by Susan Arden
It was the one area that she excelled in not excelling. She needed boundaries when she got the bit between her teeth. An idea would take hold of her and she’d be a runaway train. His firecracker fiancée was a force to contend with—no one from the McLemore tribe would argue that fact!
“Hey, Dude!” Hector walked into the meeting room, picking up a notebook from the table. “What are doing? Studying plays?”
“Naw. I was talking to my fiancée.” He’d slipped inside the team meeting room after showering and dressing, and now lowered his legs from the table, letting one foot thud to the floor then the other.
“You flying out to see Cory? Whoa, Christmas in Paris. Pretty wild!”
Brett rose and shook his head. “We’re staying here for the holiday. With the game in L.A. it’s a better plan.” Hector, along with several of the players on the team, knew Cory. Hector and his girlfriend were part of the circle of teammates that she and he socialized with in dinners, cookouts, charity events, and several holiday and birthday celebrations.
“Gotcha. Merry Christmas,” Hector replied, then he walked toward him with his arm outstretched. “Why don’t you and Cory come over? Tomorrow night. We’re roasting a pig. Doing Christmas Cuban style. Midnight mass and then we come back home. Music, food, friends.”
“Sounds great. I’ll let you know.” After a one-arm man hug combination thump, he stepped back.
Hector frowned. “Mind me saying…something is off.”
“Nothing. I was talking with Cory and she’s flying home. You know how what it’s like.”
“Fuck yeah. Being away and apart. Sucks it…big time. Dude, your girl will be here and then let me know. I understand if you guys want some alone time.”
They bumped fists and he nodded to Hector. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
“See you tomorrow. Training, bright and early. Fuck. Gotta love the NFL!”
Brett agreed. “Yeah. But hell, we signed up. Eyes wide open. Right?”
“Seriously,” Hector snorted, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “You headed out?”
“Yep. I’ll walk out with you.” Brett picked up his sports bag and walked alongside his teammate through the underground corridor, shooting the shit as they made their way to the parking lot.
“Later,” Brett said as they parted.
He walked over the paved ground, the chill in the air reminding him of how much he ached for one warm body, naked and soft against him. He guesstimated, after studying flights to and from Paris for the last twenty-three months…Cory would be lucky to get home before tomorrow. That meant getting hold of her on Christmas Eve, and having his way with his spitfire for one night before they had to hustle to L.A. He thought of what he’d need to wrangle his filly into seeing the light.
Inside his car, he opened the browser on his cell, and spoke the commands into his phone to find an adult novelty toy store. He had an application that allowed him to access info by speaking and listening, a great resource for someone like himself with serious dysgraphia. If there had been these types of tools and devices—computer applications when he’d been in high school, he might have gone to college…but then his life would have turned out differently.
No, meeting Cory was his destiny—perfect. Well perfect as soon as he could get some control over her impulsive nature. With a shop address keyed into his navigation app, he put his car in gear and headed for Mockingbird Lane.
An hour and half later, with a bag of erotic goodies, he was clenching his jaw. He’d checked his phone at least a half-dozen times and still nothing from Cory. Not a peep. He called her again, and left two more messages. She’d been right outside the airport, on the Métro which meant by now she’d have another ticket in hand. If she’s being stubborn…Christ! She’d better not be testing if he was serious.
*
He arrived home, parked in his circular drive, and tooted his horn. Two blue heelers came running as he opened his car door, unfurling his long legs.
“Let’s go check on the horses,” he muttered to his dogs. One had a ball in its mouth. He lobbed it across the front yard.
His stable manager did a majority of the upkeep when he was on the road and during practice, but he’d learn a ton after spending hours with Rory and Brandon at Evermore, and Carolina, Cory’s sister-in-law and a large animal vet. Her brothers had taken him around during the cattle round up, explaining the goings on, and offered to help him get set up when he was ready to take on cattle as well as horses. He had fifty fenced acres and he intended on doing more than playing ball…when the time came to make a change.
Change. He and Cory were ready to make more than a few changes. Still no phone call and he scratched his dogs’ heads after having spent the last few minutes playing fetch. “C’mon, pups. Time to get to work.”
Done with feeding the horses and checking on the stable temperature, he walked over to his house. At the doorway, he slowed his trek across the travertine foyer, observing the twinkling white lights on the Christmas tree. Within his living room, the fir stood seven feet tall with a blue and silver ornamental theme he’d managed along with a slew of presents underneath. All he needed was his fiancée.
For the first time in a long time, he felt a wrenching in his gut. None of this meant anything without her. It had been over three hours since they’d talked. Knifing ache along with concern and frustration clenched his chest in a tight-fisted grip. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and besides a few texts from friends and teammates, his messages were minus the one on which he waited. Fuck!
