Plain Jane's Texan
Jan Hudson
ONE DETERMINED TEXANFrom the moment their gazes collided at a family wedding, and their lips met in a passionate kiss, plain Jane Eve Ellison wondered if a man like Matt Crow could truly desire her . Sophisticated, sexy, and superwealthy, he could have any woman. But after their first magical encounter, he claimed he wanted her … .Eve didn't give her heart easily All her life she'd been the brains to her sister's beauty. Often overlooked. Never the object of anyone's affection. But Matt was different. He made her feel beautiful. And cherished. Yet could Eve trust that this Texan was not merely enjoying the thrill of the chase, but was motivated by true love?
“Will you marry me, darlin’?” (#uebb99ee7-b2f2-5b6f-a0e5-560702a89f51)Letter to Reader (#uef283154-5fde-5232-bfa9-3eb38e53181c)Title Page (#u0fb31536-95ae-5418-ad41-88a206666df2)About the Author (#u35ad3ccc-5a43-52a6-a178-235e293dbfea)Dedication (#ud1e44bcd-e8a6-5aee-b0f5-5c79da349b97)Chapter One (#u8f181f2e-b47a-5eeb-a173-a287c8231a65)Chapter Two (#u18aa738d-50b7-50a6-9a0f-83f9d92cf5df)Chapter Three (#ua3fa5f40-9061-5b61-aed9-80aa51469dc4)Chapter Four (#ub818a8cd-f272-5a2c-9a26-b597a11d8536)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)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Will you marry me, darlin’?”
“Marry you? Are you mad?”
“I may be. Something strange is going on. There’s magic between us. Don’t you feel it? If you won’t marry me, will you at least come home to Texas with me?”
“You are mad. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re practically a stranger. I don’t know anything about you.”
“We can soon remedy that.”
He started to kiss her again, but she averted her mouth. “Don’t do that,” she protested.
“I thought you liked it.”
“You were mistaken.”
“Was I?”
She’d often heard the term “rakish grin,” but she’d never completely understood the power of one until that moment. When he looked at her and grinned in that captivating way, she melted. This tall Texan was totally beyond her experience; he was way out of her league.
But she kissed him again anyhow....
Dear Reader,
The joys of summer are upon us—along with some July fireworks from Silhouette Desire!
The always wonderful Jennifer Greene presents our July MAN OF THE MONTH in Prince Charming’s Child. A contemporary romance version of Sleeping Beauty, this title also launches the author’s new miniseries, HAPPILY EVER AFTER, inspired by those magical fairy tales we loved in childhood. And ever-talented Anne Marie Winston is back with a highly emotional reunion romance in Lovers’ Reunion. The popular miniseries TEXAS BRIDES by Peggy Moreland continues with the provocative story of That McCloud Woman. Sheiks abound in Judith McWelliams’s The Sheik’s Secret, while a plain Jane is wooed by a millionaire in Jan Hudson’s Plain Jane’s Texan. And Barbara McCauley’s new dramatic miniseries, SECRETS!, debuts this month with Bdackhawk’s Sweet Revenge.
We’ve got more excitement for you next month—watch for the premiere of the compelling new Desire miniseries THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB. Some of the sexiest, most powerful men in the Lone Star State are members of this prestigious club, and they all find love when they least expect it! You’ll learn more about THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB in our August Dear Reader letter, along with an update on Silhouette’s new continuity, THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS, debuting next month.
And this month, join in the celebrations by treating yourself to all six passionate Silhouette Desire titles.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Brie, Ont L2A 5X3
Plain Jane’s Texan
Jan Hudson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JAN HUDSON, a winner of the Romance Writers of America RITA Award, is a native Texan who lives with her husband in historically rich Nacogdoches, the oldest town in Texas. Formerly a licensed psychologist, she taught college psychology for over a decade before becoming a fulltime author. Jan loves to write fast-paced stories laced with humor, fantasy and adventure, and with bold characters who reach beyond the mundane and celebrate life.
For my special aunts,
Barbara and Benye, and in loving memory
of Mamie, Louise and Estelle
One
As Matt Crow stood at the altar of a small Episcopal church in Akron, Ohio, gussied up in a tuxedo and his dress boots, he saw an angel, an honest-to-God angel. He hadn’t seen anything so beautiful since he’d left Texas at dawn. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Matt forgot about the crowd gathered for the wedding. The music preceding the bride’s entry became a faint melody somewhere in the back of his mind. His total attention was on the angel coming toward him.
Instead of a diaphanous white robe, she wore a wine-colored gown, and he didn’t see wings sprouting from her back, but otherwise she was absolutely celestial. Sunlight shining through the stained glass window shimmered around her head like a halo and turned her hair to strands of spun silver and pale gold interlaced with pearls.
Spellbound, he watched as she slowly approached the altar, her gaze lowered, her hands clutching a large bouquet of lilies and roses. Only when she took her place beside the others gathered there did she lift her chin. Her long lashes swept upward to reveal the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen in his life.
An angel’s eyes.
So pale and haunting a blue that against her golden skin they seemed like liquid sky. His mouth went dry. The world stopped.
Totally terrified, Eve Ellison clutched her bouquet as if the flowers were a lifeline in the turbulent sea of emotions threatening to engulf her. Why had she ever agreed to be the maid of honor? She’d tried to talk Irish out of it, tried to convince her sister that one of her poised and glamorous friends would be much better, but Irish wouldn’t hear of it.
“Eve, don’t be a goose,” Irish, had said. “I wouldn’t dream of having anyone but my little sister for my maid of honor.”
Eve had peered over her glasses and scowled. “I am not by any stretch of the imagination your little sister. I’m damned near six feet tall and not the type for ruffles and sweetheart necklines. I’ll do the flowers, I’ll bake the cake, I’ll even make cutesy little bags of birdseed and potpourri for the guests to toss, but please don’t ask me to put on a Scarlett O’Hara dress and walk down that aisle in front of everybody. Irish, you’re the beauty of the family, you’re the model who loves the limelight, not me. I’d feel like a fool.”
