He still had several hours yet before he had to catch his flight to Reno. His shirt would be dry for sure by then. As for his jeans...
He stretched out his legs across the entire depth of the small balcony. His jeans would have to dry on his stupid ass.
He hadn’t been sitting there five minutes when he heard the door slide open.
“Here.” Billie held out a tall glass. “Don’t worry. It’s plain old iced tea. No chai. No spice. Nothing but grocery store orange pekoe. No lemon, either, because I’m out.”
He’d automatically wrapped his fingers around the glass. But she didn’t immediately release it.
“Unless you prefer cucumber-and-basil-infused water.” A faint smile played around her lips.
He chuckled. “Not in this lifetime. Tea’s fine. Thanks.”
She released the glass and after a hesitation that he might have imagined, set aside the magazine basket and moved his shirt from the side chair to spread it out over the low table. “I do have a dryer,” she said, sounding unusually diffident. “If you want to, um, dry your clothes in it.”
“Sunshine and heat’ll do.”
She sat down in the chair and sipped her own glass of tea.
She’d changed into a faded blue T-shirt that said Rice across her breasts and a pair of shorts that exposed less leg than her usual short skirts. The towel was gone, and her hair hung in a damp-looking braid over one shoulder.
She looked about thirteen years old.
Except for the curves under Rice, that was.
He looked away, but his gaze landed on the magazines inside her wicker basket. An image of Ben Robinson was on the cover of the top one. Ben Fortune Robinson. A legitimate heir of Gerald Robinson.
And Grayson’s half brother.
He stifled a sigh and focused on the ice cubes bobbing in his tea. “Why economics?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why’d you get a degree in economics?”
“My father teaches economics.”
“So, following in his footsteps?”
“That’s what my parents planned, anyway. They’re not exactly thrilled with my real estate career choice.” Her lip twisted as she took a sip of tea.
He gestured, taking in the balcony and view. “If it means you can pay for an address like this, what’s the problem?”
“It’s not what they had planned for me. You know how parents can be when they make plans for their children.”
“Only things my mom keeps making plans for these days are grandchildren.”
Billie smiled then. “A common affliction I am very familiar with, actually. My mother already has half a dozen grandchildren, but she thinks I’m disregarding my duties by not increasing their numbers.” Seeming to relax, she stretched out her slender legs until she could prop her heels on the corner of the table next to his shirt.
Her toenails were painted in brilliant red. And she had a narrow black ring around her middle toe.
Then he looked closer, not caring that he was pretty much staring. It wasn’t a plain black ring. It was a delicate, filigree design. “Is that a tattoo?”
She curled her toes, as if she wanted to hide the evidence. Her brown eyes skated over him, then away. “Yes.”
He smiled slightly. “Well, you’re just full of surprises, Rice.”
Her cheeks were pink.
He supposed it might be because of the heat, but he doubted it.
“I got it when I turned twenty.” She wriggled her toes again. “Seems silly now.”
“Because...?”
“Tattoo on a toe? Hurt like the dickens.” She shrugged. “But I was trying to impress a guy and I was young and stupid. Fortunately, I got over the habit.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Darlin’, you may not be stupid but you’re still young.”
“You say that like you’re ancient.”
“And your point?”
She gave a huffing laugh. “Obviously, you’re not.”
“I’ve got thirteen years and a lotta miles on you, darlin’.”
She rolled her eyes and sat forward to grab the glossy magazine from the basket. She flipped it open and waved it at him, tapping the photograph of him from the finals of Rodeo Austin. “And that’s why Weird Life Magazine just named you one of the most eligible bachelors in Texas for the third time running. Because you’ve got so many miles on you.” She closed the magazine and tossed it onto the cushion beside him. “Every time you come to my office, you send half the women there into palpitations.”
“Only half?”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “You know good and well what your own appeal is. You don’t need me stroking your ego.”
“I could think of a few other things.” He waited a beat, enjoying the way her cheeks turned red, then fed her own words back to her. “But that’s not relevant.”
Her eyes flew to his, then skittered away.
He changed tack. “What happened to the guy? The tattoo guy. Was he impressed?”
She spread her hands slightly, seeming to relax a little. “Briefly.”
“No tears? No broken heart?”
Her lips curved ruefully as she shook her head. “Neither his nor mine.”
“Ever had one?”
Her chin angled. “Have you?”
“Hell yeah. Miss Frost ruined me for years.”
She laughed. When it faded, she looked reflective as she toyed with her braid. “I don’t think I have ever cried over a guy. Much less had a broken heart. Disappointed heart?” She made a face. “That’s pretty typical. My friends all think I’m a cynic.”
“Are they right?”
Her shoulders shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just know it’s easier to focus on my work than my personal life. I like being able to depend on myself. If I let me down, it’s my own darn problem.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I doubt that happens too often.”
Her lashes swept down. Her cheeks looked pink again.
He shifted, and the magazine slid off the couch. He picked it up, closed it and tossed it back into the wicker basket.
