The Lucky Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance)

by Lewis, Jeanette

  Officer Jimmy Wilde met them at the charred structure that used to be the office. He was only slightly older than Ty and several inches shorter, with a bushy brown goatee and a pronounced belly that strained against his navy uniform shirt.

  After shaking hands, they stood still, staring at the building. The roof was gone, and formerly red brick walls were blackened where the fire had poured from the broken windows. Several thin tendrils of smoke still issued from the building.

  “Has anyone been inside yet?” Ty asked.

  “Not yet,” Jimmy said, scratching at his goatee. “Thought we’d let it die out completely.”

  Ty nodded. “That’s good. I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt.”

  “We found the empty gas can just outside the back window,” Jimmy said. “Obviously, someone dropped it there before they tossed the match.”

  “Do you have any idea who could have done it?” Holland asked.

  “I was hoping that Wood River’s security cameras caught something, but it doesn’t look like they did,” Jimmy confessed. “They aren’t aimed in the right direction, and they’re the only security cameras around.”

  He pointed to the Wood River Grill sitting kitty-corner to Ty’s building across a small alley. Holland couldn’t see any cameras from where they were standing, but didn’t doubt Jimmy’s assessment. It would be a tough angle to capture.

  “No one saw anything? No vehicles, no one breaking in right before?” Ty asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. “I haven’t found anyone yet.”

  “What about everyone else?” Ty jerked his chin toward the line of storefronts standing on the same block as his building. “Do they have insurance to cover the damage?”

  “I believe so.” Jimmy wrinkled his forehead. “I’d have to check my notes, but it seems like the only place that didn’t was Zelda’s, that comic book store on the other end. Luckily, they only got a little smoke, nothing too serious.”

  “I’ll pay for everyone’s insurance deductibles and for the damages to Zelda’s.” Ty clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Thanks for all you’re doing. Keep at it, okay?”

  “You got it, man,” Jimmy said.

  “Mr. Epperson!” a female voice called.

  Holland turned to see a dark-haired woman jaywalking quickly across Main Street. She was followed closely by a man in a baseball cap holding a large camera.

  Ty groaned.

  “Great,” Jimmy muttered. “She’s been calling me every half hour to find out where you were. Sorry . . . I guess she’s been lying in wait.”

  “Who’s that?” Holland asked.

  “Indy Greenberg. The world’s most annoying reporter,” Jimmy replied.

  Holland doubted that label, but there was no time to question. Quickly she reached out and straightened Ty’s shirt, smoothing her hand over the soft knit, trying to ignore the goose bumps that broke out on her arms at the feel of his body against her palm.

  “You can just say ‘no comment,’” she whispered as Indy reached them.

  “Mr. Epperson, what do you have to say about the fire?” Indy shoved a recording device in Ty’s face, and the man hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. Holland sensed rather than heard the recording start, and she quickly made her way behind the cameraman so she could face Ty.

  “I don’t have any comment at this time,” Ty said, his eyes darting from Indy to Holland.

  “You were away from home when the fire started, isn’t that right? Did you just get back now? Did you come back specifically because of the fire?”

  “I was on my way home anyway,” Ty said. He shifted his weight, and Holland could feel his anxiety rising. “That’s all I have to say at the moment.”

  Indy ignored him. “KRXR has learned that the fire may have been deliberately set. Who do you think is responsible? What will happen to your foundation now?”

  “I . . .” Ty flushed.

  Holland marched forward, stepped in front of Ty, and faced the camera. “We are very grateful no one was injured, and the damage was contained to this one building. The foundation will release a statement once the investigation is complete,” she said.

  Indy drew back. “Who are you?”

  “Holland Morrissey, Mr. Epperson’s public relations director,” Holland said. She spelled her name slowly and carefully so the recorder could catch it.

  “What do you say about the possibility of arson, Ms. Morrissey?” Indy demanded, rallying like a true professional.

