Table of Contents
Cowboy Daddy
Ace's Gamble
Tyler’s Plaything a Billionaire Romance
His Prey
Unwrapped by Him
Her Billionaire Baby Daddies
Cowboy Daddy
By: Hannah McBride
Cowboy Daddy
© November 2017 – All rights reserved
By Hannah McBride,
Published by Passionate Publishing Inc.
This is a work of fiction. All names and characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
This book is for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Warning
This book is intended for adult readers, 18+ years old. Please close this e-book if you are not comfortable reading adult content.
Chapter One
It was the distance that got to you.
Not so much for the native-born and bred Texans, of course; miles between one far-flung destination and another had a habit of melting away beneath the dusty tires of their speeding vehicles, and the shiny wings of their private planes. Growing up here kept you balanced and even a little nonchalant about the width and breadth and size of this state. Gave you bragging rights, too, about the larger-than-life heroism of its men and the sheer cussed beautiful temperament of its women.
How could any male worth his salt and swagger not stride along as if he owned the pavement beneath his boot heels, with the words of so many forbears burned into his soul? After all, Davy Crockett had informed the world, “You can all go to hell; I will go to Texas.” And Sam Houston, in 1833, let everyone know that “Texas is the finest portion of the globe that has ever blessed my vision.”
For the visitor, however, or the immigrant, those distances could often feel as intimidating, as frightening, as for the lonely pioneer women who had, more than a century ago, stared helplessly out toward the horizon, and sometimes lost their minds doing it. In certain areas, the endless wind, and the treeless plain, and the lack of human communication for days or weeks, proved sometimes to be too much solitude for even the hardiest of souls.
In the Texas Hill Country, stalwart pecan and ash and cedar trees, and the lowly acacia, helped to fill the vast spaces, as did vagrant creeks here and there, and dots of watering holes. A fairly sparse population allowed plenty of land free for grazing the sturdy Black Hereford cattle from several local ranches.
One of which was the Ten Buck spread, owned by Benjamin Milam Taggart.
The billionaire businessman / baron Caroline Finch was—oh, so reluctantly—on her way to meet.
Chapter Two
“Howdy, Miss Finch, and welcome to Texas. I’m Marilou Gilbert, Mr. Taggart’s administrative assistant. We spoke on the phone a number of times?”
“How do you do, Miss Gilbert? Thank you. Yes, we did, and you very kindly answered a few thousand of my questions. It’s a—it’s an awfully big place you have here, isn’t it?”
Marilou, who was bouncing along ahead down the concourse, smiled. She could best be described as “perky,” from her pretty country cream good looks to her swinging blonde ponytail to her sassy gray circle skirt to her lilting steps—in a cute pair of candy-pink ballet flats—that covered so much ground. Actually, her personality reminded Caroline, who was not now and never could have been considered perky, of a bustling Pomeranian. But a friendly one, of course.
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon things can seem a mite overwhelmin’ when you first arrive, especially if you’ve never been to Texas before. How was your flight from Burlington? Were you comfortable? Did you have any problems? I’m sorry we had to schedule extra stops, but you live a far piece away, don’t you? Extra mileage, y’ know.”
Breathe, girl, Caroline wanted to implore of her guide. Just take a breath. Do the residents of this state always talk so much? And so fast?
“Ah—my luggage?”
“Oh, honey, someone is loadin’ your stuff into my car right now, as we speak. Just a little farther now. Did you need to make a pit stop? We can pick up somethin’ to eat, too, if you’re hungry. Lotsa fast food places on the way.”
“No, thank you, I’m fine. There were plenty of refreshments on board. So this was Mr. Taggart’s personal plane?”
“Yes, ma’am. With all the travelin’ he does, he finds it easier just to have his own Lear available for whenever and wherever he needs it. So, once I started makin’ arrangements for your trip, he just said, well, shoot, ML, let her fly quick and easy, like the busy folks do.”
Caroline, dressed in her Sunday best, which included stiletto heels and a prim navy pinstripe suit, was having a hard time keeping up with the fast pace. The young admin, who looked not a day over twenty, seemed to have inexhaustible energy and stamina. Perhaps she was required to, in order to meet the demands of her boss. Besides, she was probably, thought Caroline, with just a twinge of rancor, some sort of marathon runner who would beat out the crowd at every lap.
Miss Gilbert had, evidently per instructions, been waiting at the gate when Taggart’s impressive jet landed just twenty minutes ago to taxi from runway to terminal. Waiting at the inside gate, of course, well-insulated behind thick glass doors. It was, she cheerfully explained to her guest, just too dang hot to stand around outside waitin’ for anyone, even if it was the president himself.
From the Marigold Municipal Airport, they would be driving in the ranch car to the Ten Buck, where Miss Finch could rest and relax for a bit before joining the family for supper. That part, plus the opportunity for a nice cool shower, sounded especially enticing to Caroline. Even traveling in luxurious surroundings had meant a lengthy trip from Vermont, arriving and boarding early this morning. She was more than ready to complete whatever details of this arrangement remained, sign any necessary papers, and go on from there.
Heat and dust hit her full in the face when they emerged to a parking lot.
