finally managed to fight her way through the crush of city traffic and return to the Chambers’s house. The sound of loud, angry voices informed her she would find a large gathering of furious people in the family room at the rear of the house.
Feet dragging, she walked slowly down the hallway, fighting a cowardly urge to hide in one of the formal reception rooms, where the heavy antique furnishings provided cover, and Victorian oil portraits of Chambers ancestors looked down at the goings-on of their descendants with bland indifference.
The irate voices grew progressively louder, with Mr. Chambers’s upper-crust baritone booming over a cacophony of other speakers. Her mother sounded as if she might be crying, and Emily winced in anticipation. The prospect of opening the door to the family room and facing the hurt and disappointment of her parents was almost enough to have Emily turn tail and run as fast as her legs could carry her in the opposite direction. But the thought of Mr. Chambers berating her mother put some steel into her flabby backbone. Reminding herself that a canceled wedding barely rated as an earthshaking problem in the grand scheme of things, Emily opened the door.
The family room was little used and quite small, converted from a combination of the old butler’s pantry and housekeeper’s sitting room. Right now it appeared crammed to overflowing with irate people. Her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. Michael. Jeff Greiff, his campaign manager. Michael’s brother, Jordan, was also there, standing a little apart from the others and staring out of the window. He was the only person who wasn’t yelling, shouting or crying.
Emily swallowed hard. The tension swirling around the room was powerful enough to squeeze the air out of her lungs. Her vocal chords stubbornly refused to function and she pressed her hands to her rib cage, trying to speak, but no words came. Surprisingly, it was Jordan who noticed her arrival first, even though his back was toward the door.
“Emily’s here,” he said, half turning. He spoke quietly, but his cool tones penetrated the hullabaloo, and the babble of exasperated voices stopped for a few seconds while everyone swiveled around to stare at her. She’d noticed before that Jordan rarely needed to raise his voice in order to make his presence felt, and she wondered why his family seemed unaware of the fact that on the rare occasions when he wanted to, Jordan could dominate any situation he found himself in.
Amelia Chambers spoke first, her voice acid with sarcasm. “Well, it’s the vanishing bride! How good of you to put in an appearance. Finally. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies.”
Emily flushed. “I had an appointment on the far side of town, Mrs. Chambers. I’m sorry to have kept everyone waiting.”
Amelia was standing by the fireplace, her hand resting on the mantelpiece. At Emily’s reply, she drew herself up to her full, imposing five feet nine inches and squinted down her narrow, patrician nose, her nostrils flaring with temper.
“You had an appointment across town?” She sounded incredulous, as if Emily had admitted to taking off for a brief trip to the planet Mars.
“It was a long-standing commitment. A business appointment.”
“Oh, well, that explains everything. I appreciate your finding time to squeeze us into your busy schedule.” Amelia rarely lost her temper, but when she did, her sarcasm could corrode steel. “Perhaps, now that you’re here, you’d be kind enough to give us some clue as to why you’ve chosen to ruin my son’s life?”
“You’ve no call to talk to my daughter in that nasty tone of voice!” Raelene Sutton, plump and petite, sprang to her daughter’s defense like a sparring bantam hen, giving Emily no chance to speak for herself. “If she’s called off her engagement to your son, you can be sure she has a good reason for it.”
“Yes, and I’d like to know what that reason is,” Sam Sutton said fiercely. “What did your son do to my little girl that she doesn’t want to marry him anymore?”
Sam was a good six inches shorter than Michael, but that didn’t deter him from confronting his daughter’s former fiancé. Hands on hips, lower lip thrust out, he looked as if he’d as soon punch Michael’s nose as listen to an explanation.
Michael stepped back, alarmed. “I didn’t do anything to your daughter!” he protested, sounding aggrieved. “Emily, tell everyone the truth! Explain to your parents that you called off our engagement because we were incompatible. You have to convince them you’re okay with this! Nobody seems to believe me.”
Emily sent him an astonished glance, although she didn’t really look at him. Couldn’t look at him and maintain any pretense of being in control. Was this how Michael had resolved the dilemma of explaining that he’d called off their wedding? By blaming it all on her? If she hadn’t felt so numb—so bludgeoned—she thought she might have been angry.
How little Michael understood her, she reflected wearily. After three months as her fiancé, he still didn’t recognize that she was a conformist to the core of her being. But unlike Michael, her parents knew her well enough to realize she would never have suggested canceling the wedding at this late date except in the most dire of circumstances. No wonder they were worried sick, imagining what those dire circumstances could be.
