That Night in Texas

by Joss Wood

  It was possible that within a year or two, without help or intervention, Rick would be breaking into cars, dealing, or perhaps even be in a gang. He’d be another lost boy, flirting with jail or addiction. Cam recognized him instantly. After all, wasn’t that exactly who he’d been?

  Lost, lonely, confused. And Cam couldn’t help wondering if Rick was even missing. Nobody had seen him fall into the water; he was simply unaccounted for. There was always the possibility that he’d used the flood as an opportunity to run away from his crappy life. Cam understood. When you were struggling to survive, you used the breaks you received...

  Your childhood is behind you. That isn’t your life anymore. You are now, and have been for a while, the master of your own destiny.

  Cam swallowed the rest of his coffee, annoyed with himself. He didn’t have time to wallow around in the cesspool of his past. He still had a massive company to run. Pulling his keyboard toward him, Cam opened his email program and grimaced at the flood of messages. Yep, as he’d expected, the financial world hadn’t stopped turning. A couple of clients of his venture capital firm expressed their sympathy about the situation in Houston, but most didn’t bother. It didn’t affect them, so why waste the energy?

  Cam was midway through typing a response to a Singaporean client when his ringing phone broke his concentration. He glanced at the display, didn’t recognize the number and considered ignoring the call. Then he remembered that he’d asked the search coordinator to inform him if they located Rick. This could be an update, so he needed to take the call. He hit the speaker button with an impatient finger. “McNeal.”

  “Camden McNeal?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Excellent. You have been listed as the emergency contact number of a Vivianne Donner. I regret to inform you that Ms. Donner was admitted into the ER this morning after a car accident. When can we expect you?”

  Cam pushed a hand through his hair, confused. “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “I have your cell number, sir. You are Camden McNeal, owner of McNeal, Inc., and you live in River Oaks?”

  “Yeah, that’s correct—”

  “You might not know her, but she sure knows you. So, my question remains, how soon can we expect you?”

  * * *

  Cam paced into the lobby of the hospital, his long stride eating up the distance between the doors and the nurses station. He dodged a nurse pushing a pregnant woman in a wheelchair and noticed that the dad-to-be was on the verge of panic. Rather him than me, Cam thought. He was the product of two of the most dysfunctional people in the world and what he knew about parenting would fit on a pinhead.

  His father had taught him how to steal, to hustle, to slip and slide through life, but mostly his parents had taught him that he could only ever rely on, and take care of, himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to put someone else’s needs and wants above his own. It wasn’t something he’d been shown how to do.

  And the one time he’d tried, the only time he’d laid his heart at someone’s feet, ring in his hand, Emma had stomped all over it with her three-inch stilettos, her expression a mixture of genuine disbelief and pity.

  Darling, you’re great in bed, but you’re not exactly someone to take into a ballroom. Or into a boardroom, or home to Daddy. You’re someone to screw, to keep in the shadows. Marry you? You’re ambitious, Cam, I’ll give you that, but I’m out of your league.

  It had been ten years ago, but, despite her recently making it clear that she’d made a mistake by walking out on him, her little speech was imprinted on his brain, possibly because it closely resembled his father’s words of non-encouragement. “You’re a McNeal, you’ll never amount to much. None of us ever have and you won’t be the first.”

  His bank statement and long lists of assets refuted that statement. But Cam was a realist: he might be good at business, but he’d make a lousy father and husband. Hell, judging by how fast that nameless girl in Tarrin left his bed three years ago, he wasn’t even that great at one-night stands. Sex, he was good at that, but not so much at the touchy feely stuff woman liked.

  Cam slapped his hands on the counter and met the weary eyes of the nurse behind it. “I got a call about a woman who put my name down as an emergency contact. I’m Camden McNeal.”

  “Patient name?”

  Cam tried to recall his earlier conversation. “Dunbar? Dun...something?”

  “Donner? Vivianne Donner?”

  Cam shrugged. The name didn’t mean any more to him now than it had earlier. The nurse tapped her keyboard and nodded. “Room 302. She has severe concussion and she needs a ride home, and someone to take care of her when she gets there. Down the hall, turn right and she’ll be on your left.”

  Cam looked at the long hallway and sighed. Well, it looked like he was about to meet Ms. Donner and maybe he’d find out why he was listed as her emergency contact. Come to think of it, who was listed as his emergency contact? Had he ever listed anyone? Not that he could recall.

  Reaching the closed door to room 302, Cam knocked gently. And when he received no reply, he eased open the door. He glanced toward the bed and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

  His first impressions were of a long, slim body topped by a cloud of curls the color of lightly toasted caramel. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, as it had been a busy, physically draining twenty-four hours. He needed to talk to the woman, get her to take his name off her papers and get some food. Maybe then his headache would finally start to dissipate.

  Cam flipped on the overhead light and it took a minute, maybe more, to realize that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that his imagination wasn’t running riot. He rested his hands on the bed next to her thigh and ordered his racing heart to slow down, his lungs to pull in air. He closed his eyes, re-centered himself and then forced them open again.

  Yep, she was still there.

