Kissing a Billionaire

by Hart, Taylor

Ross threw up a hand, panicking about having a woman alone in his home with him. “What about Kinley?”

  George didn’t speak for a moment. “If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.” He cleared his throat. “But you did say she would be gone for two days, so you could try it out without putting your daughter at risk.”

  A million thoughts ran through Ross’s mind. “I really can’t believe you’re encouraging this.”

  “What? You can’t believe I would think good people step up and do what’s right?”

  Another round of irritation pulsed through Ross. “Really? This is the guilt you’re laying on me?”

  Surrendering, George threw his hands up. “I’m just saying the woman will have to go to a shelter, or to a home she doesn’t want to go to, or she’ll have to stay in the hospital if you don’t take her.” He rubbed his forehead, stressed out.

  Ross nodded slowly. How would it look to have her stay? What would he tell Kinley? Would Kinley get too attached? He finally settled on the biggest problem. “What about her memory? Her family? Where could they be?”

  “No idea. I’ve had an APB put out all over the place. We’ve been waiting for a missing-person report to be filed, but there’s been nothing so far.” George sighed and stopped walking. “Frankly, I would be obliged if I could release her into your custody for a few days.”

  It would be the right thing to do. Ross could do it. And if she ended up being a weirdo, he’d bring her back or call George, right? His mother had always talked about serving others and helping out when God put opportunities in front of you. It’d been a long time since he’d helped someone when it was really hard. He’d been so focused on his own problems, his own life. He blew out a breath. “Fine. Okay, she can come.”

  A tiny smile tugged at George’s lips.

  Ross’s hackles rose, and he wanted to take the words back. “Let me be clear: it’s only because I would want someone to help my daughter if she were ever put in this situation.”

  George put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I trust everything will work out.”

  “Why me again?” Ross asked. The road was dusty as they drove onto a windy driveway, which a steel sign indicated was called Charm Ranch.

  It made the woman smile, thinking that his last name was Charm. “Like a fairy-tale,” she muttered, ignoring his question.

  “What?” he asked, looking from the road to her.

  “Charm.” She pointed to the sign.

  “Oh.” He let out what sounded like a nervous laugh. “No, it’s . . . not a fairy-tale. I’ll tell you that.”

  It was unsettling, sitting in a truck with a man she didn’t know, going to a place she wasn’t sure if she would like. As the house came into view, she thought the home was quaint. Not big, not small. It wasn’t old, but it wasn’t new. It was a two-story with black shutters, and she could see flower boxes beneath the windows. She smiled, thinking how nice it would look when flowers bloomed in them.

  Ross parked in the middle of a circular driveway. No one else must use the driveway if he could block it so casually. He cut the engine and turned to her. “I think I deserve a real answer, because I can’t for the life of me think of why you would want to come with me.”

  She met his deep-blue eyes. They looked like a storm before it rained, before the cloud cover fully got in the way. A bit dangerous, she thought. He had jet-black hair beneath his cowboy hat, and a more-than-five-o’clock shadow. It surprised her to feel this attraction to him. Should she be attracted to him? She didn’t know. Was she married? How old was she? For the past twenty-four hours, her mind had circled back to all of these kinds of questions, questions she felt no closer to than when she’d woken.

  “Hello?” he asked, lifting a hand and waving it back and forth, clearly out of patience.

  The truth was, the more he pressed for an answer, the more she didn’t want to give an answer. “I . . . I don’t know.” She threw a hand into the air. “Why did you agree to have me come?”

  He sputtered and stepped out of the truck. As he walked around the front to her door, she noted that the truck was older, and she searched for the latch to get out.

  The door opened, and he waited, his hand out to help her. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” He flashed her a grin. “My parents always taught me to help people, so that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  Her head still felt a bit heavy, so she took his hand to get out. “Thank you.”

  He stayed next to the truck, dropping her hand and narrowing his eyes. “For helping you out of the truck or for letting you stay?”

  She pulled in a breath, wishing she didn’t have to be at someone else’s mercy, but very grateful she wasn’t stuck in the hospital. “Both.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he let out a breath. Then he reached around her into the back part of the truck, taking out a bag of clothes. Nadine and the other nurses had all brought in clothes, donating them to her. She hadn’t looked at the clothes yet, but it was just one more thing that overwhelmed her.

  He started to the front of the house, but stopped when he realized she wasn’t following. “Are you okay?”

  The vulnerability she’d been feeling lessened. She nodded and continued.

  He gave her a tour of the living room, the kitchen area, and the three rooms off to the side. He put down her bag of clothes in one room, explaining that this was where she would be staying.

  As she took it all in, she found herself wondering more about him. She’d heard him talking with Nadine and George about his daughter, and she saw the pictures all over the walls and the purple-and-pink room that had little stuffed animals on the bed. Oddly, they hadn’t mentioned his wife.

  On the wall outside of her assigned room, there was a picture of him, a woman, and a little girl. The woman was blond with short, bobbed hair. It was one of those pictures that looked like the photographer captured a candid moment. Like someone had said something that had made everyone laugh.