When she didn’t immediately speak up, Michael came and stood at her side, his confident manner suggesting that he harbored no real doubt that she’d go along with his version of events. He obviously assumed she was still such a captive of his charm that she would meekly accept whatever story he cooked up, Emily thought, seething at his attitude. Had she really been such a wimp in their relationship? Was it only a few hours earlier that she had found his arrogance appealing?
“Tell everyone that you want to call off the wedding, Emily. Help me out here.” Michael flashed one of his cajoling smiles, reminiscent of Bruce Willis at his most endearing. Smiles she had previously considered irresistible and now found repellant. “Please tell them that you don’t want to go through with this charade, honey. Tell them it’s a mutual decision.”
Emily had new insights into Michael’s character now that she hadn’t enjoyed this morning, and she felt sure he hadn’t lied about their breakup in order to save her injured pride. He was laying the blame for their broken engagement on her doorstep simply because his jaunty confidence was a sham. Deep inside where it really counted, he was too gutless to stand up and take responsibility for a mess that was entirely his own creation.
Despite her anger, if he wanted to pile all the blame on her, she didn’t really care. Nothing could avoid the humiliation that was building inexorably toward tomorrow’s climax, when 350 guests would gather for a wedding that wouldn’t happen. In the circumstances, did it matter how the guilt was apportioned? In fact, she could only agree with Michael about their incompatibility. Whatever the true reasons for his last-minute decision to call off the wedding, she probably ought to be grateful that he wanted out. After today’s events, there was no avoiding the conclusion that they were wildly unsuited to each other. It seemed inevitable that their marriage would have ended in crushing failure. Better that it never take place.
Right now, though, it was difficult to feel gratitude, with Holt and Amelia Chambers looking so disgruntled and her parents looking so devastated. Still, she couldn’t give her parents false hope. The wedding was off and, since there was no way to change that, she needed to confirm that the break between her and Michael was beyond mending. There were business considerations at stake here, in addition to everything else. Holt Chambers and her father had signed a preliminary agreement to develop Laurel Acres, a major construction project in the hill country region north of San Antonio. If her marriage to Michael didn’t take place, that deal might be at risk. Her father had old-fashioned values and tried to do business only with people whom he respected. He might not want to continue in partnership with the Chamberses if he decided that Michael had treated her badly.
Michael’s father wasn’t a warmhearted man, but he’d been as kind to her as his uptight nature permitted, and she knew he needed the projected partnership a great deal more than her father, whose canny judgment and hard work had made him a millionaire many times over. By contrast, since her engagement, she’d come to realize that the Chambers family was long on ancient lineage and seriously short of ready cash.
Emily knew she had it within her power to wreak revenge on Michael simply by telling the truth. For a moment she was tempted, then her better nature won out. No point in punishing Holt Chambers because Michael had turned out to be a jerk.
Her silence had already gone on way too long, and she spoke quickly, before her good intentions melted in the heat of disgust for Michael’s behavior. “A marriage between the two of us would never have worked,” she said woodenly. “We don’t love each other enough to make a go of our relationship. Under the circumstances, we decided to cancel the wedding ceremony tomorrow. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Very sorry.”
She spoke to a spot angled somewhere between her parents’ concerned faces. Which, by an unfortunate fluke, brought her slap bang into visual contact with Jordan Chambers. He looked at her quizzically and she felt heat flare in the pit of her stomach. From the time of their disastrous encounter in Mary Christine Bernauer’s bedroom, Michael’s brother always produced that effect on her, and Emily intensely disliked the sensation.
Cheeks burning, she dropped her gaze and stared fixedly at her shoes. Even though she could no longer see him, she knew instinctively that Jordan continued to look at her. She felt the touch of his gaze as a physical entity, unsettling, but compelling. His silent inspection continued and the heat in her cheeks spread through her body, blazing all the way to her toes.
With a liberating sense of release, Emily realized there was no longer any reason for her to conceal her dislike of Michael’s brother. She jerked her head upward and sent him a gaze of fulminating fury. Here was a genuine blessing about her broken engagement, she thought grimly. At least she would never have to be polite to Jordan again.
