Fortune's Homecoming

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Where’s your next rodeo after Reno? Assuming you go back for the short round, I mean.”

  “I have to go back to Reno even if I don’t because there’re a few more charity events going on. But the following weekend is Cowboy Country over the Fourth of July. I have to go Red Rock before then, though, to take care of some business. Not sure how many days it’ll take. We’re not announcing it yet, but I’m close to inking a deal with Castleton Boots to do a line for Grayson Gear.”

  Her eyes instinctively darted to the cowboy boots he was wearing. She didn’t know much about Castleton except they were Texas-based, expensive as all get-out and—according to Rhonda Dickinson, who’d worn them with everything from Daisy Duke shorts to evening gowns—supposedly worth every penny. “That sounds impressive.”

  “It’ll be impressive when we finally come to terms. You ever been to Red Rock?”

  “Once. I went to a real estate conference at the Red Rock Inn. Trés chic. I know the real estate market there is healthier than ever these days. Have you been there?”

  He smiled lazily. “Honey, I’ve crisscrossed this state so many times, there aren’t many towns I haven’t been to. Red Rock’s nice. It’s no Paseo, though.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Right. Red Rock with its famous ranches and fancy resorts versus Paseo with what? Lots of grass?”

  He didn’t take offense. “Don’t knock all that grass until you try it. Paseo may only have a handful of people calling it home, but that’s the way we like it. Won’t find Paseo in the news the way you might places like Red Rock or Horseback Hollow, even.”

  “Didn’t you have a tornado in Paseo last year? That made the news.”

  “Yeah. We were lucky. Didn’t have too much damage at the ranch. Nothing major, anyway. That’s how Jayden met his wife.”

  “Wind blew her in?”

  He chuckled. “That’s more accurate than you know. We all think Paseo is about the most perfect place on earth.”

  “I’m surprised you chose Austin, then. I know Grayson Gear’s office is here, but if you love Paseo so much why make the change?” She was genuinely curious. “Why not move your company to Paseo instead?”

  “Be careful before you talk yourself right out of a real estate commission there, sweetheart.” He was silent for a while. His long fingers tapped the crown of his hat. “Not a lot of modern technology in Paseo. Keeping a growing business going would be tough. And my twenty-some employees would balk if I asked ’em to leave all that Austin has to offer.”

  “So it makes more sense for you to come here?”

  “Basically.”

  It wasn’t quite the question she’d asked, but they’d arrived at the turnoff for the Harmon ranch, anyway.

  The gate was open and she drove through, going slowly to afford Grayson a good look. “I have two more listings to show you after this one.”

  “Afraid it won’t say home to me when we walk in the door?”

  She sent him a wry smile as she parked near the barn, the same way she had the last time they’d visited the property. “I’ll take the fifth on that, if you don’t mind.”

  He gave a bark of laughter and climbed out of the car.

  She’d made the excuse about the recent rains to justify wearing the muck boots he’d given her, but she was soon glad for them when he decided to explore outside again before heading to the house. After pulling her foot from yet another sucking hole of mud, she propped her hands on her hips and stared after him. “Grayson, I’m pretty sure we don’t need to walk all the way to the lake! Are you just avoiding looking at another house?”

  He turned back, gazing at her over the rims of his sunglasses.

  She could imagine the sight she made. Mud reaching halfway up her boots. Mud on her butt from when she’d slipped. Mud on her hands from when she’d tried to catch herself. “At this rate, I’m going to have to hose myself off.”

  “Shouldn’t have turned up your pointy little nose when I offered to hold your hand, then.” He headed back toward her, grinning. “You could always jump in the shallow end of the pool. I’d make sure you wouldn’t drown.” He wrapped his hand around her waist, lifting her from the muddy patch as if she weighed no more than a child. “All right, then. Let’s get on with it. Walk ahead of me, though, so I can see if you land in quicksand.”

  He was the quicksand.

