Seduction Of The Reluctant Bride
Barbara McCauley
WIFE-WRANGLIN' BRIDE-SEDUCIN' COWBOY Sam McCants was a steer-ropin', dust-on-his-britches kind of cowboy. So what in tarnation was this purebred Texan thinking, getting himself hitched to a citified bride - even if the arrangement was just for two months? Why, Faith Courtland had barely uttered "I do" before she took off for Lonesome Rock Mountain, muttering about some family inheritance.And if she hadn't been so surefire sexy, Sam might just have let the little spitfire head for the hills. But this husband wanted his wedding night . So he saddled up his stallion, and with a mighty "Giddy up!" and a yank on the reins, he set off through the mountain mist to rustle up one wily wife in need of proper seducing.
Wife. The Word Hit Jared Like A Fist In The Chest. (#ub319a406-0825-5294-ba3e-0a9338b8ef3b)Letter to Reader (#u7de75076-0a61-5f31-83b3-f22b957e07fc)Title Page (#u42ebb29a-6910-5418-960d-711853ec50b8)About the Author (#u3500854a-beea-5ff3-9a9b-3fb46eada291)Dedication (#u1a2c276b-8e50-5409-82d7-fbd2e1d15550)Chapter One (#ua3339cf0-1bb5-5565-8396-4a7af5b91932)Chapter Two (#u06e3478d-36f9-5b03-a347-7f2eb85a6649)Chapter Three (#u75c139f2-6a0f-5c96-b85c-b5c8a9c51b8e)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)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)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Wife. The Word Hit Jared Like A Fist In The Chest.
His throat had gone dry when Faith had walked into the judge’s chambers a few minutes ago, wearing traditional white. He assumed her color choice was to convince everyone she truly was happy to be a bride. And whether their wedding guests believed this was a real marriage or not, they seemed determined to treat it as one.
Too bad Faith didn’t feel the same way about the wedding night, Sam thought. The fact that he’d be sleeping alone tonight only increased his frustration. He had images of slipping that pretty dress off his bride’s soft shoulders and making that slender, curvy body of hers lose control, wanting him as badly as he wanted her.
The cad in him wouldn’t mind if she had a little too much to drink and fell into his arms, Sam thought, but his pride—and his honor—wanted her willing.
Dear Reader,
MEN! This month Silhouette Desire goes man-crazy with six of the sexiest, heart-stopping hunks ever to come alive on the pages of a romance novel.
Meet May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, love-wary secret agent Daniel Lawless, in The Passionate G-Man, the first book in Dixie Browning’s fabulous new minisenes, THE LAWLESS HEIRS Metsy Hingle’s gallant hero protects an independent lady in danger in the last book of the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM senes, The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid. Little bitty Joeville, Montana, has more tall, dark and rugged ranchers than any other town west of the Mississippi And Josh Malone has more sex appeal than all of ’em put together in Last of the Joeville Lovers, the third book in Anne Eames’s MONTANA MALONES series.
In The Notorious Groom, Caroline Cross pairs the baddest boy ever to roam the streets of Kisscount with the town virgin in a steamy marriage of convenience. The hero of Barbara McCauley’s Seduchon of the Reluctant Bride is one purebred Texas cowboy fixin’ to do some wife-wranglin’—this new groom isn’t about to miss a sultry second of his very own wedding night. Yeehaw! Next, when a suddenly wealthy beauty meets the owner of the ranch next door, he’s wearing nothing but a Stetson and a smile in Carol Grace’s The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy.
Silhouette Desire brings you the kind of irresistible men who make your knees buckle, your stomach flutter, your heart melt...and your fingers turn the page. So enjoy our lineup of spectacular May men! Regards,
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave, PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
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Seduction of the Reluctant Bride
Barbara McCauley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BARBARA McCAULEY was born and raised in California and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away
With two children of her own now and a busy household, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all—breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into freshly turned soil and make things grow.
To women everywhere
who’ve learned to listen with their hearts.
One
Digger Jones was dead.
No one in the town of Cactus Flat, Texas, could believe it, of course. Who ever would have thought a freak mountain storm would get the best of the crusty old café owner? He’d worked his mine in Lonesome Rock Canyon for more than forty years and survived broken bones, pneumonia, snake bite and weather that would have immobilized the city of New York. Digger Jones was too damn ornery to die.
But facts were facts. The storm had turned the canyon where Digger had camped into a raging river, washing out everything in its path. Search parties had turned up little more than half a tent and a few assorted articles of clothing. It might take months to find a body in the devastation the flood had left behind. More than likely, no body would be found.
With that thought in mind, Sam McCants frowned at the rose-covered coffin resting on the altar. There’d been no official declaration of death from the State, and Sam had argued with Holis Fitcher, the town mortician, at the absurdity of a coffin without a body. Still, Hollis had insisted piously that Digger had paid in advance, in full, for the deluxe package that included the top-of-the-line oak casket. Body or not, the mortician had sniffed, Digger would have what he paid for.
The organist, also part of the deluxe package, broke into a lively rendition of Amazing Grace, signaling that the service would begin in a few minutes. Except for the last two rows, every pew in the small church was nearly filled. Digger might have been a cranky, cantankerous coffee shop owner and silver miner, but the entire town of Cactus Flat would miss him terribly.
Sam slipped into the front pew beside Jake Stone. Savannah, Jake’s wife, looking beautifully slim after the birth of their second child, leaned over and kissed Sam’s cheek. Sam winked playfully at the honey blonde.
Never mind that Jake and Sam had been best friends most of their lives, instinct—and Sam’s notorious bachelor status—had Jake slipping an arm around Savannah anyway. “Find your own woman, McCants.”
“Sam doesn’t have to find women, dear. They find him.” Savannah pressed a reassuring hand into her husband’s and squeezed. “Matilda tells me that just last week when Sam came into the Hungry Bear her business practically doubled—all female. She said there was a near brawl at Sam’s booth when Pattie Wright tried to shove Marie Farrel out of her seat.”
“Pattie slipped,” Sam defended the pretty brunette. Small towns were a curse on a single man. Every move he made, every word he spoke to a female—any female—was like gasoline on the gossip fire. And definitely exaggerated. “We’re just friends, that’s all.”
“And a man can never have too many friends, right?” Jake wiggled his eyebrows. When Savannah frowned at him, he cleared his throat. “So, we heard you were giving the eulogy.”
Sam admired Jake’s wisdom to change the subject. “Since Digger left me executor of his estate, Reverend Winslow thought I might like to say a few words.”
“And what estate might that be?”
They all looked up as Jared, Jake’s brother, slid into the pew behind them. Jared brushed Savannah’s cheek with a brotherly kiss. “Other than a stuffed grizzly bear and a set of frying pans, Digger Jones didn’t even own a watch.”
“He loved that bear.” Sam grinned at Jared. “I’m thinking about buying it myself and passing it along to you and Annie for the entryway of that new house you built. And speaking of your lovely wife, tell me she finally dumped you and the path is clear for me.”
Had he been any other man but Sam McCants Jared would have had to hit him Instead, he smiled goodnaturedly. “The only clear path around Annie these days would be a 747 runway. Her due date is only two weeks away. Ah, here’s the little woman now.”
“I heard that crack.” Annie slowly eased herself down beside her husband, then coolly accepted his repentant kiss. “If I wouldn’t have to fight my way through the long line of women, I just might take Sam up on his offer. At least he knows how to treat a lady.”
The third Stone sibling, Jessica Stone Grant, slid into the pew beside Annie. “He knows how to treat a lady, all right. All the ladies. Don’t look now, Sam, but Carol Sue Gibson is sitting with Sarah Pearson and they’re both looking moon-eyed at you.”
Two delightful specimens of the female gender, Sam thought as he turned and grinned at the women. Carol Sue crossed her legs, hiking up her skirt and Sarah licked her glossy red lips.
