Texas Millionaire

by Dixie Browning

  This thing—this Avenger—didn’t have a hollow bone in its body. Sleek as a bullet, it was so luxurious she was almost afraid to relax for fear of spilling the drink Hank had placed in her hand before they took off. She’d sniffed it, detected alcohol and decided she’d be better off abstaining. If they were going to crash hundreds of miles from civilization in the middle of the Texas desert, she would need all her wits about her.

  Hank had assured her it was safe. He was a pilot, he’d told her, even if he wasn’t flying the plane himself today. That meant they had two pilots. Two pilots, one plane, one passenger. That improved the odds, didn’t it?

  Lordy, this thing was unbelievable! She’d flown coach once, to Norfolk, to her mother’s brother’s wedding. It was nothing at all like this.

  There was an office, a kitchen, a bedroom and two bathrooms. This, she supposed, was the living room. There was a sofa. There were tables inlaid in a checkerboard pattern, and deep, cushiony chairs. There was even a vase of fresh flowers on a desk under the windows.

  Hank had settled her in, fastened a tapestry seat belt across her lap, handed her a drink and a copy of the Midland Reporter-Telegram, and disappeared behind a teakpaneled door in the front of the plane.

  Didn’t they have a flight attendant? She could have done with some female companionship. Someone who wouldn’t consider her weak for falling apart.

  The plane lurched. Her drink sloshed. Callie squealed and gripped the armrests.

  “How’s it going?” asked Hank, emerging from the front room, or whatever they called the little room up front where the driver sat.

  He sat down beside her, slinging one leg over the other. Manie said damp weather always made his leg hurt, that he’d been injured in a crash in the Persian Gulf. Callie wondered if he was hurting now, considering a light mist of rain had been falling when they’d left Royal. She probably ought to offer him sympathy, but she didn’t have that much to spare.

  “You haven’t touched your drink,” he noticed.

  “I didn’t need it.”

  His smile was teasing, making her feel about five years old.

  “How long before we get there?”

  The plane chose that moment to drop like a rock, sending Callie’s heart into her throat. She shut her eyes and whimpered.

  “Clear air turbulence. We’ll be out of it in no time.”

  She squeaked out a question, her eyes still tightly closed. “Are we going to crash?”

  “You know, it’s a fascinating thing, clear air turbulence. They’re getting a real good handle on it. At this altitude there’s no real danger, but if it’ll make you feel any safer, the Avenger is equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She’s got a fifteen-second warning of any air turbulence ahead.”

  “Fifteen seconds?” Her eyes were still closed.

  “At the speed we’re moving, that’s more than enough time to take evasive action.”

  “Then why didn’t we evade it?”

  He didn’t bother to tell her that the technology was still brand-new. That there were still a few bugs. That sometimes a sudden, evasive action could be just as turbulent

  They experienced another small quiver, and then the flight smoothed out, as if they were floating in a swimming pool. “Open your eyes, honey.”

  In a tight little gesture, she shook her head. “Tell me when it’s over. I’ll look then.”

  Over the muted drone of two powerful jet engines, she heard the faint sound of his breathing, felt the warmth of his body caress her sweat-damp skin. Something soft and moist and warm brushed her mouth, and every instinct in her body urged her to lean forward. If it hadn’t been for the seat belt holding her in place, she’d have wrapped herself around him tighter than kudzu on a dead pine tree.

  Light filled the cabin. Heat filled her body. Something that felt like electricity filled her senses as he twisted his head to deepen the area of contact, only it was far warmer, mellower, than any mere electrical current could possibly be.

  If there was another world outside the haven of Hank’s arms, it ceased to exist. She was vaguely aware of the feel of his hands on her lap, and then there was a click and he lifted her right up out of her chair and swung her onto the sofa.

  A shaft of sunlight slanted across the cabin like a benediction. Callie murmured something irrelevant, and then he was kissing her again, and this time she was fully aware of where she was, who she was with, and what they were doing.

