A Bride for the Texas Cowboy

by Sinclair Jayne

  He’d screwed up with her badly. Over and over. Never finding the right words to explain or to apologize.

  Just business.

  But he knew himself enough to realize that when there was a rule or a barrier, every instinct screamed at him to crash through it, or go around, under, over. Whatever it took.

  And maybe he’d learned a few things over the past few years.

  And Cat, too, may have changed. Softened. Learned to forgive.

  “It happened so fast. I heard glass shatter and then I was flat on the ground under cases of wine and broken wood and the noise and chaos and pain and then Axel was there. I don’t really remember much. Just pieces, but none of them fit together. But I remember Derek. His chest…” August shuddered and pressed his thumb and forefinger over each of his eyes in turn as if to dig out the vision. “He was staked. It was like a Halloween movie or something.”

  Cat pressed her lips together. “I…I should have thought to check on Derek and Erika.” Her voice cracked with remorse. “I was so focused on y—” She bit off the last word, and her pale lashes veiled her eyes before she looked up at him again. “I was the one who introduced you to them both,” she said stiffly. “I studied with Derek. We were…friends. I should have checked on them.”

  Her face flushed, and she bit her lower lip, her teeth white against the plump cushion of pink. An inappropriate shard of desire slashed though him. Just being so close to her again. Breathing the same air. Seeing the expressions flit across her delicate features, feeling her strong body. Knowing the contrasts between them: her strength when she looked so delicate. Desire was alive. But the need for connection, mental and emotional, stole his breath and made it hard to think.

  Just business.

  He tried to center himself. He knew he should explain to her why he’d hired Derek and not her. He’d tried. Sort of. Cat hadn’t been in a mood to listen, so he thought he’d let her cool off a bit and then…

  You were too consumed with Verflucht.

  He always was consumed with his projects. He loved the idea stage, the planning, the building. The running? Not as much. He liked to handpick and work with very skilled and intelligent staff and then check in and help launch new twists on the business when he felt it was warranted.

  Catalina reached out as if she would touch him again, but then she jerked her arm back down to her side. She blew out a long breath and stared down at the wide-planked distressed wood floor like she’d lost an earring.

  “You did nothing wrong, Cat,” he said, meaning it. Meaning it for today and meaning it just as much for all of their yesterdays. “We can both take a shower. Eat some breakfast and call to check on them. But I’m sorry, Cat, for…this.”

  For everything.

  “I will need some help.”

  He hated to ask for that. Hated that he’d dragged her back. Hated that he hadn’t even thought of another option. Selfish.

  She squared her shoulders as if bracing for something unpleasant.

  “Fine. I’ll help you get undressed so you can take a shower, but I’m not playing your sexy fantasy nursemaid just because you left whoever you found behind door number twenty-nine or whatever number you’re up to back in Portland or Bend or Missoula.”

  A thousand smartass comments danced on his tongue, but he swallowed them all. Clearly, he’d hurt her far more than he’d ever anticipated. Not his intention. But her pain was palpable. Still, she’d done him a tremendous favor answering his call.

  “Thank you, Catalina.”

  Tears washed through her eyes, and she pushed past him to hurry down the hall toward his old bedroom. Jesus. He wanted to kick himself. Even when he tried to be nice, he hurt her. He should just let her go. Let them both move on.

  Accept his failures.

  Just business.

  Only that didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t picture working with her without being with her.

  He watched the graceful sway of her hips—sexy even when she wasn’t trying to be. He loved the way she moved. Her body was small and tight and efficient. She had a natural and sensual grace even when she was standing or chatting.

  Once he’d watched her slice up an apple in her palm and eat it while she was listening to a TED talk speaker at fundraiser, and he’d gotten so hard. The way she moved, her focus as she listened, the way she placed the apple slices in her mouth and the ease with which she’d offered him a slice—always taking care of him even when her attention was elsewhere. And then when she’d folded up the knife and tucked it in a side pocket of her Carhartt utility pants, he’d barely been able to wait to get her out of the luncheon and speed walk the few blocks to his penthouse condo in Portland’s Pearl District to start taking off her clothes.

