A Texan in Her Bed

by Sara Orwig

  “Early-day justice may have been dispensed differently and hers was an influential family. If the legend is true, she may not have wanted the true story to come out because of the feud. The Calhouns and the Milans had a history of getting revenge.”

  “This story holds possibilities for an interesting chapter in my next book.”

  Wyatt wanted to groan. He had hoped to discourage her with the story, which he found vague and probably hearsay. “It all comes down to trying to find an old letter Lavita wrote that reveals the truth about that night.”

  Destiny shifted in her seat, drawing his attention to her dress. The unique design left one shoulder bare. The other shoulder was covered by a short sleeve that had four buttons running down a center seam in the sleeve, so if unbuttoned, the front half of her dress would no longer be attached to the back half above the waist. The thought consumed him, distracting him from his story. He had to figuratively shake himself to get back on track.

  “The letter has been rumored to be in the house,” he continued. “I’ve never heard a version that included the grounds as a possibility,” he added.

  “Think there will be a bidding war on the property?”

  “I don’t. You never know what might appeal to a developer, but that property is in the industrial part of Verity, small as that is. In my view, it’s far out for a likely shopping area. The town grew in all other directions. The house overlooks the cemetery on one side. The river runs behind it. Nearby is the airport and to the front is the highway. Not the greatest location. No one wanted the house and it was left to crumble.” He sat back and crossed his leg over the other at the knee.

  “Now that you know about it—and there is little to tell you—I hope you’ll rethink using it on your show. The killings were long, long ago and of little interest,” he said, watching her closely.

  “I simply think you’re trying to get rid of me,” she replied sweetly, her green eyes sparkling. “The deaths of the three men are an interesting puzzle, plus the feud between two of them, two families who have many descendants today, you included.”

  “I suppose only the ratings will indicate which of us is right. There are far more intriguing unsolved mysteries in Texas. Come by the office and you can look at a list. It would be nice for all the residents if you would move on down the road.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I have a quiet, peaceful, pleasant town. The biggest problems this past year have been getting the Dixons’ cat out of their chimney and getting Doc Lamon’s dock back after it collapsed in a storm and floated downriver.”

  “When I talked to the group that gathered today, they were curious, interested and very friendly.”

  “They were curious, interested and friendly because you’re a stunning, sexy woman. They were curious about you, not the old Wrenville place.”

  “Thank you. But I didn’t get the feeling from any of them that someone would prefer that I didn’t put Lavita Wrenville’s story on my show. Did it occur to you that you might be wrong?”

  “I know my town pretty well. I don’t think I’m wrong,” he said, knowing their quiet clash grew stronger and neither changed the other’s opinion. “Today was a bunch of men who wanted to see you and talk to you. Wait until the women are involved and you’re in Chicago and the results of your visit are right here in Verity for the locals to deal with. They won’t be so happy or so cooperative, especially if you stir up that Milan-Calhoun feud.”

  “Have you always been right?”

  “No, but I’m right often enough that I trust my own judgment.”

  She laughed and in spite of their steady battle, her stubborn refusal to leave Verity, her flagrant disregard for law in Verity, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and make love to her.

  “It doesn’t bother you that you’re going to upset a whole town?”

  “Of course it would bother me if I thought that would happen.” She gave him an assessing look out of the corner of her eye. “It must be wonderful to feel you’re always right.”

  He stifled a laugh and a retort

  “Come by the office and look at that list of other unsolved Texas murders,” he said, eliciting a smile from her. It seemed they had once again agreed to disagree.

  Needing a break from his tenacious but beautiful opponent, he picked up the phone to confer with Jason on the arrival time. When he got his answer, he should have simply turned to look out the window but his eyes lit on Destiny instead. “No wedding ring,” he observed. “So you’re single.”

  “Definitely. There’s no special man in my life at the moment.”

  “I’m glad to hear that since I’m taking you out.”

  “This wouldn’t count anyway. You’re taking me out to tell me about Lavita Wrenville and the unsolved murders. This is a business evening.”

  He leaned close again, placing his hands on the arms of her seat to hem her in while they gazed into each other’s eyes. “There is no way this evening will be a business trip. The closest we’ll come is the conversation we just had, and now I’ve finished giving you the Wrenville history. I’ve been looking forward to tonight all afternoon long.”

  “You want me to pack and return to Chicago and then you tell me you’ve been wanting to go out with me. That’s contradictory,” she said.

  “My feelings are contradictory. You’re a complication in my quiet life,” he said, gazing into her big, green eyes that threatened to make him tell her to do whatever she wanted in Verity.

  “A few complications in life sometimes make it more interesting. You’ll be able to handle this one, I’m sure.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said, his heart drumming. He knew she wasn’t going to leave quietly and she would be a constant challenge to him. The most enticing challenge he had ever had in his life.