  Cam stared down at that stunning face, his heart pounding against his chest in a fight-or-flight reaction. It had been three years, give or take, since he’d seen her last, and damn, she looked, well, amazing. Sure, she had three stitches holding a cut together on a finely arched eyebrow, a bruise on her cheek and a scrape across her jaw, and a deep cut on her bottom lip, but her injuries didn’t take away from her drop-him-to-his-knees beauty. She’d lost weight and looked like a puff of wind would blow her away.

  Turning, Cam saw the chair next to the bed. He hooked his foot around its legs and dragged it toward him. He dropped down into it and placed his forearms on his thighs, resisting the urge to shake her awake. What the hell game was she playing? She had to be playing one, because, let’s be honest, everyone did.

  He wasn’t sure if she’d played him then, but he was certain she was playing him now. Cam stared at her as memories of that dive bar rolled over him. It had been a crap hole, little more than a shack serving watered-down drinks to the ranch hands and the refinery crews working in the area.

  He’d been aware of her—Vivianne, he now had a name to go with the stunning face—the moment she stepped into the dive bar, as had every other man in the place. She’d looked so damn young and so very vulnerable with the shot glass in her hand, her eyes on the fiery liquid. He expected her to push it away, to turn tail and run, but she’d squared her shoulders and tossed the liquor back, blinking furiously as she swallowed. She’d banged her glass down, ordered another and slowly, oh so slowly, turned those brown-black eyes in his direction.

  “One down, two more experiments to go.”

  He’d lifted his beer bottle in her direction, noting her long legs in tight, faded denim and the way her white T-shirt hugged the curves of her breasts and skimmed a board-flat stomach.

  She was older than he initially thought, somewhere in her midtwenties, yet while they might be close in age,
he’d figured he’d lived a thousand more lifetimes—all of them harder and rougher than hers.

  He should’ve ignored her, finished his beer and left, but he’d turned to face her and cocked his head. “You a scientist, sweetheart?”

  She’d ignored him at first, taken the second shot and tossed it down her throat. He’d never managed to forget her answer. She’d wrinkled her nose as she decided how to answer. “Nope. Tonight I’m going to see what being normal feels like.”

  “There are better bars in better places,” Cam had told her, hoping that she’d walk out and leave him to his beer and his loneliness. He knew how to handle his liquor and his solitude, but she had him wanting to drink less and talk more.

  She’d plopped that spectacular butt down on the seat next to him, her knee brushing against the outside of his thigh. He’d felt a bolt of desire skitter up his thigh and lodge in his balls. He’d swelled and groaned. He wasn’t a kid, so why was he getting turned on by a light touch and a woman who looked like the girl next door and smelled like wildflowers?

  “But I can’t get to those places and you look like fun.”

  Cam had almost smiled at that. Him fun? She couldn’t be more wrong. He’d thought about leaving her there in the bar, about going back to his motel room with a six-pack, but he couldn’t leave her there alone. So he’d bought her a beer and then they’d moved on to a diner for burgers and ended the evening with fantastic sex in a motel room. No names, no expectations and, yeah, he’d had fun.

  He’d liked her.

  And now, after three years, she was back in his life, lying in a hospital room, dressed in a hospital gown, banged up and bruised. With his name as her emergency contact number. And like back then, his mouth was dry, his heart was thumping and his pants were tight against his crotch. Peachy.

  What the hell was going on here?

  Cam felt her leg jerk and his eyes shot to her face. Her eyelids flickered, and he waited for that burst of brown, braced himself for the sexual punch that was sure to follow. She groaned, half lifted her hand and then dropped it to the bed, as if the action required more energy than she was capable of. Those long eyelashes lifted and he watched as she took a moment to focus. Her mouth tilted at the corners and her expression softened.

  “Camden?”

  So she knew him, recognized him. Cam frowned when her eyes drifted closed again. Oh, no, he wasn’t going to sit next to her bed like a lovelorn admirer waiting for her to wake up. He was exhausted and hungry, dammit. Cam tapped her hand with his finger and slowly her eyelids lifted.

  The tip of a pink tongue darted across her top lip and Cam ignored the bolt of lust as he remembered that tongue on his abs, going lower. She’d been inexperienced in that department but very enthusiastic...

  Down, boy.

  He rubbed his hand over his face, and when he dropped his hand again, the confusion in her eyes was replaced by panic. “Where am I? Where’s Clem? Is she okay?”

  She started to push herself up, groaning as she sat up. She pushed the covers away and swung those sexy, bare legs to the side. Cam immediately realized that she was trying to climb out of bed. He shot up and placed a hand on her shoulder, pinning her to the pillow. She slapped his hand away and went for the IV, trying to pull the needle from her arm.

  “I’ve got to get to Clem. Let me go, dammit!” Her breath hitched and panic made her words run together. “What’s the time? How late is it? Where’s my phone?”

  Cam looked at his watch. “It’s shortly past eleven.”

  “It’s still Friday morning?”

  At his nod, her shoulders dropped three inches and the cords in her neck loosened. She slumped back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “Thank God.” She gripped the sheet and twisted the fabric between her fingers. When she spoke again, her voice was thin with pain and exhaustion. “I need to make a call. Can I borrow your phone?”

