by Robyn Grady
But Nita was shaking it off. “I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll be there early.”
Elizabeth dug some riding breeches from a drawer. “Don’t you dare change your plans.”
“You’re not going to cook.” Slipping a polishing rag from her pocket, Nita rubbed over the oak dresser. “You don’t want to frighten the boy off. Then again, your mother couldn’t flip an egg. Didn’t stop your dad from proposing.”
Pulling on the breeches, Elizabeth paused to give the older woman a pointed look. “Nita, I’m not marrying Daniel Warren.”
“Did I say that you were?”
Nita concentrated on polishing the same spot on the dresser while Elizabeth, shaking her head fondly, shimmied into a checked shirt then dropped onto the edge of the bed, socks in hand. She was feeling restless, to say the least. The best way to work off energy was to jump in a saddle and charge off for a long, hard ride over the plains.
Her father had taught her to ride. Even how to rope on horseback. Although he’d denied it, Elizabeth knew her dad was disappointed he hadn’t had a son, particularly when she’d begun to show more than an interest in doing her nails and face and hair. Then came her unquenchable curiosity in all things outside of the Lone Star State. Although contained now, that curiosity hadn’t waned.
Nita moved on to polishing the bed headboard. “Why don’t you take him to Claire’s?”
Finished slipping on her socks, Elizabeth pushed to her feet. “Good idea.”
Intimate atmosphere, scrumptious cuisine, Claire’s was the finest restaurant in Royal. This evening the usual Friday night regulars would be there, Chad included.
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted to one side.
Maybe she ought to reconsider defrosting some ribs and firing up the grill.
“Is there anything you need before I head off?” Nita had moved to hang Elizabeth’s jacket.
“I’ll be fine.” She dropped a kiss on Nita’s cheek and gave her arm a squeeze. “Give my best to your mom.”
“Don’t forget that dessert’s in the fridge if Daniel wants a slice.”
“Enough with the organizing.” Elizabeth playfully shepherded Nita out her door. “Go.”
As Nita moved down the hall, Elizabeth thought she heard a car. She moved to a window. No visitors but the flamingos caught her eye. Before heading out for her ride, she’d make sure Chad had organized the payment for the shelter.
She lowered into the chair set before her desk and laptop, brought up her email account and smiled. A message from Chad, brief, formal. He’d transferred the money to the shelter and for the amount she’d requested.
Elizabeth mentally punched the air.
Score one for the kid.
As she shut down the browser, the screen saver appeared, a picture of a hauntingly beautiful Scottish castle she’d visited one vacation. She wanted to see Australia next, but needed more time if she was going to see everything in one trip. She had to experience snorkeling over a coral shelf in the Great Barrier Reef. Climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, overlooking stretched blue silk waters and the enormous sails of the Opera House, was a must. No way would she miss visiting the Red Centre, watching the sun set over massive Uluru and absorbing a masterpiece created from God’s personal palette.
And there was so much more.
The generations-old hall clock struck the first of twelve. Elizabeth blinked back to reality and held the empty feeling that suddenly invaded her stomach.
Her mother had introduced her to the travel bug when they’d suggested boarding school in Europe. Neither of her parents had traveled extensively, but her mother, particularly, had wanted her daughter to grow up with a keen sense of culture and class. Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if they should have done her a favor by keeping her sojourns confined to within Texas, or at least the States. If she’d never known what amazing experiences and sights were out there, she wouldn’t miss it so much now.
Wistful, she pushed back her chair and meandered down the hallway, down the stairs, past that clock, the media room and the library, the area which had previously been her father’s trophy room. Every nook and cranny lived, embedded in her brain, as clearly as the computer had stored that remarkable shot of Scotland. No denying, she felt comfortable here. This was home.
How would she feel, how would she cope, if she ever decided to ignore the clause in her parents’ will and simply fly away?
When Elizabeth arrived at the kitchen, tonight’s dinner with Daniel came to mind again. She wouldn’t try to cook. In France she’d taken lessons in cuisine preparation, but, frankly, while she adored the flavors and textures, whipping up fabulous dishes didn’t come easily. She truly admired people like Nita who effortlessly created mouthwatering meals.
She dialed the Royal Hotel to pass on the change of plans. When the receptionist answered, Elizabeth gave her name and asked to leave a message for Daniel Warren, but at that moment, the receptionist told her that Daniel had walked into the hotel lobby. A few knocking heartbeats later, Elizabeth heard his deep, sexy voice on the line.
“I hope you’re not going to renege on our arrangement tonight,” he said.
His tone was teasing, but also curious. Did he honestly think she’d cancel?
“Nita won’t be home tonight. And I need to be up-front and say my attempt at barbecue leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Can you suggest a place? Snails don’t need to be on the menu.”
She laughed. “We’ll save that for France.”
The sentiment was an innocent one but once it was out, a shard of panic dropped through to her toes. It sounded as if she were inviting him to Paris. With almost all of her two months vacation time this year gone, she couldn’t and wouldn’t. Although the idea certainly had its merits.
She brushed over the gaffe.