  * * *

  As Destiny walked to a waiting limo, Wyatt took her arm and in minutes they were headed into downtown Dallas. Wyatt sat across from her, looking totally relaxed, his booted foot resting on his other knee, his hand on the arm of the seat. In spite of all appearances of a relaxed man who cared nothing about the outcome of their discussion, she could feel an undercurrent between them. A clash of wills.

  There were moments he flirted and set her heart racing. Other times, like now, he seemed remote. She couldn’t gauge her effect on him and it disturbed her because she was accustomed to red-blooded thirtysomething males succumbing to her charms or trying to charm her. Especially when she had flirted with them.

  “Do you own the red limo?” he asked.

  “No, I leased it for this trip. We flew to Dallas and picked it up there.”

  “You always travel with this staff?”

  She shook her head. “No. My assistant, Amy, works for me full-time since the success of my first book. Virginia Boyden, a camera operator—she’s a field operator who works for the show and her husband, Duke Boyden, is my chauffeur, whom I’ve known forever. He worked for my mom, so he’s like a relative. He drives for others, too. I hire him when I need him. I don’t travel like this as much for the show as for background for my next book.”

  “Busy person, accustomed to getting what you want.”

  “I think that description fits you best. You’re the oldest of your siblings, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, just the same as you are.”

  “So tell me about your life, Sheriff Milan. Why are you sheriff? You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

  “My family has an old tradition. All the Milan males go into law—enforcing the law, practicing law, creating laws. For the most part in our family all Milan males get a law degree and practice law, which I did for three years, but, like my brother Tony, I’m a rancher at heart, so since I can afford to do what I want, ranching is what I’ve done most of the time. People in town
wanted me to run for sheriff in the last election and I let them talk me into it.”

  “So I heard. According to gossip, people trust you and they think you’re an honest man. When the Wrenville house reverts fully to the town of Verity and a fortune is found hidden away in the house, you’re the man people will trust. That’s a high recommendation about you.”

  “I was honored and it was something I could do to contribute to my town,” he said.

  She believed him. In spite of their clash, she was not only physically attracted to him, but she was also beginning to like him. She could see why people in town liked him.

  “So what do all your brothers do?”

  “Nick is a state representative. His background is the law firm of Milan, Thornridge and Appleton. Tony has a law degree, went to work for the firm for a year and then quit to be a rancher, his first love. We all love our ranches. My sister, Madison, is an artist and a newlywed.”

  “Madison Milan Calhoun—a very successful and very talented artist. I stopped in her gallery here. Am I allowed to write about this family tradition of male Milans going into law?”

  “If you want.”

  “It’ll add to my story about the Milans.”

  “Frankly, I hope you decide to not have any story about the Milans, the Calhouns or Verity,” he said. “We’re really a small, quiet town. Or we were until today.”

  She just smiled at him.

  * * *

  The limo parked in front of the entrance to the three-story, Tudor-style country club in Dallas. Soft music played and a fountain splashed as they walked inside. Destiny was conscious of being close at Wyatt’s side, even more aware of him following her across the restaurant, her back tingling because she was certain his gaze was on her. After they entered a small private room, the waiter took orders for their drinks and left.

  As soon as they were alone, she smiled across the linen-covered table at Wyatt. “A private room with music from the large dining room, flowers, candlelight—you’ve taken care of everything.”

  “Not quite everything yet,” he said in a tone that was as disturbing as his touch. “Sorry if you hoped to give another interview to the local press.”

  She didn’t ask what he hadn’t taken care of, having a feeling it involved her. “No. This is much nicer. Now I can hear more about the history and people of Verity and the Milans,” she said, but her thoughts were on Wyatt, curious about him. “So tell me about your family.”

  “We’re an ordinary family. My dad is a judge and he lives here in Dallas with my mom. I told you earlier that I have two brothers and one sister who live close to me. That’s my family. If I remember correctly about yours, your mom was an actress and your father was a scriptwriter and later a director and now both are deceased. You’re a Californian and you grew up in L.A. You’ve never been married. You have a background in television and cohosted a California show about celebrities. Now you host your own successful show from Chicago, Unsolved Mysteries, which has done well. You’re also a published author.”

  “You’re correct so far. Good memory,” she said.

  He stood and came around to take her hand. “Care to dance? I saw couples dancing when we came in.”

  Smiling at him, she placed her hand in his, experiencing a tingle from the physical contact. When they reached the dance floor, she was happy the band played rock with an enthusiastic small crowd on the floor. He dropped her hand as they began to dance. She was surprised how well he danced, reminding herself not to underestimate him. She danced around him, aware of his blue eyes constantly on her, a dance that was exhilarating and fun, allowing her to release pent-up energy.

  By the third song, he caught her hand and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s go back and I’ll shed this coat and we can see if our drinks are here.”

  She nodded as the crowd sang to a familiar song while they danced.

  In their private room, Wyatt draped his jacket over a chair. They had a wine bottle chilling and tall glasses of ice water on the table. Wyatt drank half the glass before he asked, “Want to dance again?”