He held her gaze for several tense seconds, then turned back to his original position at the window, staring outside as if fascinated by the view of the barren, sun-drenched courtyard. Emily drew in a shaky breath, determined to get a grip on herself. She could only hyperventilate about one disaster at a time, and right now, her antagonistic relationship with Jordan Chambers shouldn’t even be registering on her personal disaster scale. She had bigger problems to worry about.
She was concentrating so hard on ignoring Jordan that she jumped when Jeff Greiff spoke. “You and Michael need to come up with a better explanation for the breakup than being incompatible,” the campaign manager said. “When a celebrity couple splits and tries to claim incompatibility, the media just invent a more interesting story. Gone are the days when keeping a discreet silence ensures that gossip dies down faster. Nowadays, silence is an open invitation to scandal. Mega scandal.”
Jeff puffed out his cheeks, looking self-important and vaguely ridiculous to Emily’s jaundiced eyes. “You can’t afford scandal right now, Michael,” he went on. “Quite apart from the disastrous effect on our fund-raising potential, you’re just starting to get some name recognition with the voters. Negative publicity could sink your positive ratings to a point where they can’t be salvaged. We can’t afford any negative press right now.” He scowled at Emily. “The timing for this breakup really sucks, you know.”
Emily almost apologized, then stopped herself just in time. Michael’s campaign problems were not of her making and she had zero sympathy for his plight. In fact, given the weakness of character he’d revealed today, a dose of negative publicity might not be a bad thing. The people of Texas deserved better than a man who broke promises and then tried to weasel out of the consequences.
She finally brought herself to look squarely at her former fiancé, letting him see her scorn. He stared back at her somewhat helplessly, then ran his hand through his thick, glossy hair, looking a great deal more worried now than he had when he announced the ending of their engagement. “This is a hell of a mess,” he said, handsome jaw clenched.
“You could certainly say that,” Emily agreed. “Personally, I suggest we stop tossing around blame and make up our minds what we’re going to say to the 350 people who are expecting to watch us get married tomorrow.”
Michael sucked in a nervous gulp of air, then scowled. “My God, this is a public relations nightmare.”
“You should have thought of that earlier, I guess.”
“I did think about it. But I didn’t have much choice—“ He scowled. “Damn! Why couldn’t all this have come to light weeks ago? There would be no story for any reporters to run with if it weren’t for the fact that the wedding’s only hours away.”
“You’re right. It’s the wedding ceremony itself that’s the real problem.” Jeff Greiff paced nervously. “The guest list includes three U.S. senators and the secretary of defense—”
“Dear lord,” Amelia whispered, fanning herself. The poor woman looked truly ill. “What in the world are we going to do? What shall we say?”
“The out-of-town guests are all due at the dinner tonight, so there’s no way to head them off,” Jeff said with gloomy relish. “They’ll have left Washington already. What kind of spin can we put on this? My God, Michael, if you’d set out to piss off the movers and shakers who’ve supported your candidacy for governor, you couldn’t have done a better job.”
Amelia stopped glaring at Emily long enough to direct an icy glance at her son’s campaign manager. “This horrible situation isn’t improved by using coarse language, Jeff.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Jeff turned away, rolling his eyes once he was out of Amelia’s line of vision.
Raelene broke into a fresh burst of tears. “I don’t care about the senators or any of your other fancy guests,” she wailed. “All I care about is my daughter. I don’t understand, Emmie. You looked so beautiful when we went for the final fitting on your wedding dress yesterday. You seemed so calm, so sure of yourself….”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Emily interrupted, unable to bear any more reminders of how naively content she’d been a mere twenty-four hours earlier. “I guess Michael and I discovered we weren’t in love—”
“Now, now, muffin, you know we aren’t going to believe that load of garbage.” Her father took her hand, patting it as much to comfort himself as to reassure her. “We’re not angry with you, Emmie, we just want to understand. At breakfast you gave us no hint—none!—that you were having second thoughts. What happened between breakfast and lunch to make you change your mind?”
Emily opened her mouth, then shut it again, unable to think of a single intelligent thing to say. She wanted to help Mr. Chambers salvage his business partnership with her dad, but she realized that might be impossible. Her parents simply knew her too well to believe the story Michael was trying to pass off on them.
“I know it’s out of character for me to do something like this,” she said in a final attempt to make the incredible sound reasonable. “The truth is—”
“The truth is that you and I need to talk,” Jordan interrupted. “Now, Emily, before you say anything more.”