  Hell no!

  He ignored the pain and his nausea and followed. He wasn’t going to limp off alone, beat up, filled with regrets and sorry for himself. Never. A failure was only a failure if he didn’t get the hell back up.

  He was August Wolf—a millionaire before he’d graduated college, on paper anyway since he always invested his profits back into his businesses. He wasn’t a sit in the dirt and sulk over what he’d lost kind of man.

  He was going to fix the mess with Cat and then persuade her—whatever it took—to help him rebuild Verflucht the right way, with her by his side.

  He entered the wide door of his suite of rooms, filled with purpose. He was going to have Verflucht and Cat. And he didn’t care how dirty he had to play to win.

  Catalina was in the bathroom, the water in the shower already on and starting to steam up the room. She’d found the shampoo and body gels and scrubs he’d ordered for all the bathrooms just in case any of his brothers ever did move in or visit.

  “What does Verflucht mean, anyway?” she asked curiously, her attention starkly focused on unwrapping the medical sling that held his arm to his body.

  He waited for her to look at him.

  She eased his arm out of his shirt, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the tip of her pink tongue as she moistened her plump lip. He willed her to look up at him.

  Silence would work.

  She’d always rushed to fill the void.

  He thrived in silence. It was comforting and gave him space. And power. Adversaries weakened and jumped in ready to explain or give away advantage.

  But this distant version of Cat only eased off his shirt. Then squatted down at his feet to unlace his work boots and remove them and then his socks one at a time. She rose fluidly, her fingers nimble on the button fly of his jeans.

  “Cursed,” he said.

  Still she didn’t look up at him.

  Or answer.

  She eased his jeans down the strong columns of his thighs. He was a mess. A few scrapes and cuts and some deep bruises. He kept his gaze pinned to the top of her head and the messy curls escaping what had probably once been an attempt at an elegant updo. He tried to hide his wince and instead thought about Cat’s wild hair. She hated it and often scraped it away from her face and just banded it with neon-colored elastics.

  He’d always pulled them out and would by the end of a week with her sport quite the collection of elastics on his wrist. His way of claiming ownership. Primitive.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He stepped out of his jeans. She shot to her feet, careful not to look at his growing erection or his face.

  She checked the water temperature.

  “I’ll start coffee and breakfast,” she said quickly. “Towels are here. I’ll help you get dressed again and bring you…”

  “I didn’t call you to play nursemaid, Cat,” he said catching her arm as she clearly meant to flee. He waited, and finally her worried gaze met his.

  “Then why?” Her unusual eyes—usually so sparkling with purpose and life—clouded.

  “I called so that I could hire you. I want you to be head winemaker of Verflucht.”

  Chapter Five

  Catalina flipped on the power switch to the espress
o machine.

  She needed a triple shot right now.

  And maybe a shot of whiskey.

  What game was August playing?

  “Jerk! Idiot!” Her harsh words bounced around the empty kitchen.

  She grabbed the buckwheat flour, opened the bag and banged it down on the pristine white terrazzo countertop that probably cost more than she’d ever made in a year. Flour poofed out and haloed around her head.

  “Damn you, August Wolf! Straight to hell!”

  She sneezed.

  “And fu—”

  “Ooooooooh, you said two bad words.”

  Catalina bit off the last word with a shriek and spun around.

  “And called August bad names.”

  Her mouth dropped open audibly.

  “Are you making pancakes?”

  A young boy stared at her curiously. Dark hair. Dark blue or black eyes sparkled with curiosity. She gasped. Then rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. Was he real? He looked like Aurik. But Aurik had died eighteen years ago at age seven. The same age her baby would have been if… She swallowed hard and slammed the door on the memory and the shard of grief that still sometimes bobbed up in her conscience and stabbed at her a few times before returning to the murky depths of her suppressed memories.

