Courted by the Texas Millionaire

by Crystal Green

  He didn’t have an answer. Was there something warped about him that was setting them both up for a repeat performance of the past? Just imagine: them, falling for each other again. Her, having to play the part of the bad guy once more, abandoning him when he’d known for damned sure this time that she had always planned to leave.

  Why would he do that? He had no right to expect her to stay this time. So why had he kissed her, starting things up again?

  “It was impulsive,” he said. “I’m sorry I did it.”

  But he wasn’t.

  “So you just had an itch to scratch.” Now she was the angry one. “Wanting is what got us into trouble in the first place. We were so arrogant. We thought we lived in this bubble where love would keep us cozy and safe, and when it burst, we were somehow surprised.”

  “Funny,” he said, her words needling him. “You used to believe in true love.”

  “I was too young to know better. So were you.”

  “Then why—”

  He cut himself off because he’d been about to say something lethal.

  Then why am I still feeling it?

  But the truth was that he didn’t know what he was feeling right now.

  “Why what?” Violet asked, her voice tiny. She was daring him to go on.

  But he wouldn’t. Maybe she was right—it could’ve been that what they’d felt for each other was just hormonal, an illusion sparked by a good-girl-bad-boy teen dream. But they’d grown up, and adults like them should know better now.

  “It’s nothing, Violet.” He straightened his jacket, then turned toward the sliding door, silently telling her that it was time for this conversation to end.

  They went inside his mansion, and he fetched her wrap and clutch bag from the coatroom. The valet had already brought her car around the front, and she left while Davis stood in his doorway, watching her taillights disappear into the night.

  Closure, he thought. He should’ve had some by now.

  Then why did it feel as if he’d laid himself more open than ever tonight?

  * * *

  The days dragged by as Davis went about his business—overseeing publication of the latest edition of the Recorder, taking it upon himself to mend some fences on the ranch, managing his investment portfolio and the dividends that kept his funds liquid. He even skipped town for a couple days, flying in his private plane, a Gulfstream that he stored at the nearby small airstrip, to Miami for the opening of a new boutique hotel he’d invested in.

  He also managed to see to the details of the upcoming Founder’s Weekend, keeping in touch with the mayor, his assistants and even Aaron by phone and email.

  But none of it was enough to make him forget that kiss.

  In his fantasies, he swept Violet away, using his fingertips to map the beauty of her face—from her temples, to her cheeks, to her full mouth. He seduced her with soft words, planting little kisses at the corners of her lips until she smiled. He felt every inch of her against him, excited and so willing to forget their history.

  Every remembrance was anguish, keeping him up at night, unable to be erased by any amount of work and distraction. It was bad enough that Violet was still working on the Amati project. True, she contacted him only by email to update him on the interviews she was conducting with the old-timers around town who provided plenty of historical color yet nothing enlightening about Amati, but…

  But it was torture to know that she was so near yet so far. Still, Davis thought that he was probably even lucky that she was at least sticking to her word about finishing this freelance article for the town’s sake.

  By the time Founder’s Weekend rolled around, he was back in town, hardly expecting to see Violet pop by the newspaper office when he was there or to run into her on the street during the hustle and bustle of preparing for the festivities. He was sure she would be doing her best to avoid seeing him face-to-face. Hell, he didn’t even know what they’d say to each other on a personal level now, since he’d blown it so spectacularly with her.

  There was a Friday-night buzz in the air—anticipation for the weekend. The St. Valentine Hotel was fully booked, and a couple smaller venues in the new town took care of the overflow, although they still had vacancies. That part concerned Davis; he’d been hoping for a bigger crowd this year.

  When he dropped into the Orbit Diner for something to eat, there was no seating available except for the Formica-topped counter, next to the plastic-bubble-encased pies and the cash register.

  But then he saw a man wearing a black cowboy hat low on his brow, sitting next to an empty stool. Jared Colton, the Tony Amati look-alike.

  Davis decided that tonight might be a good night after all.

  As people around him belted out greetings, Davis returned them, then slid onto the upholstered seat and didn’t even bother to look at a menu.

  The waitress came over, and he ordered a draft beer plus a Galaxy Steak Sandwich with Rocket Fries. The buxom blonde, whose pink uniform hugged her rounded hips, wasn’t familiar to him. He glanced at her name tag, which read Annette.

  “New in town?” he asked her.

  “Here about a week. I just got hired, but I’ve got plenty of experience elsewhere, Mr. Jackson.”

  So she already knew who owned the place.

  When Annette strolled away, Davis noticed that Jared the stranger followed her with his dark gaze, even though he did his best to hide it under his hat. Davis had culled a few other details about the man the first time he’d seen him in the Queen of Hearts: his laconic way of communicating, how he wore worked-in Wranglers and a pair of modest boots along with a heavy belt buckle that looked as if it’d been a prize from some sort of championship.

  A rodeo cowboy. Davis had come up with that tidbit during a search.