But Irish had planted her fists on her hips and gotten that determined look on her face, the one that said she planned on getting her way, no matter what. “Eve Ellison, I don’t know where you get your dumb ideas. You’ll be a lovely maid of honor. You’re much more beautiful than I ever was.”
Eve had snorted. “Yeah, sure. Everyone’s talking about how I have to beat off the hordes of men with a baseball bat. Sis, I haven’t even had a date in almost a year.”
“Then the men in Cleveland are blind. Anyone can see that you’re lovely. I suspect that it’s your attitude rather than your looks keeping them away. And...well, you could do a little something with your hair.”
Her hand had automatically gone to her head. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Other than the fact that it looks as if it were last cut with a weed whacker, hasn’t been brushed thoroughly in a week, and is tied into a lopsided mess with a shoe string?”
Eve had jutted her jaw. “Yeah, other than that?”
Irish had burst into laughter. “I swear, Eve, I think you go out of your way to look grungy. No makeup, shapeless clothes. What are you trying to prove?”
Actually Eve wasn’t trying to prove anything. She simply didn’t think much about her appearance. Never had. Irish had always been the beauty; Eve had the brains. Not that Irish was dumb, of course. She wasn’t. Irish was very bright, but she’d always been more interested in clothes and makeup and drama. Eve had been content to hide away with a book or her paints or a stray cat. She’d always cared more for digging in the dirt among the flowers and vegetables than polishing her fingernails.
Predictably, Irish had decided that the time had come for Eve to pay some attention to her appearance, and nothing would do but for the two of them to spend a week in New York. The prospective groom, Dr. Kyle Rutledge, agreed that it was a splendid idea and insisted on bankrolling the excursion.
Now here Eve was, her hair styled, her nails polished, her face made up, wearing new contact lenses and a Scarlett O’Hara gown and feeling like a damned fool. Sure that everyone must be staring at her, she’d kept her eyes on the toes of her satin pumps as she walked down the aisle to the altar, praying earnestly that she wouldn’t throw up or keel over. Terrified as she was, the walk had seemed ten miles long.
The first thing she saw when she finally looked up was a pair of flashing black eyes staring at her. The man, who she assumed was Kyle’s cousin, wasn’t just staring, he was gaping. He probably thought she looked like a damned fool, too. She wanted to disappear in a puff of smoke.
Automatically, she began to draw in her shoulders to protect her heart, but the new bra Irish had insisted she buy was taut as a bow string. The blasted thing gouged and pinched her and prevented her familiar postural shield.
So instead of drawing in like a turtle, she lifted her chin and defiantly gaped back.
Gaping at him wasn’t difficult. The man was gorgeous. Six and a half feet of gorgeous. Thick dark hair, cleft chin, sexy mouth, shoulders a yard wide.
He winked at her, and she almost pitched over on her nose. Heat rose from her chest and spread over her throat. Before she made a complete idiot of herself, she turned quickly as the congregation rose and Irish and their dad started down the aisle.
This must be Matt Crow, Eve thought as the wedding march swelled. She’d met Kyle’s cousin, Jackson Crow, at the rehearsal and subsequent dinner the night before, but Jackson’s brother couldn’t make it to Ohio until that morning, and Kyle’s brother Smith hadn’t been able to make the wedding at all. Even so, never had Eve seen so many tall, handsome men as the bunch of Texans Irish had met on her jaunt to find a millionaire. Eve had thought that Jackson was particularly good-looking, but his younger brother was unbelievable. He took her breath away.
Little colored dots began to dance in front of her eyes. Eve shook herself, sucked in a deep breath, and turned to face the priest.
Matt couldn’t keep his eyes or his thoughts off the maid of honor. She must be Irish’s younger sister. Ann? Karen? Lisa? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. When Irish or Kyle had mentioned her, her name hadn’t registered. Everything about her registered now.
When Kyle finally kissed his bride and turned to grin like a possum at the audience, Matt could hardly wait until the bridal party got outside and he could make the angel’s acquaintance. Moments later the best man, Flint Durham, lucky dog, offered his arm to her, and they followed Kyle and Irish up the aisle. Jackson and one of the bridesmaids went next. Matt crooked his arm for Kim Devlin, another bridesmaid, and they brought up the rear.
“What’s Irish’s sister’s name?” he asked Kim as they hurried from the church.
Kim grinned. “Eve. Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“You got that right.”
Matt tried to make his way to Eve, but the group was herded by a photographer into an area for picture taking, and there was no opportunity to speak with her. Matt prayed that Jackson didn’t set his sights on Eve, and for once he was lucky. His big brother was busy trying to hustle another of the bridesmaids—a dark sultry type named Olivia.
Jackson, the prime stud of Texas who usually had willing women lined up four deep, put his arm around the woman’s waist and whispered in her ear. Olivia looked at him as if he were something she’d stepped in on a walk through the cow pasture and said, “I’ve told you for the last time, I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. And if you don’t move your hand, I’ll break your fingers.”
Matt nearly broke up laughing, and when the photographer said, “Smile!,” he didn’t have to put on.
Matt was tempted to carry Jackson high for striking out for once in his life. Jackson never struck out. He was the luckiest son-of-a-gun in the world, and everything had always come easy for him. All his life, Matt had to bust his butt for the breaks. But he wasn’t in the mood to razz his brother; he was preoccupied with meeting Eve. He could only stand and stare at her as she posed with Irish and their family for more pictures.
She had totally captivated him, and Matt couldn’t exactly define what it was that enthralled him so. Sure, she was beautiful, but he’d seen his share of beautiful women. Something else about her struck a chord deep within him. There was a guilelessness about her, sort of an innocence that shone in her pale eyes and made him want to protect her. And possess her.
Matt knew as sure as shootin’ that this was the woman for him. Knew it as certainly as if it had been announced with a blare of trumpets and a voice from the clouds.
As he watched, frown lines marred her smooth forehead. He had the craziest urge to hop on a horse, ride through the crowd, pull her up in the saddle with him, and rescue her from whatever was making her unhappy.
Eve would sooner have had her fingernails pulled out with pliers than pose for pictures—especially beside Irish. Irish was so astflnishingly beautiful, and she herself was so...not. Since she was a kid in grammar school, people had always looked at her with amazement and said, “You’re Irish Ellison’s sister?”