He gritted his teeth, scrolling down his contacts, considering who he could call. It had been awhile since he’d talked with Cory’s family on something besides ranching concerns. He’d spoken with Sarah her mom about a dress size when he’d been Christmas shopping for Cory, but other than that, he hadn’t sounded the alarm and wasn’t sure he wanted to do that now. Cory’s brothers for the most part were low-key, yet they wouldn’t be if he opened Pandora’s Box. What if she was put out and simply sulking? Wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a ‘miscommunication’ and she’d lost her temper…but she was alone and so far away. Dr. Peterson said she’d left Cory at the office… Dr. Peterson. She’d be the person to contact. He’d start with her, instead of putting in motion, a colossal cavalcade of worry at the McLemore home front.
He dialed Cory’s advisor’s number and waited while her number rang. “Hello?” a woman’s voice boomed.
“Dr. Peterson?”
“Yes. How may I help you?”
“It’s Brett Gold…Cory’s fiancé. Sorry to bother you.”
“Well it’s no bother. None at all. What’s up?”
He inhaled, walking into the middle of his living room. “Cory didn’t make her flight…and I haven’t heard from her. She arrived at the airport. Almost three hours ago.”
“What happened? She told me she was coming along when we talked. There was a glitch in our computer directory, but she said she was leaving.” Dr. Peterson sighed loudly. “I bet she stayed and tried to transfer the files. I told her not to, but you know how determined she can be.”
He wouldn’t classify Cory as strictly determined—a good deal stubborn as a mule came to mind. “Yeah. She’s very determined,” he agreed to be polite. “And missing. I was wondering if you’d heard from her.”
“Brett, I’m so sorry but after we talked, I’d assumed she’d vamoosed. I should have called her.”
“No apology necessary. Cory’s a big girl. Her phone might be dead.” He didn’t like that term. Not when paired with her missing.
“Cory’s phone not charged? I doubt it. If anything I could see some IT glitch like what happened at work but that would be a bad coincidence. Statistically speaking—I doubt probable—but I guess possible. What I’m saying is, I’m not sure what to think.”
His blistering anger started to erode, pushed aside and replaced with something sharper, something rese
mbling fear that tore into his core. To hear Dr. Peterson confirm that Cory wasn’t one to have an uncharged cell was all he needed to kick start him into action.
Pacing back and forth in front of the Christmas tree, he threaded his fingers through his hair. “Not to worry. I fully intend on getting to the bottom of where Cory is. I’m sure she’s fine and this will make for an entertaining story. We’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Brett, call me if…when you talk to her. Or tell her to call me.” Cory’s advisor’s voice had grown strained.
“I promise. The moment I talk with Cory, you’ll be the next person called.”
After hanging up, he headed for the den and booted up his computer. Holiday flights were booked to Paris today. He could catch a flight out tomorrow afternoon and be in Paris, Christmas morning. He bought a ticket and raked his fingers through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. He scrubbed his hands down his face. Baby, where in the world are you? Cory, call me!
As he absentmindedly stared at the computer screen, the icon alerting him of an email flashed, and he clicked his inbox. He stared at the newest notification and rapidly opened the email from Cory. What the fuck?
Babe,
I’m sorry I didn’t call. I dropped my phone and it cracked. Worse my wallet was stolen. Can you believe it????
I’m here at the apartment with no ID so I can’t get a ticket to get home. The stores are closed, but tomorrow I’ll get in gear and see what I can do about replacing my cell. Looks like I’m stuck here for Christmas.
You’re right. Things have to change.
Please don’t be mad. I’m upset enough for the both of us. :^(
I love you, cowboy!
Yours always,
Cory
X~O~X
He could hear the frustration in her message and for a second, a twinge lit up his chest. She needed him now. Not in two days. There was only one person he knew who had the means to cross the Atlantic on a whim. Vic Castellano, the owner, had said he wanted to talk. He picked up his phone and after calling Coach Rollins, he had the owner’s private cell number. He dialed Vic and waited as the line connected. On the first ring, a man barked, “Talk to me.”
“Vic, it’s Brett Gold.”
“Well, this is funny. I was just thinking about you. Got the stats on today’s practice in front of me. How are you feeling for Sunday’s game?”
“I’m ready and that’s why I’m calling. I’ve got a situation.” He rubbed his chin, not much for mincing his words, but he didn’t want to be in a position that Castellano could manipulate for his benefit.
“A situation where you might miss a game? Your contract is very specific, Gold.”
“I don’t want to miss a game. Not one that would impact our ranking.”
Castellano wasn’t quick to respond. Instead he chuckled for a millisecond. “But you need something… something I can help with. Am I right?”
Brett leaned back in his chair. No wonder Vic had a reputation for being a ballbuster—if he could read a person over the phone. “I do. My fiancée is stuck in Paris. She works for UCLA and got caught in a project. I have a ticket for a flight leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’d be in Paris instead of L.A. on Sunday. Unless you had access to a private jet,” Vic interjected.
“Exactly.”
“Not the type of a favor easy to ask.”
Immediately he got what needed to happen here. “Vic, can I borrow your jet? I’d like to go and get my girl and play on Sunday.”
“Gold. You’ve got stones! Fuck, it’s been years since someone who needed my help, didn’t go the route of bullshitting me. Promise me some load and deliver less. You’re a helluva player and I respect a man who does what’s required. On and off the field.”