  “Ready for the weekend?” Davis asked him, making small talk with the man who could provide for the one and only interview Davis really wanted. Now that Violet had distanced herself from him, he was focused on Jared for the story that could possibly provide a narrative for St. Valentine—and provide a boost to the tourist trade.

  Jared sipped from a white mug of black coffee. “I haven’t really thought about the weekend.”

  “You’re lucky you’ve got a room. I hear the St. Valentine Hotel is sold out.”

  “Didn’t notice.”

  What the hell did this guy spend his time doing all day, if not noticing what was going on around him?

  “You don’t care about all the tourists?” Davis asked. “Because that’s what Founder’s Weekend is geared toward. There’ll be pie baking, cider making, a burro race, Old West actors dressed as historical interpreters…”

  “Not really my thing.”

  “Then what’s the appeal of St. Valentine for you?”

  Jared turned a slow gaze toward Davis. His eyes were as black as charcoal, and there seemed to be a burn behind his irises.

  “This town is a good place to stop for a while, that’s all,” he said, turning back to his coffee.

  Annette the waitress whisked by to drop off Davis’s beer and refill Jared’s brew. Much to Davis’s shock, Jared offered a smile to her. It changed his face from stoic to downright…

  Bright?

  Was that even the word?

  Annette winked at him and went on her merry, hip-swiveling way. Jared’s gaze followed her again, but then his smile faded, as if he remembered…something.

  As if he had his own hauntings, just as Davis did.

  Violet’s face eased over his mind, slipping down through him—his chest, his belly, lower…

  Snapping out of it, Davis told himself to concentrate, and he made a mental note to sit down with the new waitress to see if she had any insights into this Jared character. After all, it looked as if
she could’ve waited on him before.

  But he was determined to give the man one more try on his own.

  Just imagine what a story this would be, Davis kept thinking. What a tale for St. Valentine to tell and profit from.

  “If you don’t mind my asking—” he started to say.

  Jared stood, laying down enough bills to cover his coffee habit. “I mind, Mr. Jackson. I mind a lot, and I know you’re the owner of this town’s paper. I don’t have anything to say on the record in addition to what good coffee this place serves.”

  He glanced down the counter, to where Annette was chatting and smiling with George Manderly and Dexter Lars, who were at their seemingly never-ending chess game again. She lifted a hand in an amiable farewell and, with a tip of his cowboy hat, Jared was gone.

  Davis stayed in his seat for a moment. Frustration was creeping up on him, and it wasn’t only because he was spinning his wheels with this story. Everything seemed to be running into dead ends with him.

  And that included a certain redheaded reporter he was still aching to see, no matter how hard he tried not to.

  * * *

  Bright and early the next morning, as the town was setting up for the first day of Founder’s Weekend, Violet navigated the tents along a blocked-off Amati Street, checking out the artisan booths that would be selling everything from leatherwork to calico crafts to cotton candy and pottery. Later today, the burros would even be running a race, and the event would come to a climax with a dance marathon.

  She would be working in the saloon since her parents expected more of a crowd than usual, although rumor had it that there didn’t seem to be as many tourists as in past years.

  But, since Violet had come up with a few ideas to drive up tourism in St. Valentine, she was actually optimistic today. And the Chamber of Commerce’s reception of her ideas put a spring in her step, too.

  The only thing that had weighed her down recently was that kiss from Davis and their revealing talk afterward. Then again, whenever she thought about the kiss—how his lips had felt so warm, how being in his arms had felt so damned natural—she was a girl again. An innocent who saw everything in a different light.

  How could she be happy and down at the same time?

  She couldn’t decide how she felt about Davis anymore.

  Up ahead, the hanging sign for the Recorder swung in a slight breeze that only halfway chased the growing humidity away. She prepared to walk right on by, but, damn her, at the last possible second, she peered into the window.

  And there he was.

  His back was to the door as he spoke into the speakerphone on his cell. He was wearing those faded jeans that cupped his rear end ever so nicely.

  Why did the man have to look so good besides everything else she was struggling against?

  She waited there for a second, realizing that this was ridiculous, staring at him through the window, just as she’d done on the first night of her return, wanting him, telling herself that she was a big girl now and he shouldn’t intimidate her.

  It’d just been a kiss, she told herself for the thousandth time. One little kiss. Why should it have this kind of power over her?

  Well, she wasn’t about to let it.

  When she opened the door, he turned around. The male voice on the other end of the line was chatting about stocks, but Davis didn’t seem to be paying much attention.

  Nope, his eyes were fixed on her, laser-blue. Breathtaking in what they did to her.

  “Lloyd,” Davis said, knitting his brow. “I trust your judgment on this. Buy what you think I should buy.”

  Lloyd had barely signed off before Davis touched his phone screen and lowered his arm to his side. His dark blond hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in agitation, but it reminded Violet of days when they’d gone swimming in the creek, as far away from civilization as possible in St. Valentine. The wind would have blown his hair dry, leaving it heart-grippingly disheveled.