  “I’d love to. I’m surprised it’s not sentimental ballads. It sounds like a bar out there, not a country club dining room.”

  “It’s just people having fun.”

  “So what do you call fun, Wyatt?”

  “Dancing, laughter, friends,” he said as they approached the dance floor. At the edge of the dance floor he leaned close to talk softly, his breath warm on her ear. “Sexy, hot kisses, flirting with a beautiful woman.” Before she could answer him, he began to dance and she joined him, moving her body in time to the beat while she smiled at him.

  He flirted and he responded to her, a reaction she often had from men, but she hadn’t expected to be drawn to him. She was accustomed to men flirting with her, coming on to her, but she rarely felt an intense physical response to any of them. She never carried it further than flirting, unlike Desirée who had far too many affairs and who liked men indiscriminately, according to Destiny’s thinking.

  Destiny’s gaze rested on Wyatt’s mouth and she wondered what it’d be like to kiss him. But hadn’t she heard that Wyatt had part of himself locked away and only one woman had ever really touched his heart? Rumor had it that his heart had been broken when his fiancée had returned his ring and he’d never had another serious relationship.

  She barely knew Wyatt, but once or twice she had seen a shuttered look in his eyes and felt he had closed himself off emotionally. Physically, he made it obvious that he desired her, but nothing beyond that. Far from it, since she no doubt annoyed him with her purpose in coming to Verity.

  She couldn’t understand her reaction to him. She couldn’t control her racing pulse or breathlessness or the tingles dancing over her insides. Wyatt was handsome but he wasn’t her type. He was a laid-back, quiet, cowboy sheriff, a cowboy who loved his ranch, a man accustomed to running things and getting his way. How could she find him exciting?

  The men she enjoyed in Chicago and in L.A. were more outgoing, enjoyed the theater, concerts, art exhibits. Some had been involved in television—men more like her. She and Wyatt were poles apart in backgrounds, personalities, ambitions, likes and dislikes. The only reason they were out tonight was because he wanted to talk her out of filming the Wrenville house and because he had promised to tell her the history about the killings in the house. This wasn’t a regular date. Even though they flirted, laughed and danced, she could feel the constant clash of wills. And he was going to be even more annoyed with her soon, when she announced she was a Calhoun descendant. A faint chill made her shiver while she had a premonition of the bad moments to come. It would be one more clash between them, perhaps one bad enough to end any friendliness beginning to develop between them.

  Throwing herself into the dance, she blocked out thoughts about the Calhouns and the Milans and just enjoyed being with an appealing, sexy man, the anticipation of finding some answers to old secrets of the town of Verity and, most of all, finding material for an intriguing show.

  She had no intention of leaving Verity without doing what she had come to do. She was more interested now in the unsolved murders than she had been before.

  As they danced, Wyatt’s blue eyes were on her every move. Occasionally they brushed against each other. Would he kiss her good-night? The errant thought pulled her up short. When had she wondered that on a first date before? Probably not since she had been sixteen years old. But she was almost certain he would kiss her. He had seemed on the verge of it almost half a dozen times since he had walked into his office to meet her. And this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. The whole evening was meant to discourage her as far as the sheriff was concerned. So why, she asked herself, was he such good company?

  When they finally returned to their table, Wyatt pulled on his jacket again.

  “You d
on’t need to wear your jacket. We’re in a private room and I don’t mind.”

  “I’m with a beautiful Chicago television personality who has her own show—I think I’ll wear my jacket,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  They both became silent when the waiter entered the room with their salads.

  “I’m not talking you out of filming and investigating the Wrenville house, am I?” Wyatt asked as they began to eat. “Or of forgetting about the family feud?”

  “Not at all. I’m not going to be in the Wrenville house forever—just briefly. It’s a big house. You can come join us and watch if you want.”

  “No thanks. I’m not appearing on a TV show.”

  “We might make a deal—you give me an interview about being a Milan, about the Wrenville house and what you think you’ll find there next year and you can name what you want in return.”

  “Cut Verity totally and I’ll give you the interview,” he countered.

  “If I don’t film the Wrenville house, then the interview will be useless,” she replied.

  “Your camera operator is with you to film or to take pictures of the house?”

  “To take pictures. We’re just in the earliest stages right now. I want to find out if there is enough material for a show and if it’s interesting, things like that. This is preliminary to take back and present as a possible show.”

  “Isn’t it unusual for the host to be doing all this investigation?” Wyatt asked.

  “Yes, but I’m deeply involved with the show and I’ve come up with some other stories that were produced. Also, this is important information for my next book.”

  “Sounds as if the book is the major reason.”

  “It is an intriguing story if I can find enough information about it. There must be old newspapers on file about the murders. I have an appointment tomorrow with the head of the Library Board and I’m going to the Verity genealogy society office.”

  “What I’ve told you will be repeated in the paper. Beyond what I’ve said, I don’t think there’s much more about it.”