  “No further comments,” Holland said firmly. “Could you please give Mr. Epperson some space now?”

  Indy scowled, but finally nodded to her cameraman, and they moved several feet away to record her intro for the story with the damaged building in the background.

  “Wow, thanks,” Ty said to Holland. “I didn’t think we’d get rid of them so easily.”

  “Just doing my job,” Holland said. She nudged him with her shoulder. “See how that means you should let me stay?”

  His eyes were troubled as he gazed down at her.

  “I want to help,” Holland said. Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. The heat of his skin leaped into her palm. “Please, let me stay and help you.”

  Ty looked at the spot where their skin touched and nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

  6

  It wasn’t that late when they got back, but the household was obviously settling down for the night. Farm family, Holland realized.

  Ellen had already changed the sheets on Ty’s bed. “Please make yourself at home,” she told Holland, handing her a stack of fresh towels. “We’re pretty casual around here, so feel free to help yourself to anything you need . . . shampoo, toothpaste, food, whatever. Misty and Ashley are across the hall, and Ty will be in the camper by the garage.”

  “I really appreciate all you’re doing for me,” Holland said. “I hate to kick Ty out of his room.”

  Ellen made a dismissive sound. “Don’t worry about that. He’s fine. With everything that’s happened, he’d probably spend the night out there anyway keeping watch. Hopefully he’ll be able to get a little bit of sleep.” She paused in the doorway, clutching the wadded-up sheets she’d just removed from the bed. “I’m sorry for the chaos. I hope you’re not worried.”

  Holland shook her head. “I’m not.” And the funny thing was, it was true—she wasn’t worried at all. She’d never been personally threatened before by anyone, let alone had her property vandalized and destroyed. If she were home, she’d be terrified. But knowing Ty was there made her feel secure, protected.

  Ellen gave her a gentle smile. “Try to get some sleep.”

  After she left, Holland took a moment to look around Ty’s bedroom. The ceiling mimicked the slanted roofline, the corners of the room so low that Holland knew Ty would have to stoop. A queen-sized bed covered with a blue-and-green quilt dominated most of the space, flanked by an old-fashioned wooden orange crate that had been turned on one end for a nightstand. The top of the crate barely had room for an alarm clock and a bedside lamp, and the two lower shelves were stacked with books. She took a minute to examine the titles—some John Grisham thrillers, nonfiction books about the Civil War, a few cowboy novels, and a Bible.

  A long rifle with a polished wood stock rested on a pair of hooks above the room’s only window, which had blinds but no curtains. Several posters of national parks were hung on the walls—Yellowstone, Arches, Grand Canyon, Yosemite, and Redwood.

  There was a knock, and she spun to see Ty standing in the still open door. “Sorry, did I startle you?” he asked.

  “No.” She waved one hand toward the posters. “Just admiring the photography. But I thought you were against federal ownership?”

  He smiled softly. “Not all federal ownership, just some of it. Do you mind if I get a few things?”

  “Of course not, it’s your room,” Holland said. “I can sleep on the couch, you know. I really don’t mind.”

  “No way.”
Ty opened a dresser drawer. “I’m forcing you to stay here instead of at a hotel; the least I can do is give you some privacy.” He removed some clothes from the drawer.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” Holland said.

  “Sure.” Ty went to the small closet for a few shirts.

  “You’re twenty-five, right?” She remembered their client interview.

  “Yup.” Ty turned from the closet. “Wondering why I still live at home and why I’m such a loser?” He gave her a wry smile. “My dad’s arthritis is pretty bad and getting worse. He obviously needs my help around here. At first I thought I’d stay an extra year, start college later than I’d planned. But it’s funny how one year turns to two, then three, then seven before you know it. Or maybe that’s just an excuse for my failure to launch.”

  “You don’t like farming?” she guessed.

  “It’s okay,” Ty said. “I like working with the animals and being outside, but it was never my life’s goal.”