Many nights she had cried herself to sleep after such hurtful comments or after being teased by her classmates for her beanpole gawkiness and her overbite.
Eve had learned soon enough that she had to settle for brains because her sister got all the beauty from the barrel before she arrived. And after Irish became a model with her face on magazine covers, things had gotten worse for Eve, who was in high school with braces, zits, no boobs, knobby knees and a head above most of the boys on the basketball team—though at least the braces had remedied the overbite.
She tried to inch away after the family picture, but Irish grabbed her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. I want another of just you and me.”
“Good Lord, why? I might break the camera.”
Irish laughed. “You goose. You’re gorgeous.”
“You need glasses.”
“Matt Crow thinks you’re gorgeous, too,” Irish whispered as she arranged her skirt. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you. I definitely think he’s interested.”
“Him? In me? Get real, Sis. I’m not his type. And don’t you dare do any matchmaking. I’ll put a spell on you, and you’ll grow hairy warts on your nose on your honeymoon.”
Irish only laughed.
Before Matt had a chance to talk to Eve, everybody was whisked into limos and taken to a hotel. As soon as they arrived, he strode toward the reception area, his eyes scanning the crowd.
When he finally spotted Eve across the room talking to his grandfather, Cherokee Pete, Matt tried to make his way toward the blond beauty, but his mother stopped him with a firm grip on his wrist and insisted that he meet Irish’s parents.
“I swear you look pretty as a picture,” Kyle’s grandfather said, a broad smile splitting his weathered, wrinkled face. “Puts me in mind of an angel”
Eve laughed. The old fellow, who was well into his eighties, was every bit as charming as his grandsons. Close to six feet tall, he stood ramrod straight. With his dark eyes and high cheekbones, a gift of his Native American ancestry, he was still an imposing presence. “Thank you, Mr. Beamon. You look very handsome in your tuxedo.” And despite the long braids trailing over his shoulders, he honestly did.
He let out a bark of laughter. “Like a damned fool is what you mean. Never worn one of these gawldum getups in my life, but I didn’t want to come in my overalls and embarrass your sister. I’m right fond of Irish, you know. And even if I am decked out in my bib and tucker, I’ll have none of this ‘Mr. Beamon’ stuff. Everybody calls me Cherokee Pete or just plain Pete.”
“Then just plain Pete it is. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’d rather be in overalls or blue jeans myself. Irish has told me so much about you and your trading post in Texas that I’d love to see it. Do you really sculpt animals from logs with a chain saw the same way Kyle does?”
“Yep. Taught Kyle everything he knows. He was the only one of my grandsons who took after it, but I reckon he won’t be doing much log sculptin’ now that he’s going back to docfiorin’. I’ve got four grandsons, you know. Kyle’s the first one to get married. Got three left. Kyle’s brother, Smith, who’s got himself stove up from a wreck right now, and Jackson and Matt. They’re not bad-looking boys.” He cocked his head, and a twinkle came into his eyes. “Any way I could interest you in one?”
Eve grinned. “I don’t think so.”
“You sure? I’d be willin’ to throw in a couple of million, and you could take your pick. ’Course Jackson’s the oldest, and I’d like to see him making a family pretty soon. Them boys is past time to be settling down.”
Despite his appearance, his folksy talk and his lifestyle, she knew that the wily old man could make good on his offer. He’d struck oil on his property many years before and was loaded. “Do they know that you’re trying to sell them?”
He winked at her. “Oh, that would be just between you and me. I’ve about got your daddy talked into retiring and moving down to Texas with your mother. Like I told Al and Beverly, we’ve got a big spread down there. Lots of room. Why don’t you come on down with them?”
“I would love a place with more room for all my animals, but my job is in Cleveland.”
“You got animals?”
“Lots of them. My mother swears that I can’t resist a stray. They seem to always find their way to my door. I have two cats, Charlie Chan and Pansy, a goat named Elmer, a pig, a rooster, two ducks, four dogs and—”
“Could I interest you two in some champagne?” a deep voice said behind her.
Eve turned to find Matt Crow holding three stemmed glasses, two cupped between the long fingers of his left hand, another in his right. He held the one out to her and smiled.
She glanced upward, looked into his face, and tried to say something intelligent. No words came. Not a croak. Not a whisper. Not a stammer. Nothing.
He lifted his brows and offered the glass again. She took the champagne and clutched the flute in a death grip.
“Grandpa Pete?”
“I wouldn’t mind one of those to wet my whistle,” Pete said, taking one of the remaining two.
“Did I interrupt something?” Matt asked.
“I was just trying to convince Eve to move to Texas so she could have lots of room for her animals. Eve, this here’s my grandson, Matt.”
Matt’s dark eyes bore into hers. “Oh, do you have animals?”
She tried again to speak, but her mouth was dry. She took a sip of champagne and managed to whisper, “Yes.”
“Did he convince you?” Matt asked.
Convince her? Of what? She tried to think, to recall the earlier conversation, but thinking was like trying to walk in knee-deep mud. He obviously noticed her perplexity because he smiled and said, “Did Grandpa Pete convince you to move to Texas? Sounds like a great idea to me.”
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” He tossed back his wine in one swallow and set the glass aside. “Dance?”
“I—I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I don’t believe it. Angels float on air.” He peeled her fingers from the stemmed glass and handed it to Pete. “Come,” he said, holding out his arms to her.
She stepped into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and they began to waltz. Eve, who’d always had two left feet, glided across the floor in perfect synchronization with Matt’s lead.
They danced on and on, swirling around the floor until laughter rippled from her throat like bubbles from Dom Perignon. He smiled down at her, his eyes shining like a starry midnight, and an unbelievable thrill went through her body.
The tempo of the music changed to a ballad, and he pulled her close. Her forehead rested perfectly in the hollow of his cheek. Still in perfect sync, their steps became slow, but as their bodies touched, her pulse began to accelerate. She could feel heat radiate from him, and his warm scent, a unique mixture of spice, citrus and musk, filled her nostrils and titillated the synapses of her spine. Everything emanating from Matt Crow proclaimed his total, visceral maleness, and everything in her responded. Chill bumps raced across her skin while a writhing hot mass swelled deep within.