“Effectively, the ball is still in play, and in your court,” he replied.
“Gold, I’ve wanted to have a talk with you for some time.”
“I’m all ears.” Fucking A. What was the owner about to try and leverage?
“Here’s the thing,” Vic said, stringing out his words. “I don’t throw these elaborate after parties for myself. It’s all part of selling the Devils’ image. Fans want a part of that. It’s serious enough that a Brazilian soccer team has their own graveyard, and is selling funeral packages to their fans. I don’t want to go that far, but this is a business to me. Football. Dallas. The Devils. A winning team isn’t only about scoring on the field. Sponsors and fans want to see my players in the flesh and that’s why I invite all the Devils to my parties.”
He exhaled, the muscles over his body went rigid. No way this side of hell would he break his promise to Cory. He’d asked her trust and she’d given it—even when clearly, she wasn’t looking forward to him laying her over his lap and tanning her precious and perfect hide.
“I’m not into the party scene anymore.” Brett inserted steel into his tone.
“I get that about you, Gold. When you proposed to Miss McLemore from the field, our ratings went sky high. Do me a favor and you’ve got yourself a deal. A jet for the weekend.”
“What’s that?” he asked, wondering which way Vic would take.
“Let the press take some photographs.”
“Pardon me?”
“Yeah, when you hookup. I’ve got enough press contacts all over. A Devils’ tight end in Paris. It’s a great slant on the behind the scenes. A polished interview. I like it. Hell the more I say it, maybe I should be the one surprising someone… Listen, agree to giving me an exclusive. One that I own and can use as I see fit.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Brett replied. “My fiancée doesn’t know I’m coming.”
“That’ll only make this story that much better, but I haven’t heard your actual consent.”
Shit. He had a choice. Give permission for a story when he didn’t know for certain how Cory would greet him. Or miss being with her when she might very well be in trouble. In reality he had no choice. “You have my word. An exclusive interview, but I get to determine where and it won’t be for more than thirty minutes.”
“Fair enough. Consider this a done deal. You’ll enjoy my new jet…a Global Express XRS. She’s sleek and comfortable. I’ll have my attorney draw up a contract. Wish my PR team could come up with stuff like this. My assistant will notify the pilot on call and send you the airport information within the next thirty minutes.”
He didn’t have much to pack…except for the items he’d just purchased. “Is there a customs clearance?”
“Why? Are you bringing something illegal?” Castellano asked pointblank.
Equally blunt, Brett replied, “I don’t do drugs. Nothing illegal. Just a few gifts I bought my fiancée.”
“Oh. I see.” The owner laughed. “I’m sure whatever you’ve gotten Miss McLemore will be perfectly fine to transport internationally.”
“Thanks, Vic,” Brett said before hanging up and feeling like barbed wire encircled his ribs.
He’d be in Paris in hours. Find Cory and make sure she was all right. Then, he fully intended on hand-delivering precisely what his high-spirited fiancée required: some good old-fashioned discipline.
Question was, how much resistance would he have to dismantle? He wasn’t opposed to the challenge—hell, that was part and parcel what made Cory irresistible to him. She was a mixture of innocence and defiance with a streak of stubborn that shone brightest when she set her mind to a task.
But her missing her flight after he’d opened his heart, believing this Christmas was going to be unlike any of the others he’d ever known—hit him deep. Growing up without a father, on the road with his mom…this year he’d set down roots. For once, he didn’t pretend that being alone was hunky-dory. Anger and hurt snaked through him. For both Cory and himself, he needed to get his firecracker reeled in and there was only one way.
He dictated an email to her, briefly outlining what he’d done and hopefully she’d write him
back before he took off—or call. Holy Christ, he’d rather talk to her than have to write out what he felt.
Baby,
I’m coming to you. Got a jet and I’ll be in Paris by 5:00 am. Not too long now. Get ready. I agreed to an exclusive interview in exchange for flying private. Sugar, we can spend Christmas together and return to L.A. If you get this message soon, we can Skype. I’m leaving in an hour.
See you soon, cowgirl!
All my love,
Brett
Chapter 5
THE WORDS Cory had typed didn’t convey everything she longed to say, or the spiraling frustration shaking her to the core. She stared at her laptop screen after typing the email to Brett and her fingers shook as she considered whether or not to send it. If she didn’t, he’d think... Sweet Lord, what would he think?
She clicked her mouse and off the email went. She didn’t have a land line in the apartment and now she’d wished she’d had the sense to get one. Closing her computer, she set it on the cocktail table and leaned back on the sofa, curling her feet under herself. It was seven and the snow was steadily falling outside. By the time she’d reached her apartment, the sidewalk was covered in several inches of snow. The taxi driver was kind enough to accompany her into the lobby and had waited downstairs while she came up and grabbed enough cash to pay for her fare.
A fire was burning in the fireplace, and she spread out a soft cashmere throw, refusing to feel one bit sorry for herself. Yet her chin quivered and she felt the sting of tears about to break free. “Stop!” she said aloud. “I’m not about to bawl like a baby.”