“I can recommend Claire’s. It’s an upscale place that serves delicious food.”
“I’ll make the reservation and collect you at seven. And, Elizabeth?”
“Hmm?”
“If you want me to last through dinner, show some mercy and don’t wear those heels.”
Smiling, Daniel reluctantly hung up from the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter. Crazy but he’d missed it more than he’d realized.
While he’d inspected the club earlier he’d kept his mind on the job, working through new ideas. But now that he was back in this environment, the memories of his and Elizabeth’s time spent filtered back. The scent of her, the silken heart-thumping feel. He’d been with women before—plenty. But there was something truly unique, and inspiring, about Elizabeth Milton. Something he couldn’t get enough of. That what they shared was purely “here and now” made its promise all the more appealing.
Standing at the far end of the polished timber counter, he motioned to catch the receptionist’s eye. He wanted to know if Rand had checked out yet. But it seemed the woman was engaged in what was fast becoming a heated conversation with someone else. He didn’t want to eavesdrop but he couldn’t ignore the spat, particularly when it centered on Abigail Langley and her push for the club’s presidency.
“We women have no right shoving our noses in their business,” the second woman with a helmet of light purple hair was saying.
“You’re entitled to your opinion, Addison.” The receptionist nudged her chin higher. “And I’m entitled to mine. Men don’t have dibs on leadership. Not anymore. There’s a lot of us who feel the same way.”
“You know she wants to tear down the club,” Addison said, “and start again, like suddenly that century-old building’s not worth a dime.”
The receptionist flicked an uncomfortable glance Daniel’s way and lowered her voice. “We have company. This isn’t the place.”
The other woman shifted her focus then her gaze sharpened. “You’re that architect she brought down.” Her eyes narrowed. “We don’t want your kind here. Go home.”
“Boss, everything all right?”
Taken aback, Daniel rotated to find Rand, standing at h
is back, jaw set, ready to do whatever needed to be done. The woman named Addison looked big enough, and angry enough, to ram a steer.
“Everything’s fine.”
Rand followed as his boss crossed to a settee. “Sounds like the natives are growing restless.”
“Local politics aren’t my concern.”
“Not unless you get lynched.”
“The Civil War’s over, remember?”
“Tell Mrs. Robert E. Lee over there that.”
Daniel stifled a chuckle. Matters surrounding elections often drove high feelings. He wished Abigail all the best with her efforts to infiltrate this previously held man’s domain. Other than that, he wasn’t interested. Wouldn’t get involved.
Daniel nodded at the laptop case Rand carried.
“You heading off?”
Rand nodded. “Sure you want to stay?”
“I have a job to do.”
“And a certain lady to see?”
Daniel opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m taking Elizabeth Milton to dinner this evening.”
“She must be special.”
“I’m not staying because of Elizabeth.”
“It’s none of my business, boss.”
“Then why are you grinning?”
“Was I grinning?”
He knew damn well he was and, for a moment, Daniel thought Rand had somehow learned about his and Elizabeth’s escapade this morning. But that wasn’t possible, even if Chadwick Tremain obviously had his well-founded suspicions.
Daniel shook his second-in-charge’s hand and moved off toward the lifts. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
Rand reminded him. “Be careful not to overstay your welcome.”
When Daniel received a message from Elizabeth saying she’d meet him at the restaurant, he wondered why she wouldn’t want him to collect her.
Where women were concerned he was the old-fashioned type. A man should collect a lady, be on time, open her door. He couldn’t say he’d slept with a woman he’d known less than twenty-four hours before. To balance that anomaly, he couldn’t remember wanting to enjoy that time again so much.
Perhaps she’d planned to already be out and about, he decided, nodding to the doorman as he entered Claire’s Restaurant that evening. And if Elizabeth had her own transportation, was he still on for looking over more of her home later this evening, or was she planning on saying goodnight here?
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.
After being so forthright this morning, would she play hard to get now?
But then, as the maître d’ inquired about a reservation, Daniel saw her, dressed in a red satin cocktail number, alone in a secluded corner. Her hair was down, flowing around her shoulders and back like a silken river. She sat as poised as a princess, but he knew firsthand she possessed the spirit of a tiger. With his gaze combing her arms and legs, Daniel’s blood stirred and heated. Damn, he’d forgotten just how gorgeous she was.
Noting she hadn’t seen him arrive, he thanked the maître d’ and sauntered over. Perhaps he should wind around and up behind then surprise her by planting a hot kiss on one side of her neck. But could he stop at one?
He set off, weaving around tables dotted with patrons involved in private conversations or perusing menus. He was only a few strides away from reaching her table when he recognized a voice and an unsettling feeling gripped his middle. After this morning, he’d know that drawl anywhere. Bradford Price.
Daniel glanced to his right. Sure enough, Brad Price was seated with a number of others. His expression was open, confident, unlike earlier today when he’d been agitated about babies and blackmail. Daniel wondered what Brad’s supporters would say if they knew their candidate to head the renowned Cattleman’s Club was likely knee-deep in scandal involving blackmail.