Ah, it’s good to be alive.
“Friends, I’m telling you. We’re just friends,” he said casually and settled back in his seat.
Jessica, Annie and Savannah rolled their eyes, while Jared and Jake exchanged a knowing smirk.
Jessica leaned forward and whispered in Sam’s ear. “Watch out, sweetheart, one day one of your ‘friends’ is going to have you on your knees.”
Jared and Jake were shaking their heads as Dylan, Jessica’s husband, slid into the pew beside her. “You want to explain to me why you’re whispering in another man’s ear before, or after, I slug him?”
Jessica gave Dylan a peck on his lips, then wiped a smudge of baby food off his cheek. “It’s just Sam, darling. You get Daniel off all right at Josephine’s?”
“Soon as our son saw his cousins were there, too, I might as well have been the mailman. See what you have to look forward to, Sam?” Dylan slipped an arm around his wife and she automatically leaned into him. “Baby food and babysitters.”
The intimate look they exchanged, Sam noted, relayed there was plenty more to their marriage. “That’s the Stone family department,” Sam said with the assured confidence of a confirmed bachelor. “Preachers and promises are not in this boy’s future.”
The organist punctuated Sam’s words with a deep rumbling chord, heavy with foreboding. An odd sensation scooted up Sam’s spine, and he shifted restlessly in his seat.
Then, as suddenly as the organist had intensified her playing, she hesitated and stumbled. The buzz in the church seemed to quiet, as well. Baffled, Sam glanced over his shoulder. All heads turned toward the entrance at the back of the church.
A young woman stood in the shadows of the foyer, with the sun at her back. Afternoon light danced off her shoulder-length golden blond hair. She wore black, a double-breasted suit that emphasized her small waist and revealed long, long legs encased in black silk and high heels. A small purse dangled from a gold chain off one smooth shoulder, hugging the curve of her slender hip. She stood there, motionless, her cool gaze resting on the rose-covered coffin, then glanced casually around the church.
Every man straightened, every woman stiffened. Sam simply couldn’t breathe.
She was a stranger, no question of that. Sam had lived and ranched in Stone Creek County outside of Cactus Flat his entire life. He knew everyone who lived here and most everyone in the surrounding counties, too. This woman wasn’t from anywhere around here. She was city, with a capital C.
What the hell was she doing here, at Digger Jones’s funeral?
“Goodness,” Jessica breathed.
Not exactly the first word that had come to Sam’s mind, but a close derivative, he thought. There were other words, too. Cool. Sophisticated. Chic. Untouchable. He watched her scan the pews with thickly lashed eyes, and from across the room he wondered about their color. It surprised him how much he suddenly wanted an answer to that question.
The organist found her beat in the music again and Reverend Winslow, who had also paused to stare curiously at the stranger, took his place at the pulpit.
The woman moved to the last row and sat, her back straight, her unblinking gaze focused solely on the Reverend. The music stopped, then reluctantly bodies shifted and heads turned back to the front of the church.
Reverend Winslow straightened his shoulders and cast a long, imperious glance over the room, pausing momentarily at the last pew. Sam grinned at the thought of the pious Reverend Winslow caught under the blond stranger’s spell, but even men of the cloth were allowed fantasies, weren’t they?
And this woman was definitely the stuff fantasies were made out of He could have sworn he saw lace poking out from under her suit jacket. Black lace against creamy white skin. What man wouldn’t wonder what was under that cool exterior, if those silky black stockings went all the way up those long legs to that narrow waist, or if they cut off at her thighs, thighs that...
Jake elbowed him.
“Huh?” Coming out of his daydream, it was the most intelligent response he could manage. Jake nodded toward the pulpit. Reverend Winslow had obviously already introduced him and now stared disapprovingly down at him.
Damn.
He tamped down the rush of blood to his brain, stood, then straightened his jacket and made his way to the pulpit.
Joseph Alexander Courtland III had instructed his only daughter at a very young age on the importance of disciplined emotion. For that, especially at this moment, Faith was extremely grateful.
She’d seen all the heads turn when she’d walked into the small church. Felt their curious stares and wary glances. Strangers were not to be trusted, she understood. But then, Faith thought dryly, quite often, neither were friends or family.
The minister, dressed in a flowing black robe, had thinning brown hair and wore round, wire-framed glasses. His solemn voice welcomed everyone, then he glanced at her and introduced himself as Reverend Winslow. Since everyone else in the church obviously knew the Reverend, Faith realized with dread that the man was speaking directly to her. Resisting the urge to squirm, Faith simply stared back, pretending not to notice that several heads had turned discreetly her way.
The Reverend quoted several comforting psalms, spoke briefly of the tragic loss of Francis Elijah Montgomery, better known as Digger Jones to the town of Cactus Flat, then called on one of Digger’s friends to speak. Faith froze at the introduction.
Sam McCants.
A man rose from the front pew where he’d been seated. The man she’d come here to see. She’d expected someone older. Digger had been seventy-two. Faith had assumed the man that he had appointed as executor for his estate would be a peer, a life-long friend. Someone closer to his own age. This man couldn’t be more than thirty-four or -five.
He was certainly tall, she thought, watching him walk smoothly to the pulpit. At least six-two, maybe even sixthree. His thick, wavy hair touched the collar of his white dress shirt and was almost as black as the tailored suit he wore. A suit, Faith noted with interest, that fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist like a glove. Her gaze drifted just below the waist, and she felt a tug of curiosity, wondering if his suit jacket covered a backside that was as wellshaped as the rest of his muscular body.
The improper thought caught Faith completely off guard. Frowning, she straightened and carefully reined in her wayward wondering. She had a job to do here, she reminded herself sharply. The sooner she completed that job, the sooner she could be back in Boston. It was imperative she stay focused.
When the man turned and looked straight at her, her focus tumbled.
The face matched the body: dark, intense eyes; strong, masculine features; a jaw that advertising agencies paid big bucks for. Only when he looked away from her did she realize she’d been holding her breath.
“Digger Jones,” the man said, his voice deep and resonant, “was the most irascible, ill-natured, argumentative, opinionated man I’ve met in my entire life.”
She nearly gasped out loud. How could he say such a thing after a man had so tragically lost his life? Shocked, Faith glanced around the church. Everyone was nodding.
“And no one,” Sam said, “no one, loved him more than me.”
There were smiles now. Some of the ladies dabbed at their eyes. Relieved, Faith leaned back in the pew. Any resentment or grievance with Digger from Mr. McCants, or from the town, might complicate her business here.
“Many of you—” Sam said, moving to the coffin “—are probably thinking what I’m thinking. That this casket hd is going to fly open any minute, with Digger ranting and raving, wanting to know what all the fuss is about and why the hell isn’t Matilda flipping burgers and frying potatoes at lunchtime?”
There were chuckles throughout the church and a loud nose-blow from a big-haired platinum blonde in the second pew. Matilda, Faith assumed.
“But we all know,” he went on, “that this coffin is empty. Digger is still in the mountains. In the canyons that he loved, where he worked, his entire life. Some people may have thought him foolish, crazy even, to live his life chasing after a silver mine. But I admired him. His tenacity, his determination, his dream. His apple cobbler.”
When Sam looked heavenward, laughter broke out and Faith pressed her lips tightly together. She’d only been to two other funerals in her life, the first one four years ago, when she was twenty-two. Randolph Hollingsworth, the founder of the Boston Businessmen’s Association, had passed on at eighty-four. Dignity and formality had been protocol for the elderly gentleman. Even when Russel Matthews’s toupee had slipped off his head and fell directly onto Widow Hollingsworth’s lap no one had laughed.
And then there was her second funeral, only six months ago.
Her father’s.
There’d certainly been no laughter there, either. The service for Joseph Alexander Courtland III had been solemn, the reception afterward hushed and reserved. Like the man himself.