  Flour clung to her lashes, and she bit back another not too nice word and blinked furiously.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell my mom.”

  “Aurik?” Catalina whispered, still not sure if he were real or not. She’d heard tales of many spooky sounds and spirits haunting the ranch, which is why locals started calling it Ghost Hill Ranch instead of Riverbend, long before Catalina had been born.

  But no ghosts had ever appeared in the kitchen asking about pancakes. And she’d been here often, even more so after Aurik had died.

  “Who’s that? I’m Diego.”

  She’d barely begun to process the words when she heard the soft pad of bare feet down a hall to the left.

  “Tell me what?” A supermodel glided into the room. Tall, slim, graceful, with thick, dark hair swishing loose nearly down to her ass, she stopped and stared at Catalina.

  “Oh. Hello.” Her voice was sexily husky. “I thought I heard voices and water running.”

  Of course August wouldn’t be alone in the house. He hadn’t wanted her for her. He’d just told her that. He’d wanted her for her skills at winemaking. And probably vineyard management as well. Two for the price of one. Was this his latest conquest? She was so beautiful and self-possessed Catalina just stared. She didn’t often see women this effortlessly beautiful up close. No makeup. No glamorous clothes.

  And…and…the kid?

  She could barely think the word. Impossible. No. August would have told her. He was many things. But not a liar. His brutal honesty had created many bruised egos and hurt feelings.

  “I haven’t slept so late in years,” the dark beauty confessed.

  Catalina had nothing to say to that. Why hadn’t he wakened sleeping beauty to drive him home instead of having her haul herself halfway across the country? Or…a new thought occurred to her. Maybe she was Axel’s. But then August wouldn’t have said the house was empty. And she would have heard if Axel Wolf, head of one of Texas’s largest ranches, had finally married. She’d left Last Stand long ago, but she still had a few friends from high school who kept in touch, and Axel’s determined single status was legendary.

  Maybe this beauty was the reason why?

  But a secret kid? Not how August rolled. And Axel? He’d hear about the double pink lines in the morning and be in front of a judge by noon. Axel was all about the rules. August was all about breaking them. Bitterness coated her tongue and she swallowed hard. She didn’t want to be bitter. She didn’t want to be filled with regrets and unhappiness like her mom had been and letting everyone around her know how much they’d disappointed her.

  The woman smiled, but her expression grew increasingly wary, and Catalina realized she was staring. And covered in flour.

  “I scared her, Mom,” the kid burst out. “She screamed like I was a ghost. And almost said the F-bomb word.” He made an exploding sound and waved his arms around.

  The gorgeous beauty laughed, and Catalina couldn’t help laughing too.

  “Guilty,” Catalina said. “Sorry.”

  “Not the worst he would have heard. I definitely had to clean up my language when Diego came to live with me.”

  That was a weird way to put it.

  “Can I help with the pancakes?” the little boy asked. “You are making pancakes, aren’t you?”

  “That was the plan,” Catalina said, feeling a little surreal. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around seeing August naked. And then his cool announcement that he wanted to hire her as his head winemaker—a position he’d passed her over in order to hire one of her colleagues she’d once mentored.

  She’d been gunning to be a head winemaker for years. Interview after interview. Miss after miss. So close. And then August just dropped the offer in her lap like he was making breakfast plans after his shower.

  “Think about it,” he’d said. “We’re unbeatable together. We’ll put the Texas Hill Country on the wine map in a way that will make wine lovers wonder ‘Why go to Napa?’ ‘Willamette what?’”

  Then he turned his back on her and ducked under the water.

  “My favorite.” Diego rubbed his palms together and grinned.

  Catalina felt heat flood her face. She definitely had not been thinking of blueberry pancakes.

