A mystery here, and he generally loved a good mystery. But darned if he could unravel the clues. Not yet, anyway. But he would.
“Need some help with that?”
She set the pizza inside the microwave, closed the door, and cocked her hands on her hips. “Yes, actually, I do.”
He crossed the room, pushed a couple of buttons, and watched as the pizza circled inside the microwave. “Not rocket science.”
“Guess not, but, well, let’s say I wasn’t ever expected to do much around my house. Heck, the truth is I was actually discouraged from doing anything.”
“Not even zap a pizza in the microwave?”
She shook her head. “No. The microwave was in the kitchen, and the kitchen fell under the cook’s domain. I sneaked in once in a while, and she’d feed me cookies or let me lick the beaters, but not often.”
“Sounds to me like you had a pretty screwed-up childhood,” he said. “The kitchen at the ranch is Rosie’s turf, and when I was still living at home, my mom’s. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn how to cook.”
He wondered again about Annie. Maybe she came from way more money than he’d originally thought because this sounded like some stiff upper crust way of living. That or she had parents with sticks up their butts. Either way, it didn’t sound like much fun.
“Didn’t you at least make midnight raids on the fridge?”
“No way.”
He shook his head. “Downright sacrilegious.”
She laughed.
As she set the table with her quirky, mismatched china, he walked over to the TV. “Mind if I turn it on while we wait for the pizza? I didn’t catch the stock reports this morning.”
“No. Go ahead.”
Cash turned to a news station. In the solemn tone reserved for bad news, the anchorman reported, “Annelise Montjoy, absent at the opening of the company’s New York branch, was missing yet again today when the family flew to Camp David to meet with the president concerning world oil prices. As the newest board member, she’d been expected to attend.”
A full-screen picture of Annie popped up. Behind him, Cash heard Annie’s gasp, and a plate thudded onto the table. A buzz started in his mind and blocked the rest of the announcer’s words. A caption beneath the photo announced it had been taken while Annie—Annelise—attended a dinner at one of Dubai’s extravagant resorts.
Cash swore all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“What the—” He dropped onto the saggy sofa. His head swiveled, and he pointed first at the TV, then at her. “That’s you.”
She said nothing but nodded as she moved beside him.
“Well, shit. I’ve had an heiress scooping manure in my stables?”
She made a sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“I don’t get it. Why in the hell are you shoveling manure when you could buy my ranch ten times over?”
“Partly because I want to prove myself.”
He reached for her hand, and she jerked it away. Without a word, he took it in his again and turned it palm up. He studied the calluses on it.
“Well, darlin’, I’d have to say you’re doing one rip-roaring job of it.” He dropped her hand. “Guess that explains the microwave and all the rest of everyday living you’re so clueless about.”
His brows knit as he rose and faced her, legs braced. “You’ve always had a bevy of servants at your beck and call, haven’t you? Always had someone right there to take care of your every need.”
Temper flared in her eyes. “It’s not my fault. Not something I chose. And I’ve never once played the poor little rich girl card.”
No. As much as he hated to admit anything that would earn her points right now, Cash had to give her kudos for wading right into the deep end. For working her butt off. For working till her hands blistered and her back ached.
He knew when to back off. “I didn’t really mean that.”
“Yes. You did.”
He blew out a loud breath. He wouldn’t win this one. Still…Incredulous, he stared from her to the TV, back to her, to the TV. “You’re really Vincent Montjoy’s granddaughter? The Vincent Montjoy?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t. Annelise. Just Annelise.”
“That’s my name.”
“Even when I told you about the document my mom bought? You knew it was the Montjoy oilfields I was talking about. You didn’t think that maybe you should say, ‘Oh, by the way, Cash, that would have been my great-grandfather’s company’?”
Annie’s jaw tightened. “I tried to tell you earlier. This morning. You said no explanations were needed.”
“I think this comes under a slightly different heading.”
“Only because you want it to.”
Cash shook his head. “No wonder you hemmed and hawed when I wanted your work info.”
“You never came right out and asked me what kind of work I’d done before.”
“Would you have told me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
A stream of curses poured out of him and smoked the air.
“Nice mouth,” she said.
He simply stared at her for a full minute. Then his gaze dropped to her lips. “Speaking of nice mouths, you’ve been using that one to tell some real tall tales, haven’t you? Or should we call a spade a spade? You’ve been lying to me.”
She straightened. “I have not!”
“Oh, yeah? You suffering from selective amnesia, maybe?”
Her cheeks flushed, and he swore again.
“You don’t have, like, an entourage or something that travels with you?”
“Usually, yes.” Her voice had gone prim. “I’m never alone…or rarely. Because kidnapping has always been a real threat, I don’t go anywhere without bodyguards. Or I didn’t. Until now. I escaped.”
“You escaped. And came to Maverick Junction.” He shook his head. “So does this mean when Daddy tracks you down here with me—”
“First, I’m not actually with you. Second, I called my cousin, Sophie. She called my dad. He knows I’m safe.”
Cash tried to put himself in her dad’s shoes. He seriously doubted a single phone call via third person would be enough to satisfy Edmund Montjoy.