“Excuse me?” Emily stared at him, sufficiently astonished to forget that looking at Jordan invariably produced an absurd and troublesome rush of heat. Their eyes met and, on cue, her cheeks flamed, but for once she ignored the sensation. “I can’t think of a single thing that you and I might need to discuss, Jordan.”
“You’re not handling this the right way,” he responded coolly. “Trust me, Emily, we need to talk.”
She glared at him. “Have you ever noticed that it’s only people who are completely untrustworthy who tell you to trust them?”
Jordan flashed her a brief, hard smile. “Darling, this isn’t going to get us anywhere, you know. We need to discuss the situation privately. Just the two of us.”
He’d called her darling. Emily’s stomach performed a back flip. She was sufficiently stupefied by Jordan’s endearment that she forgot to reply, just stared at him with her mouth hanging open. What in the world was going on? This was the man she despised, the man who had never yet spent ten minutes in her company without saying something that provoked an argument. Was the entire Chambers family going mad?
If they weren’t collectively nuts, perhaps she was. Maybe this crazy cancellation of the wedding was a nightmare, and she would wake up any second. Surreptitiously, Emily gave her arm a hard pinch and waited in hope.
Unfortunately, it seemed that she wasn’t dreaming. Jordan walked across the room and touched his finger to her chin, gently closing her mouth. She opened it again to speak, but Jordan closed it once more, this time with considerable firmness.
“Not here, dearest.”
First darling, and now dearest. She’d definitely slipped down a rabbit hole into Wonderland, Emily decided.
Jordan turned to the assembled company. From their silence, Emily deduced they were all as bewildered as she was. “Excuse us,” he said. “Give us fifteen minutes, will you?”
He didn’t wait for a response, just put his hand under Emily’s elbow and propelled her from the crowded family room, shutting the door on the explosion of questions that followed their exit.
“They’ll be hot on our tail within minutes,” he said as soon as they were in the hall. “We’ll have to use the library. That’s the only room with a lock on the door.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere with you, least of all into a room where we’re locked in—”
Jordan swung her up into his arms, carried her into the library, and set her down on her feet, turning the key in the door behind them. “Sorry about that,” he said, strolling over to the fireplace and standing with one foot resting on the old-fashioned fender, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. “I’m not trying to lock you in, Em, I’m trying to keep everyone else out while we talk.”
Emily tugged at the linen jacket of her suit, her breathing shallow and her heart thudding. She refused to let him see the turmoil she felt, and she addressed him coolly. “Tell me, Jordan, is the insanity you and your brother suffer from hereditary? If so, I guess I should be grateful that your brother decided to dump me. Much as I want to have children, I’d prefer them not to be crazy.”
Instead of appearing insulted, Jordan grinned. “You might have had girls,” he said. “I’ve heard rumors that the Chambers women usually escape the family affliction.”
“You mean insanity really does run in your—“ Emily broke off, pressing her hands to her forehead. “No, of course it doesn’t. You’re not going to do this to me today, Jordan.”
“Do what?”
“Distract me. Confuse me.” She hadn’t intended to admit that he had the power to discompose her, and she hurried on. “We’re going to have a brief, rational conversation and then I’m going back to talk with my parents. Why have you dragged me in here, Jordan?”
“I thought it might be a good idea if we got married tomorrow.” Jordan made the suggestion with a casualness that would have been entirely appropriate if he’d been suggesting that she might like to try out a new restaurant for brunch on Sunday.
Emily clutched the back of the nearest chair. Jordan had asked her to marry him. She was quite sure she’d heard him do that. Unless she was hallucinating. Was she? She felt her mouth start to drop open again, and she hurriedly closed it.
This library was not a good place to be alone with a Chambers male, she decided. First Michael had called off their wedding for no reason at all. Now Jordan was suggesting something even more totally crazy. So crazy, in fact, that Emily felt a spurt of genuine alarm. She hadn’t been serious in suggesting Jordan and Michael were suffering from the onset of insanity. Maybe she should have been.
“I don’t think marriage would work out too well for us,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft and nonthreatening. She even managed a small, reassuring smile. When dealing with lunatics, it was best to be gentle. “Thanks for asking, Jordan, but if you remember, we don’t like each other. I have this quaint, old-fashioned dislike of men who sleep with other men’s wives.”
