To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy

by Emilie Richards

  “Old boyfriend?”

  Zing. She swallowed and turned to face Devlin. “Where’d you disappear to?”

  “Anywhere that Tiffany is not. The woman is a menace. I wish all these people would leave.”

  “It’s all part of the process, Devlin. People are here to say goodbye. They need it, too.”

  “I need a break,” he said flatly. His gaze went across the room where Bobby Ray’s laughter was audible above the noise. “Who’s the guy?”

  “Jealous?” She regretted the flip response as soon as she said it. “A friend from high school,” she said into the awkward silence. Then wished she hadn’t said that, too. Reminding Devlin of her age was never a good thing. She brushed her hand over her hair. “The shrimp need more ice,” she said. “I’ll go talk to the caterer.” Feeling idiotic, considering she’d been trying to get to Devlin all afternoon, she escaped.

  She didn’t see him again until later. The caterer, once he realized that Marti had some concept of entertaining, desperately sought answers that none of the Mrs. Masons—past or current—were apparently capable of providing. Between the caterer and moving about the room unconsciously running interference for Devlin, she stayed busy until the last guest left. Tiffany had retired hours earlier to her suite, claiming she was too distraught to handle any more condolences.

  Marti hovered in the palatial living room, wanting nothing more than to kick off her narrow-heeled shoes, find a comfortable seat, aspirin, and an icy glass of Grammer’s lemonade. Her shoes she could probably manage, but the glaringly modern furnishings in the designer living room were made for effect, rather than comfort, she hadn’t come prepared with a bottle of aspirin, and Grammer’s lemonade was back at Grammer’s. Obviously.

  She looked around her, feeling as lonely as a castaway. She had no idea where Devlin had gone. Looking around for him held no appeal; she wasn’t even an invited guest. Devlin’s stepmother had called her a groupie, for heaven’s sake.

  She bent over, lifting her heel out of the pump for a moment to rub it.

  Coming in from the marble-cool foyer, Devlin saw Marti, leaning over, that expensively simple black dress tightening over her curves. He curled his hand tight around the keys he held. “It’s dark outside,” he said.

  She straightened like a shot, whirling around to face him. Her eyes were so wide and open that he wondered why he couldn’t see his own reflection there. “Your keys from the valet.” He held them out by the little pink ring.

  “I forgot all about them. Thanks.” She reached out and closed her fingers around the dangling keys.

  He didn’t release them. “Maybe you should stay.”

  She looked at him, as wary as a deer scenting danger. She dropped her hand. “Why?”

  “Because you worked harder this afternoon than anyone. Did you think I didn’t notice?”

  “I…didn’t think about it. The caterers needed answers—”

  “The guests needed introductions, the weepy ones needed tissues, the drunk ones needed cabs. You were a better hostess than Tiffany.”

  “Your stepmother couldn’t be expected to deal with all that today.”

  “You really believe that?”

  She faltered. “Well, her husband just died, Devlin.”

  “Even on a good day, Tiffany is a lousy hostess.”

  “I can see you two don’t get along—”

  “Don’t pussyfoot. We detest each other. She’s probably upstairs stealing the gold light fixtures.”

  “Devlin!”

  He shrugged. “She was after my dad’s money when I was fifteen years old. Nothing’s changed in the years since.”

  “But…I thought he’d had, well, several wives.”

  “He did. For some unfathomable reason, he ended up with Tiffany again. Once was stupidity. Marrying her twice was…” He shook his head.

  “Didn’t you say your dad left this place to you, though?”

  His jaw felt tight as he looked around the mausoleum that had been his father’s home. “Yeah.” The word was grim. He could see the confusion in Marti’s eyes. Another refreshing thing about her. She could barely comprehend the twisted familial relationships that were his heritage. “So, are you going to stay, or not?”

  Her lips parted.

  “You can have a guest room,” he added.

  Her relief was nearly palpable.