  And none of it mattered. She was miles off the ground, in the arms of a man whose sex appeal and womanizing were legendary, and none of it seemed to matter.

  She felt his tongue on her throat, and then she felt his touch on her breast. “Oh, wait—no—I don’t think—” She gasped for air and tried again. “That is, I’m all right now, so you don’t have to—I mean, we shouldn’t—”

  “Shh. It’s all right, Callie. We’ll talk about it later, whenever you’re ready. Looks like smooth flying weather now, all the way to PTI.”

  “Piedmont Triangle? But that’s in Greensboro.”

  “So?”

  “But I live in Yadkin County.”

  “So we’ll rent a car and drive. It’s practically next door.”

  “By Texas rules, you mean.”

  He grinned, and Callie had a feeling she was in far more trouble than she’d suspected. Her parents she could deal with. Insurance agents, too, if she had to.

  Hank Langley, with that wicked gleam in his eyes, was something else again.

  Eight

  Leaving Pete to secure the plane, Hank rented a car, picked up a map and asked Callie where she wanted to stop for lunch.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Stop trying to manage me.”

  “Someone has to. You’re not doing such a great job on your own,” he said laconically.

  She came to a complete halt in the middle of the concourse, oblivious to the crowds hurrying past on all sides. Just once—just once—she’d like to rattle his cage, she really would. “I’m managing just fine, thank you. Now come on, we still have a long drive ahead.”

  “Have you thought about where we’re going to put up for the night? Is there a decent hotel in this little town of yours?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. Home. She’d been going home. But her home was no longer there.

  It was as if the sun had just slipped behind a cloud.

  “Callie, stop fighting me. You’re as brittle as thin ice. Ease up and let me get you through the next few hours. Then, once you’ve got your land legs under you, you can take over and run the entire show single-handedly. Do we have a deal?”

  People were looking at them.

  Correction: they were looking at Henry Harrison Langley, m. He was well worth looking at, with his lean, angular face, his lean, rugged body encased in lean, boot-top jeans and a Western-cut shirt. How could any man who’d been born into money look so tough, so self-sufficient? Weren’t the idle rich supposed to be soft and spoiled?

  Hank wasn’t soft. If he was spoiled, it was only from having women chasing after him constantly. He didn’t play golf. He didn’t play tennis. Even when he appeared to be idle, that steel-trap brain of his was clicking away at the speed of sound.

  “Callie? Do we have a deal? Ah, hell, you’re still feeling queasy, aren’t you?”

  “I never felt queasy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Taking her arm, he steered her toward the exit. The glass-and-steel double doors slid noiselessly open, as if eager to do his bidding.

  “I guess I wouldn’t mind ginger ale and some crackers,” she allowed. “Not because I’m queasy, just to tide me over.” He gave her that all-seeing look that made her feel as if he could read the labels in the back of her shirt.

  So she was queasy. So maybe she should’ve eaten something before they took off. Heaven knows, she wouldn’t have dared once they were in the air. She hadn’t even thought to stop and eat breakfast before they lef
t, she’d been so busy making lists of what needed doing before she closed up Aunt Manie’s house: who needed to be contacted, what she needed to pack to go home, what could be left behind.

  If there was one thing Callie prided herself on being, it was organized. Organized and efficient. And responsible. Which was three things, actually.

  Mama left the windows open, but I’d better close all but those on the porch, because it’s going to rain.

  Mama said make a bologna sandwich, but it’s got that shiny green look. Peanut butter and banana would be safer.

  Daddy said he was out of shaving cream, I’d better add it to the shopping list. Oh, shoot, he forgot to leave me any money today for the class trip.

  Oh, yes, Callie had several admirable qualities, only somewhere between Texas and Carolina, the portion of her brain that drove her common sense seemed to have blown a circuit.

  “You need more than a snack, what you need is a good solid meal.”