Damn! If he was mentally unstable, maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the fact that they disliked each other. Much less reminded him of their disastrous second meeting, a couple of days after their formal introduction, when she had discovered Jordan romping under satin sheets with Mary Christine, the twenty-three-year-old wife of Emily’s sixty-year-old client, Ted Bernauer.
All things considered, escape from the study seemed like a truly excellent plan. Either Jordan was nuts or she was. Why hang around to find out who? She was closer to the door than Jordan, so keeping her smile fixed in place, she tried to back up toward it without drawing attention to her movements.
Jordan might have lost his mind, but his vision remained acute, and his physical coordination excellent. In three quick strides, he crossed the room and pulled her away from the door, spread-eagling his body between her and her escape route.
“Sorry,” he said, sounding sincerely apologetic as he pocketed the key. “But I really need you to listen to my proposal.”
“I already had one of those from Michael,” she replied tightly. “I believe I’m a little burned out on proposals from the Chambers men.”
His gaze narrowed. “Proposition might be a better word in my case. I’m offering you a face-saving deal, Emily. You owe it to yourself to listen. Marry me tomorrow, and the joint business venture between my father and yours can go on as planned. Marry me tomorrow, and the ceremony will probably be over before half the guests even notice that you’re exchanging rings with the wrong brother.”
“Thanks again for the generous offer, Jordan, but before we get carried away, let’s remember there’s one teensy-tiny problem with your scheme.”
“What’s that?”
“Half the guests might not notice that I’d married the wrong brother, but I would.” Emily spoke more harshly than she’d intended, mostly because for a few insane seconds, she’d actually found herself considering his proposition. Surely she was hitting a new low to even contemplate accepting Jordan’s proposal just because it would provide a groom for tomorrow’s ceremony.
Jordan shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a lifetime sentence,” he said. “We can have the big, splashy wedding our parents planned, and then, in a few months, we can get a quiet, civilized divorce.”
“Divorce is never civilized,” Emily said. “It’s a heartbreaking betrayal of promises.”
“There would be no heartbreak in our case. You can’t betray promises that were never made. We’re not promising each other anything except to go through a ceremony and live in the same house just long enough for the media to lose interest in the Chambers family. These days, I’d figure that’s about a week.”
“You’re forgetting Michael’s campaign for governor.”
“Hmm…true. In view of my brother’s prominent position, the media interest might have a lingering half life. I guess we’d better agree up front that we’ll stick it out until the start of the new year. Michael’s campaign should be firmly established by then.”
“That’s more than four months from now!”
Jordan shrugged. “Four months is hardly a life sentence. We don’t have to live in each other’s pockets the whole time. In fact, we should probably give the marriage a year. That would allow the Chambers-Sutton land development deal ample time to get off the ground.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding Jordan’s motives in making the offer to marry her. She quashed an entirely irrational twinge of disappointment. “So that’s what this proposal is really about—money. You’re worried that my father’s money is going to vanish from the Chambers bank accounts if I don’t marry your brother.”
Jordan didn’t contradict her. “Your father and mine have put together a complicated business deal that requires a lot of trust on both sides. My family is giving up land that we’ve owned for generations. Your father is supplying development capital and design ideas. A feud between the two parties isn’t going to make for a successful development. If this project isn’t a success, both parties could end up losing their shirts.”
She was surprised that Jordan had been paying sufficient attention to know some of the details of the proposed Laurel Acres partnership deal. He was notorious for his lack of involvement in his family’s investment and banking business. To his parents’ dismay, he had dropped out of college in his junior year and struck out on his own, claiming that he wanted to become a carpenter. The Chamberses considered any profession that involved sweat and hammers beneath them, so they were seriously unhappy about his choice of career. Their complaints got louder and more frequent as Jordan’s circle of blue-collar friends expanded and his visits to the family mansion became less and less frequent. Even Michael was annoyed by his brother’s refusal to participate in the complicated network of social events that bound together the rarefied world of Texas high society.
Jordan remained unmoved by his family’s reproaches. He never argued with them—he simply refused to change his career or drop his friends in order to suit their sense of what was socially acceptable. Ignoring bribes and threats from his parents, he designed a line of inexpensive kitchen cabinets, found financial backing, set up a manufacturing plant out in the boonies, and seemed to make enough money to live comfortably. He often disappeared for weeks at a stretch, leaving no clue as to where he had gone or what he was doing. His parents and brother, whose business, social and political ambitions were tightly interwoven, found his elusiveness absolutely infuriating.
