Fortune's Homecoming

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Grayson pulled her slowly down from his shoulder and she forgot all about giggling. Even though every cell in her body was singing from the contact, she quickly evaded the hands he tried to loop around her waist. “You can look the rest of the house over, but then we really do have to get back to my office.”

  “Your fishbowl, you mean.” He hooked her around the waist from behind and kissed the back of her neck.

  She shivered and wriggled out of his hold again. “This isn’t a rodeo, Grayson. Come on.”

  “Killjoy,” he said, grinning lazily. He waved his hand. “Let’s get the thirty-second tour so we can get on to your all-important paperwork.”

  She gave him a look. “It’s your paperwork,” she reminded him. “I’m not buying a house, two barns, a guest house and a hundred acres. You are.”

  * * *

  Grayson’s brain still felt rattled from the wine cellar. “Speaking of which. I’d better warn my mother so she can set the money part in motion. She’s still in Reno, hanging out with some old friends until I go back.” Before he could ask, Billie gave him a knowing look and handed him her cell phone. He placed the quick call as they made their way around the upstairs. There were four bedrooms, each one larger than the last, until the master suite.

  Then he stood there in the center of the enormous room, staring out the wall of windows that afforded anyone lying in the bed opposite an unfettered view of rolling hills and pristine lakefront. “Damn. That’s a helluva view.”

  “That’s your view.” Billie padded across the plush carpet and into the en suite bathroom. “Damn.”

  Her soft exclamation drew him. “What?”

  “Three closets.” She gestured. “You can pack a lot of pairs of Castletons onto those shelves.”

  He briefly stuck his head inside the closets, which all led off a bathroom the size of his bedroom back in Paseo, then tapped the toe of his boot against the claw-foot tub situated in a bay of windows. “Nice.”

  “Wouldn’t have taken you for a bath guy.”

  His imagination didn’t need a lot of encouragement when all he had to do was look at Billie to get ideas. She was such a slender thing, they’d both fit in the tub just fine. With only enough space to make things really interesting. “I guess that depends on the company.”

  Her face flushed. But she didn’t look entirely disinterested. He started to reach for her again, but she stiff-armed him, and sidled away. “You’ve seen the bedrooms. Nothing alarming that makes you want to back out?”

  Still smiling, he shook his head. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t thinking about the house, at all.

  “Okay, then. We have got to go.” She aimed straight for the stairs and practically skipped down them. She was either afraid to let him get too close or really was in a helluva rush to get to the paperwork end of the real estate deal.

  In the foyer, she grabbed his shirt and tossed it at him, and was sitting outside pulling on her rubber boots by the time he joined her. Then she locked the house and stuck the key back in the box.

  “What happens to the lockbox now?” With an agreement to his offer to buy the house, he didn’t particularly want anyone else having access to the place.

  “The seller’s agent will pick it up.” She started walking toward the car.

  It was a toss-up which preoccupied him more. The sight of her denim-covered rear end sashaying ahead of him, or the reality that he was really buying a new home. It was no longer just an idea circling in his head. Which had him also thinking about the other ideas that had been in his head, too.

  He’d just agreed to spend a truckload of hard-earned money. Yeah, he could afford it. But it made a man tend to rethink whether he ought to give up one of the sources of his income or not. Bulldogging was going good. He wanted another championship to his credit, but he didn’t have to give it all up once he’d achieved it.

  They’d reached Billie’s car and he looked at her over the roof of it. “What happens after the paperwork?”

  “Your earnest money will be deposited in the escrow account while the title company does their thing.” She got inside and started up the engine and turned on the AC. “We know the sellers are agreeable to the short escrow you want, and unless something comes up during title or the inspection, you should be able to take possession within a few weeks.”

  He was the one who’d insisted on the short time frame, so he knew there was no point feeling skittish now. “Middle of next month.” After the Cowboy Country Rodeo, he was going to be busy as hell. His rodeo standings were good right now, but that didn’t mean he could sit back on his laurels. Not when there were others right on his heels, ready to take his place in the rankings if he gave ’em even half a second. “I won’t be able to be around much,” he warned her.

  “I know,” she said calmly. “Cowboy Christmas and all. Don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

  He gave her a sidelong look. “What if I need to sign something important and I’m way the hell out in Timbuktu?”

  “We can do digital signatures these days, you know. All you need is your computer.”

  He grimaced.

  “Oh, what? You don’t like computers as well as cell phones?”

  “Not much, since I learned the founder of the company that makes both happens to be my old not-so-dear dad.”

  She lightly touched his hand. “If there is any paperwork that requires your signature, I’ll have it messengered to you. Simple enough?”

  “Or you could bring it.” He turned his hand, capturing hers. He ran his thumb over her smooth skin. “Better yet, just come with me.”

  She gave him a startled look. “Come with you where?”

  “Back to Reno. On the road. I’d sort of planned on retiring from bulldogging after this season, but now I’m rethinking it.”

  She pulled her hand from his, placing it back on the steering wheel. “You’re not serious.”

