All That I Need (Grayson Friends)

by Ray, Francis

“Yes?” His voice, once warm and tempting, was now coolly professional.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but were there any diaries that might put significance on the individual pieces of furnishings or household articles?” she asked, crossing to stand in front of his desk. “As I said, Mr. Yates was said to be sentimental. The house is a showcase, but I want my readers to know the why and the how.”

  “Yes. Thaddeus Yates and his daughter left notes, but they’re part of the auction and I’d rather they not be handled,” Lance explained, removing his eyeglasses.

  Disappointment slumped her shoulders. “I see.”

  He seemed to hesitate, then came to his feet and around the desk. “’I’ve read the notes and am familiar with everything. If you’d like I could give you a brief tour.”

  “Lance, thank you.” He really was a nice guy. “That would be wonderful.”

  “We could start in here.” He turned toward the built-in bookcases on the walls. “Thaddeus had these made in New Orleans. Some people just purchase books to fill out a library because of their binding or size, but Thaddeus loved to read and so did his wife and daughter. Each book was selected by one of them.”

  Fallon lifted her camera and took a couple of shots, then walked over to the shelf and pulled out a slim book. “Wuthering Heights. I wonder, was the mother or the daughter the romantic?”

  “Safe to say it wasn’t Thaddeus. Men know better.”

  Fallon frowned. “You don’t believe in romance?”

  “Not many practical men would.” Lance opened the library/office door. “We can continue upstairs. You’ll note that, although extensive remodeling has been done, the original wood molding around the fireplaces and walls remains. This way.”

  Fallon wasn’t ready to leave the conversation on romance, but she wasn’t given a choice. Replacing the book, she turned to follow Lance.

  * * *

  As they went through the house and as she listened to him talk, she realized he cared about the furnishings. It wasn’t just money to him. He seemed to understand what the house meant to the mother and daughter who had acquired most of the furnishings.

  Back downstairs, Lance led her to the dining room. “Surrounding this late Georgian dining table is a suite of Empire chairs. It can comfortably seat twelve. Thaddeus’s daughter, Colleen, personally picked this out on a trip to England.”

  Fallon snapped a photo, then lowered the camera. “Clearly she intended this for large family gatherings.”

  “Her son, Herbert, was two at the time,” Lance said. “While traveling she wrote that she and her husband wanted more children. Her son understood the legacy. Ten years before his death, he had his last name changed to Yates.”

  Fallon’s fingertips grazed the table’s polished surface. “Like the sterling flatware you showed me in the linen closet, she wanted these things to be handed down to the next generation, but it didn’t happen.”

  Not a flicker of emotion crossed Lance’s face. “No, her son never married.”

  “I hope the new owners love and appreciate the house and the furnishings as much as Herbert’s mother,” Fallon said.

  “Why would you say that?” Lance asked with a frown.

  She hunched her slim shoulders. “She just put so much into this place, had such hopes. It’s sad that they had to die with her son. Maybe with the next family living here, that won’t happen.”

  Fallon heard a door open, then close. Voices.

  “That will be my employees returning from lunch,” Lance explained.

  Fallon glanced at her watch and gasped. Her gaze quickly lifted to Lance’s. She’d been there almost two hours. It had been easy talking and listening to Lance. But he hadn’t given off any signals that he was interested in picking up where they’d left off—before her unfair accusation.

  She had to admit, she was disappointed. She’d certainly messed up. Perhaps it was for the best. She was leaving in less than a week. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

  “It’s all right.” He lifted his long-fingered, manicured hand toward the door. “I’ll show you out.”

  Fallon followed Lance out. In the open area, she saw two young men and an older woman going up the staircase.

  Opening the front door, Lance stepped back so she could pass. As soon as she did he said, “Good-bye. If you have any more questions, or want to come back, you’re welcome.”

  “Thanks.” She tossed her notebook in the car and placed her camera in the case, then straightened. Lance still stood on the wide porch. He could just be being polite, but maybe he’d been thinking about what might have happened between them just as she had.