  Under other circumstances, he might have laughed. “Even I have some standards, cupcake.” He allowed himself the reined freedom of touching her silky cheek, brushing his thumb along her jaw beneath the diamond earrings that he easily recognized since he’d given them to her. “Whether you intended to be or not, you were great this afternoon.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Maybe I am.” He wasn’t used to seeing Marti in such a role…taking charge when no one else would.

  “My parents entertain a lot, Devlin. I grew up around caterers and event planners.”

  “We never talked about it before.”

  Her lips tightened. “We never talked about a lot of things, before. Like you being Phillip Mason’s son, for one.”

  “Believe me, we both tried to forget it as much as possible.”

  “Right. So he left his estate to you, rather than his current or past wives.”

  “He left it to me because he knew I hated the place. That’s the way he was.”

  She frowned. “What about your mother, Devlin? Where is she?”

  “She died when I was fifteen. Right after Daddy-O left her for a career-hungry Tiffany Scott.” If he’d had anywhere else to go, other than to live with his father and Tiffany, he’d have gone. Instead he’d buried himself in every school activity known to teenagers, just to be away from the house as much as possible.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes had gone soft. “I didn’t know.”

  The thing that killed him was that she really was sorry. He’d been the miser when it came to sharing details of his personal life, yet she was apologizing to him. “You look dead on your feet, and it only makes sense for you to stay over. You’re too tired to make that drive tonight.” He forced himself to be practical. “I’d be the bastard my father believed me to be if I took advantage of you now.”

  Her lashes drifted down and she caught his hand between hers.

  Then he did laugh. At himself, because her face was as transparent as it ever was, and the tangle of want and relief showing in her expression was painfully obvious.

  Her gaze lifted, irritation a ripple in the dark depths adding to the volume of emotion on her face. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  “Trust me,” he said darkly, “I’m not.”

  Her lips firmed. “I don’t understand you, Devlin.”

  “You’re wearing the earrings I gave you.”

  Her hands flew to her ears, covering them.

  “You were wearing them when I came to Colman Key.”

  She lowered her hands. Her chin lifted. “Habit, I guess. They’re nice earrings.”

  He still had the matching necklace. He hadn’t had an opportunity to give it to her. She’d dumped him first. Even though she’d probably been smart to do so, he still wasn’t sure what her reasons had been. Maybe that was one of the reasons he couldn’t get her out of his head. “There are a half-dozen guest rooms in this place. You can have your choice. Just go up the stairs and pick a door.”

  “It’s too early for bed,” she said. Then flushed. Whatever her reasons had been, that flush was a dead giveaway. Her mind was the same place his usually was when it came to her. Getting up close and very personal.

  “Would you mind if I just went out there for a while?” She gestured past him and he turned to see the elaborate patio where discreet lights had been placed to provide optimum effect.

  There was a pool out there. And a hot tub. He could probably scare up a swimsuit for her, but thought it’d be a shame. The diamond earrings she wore would be enough for him. “Go ahead. Make yourself at home.”

  Still, she he
sitated. “Are you going to be all right? Can I…can I get you anything?”

  “Feeling sorry for me in my loss, Marti?” Knowing better didn’t stop him from running his hand along the curve of her shoulder.

  “No more than I would for anyone who had a funeral for their father that day.” Only because he was listening hard did he hear the tremble in her voice.

  She needed to toughen up. The world would make mincemeat of her. His mood darkened all over again. “I’ll be in the study if you need anything. The door back behind that waterfall thing.”

  Devlin turned so abruptly and strode off that Marti very nearly swayed. She watched him disappear beyond the glass and water sculpture. Heard the quiet click of a door closing.

  It was hard not to follow him. Whether or not Devlin admitted it, she knew the day had been a difficult one for him. But going to him to share condolences that he obviously didn’t want would only be so much foolishness on her part. Where Devlin was concerned, her willpower was decidedly shaky. Tempting fate would be the height of folly.