Eve began to tremble.
She pushed away. “I—I don’t want this.”
The expression in his eyes almost made her weep. “What don’t you want?”
“This. This—” She pushed against his chest, but his arms held her fast, and their feet still moved in cadence. Her reaction to Matt Crow was scary, and she was quickly getting in over her head. He was way out of her league.
“Explain.”
Feeling as awkward as a teenager with a crush on a movie star, she shook her head. She was too embarrassed to explain her feelings. After all, she was simple, gawky Eve Ellison, and he was...well, he was a sophisticated man, a Texas millionaire used to bevies of beautiful, sophisticated women.
He pulled her back against him, and his lips brushed her ear. “It seems almost overwhelming, doesn’t it? From the moment I saw you, I felt as if I’d been kicked by a bull. I knew that you were the most perfect woman God had ever created. It’s only right that you should be named Eve.” His tongue traced the curve of her ear. “Offer me an apple, sugar, and I’m yours body and soul.”
Eve’s knees gave. She sagged against him.
“Let’s find someplace private,” Matt whispered. “I think I may die if I don’t kiss you.”
She thought that she might die, too. He was a smooth one, all right. Oh, she knew his type. She knew that he was feeding her a line a mile long, but her brain didn’t seem to have one iota of control over her body. Despite her every effort, her head nodded.
With his arm around her waist, he guided her from the dance floor and maneuvered her through the crowd. Her pulse was racing, her heart pounding, and she felt in imminent danger of hyperventilating. She should dig in her heels and put a stop to this nonsense right now. But her feet didn’t pay any attention, either. They padded right along beside Matt like a lamb to slaughter.
He located a secluded alcove and pulled her into it. Instantly his mouth covered hers. She almost fainted. Her hormones began to run amok like crazed, marauding elephants smashing into each other and flattening everything in their path. She plastered herself against him and kissed him back.
After about five minutes of fervent French kissing, Matt pulled away. His breathing was ragged. “Good God in Heaven, darlin’. I think I’m having a heart attack. Will you marry me?”
Some measure of sanity returned to Eve’s brain. “Marry you? Certainly not. Are you mad?”
“I may be. Something strange is going on, that’s for sure. There’s magic between us. Don’t you feel it? If you won’t marry me, will you at least come home to Texas with me? If we live together for a while, maybe you could get used to the idea.”
The marauding elephants stopped dead in their tracks. “You are mad. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Why not?”
“I should think it would be obvious. You’re practically a stranger. I don’t know anything about you.”
“We can soon remedy that. What do you want to know?”
He started to kiss her again, but she averted her mouth. “Don’t do that,” she protested.
“I thought you liked it.”
“You were mistaken.”
“Was I?”
She’d often heard the term “rakish grin,” but she’d never completely understood the power of one until that moment When he looked at her and grinned in that captivating way, she melted. This tall Texan was totally beyond her experience; he was way, way, way out of her league, but she kissed him again anyhow.
A strident noise blared between them, and she startled. He cursed. “Damned phone. Sorry, honey. It must be an emergency.” Scowling, he pulled a slim cellular unit from inside his coat. “This had better be good,” he said to the caller. After a minute of listening, he added a few other colorful phrases. “I’m on my way.” He stuck the phone back into his pocket and took her into his arms once more. “I have to leave. Come home with me,” he murmured as he nipped her ear and nuzzled her neck.
“Impossible. I can’t just run off on a whim. I have a career. I have obligations.”
“Quit your job. You won’t need to work. I’ll take care of you. Come with me, Eve.”
“Take care of—” A bucket of cold reality splashed her, and she stiffened in his arms. What kind of person did he think she was? “No way.”
Matt cupped her nape and searched her face. “Why not? Kim said that you weren’t married or engaged. Is there someone else?”
Deciding to take the easy way out, Eve crossed her fingers behind her back in a childish gesture. “Yes. Yes there is. Charlie.”
“Ditch him. You couldn’t care much about the guy and kiss me the way you did.”
“You’re wrong. I adore Charlie. We’ve lived together for the last two years. I couldn’t leave him.” At least that part was true.
Standing with his gaze downcast, Matt was quiet for a long time. Then he looked up. “I see.” If Eve hadn’t known better, she would have thought there were tears in his eyes. A trick of the lighting, she was sure. “For a while there, I really thought this was it.” He gently kissed her forehead. “Charlie is a lucky man. So long, angel. Would you tell everyone goodbye for me? I’ve got an emergency, and it’s something serious. I’ve gotta go.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, then he was gone. It was a good thing she hadn’t fallen for his slick line. And it was simply a line, she reminded herself. Matt Crow moved in another world, one far removed from her simple life. Irish, the gorgeous, super-cool ex-New York model, could handle this kind of stuff, but Eve? No way. A guy like Matt would have only broken her heart.
Two
Holding the mail between her teeth and juggling a ripping sack of groceries, twenty pounds of cat litter, her shoulder bag and a bulging briefcase, Eve kicked the front door closed just as the phone began to ring.
The sack ripped another few inches. She dropped the litter and her briefcase and tried to grab the sack to save the eggs.
Too late. The blasted thing split completely, and she only managed to mash a loaf of bread and a half gallon of Rocky Road against her body. The egg carton landed with an ominous splat beside the mushrooms; oranges and onions and cans went rolling every which way.
The phone continued to ring.
Eve made an exasperated noise, marched to the phone and snatched it up. “Heh-woe.”
“Eve?” a man’s voice said. “Eve Ellison?”
She spat out the letters she still clutched between her teeth. “Sorry. Yes, this is Eve Ellison, and I don’t want any insurance protection for my credit cards, cemetery plots or—”
“Eve, this is Matt Crow.”
She dropped the mangled bread and ice cream carton on the table and sank into a chair. “Matt Crow?”
He chuckled. “Yes, we met at the wedding last weekend. Surely you haven’t forgotten me so soon.”
Forgotten him? Fat chance. Hadn’t the memories of him nearly driven her up the wall for the past few days? “No, I remember you,” she said, fighting a tremor in her voice and trying to be casual. “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been one of those days—no, make that one of those weeks, and it’s only Wednesday.”