  When he’d set off on his little walking tour, she had avoided the hand he’d offered her. It surely would have been no more disturbing than to have him lift her the way he’d just done.

  She rubbed her dirty hands on her jeans, pretending that her entire body wasn’t feeling jarred as she picked her way back over the uneven ground. The rain they’d had the day before had cooled the air a few degrees, but she was still grateful for the shade provided by the oak and mesquite trees, even though she cursed the twisted Texas cedar that kept catching the toes of her boots. Fortunately, not all the acreage was so heavily wooded. There was plenty of cleared range just ready for grazing.

  By the time they made it back to the outbuildings, her T-shirt clung to her spine and her ponytail to her sweaty neck. On top of the entire mud thing, she was having a hard time maintaining some positivity.

  Grayson, on the other hand, just looked damnably sexier than ever. The sheen of sweat on his brown throat. The way he’d rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt to his elbows. The only mud drying on him was on the soles of his Castletons and a smear along the bottom of his faded blue jeans.

  There were no longer any animals occupying the pens and stalls as they went through the largest of the barns. Primarily, the air was fresh, but there was a distinct undertone that spoke of the days when the pens and stalls had not been empty.

  It wasn’t unpleasant. Reminded her of when she and Max had spent so many hours hanging around the fairgrounds as teenagers.

  She and Grayson passed from the barn back out into the sun. “Hold up there, sweetheart.” He gestured when she glanced at him. “Got a hydrant here.”

  She turned on her mud-caked heel and joined him where he’d stopped near a tall standpipe sticking out of the ground, topped by a complicated looking spigot. He turned it on and water gushed out. Holding his arm for balance, she stuck one foot, then the other beneath the stream until her boots no longer wore two inches of caked-on mud. Then she washed off her hands and swiped them dry against the back of her T-shirt as she moved out of the splash zone. “Thanks. Water felt good.” Almost as good as the pool water had felt the first time they’d been out here.

  “Yeah. Hold this.” He pushed his cowboy hat into her hand, then ducked his head and pulled his shirt right off over it, buttons fastened and all.

  She nearly dropped the hat.

  Fortunately, he didn’t notice, since he’d basically bent in half so he could sluice water over his head.

  Then he straightened, slicking his hair back with his fingers.

  She swallowed hard, watching water slide down his roping shoulders and creep along the hard plane of his chest. Then he swiped his hand down to his belt buckle and she swallowed, finally managing to look away. She expected him to pull his shirt back over his head, but he didn’t. He just held it bunched in one hand as he took back his hat and settled it once more on his head. “Much better.” He waved his shirt in the direction of the house.

  She made a strangled sort of sound and started toward it again.

  This time, when she opened the lockbox, the house key was there. She opened one side of the hand-carved wood double doors for him, then pulled her feet out of the boots before following him inside. Even though most of the mud was gone, she didn’t want to track water inside the house. And at least the boots had done their job; her socks were dry and her jeans from the knees down where they’d been tucked into the boots were cleaner than the rest of her.

  He noticed. “Hell. I should take off my own boots.”


  She shook her head. Heaven help her if he took off even more. “No need. Your boots weren’t as bad as mine.” She gave him a wide berth as she entered the spacious foyer. Even though she’d studied the listing in preparation, the sheer amount of gleaming hardwood and rough-textured stone was astonishing.

  Even Grayson seemed awed. He pulled off his hat and looked up at the exposed beams overhead. “Damn.” He dropped his shirt on the foyer table, not seeming to notice when it slipped off the edge and onto the gleaming tile floor.

  For the first time since she’d begun showing him properties, she felt a bite of excitement over his reaction.

  She plucked his shirt off the floor and set it back on the table, following him silently as he made his way through the house. Unlike most of her clients, who either headed first for the kitchen or the bedrooms, Grayson went for the stairs. Not the grand stacked-stone staircase leading up from the large foyer, either, but the mildly more modest brick staircase leading down from a wide window-lined hall that overlooked the pool.

