Texas Millionaire

by Dixie Browning

  Tilting his chair again, he laced his hands behind his head. It was like playing ball with a kitten. Toss it out, just to watch her swat at it. She was such an earnest little thing, he was tempted to tell her to lighten up. “Call Claire’s, will you? Reservations for two, at nine.”

  She gave a jerky little nod and scuttled out the door as if she was afraid he might lunge at her. Did she really think he was that hard up?

  No way. He’d lay odds her Doc Teeter had never laid a hand on her, either, and not just because in today’s world, it would probably spell the end of his career.

  Funny how different they were. Manie, for all she was prim as a picket fence, had a wicked sense of humor. He’d a lot rather take her to the Cattleman’s Ball than Pansy or Bianca. At least with Manie, he didn’t have to be on his guard every minute.

  Speaking of which, unless he could come up with a good excuse, he was going to have to make a decision. About the ball, as well as the other. Both women were practically breathing down his neck.

  With one or two minor exceptions, the rest of day proceeded without a hitch. At half past one, Hank called downstairs and had one of the boys run down to the Royal Diner for chili and pie. He was on the phone with his broker for the fifteen minutes it took him to eat. After that, he met with an informal committee of geologists and engineers. They spent a couple of hours going over the results of the last 3-D seismological reports.

  Not until after they’d filed out did it occur to him that he’d spent half the time listening to their assessments and the other half wondering if Callie was ready yet to throw in the towel.

  And then Greg called. “I’m having some problems with Forrest. He’s convinced I’ll be recognized if I try to storm the castle. Hell, man, it’s been four years since I’ve even been to that part of the world.”

  “All it takes is one jerk with a long memory to blow the whole mission. What about Blake, could he go in?”

  “He’ll be on a separate mission, if things go as planned. The twins are only a few months old. Getting into where they’re being kept is going to be dicey. With Blake’s training, he’s the best candidate for that particular part of Alpha.”

  The mission had been given a name, which somehow made it all the more real.

  God, the adrenaline was already flowing, and things were only in rough-draft mode.

  “I can still fly a plane,” Hank reminded him.

  “I’ve slated you for home-base coordinator. It’s imperative we have someone with a cool head directing things from a central position. If things get messy and we have to improvise, someone’s got to lead the band.”

  “I’ll dust off my baton,” Hank said dryly. As the oldest member of the crew, he was the logical choice. Nevertheless, he resented being left behind. He wondered if Greg had given any thought to what was going to happen once he extracted Anna and her brood from wherever they were being held. Ivan the Territorial didn’t sound like the kind of guy to willingly share his toys.

  Two minutes after Greg hung up, Pansy called again, wanting to know if he needed help with last-minute arrangements for the ball, as her plans for a shopping trip to L.A. had fallen through and she had some time on her hands.

  He managed to put her off with some trumped up excuse. Then, leaning back in his chair, he swore softly. He’d trade a Middle East oil crisis and a couple of hostile takeover attempts anyday for the personal decision he was facing.

  Over the past six months or so, he’d narrowed the choices down to Pansy and Bianca. Pansy didn’t like kids. Hank didn’t particularly care to have his child raised solely by hired nursemaids. Besides which, Pansy would bore him out of his gourd if he spent much time with her.

  Not that that was a requisite. Marriage, at least in his social and financial circles, was pretty much a mutually beneficial business arrangement, drawn up by lawyers on both sides and sanctioned for the duration by the state. Togetherness wasn’t a part of the deal. Both women knew the score.

  Bianca liked kids. Claimed to, at least. She also had a sense of humor. Any woman in her middle thirties who could giggle hard enough to split a seam had to have a sense of humor…didn’t she?

  Oh, hell, maybe he’d better look around some more.

  Better yet, he could drop the whole thing. So what if he was the end of the line? It was no big deal. Maybe he’d leave everything to the IRS, since they’d end up getting the lion’s share anyway. That ought to open up a major fault line on Wall Street.