“I was only ten the first time Digger took me into the mountains to mine with him,” Sam continued, and Faith drew in a breath to refocus her attention. “I just knew I was going to come home rich, with silver nuggets bulging out of my pockets.”
He paused and smiled at the coffin. “What I came back with was a sore butt from four days in the saddle and hands that had more blisters than Pete Johnson has teeth.”
The crowd laughed again, and a pole-shaped man in a too-small suit rose, tipping his cowboy hat as he grinned at everyone with a smile reminiscent of a woodchuck.
“But a young boy’s disappointment,” Sam said quietly, “became a man’s realization. A realization that I did come home rich from that trip, that I brought back much more with me than any amount of riches could ever buy. Digger taught me perseverance, to never give up on what I value most, no matter what the cost. To treasure our families, our goals, our dreams.”
Sam touched the coffin, a tender gesture of farewell. “Goodbye, Digger Jones. You may never have found your treasure, but you were one of the richest men I’ve ever had the pleasure, and the honor, to know.”
The organist began to play as Sam walked back to his seat. Faith struggled to blink back the tears threatening to spill. What was the matter with her? She had no reason to cry. No reason at all, she told herself. She was tired from the trip, under tremendous pressure at the moment, nervous about meeting Mr. McCants.
So what if the man’s eulogy was touching? So what if Digger had made such an impact on these people’s lives? None of that had anything to do with her, or why she was here. She was Faith Alexis Courtland, daughter of Joseph Alexander Courtland III and Colleen Jane Buchanan. She did not cry at funerals, and she most certainly did not laugh.
One by one, the townspeople passed by the coffin, men with their hats in their hands, women dabbing their eyes with tissues. Faith stayed where she was, ignoring the curious looks from the people of Cactus Flat as they filed out of the church.
To keep her eyes diverted and her hands busy, she fumbled in her purse for a tissue. She had no desire to talk with anyone, and she waited until the church was nearly empty before she tucked her tissue back into her purse. A few deep breaths and she would be fine. In control. Composed.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Faith snapped her head around and stared into Sam McCants’s dark eyes. She stood quickly, too quickly, and her purse slipped from her fingers, still unclasped. The contents skittered over the worn, but shiny oak floor.
Great—just great, Faith thought with a silent groan. A terrific first impression.
Her eyes were blue, Sam noted. The color of pale, soft denim. He’d caught her off guard, he realized, and for just a moment, before she’d straightened her shoulders and lifted that cute little chin, he’d seen something in those wide eyes that belied her outer image of cool sophistication. A distress that went deeper than a spilled purse.
He bent to help her, but they moved at the same time and only managed to bump into each other. The contact, though only a fraction of a second, brought forth an image of heated flesh. The sudden flush on her high cheeks charmed him. He caught her scent. Expensive. Exotic.
She stepped back, the windows in her eyes closed now. “Excuse me.”
Her formality amused him as much as it intrigued him. He watched her bend demurely and scoop up a slim black wallet, palm-size brush and set of keys with a rental car insignia. He enjoyed the extra inches of exposed leg as she reached for a gold-toned ballpoint pen.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
He thought he’d been caught sneaking a peek, but she was gesturing to the silver-cased lipstick that had rolled between his feet. He bent to pick it up, glancing at the label as he handed it to her. “Passion’s Blush,” he read aloud. “Very nice.”
She dropped the silver tube into her purse, snapped the purse shut and adjusted the gold chain over her shoulder as she stood. “Faith Courtland, Mr. McCants.”
He looked down at the hand she extended to him. Her tone was as stiff as the starched collars his mother had made him wear to Sunday school when he was a boy. “We’re laid back here in Cactus Flat, Faith. Why don’t you just call me Sam?”
She nodded, then smiled hesitantly. “Sam.”
Her fingers were long and smooth Warm. And no rings. He held her hand longer than he should have. “I’ve never seen you before, Faith.” He would definitely have remembered. “Are you a friend of Digger’s?”
“Digger?” she repeated. She cleared her throat, then tugged her hand from his. “Oh, yes, of course. Mr. Montgomery. No, I’m not a friend. Actually, Mr. McCants, I mean Sam, I’m here to see you”
It took a moment for her words to sink in, another longer moment for them to register. Of all the things he might have expected her to say, that was the last. “You’re here to see me?”
“You are the man that Mr. Montgomery appointed as executor of his estate, aren’t you? Owner of the Circle B ranch in Stone Creek County?”
How would she know that? And why did she keep referring to Mr. Montgamery? Digger had a tendency to punch anyone who called him by his real name.
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “Digger did appoint me executor. But I doubt that you’re interested in a stuffed grizzly bear or set of frying pans.”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. I have a reception to go to over at the hotel. You’re welcome to join me, but why don’t we just get whatever it is you came here to say out of the way first.”
“Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. McCants—Sam—I’d like to inform you that I—we—at Elijah Jane Corporation are most anxious to work with you toward settling the matter of Mr. Mont—Digger’s—holdings.”
“Elijah Jane Corporation? As in the restaurant chain?” Sam frowned. “Why would they be interested in Digger? And what holdings are you talking about? Digger ran a small diner here in town, in a rented space, and lived in a tiny apartment at the hotel. He had an old truck, at least he had one until six months ago when Andy over at the gas station gave it last rites. That, other than the grizzly bear and frying pans I already mentioned, are the extent of Digger’s holdings.”
Her incredible blue eyes widened. “You mean, you don’t know?”
Her startled question, sort of a throaty whisper, skimmed over him like silky fingers. “Know what?”
Her composure was back now, her face controlled and voice steady. “Mr. McCants, Francis Elijah Montgomery, known to you as Digger Jones, was the sole owner of Elijah Jane Corporation, a company with gross sales of over twohundred-million dollars and a net worth of approximately twenty-million dollars.”
Two
Faith watched Sam’s face go blank as he stared at her. His eyes, filled with impatience only a moment ago, were empty now, void of any emotion.
Then he began to laugh.
It started off as a low rumble in his broad chest, then spread to a rolling wave of hilarity. He sat in the pew, shaking his head, and the sound of his laughter echoed in the now empty church.
Faith had no idea how to respond to Sam’s display of amusement. She’d negotiated million-dollar deals with the toughest clients in Boston and Colorado, calmed an entire room of excited stockholders, settled disputes between employees and management. Those things were all in a day’s work. She thrived on it, flourished in the order and control she executed. And still, at this moment, she couldn’t seem to manage one discomposed cowboy.
Why was this one man throwing off her equilibrium so badly?
Certainly not because he was handsome. She met handsome men all the time. Faith Courtland was not the type to be influenced by a pretty face. Sam McCants might have the darkest, most extraordinary eyes she’d ever seen, and maybe there was an aura of blatant sexuality she’d never encountered before. That cute shock of black hair falling over his forehead might even tempt a weaker woman. But not her. No way.
“Twenty...million...dollars,” he managed between guffaws. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s ripe. You’re good, I gotta tell you. Real good. You almost had me there.”
Almost had him? He still didn’t believe her? Exasperated, she tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened. “Mr. McCants, let me assure you—”
Faith let out a small squeak as Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her down beside him. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you do anything you like to me. Just tell me, was it Jared or Jake? Both, right? I don’t know where they found you, but you’re one sweet filly. Damn, those boys are good.”
This was going all wrong. Every rehearsed statement, every carefully developed stage of her agenda here was being shot to hell. She had no idea what this man was talking about, and with his chest suddenly pressed up against her, pushing her back against the pew, she suddenly found it difficult to think at all.
She felt the heat of his body seep through her silk jacket and slide over her skin. His mouth hovered mere inches from hers, those sexy eyes of his half closed, barely revealing a mixture of amusement and desire.
“Mr. McCants, Sam, please.”
