by Roz Lee
Once again, she found herself in a position where none of the choices were hers. Her future hinged on the decisions of someone else. Deep inside, she realized her father’s illness had been beyond his control, but the result was the same. Choices had been taken out of her hands. Then Ken Adams had died, locking her into a situation where she had no choice but to help Ford. She wanted the roller coaster to stop so she could get off. She didn’t mind a fun ride, but for once, she’d like to choose the ride for herself.
She glanced over the contract in her hand—the one linking Adams Manufacturing to Scott Ramsey’s new leather factory for the next ten years. Scott had made a commitment to live in Butte Plains for the next decade, but Ford, his best friend, had made no such commitment. Maybe she’d misread her partner’s intentions. It had been months since he’d mentioned selling out. But yet… the calendar stalked her, the one-year mark creeping closer with every turn of the page.
Becky shuffled the papers on her desk. Poised to launch their shopping network into a twenty-four hour business, HR had been working overtime to narrow down possible spokespersons for the various new programs designed to showcase their competitors’ products. She’d promised she and Ford would sort through the prospects today so they could be called in for personal interviews. Gathering the headshots and resumes to discuss with Ford, she stopped in her doorway.
Carolyn’s distinct voice floated down the hallway. “Like I said, Mr. Adams is in a meeting. You’ll need to make an appointment for another time.”
The receptionist never raised her voice to a level to be heard this far away. What the heck? It wasn’t like Carolyn to be rude.
“If you aren’t going to tell him I’m here, I’ll find him myself!” The clear, cultured, feminine voice reminded Becky of someone, but she couldn’t pinpoint who. She changed direction, intending to add her support to the young woman at the front desk. They didn’t pay her enough to put up with pushy people. She’d taken one step when a woman turned the corner, heading straight for her. Tall and sophisticated. Beautiful. No, stunning. Perhaps one of the models being considered for the network shows? Deciding right there to remove the woman from the list of possible hires, Becky used her body to block the hallway.
“You can’t go in there,” she said.
The woman had a few inches on Becky, even without the spiked heels she had on. She stopped, gave Becky the once-over, and, from the expression on her face, found her lacking in everything from appearance to the way she smelled. “And you’re going to stop me? I don’t think so.” The interloper swept past in an invisible cloud of expensive perfume. “Ford Adams? Where the hell are you?”
Becky sneezed then followed the stranger. Rounding the corner into Ford’s office, Becky stopped in her tracks. She blinked once, twice, but the image of her partner lip-locked with the strange woman didn’t go away.
Carolyn skidded to a halt behind Becky. “I told her she couldn’t disturb Mr. Adams.”
Becky turned to the receptionist. “It’s okay… I think. It seems Mr. Adams knows this woman.”
Ford pushed the newcomer away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell?”
“You have some nerve, Ford Adams.” The woman pulled a rolled up magazine out of her designer handbag and waved it in his face.
“Have you seen the cover of Forbes this month?” She tossed the periodical on Ford’s desk. “They’re calling you The Backdoor Billionaire!”
Ford smiled and reached for the magazine. “Really? That’s awesome!”
“Are. You. Kidding. Me?”
Ford scanned the cover, then held it up for Becky to see. “Becks! Did you see this?”
The woman spun around. The way her eyes drilled into Becky made her want to make a cross with her index fingers to ward off evil spirits. “No. We were supposed to get an advance copy.” Maybe they had. She didn’t have much time for reading magazines these days.
“Who’s this?” Evil Woman demanded, half turning to look over her shoulder at Ford.
He cleared his throat and stepped around the woman. “Becky Jean, Carolyn, this is… Veronica Ramsey, Scott’s sister. Ronnie, I take it you’ve met our receptionist, Carolyn, and this is my partner, Becky Jean Parker.”
Ronnie. So, the phantom girlfriend materialized. The one who couldn’t be bothered to stand beside Ford at his father’s funeral or support him in his struggle to save his family business. Unable to meet Ford’s gaze, to see whatever emotion might be there, she focused on Ronnie’s face and, with clenched fists, held on as the roller coaster nose-dived, leaving her stomach behind.
“Why didn’t you just say you were his girlfriend?” Carolyn asked.
Mustering every scrap of professionalism she could find, Becky jumped in. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Ramsey. We all think a lot of Scott around here.” Can’t say the same about you, though. What could Ford possibly see in her?
“Where is my brother?” Veronica stared down her sharp nose at them. She was on a mission. Just what it could be, Becky had no idea. One thing she knew for certain—Ronnie would not fail, and the woman didn’t take prisoners.
“I believe he’s at the new leather goods factory he purchased. I’m sure Carolyn can give you directions.” Of course, they’d be driving directions, not broomstick directions.
“No need. I’ll give you a ride.” Ford reached for his keys in the center desk drawer.
“But, we have to go over these applicants. I promised HR—”
Ronnie’s laugh cut Becky off. She turned on Ford. “Are you serious?” This is what you’ve been doing down here in Butt Plug, Texas, for all these months, deciding which machine operator to hire?”