  Feeling restless, he paced the room that he called his office, which was roughly the size of the billiard room downstairs. When his leg began to protest, he dropped into his desk chair again, swiveled it around and stared out the window, willing a cold front to push through. Willing the hot, dry wind to stop blowing and the rains to start falling. Willing the call from Germany he was expecting to come through so that he could get out and work off some tension.

  He was too old to be racing a dirt bike over sand hills, but he did it anyway, miles out in the country where nobody could see him and claim he was acting like a damned fool, risking his neck.

  He wondered what Callie would think if she could see him racing hell-bent out in the middle of nowhere.

  And then he wondered why he was even wondering. Why he wasted valuable time thinking about a meek little dab of a female who looked as if she was scared to death he was going to jump her bones.

  Idly he wondered if anyone ever had.

  He was still grinning over the thought of Miss Manie’s little lamb in an X-rated situation when the ruckus erupted just outside his door. Then the door burst open and Pansy presented herself. She was in a snit over something, that much was obvious.

  Carrie-Callie was riding her tail, looking frantic. “Ma’am, I can’t—Mr. Langley said he wasn’t to be disturbed, so if you’ll just—Please, ma’am, won’t you let me announce you?”

  “Who is this creature?” Pansy demanded.

  “Didn’t Manie introduce you? This is her niece, um—”

  “Miss Callie Riley,” Callie filled in for her boss, who had obviously forgotten her name. “Actually, it’s Caledonia,” she said, lifting her jaw a fraction. See if you can remember that, Hanky Panky, she thought with grim amusement.

  Pansy blinked at her, then turned back to Hank. “Vince just invited me to join him in Houston for a cruise to the Virgin Islands. I reminded him about the Cattleman’s Ball. I haven’t missed it in years, and this year—”

  “Why not take him up on the offer? Lie around in the sun a few weeks, let old Vince wait on you, it’ll do him good.”

  “But the ball—?”

  “We’ll manage without you for once. Callie’ll help. She’s going as my partner this year, did I tell you?”

  Callie opened her mouth and remembered a few seconds later to shut it. She was doing what?

  As his what?

  “Oh, for God’s sake, secretaries don’t count. You can take your whole damned staff for all I care, but—”

  “It’ll be Callie’s first ball,” he said softly. A little too softly. “I mean to make it a special occasion.”

  They stared laser beams at each other in a silent battle of wills. Callie wanted to sink through the floor, but as it was solid oak, every plank more than a foot wide and pegged down securely, it probably wasn’t going to happen.

  “I’ll call you when I get back,” the tall, elegant beauty said tightly. After sending Callie a look that would blister paint, she left, head high, invisible smoke, Callie was quite sure, pouring from both ears.

  “Would you care to tell me what that was all about—sir?”

  “I thought I just did. What part didn’t you understand?”

  “The part about the ball.”

  “Annual affair, benefits local charities. Manie filled you in, didn’t she? I need you to go with me, that’s all. Manie’s done it any number of times, she’ll tell you what’s expected. You’ll need a dress. Pick out something and put it on my account.”

  Wh
en pigs flew. “Going to balls wasn’t mentioned in my job description.” Mentally she skimmed down the lists her aunt had given her. She was certain there’d been no mention of attending any social functions. Certainly not a ball. She didn’t even have a pumpkin, much less a fairy godmother, and she wasn’t about to charge anything on his account, not so much as a pair of socks.

  Aunt Manie had supper ready when Callie got back to the neat little bungalow three blocks off Main Street, having left in the middle of the afternoon to get started packing for her stay at the clinic.

  Callie felt as if she’d barely managed to get out of the lion’s den with her skin intact. “Aunt Manie, do you know what he—”

  “I’m back in the kitchen. Go wash up while I stick the rolls in the microwave to heat. ‘Twon’t take but a second, these newfangled ovens can ruin food fast as they can cook it.”

  Callie washed her hands, splashed cold water on her face, ran a comb through her hair and felt marginally refreshed. She was as stiff and sore as if she’d had every muscle in her body clenched for the past few hours, which was little less than the truth.

