Accidental Heiress

by Lauren Nichols

  He turned around and went back to work. “Ask Belle to show you something in Montana agate. You can get turquoise and silver anywhere.”

  “Thank you, I’ll do that. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up for you while I’m in town?” she said to his back.

  “Yeah. One of Amanda Craw ford’s girls.”

  Casey felt the swift, sharp sting of tears. How could a man she’d known only five weeks make her so angry and hurt her so deeply with so little effort? “I see,” she said over the lump in her throat. “Any woman will do. Thanks a lot.” Whirling away, she tried not to run as she made her way quickly across the basement floor to the cellar stairs. Jess was behind her, his hands grasping her shoulders, before she had her foot on the first step. He pulled her back against him.

  “No,” he said, his breath fanning the hair at her temple, “any woman won’t do. Casey, I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass today.” Jess turned her around, his eyes filling with self-loathing when he saw the watery shine in hers. “I mean it,” he murmured. “I really am sorry.”

  But she was still hurt, and forgiveness wouldn’t come that easily. “I have to go. The stores close at five, and I have a few other stops to make.”

  “I could drive—” he began, then stopped and exhaled heavily. “Never mind, bad idea. Be careful on the dirt roads. Some of them don’t hold up well when it rains this hard. And don’t forget to take an umbrella.”

  Then Casey did hurry away. Because his tenderness and his concern were beginning to melt her heart. And she knew that if she didn’t leave then, she might end up “helping” them both.

  The dirt roads were tricky in places, but Casey made it to town and parked Jess’s truck in the lot on Frontier Street without mishap. Grabbing his. black umbrella, she hurried up the bricked street, stepping past rushing streams of muddy rainwater until she got to the covered boardwalk. After shaking out the umbrella, she stepped inside the quaint little shop and shut the door.

  Harsh, muttered voices coming from the rear of the store almost made her turn around and go right back out.

  Casey couldn’t hear what they were saying, but two men and a grandmotherly woman stood near a display of kachina dolls and Indian pottery, so deeply embroiled in their argument, Casey knew they were unaware of her. Their wild gestures and angry expressions said this was no discussion over someone getting the wrong change. Suddenly, the woman spotted her, and a radiant smile bloomed on her face.

  “Can I help you, dear?” she called, then murmured an aside to the men, who suddenly got very busy opening the cartons on the floor. The man with the darker coloring appeared to be in his thirties, and was tall and muscular, in tight jeans and a cotton shirt that was open halfway to his navel. Gold chains circled his thick neck. The younger man was a skinny blonde with a frizzy ponytail and a dull expression.

  “I’m Belle Craw ford,” the shop owner gushed, rushing forward. She was an attractive woman in her late fifties, with a wavy cloud of carefully tended white hair and a mellifluous voice as soothing as a melody from a fine music box. “Please accept my apology for that unpleasantness.”

  Casey smiled. “No problem.”

  Belle chortled musically. “Well, actually, it is a problem. I’m afraid I’m not very forgiving of careless deliverymen.” She nodded toward the men in the back of the shop. “Several pieces of Nemaji pottery were damaged while they were unloading my shipment this afternoon. Unfortunately, it’s the second time this month something like this has happened.” Her smile stretched wide again. “But you’re not here to listen to my troubles. What can I show you?”

  “A ring for my mother. Size five and a half, and I’d like something special. Jess suggested—Jess Dalton—that you might have something in Montana agate.”

  “Jess sent you, did he? Well, then, I must take extra special care of you. Follow me, dear.”

  With the silk skirt of her gray paisley dress swaying from ample hips, Belle- led Casey past impressive showcases filled with silver, turquoise and coral, then on to another case where rings in various sizes, shapes and colors shimmered beneath the lights. “You know, I just did a special order for Ross—a silver-and-turquoise belt buckle. Perhaps you’ve seen it.”

  “Yes, I have,” Casey replied. “It’s very nice.”

  “Thank you. That Ross is a nice boy, but he’s not the man Jess is, is he?”

  Casey hid a smile. “Well...no.”

  Moving behind the display counter, Belle took out several black velvet flats of rings. “How is that gorgeous rogue?”