“I didn’t graduate from college,” he admitted abruptly, though he wasn’t real sure why. Maybe because of that photograph of his übersuccessful half brother on the cover. The half brother he’d so far refused to meet. Even though both Jayden and Nate told him that Ben—as well as all the other Robinson siblings—were decent enough people despite having Gerald as a father. “I took classes now and then, but there was never enough time to do the job right. Which means you, young lady, are way more educated than I am.”
“Grayson Gear is turning record profits and I saw you rubbing arms with the governor.” Billie’s voice turned dry. “The lack of a college degree doesn’t seem to have held you back much.”
He grunted. Maybe there was some truth in that. To hear Jayden tell it, Gerald’s legitimate kids—all eight of ’em—were educated up the wazoo.
He rubbed at a sudden pain between his eyebrows.
“What kind of classes did you take?” she asked him.
He dropped his hand. Billie was looking at him.
“Agriculture. Animal husbandry.” He grimaced. “Marketing.”
She smiled slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with marketing.”
“There is when you’re pulling a D in it. Believe me, I wasn’t breaking any records when it came to my truncated college education.” He bent his knees suddenly and sat forward to grab the magazine back out of the wicker basket. “My sister-in-law used to write for Weird Life.”
“No kidding? Small world. I sold the publisher’s son a house in Houston last year. She doesn’t write for them anymore?”
He shook his head. When Ariana met Jayden, she’d been writing a series on “Becoming a Fortune” and had been investigating all the deep dark secrets behind Gerald Fortune Robinson’s sexual peccadilloes. More specifically, the results of those peccadilloes. She’d given up the series and her job when she’d fallen
for Jayden, but that didn’t make the things she’d uncovered go away. They were just being publicly dissected by other members of the media now. Scuttlebutt was that even Gerald’s father, Julius Fortune, had been incapable of fidelity.
Made a man wonder if there was a faulty gene in the family. And God knew Grayson had never been interested in committing himself to one woman.
“You know who this is?” He tapped the magazine cover.
“The guy who runs Robinson Tech,” Billie answered without hesitation. “Can’t own a computer these days without knowing that. Not around these parts, anyway.” She sipped her tea. “I helped one of his secretaries find a house my first week at Austin Elite. Nice girl. It was her and her husband’s first home purchase. We’re closing escrow on it soon.”
“That guy’s my half brother. We have the same father. Only, good old dad decided to marry Ben’s mama even though he’d already knocked up mine.”
Jesus, Joseph and Mary. He couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth. What was wrong with him?
He tossed the magazine back in the basket and shoved to his feet. “I need to get moving.” He grabbed his still-damp shirt.
Her brows pulled together. “I thought your flight wasn’t until this evening.”
It wasn’t. But he was obviously losing his freaking mind.
She stood a lot more slowly than he had, looking wary and bewildered as she set aside her glass of tea. “Grayson—”
“I’ll talk to you after Reno. I don’t know when that’ll be, exactly. Events go all week and it depends how my runs go. If I’ll be home early—”
“—or staying through the final short round,” she finished for him. “I know how it works.”
He wished he could say he knew how his brain was working at the moment. “When I do get to town, I want to go back and see that place we were at today. If it’s still available.” He pulled open the slider and went inside.
She followed him, practically jogging across the wood floor to keep up with him. He grabbed his hat from the kitchen, and when he reached for the front door handle, she covered his hand with his. “Grayson, slow down. Let me get my shoes at least. I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She looked ready to argue.
“I’m supposed to meet up before the flight with an old friend.” It was a true enough. He’d gotten an unexpected message at the hotel, though he hadn’t intended to follow up on it. “I don’t know if you follow barrels still, but maybe you’ve heard of her. She won last year’s final in barrel racing. Lives here in Austin. Bethany Belmont.”
Billie was silent for half a second before her slender hand moved away. “Never heard of her.” She folded her arms across Rice. “I’ll contact your mother about when you can fit in viewing the Harmon ranch.” She smiled, though there was no humor in it. “If you want your friend to see it, feel free to bring her along.”
He’d just dumped the truth in her lap about his being related to Austin’s own version of royalty and she was going to be pissy about something as inconsequential as Bethany Belmont? “I think she could care less about it, but who knows?” He pulled open the door. “Sorry about your shoes.”
* * *
“Get a decent draw?”
Grayson glanced at the young man who’d come up beside him on a good-looking sorrel. It was the first time Max Vargas had addressed him directly in months. “Decent enough.” Shortly before their event, the draw had been made for the steer each bulldogger would run that morning.
He lowered the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Vix shifted slightly, but soon settled, just as Grayson had known he would. “See you’re on Deca,” he said to Max. “He’s a good ride. You been on him before?”
Max shook his head. His black hat was pulled low over his eyes, hiding most of his expression.
“He’ll do everything right when you let him do it.”
Max’s mouth was still visible. It curled with obvious annoyance at Grayson’s advice. “I know how to handle him.”