  “Do you know what he did?” She started in as soon as she’d stirred her iced tea.

  “What who did? Have some butter beans.”

  “Your precious boy, that’s who. He invited me—no, he didn’t invite me, he ordered me—well, he didn’t even do that, he just told that Ostrich woman I was going to the ball with him.”

  “Estrich. Mmm, I was wondering how he was going to get out of it. She’s been pestering him, both her and Bianca, ever since last year’s ball. Been competing over one thing or another ever since they were in grade school. I swear, half the things they fight over they don’t really want, they just can’t stand for the other one to get a jump on them.”

  “Wait a minute—how he’s going to get out of what? Didn’t you hear what I said? He expects me to go to a ball! Aunt Manie, I don’t go to balls. I’ve never even been to a dance except for one square dance out at the old Polirosa in Tobaccoville.”

  “Nothing to it. I’ve been to dozens of balls. I even linedanced once just to prove I wasn’t over the hill.”

  “Yes, well I’m not over it, either, but that doesn’t mean I—”

  “Here, have a helping of these sweet potatoes. I’d like to borrow that suitcase of yours if you don’t mind. Never did get the latch fixed on mine. Besides, mine’s genuine cowhide. Weighs a ton.”

  They talked some more, but when Callie turned out the kitchen light an hour later, nothing had been settled. She was still going to have to go to that darned ball or come up with a good reason why she couldn’t. According to her aunt, her boy was at a dangerous age, feeling his biological clock ticking away.

  “I thought only women had biological clocks.”

  “Yes, well…men have a longer shelf life, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do something silly, just because they’re a few weeks away from a certain birthday.”

  “And Hank is?”

  Manie gave her a knowing look. “Those two females, Pansy and Bianca, have been doing their darnedest for years to trap that poor boy into marrying them.”

  “Aunt Manie, he’s hardly a boy.” Lordy, anything less boyish would be hard to imagine. He even had her hormones sizzling like batter in a skillet full of hot fat. She’d watched Doc plunge needles into the quaking flesh of some of the primest male behinds in Yadkin County without the least twinge of interest.

  “That may be, but with that pair breathing down his neck, one false step and his goose is cooked. He deserves better than that.”

  “He’s certainly old enough to watch his step. He doesn’t need either of us to watch it for him. Besides, I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I only brought enough for a week. Washable stuff. Shorts, skirts and a few blouses. And only two pairs of shoes, these pumps for Sunday and the sandals I wore traveling.”

  “Make a list of what you need and we’ll go shopping after supper before I leave.”

  “We’ll do nothing of the kind. I have to work, and your friend’s coming to drive you to the clinic. If I need to shop, I can do it myself. I’ve been buying my own clothes ever since I was in the fourth grade.”

  Manie’s look spoke volumes, which Callie chose to ignore. She felt like throwing herself on her aunt’s flat bosom and pleading with her not to leave, which was alarming in itself, because Callie wasn’t the type to lean on anyone. She was a leaning post herself. Always had been. She fully intended to play the same role in her aunt’s golden years, only first they had to get through this surgery business, and to do that, Callie had to take over Manie’s job so the poor woman wouldn’t worry herself to a frazzle.

  “All right, I’ll look after your boy for you, and I’ll water your plants and I’ll go to the darned ball. You just remember, though—you owe me for this, Manie Riley, because going to balls is over and above the call of duty.”

  Manie only smiled.

  Four

  The dress was all wrong. Callie knew it as soon as she slipped it over her head, but it was too late. All the shops were closed. As rattled as she was, if she had to do it over again, she’d probably choose something even worse.

  It was a prom dress, not a ball gown. Pale yellow, never her best color, with cap sleeves and a full gored skirt. She should’ve gone shopping before her aunt left for Midland. Manie would’ve known better. But she’d been trying so hard to pretend she had everything under control.

  She had nothing under control, in spite of all the checklists her aunt had left her, all the checklists she’d made herself. Someone had once told her she used lists to give herself an illusion of control over life.

