He caught her eyeing the putting green. The thing that had started it all. “Yes, why don’t we go into the conference room where we will have more space?” She tore her gaze away from the green and looked him in the eyes. “Plus, maybe we can use the whiteboard in there for outlining our ideas.”
Christopher wasn’t about to argue with her. He just wanted things to get back on even footing. He couldn’t help but wonder if she felt safer with a conference table separating them.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “The whiteboard might come in handy.”
With that she seemed to relax a little bit. He had to consciously keep his mouth shut as he forced his mind away from offering her a massage because her shoulders still looked so tense.
Instead, he held his office door for her as they exited and made their way toward the conference room. He was careful to give her enough personal space so that she didn’t feel crowded or compromised.
Really, he wanted to make sure he understood the new rules they were playing by.
As he passed Bev’s desk in the center of the reception area, she said, “Mr. Fortune, a package just arrived for you. Would you like me to put it on your desk?”
He paused and picked up the homespun-looking package, which was wrapped in plain brown craft paper and tied with twine, glancing first at the return address. Just as he feared, it had a Horseback Hollow postmark. The return address indicated that it was from Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones.
His mother.
A pang of guilt twisted Christopher’s heart. He and his father may have had a hard time seeing eye to eye, but his mother was one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever known. Christopher new that his move to Red Rock had been hard on her, but he also knew in her heart of hearts she wanted what was best for him.
Unlike his father, who only valued Christopher as another set of hands to help out on the ranch. As he ran his thumb over the paper’s rough-hewn surface, he knew that thought wasn’t entirely true, even if it did make it easier to justify the way he left.
Christopher felt Kinsley’s gaze on him. He looked up to see that she had paused in the hallway that led to the conference room. She was watching him expectantly.
“Thank you, Bev. I’ll take this into my office so you don’t have to get up. Kinsley, go ahead and start laying things out in the conference room. I’ll meet up with you in a second.”
Once he was behind closed office doors, he took a pair of scissors from the top drawer of his desk and cut the twine. He used the scissors to loosen the tape and cut away the excess paper, revealing a sturdy cardboard box. He lifted the lid and was a little disappointed when he saw that the package contained what looked like a photo album rather than the cookies he’d been so sure his mother had sent.
He opened the first page and saw a handwritten letter slid into a page protector that his mother had included at the start of the album. The letter said:
My Dear Sweet Chris,
Words can’t even begin to express how much I miss you every day. Our family just isn’t complete without you here. While I know it’s important for you to set out and make your mark in the world, I just want you to know that you will always be welcome to come home when you’re ready.
In the meantime, I wanted to send you some pictures to catch you up on everything that has been going on since you moved to Red Rock.
With all the love in my heart,
Mama
Christopher paged through the album and saw photos of various family members—Stacey and her baby girl, Piper; Toby and Angie’s wedding portrait. He lingered over that picture, breathing through a stab of regret for not being there to support his brother on his big day.
The next picture he came to was a snapshot of the Hemings kids hugging his father, Deke. The crusty old jackass was dressed up in a plaid shirt with a bolo tie, that damn cowboy hat that he never went anywhere without perched on the crown of his head. He smiled broadly and regarded the kids with such a look of true adoration. Christopher remembered Toby and Angie mentioning that the kids had started calling his parents Grandma and Grandpa. Sometimes a man didn’t know how to be a father but by the mercy of God became an exemplary grandfather. Funny thing was, even though he resented the hell out of Deke for being such a lousy dad to him, he was glad to see the old man showing the kids some benevolence. Lord knew they had been through enough in their short lives; a little compassion would go a long way with them.
An odd feeling squeezed Christopher’s chest. He tried to cough, to dislodge the emotion that was blocking his windpipe, but he couldn’t manage to make a sound.
He closed the album and set it down on the corner of his desk. Kinsley was waiting for him in the conference room. He’d look at the photos later.
Much later.
* * *
Christopher’s grumbling stomach was the first clue that it had gotten late. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was almost nine o’clock. He and Kinsley had been hashing out the copy for the bully prevention brochure since four-thirty that afternoon. He hadn’t noticed how much time had passed until his stomach started to complain.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said. “We’ve made some good progress here. What do you say we take a break and go get a bite to eat?”
Kinsley swiped the hair out of her eyes and shot him a weary look. “No, thanks. I’m okay, but you go ahead. We’re running up against a tight deadline here and I want to make sure this gets done.”
Christopher propped his elbows on the table and watched her as she continued to jot down notes.
“Come on,” he said. “You have to eat. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
Actually, the thought of her on him was more appetizing than food. But he kept his thoughts to himself. They had been working for nearly five hours and neither had said a word about what had happened between them the last time they were alone.
“I’ll eat after this brochure is finished.”
