A Piece of Texas Trilogy

by Peggy Moreland

  Judging by its worn cover, he assumed it was from her youth, possibly even dating before her birth. He was tempted to pick it up and look through it, hoping to find information about her dad—specifically the piece of paper Mack had requested he locate. But snooping through her things would violate the trust Leah had placed in him when she’d given him the key to her house.

  He vacillated a moment while his conscience and his curiosity duked it out.

  With a resigned sigh, he turned his back on the tempting album and headed for the kitchen, his conscience, as well as his integrity, still intact.

  Just as he stepped outside to resume his work on the Mustang, Leah’s SUV turned onto the drive. Relieved that he hadn’t given in to the temptation to snoop, he watched her leap from the vehicle and run for the house. When she dashed past him, without so much as a how-do-you-do, he grabbed her arm. “Hey. Where’s the fire?”

  She tugged free. “Haven’t got time to explain,” she said breathlessly as she yanked open the kitchen door. “I’m in panic mode.”

  Panic mode? Shaking his head, he watched her disappear inside the house, thinking the woman lived in that state.

  But she had seemed a little more stressed than usual, he thought with a frown. Could something have happened? Maybe to Craig?

  Determined to find out what was up, he reached for the door and was nearly bowled over when she came flying back out.

  “Wait a minute,” he said as she rushed past him. “What’s going on?”

  She called over her shoulder, “Later. Gotta go.”

  Sure that concern for her nephew was the only thing that would cause her this level of distress, he plucked his T-shirt from the roof of the Mustang and ran after her, sliding into the passenger seat just as she pulled the gearshift into reverse.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried. “I need to go!”

  “Then go. I’m not stopping you.”

  She set her jaw. “I have exactly four hours to set up for a party. Would you please just get out? I’m already late.”

  “Don’t get all huffy with me. If you’re late, it’s your fault, not mine.”

  “It isn’t my fault! I only got the call ten minutes ago! Now will you please get out?”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead and inhaled a deep breath as if struggling for patience. “The job’s for the city. I bid on it months ago, but the contract was awarded to another company. They bailed at the last minute, and now the city has asked me to step in.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “This is important. Really important. If I do a good job, it’ll mean more business for me in the future. So, please, get out so I can go.”

  He clicked his seat belt into place. “You probably could use some help.”

  She clamped down on her jaw. “Fine,” she said, grinding out the words, and reversed into the street. “But if you get bored, don’t even think about asking me to bring you home, because I won’t.”

  She stomped on the brake to shift into drive.

  He braced a hand against the dash to keep from being thrown forward. “Oh, I doubt I’ll get bored,” he replied mildly. “Not with you behind the wheel.”

  With nothing left for him to do, Sam moved to the far end of the country club’s ballroom and waited while Leah double-checked each table one last time. He shook his head as he watched her turn a centerpiece a millimeter to the left. The woman got way too caught up in details.

  He still couldn’t believe the warehouse she’d taken him to collect the equipment and supplies she’d needed. On the outside the building had looked like most of the others in the complex. It was the interior where the differences lay.

  Row after row of shelving filled the cavernous space, each loaded with neatly stacked boxes and crates. Hanging from a clipboard at the beginning of each row, a laminated inventory listed all the items found on that row—in alphabetical order, no less. If that wasn’t enough to prove her anal tendencies, a card was attached to each container, with a detailed description of its contents.

  In spite of her obsessiveness for organization, he had to admit the woman knew what she was doing when it came to decorating for an event. To satisfy her client’s request for a patriotic theme, she had designed centerpieces using white hydrangeas, blue delphiniums and red geraniums. She had come up with a pretty clever way of incorporating fireworks into the scheme, as well, by filling thin silver tubes with sprays of red, white and blue star garlands cut into varying lengths and placing them strategically among the flowers in the centerpiece. When the votive candles scattered around the tables were lit, the multicolored foil stars shimmered and sparkled like fireworks exploding on the Fourth of July.

  Sam had helped create the faux fireworks, but he’d spent the majority of his time setting up tables and chairs and draping the tables with—get this—three tablecloths, arranged by size, starting with the largest and ending with the smallest, which Leah had informed him was called a topper. She’d had specific instructions for placing the cloths, and if he failed to spread one exactly as instructed, she’d stop whatever she was doing, march over and adjust the cloth herself.

  He’d finally managed to escape her evil eye when Kate, her assistant, had asked him to help her put the fireworks together. Cute girl, he reflected, and very protective of her boss. When Leah had first introduced them, Kate had been polite enough. But during the early part of the afternoon he had caught her watching him suspiciously on several occasions. He supposed working with her on the fireworks had dispelled whatever doubts she had about him, because by the time she left she was laughing and joking with him as if they were old friends.

  Reminded that only he and Leah remained, he glanced at his watch and decided it was time to put an end to her anal-yzing.

  Crossing the room, he caught her elbow and gave it a tug. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

  She tugged right back. “Not yet. I still have six more tables to check.”