“I’ve had a few of those lately myself. Problems?”
“Lots.”
“Want to tell me about them?”
Something about the gentle tone of his voice made her want to pour out everything to him. Instead, she said, “I’m sure that you don’t want to hear my sad story.”
“You’re wrong, Eve. What’s happened?”
“You name it.” She tried to laugh, but the sound seem strangled. “I had a blowout and took out two garbage cans and a fire hydrant before I could stop the car. I received a notice yesterday from the Dog Warden of the City of Cleveland Kennel that I’m in violation of a city ordinance, and I have to get rid of some of my animals or risk having them seized. I figure that’s partly because of Elmer and Minerva getting out last week, and Elmer eating Mrs. Gaither’s sweetpeas or it might have been Mrs. Ramsey who complained about—”
“Whoa!” Matt said, chuckling. “Who are Elmer and Minerva?”
“Sorry, I’m ranting. Elmer is a goat and Minerva is a pig.”
“A goat and a pig in the city?”
Eve sighed. “I’ve been trying to find them homes. Would you like a goat?”
“I live in a high-rise, but I could talk to Grandpa Pete about it.”
“Thanks, but Elmer isn’t the only problem. The logical solution is to move to another house.”
“You could always move to Texas,” he said, his tone conjuring up visions of hot nights on cool sheets. “My offer is still open.”
Her heart stumbled. Her face flushed. He was obviously teasing her again, but she didn’t know how to handle such comments. She didn’t want to make a serious response and have him think that she was so unsophisticated, but she wasn’t experienced in social banter with men like him.
“Eve?”
Forcing gaiety, she laughed and said, “I was just trying to picture Elmer and Minerva and the others in your living room. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, but after meeting Godzilla today, I might be tempted.”
“Godzilla?”
“My new boss. They brought him in as the creative director, but the last creative thought he had was in 1989. Only thing he had going for him was that he worked in a New York agency. That job should have been mine, darn it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to whine, and I’ve been babbling on and on.”
“You weren’t whining or babbling, and I enjoy talking to you. We didn’t get to spend enough time together at the wedding, and I’ve been putting out fires ever since I left. Say, I’m going to be in Cleveland in a day or two, and now that we’re practically family, I was hoping that we might get together for dinner... or something.”
A rush of panic swept over Eve. Even though he made her knees weak and her heart go pitter-patter, she felt completely out of her element with a man like Matt. Being around him too much might make her have goofy ideas—like believing they weren’t totally mismatched. She knew that he was simply making a duty call since he was going to be in Cleveland and since they were “practically family.”
One part of her wanted desperately to go out with him, but another more sensible part told her that nothing could ever come of anything between Matt Crow and her. And even if they got together for a brief fling, it could cause awkwardness in the family later. Eve remembered a painful experience a few years before when she’d dated her friend Amy’s brother. When the romance fizzled, things were never the same between Amy and her again.
“Eve?”
“Yes?” Simply tell him nicely that you have other plans, she told herself, but she couldn’t make the words come out.
“Is it Charlie who’s the problem?”
“Charlie?” Suddenly she remembered that Matt assumed the Charlie she lived with was a man. Praying that God wouldn’t strike her dead for another little white lie, she said, “Yes. I’m not sure that he would approve. He’s jealous, extremely jealous, but thanks for calling. I have to run. My—my bathwater’s running over.” She quickly hung up the phone and slumped back into the chair.
Charlie Chan, the half-Siamese, half-mystery cat who was the unofficial ruler of the house, hopped on the table beside her and sat regally, waiting for her attention.
Eve scratched Charlie’s head. “Hey, fellow, how did your day go? Mine has been a bummer. Do you think Matt Crow thought I was a nut case?”
The cat cocked his head. “Meow. ”
“Yeah, he probably did. But seeing him again would be very unwise. He would break my heart, Charlie. And if he broke my heart, my mother would know and then Irish would be upset and drag Kyle into it, and he would be in an awkward position because they are cousins and very close. No, Charlie, it’s better this way.”
But if it was better, why did she want to cry?
When the answering machine came on again, Matt cursed and slammed down the phone. It had taken him three days to gut up enough to call Eve; now he’d been calling every hour from six to midnight for the past three nights. After that first conversation, he’d gotten her machine every time. That was a hell of a long bath she was taking.
After he’d left Ohio, he’d tried to convince himself that Eve was taken and to stay away from her, get her out of his mind. He hadn’t had any luck. She plagued his thoughts; she invaded his dreams; she haunted his senses.
He couldn’t think of a single woman who could hold a candle to her. Despite her beauty, she seemed totally lacking in conceit. Instead of arrogance, she radiated genuineness and caring, even shyness. There was an inner beauty about Eve that was more dazzling than the outer.
Matt just couldn’t forget her.
To hell with Charlie, he’d finally decided. It was every man for himself, and Matt meant to fight for her. He knew what it was to fight for what you wanted, and Matt had never wanted anything in his life like he wanted Eve Ellison.
Eve couldn’t care that much for old Charlie and have kissed Matt the way she did. That was what gave him hope. And Charlie wasn’t taking very good care of Eve, or she wouldn’t be so frazzled. There were problems in that relationship; Matt was sure of it. And he intended to take advantage of those problems.
He drummed his fingers on the telephone. Something didn’t ring true about that phone conversation with Eve on Wednesday. She’d seemed jumpy. Nervous? Scared? He wondered if that jerk had been listening? Is that why she wouldn’t take his other calls?
“Jealous,” she’d said. “Extremely jealous.” Was Charlie abusive to her? Fury shot through him. If that bastard harmed one beautiful blond hair on Eve’s sweet head, Matt would break his kneecaps.
Frustrated that he couldn’t get through to Eve directly, Matt knew he had to figure out another way. He drummed his fingers some more and began to devise a plan.
While water boiled for pasta, Eve listened to the messages on her answering machine. The first was from her mother and father, who had just returned from a trip to Texas.
“Your dad and I fell in love with the country around Pete’s place,” Beverly Ellison said. “Al has definitely decided to retire, and we’ve bought some land there. We’ll be moving to Texas soon. Call me, and I’ll tell you the details.”