Price’s focus snaked over Daniel’s way. With a steely gaze, Price sent a halfhearted salute. Daniel tipped his head in response. Good luck in trying to keep a secret that big in such a small town, Daniel thought.
When he reached Elizabeth’s table, he found her frowning, her gaze shifting between Price and him.
“You know Bradford?” she asked.
“I know of him.”
Tipping close, Daniel grazed his lips over her temple. His lungs absorbed her sweet scent and recollections of their time together in his suite this morning flooded his senses. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they eat later. He was hungry, but he was hungrier for her. Then Brad Price’s cocky laugh filtered across the room. Daniel was brought back and he straightened to his full height.
“This is obviously the place to dine in Royal.” He took his seat. “Should we expect Mr. Tremain, too?”
“Chad?” She wound a wave of blond hair away from her cheek and shrugged. “Possibly.”
“There goes the appetite,” he muttered, shaking out his napkin.
“He’s not that bad.” She settled back in her chair, looking a little smug. “He made that donation today. I’ll be flamingo free come morning.”
“You made the donation, Elizabeth. Don’t forget Tremain works for you. He needs to be reminded of that more often, too.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave.”
He took in her stiff expression, her suddenly tight tone, and kicked himself. They were here to enjoy each other’s company, some good food, not to rehash a situation that he had no power over and no right to interfere with.
He cleared his mind.
“No. This is good.” He signaled for the waitress. “Did you drive yourself here?”
“Abigail wanted to meet for a drink and discuss some campaign plans. She dropped by the ranch to pick me up.”
“You should have asked her to join us.”
“She didn’t want to be a fifth wheel. And she said she’d had a big day.” She angled her head and those glossy full lips gleamed in the candlelight. “How did you occupy yourself this afternoon?”
“I dropped by the club again.”
“Any ideas?”
“Nothing that blew me away.”
Unlike that tiff when he returned to the hotel. Despite the cool act in front of Rand, the inter action had surprised and unsettled him. He’d vowed to put it out of his head but now he was interested to know.
“There was a guest today at the hotel’s reception,” he said. “She was very vocal about the fact that nothing about the club should be changed. She made it clear she didn’t want the leadership to pass into the hands of anyone other than a cattleman.”
“A woman said that?” He nodded. Elizabeth’s lips tightened as she cast a glance around the candlelit tables. “There’s all kinds of dynamics involved. That woman’s entitled to her opinion.”
“That’s what the hotel receptionist said. People might like progress,” he grunted, “but tradition dies hard.”
Elizabeth knew that as well as anyone. She was legally chained to it. But he wouldn’t get into that again, either. They were talking about the club and the coming election.
“Between you and me,” he asked in a subdued voice, “do you think Abigail’s wasting her time running? Brad Price seems like a snaky son of a gun.”
“Or, do you want to know if I think she’s wasting your time?”
A corner of Daniel’s mouth curved up. “Either way,” he said, “I’m not sorry I accepted her invitation to come to Royal.”
He was about to tell Elizabeth again how pleased he was that she’d shown up on his doorstep unannounced this morning. That he was beyond happy she’d agreed to see him again tonight. But his cell phone rang before he had the chance.
“Sorry.” He grabbed the phone off his belt and muted the sound.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“Later. Right now I’m having dinner with one of the Lone Star State’s most interesting and, might I say, beautiful women.”
Pretending to be coy, she tucked in her chin. “You might live in New York but
your silver tongue is pure South.”
When the waitress arrived, Daniel ordered wine and the specialty of the house—pepper filet mignon with whiskey sauce. Elizabeth went with what she said was her favorite, chicken-fried steak with greens.
His eyebrows shot up. The contradictions kept coming. “From escargot to chicken-fried steak?”
“I grew up on the stuff.” She reached for her water glass. “What do they eat in South Carolina?”
“I remember a lot of shrimp, grits and fried cabbage.” Other memories surfaced—unpleasant ones—and he cleared his throat. “Course, that was a long time ago.”
She nodded slowly, tried to smile.
“Has your dad ever tried to get in contact?” she finally asked.
“Not for a while now.”
Her glistening gaze held for a long moment then fell away. “Strange how things work out. I’d do anything to be able to see my father again. Mom, too.”
Daniel groaned. Life wasn’t always fair. He might not agree with the clause her parents had included in the will but that didn’t mean she didn’t love them and wished they were still around. Years ago he’d wished for miracles, too.
Approving the wine sample the waiter poured, he set down his glass. “You must have a lot of great memories.”
“All around. Every day.” Elbows on table, she rested her chin in the vee of her palms. “My best memories are around family occasions. Thanksgiving. Christmas. They always did something special for birthdays.”
He nodded, letting the waiter know to fill both glasses while mouthwatering aromas and the sound of clinking silverware filtered through the room. “Special like what?”
“For my thirteenth birthday, my father put on our own rodeo at Milton Ranch. There was entertainment and prizes. People came from miles around.”
Bucking broncos, barrel racing, scrambling rodeo clowns. He gave a crooked smile. “Sounds like fun.”
“I had my first kiss that day. A boy I’d crushed on for months. He was leaving with his folks the next week for California.”