  “They’re fine,” he assured her and all but dragged her from the room.

  Though he succeeded in getting her to her SUV, he could tell her mind was still inside the ballroom and the decorations she’d set up. This became even more evident when she didn’t kick up a fuss when he bundled her into the passenger seat and took the wheel himself.

  “You don’t think the centerpieces are too busy?” she asked uncertainly as he started the engine.

  “No. They’re fine.”

  She reached for the door handle. “Maybe I should remove the sparklers. Simple is sometimes best.”

  He grabbed her arm before she could climb out. “The sparklers or fireworks or whatever the heck you call them are sensational. In the morning you’ll have guests lined up at your door wanting you to plan their next party.”

  His assurance was almost a direct quote from a comment Kate had made to him earlier, but since he shared her opinion, he didn’t feel badly about offering it to Leah now.

  She looked at him hopefully. “You really think so?”

  “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He put the vehicle in gear before she could attempt to hop out again. “Do you stress about all the events you plan as much as you have over this one?”

  “No—yes.” She heaved a sigh. “I give my best to all my clients, but this job is really important.”

  He turned onto the main road, leaving the country club behind. “What’s so special about this one? I’d think, if anything, you wouldn’t care as much, since the bid was originally given to someone else.”

  “It should’ve been mine from the beginning.”

  He cut a glance her way at the bitterness he detected in her tone. “Why wasn’t it?”

  “My ex serves on the city council.”

  Louis Banks. He remembered reading about her ex-husband’s business and civic activities during the search he’d done on the Internet.

  “One man has that much power?” he asked doubtfully.


  “The family does. The Banks family is what’s known as ‘old Tyler.’ They’ve lived here for generations and, as a result, have clout out the wazoo. Four years ago I controlled eighty percent of the event-planning business in this area. Within a month of our divorce my business dropped twenty-five percent. By the end of the year it hit forty.”

  He stole a glance at her. “Is it still going down?”

  “No.” She quickly rapped her knuckles against the dash. “Knock on wood. I’ve clawed and scraped my way back up. I haven’t reached my former numbers, but I’m getting there. That’s why this job is so important. It’s my chance to get my foot back in the door with the city.”

  He scowled at the road ahead. “Screw ’em.”

  She turned her head to peer at him. “Excuse me?”

  He tossed up a hand. “If they’d let a guy with his jockstrap in a twist influence their decisions, you don’t need their business.”

  Sputtering a laugh, she turned to face the front again. “Don’t I wish.”

  He spotted a restaurant ahead and slowed, thinking food would get her mind off the party, as well as her ex. “How about Italian?”

  Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. “I’m really not in the mood to deal with a crowd. How about I make something for us at home?”

  He sped up. “I have a better idea. Let’s order pizza in.”

  Sam topped off the wine in Leah’s glass, then glanced at her empty plate. “Another slice of pizza?”

  She sank back in her chair, holding her hands over her stomach. “No. I’m stuffed.”

  He set the wine bottle down, plucked a slice from the box and sank his teeth into the cheesy wedge as he settled back. Feeling her gaze, he glanced her way and found her smiling at him.

  “Thanks.”

  He licked sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I should be the one thanking you for turning me on to Mario’s. They throw a mean pizza.”

  She laughed softly. “I didn’t mean buying my dinner, although I do appreciate it. You were a tremendous help today. I don’t know what Kate and I would have done without you.”

  “You’d have managed.” He picked up his wineglass to wash down the pizza. “Do you and Kate usually set up everything yourself? Handling those tables was no easy job.”

  “I usually hire temps to take care of whatever heavy lifting is necessary. Unfortunately, due to the short notice we received, no one was available.”

  “Then I’m glad I insisted on going along.” Smiling, he tapped his glass to hers. “Here’s to a successful event.”

  “Amen to that.” She took a sip of her wine, then tipped her head back with a sigh and closed her eyes.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes to smile at him. “Exhausted. But way too wired to sleep.”

  “Same here.” He glanced around, then gestured at the lounge chairs beside the pool. “Why don’t we sit out there, where we can be more comfortable?”

  She scraped back her chair. “Good idea.”

  He let her take the lead, then followed. On impulse, instead of sitting next to her, he moved to stand behind her chair and dropped his hands over her shoulders.

  She struggled to sit up. “What are you doing?”

  He drew her back against the chair. “Relax,” he soothed as he pressed his thumbs into her tensed muscles. “I’m going to give you a massage.”

  Her shoulders remained rigid beneath his hands—whether from wariness or stress, he wasn’t sure. But after a few minutes the tendons began to soften beneath his fingers’ urging.

  He leaned to peer over her head and saw that her face was lax, her eyes closed. Biting back a smile, he pushed his thumbs up the gentle curve of her neck, then down, letting them slide beneath the neckline of her shirt. Keeping one hand cupped on her shoulder, he pushed the thumb of the other along her shoulder blade, lengthening the muscle. Though innocent, the action dragged her shirt and bra strap to the edge of her shoulder.