Eve sighed. Even though she didn’t make it home to Akron more than a couple of times a month, she was going to miss having her parents less than an hour’s drive away. Her mom was great about dropping in with a chocolate cake occasionally, and she could always be counted on to care for the animals if one of her regular sitters wasn’t available.
First Irish, now her folks. Everybody was deserting her for Texas. What was so darned great about that place anyhow?
The next message was from Lottie Abrams, a headhunter who she heard from occasionally. “Eve, give me a call the minute you get in. A really hot agency in Dallas has seen your book and is very interested in talking to you. It’s a creative director’s position and at twice your salary. This could be a big break for you.”
Dallas? As in Texas?
Her heart gave a little trip. The image of a tall, handsome man with a cleft chin and a dynamite smile flashed into her mind. Matt Crow lived in Dallas.
Eve shook off the turn of her thoughts, but Matt’s face crept back despite her efforts. He was a hard man to forget. A huge bouquet of yellow roses had arrived soon after they had talked. For three days, he’d left messages on her answering machine, each one more urgent than the last. She had deliberately ignored his calls. He must have finally gotten the hint because she hadn’t heard a word from the tall Texan in a while.
She sort of missed the attention.
No. Forget Matt Crow; he was a lost cause. Certainly not her type—whatever her type was.
But Dallas was where Irish would be living. Her parents would be only a couple of hours’ drive away. She was going to have to move anyway, and Dallas had lots of room. Maybe she could find a place with a barn. And, dear Lord, how she longed to work for an exciting ad agency instead of the deadly dull place where she was now.
Eve was a darned good art director, and she’d won her share of awards in the last few years, but the agency where she worked was on the skids. She’d had some ideas for turning things around if she’d gotten the promotion. But now... well, if she didn’t make a move soon, her career would be in the toilet.
Creative director?
Twice her salary?
Talk about perfect timing. This could be—
Hold it, Eve, she told herself, laughing. This sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch. It wasn’t the first time that Lottie had gotten her pumped up over some opportunity only to find that things weren’t nearly so terrific as Lottie had proclaimed.
Eve shrugged. But it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. She wouldn’t even mention it to her family yet. Fighting the urge to cross her fingers, she reached for the phone.
Two days later, Eve was in Dallas. She couldn’t believe her luck. Coleman-Walker was becoming well-known in the business as an innovative agency and a real up-and-coming contender. In fact, Lottie had sent her a couple of trade articles about the shop, and Eve had read them on the plane. If she’d been impressed with what she’d read, she was doubly impressed when she arrived.
From the minute she walked through the double doors and into the funky renovated factory, Eve knew that this would be a fantastic shop to work in. The place was alive. teeming with vitality. Unmistakable creative energy hummed in the air and bounced off the walls. She immediately caught the mood of the dozen or so people she spotted; she felt revved up and excited and broke into a grin when a guy on roller skates whizzed by. Godzilla would have croaked.
She loved the agency; she felt an immediate rapport with Bart Coleman who interviewed her. They talked nonstop for over an hour. Working for Coleman-Walker would be a dream come true. This was a sharp group. She ached to be a part of it.
When Bart said that the job was hers if she wanted it, she almost burst with excitement. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and yell, “I’ll take it! How much do I have to pay you to work here?” She managed to play it cool and promised to get back with him.
Once outside the building, she couldn’t hold in her excitement any longer. She threw back her head and shouted, “Yaaa-hooo!” When people turned to stare at her, she only laughed and waved and scooted around in a tight circle, pumping her arms and grinning.
No way could she turn this down. The gods had definitely smiled on her. This was the chance of a lifetime. Eve was convinced this was her destiny when she found a perfect place to live near the Dallas County line.
The elderly gentleman who owned the small farm, complete with a fixer-upper house, pecan trees, barn and chicken coop, had gone to live in a nursing home. His son had agreed to sell the property at a bargain if she would take the place “as is” and agree to care for the old gent’s beloved mule and aging milk cow. A teenager from down the road had been tending them and would probably be available to help Eve if she wanted to hire him.
Why not? What were another couple of animals? She agreed at once and signed the papers. Granted, the farmhouse was a bit run-down, but a little paint would do wonders for it. The barn and the fences were in good shape. Why, she might even get a horse. She’d always wanted a horse.
This was great. Life was good. She called Bart Coleman from the airport and accepted the job—on one condition. She needed help in transporting her animals to Texas.
Matt Crow sat in his big leather chair in downtown Dallas, ankles crossed, the heel of one boot resting on the massive desk in his office. He tossed paper wads into the wastebasket and stared at the framed eleven-by-fourteen of an angel. He’d bought the picture from Irish’s wedding photographer, and it had held a prime place on his desk since then. Another copy was on his dresser at home.
Would that phone never ring?
He ripped another sheet from the legal pad, wadded it, and sailed it toward the overflowing basket. He was nervous. He must have gone through half a dozen pads waiting for Bart Coleman to call. He was going to get an ulcer if this went on much longer.
The phone rang. Matt grabbed the receiver and answered before the first ring finished.
“It’s a done deal,” Bart Coleman said.
Matt broke into a broad grin. “She accepted?”
“Yep. Coleman-Walker has a new creative director. She reports for work on the fifteenth.”
“Then the Crow Airline account is yours under the terms we discussed. But, Bart, I swear to God—”
Bart laughed. “If she ever gets wind of this, my ass is grass.”
“You got that right. And I don’t want Jackson or any of the rest of my family to know anything about it, either.”
“Don’t worry, Matt. This is strictly between you and me. And by the way, I’m impressed with the lady and her book. I think she’ll work out fine, and if she doesn’t—”
“I know. In two weeks, you say?” He felt himself grinning like a fool.
Three
“Settled in?” Bart Coleman asked as Eve entered his office carrying a large stack of applicants’ portfolios.
“Almost. I’ve culled these books from the ones you left on my desk. They’re not bad, but the others are great.” She set the load on a table and sat down across from Bart. “Sure we only need three extra people? I’ve found a mountain of talent already.”