Good enough. Max’s first go would immediately follow Grayson’s. Maybe that was the only point of the brief exchange.
Grayson dismissed the cocky young man from his thoughts as he looked toward his hazer. “You feeling good this morning, Lou?”
“Good as ever.” Lou Blackhorn was a bulldogger himself, though he’d been sidelined for a few months as he recovered from an injury. But that didn’t stop him from hazing. “Don’t go breaking the barrier, now.”
Grayson grinned. Long as Lou warned him not to break the barrier—the breakaway rope stretched across the front of Grayson’s box that couldn’t be crossed before the steer reached its predetermined head start—he hadn’t had a single broken barrier penalty. A bulldogger could have a smokin’ fast time throwing down a steer, but it got shot to hell if he got hit with that ten-second penalty.
He rode Vix deep into the box and didn’t even need to coax him into backing into the far corner, away from the steer’s pen. As usual, he had his two best horses with him, but Vix always ran best first thing in the morning. Van, on the other hand, loved the night lights and crowds.
Grayson sat relaxed and easy in the saddle, but inside, he felt the familiar ripple of nerves. He considered those nerves to be a good thing. If he wasn’t nervous, it was guaranteed he wouldn’t have a good run.
Despite the fact that their first go was during slack, it was still a crowded affair, with the dozen or so officials and livestock handlers also packed into the area. And inside the metal pen between Grayson’s box and Lou’s, the steer was huffing noisily.
“Sounds like this ol’ boy’s anxious to be out this morning, too.” The gray-haired man manning the chute grinned at Grayson. He’d wait until he got the nod from Grayson before tripping the lever that released the steer.
“That’s the way I like them.” He held the reins low and easy, catching Lou’s eyes for a second. His blood thrummed in his ears and he looked down the arena for a moment, envisioning his ride. “All right, buddy,” he murmured. Vix might not have been one of professional rodeo’s horses of the year like Deca, but he was one of Grayson’s best. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.” Then he gave the nod.
After that came the always strange fusion of blur and crystal sharp detail.
The steer bolting from the chute. Lou following a moment later. The snapping sound of the barrier releasing. The launch of horseflesh beneath him, going zero to thirty in the span of a second.
The steer was fast.
Vix was faster.
Then Grayson was sliding from horse toward steer, catching one arm around one of the fast-running beast’s horns and wrapping his hand around the other horn.
He felt his heels dig good and deep in the dirt and he wrangled the steer around until the animal was on the ground, four hooves pointing the same direction.
It was textbook perfect.
The moment Gray let the steer go, the animal was back on his feet, chasing around in circles, frisky as all get-out. That’s the way it usually went.
Grayson didn’t even know what his time was, except that it’d felt decent. Mostly, as he rolled to his feet and brushed the dirt off his hands, he was feeling that immediate satisfaction of knowing he’d just thrown a good steer that was twice his weight. His rib wasn’t hurting. His thigh wasn’t aching.
If he didn’t let himself think about the look on Billie’s face when he’d left her apartment the day before, it was pretty much a perfect morning.
“And we’re off to a fine start, folks,” the announcer was saying. “That’s the Big G outta Texas with four-point-two-o-o seconds! Grayson’s an old-timer out here, showing all them young bucks how it’s done.”
There was a smattering of laughter and applause, more from the other bulldoggers and hazers waiting on their go-round than from the small crowd of onlookers sitting in the bleachers around the arena.
Grayson waved his hat once as he jogged to the
edge of the arena, where Lou was already waiting with Vix.
“Good run, Gray.” Lou handed over the reins.
“Only ’cause you kept that son of a gun where I needed him.” He swung up into the saddle again, intending to hang around to see how everyone else did. Plus, Lou had already told him he was hazing for a couple other guys.
Including Max Vargas.
It was a common enough occurrence. A good hazer was worth his weight in gold and typically got a nice cut of the bulldogger’s payoff when he was in the money. But out of the dozens of entrants, only a handful would end up in the money. Even when Lou did compete himself, he also did a lot of hazing because he had two ex-wives and four kids he was supporting.
“And up next in the box is Max Vargas,” the announcer was drawling, “outta the fine capital of Texas. Max is standing at number seventeen in the world right now and he’s on last year’s horse of the year, so let’s see what he and Deca can do-o-o.”
Max’s nerves as he and Deca settled back into the corner of the box were easily visible to Grayson. He was holding the reins tight and high. Exactly the way Deca didn’t like.
“Come on, Max,” Grayson murmured. “Loosen up.”
There was no possible way the other man could have heard. Too much distance. Too much noise. Too much distraction.
But Max suddenly rolled his head around. He planted his hat down harder on his head. Then he lightened up the reins and with a nudge of his boot had Deca shimmying sideways back into the corner.
Less than half a minute later, it was all over.
“And that’s Max Vargas with a four-point-three-e-e, ladies and gentlemen. And we’ve got ourselves a fine start here this morning in Reno. Folks, let’s not let this cowboy outta the arena without a little love.”
Fortune's Homecoming Page 8