  “You want to meet at Brandon’s restaurant for dinner around seven?”

  Lance’s gaze narrowed. She’d caught him off guard and it pleased her immensely. “It will make up for my poor behavior when we met, and thank you for not holding it against me today.”

  He stared at her a long moment, as if trying to figure her out. She’d like to think she was one of a kind.

  “I’ll see you at seven.”

  She grinned and felt like dancing. She hadn’t realized how important the answer was to her until he’d agreed.

  “Seven it is.” Waving, she got in her car and pulled off. Through the rearview mirror she saw Lance still standing there. He was such a dichotomy. Who was the real Lance, this self-composed man or the flirtatious one she’d met weeks ago? She was determined to find out.

  Chapter 2

  Fallon tried to convince herself that it was just a business/thank-you dinner. Not even changing her dress twice before settling on an off-the-shoulder raspberry-colored dress convinced her otherwise, nor did the three changes of sandals and earrings. However, she gave up trying the moment she saw Lance, tall and mouthwateringly delicious, waiting outside the restaurant for her.

  Her heart did a crazy jitterbug; her legs weren’t quite as steady as they’d been moments earlier. He stood a few feet from the long line of people waiting to enter the Red Cactus.

  She was ten minutes early. She’d told herself it was to allow time to park and not because she was anxious to see him again. She rolled her eyes. It was bad when you started lying to yourself.

  Lance reached her in seconds, his dark brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”

  So he was perceptive. “Just thinking,” she said. At least that was the truth. “I tried to make reservations, but they were booked. You want to wait?”

  “I admit, I’m not the patient type when waiting for a table,” he told her. “Fortunately, I took the precaution of calling and making reservations, just in case.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

  Long, lean fingers gently took her arm. Her skin heated, tingled.

  They continued inside the restaurant, past the stares of those waiting in line. Fallon was almost compelled to explain that they weren’t cutting, they had reservations.

  Lance didn’t appear to notice. He stopped in front of the hostess’s podium. “Reservations for Saxton at seven.”

  The pretty young woman in a slim-fitting black dress smiled and picked up two oversized menus with red boots and cacti on the front. “Certainly, Mr. Saxton. If you and your guests will follow Lacy, she’ll seat you at your table.”

  Smiling, Lacy accepted the menus. “This way, please.”

  Lance’s hand moved to the small of Fallon’s back and she almost yelped. Heat radiated through the cotton fabric as if on bare skin. Lance could really be a problem—if she let him.

  “Here you are,” Lacy said.

  Lance pulled out a chair at the table for two for Fallon, took the seat across from her, and accepted the menu. “Thank you.”

  “Your waiter, Shawn, should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?” Lacy asked. “Wine, cocktail, or flavored tea perhaps?”

  “Fallon?” Lance asked.

  Fallon wasn’t much for alcohol, but tonight seemed to be the one to be a little daring. “Black mojita.
”

  “Pomegranate iced tea.”

  “I’ll get those right out,” Lacy said, and left.

  Fallon propped her arms on the table and hoped she wasn’t too obvious, but the man certainly was easy on the eyes. “How are things shaping up for the auction?”

  “Good. The catalog with the most expensive pieces arrived this morning,” he told her. “The employees you saw this afternoon are finishing up listing the smaller items.”

  “From what I saw, you all have a humongous task ahead of you,” she said. “The glassware alone is extensive and impressive.”

  “It will get done.” The words were clipped, final.

  Fallon believed him. Lance wasn’t a man who impressed her as tolerating excuses—and that included himself. “Then you deserve a night to relax. Have you eaten here before?”

  “No. I spent summers here growing up, but I haven’t been back since I graduated from college.” He glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Brandon has done well for himself. I hear the food is delicious, but I guess you can tell from the long line and the restaurant being booked.”

