Leon Ferguson knew too much about her from a source she’d never even considered. “I have my GED.”
“I didn’t mean to offend. You have something to be very proud of.” His grin was Texas cowboy handsome with billion-dollar charm, and it swept her fear away, putting her at ease. “I realize you took care of your grandfather’s ranch, I assume that’s probably why you quit traditional high school and got a GED instead.”
She nodded, agreeing with his reasoning, even though she would’ve graduated by the time she’d taken over the ranch if she’d stayed in school. She’d earned the graduation equivalent while in prison.
He took another drink of his coffee. “I think you could do better than a degree in social work. Have you considered business?”
“Not really.” She’d already had it out with her grandfather once she started taking college classes online after leaving rehab for her bout of alcoholism. She wasn’t discussing her reasons with Leon. “I have no interest in getting a business degree.”
“Ah, but you do own one.” Leon looked around the drab kitchen with a hint of disgust he didn’t quite mask fast enough before she noticed. He looked completely out-of-place in his designer suit. Did he consider the scuffed linoleum and outdated appliances beneath him? Shame for her home was instant and painful. Someday her house would be as gorgeous as his, though for now, it wasn’t more than a supersized hovel.
Despite her own wealth and designer clothes, the shabby house was her home. A memory of Dylan sitting at the same table came to her. He’d looked right at home, too.
Leon met her gaze and leaned over his arms again. “Ranching is very complex, especially the cattle business. You want to breed horses, as well.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve hired someone capable of helping me run the business end of things.”
“Of course. Dylan. I’m sure, if he can get himself straightened out, he’ll do well. However, one should never rely on others.” His brown gaze held her captive. “Relying on others only sets you up to be dependent on them. I wouldn’t want that to be the case for you.”
She leaned back in the chair and peered at the open psychology book before her. How did he know one of her greatest flaws? She always relied on the wrong kind of person, usually some dirt-bag man who used her and then threw her away.
Or as with the case of loving Ricardo Rodriguez, she’d landed in prison when she’d fallen for his lies and threats, and led him to the men he’d murdered.
She curled her sweaty hands around her mug and forced her eyes to meet his. “I’ve wanted to be a social worker for a long time. I want to help others. I’ll probably take some business courses along the way, but right now, I’m at the college because of its social work program.”
Leon smiled, reached over the table and squeezed her wrist. He chaffed his thumb over the back of her hand. His touch wasn’t uncomfortable; however, it inspired none of the sensations Dylan’s had. “Whatever you do, I know you’ll succeed.”
When Leon let go, she clasped her hands in her lap again. She had to stop fidgeting or he’d figure out she hid something.
“It’s late and you look like you were busy before I popped in.” Leon stood and she followed, unsure of the swirling emotion he left behind, glad he was soon leaving.
She pulled her arms around her middle.
“Before I let you get back to your…” He glanced at the opened book on the table. “Psychology reading, I was wondering if you hired any hands besides my nephew?”
She forced her arms to her sides. “No. I have a few applicants, but I’d like Dylan to help with the interview process.”
“Of course, but if you need anyone until then, I can spare a ranch hand or two.”
“Thanks, but I think we can get someone hired before my cattle arrive.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. Thanks for the coffee.” Leon retrieved his hat from the peg by the door, and turned, twisting the white Stetson in his hands. “May I make a recommendation for the job, then?”
“Sure.”
“I recently had to turn down someone who was looking for work on Oak Springs because I can’t hire on anyone else. Kyle McPherson. He’s a cousin of mine and Dylan’s, and he comes from a prominent family here in Colton. He’s a good worker and had been a hand on his grandfather’s ranch before he sold it.”
“I think he called me yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to call anyone back. Thanks for the reference. I’ll definitely call him first now.”
Leon donned the Stetson and opened the kitchen door. “Remember, we’re neighbors. Here in Forest County, Texas, neighbors take care of each other. Goodnight, Charli.”
“Thanks. Goodnight, Leon.”
Okay, Leon. What the hell are you about? She wasn’t afraid of him. After all, if he knew about her past, he’d be all over it like crap on a pig. But was he really her friend? After a few moments of staring at the closed door, she shook her head and glanced at the table. Her gaze snagged on the bottle of champagne. She grabbed it and ran out the door.
“Wait! You forgot...”
At the edge of the porch, she stopped. The taillights of his Porsche bounced over the bridge in the distance.
With shaky hands, she raised the bottle in front of her face. The light of the floodlight in the porch ceiling played harshly over the elaborate script on the label. She hadn’t had a drink in over three years and hadn’t been high for nearly six.
What she would do for a drink.
One bottle. No one will ever know.
Once inside, she ripped the seal open and headed for the sink. “I won’t give in. I’m better than this. I’m not that person anymore. I’ll never be her again!”
She found a knife, and after three tries, got the cork out in pieces.
The fragrant white foam, cool and refreshing, bubbled out of the bottle and over her hands. A tear slipped onto her cheek.
Just one sip. That’s all.
“No. Damn it!” She wouldn’t sacrifice everything for that drink, despite the intense craving. Unceremoniously, she dumped the contents down the sink.