His breath fanned her earlobe, then her cheek. “I love the way you say please,” he murmured huskily. “Say it again.”
She almost did, then stopped herself, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. Heart pounding, she stood on shaky knees and tugged at her jacket.
“I don’t know anyone named Jared or Jake,” she said, embarrassed that her voice cracked. “And no one ‘found me,’ as you so crudely put it. I’m here as vice president of Elijah Jane Corporation, and whether you believe it or not, Digger Jones does—did—indeed own the company.”
Her fingers were shaking as she reached inside her purse and pulled a business card from her wallet. Sam held his gaze on hers as he took the card.
“Elijah Jane Corporation,” he read aloud. “Boston, Massachusetts. Faith Alexis Courtland, Vice President.” He glanced back up at her. “So the Stone brothers didn’t hire you to snooker me?”
Snooker? Faith wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it one little bit. “A man’s funeral is hardly the time to ‘snooker’ anyone, Mr. McCants. Elijah Jane Corporation is devastated over Mr. Montgomery’s tragic accident.”
She was serious, Sam realized, taking in the firm set of her upturned lips and the fixed look in her pretty eyes. Completely serious. This woman really believed what she was saying.
There was a mistake here, of course, Sam knew. Some bizarre twist of fate had mysteriously mixed up Digger Jones of Cactus Flat with some other fellow, who just happened, by some weird coincidence, to have the same name: Francis Elijah Montgomery.
But bizarre or not, who was he to question fate? She’d find out soon enough she had the wrong man. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. This time of the year was slow at the ranch. A little diversion—especially one with bottomless blue eyes and enticing curves—would be more than welcome.
Faith snapped her purse shut and tossed back her neatly trimmed, shoulder-length blond hair. “In case you haven’t heard of us, we have fifty restaurants across the country, plus an extensive frozen food line carried by most grocery stores. We’re famous for our steaks and ribs,” she said proudly.
Sam might have mentioned to Faith that he had a freezer full of Elijah Jane’s Hearty Homestyle Meals for the nights that Gazella, his housekeeper, had off, but that clipped, cool tone had crept back into her voice and he wouldn’t give Miss Faith Courtland, Vice President, the satisfaction. And he wondered what she might say if he told her that he supplied the beef, through a distributor, for those steaks Elijah Jane was so famous for.
He pocketed her business card, then settled his arms over the back of the pew as he looked up at her. Damn, but this woman was easy on the eyes...and hard on the hormones. “I believe I’ve heard the name before, once or twice.”
He was making fun of her, Faith was certain of it. But in spite of herself, and as hard as she wanted to be offended, she found the glint of humor in his eyes fascinating, and much to her distress, extremely appealing.
“Mr. McCants—” she began, clearing her throat “—Mr. Montgomery, Digger, has always been reclusive. A mystery owner who preferred to stay in the shadows and let his carefully selected employees run his company. His only demands were the highest quality food, absolute best service, and detailed weekly reports.”
He watched her for a long moment, his arms draped casually over the pew, a mixture of interest and disbelief in his eyes. She resisted the urge to look away from his penetrating gaze.
“So you’re telling me,” he said finally, “that you’ve never even met this guy, your boss. Never even seen him.”
She glanced at the front of the church, at the empty coffin, her chest tightening at the realization she never would. “That’s right.”
“How did you communicate?”
“There was a post office box in Midland, but the majority of communication was by computer and fax.”
“Computer? Fax?” Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Digger didn’t even own a cash register at the café. Said they were too much trouble. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’ve got the wrong man. You should have called and saved yourself a trip.”
She blew out her irritation, then drew in a slow, calming breath. “Mr. Montgomery left your name and address only, with instructions to contact you at the Circle B if anything happened to him. It wasn’t uncommon not to hear from him for a few weeks, but after a month, we contacted the local authorities here and found out that Francis Elijah Montgomery, alias Digger Jones, had been lost in the mountains after a flood. As vice president of Elijah Jane, it’s my responsibility to meet with you and Mr. Montgomery’s attorney to go over the details of his will and estate.”
Sam snorted. “An attorney? Digger? I wouldn’t even repeat his opinion of lawyers to a lady. ’Course, I wouldn’t repeat most of Digger’s opinions to a lady.”
“No lawyer?” She frowned. “But that’s impossible. He must have had a lawyer draw up a will.”
Sam shook his head. “’Fraid not. Digger drew up his own a few months back, sealed it and gave it to me to handle for him when the time came. The bank’s closed on Saturday, but we can check it out Monday morning. Until then, it’s safe and sound in my safe deposit vault.”
Jaw slack, all she could do was stare at him. “He drew up his own will and just handed it over to you, without any legal advice or representation?”
Annoyance flashed quickly in his eyes, the humor gone now. “This isn’t Boston, Ms. Courtland. Folks trust each other here.”
She hadn’t meant to insult him, it was just so ..so preposterous. “Twenty-million dollars is a lot of trust by anyone’s standards, in any city. A man doesn’t just scribble away that kind of money in a hand-written will.”
“You didn’t know Digger very well, did you?” Sam said, his tone mocking.
“I told you, I never met the man.” She let the burn of his words pass, then lifted her chin. “But then, it appears that you didn’t know him so well yourself.”
“Perhaps.” He stood, regarded her carefully. “I’d say, Ms. Courtland, under the circumstances, that we both have a lot to learn.”
The reception for Digger was held in the banquet room of the Cactus Flat Hotel. Tables stretched from one end of the Spanish-style hall to the other; baskets and plates and pots filled with food had been supplied by the local ladies. The smell of fried chicken, barbecued ribs and Hattie Lamotts’s honeyed ham filled the air. Chocolate cakes, warm cookies and frosted brownies enticed even those with the strongest willpower to give in. Food was a means of bringing people together, whether sharing conversation, joy or tragedy. It fed the stomach, and the soul as well.
Sam watched Faith nibble on one of Savannah Stone’s Georgia-spiced chicken wings and decided it also fed another equally important aspect of the human species.
Lust.
Her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth nipped delicately at the seasoned meat, then she daintily licked her passion-pink lips with the tip of her tongue. Sam might have groaned out loud if Jared, Jake and Dylan hadn’t been standing next to him, watching him like proverbial hawks since he’d walked into the hall with the glamorous Faith Courtland at his side. Annie, Savannah and Jessica had Faith surrounded at the moment, talking as if they’d known each other for years.
Sam had warned Faith that it might be better not to discuss exactly who she was with anyone else, or why she’d come to Cactus Flat. He’d also suggested that when she was asked, as she most certainly would be, she simply explain she was the niece of one of Digger’s old friends who’d been unable to attend. Faith had stiffened at his suggestion, in that prim little manner of hers, but had relented, agreeing that it might be best not to discuss Digger’s financial situation, or the reason for her visit, just yet.
Sam still didn’t believe it, of course. Digger Jones, owner of a multimillion-dollar company? Sure. Next thing he knew, Faith Courtland would be selling him beach-front in Abilene. Lord knows, he just might buy it, too. If she’d been in his arms one minute longer back there in the church, he’d have bought cow hats if she’d wanted him to.
He’d seen the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat when he’d pulled her close, felt the sudden rise of heat from her smooth skin. And those soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest had him aching to the point of pain. He’d been close enough to kiss her—nearly had, in fact, until she’d pushed him away. And in spite of her indignant formality with him, he’d had the distinct feeling that she’d wanted him to kiss her.
Sam looked at her now, at her squared shoulders, her long, lovely neck held high with all the grace of royalty. It gave him extreme satisfaction to know that he’d rattled the cool Ms. Courtland’s cage, if only for a moment. He’d have to work on stretching that moment out. Like, an entire night. Or two, he thought with a smile. She’d be stuck here at least until Monday morning, when he could prove to her Digger’s “estate” consisted of little more than some restaurant equipment and mining supplies. Once she realized she’d made a mistake, she’d be on the next plane out of Midland Airport. A pity, he thought, his gaze skimming over the curve of her hips and long legs.