  Ross stopped next to her, but he didn’t look at the picture. “I’m going to go finish my dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “I saw the pictures of your wife; I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  Abruptly, he stopped.

  “I’m sorry.” She thought about how this man had been through a lot according to Nadine.

  Ross let out a long breath. “I’m going to eat. Suit yourself.”

  Ross sat at the dinner table, finishing his hamburger. He hadn’t been that hungry, but he’d needed something to do, and the process of fixing dinner and sitting to eat felt normal and helpful. He liked patterns and processes. There was something comforting about knowing the next thing that was on the schedule, whether it had to do with Kinley’s activities or teaching or the ranch.

  After Brook had passed, he’d found that routines were all that kept him going. He had kept going, even through the grief. Even when he felt like rolling up into a ball in bed. Even when he was sure the numbness could never be broken and he would never feel again.

  So far, he hadn’t stopped moving.

  While he’d been growing up, his father had always said, “Work works when nothing else works.” Now he could testify that his father’s words were true.

  The woman emerged from the hallway and walked into the kitchen area slowly, still looking at the walls and the pictures. It had unnerved him that she’d spent the past half hour staring at all the pictures in the hallways.

  The only pictures he’d changed in the past two years were Kinley’s school pictures. Otherwise, it was the same assortment: wedding pictures of him and Brook, pictures from around the ranch, a picture of him and Brook graduating from college, and tons of baby pictures of Kinley. Brook had loved taking pictures and putting them up.

  The strange woman didn’t say anything to him. She didn’t turn to ask him how he was or how dinner was or give him a reason for why she’d wanted to come with him. The truth was that her being here put him on edge. He wanted to ask more, but he
knew she didn’t know the answers. So he waited.

  Good thing Kinley was out of town. She’d be unable to stay quiet. He let out a light laugh, thinking of the hundreds of questions she could come up with.

  “Is something funny, Mr. Charm?” She still stared at the pictures.

  He stood, taking his dishes into the kitchen. “Nope.” With practiced efficiency, he cleaned up the kitchen, putting everything away and starting in on the dishes.

  She walked into the kitchen, looking around. She gestured to a wall. “If you moved the wall between the dining area and the sink, you could open up a whole bunch of space in here,” she said.

  He turned and noted that she was inspecting the kitchen. “Hmm.”

  She pointed to the counters. “You could have an island in the middle. Then you’d have a nice spot to prepare the food.”

  He snorted. She was already redecorating the place. “It’s just me and Kinley, so we have all the space we need.” He thought of the impending payments he didn’t know how he was going to make on the ranch, and the meeting next week to discuss refinancing. They might not even be here much longer, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to talk about that.

  “Would you mind if I opened your fridge?” she asked.

  He grunted, putting a plate into the dishwasher. “Knock yourself out.” He heard the fridge open, and he kept doing the dishes, not really paying attention to her. When he turned back, he found her holding an open egg carton. “You hungry?”

  “Oh.” Startled, she shoved the carton back inside the refrigerator. “No, thank you. I . . . Would you care if I made breakfast tomorrow?”

  She had spoken of cooking. Progress! “Sure. I’m out of the house by five thirty to feed the animals, and my brother is gone on vacation.”

  “Your brother is Troy, right? Nadine told me he was my first doctor.”

  Maybe that was the reason she’d wanted to stay with him, because his brother had been her doctor. “Yep,” he said.

  “What time will you be back in the morning?”

  “Around eight.”

  She nodded and turned to leave the kitchen. “I’ll have breakfast at eight.”

  It was almost eight, and she was almost done with the hollandaise sauce. Where in the world had she learned to make hollandaise sauce? She couldn’t remember, but she’d had to improvise with a couple of ingredients. She’d searched the cupboards, hoping Ross wouldn’t care. After all, he was in for a surprise. Satisfaction rolled through her as she wondered if she had been a chef in her old life. Last night it’d been so easy and innate to open the fridge and think of a million things she could make out of the ingredients in it. She yearned to feel an onion in one hand and a knife in her other. She distinctly recalled loving the feel of cutting the vegetable. Was that ridiculous?

  The back door opened, and her heart leapt into her throat. Was she always this nervous when she cooked for someone? It was frustrating not to know the answers to those questions, but she pushed that negativity away and focused on the food. She felt confident in what she’d prepared.

  Ross walked into the kitchen, halting abruptly. “Whoa.”

  She imagined how the kitchen must look to him—she’d used pretty much every pan and bowl. She couldn’t help but giggle at his expression.

  He met her eyes, and his face transformed with a heart-stopping smile. His eyebrows lifted. “Wow.”

  “Sorry,” she laughed, excited and nervous. “It was like once I started, I couldn’t stop. This is eggs Benedict. I hope you like it. I mean, it’s complicated to make, so I hope it’s okay. I used a lot of ingredients. I’ll pay you back when I know who I am.” She faltered at the last part.

  Ross hesitated, then laughed. “Are you kidding? This is amazing. I don’t know if I’ve ever had eggs Benedict, but it smells wonderful.”

  The next moments happened so quickly. She dished him up, dished herself up, and they sat at the table she’d set. She had even folded the napkins into a shaped fan. She’d found some concentrate orange juice and made that too.

