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

by Emilie Richards

  “There was a reception after the service. I stayed.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  Lacey sighed a little. “A man like that—”

  “Is what?” Marti asked tightly. “A brilliant international journalist, a jet-setter, a man completely out of my league?”

  “I just want what’s best for you, Marti.”

  Marti knew her sister was sincere. “I know you do. But I wish you’d stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl.”

  Lacey smiled, though she still looked concerned as she left to check on Deanna.

  Marti rose, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Even Lacey doesn’t recognize that I’m an adult.”

  “Oh, Marti dear, that’s not so.”

  “Isn’t it? Devlin and I dated, Grammer. We dated.” It was a plumb relief to say the truth for once. “Can you imagine how Lacey would act if she knew? Well, she wouldn’t even believe it. Neither would Deanna. They’d probably think I’d begun writing fiction or something.” She pinched off a dried leaf from a plant near the window.

  “And you, dear? Can you believe it?”

  Marti looked over at her grandmother, comfortable and still lovely at her age. “What do you mean? Of course I believe it. I was there. It’s not some story I’m making up.”

  “I’m not suggesting that it is. So, you dated.” Grammer smiled faintly. “He seemed eminently dateable to me. Why are you not dating, now?”

  “Because he doesn’t take me any more seriously than anyone else does. He thinks my internship at Style was a joke and—”

  “And what did you think about it?”

  “I think I wouldn’t have even had that if not for mother!”

  “But you did have the job,” Grammer countered gently. “And you kept it for several years. You could have quit, you know, if it was so terrible.”

  “I…” Marti paused. Could she have quit? Should she have quit? “I think it was interesting,” she finally allowed. “A lot of journalists began in similar situations, and some of it was really interesting. At first, anyway. I don’t mind working my way up, Grammer, as long as I know there is someplace to go.”

  “And where is it you want to go?”

  “Well…” Words failed her.

  Grammer smiled gently. “Perhaps, darling, you need to stop worrying about whether or not your sisters—or anyone else for that matter—recognize you as an adult; as a young woman perfectly capable of making her way in the world.” She stood and moved across to Marti, catching her face between her gentle, nurturing hands. “I think the real issue is whether or not you realize it.” She brushed her lips across Marti’s cheek. Then she retrieved her hat and headed outdoors once more, leaving Marti to chew on the new perspective.

  Marti snuck a second biscuit from beneath the foil. Was Grammer right? Was the real problem stemming from her? Was she sabotaging herself before she could even get out of the starting gate?

  The biscuit crumbled beneath her fingers as she sat there for a long while. Her head knew there were still some things in her control. So what was her problem?

  She closed her eyes.

  Act with confidence, Martine, even when you have none. She smiled faintly at the memory of her mother’s cultured voice touting the favored idiom. Confidence.

  Right.

  That evening, Marti was desperately repeating her mother’s phrase until it was a mental mantra. She’d managed to get hold of Lou Cox and had felt a sweet triumph when he’d agreed to meet with her. Unfortunately the only time he had free was that evening before he had a dinner engagement. He’d suggested they meet at Red’s Seafood beforehand. She’d gone, willingly enough.

  Now, after avoiding his hand that kept straying to her leg for the umpteenth time, Marti was afraid her control of the situation was definitely slipping, and no amount of positive thinking was going to help. “Councilman Cox—”

  “Call me Lou, Marti. No need to stand on ceremony.” His hand grazed her thigh and she jumped another precious inch toward the edge.

  “Lou.” She kept her smile on through sheer effort. “I simply don’t understand the purpose such a sophisticated bridge will serve for the residents. They’re going to have to pay for it through higher taxes, and probably even a toll. How do the advantages outweigh the disadvantages?”

  “Everyone on the key knows your opinion, Marti.” Lou smiled ruefully. “Thanks to your letter to the editor earlier this week. Seriously, though, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it. The bridge will be a very good thing for the island. You’re just not seeing the big picture.”

  Marti caught his hand in hers and smiled grimly as she placed it on the tabletop. “And what is the big picture, Mr. Cox?” She was willing to bet very few people knew about Lou’s big picture.

  “Now, you don’t really want to discuss boring old business. How is dear Edith doing? Is her broken ankle all healed now? I was even thinking about calling Darby Keever to take a look at the house. It’s a prime location, you know.”

  She did know. “Grammer’s ankle is much improved. But you might want to wait a while before stopping by,” she advised, silently apologizing to Grammer. “At least until the plumbing is fixed. The downstairs toilet…well, it’s kind of unpleasant.” She smiled brightly. “But back to your issues, Councilman. I really am interested in the big picture.”

  He just tutted. “You’re going to college in—where was it again?”

  She stifled her impatience. “New York. I’ve graduated. How long have you been on the city council?” She already knew the answer to that, but hoped that she could steer the conversation back where she wanted it.

  He leaned toward her, so sure of his own appeal that she didn’t know whether to gag or laugh. She settled for “accidentally” tipping over her water glass. Icy water gushed toward the edge of the table as she gasped and Mr. Cox hastily scooted the other direction to avoid a dousing.