  “What would you want to do if you hadn’t won the lottery?” Holland asked.

  Ty’s eyes became distant. “You know, in a lot of ways, I think I’d be doing exactly what I am now. I’ve always had a passion for the mountains and nature; I’ve always wanted to take care of it. So if I hadn’t won, I’d probably be right here, wishing I could do something but not having the means.”

  Holland looked around again. It was a plain room, sparsely furnished, and definitely not the type of place one would expect to find a hot young billionaire. “I guess I figured you’d have one of those rustic cabins like on HGTV—a gazillion square feet full of pine timbers and gigantic stone fireplaces, the works.”

  Ty chuckled. “I don’t know about a gazillion square feet, but we are building a new house on a lot at the other edge of the farm. It’s for Mom and Dad, though, and once it’s built, they’ll move into it with the girls while I stay here. I figure they’ve earned a dream house long before I have.”

  Aside from the Mustang, Holland couldn’t name a single thing Ty had bought for himself with his winnings. His generosity touched her to the core. “Will you take me to see it tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” he agreed. “It’s still in the early phases, but it’s coming along.” He flushed slightly. “We’ve never had much money before; it’s been fun to spoil them a little. So . . . how old are you? If it’s not rude to ask.”

  “Not rude. I’m almost twenty-seven. I live at home too, mostly because LA is so expensive, but I’m hoping to move out soon.” For some reason, she wanted to explain. “My sister is two years younger, and she’s already married with three kids, all boys. My mother never says anything, but I can just feel how disappointed she is in me.”

  Ty’s chocolate eyes were understanding. “Are you sure that’s what she thinks, or is it pressure you’ve put on yourself?”

  “I don’t know,” Holland admitted. “I guess I feel like since I’m the oldest, I should be setting the example, but I’m not.”

  Ty shifted his weight, folding his arms around the clothes he held. “Well, I guess that depends on your definition of what an example is. Do you believe that being married with children is the only goal worth pursuing? Would you really be happy being a mom right now?”

  Holland shook her head. “I don’t think so. I want to get married and have children someday, but right now, I want a career. I love what I do, and I want to focus on that for a while.”

  “Well, you’ve saved my bacon more than once already,” Ty said with a grin. “Speaking of bacon, how about you get a good night’s sleep tonight, and we’ll talk strategy after breakfast?”

  “Sounds good.”

  His eyes softened. “Thank you for being here. I meant it, though—if you want to go back, just say the word.”

  Holland nodded. “I just want to do what I can to help.”

  “You already are.” Their eyes held across the small space until finally Ty broke the contact. “I’ll let you rest. Sleep well.”

  “You too,” she said with a smile.

  Ty paused. “I know you’re not ready for kids yet, but a mini-Holland will be adorable someday.” He smiled softly and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Holland blew out a breath. Why did that guy make her insides feel all gooey, like soft caramel? She’d never felt this before. Carson brought butterflies, excitement, and, yeah, a buzz from realizing someone so hot was interested in her. But Ty . . . Ty was like having a cat curl up in your lap and purr. Ty was like a fluffy towel fresh from the dryer. Ty was like a piece of expensive chocolate melting on your tongue.

  Holland took a shower and changed into pajamas before sliding between the fresh sheets. She pressed the pillow to her nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to find a hint of scent that would remind her of Ty. But, disappointingly, she only got the aroma of fresh laundry detergent.

  * * *

  Holland awoke to the smell of cinnamon rolls and bacon. She glanced at the clock next to Ty’s bed. Crap, it was already after nine. Farm families got up early, and here she was sleeping in. She hurried to wash up and dress, pulling her wavy black hair into a low ponytail before going downstairs.

  Ashley and Ty were at the table. Ashley was working on a gigantic cinnamon roll, but Ty had his laptop open and was picking at the keys. Misty was loading the dishwasher while Ellen washed the baking pans.