  “I’ve seldom tasted better,” she told him. “One of the first stories I did on Santa Fe was on the Red Cactus.”

  “How long have you been a travel writer?” he asked.

  “Since my junior year at college,” she related. “I get to travel to exciting places and get paid for it.”

  His dark head tilted to one side. “But I don’t think money is your motivating reason.”

  Surprised delight swept through her. “It’s not.”

  “Your drinks. I’m Shawn. I’ll be your waiter.” A tall, slender man dressed in a white shirt and black pants placed the glasses in front of them and took out a pad and pencil. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”

  “Fallon?”

  “I already know I want the triple sampler and the onion rings, but I don’t think you’ve had time to study the menu.” Fallon closed her menu.

  Lance opened the menu, briefly glanced at it, and said, “I’ll have the porterhouse, medium, with a baked potato, butter only, asparagus, and house salad with ranch dressing.” Lance handed the man his menu.

  Frowning, Fallon followed suit. “How did you do that?”

  “Speed-reading.” Lance picked up his drink. “So what drives you?”

  She realized two things: Lance didn’t want to talk about himself, and there was definitely more to him than his sexy good looks. “Growing up in Austin, I dreamed of being a news correspondent and traveling all over the world.” Her fingers closed around the stem of the glass. “When that didn’t work out, this sort of just happened when a magazine wanted a fresh article on Austin. The story led to another and another. By the time I graduated from college, I had logged a lot of miles on my mother’s car and written over fifty articles. I like traveling and discovering things people might have overlooked. After graduation, I just kept going and writing.”

  “Where were you before you came here?” he asked.

  “Where the rich and famous play, Martha’s Vineyard.” She laughed. “Besides the historic fishing villages, it has breezy beaches, adorable towns, delicious food. The lobster was out of this world.”

  He gazed at her over his glass. “The wealthy are here as well. Is that what drew you?”

  “No,” she answered. She would not be miffed with him. “People and places draw me. Martha’s Vineyard and here can be expensive, but both can be enjoyed by families on a budget, one of the things I take great care to point out.”

  He placed his glass aside. “You’re different.”

  “Good or bad?” she asked.

  “I haven’t figured it out,” he said, staring at her intently.

  Butterflies took flight in Fallon’s stomach. She reminded herself that she was leaving in less than a week and hoped she listened.

  “Your food.” The waiter served them both. “Is there anything else I can get either of you?”

  “Fallon?”

  Fallon mentally shook herself and looked at her plate. “I’m good.”

  “Same here. Thanks.”

  Fallon tucked her head to bless the food, then reminded herself this was a thank-you dinner. Finished, she reached for her quesadilla and took a generous bite. Moaned. Savored. She did love good food. When she opened her eyes Lance was staring at her. The heat in his eyes almost singed her. He wasn’t being distant now.

  He broke contact first and reached for his knife and fork. “Why didn’t the news correspondent dream work out?”

  Fallon wondered how he could revert back to being impersonal after eating her with his eyes, then realized it took practice. But why would he have learned such self-control? Her natural curiosity to see what others didn’t kicked in.

  He looked up when she didn’t answer. “I hope I’m not being too personal.”

  She reached for her drink. She sipped and studied him over the rim of her highball glass. He didn’t fidget, just kept her gaze. That took practice as well. There was definitely more to Lance than met the eye. Perhaps he deserved the whole story, but not tonight. “Something tells me you wouldn’t care if you were.”

  The corners of his sensual mouth quirked. “How is your food?”

  “Delicious.”

  “That’s always good to hear.”

  Fallon glanced up to see Brandon Grayson, owner of the Red Cactus, a wide grin on his handsome face. “You couldn’t cook a bad dish if you tried.”

  Brandon’s grin widened. “If you ever have trouble getting a table, ask the hostess to find me.”

  “I’ll do that,” Fallon said, pleased. She’d met Lance and Brandon at a late luncheon at his wife’s family-owned hotel, Casa de Serenidad.