  Miss me? he would’ve said, coming to their blanket, where she would’ve been reading a paperback, wishing he’d stop swimming and come on over to her. Then he would’ve kissed her, far more gently than he had the other night, with far more tender intentions…

  “Hi,” she said, knowing she could get the upper hand back with him. With herself.

  “Hi.” His eyebrows were still knitted. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “I heard you’ve been out of town and…busy. Same here.”

  “I could tell by those emails you sent me about the interviews.”

  She motioned to his phone. “Bad day on the market?”

  This idle talk was the worst. But everything major they had to say to each other had already been said, hadn’t it?

  He shook his head. “It’s a good day, actually.”

  “Oh. It’s just that…” She gave a narrowed glance to his hair and how out of sorts it was.

  He ran his hand through it. “Yeah. Well, frustration comes in a variety of forms.” He paused, then seemed to make up his mind about going on. “This morning, I got some projections for Founder’s Weekend attendance, and they aren’t what I’d hoped. It wouldn’t be so bad if we were getting anywhere on this Amati story, but—”

  “I know you were hoping something big would come of that.” And that it would lead to a legend that would get St. Valentine’s out of the red. “But I’m still digging.”

  “I’ve been working some angles, too. I ran into Jared Colton at the Orbit Diner last night.”

  Her pulse jumped. A break?

  No—not if she could judge by the state of Davis’s hair.

  “He’s a real closed book,” Davis said, “and I don’t think we’re going to get squat out of him. I thought I could dodge that by talking to one of the waitresses he seems to get along with at the diner, but she told me that he doesn’t say a lot to her or anyone. He just sits there and drinks his coffee and watches the TV over the counter.”

  “He hasn’t talked to anyone else in St. Valentine?”

  “Not that I know of. But I hear that he leaves his hotel room and drives out of town every day.”

  Davis must’ve found that out from someone like Mrs. Ferris or the old men who liked to sit in front of the hotel smoking.

  “I could follow him sometime,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. Literally chasing a story sounded like great fun.

  “You’re welcome to do it if you can manage to be a supersleuth. On these country roads, it’s pretty easy to spot a tail.”

  “I’d still like to try.” Maybe she could even recruit Mrs. Ferris to keep an eye out for Jared’s vehicle from now on, letting Violet know when she would have the opportunity for chasing.

  “What does he drive?” she asked.

  Davis described the man’s green Dodge, then went on. “We knew he was a rodeo cowboy from those internet searches, and I’m afraid that’s all I still know.”

  “I’ll look for more when the festivities are over. I’m afraid I’ll be waiting tables until then.”

  By now, adrenaline was streaming through her, and the heat of her skin must’ve shown her excitement.

  It took her only a moment to realize what was really happening here, though.

  A team, she thought. Violet and Davis, together again, working as if they had a connection she’d never felt with anyone since.

  He exhaled roughly. “Sometimes I wonder if everything will ever come together.”

  For St. Valentine or with her?

  She didn’t dare ask. She just assumed that he meant the town, because it was less threatening that way.

  “Why don’t you forget about Jared Colton for today?” she said.

  His laugh chopped through the room.

 
; “Seriously, Davis.” She went to the door and opened it. The sounds of the weekend’s event—some happy shouting, the clatter of pottery from one tent, the murmur of music from a band warming up on the main stage in the town square—infiltrated the office. “Just come over here.”

  It looked as if he’d been longing for her to ask, and her body practically vibrated with need. But they’d played this moment out the other night—their bodies too close, their inhibitions down—and it hadn’t been a fantasy come true. It’d been full of the reality of their breakup.

  She would be leaving town as fast as she could, and she’d give Davis no reason to hate her again for doing what she needed to do. But they could be civil until then. Maybe even friends who could pin down the Amati story and revive their hometown.

  Wasn’t it possible?

  Chest tight, she gestured for him to follow her. He did, his bootsteps thudding on the wooden floor, then the boardwalk.

  The artisan tents fluttered in the breeze, and she walked between two of the structures, guiding him to Amati Street. Here, some of the tourists had ventured out of the haunted hotel and were peeking into a tent that sold giant cinnamon buns for breakfast. Their aroma beckoned and Violet sighed.

  “Tell me,” she said. “Who was the person who ramped up Founder’s Weekend like this? Way back when, it used to be just a few tents and an apple pie bake-off with Rotary Club tours through some of the older buildings.”

  “I suppose I’m responsible.” He was grinning because he had to know where she was going with this.

  “I should have known.” As an amplified banjo started up a lively tune down the street, she jerked her head in that direction. “And the bands, the dance marathon tonight, the cowboy show tomorrow? Who thought of those?”

  “Just don’t blame me for the burro races.”

  “Davis…”

  “Violet, I know what you’re trying to do.”

  He was smiling, and maybe it was even the first real one she’d seen from him upon her return.

  It had the intensity to whip her inside out.

  Why hadn’t any other man ever been able to do this to her?