Chapter 5
Dylan banged on the door. He’d told her to expect him by seven o’clock. So, where was she? He was about to pound on the old wood again, when it swung open.
“What the...” The rest dried up and turned his tongue to dust.
Charli stood before him glaring icy spears. Her face was thunderous, and her flame-like hair tumbled around her shoulders as wild as a range fire. She looked like some avenging goddess interrupted from her slumber and not at all happy about it.
A woman had never looked so amazing. Then he noticed her clothing, or rather lack thereof.
“I heard you the first time you knocked.” Her sleep-roughed voice burned right through him and boiled his blood. “You didn’t have to continue beating on the damned thing for the next five minutes.”
Had he heard her correctly? The turquoise, short, silky robe his boss wore demanded all of his attention. As she heaved a breath, he caught a glimpse of the side of a plump breast where the robe lapels slipped open. A lightning bolt couldn’t have hit him as hard. He fought the knot of lust tightening his gut as his gaze slid down her body. Holy shit, her legs were long and gorgeous.
Imagining them wrapped around him, he swallowed hard. When her bare feet and metallic purple painted toenails spun away from him, the hem of her robe swayed only inches from the curve of her ass.
Jesus. How would he ever get that vision out of his head?
Charli marched through the kitchen to the hall leading to her bedroom, leaving him all but hyperventilating. “Since you’re here, make yourself useful and put on a pot of coffee. You look like you need it more than I do.”
“I–” The distant slamming of a door cut him off. “Damn.”
He fumbled around looking through cupboards for the coffee and filters. By the time the coffee finished brewing and Charli reappeared, his hard-on had gone down. Her hair was tamed and styled
around her face. Tight black pants and a long yellow shirt replaced the robe, but her purple toes peeked out of the high-heeled, crazy-colored shoes she had worn the day he’d met her.
He cleared his throat. “I see you aren’t a morning person.”
She stepped up beside him at the counter by the coffee maker and took his proffered mug of black coffee. After she sipped it, Charli looked up at him and grinned, but a grimace from an ice queen held more warmth. “Whatever would’ve given you that idea?”
How could she make him want to laugh as if his life wasn’t a complete cesspool? Snickering, he shook his head. “I thought yesterday’s bad mood was simply because you were about to make some other poor cuss rich.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night, and I have three classes today.” She guzzled more coffee. “I’ll be human after I have at least one cup of java.”
“Uh-huh.” When was the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep not brought on by drinking himself into a stupor? He took a drink from his mug and pointed it toward the schoolbook-cluttered table. “The flowers weren’t here last night.”
She glanced over at them and smiled. “Leon gave them to me as a housewarming gift.”
He set his mug down with a thump. “Wasn’t that nice?”
Narrowing her eyes at him, she refilled her mug.
He sighed and leaned his good hip against the counter. “Look, I don’t like Leon. I don’t trust the man, and I don’t understand his sudden interest in you.”
As Charli lowered the mug, she jacked a glare that turned the green ice of her eyes to pure fire.
“Wait! I didn’t mean that as an insult.”
“Really? Sure as hell sounded like one to me. You know, if you’d get your head out of the bottle every once in a while, maybe you’d realize you’re usually a jerk.” She spun away and headed for the refrigerator.
He was a jerk for warning her against the greediest son-of-a-bitch he knew? “Now–”
She turned back to face him with her hands on her hips, cutting him off. “I think I should lay down one very important rule.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell is that?”
“As long as you’re working for me, I expect you to show up sober and to stay sober the whole day you're here.”
“And what if I don’t?” He didn’t intend to drink on the job, but couldn’t guarantee he’d always show up not hung-over.
She yanked the door of the refrigerator open. “I find someone else. Leon has offered his man, Garcia. Maybe I should take–”
He moved over to her, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around before he realized what he was doing. Charli stood close enough for him to smell the sweet scent of peaches and see the flecks of blue in her wide green eyes. Her face, which had been flushed with anger, drained of its color until her freckles stood out in stark contrast to her porcelain skin. He let go and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” He swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. “I warned you more than once about Ferguson. I won’t let you give him this ranch. I’ll buy it from you first.”
The surprise left her expression. She laughed a rough, shaky gurgle, nothing like her usual lyrical sound of mirth, which made his chest tight with odd pleasure every time he heard it. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ll buy the ranch? Hell.”
She bent into the open refrigerator. It wasn’t a secret he was broke, but her easy dismissal pinched his heart in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable way.
Over her shoulder, Charli burned him with the fire of her cat-like eyes. “I don’t really give a flyin’ fu–I don’t care what your deal is with Leon. He’s done nothing to me. He’s a gentleman and only wants to be my friend.” She turned back toward him with a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “So, if you can’t accept that, I think you know what you can do. Goes for my rule about your drinking, too. Take it or leave it. The door’s open.”
After setting the eggs and milk on the counter, she bent into the fridge again.