“I know, I know,” sympathized Marilou, seeing her wince. “This time of year, we go from air-conditionin’ to air-conditionin’. Otherwise we’d all be shriveled up like prunes.”
Caroline felt she could safely agree with that. Instead of a prune, though, she felt as wilted as the few roses she had noticed bravely attempting to bloom in a well-tended garden. What had she been thinking, to make her way to the middle of Texas in a silk blouse and panty hose?
Lord. Might as well just plunk a white cloche on her head and pull on a pair of elbow gloves, à la retro 50’s, to complete the picture. Did she really still have to worry about impressing anyone, after leaving behind every one of the hoops through which she had already jumped?
The cool air blasting from the silver Cadillac’s sleek vents felt like something from Resurrection Day, bringing her back to life. Unobtrusively Caroline loosened the tight collar, as she settled in behind her seat belt, and wished in vain for a wet washcloth. Or a tall glass of pure ice water. Or the cool spray from an outdoor sprinkler.
“This is only late May,” she commented, as Marilou flicked on her turn signal and pulled the car out into traffic. “How will you survive the rest of the summer?”
Sending her companion an understanding sideways glance, the admin chuckled. “Well, we’re more used to the temperatures round here than you are, comin’ from Yankee territory. You just take it easy for a while, and give yourself time. After a while you won’t ever wanna go back to the snow you left behind.”
I wouldn’t bet on it, was Caroline’s private response. “Do we have quite a distance to go before we reach the ranch?”
“No, ma’am. Fifty miles or so. Don’t you worry, we’ll be there licket
y-split. You just relax and enjoy yourself. Texans are born with one foot on the gas pedal and the other on the brake.” Her laugh rolled out as easily and smoothly as the gentle hills through which they were now passing.
The scenery was much more interesting, and beautiful, than she had expected. Patches of barrenness here and there, yes; with only scrub of some sort, and weeds she would eventually learn answered to the names of nettle and plantain and creeper, and the aptly-captioned broomweed, snakeweed, and sneezeweed.
But then there were flowers, oceans and oceans of flowers, swimming away to the horizon: daisies and dill, blazing star and blue star, brown-eyed Susan and black-eyed Susan—a whole hodgepodge of color that called you to come investigate fragrance and texture.
And everything so spread out, with miles of distance between one spot and another. So much a contrast to her own tightly contained neighborhood, whose borders could easily fit into a mere clump of counties.
Elm, Caroline recognized, and oak, and willow. Universal trees, drinking deep of underground aquifers; providing shade, and shelter, and hope. She was relieved to see so many trees. She knew she would never have been able to transplant her own being away from the forested regions of Vermont if it meant setting up shop in a desert.
“And there’s a daughter?” she asked now, pulling herself forcibly back to the present.
“Yes, little Sophie. She’s six. Ah—six, going on sixteen. You’ll have your hands full with that one, believe me.” Another chuckle that did nothing to restore Caroline’s flagging confidence. “But you won’t have to deal with her quite yet.”
“I assume that I will be able to meet with Mr. Taggart at some point today?”
“Oh, sure enough. He’s set aside half an hour for you, at five o’clock.”
Astounded, Caroline turned toward the admin, who was humming along with some country western song emanating from a superior CD player in the background. “I beg your pardon? Set aside? He’s set aside half an hour?”
“Well, yes.” Marilou interrupted her humming to smile across the air-conditioned interior. “He’s a busy man, you know. In fact, he’s coming back from a business consortium especially to see you. Then he has to leave again right after supper.”
“Isn’t that just ducky.”
The rest of the trip, notable only for the speed at which the Cadillac cruised—surely far above the posted limit?—served as a vehicle for Marilou to play tour guide. She pointed out this landmark, and that, or commented on local news, or asked questions about Caroline’s everyday life back in Juniper, of the “Freedom and Unity” State.
“I believe you know most of that,” was Caroline’s quiet response. “Since we’ve been communicating for months, and you’ve been the one required to make all these arrangements.”
“Well, only followin’ Mr. Taggart’s directions, y’ know. Hope things’ve worked out the way you wanted. And you’re all recovered now?”
“Recovered?” Caroline, smoothing wrinkles from the suit skirt whose fit had proven more flattering some six months ago, flashed back to the weeks of recuperation resulting from the accident, and all the disastrous repercussions thereof. “Yes. I’m recovered, thank you. How long have you worked for Mr. Taggart, Marilou?”
“Oh, gracious, I started in his office right fresh outa college. Just as an aide for a while, till his main secretary retired.” With a giggle, she swung expertly around a slower moving vehicle and back into her own lane again. “Then he figured I was experienced enough to take over. So—lemme see…it’s been five years now. Not the easiest of relationships, sometimes, you understand.” That admission came with a sidelong mischievous look.
“I see.” Amazing. Mid-twenties, then; she might have passed for a teenager. Perhaps the work, and her employer, weren’t quite as demanding as it seemed. “Is he hard to deal with, then, Mr. Taggart?”
“Weeellll....not so much hard dealin’, as particular. But ain’t that true of most bosses? Ah, here we are, Miss Finch. Welcome to Ten Buck.”