“Three for now. Bryan Belo, along with Sam Marcus, Nancy Brazil and a couple of freelancers are already doing some preliminary work on the new account that I want you to supervise. I don’t think that you’ve met Bryan. He’s out of town. I’ll introduce you later.”
“Great. I’ve already met briefly with Nancy and Sam, and I’m anxious to begin. Tell me about this account. Nancy said it was some sort of funky airline. That sounds almost like an oxymoron to me. I’m not sure I’d want to fly on a funky airline.”
Bart laughed. “Don’t worry about that Although it’s a small company compared to some of the big boys, Crow Airlines has always had a reputation of being safe and dependable—but fun. Wild uniforms and crazy ads, that sort of thing.”
Eve’s heart lurched. Crow? As in Jackson Crow. As in Matt Crow? Surely not. “Crow Airlines?” she managed to say.
“That’s right You probably haven’t heard much about the company in your neck of the woods, but getting that account was a real coup for our little shop. Not only is it an agency’s dream in regard to creative possibilities, but we’ve been able to almost double our billing. We’re about to pop our buttons. And I want you to be our number one gal in coming up with an outstanding campaign and keeping the client happy.”
Bart’s excitement was evident, but her stomach felt queasy. She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “Exactly who is the client?”
“Crow Airlines. I thought I said that.”
“Oh, you did” A dozen thoughts sizzled through her brain, each more ominous than the other. Please, dear God don’t let it be one of Kyle’s cousins. Eve didn’t think she could stand it if she’d gotten this terrific new job only because she was Irish’s sister. “I meant... who will I be dealing with from the compan?”
“The owner himself. Great guy. We were fraternity brothers at the University of Texas, and I’ve been twisting his arm for that account since Gene Walker and I started the agency. He finally relented.” Bart grinned and winked. “I usually leave the hustling to Gene, but I’m a helluva salesman when I put my mind to it.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get cracking. We’re set to meet our new client for lunch.”
When Bart strode to the door and motioned for her to precede him, she balked, every muscle in her body tense. “Who is this great guy who owns Crow Airlines? It wouldn’t by any chance be...Jackson Crow, would it?”
“Jackson? Nah, not him.”
Her muscles began to relax.
“It’s his younger brother, Matt.”
She knotted up again, and her stomach turned over. “Matt? Matt Crow?”
“Yeah. He’s a great guy. You’ll like him.”
“I—I already know Matt.”
Bart’s eyebrows went up. “You do? Hey, that’s fantastic!”
“He’s my brother-in-law’s cousin,” she said, carefully watching her boss’s reaction.
“His cousin?” Bart hooted and slapped his fist into his open palm. “No joke? Hot damn! This is great. Super. Wait till Gene hears this. Man, I can’t believe our luck. Come on. Let’s go tell him the news.”
“Wait, Bart, I have to ask. Did you know that my sister’s husband was related to Matt Crow? Is that why I got this job?”
“Related?” He frowned. “Absolutely not I didn’t know that you were related to anybody, and it wouldn’t have mattered if you were. Having connections won’t get the job done. Eve, you got this CD spot because you’re a talented lady and the best person for the position. Don’t doubt that for a minute. Who is your sister anyway? I don’t know if I’ve met her.”
“Irish Ellison, the model. Or she used to be a model. She’s married to Dr. Kyle Rutledge now, and living in Dallas. Kyle and Matt are cousins.”
“Irish is your sister? I’ve never met her, but I remember seeing her ad work. Beautiful woman.” He cocked his head and studied Eve’s face. “Now that you mention it, I can see the family resemblance. Why didn’t you go into modeling?”
“Me?” Eve snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Irish got the looks.” She grinned. “I got the brains.”
“I’d say you got plenty of both. Let’s go meet our client. Boy, have I got a surprise for him.”
Matt was nervous. He’d plucked all the petals off the daisies in the little table vase, built a fort of sugar packets, and drunk two cactus margaritas. He was about to order a third when he saw her.
God, she was gorgeous.
He was doubly thankful for the miracle of his vision now. A few years ago, before his surgery, she would have been a blur coming toward him instead of an angel on earth. He couldn’t have appreciated the exquisite color of her eyes or the sensuous curve of her lips without his Coke-bottle lenses.
He didn’t know if it was the tequila or something else, but when he stood, his legs felt rubbery. Craziest damned thing. His heart kicked into overdrive and his palms went damp. He hadn’t felt such a staggering reaction to a female since he was fourteen and kissing Miranda Toney behind the gym. Only this was worse.
Be cool, Crow, Matt told himself. Play this cool. “Bart. Gene,” he said, shaking hands with the men. “And this lovely lady is—Eve?”
“Eve Ellison is the new creative director for your account,” Bart said. “She tells me that her sister is married to your cousin.”
“Right,” Matt said, taking her hand. “We met at the wedding. What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I didn’t realize that you had moved to Dallas. I thought you lived in...was it Pittsburgh?”
“Cleveland.”
“How’s George?”
“George?”
“Your fella.”
“My—? Oh, you mean Charlie?”
“Right. Charhe.”
“He’s fine.”
“Did he move to Dallas, too?”
She nodded.
Matt clenched his teeth against the expletive that almost popped out of his mouth. Instead he said, “What will you have to drink? I can recommend the cactus margaritas. In fact, I think I’ll have another one.” He motioned for the waiter.
Damn that Charlie’s sorry hide! Matt was hoping the man wouldn’t move to Dallas with her, but no matter. Matt was determined to have Eve—Charlie or no Charlie. And when he set his mind to something, he always got what he went after.
Always.
Grandpa Pete often said that Matt was like a snapping turtle: when he got his teeth in something, he wouldn’t let go. Grandpa Pete was right. All his life, Matt had been fascinated with airplanes and flying. He’d ached to learn to fly, but he couldn’t pass the vision test. The first thing he’d done when he got his million from his grandfather was have laser surgery. He hadn’t told a soul his plans—especially his mother—but he was determined to learn to fly. And, despite the odds against it, he had.