“Even if we get this to the printer by the end of the week we’ll still be ahead of schedule. Don’t you think there comes a point of diminishing returns after you’ve been at something so long? Especially if you’re hungry.”
Her lips puckered with annoyance.
“I’m not hungry. I want to finish my work.”
He stood.
“Everyone around here knows how hard you work, Kinsley,” he said. “You don’t have to prove yourself.”
She leveled him with a glare. “That’s easy for you to say. But other people around here do have to work hard to get noticed. We don’t have everything handed to us.”
Ouch. Her words cut to the bone.
“Is that what you think?” he asked. “That just because I’m related to the Fortunes I’ve had everything handed to me, that life’s been one big easy ride?”
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug that was more sexy than it was irritating.
“That just shows how much you don’t know. You don’t know me at all. So I would suggest that you not judge me until you know me better.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“So the guy in the expensive suit who drives the fancy car and has the $3,500 putting green in his office and a different date every night is different from the Christopher Fortune who is standing in front of me now?”
Christopher cleared his throat. “You have no idea who I am on the inside or where I’ve come from to get where I am now.”
“All I know is what I see,” she said.
“Well, you’ve obviously formed your own conclusions,” he said. “If you want to go on thinking the way you’re thinking, then that’s your right to do so. But if you are really as compassionate as you seem to be when you work with those teenagers, then have dinner with me tonight and get to know the real me.”
/> She put her pen down and stared up at him with an unreadable expression.
“So what’s it going to be?” he asked. “Are you going to stick to your preconceived notions? Or will you give me a chance to redeem myself?”
Chapter Six
She should be taking her own car, Kinsley thought as Christopher held open the passenger-side door of his pristine status mobile.
Actually, she should’ve maintained her no, thank you to dinner with him and kept working. But here she was, feeling an awful lot like the Country Mouse who had been ensnared in the City Mouse’s grand trappings.
Oh, well, it had been her choice to come. It wasn’t as if Christopher had kidnapped her.
Before he got in, he opened the back door on the driver’s side and tossed what looked like a photo album onto the backseat. After he had settled himself behind the wheel, Kinsley gestured to the album and asked, “What’s that?”
He glanced over his shoulder and stiffened as he looked where she pointed. His blue eyes looked pensive.
“It’s nothing. Just a photo album.”
“I love photos,” she said, leaving the door open for him to say take a look.
But he didn’t answer, just put the key in the ignition, started the car and backed out.
They drove in silence to Red Brick Bistro, but the place was dark and the parking lot was empty.
“What time is it?” Christopher asked. “Are they closed?”
The clock on the dashboard glowed nine-twenty-five.
“It looks like it,” said Kinsley. “Maybe they’re not open today.”
Christopher shook his head. “That’s one of the things that I just can’t get used to. The restaurants close in Red Rock so early on weeknights. I would expect that from Horseback Hollow, but I thought Red Rock was a little more cosmopolitan.”
“Why would you expect that in Horseback Hollow?” she asked.
His left wrist was draped casually over the steering wheel and his right elbow was propped on the center console. The stance caused him to pitch toward her ever so slightly. Despite everything, she was tempted to lean in so she could smell his cologne.
A lot of challenges came with working with Christopher Fortune, but his smell was not one of them. It wasn’t just the cologne he wore; it was him. His own personal scent that had Kinsley breathing a little deeper and leaning in a little closer—even though she desperately wanted her personal space. The dichotomy was hard to reconcile. But he smelled of leather—probably from his car—soap and something else she couldn’t define. It all added up to an alluring essence that made it difficult to stop everything female inside of her from roaring to life.
“That’s where I’m from,” he said. “It’s a sleepy little town less than half the size of Red Rock. The sidewalks roll up at sundown and there’s absolutely nothing to do. Well, okay, there’s The Two Moon Saloon and The Grill, but I wouldn’t take you to either of those places.”
She blinked. “Why not?”
“Are you kidding? Neither is known for its ambience. They’re just not the type of place you take a woman.”
It vaguely occurred to her to remind him this was not a date. They were two colleagues who had worked late and were in search of a quick bite. But despite her better judgment, she liked the cozy feel of sitting there with him in the car, with him leaning in slightly, the amber glow of the streetlight casting shadows on his features. Cars passed on the road that ran alongside the parking lot, but in a way it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.
Strange that she would feel so safe and contented sitting in the confines of a car with a man she’d vowed to keep at a distance.
“Where is Horseback Hollow?” she asked, angling her body toward him.
Her peripheral vision caught sight of the photo album in the backseat. It reminded her that Christopher was an anomaly. In so many ways, he was all about flash and being a Fortune, but in other ways he was extremely guarded. That was evident when his brother and sister-in-law had arrived unexpectedly and he’d whisked them out in short order.
It almost seemed as if he had something to hide. Maybe he was embarrassed. Or maybe he was simply trying to keep the Horseback Hollow part of his life private.