“Is some kind of bodyguard SWAT team going to surround my ranch and start shooting at us when they find you?”
Now, laughter did bubble out of her.
He fumed. “Hey, I’m not kidding, Annie. Damn it, I’ve got a lot of people at the ranch, people I’m responsible for.”
She quieted, but the humor remained in her eyes. “No. No gunfights or standoffs.”
His finger jabbed the air. “I specifically asked you if you were in trouble—”
“You asked if I was wanted by the law.”
“Same thing,” he shot back.
“No.” She shook her head. “It isn’t. I didn’t break any laws. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m twenty-six years old and can do as I please.”
“Yeah, sounds like it to me.”
“You’re being mean.”
He was feeling mean. He hit Cancel on the microwave and leaned against the fridge. Annie sat across from him in a wicker chair she’d bought, hands folded in her lap. White showed on her knuckles.
“How can I fix this? What would you like to know?” she asked quietly.
He rubbed at his temple. “For God’s sake, Annie, your grandfather is Vincent Montjoy.”
“Yes.”
He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, and his leg jiggled impatiently. “There isn’t a person in these parts who doesn’t know that name. His father, your great-grandfather, discovered one of the biggest oil fields this side of the pond.”
“He did, yes. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m still the same person I was fifteen minutes ago. Before you knew my last name. My family background.”
“So what are you d
oing here, Annie? The truth.”
For a few seconds he didn’t think she’d answer. Then, very quietly, she said, “My grandfather is sick.”
“I remember hearing that, thinking that money couldn’t fix every problem.” He glanced at her. “Sorry. That sounded cold. I didn’t mean it that way. He’s your grandpa. I know how hard this is for you. But that still doesn’t answer the question. In fact, it makes things even more of a puzzle. If he’s sick, I’d think you’d want to be with him. Instead, you ran away.”
“It’s a long story.” She looked out the window, then turned her big blue eyes back to him. “But I didn’t run away. Not from him or the situation. I’m trying to help.”
“By leaving home? Making him and your parents worry?”
She loosened her ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair. “It probably seems that way. On the surface, anyway.”
“Take my word for it. It does.” He rubbed his chin.
“I told you I called Sophie.”
He shrugged.
“Grandpa has leukemia. All the time he’s spent around oil refineries and petroleum, the exposure to benzene…” She sighed. “He needs a bone marrow transplant, and none of us are a match. I’m here to find his half sister. To talk her into being tested.”
“Okay.” He blew out a breath and settled back on the couch. “You couldn’t call her?”
“No one knows exactly where she is.”
“So why not hire a private investigator to track her down?”
“I’m not sure she actually exists.”
Cash put a hand to his forehead. “Annie, this is beginning to feel like ‘Who’s on first?’”
“I know, I know, but it’s really complicated.”
“Ahhh.”
“Ah is right. And for reasons only he knows, my grandfather has expressly forbidden anyone to search for this long-lost half sister of his.”
“So you’re disobeying him.”
“Yes. I have to. Grandpa says when his time is up, he’ll go—even if this half sister might be a match.” Her voice broke. “Might be able to save his life.”
Her mouth twisted in distress. “In my book, he’s almost the lucky one. He’ll be done with it. We’ll be left here with regrets and what-ifs. We’ll be left to miss him.”
Cash’s heart lurched. He understood only too well the pain of being left behind, of losing a grandfather. Didn’t he wish every day for a few more hours with his?
Annie tucked her feet up under her. “So, anyway, that’s my big secret. And here I am in Maverick Junction, Texas. Hiding out from my family, and trying, against my grandfather’s wishes, to save his life. My father and mother, for reasons beyond me, have agreed to go along with his fatalistic stance.”
She made a face. “I can’t do that. I can’t just throw up my hands and let him die. If there’s anything I can do, any possibility of help, I have to give it a shot. I’ll be the first to admit I have a lot of faults, but being a quitter isn’t one of them.”
“No, you’re not.” He’d watched her work in the barn, with the horses. Watched her keep going way past exhaustion. She’d never once cried uncle.
“Why doesn’t this half sister fly to Boston to help on her own? Surely she watches the news. She has to know what’s going on.”
“She might not realize she’s his relative.”
His brows drew together.
“She was, as they used to say, born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Okay. Got it.” Cash tapped his fingertips together. “Geez, Annie. This is like a recap of one of the soaps Rosie watches.”
“I know, but, believe me, it’s real. And it’s my life.”
“I gotta tell you, darlin’, for what it’s worth, if it was me, I’d do anything possible to find that old gal.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes misted. “But Vincent Montjoy isn’t like anybody else I know.”
“So what happens now?”
“I have a friend, a researcher, doing some digging. I’ve been scouring the Internet, trying to find a lead since I caught whiff of her. I’ve made some inquiries around town. If she’s real, I’ll find her.”
“You think she lives here in Maverick Junction?”
“No.”
“Close to here?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re not going to tell me any more, are you?”
“Not yet. I’m sorry, Cash.”