  “So sorry,” she lied, mopping with her napkin and scooping ice back into the glass with her hand.

  Lou’s smile didn’t waver a moment, she noticed. A smile like that was probably made for politics. “Now, about the br—”

  “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?”

  Marti gasped again, this time for real, as she looked up to see Devlin. She struggled for words, but he suffered no such affliction as he slid into the booth opposite her. “Grammer told me you were here,” he said. He stuck out his hand to the councilman and introduced himself.

  Poor Lou looked bemused. He obviously realized who Devlin was. It was only deeply ingrained politeness that had Marti finishing the introductions. “Devlin, this is Councilman Lou Cox. He’s the man spearheading the bridge replacement.”

  “Got some development in the works, I’ll bet,” Devlin commented easily.

  Marti watched Lou Cox’s expression shift into gear, making him look supremely satisfied with himself. “Sweetest deal that Colman Key will ever see.”

  She barely had time to become aware of the sinking sensation inside her before he went on. “The Trinity Group,” he said, and she could all but see him rubbing his meaty hands together in glee. “But that’s off the record of course,” he said hurriedly.

  Devlin just smiled blandly. Marti, however, couldn’t manage a smile if her life depended on it. For an hour she’d been trying to weasel, charm and outright ask the councilman what was behind his efforts with the bridge. But Devlin sits down and without turning a hair has the lecherous man dropping details like a split bag of beans.

  “Seriously.” Lou was looking a little anxious, now. “If word got out… Well, shoot would you look at the time? I’m late for my engagement.” He scooted, and Marti could either move voluntarily or be nudged right off the bench. “Faulkner, good to meet you. Marti, give your grandmother my best.” He gave his smooth, practiced smile again. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of her in the weeks to come.” He hadn’t even finished speaking befor
e he was walking away, lifting his hand to greet people as he left the popular seafood joint.

  Marti twisted the wet napkin between her hands and focused on the man who’d ruined her plans as she slid back into the booth. She absently pushed at the tablecloth as it caught in her lap. “What are you doing here?”

  “That seems to be a frequent question these days.”

  “One with a regularly unsatisfactory answer.” Dammit, but she didn’t want to notice that he still looked tired.

  He straightened his arm out, palm open on the table. “You forgot these.”

  The diamond earrings he’d given her. “Maybe I left them behind deliberately.”

  “So I would have a reason to come see you again?”

  “So you’d get the hint that I want nothing to do with you.” Her voice was thick.

  His palm didn’t move. The earrings gleamed with icy fire beneath the hanging lamp centered over the table. “They’re yours, regardless.”

  The ache behind her eyes built pressure. “How generous.” Afraid she’d embarrass herself even more if she remained, she fumbled with her purse and dropped several bills onto the table to cover the coffee and pie they’d ordered then slid out of the booth. But as she moved, so did the tablecloth again, and the glasses and dishes gave an ominous jingle. It wasn’t usual for Red to put tablecloths out, but for some reason he’d done so for the councilman. Or maybe the obsequious little politician had first requested it.

  “For crying in the sink,” she muttered, her face flaming as she fumbled with the cloth, desperation for freedom escalating exponentially.

  “Hold still,” Devlin said, rising to help.

  “No!” Somehow, she’d managed to tangle the hem of the cloth in the gold chain of her little purse, and the links held onto the cloth with rabid passion. “You’ve done more than enough.”

  She finally jerked on the chain hard enough to break it. One of the links hung to the cloth like bared teeth. She didn’t care. She needed to get out of the restaurant. Now.

  The kitchen was closer than the front entrance, and she practically ran through it, ignoring the surprised looks she earned, and burst out the rear door. Her high heels clattered against the pavement as she skirted the garbage bins that smelled like a fisherman’s wharf.

  She kept going until the pavement ended and her feet sank into sand. Her ankle twisted and she cursed, yanking her feet out of the offending pumps without slowing her pace until she reached the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge.

  “Are you going to stop running now?”

  Her head ached. “Stop following me, Devlin. Haven’t you done enough damage?”

  He made a low sound. “Probably have, but what specific damage are you talking about?”

  She shook her head a little. “Can you possibly be more obtuse?”

  “Apparently.” His voice was dry as sandpaper.

  She wanted to tear out her hair. Instead she headed down the beach, wishing that Devlin would let her go and knowing that he was bound to follow. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Four years of college and four years of studying hemlines at Style has prepared me for absolutely nothing. Nothing!”

  There were tears on her cheeks, Devlin realized. In all the time he’d known Marti Colman—whether she was being nearly trampled by rabid fashion show fans, frustrated with the little weasel she’d worked for at Style, or even dumping Devlin—he’d never seen her cry. He felt completely unequipped to handle her tears, and it wasn’t a feeling he welcomed. But then he’d been off-kilter ever since he’d met her.

  “And you just sit down as easy as you please and get the man to talk.” She dashed at her cheeks. “You probably don’t even realize it. Do you know what it is like to be the youngest daughter of Julia and Edward Colman? Failure is not an option. And yet—” her arms lifted wide, then fell back to her sides “—I’ve managed it in spectacular fashion.”