  It was hard not to be sidetracked by all the beauty on display—not the least of which was a shirtless Grayson himself.

  But she was supposed to be a professional, so she made a mental note of a couple obvious flaws. Several cracks in the highly polished Saltillo tile. A faint discoloration in one of the walls that could have come from water damage at one point.

  When it came to flaws where Grayson was concerned, there were more than a couple.

  A scar beneath his right shoulder blade. Another on his left side, right above his belt. Two more on his ridged abdomen.

  They didn’t do a darn thing to lessen the overall perfection of him.

  It was almost impossible not to gawk at him, but she did her best to focus instead on the house. She followed him blindly through another doorway, and had to stop short just to keep from plowing right into him.

  “Suppose the bottles are included with the price tag?”

  She looked beyond the bronzed skin three inches from her nose to the wine cellar they’d entered. More stone. More exposed wood beams. And three walls of racks holding what had to be hundreds of wine bottles inset into the brick walls. And in the center of the room a high, thick plank table surrounded by four simple wooden bar stools.

  “This is nicer than some wine tasting rooms I’ve seen,” she said.

  “Room must have a separate temperature control. It’s cooler in here than the rest of the house.” His arm brushed against hers as he pulled a bottle from one of the racks. “What d’ya say?” He nodded toward the table. “There’s a wine opener lying right there.” He gave her a devilish look. “Might be wrong, but nobody’ll know but us.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “I’m onto you, Grayson Fortune. I think there is probably very little that you do that is actually wrong.”

  “Yeah, or I’d have fired you as my agent as soon as I learned about your boss’s stupid ethics rule.” He reached out and touched her chin, closing her mouth. “Don’t look so horrified, Billie. I’ve been thinking about kissing you since the day we met. But firing you just so that I could would be wrong.” He slid the wine bottle back into the rack. He picked up the opener and tapped it twice against the wood table. “Besides. I’m a beer guy.”

  Her heart was racing. “I like beer,” she said after a moment. “And, um, and muck boots.”

  He gave her a long look. “And high-heeled apology shoes?”

  She swallowed. She’d obviously lost her mind. But right then, she wasn’t sure she cared. “I like those very, very much, too.”

  With slow deliberation, he placed the wine opener down on the table, and with just as much deliberation, placed his hands on her waist, sending her nerves into a frenzy.

  “And if I kissed you?”

  She looked at the faint cleft in his chin. At his perfectly molded lips. His deep brown eyes. She couldn’t lie to save her life. “I think I’ll like that more than apology shoes.”

  His fingers tightened slightly, drawing her closer. “Not afraid of what your boss would say if he knew?”

  She moistened her lips. “Not...not right at the moment.”

  He smiled slightly as his head lowered toward hers. “When’s the last time you kissed someone, Billie?”

  “I can’t remember,” she breathed.

  Then his lips met hers. Brushed lightly. Cautiously.

  Her head still spun and it felt like the earth was falling away. But then she realized he was lifting her onto the table. Bringing her up to his eye level. Her knees just sort of naturally parted to allow him to step even closer.

  She wasn’t even aware that she’d lifted her hands until she felt his warm, bare skin against her palms. She pressed her fingertips against his chest muscles. “When’s the last time you kissed someone?”

  “Strange,” he whispered back. “I can’t remember, either.”

  Then his mouth lowered again, and this time, there was nothing cautious about it at all.

  Sensation grabbed her by the soul and shook her hard. So hard, that when he lifted his head again and lightly rested his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath, she knew that if ever there was a good excuse to get fired, being kissed by Grayson Fortune was it. It was all she could do not to tug him down on top of her right there on the tasting table.

  “Well, that seals it,” he said huskily. His fingers trailed lightly up and down her spine, sending all manner of shivers dancing through her.

  “Seals what?”

  “I have to buy this place now.”