“Come on, Ronnie.” Ford grabbed the witch by her elbow. Becky and Carolyn cleared a wide path to the door. “I’ll give you a tour of the town, then we’ll hunt up your brother.”
As Ford ushered the woman out, Becky heard her say, “Really, Ford? That mouse is your business partner? How have you managed—”
The front door swallowed the rest of the woman’s rant, then Becky became deaf to her surroundings. The derisive tone of the woman’s voice made her furious. Mouse? Who did Ms. Expensive Designer Everything think she was anyway?
“Ms. Parker?”
“Hmm?” Becky forced her attention to the young woman beside her. “What? No worries, Carolyn. You did the best you could.”
“Are you going to be okay? I mean, who does she think she is? I guess I just thought you and Mr. Adams—”
“Are business partners. That’s all.” If she’d ever hoped for more, those dreams had been thoroughly crushed under four-inch stilettos.
“But—”
“But nothing. Mr. Adams had a life he had to temporarily give up to come here. Seems his life has come to take him back.”
She hadn’t meant to be harsh, but she didn’t want to discuss her and Ford’s relationship, or lack thereof, with the staff. Besides, as of the moment Scott’s sister walked in the door, any relationship other than a professional one between Becky and Ford became impossible. Whatever feelings she had for the man were never hers to have. He belonged to another.
The idea of being the other woman made her sick to her stomach.
Becky waited until Carolyn left before sitting behind her partner’s desk. She glanced at his latest drawing and contemplated how her life had come to this. Instead of inventory sorted into domestic and agricultural, she thought in terms of insertables, vibrating, stationary, and portable. She dropped the head shots she’d hoped to discuss with Ford in the center of his desk. This time last year, she’d worried about hiring the right sort of person to operate dangerous machinery, and today? The HR department that hadn’t existed a year ago expected her to decide which drop-dead gorgeous models would represent the company on television.
“This is insane.” She advanced Ford’s calendar two months to today’s date then thought better of it and returned the pages to their original position. Did he even realize it had
almost been a year since his father passed? All the reminder he needed had just walked in the front door.
She thumbed through the model’s photos, selected her six favorites, and moved them to the top, securing them with a paperclip she found in his top drawer. Ford would probably be grateful she’d done the onerous job herself, saving him the trouble of participating in the decision. After all, he had his hands full with the wicked witch of the east.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After settling Ronnie in the passenger seat of his car, Ford took his time walking around to the driver’s side. What the hell was she thinking, barging in like she owned the place then insulting everyone she came in contact with? Who does she think she is?
Ford stood beside the door for a moment, willing his anger to dissipate. He’d learned from bitter experience, yelling at her would do no good. The louder he got, the less she listened, and she needed to hear him. But first, she had some explaining to do.
She refused to look at him as he joined her in the car. He cranked the engine, adjusted the air conditioning, and muted the radio before backing out of the parking space reserved for him. In the last few months, his car had spent more time in his company parking slot than it had at the gatehouse he called home. At first, it had been out of desperate necessity. He’d put in long hours trying to coax the company back from the brink of bankruptcy. Once things began to turn around, the hours had been spent dreaming up new products to keep the company moving forward. These days, he spent his time doing what he loved—designing. And he had the time to design because Becky Jean did everything else, and did it well. He wouldn’t let anyone come in and insult her the way Ronnie had.
He exited the parking lot and took the longest possible route to Scott’s new leather factory. “What are you doing here?”
“I would think my reasons would be obvious.”
To some, maybe, but he didn’t have a clue. “Maybe to you, but not to me.”
“My boyfriend and my brother have forsaken me for this place. I’ve come to see why, and to take you both home. I’ll drag you if I have to.”
Ford unclenched his jaw. “First, no one has forsaken you. Scott and I have asked you to visit on numerous occasions. Second, I’m only your boyfriend when you don’t want to attend events alone. We had an agreement—no strings, no commitments.” He glanced at her. “Don’t even try to tell me you’ve been alone the entire time I’ve been here.”
Before she could respond, he continued, “Third, I can’t go back right now. We’re expanding at a staggering rate. Becky couldn’t possibly handle it all on her own.” Liar. Becky could handle anything and did on a regular basis. He’d be lost without her, not the other way around.
“That’s what employees are for. You hire people to do the jobs you don’t want to do, and anything else you do via videoconferencing until you sell. Then it’s all someone else’s problem.”
“Sell?”
He didn’t think a block of ice could get any colder, but judging from the frost coming off the woman next to him, it could. “Yes, sell. Remember your original plan? Hang on for the year stipulated in your father’s will then sell the factory and come home.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but get this straight. I’m not selling.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her laugh chilled him to the bone. “Of course you are. Everyone and everything has a price.”
Ford braked hard at a stop sign. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white and jaw clenched, as he held onto his patience by the thinnest thread. He didn’t believe for a second she missed him. If she had, she would have shown her face in Texas months ago. Coming here had to be an excuse for… something. He just didn’t have a clue what.