  She rubbed her hands over her arms and went outside. There were a number of thickly cushioned chairs and lounges positioned around the patio. It was perfectly landscaped, perfectly presented. Much like the upper patio at her parents’ home.

  Marti preferred the lush, less-formal feel of Grammer’s place. Still, the lounge welcomed her with a whoosh of soft cushions and she stretched out, kicking off her shoes. She’d just rest for a bit, then head back to the key. Back to safety and predictability. Where she belonged.

  She fiddled with her earrings, and realizing it, dropped her hands. Only to lift them again to remove the diamonds. Even in the subtle light pooling over the patio, the gems glistened.

  Our adventure begins.

  She closed her eyes, trying not to remember the letter that had been hanging on Grammer’s refrigerator door, last time she’d looked at it. Just that morning.

  It seemed so very long ago.

  Closing her fingers around the earrings, she sighed.

  The peace lasted all of an hour.

  Marti was struggling against the drowsiness she couldn’t seem to shake, when she heard doors slamming from inside the house. She pushed herself off the lounge and hurried over to the patio doors.

  Inside, she could see Tiffany dragging a heavy suitcase toward the door where several others were already waiting, and Devlin watching, his arms folded and his expression unreadable.

  Marti hesitated only a moment, then pushed the door open and went inside where the tension was thick enough to choke a horse.

  The moment Tiffany spotted Marti, her expression turned mocking. “You’d better rethink whatever you hope to get out of him, sugar. Devlin’s just like his daddy. All promises and no results.”

  Marti didn’t know quite how to respond to that. But Tiffany’s mountain of suitcases were threatening to topple and she darted over to catch a cosmetic case before it crashed into a vase. “Mrs. Mason,” she said, “I am sorry about your husband, but I really don’t—”

  “He’ll use you up,” Tiffany said, her expression as tight as the skin around her eyes. “And leave you little in return.”

  “Use?” At that, Devlin finally moved. He walked to the door, opened it, and began moving the cases through it. “You got it a little backward, didn’t you, Tiffany? You used my father to get the career you wanted, and the minute you had it, you betrayed him with every man in sight. And when even with his influence you couldn’t muster enough competency to be a second-rate gossip columnist, you used him again. Why he married you a second time, I’ll never know.”

  It was like watching a train wreck, Marti thought faintly. Horrible and fascinating all at once.

  “It didn’t get me anywhere, either, did it? So what do you care?” Tiffany’s voice was near to shrieking.

  “Be quiet. You’ll wake the neighbors.” He dumped her last suitcase on the step. “Don’t worry about holidays, stepmother, dear. I learned how to celebrate them on my own when good old dad disowned me for daring to suggest his blushing new bride was taking him for a ride.”

  Tiffany called him something unprintable. She stomped out after her luggage where a taxicab had just pulled up.

  Marti reached out a hand toward Devlin.

  “Save your pity for someone who needs it, cupcake.”

  He might as well have slapped her. “You know, you might be the Devlin Faulkner,” her voice was faint, but she took comfort that it was steady. Even if she did feel like her heart had sunk down to her toes. “And I’ll never understand why you didn’t just tell me the real reason you came to Florida, but I can see that you’re hurting inside, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “I wanted to keep you away from the less than lovely so-called members of my father’s family. And you need to start seeing reality, cupcake, without your imagination coloring things to better suit your tastes.”

  Marti swallowed. Without making the mistake of offering sympathy or comfort again, she retrieved her shoes and little purse from the patio.

  She might have been foolish enough to fall head over heels in love with Devlin Faulkner, but she was smart enough to know that nothing between them had changed.

  Chapter 5

  “So, sleeping beauty finally decided to greet the day.”

  Marti ignored Deanna’s teasing comment and headed for the refrigerator. “Did you eat all of Grammer’s biscuits from breakfast?”