  “Good morning.” Ellen looked up with a smile when Holland appeared. “We saved you some bacon, and there are plenty of cinnamon rolls. Would you like me to make you some eggs?”

  “No, thank you; this looks delicious.” Holland took a plate to the table and sat next to Ty. “I’m sorry for sleeping so long. You should have sent someone to wake me up,” she told him.

  He was fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and his cheeks slightly red from his shave. She leaned a little closer to get a whiff of his crisp, slightly woodsy aftershave mixed with the tang of cream cheese frosting. Something deep inside fluttered. There was the smell she’d been hoping for last night.

  “No biggie,” he said with a smile. “You had a long trip yesterday; you deserve to get some rest. You did miss Indy’s interview from yesterday, though. It was on the morning news.”

  “Oh, I forgot about that.” Holland groaned. “Will they post it online?”

  “Probably not,” Ty said. “It was less than a minute of me muttering ‘no comment’ and then shots of the building. They showed you for just a second, but cut your statement, which was pretty stupid; you make for much better TV than me.”

  From the moment Holland met Carson, her role was obvious. She was the supportive one, the admiring one, the compliment giver instead of the receiver. How had she not realized until now how eager he was to take and how reluctant to give—how stingy he was with praise and how he demanded she reciprocate praise or affection ten times over?

  Because she’d never had such a direct comparison before. Ty gave compliments without any sort of conditions. His mocha-colored eyes gleamed with sincerity, and Holland had to look away before she went as gooey as the cinnamon roll on her plate. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “I already did the morning chores, and Dad can work today without my help, so it’s regrouping time.” Ty glanced at his computer with distaste. “I’m going through my files and making sure I have everything here. I had a computer at the building and I don’t think I had anything too critical on there, but I’m not positive.”

  “You kids have fun with that,” Misty said from the kitchen. “I have to go in to work.”

  “Nope.” Ty shook his head. “No one’s going anywhere until we figure out who started the fire.”

  “I already missed two weeks to go to California.” Misty’s blue eyes snapped a challenge. “If I miss any more, I’ll get fired.”

  “Fine, get fired. I don’t think it’s safe,” Ty retorted.

  “I work in a bank, with a security guard,” Misty argued. “I’ll probably be safer there than anywhere.”

  “Merv
Higgins is not a security guard,” Ty said, giving her a big brother stare down. “He’s eighty years old and spends most of the day sleeping in a chair. I don’t think he even carries a gun.”

  Misty stuck her tongue out at him and closed the dishwasher with a thump. “Fine, I guess you get to call Mr. Little and explain to him why I’m not coming in today.”

  “Thank you, I will,” Ty said calmly. “Why don’t you go read or take a long bath? Get some rest?” He took a sip of orange juice and turned to Holland. “Would you like to see the new house and maybe tour the farm?”

  With cream cheese frosting melting on her tongue, Holland nodded. A tour sounded perfect.

  7

  As farms go, Ty had never thought the Epperson place was terribly impressive—the house and a few barns on sixty acres of pastureland housed three hundred sheep and a dog, who met them at the back porch, tail wagging.

  “That’s Cupcake,” he said as the black-and-white border collie fell in beside them. He made a wry face. “Ashley named her when she was six. Can you tell?”

  Holland had borrowed a pair of rubber boots from Misty, and they were a bit too large, causing her to tromp around in a way Ty found extremely appealing. “Cupcake’s a cute name,” she said, scratching the dog’s ears.

  “Sure . . . cute.” Ty grinned. “Try calling her from across a field and not sounding like a complete idiot.”

  Holland giggled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  The exterior walls of the house Ty was building for his parents were up, but the interior framing seemed to be happening slower than that last snow melt before spring. He led Holland through the partially framed house, stopping occasionally for a brief chat with the workers who were building the fireplace in the great room. With its two-story exposed rock chimney, it would not only create a great aesthetic but would also provide most of the heat for the house.