Unlike the Chamberses, Emily had no problem with Jordan’s choice of career, and she admired his ability to make a success, however modest, without turning to his father for startup capital. She even understood his need for independence, since she’d struggled with similar issues with her own parents. It was his moral code she couldn’t tolerate, especially the fact that his romp with Mary Christine was rumored to be only one in a long series of affairs with married women.
“Why the sudden interest in the Laurel Acres project?” she asked him. “I thought you made a big deal out of the fact that you weren’t involved in any of the Chambers business ventures.”
If she’d hoped to penetrate Jordan’s self-possession, she should have known better. “I made an exception in this case. I got involved.”
“Running short of money, Jordan?”
He sent her a glance that was somewhere between cynical and indifferent. “I don’t need my father’s money. I have access to plenty of my own.”
“Got a new rich girlfriend?” she asked spitefully, then wondered why Jordan invariably managed to provoke her into bad behavior.
His smile betrayed not a twinge of shame. “Of course.”
She turned abruptly, more hurt than she understood or wanted to acknowledge. “Jordan, this conversation is crazy. I would like to go back to the family room so that we can start a serious discussion of exactly what we’re going to say to the guests tonight.”
“Before you worry about what you’re going to tell the guests, don’t you think you should at least tell your parents the truth?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your engagement didn’t end by mutual agreement,” Jordan said. “Michael called it off. He left you absolutely no choice in the matter, and yet you’re still protecting him. Why? I don’t believe you love him that much.”
“How do you know Michael called off the engagement?” she demanded.
“You don’t lie very well, Emily. Besides, I’m a hundred percent sure you’d never have pulled a stunt like this hours before the ceremony was due to take place.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think—”
“Maybe not. But you already told me yourself that Michael was responsible.”
“I told you? Of course I didn’t—”
“‘Is the insanity you and your brother suffer from hereditary?’“ he quoted. “‘If so, I guess I should be grateful that Michael decided to dump me.’“
She had said that, Emily realized. It was yet another of the disconcerting things about being with Jordan. Her normal barriers seemed to crumble and she let drop information she would never have revealed to another person.
“I’m not protecting your brother,” she said tiredly.
“No? Seems to me he dumped you, knowing darn well you’d cover his ass. And he was right.”
She flushed. “There just doesn’t seem to be any point in getting everyone angry with everyone else. The engagement is over, there isn’t going to be a wedding, and we need to move on.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “Is that what you plan to say at the bridal dinner tonight?”
Jordan asked the question without expression, yet Emily reacted with a sickening lurch of her stomach. She knew she spent too much of her life worrying about making a good impression, but however much she wished she could throw the inhibitions of a lifetime out the window, she couldn’t. She cared that she was going to humiliate herself and her parents in front of a very large crowd of very important people.
To her dismay, her throat tightened and she felt tears well in her eyes. It had been an exhausting, emotion-charged day, and she was afraid that if she started crying, she would be sobbing hysterically within seconds. She fumbled in the pocket of her tailored pants for a tissue and remembered they were all in her purse, which was still in the family room.
The first tears started to roll down her cheeks. She ordered herself to stop crying, but before she could get herself back under control, Jordan was at her side.
“Don’t cry,” he said softly, taking her into his arms, stanching the flow of tears with his thumbs. “Come on, Em, cheer up. It’s only a bunch of stuck-up old geezers who aren’t worth worrying about.”
She would have expected mockery from Jordan, or at least indifference. His sympathy was so unexpected that it had the disastrous effect of shattering what small remnant of self-control she still possessed. Aware at some deep level that she was allowing herself to do something incredibly dangerous, she laid her head against Jordan’s chest and gave way to the luxury of a noisy, uninhibited bout of weeping.
She heard the tattoo of multiple footsteps coming down the hallway but paid no attention until the pounding began on the study door.
“What’s going on in there?” Michael demanded.
“Let us in!” her father said. “Emily, Jordan—it’s been fifteen minutes already.”
“Are you all right?” Raelene asked anxiously. “Emily, honey, I can hear you crying!”
Jordan’s arms tightened fractionally around her. “I have to let them in,” he said.
“Yes, I know you do.” She tried to drag herself back together again.
He held her at arm’s length, wiping away a final tear. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at him, unsure of herself, but surprisingly unembarrassed. “Thanks, Jordan.”