Somehow Matt managed to keep his mind on business during the rest of lunch—switching to coffee instead of guzzling that third margarita helped—but he wasn’t able to keep his eyes off Eve. Once, when she glanced up from eating and caught him staring at her, he winked. She turned as red as the spiced tomato on her fork and quickly turned her attention back to her salad.
He grinned. Charlie or no Charlie, the chemistry was still there.
Watch out, sugar. Here I come.
The food was probably delicious—was indeed outstanding, according to Bart and Gene—but everything Eve tried to swallow seemed to get stuck in her throat. And she was suddenly painfully aware of her appearance.
Had she combed her hair? Was she wearing lipstick? She couldn’t remember. She had worn a purple jacket that Irish said was a ghastly color for her and totally out of style, but since it was still serviceable, Eve hadn’t tossed it as her sister had suggested. And she was painfully aware that one of the dogs—Gomez, she suspected—had chewed on the toe of her left black pump. She’d covered the teeth marks reasonably well with a felt marker, and, besides, she could keep her feet under the table. But there was nothing she could do about the jacket. She couldn’t take it off because while she was chasing Gomez through the pasture that morning, she’d ripped the underarm seam of her blouse and gotten a grass stain on her elbow. She hadn’t had time to change.
Anyhow, Matt Crow really wasn’t interested in her. He hadn’t even recognized her at first. So much for lasting impressions. Hers on him, not vice versa. His face, his voice, his touch had lingered in her mind and her heart. Now, seeing him in person again, she realized that her memories hadn’t done him justice. His charisma enveloped her with its power and sent tendrils deep into hidden nooks of her awareness.
She felt almost naked before him.
When he’d winked at her, she knew that he knew, and she’d felt her face flame. How could she work with this man feeling as she did? Heaven only knew how long she could keep from throwing herself into his arms and saying, “Take me. I’m yours.”
Thankfully Matt Crow was the president of a busy company, and naturally he wouldn’t have time to be personally involved with every phase of the ad campaign. Eve would be working with one of his associates, she was sure. That would be her salvation—or else she would probably make a complete fool of herself and embarrass the entire family as well.
After Matt signed the check, he turned to Eve, smiled and said, “I intend to clear my calendar as much as possible so that I can be personally involved with every phase of the ad campaign. In fact, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight and discuss some of your plans.”
Panic shot through her. “Dinner? Tonight?”
She glanced back and forth between Bart and Gene. Bart was smiling expectantly. Gene was smiling expectantly. She glanced at Matt.
Matt was smiling expectantly.
“Yes,” he said. “Dinner. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at your office, and we can have drinks first.”
“Uh, well, uh...I have animals.”
“Good, I like animals. What time shall I pick you up?”
“I can’t...I mean...I have to go home and feed the animals. You see, being in a new place makes them nervous, and...well, I had to lock Gomez in the barn this morning. He was chasing the neighbor’s cows and making them berserk. I pray he’s still there.”
“Gomez?”
“He’s a dog. Part golden retriever and part tunnel rat. He’s a digger. The fence hasn’t been made that can hold him.”
Matt chuckled. “I had a dog like that once when I was a kid. Drove my mother crazy. Can’t Charlie handle Gomez?”
“Charlie? No.”
“Tell you what. You go home and tend to the animals this evening, and I’ll stop by the deli and pick up some dinner. What’s your address?”
“Oh, I live a long way out of town, a long way. Almost to Forney. I wouldn’t want you to drive so far.”
“I like to drive,” Matt said. He smiled again, and she melted like a Popsicle on hot pavement “Give me directions.”
With no other options in her mushy brain, she gave him directions to the farm.
“What does Charlie like?”
“Charlie?”
“Yes. I thought I’d bring enough food for him. He like pasta?”
Blood drained from her face. A feeling of impending doom filled her. He was going to find out that she had lied. “Fish. Charlie likes fish.”
Four
Heavy rain pelted the windshield like hailstones. Eve leaned forward and squinted, trying to see the highway through the slap of the wipers. Even though she’d left the office in plenty of time to get home, feed the animals and freshen up, she hadn’t counted on the jack-knifed moving van that had blocked two lanes and caused a humongous snarl. Or on the sudden deluge from the sky. Traffic inched along.
Matt Crow was due at the farm in fifteen minutes. No way would she be home by then. Her stomach knotted tighter. She gripped the steering wheel, peered at the endless strings of red lights in front of her, and worried about her animals. They were bound to be wet and hungry. Hopefully they’d taken shelter on the porch or under the barn’s shed.
She was particularly concerned about Lonesome and Sukie, the old mule and cow that had come with the place. Lonesome was half-bund and Sukie needed to be milked. They were used to going to the barn in the evening, but she’d locked Gomez inside that morning, not thinking that she would be so late getting home.
Eve turned on the radio, trying to find some music to soothe her jangled nerves.
It didn’t help.
After what seemed like hours, she finally made it to the outskirts of Dallas, past Mesquite, which abutted the city, then onto open highway. The traffic thinned, and she was able to increase her speed. Home wasn’t far now.
A few minutes later, she turned onto the rutted drive to the farm and bumped over the cattle guard. Her headlights swept over a sleek black sports car parked by the front gate.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “He’s here.” How had Matt made it through the same traffic she’d been cursing? She didn’t have time to worry about that now, she thought as she pulled to a stop beside him.
As soon as she threw open the door, Matt was there with a golf umbrella and a large flashlight. “I figured you got stuck in traffic,” he said.
“I did, and you’ll have to excuse me. I have to see about the animals. Poor Lonesome and Sukie are locked out of the barn. And Gomez must be having a fit. Sorry, you’ll have to come back another time.”
Ignoring the downpour, she dashed through the front gate, out the back gate and toward the barn where the vapor light had come on. The dogs had begun barking like crazy and ran after her, circling and dancing around as if it were a game.
“I’ll help,” Matt yelled.
“Come back another time!” She half turned to wave him off, stumbled, and took a header into a deep puddle. The dogs splashed around her, licking and nudging, wanting to play. “Stop it, you guys. Back to the house. Now!” Thankfully, they obeyed.
Mumbling, she pushed herself to her feet and wiped the mud from her face. She was covered with guck. Irish wouldn’t have to worry about the purple jacket again. It was ruined.
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