“It’s okay.” He got up and walked to the sink, braced his hands on it, and stared out the window. He didn’t know what to think. Annie obviously didn’t trust him enough—yet—to share. He turned back to her.
“So, you’re not a down-and-out lady in distress.” It wasn’t a question.
Annie shook her head, studied her fingernails.
“You’re actually a billionaire oil tycoon’s heir.” Despite his good intentions, anger bubbled up inside him. If there was anything he despised, it was deceit. Look at Vivi. A prime example of the mess a person could land in with a single bad decision.
He’d been played, and he didn’t like it. “When I offered you an advance on your salary, you must have laughed your head off at my gullibility.” He couldn’t keep the temper from his voice, didn’t even try.
“No, I didn’t.” She flicked a glance at him, then looked away again. She didn’t defend her actions any further.
“You didn’t figure I had the right to know who you were. Didn’t need to know what was going on in your life. After all, I’m just the country-bumpkin cowboy who gave you a job. Tried to help you out because I thought you needed a hand.”
“A country bumpkin?” Annelise’s stomach churned and her own temper flared. “I never felt you were less than me. Never treated you that way.”
“Don’t give me that bull.” His jaw tightened. “Pretty hard to write down heiress for your last position held, isn’t it? What lie did you intend to tell me next, Annie?”
She set her mouth in a tight line. She refused to fight with him—which only seemed to make him madder.
“You used me.”
That did it. Anger boiled to the surface and spilled over. “I did not!”
“Oh, yeah, you did.”
She jumped up from the chair and poked him in the chest. “You have no idea.”
“Then tell me.” He stepped so close their toes bumped, then poked her in the chest.
She gasped.
“Oh, excuse me,” he snarled. “The little rich girl’s body is off-limits? I don’t think so.” His arm snaked out, grasped her, and pulled her in. His mouth covered hers, hot and ready. His tongue invaded, plundered.
And, God help her, she loved it. Here was real. Cash wasn’t kissing the Montjoy heiress. He was kissing Annie, the ranch hand. He was kissing the real her.
And wasn’t it glorious?
Her fingers snaked through his hair. Her mouth gave back as good as it got.
Abruptly, he pulled away. Setting her away from him, his face closed and shuttered. “Apparently, I’m good for something, huh? A quick roll in the hay, maybe, but not good enough for the Montjoy family.”
“That’s not fair!”
“None of this is.”
“Well, you won’t need to worry about it anymore because I quit.”
“You can’t quit. You’re fired.”
“I quit first.”
“Enjoy your life, Annie.”
“Go to hell, Cash.”
“Can’t. Too much to do. I just lost a ranch hand.”
He turned on the heels of his cowboy boots and stalked out, leaving her alone in the middle of her beautiful, cheerful room. She stamped her foot and hit Power-Off on the TV remote, then took the cold pizza from the microwave and dumped it in the trash.
She was unemployed. Damn.
Chapter Ten
She’d sooner pass up a new pair of Christian Louboutin shoes than sit here in her apartment and feel sorry for herself. Wallowing was not Annelise Montjoy’s style.
But
then, neither was that fight she’d had with Cash. She’d been trained in the arts of diplomacy and negotiations straight out of the womb. So what had happened?
She’d been herself. That’s what had happened. She’d dared to show him the real her—warts and all. She’d never, ever allowed herself to do that. But Cash, simply by being Cash, allowed her that freedom. She didn’t need to hide behind social niceties with him. Didn’t need to be anyone but herself.
It felt so good not to have to hold back, to think before she spoke. Before she acted.
And she’d screwed it up.
Well, no way would she sulk about it.
Nothing cured the funks like a long soak. Drawing a bath, she jumped when her cell phone rang. Smiling, she grabbed for it. She knew once Cash had time to really think it over, he’d understand.
But it wasn’t Cash. It was Ron. He’d hit a brick wall. His research had dead-ended. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead, she thanked him politely and hung up.
Carefully, she laid the phone on the edge of the sink. Misery seeped into her heart, her bones, and the tears fell. Sinking into the frothy water, she cried as she washed away both the paint streaks and Cash’s scent. Half an hour later, wrapped in a towel, she opened her closet door and studied her choices through tear-reddened eyes.
A week ago, she’d stood in a closet almost the size of this whole apartment, surrounded by a veritable warehouse of designer outfits. No more. Her choice. Shoving aside a faint wistfulness, she plucked one of her two clean T-shirts off the hanger and slid into it and a pair of jeans, then walked barefoot into the kitchen. Time to get to work.
Twenty minutes later, she sat in front of her computer. Back in Boston, she’d already Googled, searched Wikipedia and Yahoo!, and run a gazillion AOL searches. She’d rummaged through the Mormon Church genealogy records, dug through ancestry and family search websites. What could she do that she or Ron hadn’t already done?
There had to be someone left, someone in Lone Tree who would have an answer for her. So, even though she’d gone over and over them, she had to believe something would turn up. No matter how long she dug, though, she couldn’t find anything on family members still living in Lone Tree.
Somebody Like You Page 11