  “About retiring? Or about having you come with me?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Never more so. For either. For both.” On the other hand, she looked fit to strangle the steering wheel.

  “And what would I do?”

  He discarded the flippant “me” that was the easy response. “Whatever you like.” He offered a grin. “Even on a Robinson Tech device.”

  “Grayson, I have a job. I can’t very well do that if I’m... I’m on the road with you.”

  Shrugging just then was no harder than it had been six years ago after his final saddle bronc ride, when he’d had to push to his feet from the dirt and wave his hat to a crowd of fifty thousand people even though he’d just cracked two ribs and separated his shoulder. “Yeah, sure. It’s not for everyone.”

  She looked dismayed. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the—”

  He waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thought.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  And why would she, when he couldn’t remember spewing such bull before?

  She was silent for a long moment. “You’re still good on buying the ranch, right?”

  He barely hesitated. “A deal’s a deal.”

  She smiled slightly. “Okay. Good.” Her fingers wrung the steering wheel a few more times. “Great.”

  He looked out the side window and for once was glad for her lead-foot driving.

  The office was empty when they got there. It meant there weren’t any lookey-loos watching their every move, but considering everything, he almost wished there had been. At least it would have provided a distraction.

  Instead, he paced the hallways while she prepared the paperwork he needed to sign. There were a lot of offices. He wondered if his deal would bump Billie into one of the larger ones.

  He wondered if he’d read too much into things. If the universe was finally paying him back for all the times he’d kissed and moved on without a second thought.

  He wondered if she�
�d gone along just for the sake of a freaking real estate deal.

  “Grayson?”

  He looked away from the office obviously belonging to her boss. She was walking toward him, carrying a thick packet of paper.

  Maybe her boss’s rule against romantic entanglements wasn’t so far off the mark, after all.

  “Are you ready to do this?” She held up the pen.

  He’d walked into this office with the intention of finding a ranch of his own, he reminded himself. Nothing had changed since then, even though Billie had worked so far beneath his skin he’d let himself forget all his basic rules of life. “That’s what I’m here for.” He took the pen and walked into the nearest open door—clearly a conference room.

  She set the packet down on the long table, explaining each item with painful detail. He wished for some of the speed she saved for her driving. But finally, they got to the part where he needed to sign. And as soon as he did, he handed her back the pen. “Congratulations.”

  “You’re the one who should be congratulated. This is an exciting day for you.”

  “Finding my forever home?” He managed a smile. He could always turn the wine cellar into a trophy room. If he was lucky, maybe a complete remodel would get rid of the memory of kissing her. That wouldn’t dissolve the images from their water fight at the pool, though. It wouldn’t eradicate the sounds of her laughter, or the intense notion of looking out at that lakefront view from the master bedroom with her lying by his side. “Maybe it’ll get you into a bigger office, at least.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it might make up for the Dickinson situation.”

  “What’s the Dickinson situation?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She toyed with the pen. “Grayson, about your offer...”

  He wasn’t a teenage kid. He shouldn’t feel like everything inside him froze, waiting for her next words. “I told you—”

  “I know. Spur-of-the-moment.” She moistened her lips. “It’s just, well, I’m flattered and...and tempted, frankly. But my job—”

  “Tempted.” He latched on to the word. “Are you saying that because you were afraid I’d back out of the contract?”

  She looked troubled. “No. Of course not.”

  “You don’t even look convinced of it.”

  “Grayson.” She made a frustrated sound and tossed the pen onto the conference table. It rolled off the other side. “I’ve worked really hard to get to this point in my career. I didn’t plan any of this. I don’t know if you entirely realize what a whirlwind you are. Walking away to go on the road with you isn’t the kind of decision that I can make at the drop of your cowboy hat. I’ve made commitments here. I have bills and—”

  He cupped her shoulders and she broke off, staring up at him with her pretty brown eyes. “Then put a pin for now on the road part. After I’m done in Reno, come to Red Rock with me while I deal with the Castleton folks.” He could see he was making headway and pressed his advantage. “It’s only a couple days. And you can think about the rest. I’ve already got a suite reserved at La Casa Paloma. It’s a resort. You’ve got pools you can dangle your pretty toes in. Spa treatments. Anything you like. The suite has two bedrooms. You can lock your bedroom door if you’re worried about your virtue.”

  Her soft lips parted. “And if it isn’t my virtue I’m worried about?”

  He leaned down until his lips brushed her earlobe. “If it weren’t for the security cameras around this place, I’d show you.” He straightened again.

  Her eyes had darkened. Rosy color rode her cheekbones. “I’ll think about Red Rock,” she said huskily.

  He drew his finger along her cheek. “There’s a great Mexican restaurant there called Red. You can wear my apology shoes.”

  “I said I would think about it!”

  Despite the cameras, he leaned down again and brushed his mouth over hers. Not as long as he wanted. Definitely not as deep as he wanted. But it was still enough to leave her breathing unsteadily.

  Then he straightened, because they both heard the chime of the front door as someone else entered the office. A second later, her boss came into view through the glass walls.