  It wasn’t working.

  She heard the doorbell and gave one last tug at her low neckline, one last pat to her hair, rinsed in lemon water for the occasion, and one last thumbs-up to the frumpy looking creature in the mirror.

  Yellow, for heaven’s sake. Black would’ve been better—a woman couldn’t go wrong with a little black dress. But black made her look even more washed out than yellow. Blue would’ve been good, but the only blue she could find in her price range was slit up to the gazoo. Not even in Texas would she expose her gazoo, not for all the Hank Langleys in the world.

  Wish me luck, Aunt Manie. I’m off to protect your sensitive, vulnerable boy from all those underdressed, overpainted hussies. Thank goodness, she thought, hurrying to answer the front door, her sense of humor had survived the trip, even if her common sense had fallen by the wayside.

  Hank wondered why he hadn’t just sent a car and driver to pick up his secretary. What if she misunderstood this whole affair? What if she thought he was personally interested in her?

  He shot his cuff and glanced at his wrist. One minute and counting. He jammed his thumb on the buzzer again. Where the hell was she? The house wasn’t all that big. He should know—he’d bought it for Manie when he found out she’d been paying rent on it all these years.

  He’d tried to get her to move into his father’s old house, but she claimed it was big enough for an army, and besides, she wouldn’t be able to set her plants around on the windowsills.

  The door opened a crack and he found himself peering into an enormous silver-blue eye. “Aren’t you ready yet?” he demanded, sounding more impatient than he’d intended.

  “I don’t think so. Why don’t you just go without me? I’m not a very good dancer, anyway.”

  “Neither am I. Come along, Callie, grab your wrap and bag and let’s go, I need to be there.”

  “I don’t have an evening bag, I forgot to buy one.”

  “Fine. Stuff a hanky in your bosom and come on, will you?” He glanced at his watch again. Dammit, with Manie gone, someone needed to be there to oversee this production. He trusted his staff implicitly, but he had a feeling Murphy’s Law might prevail tonight. Whatever could go wrong, would go wrong.

  He heard her sigh and wondered if he should’ve sent her flowers. It hadn’t occurred to him. That was the ki
nd of thing Manie did for him.

  But then, if he’d sent flowers, she might have misunderstood, and the last thing he needed was one more woman putting the moves on him. Not that he thought of Callie as a woman. At least, not an eligible woman. Hell, he was old enough to be her father.

  Yellow. She looked like a wildflower in that getup. Not a bad stem, either, come to think of it. Unbidden, his gaze skimmed her slender lines in masculine appreciation. He cleared his throat and said, “Look, Callie, this isn’t a regular date, it’s a—”

  “I know that,” she said quietly, in that soft, oddly husky voice of hers. Texas was southern, but there was something different about that Carolina drawl.

  “Yeah, well. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “I’m your employee, sir. Employees are not paid to get the wrong idea.”

  Was she being facetious? He glanced at her profile, checking her lips. No twitch. They had a little more color than usual, but no hint of a smile.

  He couldn’t read her. It was beginning to bug him, because most women were clear as glass. They wanted what he represented, even if they had to take him to get it. Even those with money wanted the power and prestige he represented. He’d managed over the years to put things into perspective so that his ego remained unscathed. Being a businessman, he understood assets and liabilities. But there were times when too many assets could become a liability.

  Hank handed the keys of his car to the bartender’s kid, who helped out on these occasions. Callie was still trying to deal with a bunch of petticoats when he got around to the passenger side. Obviously she wasn’t used to dealing with all that extra yardage. Flushed, she looked almost pretty. In a fresh-faced, big-eyed sort of way. Not that he had any intention of telling her so. No point in taking the risk of crossing any invisible lines.

  The outside of the two-and-a-half-story clubhouse was not particularly impressive. Hank liked it that way. It made the foyer’s polished walnut paneling, the lush Oriental rugs and the gleaming touches of brass all the more impressive by contrast.