“You’re welcome.” He unlocked the door and everyone spilled into the library.
“Why are you crying?” Michael demanded.
“What did you need to discuss so urgently with Emily, Jordan?” Amelia sounded barely more friendly to her son than she had been earlier when speaking to Emily.
Jordan was still standing close enough to her that she could see the almost imperceptible flicker of a muscle in his jaw. “We were deciding that Emily really needed to tell you the truth about her broken engagement,” he said.
Her father sent Jordan an approving look. “That’s about the only sensible remark I’ve heard so far today. Since you seem to know what’s going on here, and Emily won’t tell us, why don’t you explain why the wedding’s been called off at the last minute?”
Jordan clamped his arm around Emily’s waist. “She wants to marry me,” he said. “We’ve been trying to fight our feelings for each other, but we couldn’t. Since you have a wedding planned for tomorrow anyway, we were hoping you’d all agree to go ahead on schedule. Except with me as the substitute groom.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ON THE VERY DAY that Michael and Emily became engaged, Amelia Chambers announced her decision to host the prewedding bridal dinner at the San Antonio Federal Club. Founded the year after the Republic of Texas joined the United States, the club was originally intended as a meeting place for the city’s leaders, and its role hadn’t changed much during the 155 years of its existence. Its decor remained stuffy Victorian, with nineteenth-century English hunting prints on the walls, plaid carpet in the bar, and enough walnut paneling to rival a French château. The most powerful people in San Antonio still belonged to the club, and mere money wasn’t enough to get a person elected. For that, you needed the sort of connections the Chambers family had enjoyed for generations. Connections that Holt, Amelia and Michael Chambers continued to cultivate with painstaking care.
Sam Sutton, by contrast, had been too busy establishing a profitable business to waste time acquiring the type of friends who could get him drafted into the inner circle of San Antonio’s social elite. It was only in the past couple of years that he’d started to think how nice it would be to give Raelene the pleasure of belonging to the same snooty club where her granny had washed dishes during the Depression—and been grateful for any leftover food she was allowed to take home.
He had to admit he’d originally thrown Michael and his daughter together in hopes that they might hit it off, and he wouldn’t deny that it had been mighty useful when Emily decided to marry the guy. Holt Chambers’s offer to propose Sam for membership in the prestigious club would never have happened if Emily hadn’t been marrying his son, and the Laurel Acres deal would have been a lot more difficult to negotiate.
By the same token, it was darned inconvenient that his daughter had decided not to marry Michael—and at the very last minute, too. Lord knew, if Emily had been trying to screw things up, she couldn’t have picked a more surefire method. Not to mention how her behavior was going to set tongues wagging.
But Sam was a father first and a businessman second. He would never want Emily to hook up with a man she didn’t love. Not for the sake of the Laurel Acres project, that was for sure, and much less for the sake of membership in a club where you paid too much money to eat dubious food with fancy French names. Names that left you wondering just what the heck you were actually swallowing. Raelene lived in mortal dread that one of these days she’d order rattlesnake or snails or alligator, all wrapped up in puff pastry and stuffed with truffles.
But for all that he wanted his little girl to be happy, Sam believed in calling a spade a spade, and he never swept problems under the rug, so there was no getting around the fact that Emily’s broken engagement left him real worried about the future of his dealings with the Chambers family. His gut told him that a personal link between the two families was necessary if Holt Chambers was going to honor the complex verbal agreements that underpinned the official Laurel Acres contracts. Sam had worked damned hard and made a tidy profit over the years—enough to make him mighty proud of what he’d achieved. But the Laurel Acres project was among the biggest developments he’d ever tackled, and if it didn’t work out, he could lose enough money to hurt. To hurt pretty bad, in fact. The knowledge that Michael had his finger firmly on the pulse of his family’s business interests had been reassuring, keeping Sam’s stomach from feeling too queasy as he poured truckloads of money into the initial stages of the development.
Sam tried to comfort himself with the thought that Emily wasn’t completely severing her link to the Chambers family. After all, Jordan was a Chambers, too, and marriage to him ought to forge just as tight a connection as marriage to Michael. Ought to, but probably wouldn’t, since Jordan seemed to be ignored by his father and brother as far as business dealings were concerned. Jordan had never put in an appearance at a negotiating session and never signed a single legal document connected to the Laurel Acres project. As far as Sam could tell, he hadn’t even been consulted about the decision to sell land that had been in the Chambers family for over a hundred years.