The ladies joined the men and Jake, almost as if he’d been reading Sam’s mind, asked Faith how long she’d be staying.
She slid her baby-blue eyes in Sam’s direction. “Actually, that depends on Sam. I wouldn’t want to impose, but my...uncle, being an old friend of Digger’s and unable to travel since his surgery, asked if I would take a few days and visit with those people who knew Digger well. He thought I might bring back a few stories.”
A few days? Sam lifted a brow as he held Faith’s gaze. She could be out of here before noon day after tomorrow. Why would she stay longer than that? Not that he minded, of course, but it just didn’t make any sense. This woman was getting harder to read by the moment.
“Come for Sunday dinner tomorrow night,” Savannah offered. “We’ve all got a story or two you can take back to your uncle. We’re about as close to family as Digger ever had.”
Though it was subtle, Sam noticed Faith’s hesitation, the tightening of her body, the imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. She’d been caught in her own web of fabrication, Sam thought, and that pristine sense of propriety of hers refused to let her turn down Savannah’s invitation. She had gotten herself into it, he thought with annoyance. He had no intention of bailing her out. More than likely, she was already imagining an evening that would be more boring than watching a tree grow.
Still, as she thanked Savannah, Sam heard a slight tremble in Faith’s voice that had him wondering.
“Couldn’t help but overhear you were looking to talk to some of Digger’s friends.” Irv Meyers, the deputy sheriff, strutted into the tight circle. “Digger and me were best buddies.”
Best buddies, my eye.
Sam frowned at the owl-faced man. “Was that before or after Digger chased you down the street with a baseball bat?” he asked.
Irv tugged defensively at the belt circling his thick waist. “I warned him plenty before I gave him that parking ticket. Digger knew that. He never held a grudge.”
Everyone laughed at that, causing Irv’s face to redden. Anyone who knew Digger at all, knew damn well he hadn’t spoken to Irv in two years.
“Thank you, Deputy Meyers.” Faith held out her hand and Irv nearly tripped over his feet as he took it. “I’ll be sure to call you.”
The list of Digger’s “best buddies” kept growing, much to Sam’s annoyance. With the word out—and the word did travel fast—that Faith wanted to talk to people about Digger, every unmarried male in town, not to mention a few married ones, suddenly had a story.
Sam was about to step in and break up the crowd when he felt a hand on his arm. Carol Sue, with her fiery red hair and seductive smile, held out a slice of chocolate cake.
“Thought you might like some sweets,” she said with a throaty whisper, batting her big green eyes at him, suggesting she was offering more than cake.
With a smile that came to Sam as automatically as a heartbeat, he took the cake and sniffed at it. “Umm. You always been a mind reader, Carol Sue?”
Her lips curved upward slowly, like a cat who’d just spied a mouse. “I bet I could guess what you’re thinking right now,” she purred.
He hoped not. Sam knew if the redhead had even an inkling that while he was accepting cake from her he was thinking about Faith Courtland’s luscious lips, he’d be washing chocolate frosting out of his hair for a week. “My thoughts might shock you, darling,” Sam said with a wicked gnn.
“Why don’t you call me later and we’ll see who shocks whom.” She walked away, waggling her fingers. When Sam turned back to the circle of men who’d surrounded Faith, he noticed she was gone.
Frowning, he set about looking for her in the hall—casually, of course—but she was nowhere to be seen. He strolled nonchalantly to the lobby of the hotel, wondering if she’d gone to the ladies’ room, when he spotted her sitting by herself outside in the covered courtyard.
She looked small in the oversized wicker chair. Her shoulders were hunched slightly forward, her eyes cast downward, her expression one of absolute despair. He had no idea what had prompted her sudden melancholy, but it appeared that she wanted to be left alone.
As he continued to watch her, despite his good sense and scruples, he couldn’t shake the lure of her vulnerability. There were two women here: one cool and distant, in control; the other crestfallen and weary. Both of them were extremely appealing.
The sadness in her eyes drew him to her. He sat beside her, and she immediately stiffened. He could see her struggle to compose herself. It was a battle hard-won.
“Tired?”
She started to shake her head, then smiled softly. “Maybe a little.”
He gave her a sly, half grin. “I’ve got just the thing.”
Her expression was guarded now, but curious. “And that is?”
“Chocolate ”
He leaned close, stabbing a big bite of cake along with a healthy dose of frosting and holding it to her lips. She eyed it like a penniless child outside a candy store, then put up a hand and shook her head.
He waved it under her nose, watched her stiff shoulders melt as she breathed in the exquisite fragrance. Her eyes closed halfway, as if she were floating on a sea of physical delight.
He’d only meant to comfort her, ease whatever mood had overcome her. But now, as he watched her willpower succumb to the rich scent of the chocolate, he knew he wanted this woman, wanted her under him, with that same expression, his name on her lips, her hands on his skin.
And when she gave in and opened her lips for a taste, then moaned softly, he thought he just might drop to his knees right there.
“Sinful,” she whispered, her voice filled with an ecstasy that had Sam grinding his back teeth.
He wanted to taste her—taste the chocolate mingling with her own warm, sensuous flavor—with a desperation that nearly brought a sweat to his brow. He eased back, shocked by the force of the need ripping through him, and angry with himself that just when he’d finally gotten this woman to let down her guard, if only a little, all he could think of was getting her into his bed.
“Sam.” She’d closed her eyes and the sound of his name, spoken so softly, rippled through him like a heatwave. “Can we go upstairs?”
This time he did break out in a sweat. Was she suggesting what he hoped she was suggesting? Damn. He would have brought the entire cake over if he’d known chocolate was the pass key.
“Uh, sure.”
“Do you have the key?”
Why would he have the key to her room? “Don’t you?”
She opened one eye, then the other and sat up straight Her brow knotted as she stared at him. “Why would I have a key to Digger’s room?”
Damn, damn, damn. That’s what she meant. “Oh, right. I can, uh, get the key from Jerome, the desk clerk.”
She watched him for a moment. “Did you think I was asking you up to my room?”
That cool tone was back now, the vulnerability and sadness gone; a fierce, accusatory look glinted in her eyes. “Mr. McCants, I’ll have you know I’m an engaged woman. And even if I weren’t, I don’t invite strange men up to my room.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she invited men she knew, but somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate the humor. Damn. Engaged.
But not married. He stood and offered her a hand. “Is the ring on a layaway plan?”
Ignoring him, she rose and brushed past him. “It’s not quite official yet. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Just making conversation.” Grinning, he followed her. “So who’s the lucky guy?”
She stopped and turned so abruptly he nearly ran into her. “Let’s just get the room key and get this over with, all right?”
An elderly couple, Ed and Thelma Winters, walked by just then, and stared. Sam smiled at them and nodded. Faith blushed.
“Red’s a lovely color on you, Faith,” he whispered. “You should wear it more often.”
With a groan, she turned on her heels and walked to the front desk. He followed, cursed his bad luck and Faith Courtland’s not quite official fiancé, whoever the hell he was.
The two-room “suite,” as the desk clerk had called it, was no bigger than a closet, Faith thought as Sam opened the door and she stepped inside. Late-afternoon sun peeked through the blinds into the dark, stuffy room. The faint aroma of old cigars lingered in the stale air.
“No one’s been in here except Jerome since Digger disappeared.” Sam flipped up the blinds and opened a window. Light poured into the room, illuminating dust motes that scattered as the breeze rushed in carrying the scent of honeysuckle vine. He turned back to her, brushing off his hands. “Hardly the residence of a multi-millionaire.”