  A twinge of her earlier annoyance surfaced and Casey . wanted to say, The gorgeous rogue is randy, Ms. Crawford, and he’s asked me to bring one of your great-great-grandmother’s girls home to take the edge off his hormones. But of course she didn’t say that. Instead, she replied, “He’s fine. Working inside today because . of the rain.”

  Belle’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Then I guess that makes you the young woman who’s living with him.”

  Startled, Casey wasn’t sure what to say for an instant. Jess had been right about the gossip mills in small towns; everyone knew everyone else’s business. “Actually,” she answered, “it makes me the young woman who works for him. I’m an employee, Ms. Craw ford. I live in the main house because Jess thought it would be inappropriate to put me in the bunkhouse with his men.” Which was Casey’s way of trying to convince Belle that her living with Jess was appropriate-—something the woman wasn’t buying for an instant.

  That “don’t kid a kidder, my great-great-grandmother was this town’s most notorious citizen” smile stretched over Belle’s full lips. “And, of course, he would never do that,” she gushed. “But that would have certainly set tongues to wagging, wouldn’t it?”

  As if tongues weren’t wagging enough already, Casey thought, holding back a sigh. “The rings?” she prompted.

  “Oh, yes.”

  It took several minutes of looking through Belle’s personally crafted designs before Casey found the ring she was looking for. Unfortunately, it was the wrong size, and the stone was too large for her mother’s small hand. Belle reached beneath the counter for an order sheet, her too-pleasant tone beginning to grate on Casey’s nerves.

  “Now, it’s no trouble at all to make one up for you if you don’t have to have it too soon, dear.”

  “Well, I’d need it by mid-Septem—”

  “Oh, my gracious, I wouldn’t require that much time. All I need is your name and a small deposit, and we’re all set.”

  “Beg your pardon, Ms. Craw ford,” the muscular delivery man said through a smirk as he sauntered up to the counter. “But me an’ Tom’re takin’ off.” He pulled a filigreed pocket watch from his jeans and glanced at the timepiece. A gold fob dangled from the chain in his fingers. “It’s almost four and we got things to do before we meet our new assoc—”

  Belle drilled him with a sharp look. “I’m with a customer now, Deke. Just give me a moment and we’ll finish our discussion.”

  Staring coldly, the man slowly pocketed his watch, looked as if he wanted to say something else, then walked back to join his partner.

  Belle turned on another bright smile for Casey. “My goodness, the day doesn’t seem to be getting any better, does it? Now, where were we?”

  Two hours later, Casey was still thinking that if she had known of another jewelry shop in town, she might have told Belle to forget the order. Something about the fawning woman and the two men who worked for her made Casey uneasy. But, she decided as she walked back to the parking lot and tossed the now unnecessary umbrella into Jess’s truck, she had to deal with Belle only once more. And the woman did do beautiful work.

  Casey climbed inside the truck and glanced into the rear-view mirror, smiling in satisfaction as she fluffed her fingers through her newly styled hair. She hadn’t intended to have her hair done; but she’d stopped by Aunt Ruby’s for coffee and she’d discovered that Sharon was a stylist, and minutes later she was sitting in her shop down
the street having her hair trimmed and shaped.

  She depressed the clutch and turned the key, then put the black Silverado into reverse and started inching out into the lane.

  From out of nowhere, a mud-spattered dark blue pickup with a CB antenna sped past her, barely missing the rear bumper of Jess’s truck. Casey hit the brakes hard, stalled the engine, and shot an indignant look at the departing vehicle. Belle Craw ford’s young blond delivery man was behind the wheel.

  “I like your hair,” Jess said later as they did the supper dishes together. Casey was glad his temperament had improved.

  He’d had chili and hot corn bread waiting when she came home—no, back to Broken straw, she corrected herself—and it had been just the thing to chase away the uncharacteristic chill of the late-June evening. A side thought reminded her that Jess had once said Montana had two seasons: summer and winter. Then he’d grinned and added, “Sometimes on the same day.”