Fuck this. He’d leave and never look back, but his feet wouldn’t budge. If he didn’t know Leon Ferguson better, he’d have no problem believing that his interest in Charli was sexual. God knew he had a hard time concentrating with her bent in front of him rummaging around in the lower drawer of the refrigerator.
The slimy bastard never did anything without an ulterior motive. Sex was probably on his agenda, but Charli was helpless when it came to what Ferguson really wanted. Stubbornly believing she could trust Ferguson would cost her the ranch. Something about her dream to turn it into that butterfly just wouldn’t let him walk out the door.
She faced him with a green pepper and a chunk of cheese in each hand.
“Okay. No drinking.”
Her smile nearly outshined the sun. “All right.”
He wasn’t an overly religious man, but he prayed he could keep the promise.
She kicked the door of the old, dented refrigerator closed behind her. “Did you have breakfast?”
“What?”
“Breakfast? You know…the most important meal of the day. Or was it a liquid one?” She raised a perfectly arched auburn brow.
“No, I didn’t eat.”
After setting a bowl on the counter, Charli looked across her shoulder at him and opened the egg carton. “My mother had this saying–empty bellies make for empty heads. So, I’ll make us breakfast while you set the table. Afterward, you can attack those stables, and I’ll go to school.” Smirking, she cracked two eggs and dumped them into the bowl. “But first, I make one hell of a mean omelet.”
* * * *
After Charli left her last class, she made her way to the new Sinclair Plaza Mall on the outskirts of town. The shopping center consisted of two national retailers, a superstore grocery and several other smaller shops, most of them chains.
She parked by the grocery store and pulled her purse from her book bag. She’d been in town long enough to know the downtown stores had protested the modern mall, a sign of the times.
As she walked to the doors of the store, she looked to the right. On a slight bluff, a housing development was going up. The houses were large and beautiful, but all very similar in design and colors. Mrs. Pratt had complained about the “city slickers” moving into Forest County. The flashy construction sign declared the contractor LBF Construction–a company owned by Leon Ferguson.
While waiting in line after finishing her shopping, she picked up the latest Country Music World. Her favorite country superstar, Nate McConnell, was on the cover. Did anyone else ever see the resemblance? Were they anything alike?
The pang of loss and loneliness was sharp and sudden.
She didn’t know her father and never would. He’d died last August. Two months after his death, she’d found a box of her mother’s old letters tucked away in the attic. Either her grandfather had intercepted the letters before they were sent, or her mother hadn’t mailed them to the Texan and rodeo cowboy named John McConnell. He hadn’t known he had a daughter–a product of a wild extramarital affair with a rich Oklahoma beauty queen.
What would her half-brother think of her? She stared at the picture on the magazine cover. She’d never know. Contacting Nate would risk exposing her past. He was a favorite topic for the tabloids and already had a flurry of interest due to a recent scandal with a Hollywood starlet. The news of an illegitimate half-sister would set the entertainment gossip world into hyperactivity. The last thing she could chance was a nosy reporter snooping around in her past.
Blinking away the familiar sting behind her eyes, she placed the magazine on the conveyor belt and unloaded the groceries from her cart.
After leaving the store, she put the bags into the trunk of her car. Two teenagers stood by a lamppost a several yards away. The girl was dressed in ripped up black tights, short denim skirt and jacket. Although the male faced away from her, she knew he was older, more man than boy.
Finished with putting the grocery bags a
way, she closed the trunk and headed around the car, keeping close to the car so they wouldn’t see her. She got inside and ducked down to watch them through the passenger side window as they continued their deal.
Money exchanged hands–the girl to the man.
A small bag passed from the man to the teenager.
She’d participated in enough street corner transactions, both as a junky and as a dealer, to know a drug deal when she saw one.
The girl nodded at the man. He walked away and got into a pickup. Charli quickly memorized the license plate number. The teenager glanced around again, sauntered toward the center of town, passing Charli’s car. The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Why the hell wasn’t she in school?
Charli snorted. During her sophomore year of high school, she’d skipped more school than she attended.
Without hesitation or guilt, she pulled her cellphone from her purse and punched in 9-1-1.
After anonymously reporting the crime, including the description of the girl and the license number of the truck, she pulled out of the parking space. As she drove past, the girl looked at her and scowled.
Oh, yeah, you have an attitude, don’t you?
What if someone had turned her in just once?
Would her life have been different?
* * * *
Charli put away the groceries and changed into shorts, t-shirt and sneakers. After quickly eating the sandwich she’d bought at the grocery store deli, she grabbed another bottle of water and headed out to the stables.
Def Leppard’s Love Bites blared on the radio in the corner and a gray, smelly dust cloud of God-knew-what formed in the air. Dylan must not have seen or heard her come in. He used a push broom to sweep the concrete floor of the breezeway. He’d cleaned out the stalls and removed the broken stall doors.
Muscles slid and bunched his in shoulders and back under the dark t-shirt. The eagle and flag tattoo on his arm flexed as he shifted the broom over the floor. The worn Army fatigues fit him snugly, outlining his narrow hips and a perfect behind. Heat flared to life in the pit of her stomach, and she swallowed against the desert in her throat.
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