Yes, indeed, Faith agreed, glancing around. The furniture was sparse, nothing more than a simple blue couch and scarred coffee table, a fat easy chair, a large brown metal desk and mismatched chair. In the bedroom, a king-sized bed and small dresser. Simple was the only word to describe it.
She walked around, trying to imagine why he lived like this. He could have bought a villa in Spain. A chateau in France. An estate in Cape Cod. He could have lived anywhere he wanted, bought anything he wanted. Yet he chose to stay here in Cactus Flat, to work in a coffee shop, to mine for silver, and to live in a rented hotel room.
“You still think this is the same Digger Jones you’re looking for?” Sam asked, watching her as she walked back into the living room. He’d pulled off his suit jacket, tugged off his tie, and settled his long, muscular frame in the easy chair, slinging both arms over the back.
The I-told-you-so look in his eyes annoyed her, but then she was still smarting from his believing that she’d suggested they go to bed together. And they’d just met, for heaven’s sake!
The nerve of the man. The arrogance. So what if he was good-looking and had a certain...charm. That certainly didn’t mean a woman was going to drop her knickers if he crooked a finger.
But there was that woman at the reception, that redhead who had fawned all over Sam, batting her eyelashes and leaning up against him. And that blonde who’d come up to Savannah and asked where Sam was. She’d had a predatory look in her eyes, too. No wonder the man had a swelled head.
Forcing her mind back to the issue, Faith moved to the desk in the corner. Under a white tablecloth sat what appeared to be a computer—the only incongruous article in the modest room. She pulled the dusty cloth off the large monitor and turned to grin at Sam. “My, my. What have we here?”
The computer, and a monitor, were top-of-the-line, stateof-the-art equipment. A laser printer—color, no less—and also first-class, sat beside the computer. Sam’s eyebrows lifted and the surprise in his eyes gave Faith a certain sense of satisfaction. “There’s a fax, too,” she said somewhat smugly. “Now what do you think an old silver miner would want with all this equipment?”
“Games?” Sam rose and moved closer, peering down at the computer as if it were an alien spaceship.
“War games, maybe.” She pulled a pair of glasses out of her purse, slipped them on, then flipped on the computer and monitor. “This baby could launch a missile.”
The computer hummed and the monitor flashed a soft amber light. She entered her password, then pulled up the file labeled EJCORP. Sam stood behind her, watching as she pulled up file after file, accounts with suppliers, stats on the eastern chain of restaurants, profit-and-loss statements on the division that handled the frozen food division.
“This is the main office,” she explained, pulling up the Boston file. “Mr. Montgomery—Digger—had the entire company at his fingertips here.” She laughed softly. “I’d always imagined a large, elegant office somewhere, surrounded by rich woods, lush carpeting and silver paperweights.”
Frowning, Sam picked up a baseball-sized chunk of granite sitting on top of several thick manila file folders and stared at it. “Looks like he had a lot of people imagining wrong.”
She glanced up at him over her shoulder. She’d been so immersed in pulling up the files that she hadn’t realized how close he’d moved in behind her, that one hand rested on the back of her chair, brushing her shoulder. She forced herself to ignore the jolt of heat that shot through her body. “So you finally believe me?”
He shrugged, setting the rock back on the desk. “I’m not sure what I believe. I’ve known Digger Jones my entire life. As far back as I can remember he’s been mining silver, frying burgers and grilling steaks. Nobody could cook like that man. He makes—made—an apple cobbler that made you want to cry, it was so good. The only other cobbler I ever had that even came close was at—”
He stopped and Faith twisted around to face him, her lips slowly turning up at the corners. They said it at the same time. “Elijah Jane.”
Could it be? Digger Jones, hardened, crusty old miner and café owner, owner of a multimillion-dollar business?
Sam sat on the edge of the desk and dragged his hands through his hair. This was too incredible. Impossible. Sam looked up at Faith, who was watching him with a touch of amusement in her eyes. He thought her glasses made her look adorable.
“His apple cobbler was how it got started, actually. Almost thirty years ago.” She pressed one slender fingertip on a button and only the amber light remained on the screen. “Rumor had it Digger had a cousin in Boston, Leo Jenuski, who wanted to open a sandwich shop in the business district. Leo talked Digger into loaning him the money, then skipped out three months after he opened his doors. It was either forget the money, or come in and make it successful himself. Within six months, the shop was packed from opening to closing, with customers arguing over Digger’s apple cobbler.”
“Well, that much hasn’t changed.” He wondered if she had any idea how her eyes softened and voice deepened when she talked about Elijah Jane. Or how damn appealing he found it. “There’ve been fistfights at the Hungry Bear over that cobbler. I think I even started one or two.”
“Our competition would kill for that recipe. They’ve tried to infiltrate several times.” Intent, she leaned forward and whispered, “I’m one of only three people who know the entire recipe.”
He had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat at her closeness. Several strands of pale blond hair curled around her delicate face, and her soft blue eyes shone with mystery. He leaned in, nearly brushed his lips against her. “God, women in power really turn me on.”
“Jerk.” She pushed on his chest and shoved him back. When she started to stand, he laughed and took hold of her arms.
“Lighten up, Faith. I’m teasing. Now finish telling me what happened in Boston with Digger.”
With a sigh, she settled back, her demeanor subdued. “He left one day, supposedly on a trip to Texas. But he never came back. He gave all his recipes to Parnell Grayson, his manager, and told him to run the shop. Parnell was a brilliant businessman. Before long there were several sandwich shops, all successful. Then one year later, the first Elijah Jane Restaurant. Digger held onto ownership, managed the financial end from Texas, worked out new recipes and items for the menus, but he also gave Parnell exclusive control. The rest, as they say, is history.”
It was possible. He’d only been a kid at the time, but Sam remembered some talk about Digger living in Boston for a few months. “What happens now, with Digger gone?”
Faith shook her head. “No one really knows. Parnell is retiring as president, the board is in an upheaval and all new projects are being shelved for the time being. Until Digger’s death is official and his will is read, everything is on hold.”
“So the wolves are all waiting to see how Digger’s millions get split up,” he said tightly. “How much do you expect to get, Miss Courtland?”
“There’s a lot more at stake here than money, Mr. McCants.” Fire sparked in her cool blue eyes. “I’ve worked at Elijah Jane since I was sixteen. Weekends, nights, summer vacations. After I graduated, sixty-hour weeks were short hours for me. I’m the one who started the frozen food line, who brought advertising to TV, who personally opened ten restaurants in three states.”
Sam raised a brow. “You’re an ambitious woman, Faith. Or should I say Madam President?”
Her cheeks turned pink and that cute little chin of hers lifted. “I’ve worked for it, I was next in line. But only Digger had the power to appoint a new president. If the board votes, my chances are somewhere between slim and none.”
“If you’ve worked as hard as you say, earned the position, why wouldn’t they vote you in?”
The look she gave him was indulgent, and more than a little patronizing. “In case you haven’t noticed, and I do believe you have, I’m a woman, and I’m young. Even on a ranch, I’m sure that would be a disadvantage.”
Not for what he had in mind, Sam thought, but was smart enough to keep that thought to himself.
She was holding something back, playing some kind of game here. He was certain of it. He accepted that she thought him a country bumpkin, a cowboy who thought the term stock meant cattle and marketing meant buying groceries. He didn’t much give a damn what Faith Courtland thought about his business acumen, but he sure as hell didn’t like being made to look like a fool.
“None of this really answers why you’re here,” he said evenly. “Wills are legal documents. It would have made more sense if one of Elijah Jane’s lawyers had met with me. So tell me what made you, a busy woman with a lot of responsibility, decide to come all the way out here?”
She stared at the computer for a long moment, then sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Without a body, Digger can’t be declared legally dead until the State approves the petition. The company will be in chaos, the board will battle for control, stock prices will plummet. I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Evening had veiled the room in near darkness now. The light from the computer screen cast a golden glow on Faith’s soft features. Sam could see the exhaustion in her eyes, but there was an underlying determination. “And just how do you intend to do that, Miss Courtland?”