  She picked up her fork, waiting for him.

  He surveyed the table, then turned to her. “Thank you.”

  The sincerity in his voice touched her. “My pleasure.”

  “Do you care if I say grace?” He put his hand out.

  She quickly put down her fork and took his hand. “Of course not.” Did she pray? She didn’t know.

  He said some words, but all she could think about was the feel of his rough hand. She remembered that night in the hospital room. He finished praying, taking his hand back. Without his touch, she felt a sense of loss. It was baffling, considering he was sitting right next to her.

  He picked up his fork and took a bite, pausing when he noticed she wasn’t eating. “Are you okay?” His mouth was half full.

  She smiled awkwardly. These were disturbing feelings, because she hardly knew the man and she didn’t know if she was already in any kind of relationship. With some effort, she pushed those troubling thoughts away. She picked up her fork and began eating. When she tasted a fully loaded fork, the food melted in her mouth. “Mmhmm.”

  He watched her, his lips twitching up again. “Exactly. Girl, where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’m a chef from France.” She paused, seeing if she knew French. “Don’t know the language, though.” She took another bite.

  He grinned. “Would you know the language?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t Goldie Hawn on Overboard suddenly start speaking different languages?” She frowned at him, thinking about that movie. “Wait a sec. Did you fix my closet, and I didn’t pay you?”

  He grunted, continuing to eat with a smile on his face. “Guess you remember a good movie, so there’s that.”

  “Guess I do.” She laughed, and it felt good to do so.

  The man could put the food away; he scarfed down most everything on his plate in seconds. He left the last bite on his plate and turned to her, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I guess I ate rather quickly.”

  She was still eating, relishing every bite, tasting every spice, every burst of flavor inside her mouth. “You don’t have to complain to the chef. There’s enough for seconds if you want them.”

  Much to her delight, he rose quickly, heading to the kitchen. “Yes, I do.”

  Relaxing for what felt like the first time since she’d woken, she leaned back into her chair and stared out the back window. From here she could see a tree house, a trampoline, and a garden. Farther back, she saw a big barn and two horses. And endless fields of . . . what? She didn’t know. Gratitude overwhelmed her, and annoying tears welled up. She hadn’t cried at all since she’d woken up; mostly she’d been trying to figure out who she was and then seething when she couldn’t. But she’d never cried.

  “You okay?” he asked when he saw her dab at her eyes.

  She sucked in a breath and tried to pull it together. “I’m sorry. I . . .” More tears flooded her eyes, and her throat clogged with emotion, like a torrent finally allowed to flow. She stood, knocking down the chair behind her. “I’m sorry.”

  Ross shot to his feet in alarm. “It’s fine.”

  She rushed from the table, down the hall, and into the bathroom, unable to stop the sobs.

  Initially, when the woman had the breakdown, Ross had followed her down the hallway and waited by the bathroom door, her cries breaking his heart. He knocked, but she’d only stopped crying briefly, telling him to go away.

  He’d cleaned the kitchen for her. She really had used almost every bowl, but he hadn’t cared; he was too worried about her. When he’d finished the dishes, he had left a note, telling her he would be fixing things around the ranch. He’d told her to use the landline to call him if she needed him, and he left his cell number.

  During the rest of the day, he’d wrestled with the decision to take her back with him. He wasn’t equipped to deal with a situation like this. He’d almost called Troy, but Troy didn’t need this on hi
s vacation. Instead, Ross had called George and explained what had happened.

  “Crying cleans the soul. Hang in there; you’ll be fine. Hopefully someone will turn up. I gotta go.” With that, George had hung up.

  Now it was almost five o’clock. Ross felt bad that he’d had to work all day, but it had to be done. There had been a fence to mend, water to change, and animals to feed.

  Unsure of what to expect, he opened the door slowly. He hoped there might be a mess in the kitchen again, but there was nothing. “Hello?” he called out, and he flashed back to when he and Brook were first married and they would fight something terrible. He’d come home and be afraid she’d left him.

  Nothing.

  “Hello!” he called out louder, walking through the house, ending in her room. She wasn’t there. His adrenaline spiked. Had she left and wandered down to the road? “Great.” He raced to the front of the house, rushing out the front door and looking around.

  “I’m here.” Her voice was quiet.

  When he turned, he saw that she was sitting in the porch swing, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out at the field. He could tell she wasn’t okay. Her eyes looked puffy. He didn’t know how to handle this situation, so he just stood there, closing the door behind him but not moving to sit. They both just stared at the fields, the trees, and the mountain in the distance.

  Eventually he spoke up. “I love this view. It always steadies me.” He said it softly, feeling better than he had all day.

  She looked to him, her green eyes even brighter with emotion. “I never told you the real reason I wanted to go with you.”

  His heart pounded, and he nodded in encouragement. He hated that with every passing moment, he felt more and more connected to this woman. He didn’t know if she was single or married. He didn’t even know her name.

  “I don’t know why, but you’re soothing.”

  It wasn’t the answer he’d expected, but it was an answer he liked. “Really?”

  She let out a bit of a laugh. “You don’t seem convinced.”