“It’s outside of Lubbock,” he said. “It’s about 400 miles from here. Believe me, it’s worlds apart from what you’re used to.”
From what I’m used to?
What did he think her background was? She was born and raised in a small town about fifty miles away from Red Rock. It was a speck on the map. No one had heard of it and she was doing her best to forget it. She’d moved out as soon as she’d graduated high school. Growing up with a verbally abusive father who sometimes physically took his frustrations out on her mother wasn’t exactly the life of royalty.
Both of her parents were gone now. A pang of regret swelled inside her that she hadn’t done more to help her mother. The worst fights between her parents had always seemed to be centered around her. Sometimes her mother would put herself in between her father and her, and that’s when her mother always got the worst of his wrath.
In her naïveté, Kinsley thought she was doing her mother the biggest favor by leaving since she had always seemed to be at the heart of some of her parents’ worst fights. But little did she know she was actually leaving her mother even more in harm’s way.
Kinsley was a levelheaded woman. She knew darn good and well that all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change the past. So she did what she’d always done when the past crept up behind her and threatened to take her down—she pushed it out of her mind and looked forward.
That was her motto: look forward, not back.
But right now she was looking into Christopher’s eyes, and she knew that wouldn’t lead to anything good.
She shifted her weight so that she was leaning against the passenger door. As if picking up on her nonverbal cue, he shifted away, too.
The pang of regret surprised her.
“I have a feeling everything else around here is probably closed or close to closing,” he said. “How about we go to Mendoza’s and get a bite there?”
* * *
Kinsley didn’t get out much. If she wasn’t working, she was studying. If she wasn’t doing either of those things, she was probably sleeping or attending classes to be a Lamaze coach for a teenage girl who she had met through the Foundation.
Work, school and volunteering didn’t give her much time for frequenting places like Mendoza’s nightclub. This was only the second time she’d been there. The other occasion was for the grand opening celebration nearly a year ago. Miguel Mendoza, the club’s owner, had invited the entire staff of the Fortune Foundation, in addition to what seemed like the entire population of Red Rock, to the club’s opening night celebration. Kinsley had considered it more of a work obligation than a night on the town. She had stayed long enough to put in a good showing but had left at the first opportunity.
She looked around, taking in the place, as she and Christopher claimed two places at the long, old-style cowboy bar.
It was hard to believe that just a year and a half ago the place had been an abandoned building. After Miguel, who was a former New York record company executive, had worked his magic, the club was all flash and neon.
A pink neon sign behind the bar that spelled out Wet Your Whistle in flowing cursive letters. Neon boot signs illuminated the raised wooden dance floor, where couples danced to music that was accompanied by videos playing on oversize screens located around the room.
At the back a doorway with a neon arrow pointed down over a sign that read Play Time. Kinsley wondered if the Play Time room still had the pool tables, dart boards, Skee-Ball and old-model video games that had gotten everyone so excited about the place at the grand opening. If she remembered correctly, there was
even an old-fashioned fortune teller machine back there, too. It reminded her of one she had seen once when her grandmother had taken her to an arcade, on one of those nights when her mother had sent her out of the house because her father had been in one of his bad places.
That seemed like a lifetime ago. She filed the thought where she kept most of her childhood memories, in a very dark corner in the back of her mind where they wouldn’t get in the way. She preferred to live in the here and now rather than dwelling on the past.
And right now, she recognized Miguel Mendoza, who was manning the bar himself tonight.
“Good evening,” Miguel said over the music as he placed two cardboard coasters with beer logos in front of them. “What can I get for you?”
After they placed their orders—a glass of white wine for Kinsley and a beer for Christopher—Miguel poured the wine and set it in front of Kinsley, then pulled a frosty mug out of the small freezer and served up Christopher’s beer from a tap right in front of them.
“Do I know you?” Miguel asked Christopher. “Maybe I’ve just seen you here, but I have a feeling we’ve met before. I’m Miguel Mendoza.”
He set the beer in front of Christopher and offered a hand, which Christopher shook.
“Christopher Fortune,” he said. “I don’t know that we’ve ever been formally introduced, but I’m in here a lot.”
Figures. Kinsley did her best not to roll her eyes, but then made herself step back and reframe her thoughts. He was a young, good-looking, wealthy, single guy. Of course he would want to blow off a little steam after hours at a place like this. That’s what people with normal social lives did.
She supposed he could turn the tables on her and wonder why she never made time for fun. Sometimes she wondered that herself. But once she finished her degree and had saved a little money...
Then she would start her life.
However, at the rate she was going, she’d cross that bridge in the very distant future. The truth was she’d never been much of a barfly. That just wasn’t her idea of fun. After she graduated she probably wouldn’t feel the burning desire to go out and tear up the town any more than she wanted to now.
Falling for Fortune Page 7
