“Damn it to hell,” Nick slammed down his iPhone. “Son of a bitch.” His fist hit the desk.
Nick wanted the Triple J as bad as anything he’d ever wanted in his life with the exception of McCall. Seeing how happy she was when she first saw the ranch only increased his desire to obtain it. It wasn’t one of his famous whim-whams. It was a true dream. A dream not only for him but for McCall.
He couldn’t believe that the investor first said he’d be willing to take his share of the investment and sign the ranch over to the remaining investors, who of course he wouldn’t have known were Nick and Jock. Then suddenly, the elusive investor changed his mind, making it necessary for Nick’s lawyer to file suit to clear the title showing that the investor had been a silent partner and had not participated in any improvements or operations of the Triple J. Once cleared, Jock planned to sell his share to Nick, making him sole owner. The suit would be settled quickly, according to his lawyer, because the owner couldn’t show they’d been involved in the day-to-day operations and the amount of money held in trust for them would be enough to make the most aggressive investor accept an out-of-court settlement.
Nick flopped down on the sofa more frustrated than he could ever remember being. And that was saying a lot, just thinking about the years waiting for the silent partner to appear. Now only hours away from finalizing the sale, the backer had suddenly come forth and wanted to take an active part in its operation.
His lawyer said it’d take a couple hours, but he’d fax the first draft of the petition to Nick in care of the hotel. Nick called the concierge desk to have the papers delivered to his suite as soon as they arrived.
Nick let out another string of profanities. Damn J.J. Macmurphy, Jock’s father, for taking on a backer and not keeping the records more secure. It wasn’t his fault they were destroyed in a fire, but it wouldn’t have happened if he’d kept the partnership papers in a safety deposit box. When J.J. died, he took the true identity of the silent partner or partners with him.
Not until Jock decided to retire and let Nick buy out his part of the ranch did the search for the other owner begin in earnest. After all these months, they had finally gotten a lead and the jerkass changed his mind and didn’t want to sell.
At first, Nick wanted full ownership as an investment and as someplace to get away from the city. He’d even rejected his mother’s suggestion that they buy the property under the umbrella of one of their businesses, which made her mad. Nick and Maddi never spoke of his purchase again.
After visiting the Triple J and spending time with McCall in Texas, he realized the main reason he desired the land had to do with the memories of some of the best times of his life. As a young man, most of his summers were spent on the Triple J learning about horses, helping J.J. and Jock, while learning how to be a man’s man.
After seeing the look on McCall’s face when she first saw the Triple J, his reasons had changed. He wanted it for her. To please her. He knew they’d be happy living there.
“To hell with it,” Nick spat out. There are other ranches, but none quite like the Triple J.
He needed some fresh air. He glanced at his watch. McCall wasn’t due back from the spa and beauty salon for a while. He’d have plenty of time to take a breather, reconcile some of his anger and return to the hotel in time to meet with the jeweler the concierge had arranged for—bringing his best engagement rings for Nick to choose from.
Nick grabbed his phone and stuck it in his pocket. “Missing Investor, I don’t know who in the hell you are or where you’ve been, but the suit to clear title should bring you out of the woodwork.”
After jotting a quick note to let McCall know he’d be gone for a while, Nick stalked out the door.
One way or another, he’d gain control of the Triple J ranch. Nothing would get in his way . . . nothing!
Three hours later, McCall opened the hotel suite door to eerie silence. She dropped her purse on the sofa and checked both bedrooms. She saw Nick’s note on the desk and wondered what had drawn him away so unexpectedly.
A knock on the door drew her attention away from Nick’s note and when she answered a young woman wearing a hotel uniform asked, “Is Mr. Dartmouth in?”
“No, but he’ll be back soon.” McCall noticed the papers in the woman’s hand. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Mr. Dartmouth asked that this fax be delivered to his suite as soon as it arrived.”
McCall took the papers the woman extended to her. “Thank you. I’ll see that he gets them. Just a moment, please.”
After grabbing her pocketbook, McCall handed the woman five dollars. “Thank you so much.” She closed the door and laid the papers on the desk.
The hotel phone rang and she talked briefly to the concierge, assuring him that the faxed pages had been received.
McCall glanced down at the documents. She gasped and raised her hands to cover her month as she read again the words . . . Estate of Charles Chilcote Johnson.
“Oh my God!” Trembling fingers touched the page as though the words could feel her caress. She took in each word, letter by letter, trying to grasp their meaning.
In Re: Nicodemus B. Dartmouth, et al. vs. Estate of Charles Chilcote Johnson.
Her knees buckled. She slipped onto the chair and read the pleadings.
“Nick is suing me,” she whispered.
Her heart pounded out of control and chills ran throughout her body as though she had suddenly taken ill. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Grabbing her stomach to hold down bile fighting for release, she attempted to sort out what she had read. Nick and others were suing her father’s estate . . . suing her.
Gaining a semblance of composure, she picked up the petition. She shook so wildly that she had to use both hands to hold the piece still long enough to finish reading it.