  “Thanks, having it trimmed was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. After I’d ordered my mom’s ring, I had coffee with your Aunt Ruby. When I was there, Sharon mentioned that she was a beautician and on her way to her shop... and voilà.” She shook her silky shoulder-length up-to-date shag, the soft, feathery bangs skimming her brows. “I like it, too.”

  Frowning abruptly, she sent him a curious look. “You know, speaking of ‘liking,’ your aunt doesn’t like Belle Craw ford much, does she?”

  Jess grinned and slid the last of the dishes onto a shelf in the cupboard. “Aunt Ruby tends to have strong feelings about people, whether they’re justified or not. One day, Belle made the mistake of telling Ruby her apple pies were too sugary, and that was that.”

  “How do you feel about her?”

  “Belle? I like her. She’s nice.”

  Casey stared at him in disbelief. Men were so easily taken in by women! “No, she isn’t, she’s fake. She gushes too much, and she fawns all over her customers.”

  “Some people would say that’s just good salesmanship.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be one of them.” Casey pulled the plug in the sink. “When I got there, she was giving a couple of delivery men a bad time about some Nemaji pottery they’d broken.”

  “And? That makes her a bad person?”

  “No, it doesn’t make her a bad person,” she answered, turning on the water full force and chasing the remaining suds down the drain. “There’s just something not quite right about her. Something I can’t put my finger on.” She dried her hands on the towel Jess extended. “And her delivery men are peculiar, too—if that’s actually what they are. Considering the way the older man was arguing with Belle, I have my doubts. In fact, I think they’re the men who—” She stopped, not sure finishing the statement would be wise; Jess hadn’t scowled at her in a few hours, and she wasn’t eager to turn back time.

  “You think they’re the men who what?”

  After another cowardly pause, she answered, “I think they’re the men who drove out of the alley last night when we were...talking...outside Hardy’s store.”

  Jess took the dish towel from her and tossed it over a rack to dry, his eyes clouding. “If memory serves, we weren’t talking. Why do you think they’re the same men?”

  “Because the one with the ponytail almost took off the back of your truck when I was leaving the parking lot this afternoon, and the pickup he was driving looked a lot like the one we saw last night. It was dark, mud-spattered. And it had a CB antenna on it.”

  Jess grinned wryly and poured himself another cup of coffee. “With all the rain we’ve had, every truck in the county is mud-spattered, mine included. And even if it was them, their only crime is driving a vehicle on Frontier Street—” He paused, and his voice went low and serious. “And disturbing us.”

  Casey met his steady gaze for a long, uneasy moment, watching memories of last night flicker through his dark irises. Then she scooped up the dishcloth and wiped off the table, leaving the condiments and wicker place mats for the morning. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight,” she said in a wobbly voice.

  “It’s only seven-thirty. It’s still light out.”

  “I know. But I only have a few chapters left in the mystery I started last week, and I want to see how it turns out.”

  Jess ambled over to her and straightened one of the place mats. “We aren’t even going to discuss what’s happening between us, are we?”

  “No, because there’s no point in it.” Sighing wearily, Casey walked around him, rinsed the dishcloth and hung it over the drainer. “The chili was great,” she said, meaning it. “Thanks for cooking. Good night.”

  She had barely settled on her bed and opened her book when she heard his agitated footfalls on the stairs. Casey stiffened in apprehension as he strode toward her unlocked door, hesitated, then walked past and slammed into the bathroom. Spigots ran, and a few minutes later she heard him come back out, descend the steps and leave.

  Casey rushed to the window and looked out as he got into his truck and wheeled down the driveway. She brought a nervous hand to her throat. Was he going to town? she wondered. Did he need a woman so badly he was on his way to find one who would be willing to do what she could not? An overwhelming wave of jealousy rushed through her. And, of course, if that was what he wanted, he wouldn’t have a problem finding someone. He was a sexy, virile man with normal human needs and appetites, and he was unattached. She had no claim on him. As she’d told Belle Craw ford earlier, she was merely an employee.

  So why did she feel like trashing the whole house?

  “It’s infatuation, that’s all,” she muttered to herself. “He’s good-looking, and he’s different from Dane, and he’s around all the time, and you’ve talked yourself into wanting him. It doesn’t mean anything, and if you continue to make such a big deal of it, you’re going to make yourself sick.” Then she flopped back down on her bed and finished in disgust, “So stop being a baby, and just read your stupid book.”