  “Marti—”

  “I’m a failure. There’s no point in denying it. No wonder you think I’m laughable. I am.”

  He didn’t know how to handle her tears, but he did know one thing. He turned her to face him, his hands firm on her shoulders when she resisted. “You’re twenty-three years old, Marti, with your whole life ahead of you. You’re too damned young to be a failure at anything. Now what the hell are you talking about?”

  “See? You don’t know!”

  “I think that is clear,” he agreed, stifling impatience. How many stories had he been on where his patience had been the key to his success? Why was that patience in short supply when it came to Marti?

  “I spent an hour with Lou Cox,” she said thickly. “He’s up to something with the bridge. Something bigger than the bridge. And it’s not good for the island. I can feel it. But an hour with the letch and I’m no closer to an answer or even a hint of an answer. Then you come in, and all you have to do is sit down and the guy starts to talk.”

  “What does a small town councilman and the over-haul of a decrepit bridge have to do with your job at Style?”

  “I don’t have a job at Style,” she cried out. “Steven fired me for submitting an article over his head to the senior ed.”

  “Expect the unexpected,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  She yanked away from him. “I did. You weren’t listening. You rarely listened when I talked about my job. And why would you? I was an intern at a fashion magazine. You’ve earned a Pulitzer. The only thing you were interested in when it came to me was the fact that I wouldn’t go to bed with you.”

  She was crying in earnest. Soft sobs that tore at him. He couldn’t stand it. He tugged her into his arms. “Shh. It’s okay.”

  Her hands fisted in his shirt. “How could you have written…you laughed at me.”

  He wiped his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’ve never laughed at you.”

  Her lashes were spiky against her creamy cheek. “You did. I suggested the reason you never wanted to talk about my work was that you were afraid one day I’d be your competition for a story. You laughed.” Her voice was husky, barely audible.

  “You were joking!” He remembered the conversation well. It was the night she’d told him she never wanted to see him again. “I thought you were joking,” he amended. “You were personal.” He pressed his lips to her temple. Teary or not, she smelled like heaven. “Not business.”

  “You thought my job was a joke.”

  “I didn’t let myself think about your job,” he admitted evenly. “It had nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with this.” He tilted her head back until he could see the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

  She made a soft sound. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” He brushed his thumb over her soft lips. They parted and he felt the even edge of her pearly teeth. Then the betraying flicker as she touched his thumb with the tip of her tongue.

  She’d dumped him, but she still wanted him. They both knew it.

  He replaced his thumb with his mouth. Tasted her surprise, felt her quick inhalation. Then she made a soft sound that went straight to his bloodstream and she leaned into him, returning his kiss with all the passion lurking within her girl-next-door packaging. He felt her hands in his hair, the press of her breasts against his chest as he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted. Everything slid out of his mind as he felt her lips move on his, murmuring his name—the fact that they were on a public beach, that the only reason she wasn’t pushing him away was that she was upset, that the closer he got to getting her out of his system the more he feared that was never going to happen.

  She made him forget that he was forty years old, and not seventeen. That he had responsibilities, that he had a life that wasn’t designed to accommodate kindhearted cupcakes no matter how much she sweetened his life.

  He didn’t want to be part of the world that chewed her up and spit her out. He didn’t want anyone to chew her up. Because the best things about Marti were
her very differences from the world that he knew; a world that wasn’t pretty, that wasn’t kind.

  He slowly lowered her to her feet, shoving down a groan at the way she felt against him, soft and curving and trusting.

  It was her trust that slayed him, just as it always had. He held her still until he thought he could force coherent words out of his throat. He pulled the earrings out of his pocket and took her hand, dropping them in her palm. “They were a gift. Because you brought more into my life than I could ever bring to yours.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Turn around.”

  Her brows drew together and her slender fingers closed over the jewels.

  “Please,” he added.

  She did so.

  He pulled the necklace out of his pocket, knowing the jeweler who’d sold him the set would have winced at the thought of them being relegated to a jeans pocket. But the delicate chain and simple pendant hadn’t been harmed as far as Devlin could tell. He fastened it around Marti’s neck.

  “This is a gift, too,” he said, and held her shoulders to prevent her from turning around and looking at him. “Hemlines or human interest, it’s all the same. If you’re going after a story, Marti, go after it. It doesn’t matter how you come across a lead, as long as you know what to do with it when you’ve found it.”

  Then he lowered his head and kissed the bare curve of her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her as if he could imprint it on his memory for the rest of his life.

  Then he let her go.

  And he walked away.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey there, son, mind if we play through?”

  Devlin pondered the golf clubs in his father’s expensive leather case. There were still six clubs left and two holes yet to play. The term was ironic. He wasn’t “playing” golf.

  “Go ahead,” he told the interloper. He picked up the golf bag and moved out of the way for the foursome.

  He wasn’t interested in golfing. He ought to be packing up his dad’s stuff. Or at least hiring someone to dispose of it for him. There was little more than a week left before he had to leave the country. He wanted nothing remaining of his father’s estate when he went.