  Brandon shook Lance’s outstretched hand. “Good seeing you again.”

  Lance nodded toward Fallon. “Thank Fallon. She suggested we eat here.”

  “But Lance was smart enough to get reservations,” she said, amused. “So this is a joint effort.”

  “Faith taught me that two is always better than one.” Brandon glanced between Lance and Fallon.

  Fallon hoped she wasn’t blushing. She didn’t dare look at Lance. “Your wife is wonderful. Naomi is so excited about the wedding reception at her hotel. She still can’t believe she and Richard were able to obtain one of the smaller ballrooms.”

  “Nothing Faith likes better than planning events for special friends and family.” Brandon shook his dark head, the long braid hanging down his back moving sensuously. “She, Mama, and Catherine were on the phone early this morning talking about place settings and flower arrangements for the tables.”

  “This morning Richard and Naomi were going over the final guest list,” Fallon said. “His parents arrived yesterday, and tonight they’re going over it to finalize everything.”

  “It will be good seeing Uncle Leo and Aunt Gladys again. When we talked last night, they sounded just as happy as always,” Lance mused. “I bet they never thought they’d come home to find Richard planning his wedding.”

  Fallon’s brow lifted. “You sound as if you never expected him to get married.”

  “Marriage isn’t for everyone,” Lance said, the amusement gone from his face.

  “Maybe not for everyone, but I’m glad I found Faith,” Brandon told them. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Fallon picked up a taco but watched Lance. If she didn’t miss her guess, there was a certain woman in Lance’s past and it hadn’t ended pretty. Fallon continued eating for a bit but couldn’t resist asking, “You don’t approve of Richard marrying?”

  “I never said that.” He polished off his steak and shoved the plate aside, his annoyance obvious. “I haven’t gotten a chance to know Naomi very well, but she appears sweet and loving. Exactly the type of woman for Richard.”

  It was on the tip of Fallon’s tongue to ask Lance about the type of woman he thought suitable for him, but thankfully she caught herself before blurting it out. “Yes, she is and, afte
r what she went through with her first marriage and a few days ago, she deserves to be happy.”

  “Richard will see to that, and that her ex never bothers her again,” Lance said with a hint of anger in his voice. Any man who hit a woman was scum—no matter the provocation. For all the hurt Ashley had put him though, physically harming her had never entered his mind.

  He picked up his glass and saw Fallon watching him with those bedroom eyes of hers. She was trying to figure him out. He’d also caught her watching him during dinner. She was still interested in him. If he was honest, he was more than interested in her. But if things went further, she had to know it would be purely physical. No emotional involvement or happily ever after.

  “What about you?” he asked abruptly. Fallon might be the kind of woman who wanted forever.

  She straightened, her tempting breasts jutting forward. Lance tried not to stare and worked not to let his body go into overdrive. Nothing was happening tonight—if ever.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What’s your view on marriage or are you engaged already?” he asked, irrationally angry at the thought of her marrying anyone.

  “I fully intend to marry one day and have a family, but it’s difficult with traveling so much,” she told him. “I’m seldom in one place longer than a few months. Hardly long enough to have a lasting relationship with anyone.”

  So, she wanted forever. That left him out. Even without traveling, lasting relationships were difficult. He should know. “Would you like coffee or dessert?”

  “If I eat another bite I might pop.” She wrinkled her nose. ‘”I’ll have to get the cheesecake another time.”

  Lance signaled the waiter. “The bill, and please add a slice of cheesecake in a to-go container for the lady.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Fallon reached for her purse. “My invitation. My treat.”

  “My reservation.” He reached for the bill presenter as soon as the waiter approached. Lance barely glanced at it before shoving a large bill inside and handing it back to the waiter. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir, and a good evening to both of you.”

  It would be better if it ended with both of them in a bed, but that wasn’t happening. Lance stood, picked up the to-go container for the cheesecake, and reached for her chair. “I’ll walk you to your car.”