  The exposed skin was satin-smooth and tinted a soft golden-brown. Noticing that there wasn’t a tan line, he wondered if she sunbathed topless. Curious, he continued the massage, easing her shirt and bra strap farther down her arm to reveal more of her chest, planning to search for a tan line.

  He heard her low moan, felt a tightening of response in his groin, but managed to keep his fingers moving, continuing the massage, while he peeked over her head to see if he’d mistaken the sound.

  Oh, man, he thought, stifling a groan as his gaze settled on the soft swell of her breasts and the shadowed valley between. And no tan line, which meant either she was blessed with olive skin tones or she sunbathed topless.

  Deciding that her level of arousal was a hell of a lot more important than determining genes versus sun-kissed skin, he brought his hands back to her neck, then smoothed them down her front. She moaned again, and this time there was no mistaking the sound for anything but arousal.

  Leaning over, he covered her mouth with his and captured the sound. Though he’d expected her to come up, kicking and clawing, her lips remained soft beneath his, pliant, accepting.

  With him all but standing on his head, blood rushed to his head, pulsed in his ears. Knowing he couldn’t maintain this position for long, he eased around to her side while managing to keep his mouth on hers. Since she still didn’t offer an objection, he opened the top two buttons of her shirt. He felt the rush of her breath against his lips, the tremble that shook her…but detected nothing that indicated refusal or indignation. Taking her silence as assent, he cupped his hands over her breasts and drew back to meet her gaze. “Feeling more relaxed now?”

  Eyes wide, she gulped. “Th-that was smooth, Forrester.”

  “Think so?” Grinning, he gave her breasts a playful squeeze, then caught her hand, pulled her up. “Let’s go skinny-dipping.” He grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, ripped it over his head and reached for the snap of his jeans.

  She lunged forward and clamped her hand over his. “I’m not going skinny-dipping with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because public nudity is against the law.”

  Hiding a smile, he dropped his gaze to her chest and dragged a finger along her shoulder. “No tan lines,” he said, then lifted his gaze to hers in challenge. “You must not be too particular about breaking the law.” With a shrug, he hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans. “But if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll leave our underwear on.”

  Not giving her time to argue, he stripped off his jeans, kicked them aside, then crossed to the edge of the pool and dipped a foot into the water. “The temperature is just right,” he called to her.

  Without waiting to see if she’d follow his lead, he sprang to his toes and dived in.

  Leah stared at the ever-widening ring that marked the spot where Sam had disappeared into the pool. She shouldn’t do this, she told herself. She should go inside and leave him to skinny-dip alone, if that’s what he wanted to do. Just because he’d turned her into a puddle of quivering need with his dang seductive massage didn’t mean she had to lose her senses completely.

  But, oh, God, how she wanted to, she thought, gulping. It had been so long since she’d done anything wild, so totally uninhibited. And it seemed like forever since she’d felt anything close to desire.

  As she continued to waver uncertainly, he surfaced on the far side of the pool, scraping his hair back from his face. Treading water, he called to her, “What are you waiting for? Come on in. The water’s great.”

  She shouldn’t, she told herself. This was insane, crazy. He was a flirt, a sex maniac.

  Oh, God, she thought again and rose, stripping off her blouse and shoving down her shorts. Bare but for her flesh-colored bra and panties, she moved to the edge of the pool, drew in a steadying breath, then dived in.

  Seconds later she burst from the water, her mouth open and gasping. “You liar!” she cried. “This water is freezing!”

  He swam a few strokes to meet her
. “Probably seems that way since you were so hot when you got in.”

  She flattened her lips, wanting to hang on to her anger with him, then sputtered a laugh. “You are hopeless.”

  “Incorrigible, hopeless,” he said, reciting the adjectives she’d used to describe him. “It’s a wonder my head doesn’t swell with all the compliments you shower me with.”

  Rolling her eyes, she struck off for the shallower end of the pool. Sam followed, matching her stroke for stroke. When they reached the end, she climbed from the water and flopped down on the highest step, while he hauled himself up to sit beside her.

  Gathering her hair between her hands, she twisted it into a long rope and squeezed, noticing that Sam watched the water drip onto her chest. Seemingly fascinated, he reached to trail his finger along the path of one droplet as it trickled down. When his finger dipped between her breasts, she sucked in a shocked breath.

  He lifted his eyes to hers, and she gulped at the heat that darkened his blue eyes.

  Hooking a finger in the front closure of her bra, he hauled her to him.

  “Enough foreplay,” he murmured and nipped at her lips. “It’s time we got down to business.”

  “Sam…” she began weakly.

  He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck and cupped her breast. “That’s my name.”

  “I don’t think—” He squeezed, kneading her flesh, and she dropped her head back with a groan. “Oh, Sam.”

  Hiding a smile, he kissed his way up her neck to her mouth. “I like the way you turn my name into two syllables instead of just the one.” He rolled her nipple between two fingers. “Really turns me on.”

  “And that,” she said with a shiver, “turns me on.”