Determination overcame exhaustion as she leaned forward and looked up at him. “I intend to find Digger’s body.”
Three
“You intend to do what?”
“He’s out there somewhere.” She pulled off her glasses, dropped them back in her purse. “I intend to find him.”
Based on the serious tone in her voice and that stubborn little tilt of her chin he’d already come to recognize, Sam thought it best not to laugh. “A search team already combed the area. Twice. The force of a flash flood in a canyon is without mercy. It takes everything in its path. Digger’s camp was directly in that path, almost entirely washed away. There was no sign of him or his horse. His body could be miles away, under dirt and rocks.”
Faith’s face went pale. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but under the absurdity of what she was suggesting, there seemed to be no other way.
“Could be miles away,” she repeated his words with a catch in her voice. “But you don’t know for sure, do you?”
“Of course we don’t know for sure. We’ll never know anything about what happened for sure. Life’s like that sometimes. You just accept it and go on.”
She shook her head. “I can’t accept it.”
“Darlin’, you don’t have any choice.”
“There are always choices,” she said firmly. “Some people are simply more active in their decisions.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I was down in that canyon for six days straight with two different search-and-rescue teams. Nobody knows the Lonesome Rock area better than me.”
“Then you take me in.”
Startled at her suggestion, all he could do was stare She was serious. She wanted to go into Lonesome Rock Canyon, and she wanted him to take her.
“I’ve been riding since I was five,” she went on. “I know how to handle a horse. Please, Sam, take me into the canyon.”
His name on her lips was a quiet plea. When she leaned in close to him, her eyes imploring, he felt his insides twist. It would be absolutely ridiculous, foolish even, to waste his time, or hers. But then—he thought of those long legs and curvy hips—he realized there could certainly be worse ways to spend a few days.
“I’ll pay you anything you want.”
She might as well have poured ice water down his pants. Money. Everything with Faith Courtland seemed to be about money or business. He mentally kicked himself to think he had nearly lost his sanity to those blue eyes.
“Sorry, Ms. Courtland.” He almost felt a touch of regret. Almost. “Not interested. You’re just going to have to learn how to deal with your business problems some other way.”
Her shoulders went as rigid as her voice. “If you won’t take me, I’ll just hire someone else.”
He shrugged. “It’s your money. Waste it any way you choose. I suggest you don’t try to hire anyone from these parts, though. You tell anyone that you’re going into the mountains to look for Digger’s body because his twohundred-million-dollar business is in trouble and they’ll put you in a padded cell.”
“You can’t stop me from looking for him,” she said coolly.
“Who said anything about stopping you?” He felt unreasonably angry. “That’s your unofficial fiancé’s job. And speaking of him, I’d like to know what kind of a man would let his wife-to-be go traipsing off into the mountains with a strange guy?”
Imperceptibly, her chin rose higher. “Harold is extremely understanding. He would never presume to tell me what to do. Our relationship is based on mutual trust and respect.”
“Mutual stupidity, is more like it.” He grabbed both arms of the chair she sat in, effectively caging her in. “That would be the day I’d let the woman I loved go off with another man.”
She held her calm gaze level with his, but Sam could have sworn the pulse at the base of her neck was trembling. He felt strangely torn between wringing that gorgeous neck and kissing it.
“I’m not ‘going off with anyone.” Icicles hung from her words. “And fortunately, your antiquated attitude toward the modern woman has nothing to do with me. I don’t like loose ends, Mr. McCants. Especially where Elijah Jane is concerned. Once this matter can be put to rest, the company can proceed smoothly and effectively. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal of paperwork I’ve brought with me and several phone calls to make.”
He knew when he’d been dismissed. Damn if this foolish woman didn’t know how to test a man’s patience. His hands tightened around the arms of the chair, and he leaned closer to her. The flicker of fear in her eyes gave him tremendous satisfaction. “What will you do, Faith,” he murmured, “if you do go off into those mountains with the wrong man?”
“Well, Mr. McCants—” her breathing had deepened, but she didn’t budge or look away “—I guess I’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Jake Stone,” Savannah softly chided her husband, “our guest has been here at least two full minutes and she hasn’t a drink in her hand. Shame on you.”
Faith, still recovering from Jake’s bear hug greeting and Savannah’s warm welcome, barely had time to open her mouth and decline before Jessica, Jake’s younger sister, pressed a glass of white wine into her hand.
“The boy’s slow, but harmless,” Jessica said, referring to her brother. Then she handed her husband Dylan a bottle of beer. The baby boy in his arms leaned close, mouth open and ready to clamp onto the bottle. “You give our son a taste of that beer, Dylan Grant, and you’ll spend the next week sleeping in that shed you’re building behind the jail in Makeshift.”
Dylan and the baby both looked disappointed, until Jared walked in carrying a blond-curled toddler wearing a darling denim dress. Annie, who looked even more pregnant than the day before, waved off Jake and Jessica’s offer of assistance.
There were more greetings, more hugs, more kisses. No kiss-the-air, stiff-backed hellos that Faith was used to, but rib-crunching hugs and loud smacks on the cheeks that made her head spin.
She nearly had the names straight when a beautiful young girl around thirteen years old came into the living room with a pink-cheeked, dark-haired toddler perched on one slender hip. The teenager, with her dark hair and deep blue eyes, looked like Jessica’s clone.
“This is our sister Emma.” Jake kissed the youngest Stone sibling on the top of her head, then scooped up the toddler, who shrieked with delight as she was tossed up in the air. “And this is Madeline.”
Without warning, Jake pushed the laughing child into Faith’s free arm.
“Swift work, brother-in-law.” Annie fell into the couch with a sigh. “Throw your daughter up in the air, then hand her over to your guest whose gorgeous pantsuit is not only white, but also happens to be a Peter Nygard.”
From the blank expression on Jake’s face, Annie might as well have been speaking a foreign language. Faith suddenly felt out of place here again, wishing she’d worn something more casual. Which would have been impossible, since she hadn’t brought anything casual.
But her wardrobe seemed to be the least of her worries right now. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, she stared at the baby in her arms. She’d never been around babies before. She’d never even held one. The cherub grinned at her and bounced up and down, wanting to be tossed in the air again. She smelled wonderful, Faith thought. Like baby shampoo and soap. Madeline pushed the end of Faith’s nose with one chubby finger.
“You’re supposed to honk,” Jared offered.
Honk? Self-conscious, she uttered a tiny squeak that sounded more like a pig. Madeline didn’t seem to mind, though. She giggled with delight and pushed Faith’s nose again. Warming to the toddler, Faith gave it another go, then laughed herself when Madeline squealed in pleasure.
That’s how Sam found Faith when he walked in. Standing in the middle of Jake’s living room, dressed like a goddess in white, holding a giggling baby in one arm, a glass of wine in the other, honking like a goose.
Damn, but the woman was beautiful.
“Don’t look now, Ms. Courtland.” Sam grinned and touched the brim of his black Stetson as Faith’s head snapped in his direction. “Jared’s got the video camera.”
Eyes wide, Faith glanced across the room. Her playful expression turned to one of alarm as she realized that Jared, indeed, was recording her ridiculous—but adorable, Sam thought—honking.
That’s when Madeline decided to throw up.
Everyone—everyone except Faith—moved quickly. Body rigid, she stood frozen while Jake gently removed his daughter—who seemed no worse for wear, just a little confused over what all the fuss was about—and Emma ran to get towels. Savannah, frowning at her husband, led Faith, who appeared to be in shock, into the other room, with Jessica clucking her tongue behind. Annie gave Jake an I-told-you-so look, and he hightailed it out of the room with his daughter. Laughing, Dylan followed, his own son in his arms.
Jared kept filming.