  By the time he came home several hours later, Casey had herself in a snit to match his, and it lasted for the next three days. The Fourth of July passed without even a nodding admission from Jess that there was anything to celebrate, and when Hank, Ross and Pruitt went to a neighboring town to watch the fireworks display, Casey stayed in her room and sulked. The men had invited her. But it was the darnedest thing. She was mad as blazes at Jess, but she didn’t want to go to the celebration without him.

  Jess was at his desk on Saturday night when the biting looks and stinging replies they’d been firing at each other for the past seventy-two hours finally came to a head.

  Casey breezed into the den, pulling a pick through her sexy new hairdo. “I need to use the truck tonight,” she said airily. “When we rode out this afternoon to check the watering troughs in the pastures, Ray mentioned there’s a good band playing at Dusty’s. He promised to teach me to two-step.”

  Every muscle in Jess’s body clenched. Ray? Goddammit, Ross was supposed to ride out with Casey today. He didn’t want Ray Pruitt within a hundred yards of her. More and more, he was convinced Pruitt had a checkered past. All Jess knew about him was that he had come to Broken straw four years ago looking for a job and he never talked about family, friends or where he’d come from. True, old Hank Lewis didn’t talk about his roots, either, but Hank was a class act—Pruitt wasn’t. In fact, if Pruitt wasn’t a damn good cowhand, he’d be gone.

  Jess cleared his throat and continued to sort the bills in front of him. “Sorry, I’m using the truck tonight.”

  “I thought you said you were staying in to do book-work.”

  “I did. I changed my mind.” He’d changed his mind, all right—the instant she’d come up with the harebrained idea of meeting Pruitt at the roadhouse.

  “Where are you going?”

  Jess finally looked up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m meeting friends. At Dusty’s.”

  He watched an angry flame leap in her blue eyes. Was that look a warning for him n
ot to push her too far, he wondered?

  All at once, Jess thought of the makeshift agreement he had asked her to sign weeks ago in the kitchen, giving him time to repay the sixty grand Broken straw owed her. But the unwitnessed, unnotarized agreement didn’t mean sheep-dip compared to her very legal loan document. She could still foreclose at any time. Dammit, why hadn’t he dragged her into town to have it signed in front of witnesses? Why had he trusted his instincts and assumed she wouldn’t renege or use the power she had to manipulate him?

  Well, he wouldn’t be manipulated. No woman was ever going to have him dancing on a string again.

  “Then that’s it?” Casey asked after a lengthy silence. “You won’t take me with you?”

  “That’s right,” he answered, supremely satisfied. “I don’t know when I’m coming home tonight, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to wait around for me.”

  Abruptly Casey turned and walked out of the den. “Fine. I’ll catch a ride with Ray.”

  The trip to Dusty’s was one of the longest molar-grinding, jaw-clenching experiences of Jess’s life, even though he broke every speed limit posted to get there. For the entire ride, Casey sat stiffly against her door, looking and smelling like heaven, but rigid with a hellish disposition that rivaled Jess’s own. It was a huge relief when the blinking neon sign over Dusty’s Roadhouse came into view. Jess swung the Silverado into the parking lot, bounced over jarring ruts and potholes, then finally braked to a stop and rammed the gearshift into Park.

  He sent Casey a cold look and a colder smile. “We’re here. Have fun.”

  Then he got out of the truck, slammed the door and strode across the dark lot without waiting for her. Because he didn’t want one female in that room to think for a second that he and Casey were a couple. He was going to get laid tonight, dammit, and he didn’t want any woman’s sense of propriety slowing things down.

  The second he opened the door and walked in, to the lively cacophony of rowdy laughter and country music, Jess’s knotted insides began to unwind. Yeah, this was what he needed, he thought, hailing friends and moving toward the bar. No stress, no pressure, no her—just a couple of beers and the easy camaraderie of people like himself. He found an empty bar stool with a good view of the dance floor, settled in and ordered a draft. Then he started taking inventory of the available women in the room.