Under the circumstances, Sam had to wonder if Emily’s marriage to Jordan would prove a strong enough bond to keep the deal on track. If Michael Chambers was pissed off with his brother—not to mention angry with Emily—he could make things difficult for everyone. Mighty difficult, in fact.
Despite these very real concerns, Sam had been surprised to discover that he felt more relief than anything else when Michael had dropped his bombshell and announced that Emily no longer wanted to marry him. Sam didn’t entirely cotton to Michael Chambers, even though the guy was considered San Antonio’s most eligible bachelor. His campaign for governor added the perfect finishing touch to his already desirable image, but it didn’t reassure Sam any. Not now that he knew the guy a little better.
Sam had been impressed by Michael when they first met, and Raelene had been thrilled to think that their daughter—their own sweet Emily—might one day become the First Lady of Texas. But the better he got to know Michael, the less Sam liked him. The guy was too much of a slick politician, with smiles that came a tad too easily, and a way of conversing that had him managing to agree with two or three different viewpoints all at once. Sam’s exuberance over the match had cooled dramatically in recent weeks, and even the prospect of having Emily living in the governor’s mansion hadn’t been enough to rekindle his enthusiasm.
There had always been something wrong with the relationship between Michael and his daughter, Sam reflected, handing his car keys to the parking valet and offering his arm to escort his wife up the steps into the club. From day one of Emily’s engagement, he’d sensed an off note. Now that he’d seen his daughter with Jordan, he realized what the problem had been. Sam smiled to himself. It had been a real simple problem when you got right down to it: Emily had agreed to become engaged to Michael for the wrong reasons. She’d never been in love with him, at least not top-over-tail crazy, the way she ought to have been. Instead, his prim-and-proper darling had fallen for Jordan, the bad boy of the Chambers family. No wonder Sam had noticed increasing tension on Emily’s part as the wedding day approached. Now he understood why: she’d been trying to work up the courage to follow her heart and break off her engagement to the oh-so-eligible Michael.
Sam chuckled inwardly, then turned to look at his daughter, thinking how pretty her golden brown eyes were, and how elegant her long chestnut hair looked, all swept up on top of her head, with just a few curls clustering at her neck. She’d brought him and Raelene so much joy over the years. He wished there had been more time for the three of them to talk before they had to rush out again to this stuffy party. He wanted to hear how she and Jordan had met, and when they’d fallen in love, but they hadn’t had a moment to chat. Emily and Jordan had hurried off to get a marriage license, something that had proved difficult to achieve, even pulling strings and calling in favors from everyone that Holt Chambers knew at the county clerk’s office. Once Emily got back to the house, there had barely been time to take showers and get changed for tonight’s shindig. There’d been no time at all for finding out how his daughter’s thoroughly conventional relationship with Michael had given way to a passionate, not at all conventional relationship with Jordan.
However it had happened, Sam sure was glad that his daughter had found real love at last. He wasn’t a man who felt at ease expressing mushy sentiments, but he knew that without Raelene at his side, he’d never have made it through the lean years while he struggled to get his business established. Even more important, without Raelene and Emily, there would have been nobody to share the success with when it finally came.
Feeling a sudden lump in his throat, Sam patted his wife’s arm, then turned and gave Emily a beaming smile, pleased to see how lovely she looked, despite the stresses of the past few hours.
Emily returned his smile, but her eyes didn’t light up the way they usually did. “You okay, muffin?” Sam asked. He didn’t understand why Emily set such great store by always doing the right thing, but he knew her well enough to guess that tonight was going to be torture for her.
“I’m fine, Dad, thanks.” Despite the confident words, she drew in an audible breath, and her voice shook when she continued speaking. “I guess I’ll be relieved when this evening’s over, that’s all.”
“Don’t you give another thought to what people are going to say about this, muffin.” Sam tried his best to reassure her. “Just remember what’s important. You and Jordan are in love and you want to get married. In the long run, that’s all that matters. Five years from now, nobody will remember you and Michael were ever an item.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Dad.” At least outwardly, Emily had already managed to recover her poise, which was no surprise to Sam. His daughter was a grand master at concealing her true feelings.
“Thanks for being so supportive,” she said quietly. “You’ve been really understanding about all this. I honestly don’t know how I…we…ended up in such an impossible situation. I’m sorry to be causing you and Mom so much embarrassment….”

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