  Grayson went around the table to retrieve the pen.

  Then, intent on keeping the progress he’d made from slipping away again because of her boss’s untimely arrival, he handed her the pen.

  Their fingers brushed.

  “I’ll be thinking about it, too, Billie,” he promised softly. “I’ll call you from Reno.”

  Then he left, giving DeForest Allen a brief nod when they met in the hallway. “She deserves a bigger office,” he said without pausing. “Particularly when my Western-wear company starts looking for a new commercial space later this year.”

  He’d just reached the front door when he heard Billie’s exclamation. “Commercial space!”

  Smiling, he headed out into the afternoon sun.

  * * *

  “Are you thinking about Red Rock?”

  Billie was sitting on the love seat on her terrace, watching the sunset. She cradled the phone against her shoulder and slid down a little until she could prop her bare feet on the table. If she stretched, her toes would brush the cashmere-colored box containing the apology shoes.

  “Who is this, now?”

  The sound of Grayson’s low chuckle made her shiver. “Funny girl.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She curled her toes and the tattoo ring temporarily disappeared. “The guy with the dimple in his chin who doesn’t like phones. Whose phone are you borrowing this time?”

  “There are still such things as pay phones, sweetheart.”

  She immediately imagined him standing next to some old phone hanging on the wall, his cowboy hat dipping as he fed coins into it.

  “So, are you thinking?”

  It had been forty-eight hours since he’d left her office. Forty-eight hours of thinking about him. About Red Rock. About the fact that—wise or not—she wanted to go with him and she had no intention of locking her bedroom door when she did. “Yes, I’m thinking.”

  “So am I.” His deep voice dropped even deeper. “Want to know about what?”

  He was over a thousand miles away, but he might as well have been sitting right next to her. Every cell in her body hummed. “How about I tell you how your escrow is progressing?”

  “Some might consider that a buzzkill.”

  She smiled into the sunset. Her terrace was peaceful, but in Grayson’s background, she could hear music on the loudspeakers and the rodeo announcer’s voice. “Some might. I’ve scheduled the inspection for tomorrow.”

  “Thrilling.”

  “It will be once you know you won’t be looking at replacing a roof the second you move in, or dealing with a foundation leak or something just as bad.”

  “It’s my lucky house. Everything is going to be fine. Don’t be a worrywart.”

  “It’s my job to be a worrywart on behalf of my clients. Particularly ones who were ready to plunk down a fortune on a property as is. And you know, you really threw my boss into a tizzy with that line about Grayson Gear needing new space. It’s all he’s talked about for two days.”

  “We do need new space. Ask my manager, Jess. She’s been harping on it for over a year.”

  “I haven’t done a lot of commercial real estate. You’d be better off with one of our associates who has.”

  “I don’t want one of your associates. I want you.”

  Her stomach swooped, taking the words in an entirely intimate way. Her brain, however, was determined to stay the course. “I wouldn’t want my inexperience to adversely affect your company.”

  “You don’t want the business?”

  “Well, of course I want it. But—”

  “If anyone else but me dangled that in front of you, would you hesitate?”

  She couldn’t help but smile wryly. “No.”

  “Well, then, sweetheart, buck up. One of the first things I liked about you was that you’v
e got grit.”

  “Oh. Flattering. Compare me to John Wayne, why don’t you.”

  “John Wayne doesn’t turn me on like the thought of you going all ‘real estate’ on me.” He waited a beat. “What’re you wearing?”

  She had to take a second to catch her breath. But two could play that game. “Maybe I’m lying in my bathtub, surrounded only by bubbles.”

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he drawled. “You’re killing me. But I’ll bet you’re really sitting on your patio wearing cutoffs and a Rice T-shirt, with a bottle of wine and a package of cookies on the table in front of you.”

  She laughed softly. The wine was there. As yet unopened because he’d called her before she had a chance to use the corkscrew. But a pair of outrageously expensive shoes replaced the cookies of his version.

  It was silly that she’d brought the shoebox out and set it on her coffee table. The truth was, though, that she’d been keeping the box close by no matter where she was in her apartment. And it wasn’t so much the shoes themselves, but more what they represented.

  Or maybe even who they represented.

  No matter how tempting, the shoes inside the box felt unattainable.

  The same thing could be said of Grayson.

  Despite his persistent pursuit, she was afraid to let herself believe anything long-term would come out of it.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? See how well we’ve gotten to know each other?”

  “Let’s just say you’re close.” She decided it was safer not to tell him that the cutoffs and T-shirt were in the dirty laundry, so she was wrapped in a silky robe that didn’t do a darned thing to soothe her hypersensitive nerves.

  She stretched out her foot a little farther and nudged the lid off the shoebox. The red soles inside beckoned. She leaned forward, intending to grab the wine bottle and opener. Instead, her fingers drifted to the shoes. And it was a foregone conclusion that they’d end up on her feet from there.

  Propping her high-heeled feet up on the table, she eyed them and sighed a little. It was much too easy remembering the feel of Grayson’s long fingers on her ankles when he’d slid them on to her feet.