  It took a minute for his words to make sense. But when they did, she planted her palm against his chest and pushed him back a few inches. “What?”

  “I’m going to buy this place.”

  She blinked. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “But...but all you’ve seen of the house is the wine cellar!”

  His lips curved. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my lucky house.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “It’s where I got to finally kiss you.” He dropped another mind-melting kiss on her lips, then pulled her off the table. He didn’t seem to care that her legs were almost useless as he nudged her toward the door “Now get on it, sweetheart. Go make the deal!”

  Chapter Nine

  Thirty minutes later, it was done.

  Billie wasn’t sure if she felt faint because she’d just negotiated the largest deal of her career, or if it was still the aftereffects of kissing Grayson.

  Either way, it didn’t really matter.

  “Thanks for your time, Bob,” she said to the seller’s broker. “I’ll get the paperwork over to your office as soon as we’re back in town.”

  “Your client’s getting a heck of a deal,” he said in return. “You ever decide you want to get out from under DeForest Allen’s thumb, I’ll have a desk waiting for you here at Crenshaw.”

  She was smiling as she ended the call and went to find Grayson, who’d tired of pacing around the enormous living room while they waited for the seller’s response to the offer he’d made.

  She found him stretched out on the wide ledge of the swimming pool. Cowboy hat propped over half of his face. Still shirtless. One arm trailing in the glittering water.

  She was still wearing only her socks, so there was no way he could have heard her footsteps as she neared.

  But he still moved his hat and swung his feet down as he sat up, his sinewy muscles bulging, his abs rippling. “Well?”

  He was everything the good Lord must have intended when designing a man.

  She managed to drag her eyes up to his.

  “If they’re balking because we offered a hundred thousand less than they were asking, tell ’em I’ll give ’em full price and buy their dang wine to boot.” He pushed to his feet.

  She shook her head. “They accepted your offer. All we have to do now is get it in writing.”

  It seemed to take a moment to sink in.

  But then he whooped and swung he
r right off her feet, spinning her around in a circle.

  She laughed, caught in his infectious exhilaration. He finally set her back on her feet and grabbed her hand to pull her back into the house. She automatically turned to head for the front foyer, but he had different ideas.

  “I want to look at the rest of my house.”

  She thought of the paperwork that needed to be done as quickly as possible, and dragged her heels. Which, considering they were covered in cotton socks and the floor was covered with slick tile, turned out to be fairly ineffective. “You should have looked while I was on the phone with the owner’s broker. A verbal agreement can still go awry, Grayson.”

  “It won’t.” He’d pulled her, sliding along the floor, right to the rear staircase that led to the upper floor. “I told you. This is my lucky house. Either pick up your feet, darlin’, or I’ll pick ’em up for you.”

  She knew the basement contained the wine cellar, a workout room and another all-purpose room. The main floor had the kitchen, living and dining areas. The upper, the bedrooms.

  And after that kiss in the wine cellar, she wasn’t sure it was all that wise getting anywhere near a bedroom. The house might be vacant, but it still had enough furnishings so that it showed well to prospective buyers. It was entirely likely there were beds in the bedrooms.

  “Grayson—”

  “Too late. Seconds are money in my business, sweetheart.” He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and tossed her over his shoulder before starting up the stairs.

  “Grayson!” Her head bumped against his back and she tried to lever herself up, but his arm was clamped over her backside, keeping her firmly in place. “I’m not a sack of potatoes!”

  “I am well aware.” He patted her rump.

  She couldn’t help herself. She giggled. Gave a silent apology to independent women everywhere, then giggled some more and stared down at his very fine jean-clad rump.

  If her boss were to see her now, he’d be apoplectic and she’d be looking up Bob Crenshaw for a place to hang her real estate license.

  Fortunately, DeForest Allen wasn’t ever going to know about any of it. At least not before the deal was done. And then she’d have such a whopping commission to her credit it would all be moot.