  “Quit trying to force-feed me, if I need more than crackers I’ll tell you, all right?” He’d offered her lunch aboard the plane, but her stomach had been turning somersaults before they’d ever left the ground. And that was before all the air turbulence. Before he’d kissed her. On a turbulence scale of one-to-ten, the kiss alone was an easy fifteen.

  They were on 1-40 headed west when her stomach started to rumble. Hank didn’t say a word, he just pulled off at the next exit and cruised slowly along a strip lined with fastfood outlets. “What’ll it be, burgers, dogs, subs? If you’d rather, we can find something more substantial.”

  “Oh, all right, if you’re that hungry I guess I might as well have a little something, too.” She wouldn’t be able to choke down more than a few bites, but at least it would keep him from nagging her.

  Her stomach growled again. She shot him a sidelong look. He was grinning, darn him. Neither of them said a word as he turned into a familiar franchise, followed the line of traffic to the drive-up window and placed an order for two bacon-cheeseburgers, two orders of fries, a milk and a large iced tea.

  He paid. She didn’t argue. She didn’t even want to think what the trip across country in a private jet had cost. Did people still get thrown into debtor’s prison, or did they simply declare bankruptcy? She couldn’t even afford to ask.

  Hank pulled the rental car under a big shady oak tree on the edge of the parking lot. Leaving the engine running and the air conditioner fighting the ninety-eight-degree temperature, he opened the sack and parceled out the food.

  “I can’t eat all this.”

  “Eat what you want and feed the rest to the sparrows.” Eyes masked behind wraparound sunglasses, he leaned back against the door and studied the small woman in the wilted cotton outfit. She was too pale. Even her lips were pale.

  Her lips…

  She took the first tentative nibble as if she expected the cheeseburger to bite back. The second nibble was larger, the third was downright enthusiastic. A few minutes later she crumpled the wrapper, sighed, popped the last French fry into her mouth and daintily wiped her fingers on the paper napkin.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Cool and collected again, she refastened her seat belt, folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to get it in gear. Feeling an unholy urge to shake her loose from that false composure she wore like a coronation robe, he told himself he’d give a block of stock to find out what was going on inside her head.

  Thank God she didn’t know what was going on inside his. What was going on inside his jeans was bad enough. It was downright embarrassing. He was nearly forty years old, long past the age of instant, irrational lust. Callie was twenty-two. If he was any judge of women—and among his close friends, he was considered something of an expert—her sexual experience was negligible, if not nil. He’d heard of middle-aged men losing their minds, chasing after kids half their age. He’d always thought they were pretty damned pathetic.

  Callie stirred restlessly. “If you’re ready to leave, we’d better get going. This time of day, traffic on I-40 between here and Winston is pretty hectic. Once we turn off onto 421, it’ll be some better, but not a whole lot”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “I’d like that in writing, please. Notarized.”

  “What, my word’s not good enough?”

  “Actually it is. I guess I’m just not used to having people take over my responsibilities.” She sounded surprised, maybe even a little pleased.

  “Relax and enjoy it.”

  “Ha.”

  But she did. At least she was no longer gripping her fingers in a white-knuckled knot. He had a feeling she hadn’t slept since the call had come in. Those shadows under her eyes were a sure tip-off. The look of fragility that made him want to feed her, shelter her, protect her, even though he knew damned well that sleep or no sleep, she was a lot tougher than she looked.

  So why did he keep thinking of her as tender?

  Why did the word describe the way he felt about her?

  One of several ways.

  Hank pulled off the highway at a truck stop and studied the sleeping woman beside him. He’d removed her glasses once she’d dozed off. Without them, she looked as vulnerable as a fledgling bird. He hated to wake her, but unless the map was wrong, they were about to run out of county. He needed instructions on how to locate this house of hers.

  Or at least locate the place where it had stood for more than a century, according to Manie, before it burned to the ground.