The house was, surprisingly, neither as large nor as ostentatious as Caroline had expected.
Built of brick, wood, and stone in a rambling Spanish style that looked as if pieces had been added here and there, as an afterthought, it seemed a very approachable place. One that fit sweetly into its environment and gave the impression of having grown with the land.
A curving walk led around trees that appeared to have been left in their own native design, rather than imported, and green plantings sheltered by large chunks of rock. Rock which, Caroline would later learn, had been cut from the creek a mile or so away and hauled to the homestead for placement.
“Why, it’s—it’s actually quite lovely,” was her involuntary reaction.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Marylou wore the rather smug expression of a cat lapping up cream, as if she could take personal satisfaction for the results of this Texas hill layout. “Mr. Taggart started out workin’ from the original two story farmhouse, owned by his mama and daddy, and then just kept makin’ changes as the mood hit him.”
“Oh. Well, it looks pretty complete. Um—do you think he’s finished with it by now?”
With a shrug, she pulled to the end of the rounded driveway and parked with an expert eye for the curb. “Hard tellin’. Reckon he’ll let us know if the itch strikes him to start remodelin’ again. C’mon, I’ll take you inside to your room.”
“My luggage?” Caroline asked for the second time, just to double check, as she reached for the door handle.
Marylou flapped a breezy hand. “Oh, well, Tom—he’s sorta second in command around here—he’ll bring your stuff in straightaway. C’mon, I wanna see what you think of the arrangements.”
Chapter Three
The arrangements were, as might be expected at this not-quite-palatial mansion of a super-wealthy cattleman, impeccable.
Tom Sinclair, a tall, somewhat stooped man whose age might range anywhere between forty and seventy due to what was probably normal outdoor weathering, made several trips up and down and back up the wide curving staircase with every box, satchel, and bag pulled forth from the Cadillac’s trunk and rear seat. Not all of Caroline’s personal possessions from that remote place a world away, but close to it.
“Thank you so much,” Caroline told him at the doorway, when he was ready to depart. “I really appreciate your bringing in everything so quickly.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” he said with a slow smile and an unfamiliar touch of forefinger to forehead. Almost like a salute. “You just lemme know, you got anything else you need t’ have done.”
Finally alone, and grateful for the silence and the space, she kicked off those killer stilettos (and what an extravagant waste of resources that purchase had been!), peeled away the sticky panty hose (to be forever relegated, she hoped, to the nearest waste basket), and padded barefoot about the spacious suite to which she had been escorted. Done by a professional decorator, no doubt,
White walls and furnishings and, on the pecan floor, a huge oddly-shaped rug in eggshell color that she hoped hadn’t been ripped off some living creature. The accents of bedspread, chaise, and bench, all of a match in pale blue-gray, contrasted beautifully with the mass of green landscape seen through French doors and transom windows that opened out onto a sunroom. No draperies for privacy were necessary, but white pleated shades awaited drawing against too much heat.
The room bespoke quiet elegance in a rather plain, old-fashioned way. And offered comfort and ease, as well. Quite attractive, in its own way; one she might have chosen for herself.
More than Caroline had enjoyed in far too long a time. Nothing she had ever had experienced could compare to this luxury.
Porcelain and marble and shining clear glass made up the bathroom. Along with fluffy rugs, laid conveniently on the tile floor, and stacks of thick cotton towels. Here, a gracious garden window, its sill filled with lush Boston fern, encompassed the fields and giant oaks beyond.
It would be suc
h a delight, Caroline wistfully mused, looking around, to soak in that spa tub with its array of jars holding colorful bath salts, to stand under that rain shower and luxuriate in its soothing flow.
During the past few months of so much trauma and turmoil, she had not dared to glance at her image in a mirror any more often than necessary.
She did so now, reluctantly, and took impersonal inventory.
Stick-straight red hair. Not chestnut, or auburn, or sun-kissed bronze. No. True red. And the pale complexion to go with it, dusted over by a few stubborn freckles leftover from the prior summer. The combination could be less than flattering should a blush stain the high cheekbones. Steady, long-lashed eyes (thank you, whoever had invented mascara!), close in color to aquamarine, that one semi-admirer had actually called “amazing.” A figure currently dispossessed of the curves and suppleness it deserved. Possibly, hopefully, to be rectified with time and care.
Would her flight to this ranch, so far from everything she had known and loved, ease the situation in which she found herself?
Or would she find herself falling further down the rabbit hole?
Chapter Four
He looked exactly like the photograph that had been sent to her, months ago, at the beginning of their correspondence—a photo which, Caroline would secretly admit, didn’t do the man justice. No one should have the right to be that devastatingly attractive. She knew her own rather ordinary looks must pale by comparison, and wondered, once again, just what she had gotten herself into.
The basis for their future relationship started out pleasantly enough. For five minutes, anyway. When she entered his vast study, escorted by the energetic Marilou, he rose from behind a massive desk to greet her.
“Miss Finch.” Reaching out one hand, he took hers in a firm grip and then motioned for her to have a seat in the armchair upholstered in navy and forest green chintz.
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