“You get that on tape?” Sam asked Jared, who nodded over his camera but, in light of his wife’s glare, knew better than to smile. “I’ll pay you a roundup’s take on my cattle for a copy of that.”
“You should both be horsewhipped,” Annie said irritably, shifting her heavy weight on the couch. “I’d do it myself, if I could move.”
“She gets a little more cranky every day as her due date gets closer,” Jared said good-humoredly. “The last two weeks she was pregnant with Tonya I’d have to wave a white flag before I came in the house at night.”
“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” She fluffed a pillow behind her back. “So I’m a little moody. It comes with the territory.”
Foreign territory, Sam thought. All this marriage and baby stuff was alien to him. He was a man much more interested in taking trips where he knew how to speak the language.
Faith Courtland, on the other hand, he thought, watching her as she came back into the room several minutes later, was a woman that could make a man forget how to speak at all.
Savannah had loaned Faith a faded denim shirt that accentuated the blue of her eyes. The jeans she wore were loose on her long legs, but snug on her hips and behind. Even the old black cowboy boots she had on looked as if she’d been born to wear them. She’d gone from goddessin-white to cowgirl-in-blue in a matter of minutes. Sam couldn’t decide which he thought was sexier.
“There’s Texas in this girl’s blood,” Jessica said with a toss of her long dark hair. “All she needs now is a hat.”
Sam stepped up to her and slipped his Stetson on her head. It was way too big, of course, but the oversized black hat, set against her light blond hair stirred his blood. He took a step back, not sure if it was for her protection or his.
Cheeks flushed, she smiled as she ran her hands over the brim of the hat. He’d seen that kind of pleasure in a woman’s eyes over a dozen red roses, but never a hat. He felt a swift stab of possessiveness, as if her wearing his Stetson was a form of ownership on his part. After a long moment, she lifted the hat off her head and handed it back to him. Their eyes held briefly and her blush deepened.
“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” she said to Savannah, who was looking strangely at Sam. “You’ve all been so kind.”
“It was my daughter who messed your beautiful jacket and my husband who caused it.” She threw a scolding glance at Jake, who’d come back sheepishly into the room, his daughter clean and fresh in a new pink jumper. “We’ll have your jacket cleaned and sent to your hotel. And you can keep the jeans and shirt. I could squeeze into them if I really wanted to, but since my babies I’m not into torture.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Faith said quickly, but Sam could see that she wanted to, very badly.
“I insist.” Savannah started for the kitchen, calling behind her, “Food’s on the table in five everyone. Round up the troops.”
Sunday dinner with the Stone family was an event to behold. Fried chicken piled high on a huge platter, bowls heaped with mashed potatoes, rich, thick gravy, biscuits so fluffy that Faith didn’t care if she broke every sense of propriety and asked for a second.
Food had always been her business. She’d eaten at restaurants in more than twenty states and four countries, tested recipes from the finest chefs in the world, but she couldn’t ever remember a better meal than the one she was having then. She was definitely going to have to finagle some recipes out of Savannah.
It was a bit overwhelming: the bowls coming round, plates getting passed, arms reaching over arms to grab for another piece of chicken or scoop of mashed potatoes. Dinner at her parents’ house had always been formal. The attire, the dishes and silverware, the proper wine. Conversation was polite, no one ever shouted or talked when someone else was speaking. Here, with two babies, two toddlers, one teenager and eight adults, there was so much chatter and laughing that Faith felt giddy.
But there was much more to her giddy feeling than the Stone family, Faith admitted to herself. The man sitting in the chair beside her, flirting outrageously with the women and arguing incessantly with the men, seemed to be the cause of her light-headedness.
She knew she should be angry at him. Not only because he’d refused to take her into the mountains, but because he didn’t take her seriously. He’d even called her stupid, which was truly unforgivable.
Still, when he’d put his hat on her earlier she’d been overcome by a strange sense of intimacy, as if he’d given her his high school pin, or his letterman’s jacket. She’d even felt a sense of loss when she’d handed it back to him. And since they’d sat down to dinner, every time he’d accidentally brushed up against her or their hands had touched while passing a bowl, she’d felt as if a spark of electricity were passing through her.
She knew it was silly, of course. Even foolish. Which only deepened her annoyance. She was twenty-six years old, an almost engaged woman, not a school girl. And she was here in Cactus Flat for Elijah Jane, not for herself.
“Faith, has Sam told you about the time Jake and him dumped Texas Tom’s HellFire Pepper Sauce in Digger’s ketchup bottles at the Hungry Bear?” Jared asked, grinning.
Faith swiveled to look at Sam, who was frowning at Jared. Jake frowned, as well. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that story.”
“They must have been about fourteen at the time,” Jared continued, enjoying himself at Jake and Sam’s expense. “They watched through Digger’s big glass window all day, expecting all the customers to breathe fire and blow smoke out their ears. But nothing happened. No fire, no smoke. No screams of agony. Later in the day they came back in, confused but hungry from watching all those people eat, and Digger fixed them two big burgers, on the house, dripping with his secret sauce. It took them both a couple of bites before it hit, but when it did—” Jared said, grinning “—it was like an explosion.”
“A nuclear explosion.” Sam reached for his water glass as if he were reliving the horror. “Seems that Digger had seen us spike his ketchup, so he exchanged the bottles, then set us up. Wars could be ended with whatever it was he put in those burgers.”
Jake nodded in agreement. “I thought I’d have a permanent hole in the top of my head. Which was only the beginning of our torture. We paid for that one...two days straight in the john.”
“Jake!” Savannah’s tone was strict, but her eyes were laughing. “That’s no talk for the dinner table.”
The stories continued: Digger’s famed baseball bat pursuit of the deputy shenff; his abduction of Moses Swain’s pig who’d repeatedly destroyed Digger’s tomato plants behind the café and Digger’s subsequent special on pork chops; his constant meddling in everyone’s business that he called “free advice.” Everyone laughed so hard Dylan spit water and Jessica got the hiccups.
“Enough,” Annie said, wiping at the tears in her eyes with one hand while she held her side with the other. “I swear, I’ll have this baby right here and damn if that wouldn’t be Digger’s fault.”
“There wasn’t a wedding that took place—” Jessica said, wiping mashed potatoes off her son’s chin “—a baby born, or business deal in Cactus Flat that Digger didn’t somehow take credit for. Even you, Faith. He’s probably looking down at us, taking credit for you being here right now.”
The sudden change in Faith’s demeanor was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Sam caught it nonetheless. The slight angling of her chin, her stiff smile. Why in the world would Jessica’s harmless comment bother the woman?
“Now, Sam here,” Jake said, pushing his plate away as he eyed a pecan pie sitting on the sideboard, “he was Digger’s greatest challenge. Sam’s marital status to Digger was like a red flag to a bull.”
“Not to mention every woman within a five-hundred mile radius,” Savannah added, making room on the table for pie and cookies.
“Once all you ladies were taken, I resigned myself to a life of celibacy.” Sam’s look was forlorn, his wink at Savannah wicked. There were groans around the table, with Jake nearly choking.
“Why, even Faith here is taken,” Sam said. “Practically engaged to Howard from Boston. Isn’t that right, Faith?”
She threw him a sharp glance. “Harold.”
“Right.” Pleased with himself and the mischief he was causing, Sam accepted the slice of pecan pie that Savannah handed him. “He’s extremely understanding, she tells me.”
Her glance turned to a glare. “As a matter of fact, he is.”
“A rare quality in a man,” Annie said.
Jared, who’d been nibbling on a cookie his daughter had offered him from her high chair, feigned hurt. “I’m understanding,” he complained. “Aren’t I, guys?”
The men all nodded and mumbled praise amongst themselves. Jessica rolled her eyes and smiled at Faith. “I’m not sure if I should offer congratulations or condolences. Have you set a date yet?”
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