If he had any doubts his relationship with Ronnie had run its course, she’d erased them today. From the minute she’d walked into his office and kissed him like a drowning victim stealing the air from his lungs, he’d felt nothing beyond anger toward her. He could barely recall the desire that had brought them together the year he and Scott graduated from MIT. She’d attended the commencement ceremony and the party afterward, showering him with the kind of attention he hadn’t been able or inclined to turn away. With her love of fashion and everything fashionable, she dazzled, and he’d followed her like a lost explorer followed the North Star. Being outside her orbit for the last few months, he’d found his own way. He liked the direction he was going, even if she didn’t.
“No. I’m not.” He checked for traffic, and, seeing none, he took a moment to compose himself. “Why are you here, Ronnie? And cut the bullshit about wanting me to come home. If you wanted me to come home, you would have been here a long time ago.”
“You don’t know anything about me. You never did.”
And the inner bitch shows her face. He would have laughed had she not been so predictable. The sooner he found out what she was up to, the better. On the flip side—he knew she wouldn’t tell him until she was good and ready.
“Where are you staying while you’re here?” he asked, accelerating through the intersection.
“With you, of course.”
Oh, hell no!
“This is a small town. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” He turned on Walnut Street. A large, yellow Victorian stood proud a few blocks down. The old maple in the front yard was majestic in its fall colors. “Scott’s at The Yellow Rose. We’ll stop in and see if they have a room.” If they didn’t, he’d kick Scott out, put him up in the gatehouse, and move in with his mother if he had to. He only wanted Becky Jean in his bed, and she probably wouldn’t ever speak to him again after today.
“You have to be kidding me. Ford? You are kidding, aren’t you?”
Ignoring her whining, he pulled to the curb in front of the only B&B in town. Bright yellow and orange mums lined the recently repaired concrete walkway up to the front porch. It appeared things were looking up for Roseanne. He almost hated to dump Veronica on her. She didn’t deserve the punishment. “No, I’m not kidding. Trust me, Ronnie, this is for the best.”
Her laugh sounded more like a cackle. Why had he not noticed that before?
“Have you seen the sign at the city limits? Someone changed it from Butte Plains to Butt Plug. It’s because of you and your ridiculous sex-toy business, so don’t tell me you’re worried about propriety. I’m not buying it.”
He smiled at the image of the revised welcome sign. The town’s old guard must be beside themselves.
“Ford Adams! Tell me what’s going on! I thought we…. I thought—”
“You thought wrong.” Time and distance allowed him to see past Ronnie’s outward beauty to the spoiled brat beneath the surface.
She huffed out a breath. “I’ve waited patiently for you to come home, and I’m sick and tired of it. People understood the reason you had to stay at first, but the company is doing better than ever. There’s no reason for you to still be here. Tell me, Ford. Why are you still here?”
Unbidden, an image of Becky Jean, her face a mask covering her emotions as Ronnie clung to him, popped into his mind. She’d put up a seemingly impenetrable barrier between them since the night he’d spent in her bed, and, given what she’d seen in his office earlier, he couldn’t imagine how he’d get through to her after this.
It’s where I want to be. He’d known it for a while, but saying the words out loud would be irrevocable. He’d been happier since coming back to Butte Plains than ever before. He was doing what he loved—with a woman he loved.
His brain skidded to a stop, hung up on the realization he had fallen in love with Becky Jean. He forced air into his lungs and steeled himself for the panic attack sure to follow such an earth-shattering revelation. But instead of panic, a pinpoint of heat sparked in the region of his heart, erupting into a flash fire of warmth and contentment.
No, there was nothing scary about loving Becky Jean—except she probably hated his guts. He’d once heard a person could only hate someone they loved, as both emotions stemmed from
passion. And Becky Jean had passion. She’d shown it to him the night he’d spent in her bed. He hadn’t imagined the way she’d responded to his touch or the way she’d given herself to him. She felt something for him. Love or hate. Two sides of the same coin.
He could work with that.
“It’s where I want to be.” His tone brooked no argument. It was high time he set things straight. “You were rude to Carolyn and Becky Jean. Neither one of them deserved to be treated with such callous disregard. You owe them both an apology, and, in the future, I expect you to treat them with the respect they deserve.” He didn’t wait for her response. Exiting the car, he stalked up the sidewalk, ready to buy the Victorian and evict all the registered guests if it would keep Ronnie out of his home.
~~~
There was no accounting for taste. It was the only explanation for why Ford would be involved with someone like Veronica Ramsey. Ever since the witch had shown up, uninvited, the previous week, Becky’s life had been Hell. The half-assed apology the woman had given for the way she’d behaved the day she arrived had been as shallow as a hastily dug grave.
“I swear, if she comes in here asking for more financial data one more time, I’m going to go flying monkey crazy on her.”
“Were you talking to me?”
Becky jerked her attention away from the stack of purchase orders on her desk and to the man standing in her doorway. Ford looked good enough to eat, leaning against the doorjamb in his faded jeans and a Don’t Mess with Texas T-shirt.
“Nope.”
Ford’s gaze swept her office. “Talking to yourself, then. That’s not a good sign.” Without invitation, he settled into the one guest chair facing her desk. “So, who has you in such a snit you’re talking to yourself?”