  “Not until I get some answers,” Cam told her, stepping back and folding his arms against his chest.

  Vivianne released a frustrated sigh. In her eyes he saw a solid streak of stubborn under the obvious exhaustion. “I understand that. But you’re not going to get another word out of me until I make a call.”

  It wasn’t worth arguing about. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his phone, tapped in the code and handed it to her.

  She shook her head. “Sorry, the world is still a bit fuzzy. Can you dial for me?”

  Cam punched in the number she gave him, and when it started to ring, he handed the phone over. Vivianne placed her fingers on her forehead before speaking. “Charlie? Is Clem okay?”

  Evidently the response reassured her. Those sexy shoulders dropped and the hand gripping the sheet relaxed. Cam tipped his head to the side, thinking that watching her was like witnessing a balloon losing its air. Suddenly she looked paler, more fragile, ten times smaller. And a hundred times more vulnerable.

  He stepped forward, realized he was about to pull her into his arms, to offer what comfort he could, and immediately stepped back. What the hell? He didn’t do comfort; he wasn’t the type.

  Vivianne gnawed at her bottom lip, wincing when she encountered the cut she’d made earlier. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll see you later this afternoon, maybe a little earlier if I can.”

  As if. According to the nurse, she had a concussion and that normally meant an overnight stay. He’d be happy to watch her all night. But only because he wanted to know what she was up to. Not because she was freakin’ gorgeous. And not because he found her fascinating, or because he couldn’t imagine walking out of this room without knowing when he was going to see her again.

  He was just tired. And hungry. That was why he was acting so out of character. Had to be.

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  Cam jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and glowered at her. “Ready to start talking?”

  Vivianne sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “I’m Vivi Donner, by the way.”

  Vivi suited her better than Vivianne. He rolled the name around his mind and could easily imagine himself whispering it as he kissed her, painting it on her skin as he tongued her. Sighing it as he slid into her hot, wet warmth. Cam gave himself a mental punch to the temple.

  Yeah, he was still attracted to her but so what? He was frequently attracted to women. He was a guy and that was what guys did. It was simple biology. It didn’t mean anything.

  “Let’s start off with you telling me how you ended up in a hospital with stitches and scrapes and more bruises than an MMA fighter.”

  Vivi pushed back that heavy hair and he caught a whiff of citrus and dank water. “According to the nurse, who spoke to the responding EMT, I was driving and it was really foggy. I slid off the road into a gully filled with fast-moving water. I remember going into the water and nothing much after that. The next time I came around, I was in this bed.”

  Every cell in his body iced over. Few people knew how to escape a car filled with water, yet she had. Thank God.

  “A policeman saw me go off the road. The working theory is that I pushed myself out the window and swam to the surface. The cop saw me come up, but then I was hit by a branch and swept away. Luckily a rescue boat was downstream from me and they hauled me out. I don’t remember anything after my car hit the water.”

  God, she’d been fantastically, ridiculously lucky. She obviously had a dozen angels sitting on her shoulder.

  He desperately wanted to find out why she’d run out on him that night, why she’d insinuated herself back into his life now. She’d known him as a greasy rigger, solidly blue collar. He’d been good for a night, a roll in the sheets, and he hadn’t really been surprised when he’d turned over and she wasn’t there.

  He was a ship in the night, here today and gone tomorrow, He on
ly ever indulged in fun that lasted a few hours, max. He was not a guy someone like her—classy and warm—wanted to face over coffee in the morning.

  Was she back only because his bank accounts were fat and his social standing solid? Because he was now apparently acceptable?

  Cam felt the sharp burn beneath his rib cage and cursed. He cursed himself for caring what she thought and he cursed her for dropping back into his comfortable, and predictable, life. He’d never forgotten her and he hated her for that. He didn’t like connections, ties, memories.

  Cam walked over to the window and stared out into the hospital parking lot. There, close to the entrance, was his luxury SUV, top of the line, ridiculously expensive. He lived in a big-ass house, had numerous, hefty bank accounts. He had, he reluctantly admitted, everything he’d ever wanted, yet this brown-eyed woman made him feel like his world was shifting, that something was changing.

  Vivi’s reappearance in his life was going to rock him to the soles of his feet.

  Cam sighed before turning around. “Why am I your emergency contact person, Vivianne?”

  This time Vivi gripped the sheets with both hands, and whatever color was left in her face drained away. She stared at him, licking her lips, and he could see the turmoil in those eyes, the trembling of her bottom lip. “I have a daughter, Clementine. I call her Clem. She’s two years old and you are her father.”

  Two

  Telling a guy he had a child was a hell of a way to clear a room.

  Vivi looked at the door Camden had slammed closed, half expecting him to reappear and start yelling. When twenty seconds passed, then thirty, then a minute, she finally released the breath she was holding. While she was better at confrontation now than she’d been years ago, she still didn’t like to argue. The same, so she’d heard, couldn’t be said for Camden McNeal. All her research—and she’d researched him to death—pointed to the fact that Cam McNeal, oil rigger turned venture capitalist, treated business like a boxing ring and went in swinging. He was tough, demanding and controlling, and he didn’t take any prisoners, ever.