Slowly, McCall turned back to the first page and laid the pleadings aside. Nick was suing her for control of the Triple J Horse Ranch . . . and she didn’t even know she owned it.
Hot tears ran down her cheeks. “It was a game all along.” For the first time since she was a child she cried not from anger or fright, but from a hurt so deep there was no bottom. “He didn’t expect me to see these papers and I wouldn’t have if my appointment had been longer. Nick doesn’t love me. He loved the game. He wanted the ranch, and the only way he could gain control was to court me, make me think he was in love with me . . .” She folded over and grabbed her knees. “He was willing to marry me to get what he wanted.” She rocked backward and forward. “Or did he ever plan on marrying me? Or was he just talking about the future and asking me to marry him to throw me off base?”
Raising her hands to her face, she couldn’t help but think that she’d bared her soul to him, told him her most intimate secrets, and for what? To be worked, so Nick could get what he wanted.
How long had Nick known of her father’s involvement in the ranch? When had he decided to become interested in it? Before or after the auction? Before he professed his love for her?
The news that her father had actually made an investment and not wasted the money at the track had consoled McCall, as well as excited her, since she could give Nick something he wanted so badly. But, now everything had changed.
Nick might be accustomed to getting everything he wanted, and this would be no exception. He’d get his ranch. Regardless of her hurt and anger, she loved him too much to deny him the one thing that he wanted so bad that he’d asked her to marry him to gain it. She’d step out of the picture and enter into an agreement for him to purchase the property. All of this could be done through their lawyers without either of them ever having to speak to one another again.
But why hurt her by suing her when all he had to do was ask? The words trust me flooded back.
Between gathering her belongings and packing, McCall made two calls.
The first was to her attorney, directing him to negotiate a settlement with Nick.
The second, to the hotel conci
erge arranging transportation to the airport.
The displaced Texan was going back home.
Back to Texas.
Back to a world where she belonged.
As Nick stepped off the elevator, his hand automatically checked his pocket to make sure his purchase was secure. He had looked at a dozen stones before he found a truly colorless, flawless pear-shaped diamond encircled with baguettes. If McCall didn’t like the five-carat stone, he’d buy her as many as it took to give her the perfect engagement ring.
Not only had his outing ended up with him buying the engagement ring, but also it gave him time to think about the problems with the sale of the Triple J.
For some unknown reason the mystery seller was more intent on keeping his share of the ranch than Nick was in acquiring it. Nick wasn’t a man to give up easily, but maybe the good Lord had played a bigger hand in the dealings than Nick had given Him credit for. Maybe it wasn’t meant for Nick to own the ranch.
While in Texas he had felt good, liked having a family, and realized what he had been missing . . . a real home.
Stanley taking him fishing and the Macmurphys teaching him horsemanship wasn’t the same as having a real family. Nick liked the idea of having someone to come home to.
He had stopped and called his lawyer, who was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. Nick left word with his paralegal that he was no longer interested in the property and to stop litigation.
Maybe his energy would be much better spent on finding that house with the white picket fence and raising that houseful of ankle-biters.
“Hell’s bells!” Nick rubbed his forehead. “First, it was a wife, and now, I’m serious about children. I can’t win for losing with that spitfire.” He unlocked the penthouse suite.
“McCall, I’m home,” he teased, letting the words slip off his tongue as though they were natural.
No response. No music. No television. No McCall.
Maybe she had gone downstairs to one of the gift shops.
The telephone rang. Nick snatched up the phone, thinking it might be McCall.
“Mr. Dartmouth,” the concierge began. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Miss Johnson left a package in the limousine when the driver took her to the airport.”
“The airport?” Nick’s heart sank to his knees.
“Yes, sir, about an hour ago. She barely got there in time to get her flight. Sir, what should I—”
“Thank you.” Nick returned the receiver to the hook and eased down in the chair. “Why would she leave without telling me?” He stared into space, feeling his heart being ripped from his chest.
What had he done to make her fly home without letting him know? He racked his brain, but when she left for the spa she was excited because she’d arranged a special night for them. He distinctly remembered her saying she had something very exciting to tell him. She’d kissed him and even turned back and gave him a second one before leaving.
What had gone wrong? Could she have been kidnapped? Did she have second thoughts about their being intimate the night before? Maybe he’d asked too much of her too soon?
Nothing seemed to fit.
With one surge of anger, Nick swiped his arm across the desk, sending everything crashing to the floor. He looked down at the page staring back. Estate of Charles Chilcote Johnson by and through his next of kin and executrix, McCall Elise Johnson.
“Christ Almighty, McCall! Chili Johnson was your father!”
Chapter Twenty-five
The flight from Niagara Falls to Texas had been long and uncomfortable for Nick, but not as unpleasant as the mess he had made of his relationship with McCall. The worst part was he hadn’t even known it was happening.
A half dozen telephone calls gave him no hint of her whereabouts. If Josie knew, she wasn’t telling. She suddenly knew little about anything, not even his mother’s schedule. The lack of knowledge about where McCall had gone only confirmed his suspicions. She would have retreated to the only place that gave her comfort . . . Texas.