  Hank had called her from the plane. He hadn’t told Callie about it yet. He’d intended to, but then Greg had called to say that Blake would be getting in by the end of the week, and Sterling was already reorganizing the details. As CEO of Churchill Enterprises, Sterling was used to running the show, but then so was Hank. In some cases, too many Alpha males could be a problem, but this mission was going to call for men who could think on their feet and weren’t afraid to improvise at a moment’s notice.

  So he hadn’t told Callie about Manie, and then they’d hit that rough patch and he’d had to ease her fears and somehow, things had gotten out of hand.

  Callie began to stir. “Wha.are we there yet?”

  “I thought you might need a pit stop. I got a couple of cold drinks out of the machine. We’re in Yadkin County, but I’m not sure just where. Want to give me some directions?”

  “I’d better freshen up first.”

  “Take your time.”

  On the way back she stopped inside and bought a couple of candy bars. Handing him one, she peeled the paper off the other and took a dainty nibble off one corner. Hell, even her teeth turned him on.

  “Get back on the highway, take the next exit we come to, head north, go about a mile and a half and take the first left. About a quarter of a mile farther you’ll come to Riley Road. That’s Grandpop’s.”

  The acrid smell of smoke seeped through the car’s ventilation system long before they turned off onto Riley Road. Passing a gray modular home with a plastic swing set and a pickup truck in the front yard, they continued to the end of the graveled road, straddling ruts and dodging potholes caused by recent rains and heavy traffic.

  It was devastating. Trees that had stood even longer than the house had been badly scorched, a few burned black. What might once have been a fine old lawn had been completely churned up by a variety of heavy firefighting equipment. Drink cans and food wrappers had been carelessly tossed out, possibly by neighbors who’d come to see what they could do to help. More likely by gawkers, drawn like ambulance chasers to any spectacle.

  He heard her sharply indrawn breath. She was gripping his thigh, leaning across him for a better view, and he was tempted to make a fast three-point turn and get her the hell away. But he couldn’t do that. Not even if she’d allow it. Aside from the practical angle, she needed closure.

  “The chimneys,” she whispered. “Grace said they were still standing last night. Was it only last night?”

  “Th
ey’re still here, standing guard.” Standing guard over what? God, he sounded like a two-bit philosopher. Clearing his throat, he made a stab at something a little more down to earth. “Good masonry,” he said, as if that could somehow make up for the loss of everything else.

  There were three of them, one of rock, two of brick, standing tall and desolate amidst the blackened, still smoking rubble. Callie said, “I have to get out.”

  Wordlessly he nodded, and got out to stand beside her. For what seemed hours they gazed out over the scene of desecration. Charred timbers. Shattered glass. Twisted metal—some short lengths of pipe, a section of gutter. A few blackened appliances.

  It was still light, but the sun had already disappeared behind a low ridge of haze-shrouded mountains in the distance. The air, hot and thick with humidity, was that peculiar shade of dusky gold. He wanted her away from here. Maybe he should’ve let her fly commercial. At least that way, by the time she got here the ruins might’ve stopped smoking.

  But he couldn’t let her come alone. She needed him, and as crazy as it was, he needed to be here with her. “Callie, there’s nothing we can do here until things cool off.”

  “It was lavender.”

  “What was lavender?”

  “My house. I tried to think of it as gray because lavender sounds sort of odd for a house, but that’s what it was. It was called Hawaiian Heliotrope. I got a real good deal on the paint because nobody else wanted it. Sixty percent off. That’s the only reason I could afford it without going into debt, which I hate like anything to do. I don’t even own a credit card. Oh, and I painted the kitchen wing myself, did I tell you? It was only one story, so I could reach it with a stepladder. I was going to have the wiring redone next, but—” A stricken look came over her. He started to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but she didn’t give him time. “But Grace said they had an awful storm, with lots of lightning and all. She said she heard a transformer blow up, so maybe…”

  She swallowed audibly. He wished she’d just break down and cry and get it over with, because nonstop talking wasn’t going to get the job done. Sooner or later, she was going to have to come up for air, and when she did it would still be there waiting for her. The ashes of all her dreams.