  Deanna indicated a foil-covered plate on the counter. “We saved you a few. You got in really late last night.”

  Marti grabbed the butter from the fridge and closed it a little harder than necessary. The love letter fluttered as the door closed. She turned away from it and took the biscuits to the table. “Don’t you have something to do, Deanna? Like plan your next big adventure?”

  “All planned, pipsqueak. As much as I plan anything, anyway. What’s got you so crabby?”

  “Nothing.” Marti broke open a biscuit and slathered butter on it. “Did you hear Grammer and Big John earlier? I think they were arguing.”

  “I doubt it. They’ve never argued.”

  Maybe her own mood was slanting everything. Maybe, just as Devlin had accused, her imagination was as good as a set of crayons when it came to seeing the facts. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

  Deanna shrugged. “We need more packing cartons. I think the Realtor said another looky-loo wants to see the place later this morning.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “I wonder if we could nail some of the doors shut first?”

  “I wish—”

  “What, dear?” Grammer came in from outside, tugging off her wide-brimmed hat. “Whatever your wish, you shall surely have.”

  Marti and Deanna eyed each other. Their wish was that Grammer needn’t leave her beloved home. They were doing their best to come up with an alternate solution before the house really did sell.

  Not that they were inclined to let Grammer in on their well-intentioned…misdeeds. “I wish these biscuits of yours had no calories,” Marti said instead, “so I could eat a dozen of them whenever it suited me.” She reluctantly covered the plate with the foil again before she could finish off the remaining two.

  “Pish tosh,” Grammer said. “You’re as slender as a reed. All three of my girls are too thin.” She pressed the back of her hand to Deanna’s cheek. “You’re looking flushed, dear. Why don’t you go lie down and have a rest?”

  Deanna rose, tossing her curls behind her shoulder. “Just the heat,” she assured. “I’ll be tackling the front closet in case anyone is interested. If I don’t surface in a day or two, send in the Coast Guard.”

  Grammer smiled. “Oh, you.”

  The front closet was home to an assortment of items that hadn’t made it to the attic. Marti thought there might be a For Sale sign lurking in there, too. “Where is Lacey?”

  “She went into town earlier this morning.”

  Marti was vaguely relieved. She didn’t think she was
up to a grilling from Lacey over her wee-hour return.

  “Well, I suppose I should go help Deanna. She was complaining about a sore throat yesterday.”

  “Not so fast, dear.” Grammer set her hat on the counter. “Come sit with me for a while.”

  Maybe a grilling from Lacey would have been easier, Marti thought uneasily as she followed Grammer and took a seat beside her on a wicker love seat.

  Grammer didn’t mince words. “I want you to tell me what is bothering you.”

  “Well, you have to move—”

  “Marti.”

  She closed her mouth.

  Grammer sighed gently. “You know I love this house. But your father is doing what he thinks best—”

  “So you go along with him even if he is wrong? I know you’re upset about moving, Grammer. I heard you and Big John arguing outside my window this morning.” Regret swamped her when her grandmother’s expression fell. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t eavesdropping, truly. I just heard raised voices. And you never lose your temper, Grammer. You’re practically a saint when it comes to that, so obviously you’re more on edge about the move than you want us to think.”

  “And you are avoiding the question, my dear. I know the move doesn’t make you happy, just as you know that what ties us together is love, not this house. You’re not going to make your life here on the key—”

  “Grammer—”

  “—and nobody expects you to. Which brings me back to the point. What is really bothering you? Does it have something to do with that nice Mr. Faulkner?”

  “I certainly hope not.” Lacey stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “The man runs in fast circles, Grammer. I’m sorry about his father, and all, but Lord only knows what his intentions are where Marti is concerned.”

  Irritation bubbled inside Marti. “Geo ran in some fast circles, too,” she reminded her sister of her ex-husband.

  “And I happily left him to those fast circles,” Lacey countered. “You were awfully late coming in last night. What happened?”