  “Everything’s your favorite,” the boy’s mom said. “I’m Cruz Lopez.” She stepped forward, her hand shooting out assertively. Catalina shook her hand, feeling small and oddly formal. “And this is my son, Diego.”

  “I’m Catalina or Lina Clemmens.” Although no one in Last Stand had ever called her Lina, and she had a feeling August wasn’t about to change more than twenty years of calling her Cat. “It’s just occurring to me that the kitchen might not be well equipped.” Cat felt a little like she was fishing. “August was under the impression that no one was living up here.”

  “That’s what Axel said when he offered us a room for the night. He was kind enough to…” Cruz broke off when Catalina muttered that men weren’t nice, and that they all wanted something.

  Cruz looked taken aback and glanced at her son.

  Great. Catalina was letting her own experiences turn her bitter around children. That needed to stop now. She smiled at Diego and beckoned him over to help with the pancakes.

  “Axel needs a dog,” she noted as Diego’s first enthusiastic flip landed the pancake on the floor.

  “This room is like a fantasy ‘man’ cave,” Cruz noted, putting the word man in quotes and smirking a little. “I can totally picture the ranch hands taking a dip after a long day and calling dibs on whatever the new hot game is.”

  Catalina muttered.

  “I love this room, and I’m not a man yet.” Diego made two fists and showcased his skinny arms.

  “No rush,” his mom said.

  “You should see the bunkhouse area. No pool but there’s a ginormous TV with a bunch of outdoor couches like patio furniture. And the kitchen and living room area only has three walls. It’s so cool, like camping. But I like the pool here. Can I swim after pancakes?” Diego bounced from foot to foot.

  Cruz looked at the pool that shimmered in the early morning sun just beyond the wall of folding glass doors.

  “We’ll have to check with Axel,” she said doubtfully. “But, Diego, I have a lot to organize today. Tomorrow is the first day of my job, and we still have to…”

  “Axel’s nice. He rescued you from all the glass and washed Bear in the car wash and brought us home. He’ll let me swim in his pool.”

  “Diego,” Cruz said, her voice exuding patience, but Catalina could see a gentle flush rise on her high cheekbones. “Wash your hands. We’ll help fix breakfast.”

  She spoke in the kind of voice Catalina had heard so ma
ny of her friends and colleagues use over the years. The mom voice Catalina hadn’t had the chance to use. Ever.

  “Okay!” Diego bounded over to the counter, climbed up and washed his hands in the large farmhouse sink.

  “I can’t believe I’m having sink envy,” Cruz said. “Actually, a lot of envy. This place looks like it’s straight out of a home design magazine.”

  Catalina nodded. “It’s different from what I remember as a kid,” she admitted. And then she couldn’t help herself. She was burning up with curiosity. Was Diego’s Axel’s son? If so, why hadn’t August ever mentioned having a nephew?

  “So, you and Axel?”

  It was so much better thinking about other people’s drama than the bombshell August had just dropped in her lap.

  “No,” Cruz said. “Definitely not.” But instead of looking at Catalina, she fixated on the espresso machine. She picked up the bag of gourmet beans Catalina and August had purchased this morning. “I’d kill for some coffee. Any idea how to run this beast?”

  Smooth change of subject. Impressive.

  “I meant to start pulling some shots before I…” No need to reference her meltdown. She felt like she was acting awkward enough.

  All the more reason why she should not, definitely not, consider August’s offer.

  Too little and way too late.

  Besides, he seemed to assume that he came with it.

  She needed more distance from him, not less.

  But Catalina paused.

  She didn’t have anything else going on except her orphan vines she was going to harvest this year to start her own label. But she didn’t have enough cash on hand to get through more than the first year on her own even if she sold every last bottle.

  What if she took August up on his offer?

  The thought stole her breath. But she let herself think it. Let herself imagine. Just for a moment. A head winemaker position. Money and top-of-the-line equipment behind her. A vineyard plan that stretched out five years and two hundred and fifty acres planted. A tasting room in town.