No wonder Mother thought him inept at taking care of matters of the heart. For the first time in his life, he had found something he wanted more than anything. McCall had changed him in ways he never thought possible. Hell, he had had nary a sip of Ambassador Twenty-Five for days, but had chug-a-lugged enough Lone Star longnecks to have a vested interest in the brewery. He’d learned the Cotton-Eyed Joe, fell in love with Texas, and had been literally hooked by the feisty Texan.
But now he was afraid McCall was as unattainable as the jar of stars he had wanted to give her back on the beach.
Nick pulled the rental car to the side of the road and stared into the sunset, then turned his attention to the great house. The oil derrick towered over the grounds like a sentry. Lights flooded the yard. He could almost smell Lola Ruth’s sweet, fried pies and taste her stout coffee.
Suck it up, man!
If McCall were half the woman he knew she was, she would accept his explanation about the Triple J. But why had she kept her involvement a secret? She had hinted when they were at the ranch that she felt comfortable, almost as if a familiar feeling had overcame her, but he’d blown it off. Looking back, he realized he shouldn’t have. The answer . . . she didn’t know. That was the only reason. She was much too honest to play him a fool. He knew her and loved her for that very reason. He had to make it okay and hated that he had jumped to conclusions about her reasons for not divulging her involvement with the ranch.
She had certainly told him on more than one occasion that neither she nor her mother thought her father had made an investment, but if he had it would have been in the oil and gas industry, which made total sense to Nick as he thought through the whole issue. There was no reason for either of them to think her father was involved with the Triple J.
If he was a smart man, maybe Nick should turn around and head back to California and put the spitfire, with the eyes of an angel, and the whole Johnson fiasco out of his mind. But then, he had never been known for being all that smart when it came to his heart. Not to mention he loved McCall and wouldn’t let her go so easily . . . and he wanted that damn ranch for them not just him.
Nick started the engine and as quietly as possible parked behind Granny’s weathered, mangy F-150 pickup that had obviously seen its odometer turn zero more than once.
A shadow moved near the corral. A tall, lanky, yet beautiful and sexy, Texan held tight to a post and rested her booted foot on the lower railing.
Quiet as a prairie dog, Nick walked toward her. Easing up behind McCall, he shuffled a foot so as not to scare her. She never moved, only clung to the post as though it were a life preserver.
Cicadas droned.
Frogs croaked.
Horses neighed.
Hearts pounded.
“What do you want, Nick?” Her words were weak, yet silky.
“We need to talk.”
She never looked up, just said, “Why is it that every time you get your back to the wall your only solution is to want to talk?” Not waiting for his response, she continued. “I think our lawyers have already done the talking for us.”
He took her shoulders and turned her around to face him.
She twisted away. “Haven’t you done enough? I trusted you, and then you used me like this—”
“I used you!” He wheeled around to stare at her, trying not to let his frustrations show. “Used you—” He stopped and calculated his words. “All you had to do was tell me you owned an interest in the Triple J.”
“I didn’t know until yesterday.” Her tone was relatively civil in spite of her obvious fury.
“Yesterday? Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Remember, right before we had sex—”
“Made love,” Nick corrected.
“I told you that I had something to tell you. A surprise? Then again this morning when I told you I’d planned a special dinner and a surprise. But I guess I was the one that got surprised. Sued, that i
s.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Jeez! Do you believe I would have let my lawyers start litigation if I’d known you were the owner? Honestly?”
“I—” She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Why would I need to trick you into selling me the ranch? As far as I knew, you were desperate for money. All I would have had to do was ask you to sell it to me. It would have been a simple business transaction.”
“Exactly, Nick. If I’d known you wanted it and knew I owned the dang thing, I would have moved heaven and hell to give it to you.” She took a deep breath. “But you have full ownership now. I told my lawyer to draw up settlement papers. All I want is whatever money my father invested.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “All I ever wanted was to have someone love me, for me, not for money, but for me. I thought I’d found him—”
“You did. I love you, McCall.” Nick caught her by the arm and gently pulled her toward him. “Knowing how happy you were at the Triple J, I told my attorney to do whatever was necessary to get it for you . . . for us. I didn’t know you were involved until after I saw the fax.”
“You did? But, Nick, once I saw the papers, I instructed my lawyer to go ahead and let you have the ranch. If it was that important to you, I love you too much to stand in your way.”
“You still love me?” He offered a mischievous smile. “McCall, I have another question.” He dropped to one knee and took her hand. “If I promise to steer clear of trouble, will you try to teach me the Texas thing for the rest of our lives?” He pulled a ring from his pocket and slid it on her finger.
McCall pulled him to his feet. “Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, Nick, I’ll still marry you, but—”
“Why am I not surprised that you have to add a but?” He smiled down at her.
“But you promise you won’t come near a stove, and I’ll do all the cooking.”
He nodded in agreement. “And I’ll do the fishing.”
“And you’ll keep your opinion to yourself about the table decorations at your mother’s next fund-raiser. And you’ll stop coming up with those whim-whams you’re so famous for.”
The Tycoon and the Texan Page 20
