“We’ve talked on the phone several times since your wedding.”
Camille frowned. “Not the same. When we have a conversation I want to see you.”
“You should’ve told me,” Emily-Ann said dryly. “The next time I call we’ll do FaceTime.”
Camille chuckled. “That’s not the same, either. So what have you been doing with yourself since the wedding? Other than running Conchita’s?”
Conchita’s was a little coffee and pastry shop located on a quiet street in Wickenburg. Since Emily-Ann was the only employee, other than the owner who prepared the pastries, the job kept her very busy six days a week. The salary she made was never going to do more than pay her rent and other living expenses, but she loved the job.
“I don’t have time to do much,” Emily-Ann reasoned.
“You’re still doing online college classes, aren’t you?”
Emily-Ann shrugged. “Yes. Just a few more hours and I’ll get my degree. But sometimes I wonder why I chose such a field to get into. I’ll probably make a miserable nurse. Taking care of a sick cat isn’t like tending an ailing human.”
“I happen to think you’ll make a wonderful nurse. When your mother’s health started to fail, you were always so good with her.”
“I had to do what I could. We couldn’t afford a real nurse to take care of Mom,” Emily-Ann replied, not wanting to think about that especially hard time in her life.
“Well, there’s always a demand for nurses.” Camille smiled encouragingly. “You should be able to get a job right in Wickenburg.”
“Making coffee for my friends would be far less stressful,” Emily-Ann said frankly. “But Mom had a dream for me and I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Camille slanted her a meaningful glance. “Just like I didn’t want to disappoint Dad about getting a college degree. Now your mom and my dad are both gone. But let’s not dwell on that sad stuff tonight. It’s party time.” With a cheerful smile, Camille reached over and hooked her arm through Emily-Ann’s. “And it looks like Jazelle has just arrived with a cart to restock the bar. Let’s go get something to drink.”
The two women walked across the backyard to join the group of people mingling on the patio. There were far more guests than Emily-Ann had expected and she was glad she’d taken extra care with her appearance this evening. Even though her mustard-colored blouse and dark green skirt weren’t anything fancy they flattered her curvy figure and she’d taken the time to braid a top portion of her hair and pin it to one side. She’d never be beautiful like Camille or her sister, Vivian, but for tonight she felt as though she looked decent.
“Emily-Ann! I didn’t know you had arrived!”
At the sound of the female voice, Emily-Ann turned to see Maureen Hollister hurrying toward her. The lovely woman in her midsixties gathered her up in a tight hug.
“I’m so glad you could come tonight and be with Camille,” she said happily. “My two little gingers. It’s just like old times seeing you girls together.”
“Except that now we don’t have our matching bangs and Groovy Girls dolls,” Emily-Ann joked.
Maureen laughed. “Too bad you grew out of those days. But I have the dolls packed away in a trunk of toys. Someday you two might want to give them to your daughters.”
“Uh—in about three months or so, if Camille has a girl, she’ll need hers,” Emily-Ann told her. “But you might as well keep mine packed away in mothballs.”
Maureen wagged a finger at her. “You’re forgetting, honey. You caught Camille’s wedding bouquet. Your time is coming!”
Laughing, Camille rolled her eyes toward Emily-Ann. “Don’t scream.”
Confused by her daughter’s remark, Maureen frowned. “Scream? Why would she want to do something like that?”
“Nothing important,” Emily-Ann answered, then quickly steered the conversation in a different direction. “Thank you for inviting me tonight, Maureen. I can’t wait to eat some of Reeva’s barbecue. Is there anything I can do to help in the kitchen?”
“Not a thing. I want you and Camille to stay out of the kitchen. Katherine and Vivian are helping with the food and Isabelle and Roslyn, bless their hearts, have volunteered to keep all the little ones upstairs and occupied. So everything is under control, I think.” She looked at Camille. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Be sure and introduce Emily-Ann to the folks she hasn’t met.”
Maureen hurried away just as a group of men sauntered over to the bar, where Jazelle, the Hollisters’ housekeeper, was mixing drinks. Spotting them, Camille grabbed Emily-Ann’s arm and tugged her in the direction of the men.
“Come on, I want you to say hi to my brothers.”
Emily-Ann had never been a bashful person and she loved meeting people, which was the main reason she loved her job at the coffee shop. But for some reason tonight, she felt hesitant about joining the group of men to say hello.
“I honestly don’t think they want to waste their time with me, Camille,” Emily-Ann suggested. “Let’s just get a drink and go back to the glider.”
Camille frowned at her. “Since when have you turned into a wallflower? Now quit being ridiculous and come on.”
Camille tugged her forward and Emily-Ann had no choice but to follow her friend over to the group of men, all of whom were dressed casually in jeans and boots and various shades and styles of cowboy hats.
“Hi, guys,” Camille greeted. “I thought you all might want to say hello to Emily-Ann.”
Holt, the middle sibling of the Hollister clan, stepped forward with a wide grin. “I want to do more than say hi. I want a hug from Little Red.”
Laughing at the nickname Holt had given her years ago, Emily-Ann hugged the tall, good-looking cowboy, who’d often been considered the wild playboy of the bunch. Now the horseman was settled down with a wife and new baby son.
“Hello, Holt.” Stepping back from his affectionate hug, she smiled at him. “How does it feel to be a new father?”
The twinkle in his eyes was the same sort of joy Emily-Ann saw on Camille’s face. Yes, the Hollister siblings were all happily married with children and babies now. The reality left Emily-Ann feeling as though she was standing on the porch in the cold rain, while everyone inside the house was cheery and warm and together.
“Having a son is just incredible,” Holt responded to her question. “Even if I have to get up in the night to change diapers.”
“Hah!” Blake, the eldest of the Hollister brothers and manager of Three Rivers Ranch, reacted with a short laugh. “I think I’ll ask Isabelle just how many diapers you’ve changed in the wee hours of the morning.”
“Not nearly as many as me,” Chandler, the veterinarian of the group, boasted.
Chuckling, Joseph, the deputy and youngest Hollister, gouged an elbow in Chandler’s ribs. “That’s what you think, brother. Blake has us all beat. He has twins.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Blake said with an appreciative grin.
Camille pulled a playful face at her brothers. “I didn’t bring Emily-Ann over here to listen to you four boast about your diaper changing. You’re supposed to be saying hello to her.”
“Hello, Emily-Ann!” they all said in loud unison.
Emily-Ann could feel a blush stinging her cheeks. It was true she’d known the wealthy Hollister family for years, but since Camille had moved away, she’d not been here to the ranch for any reason and she felt a little awkward about showing up tonight. In spite of Camille being a dear friend, that didn’t put Emily-Ann on their social calendar.
Just as that self-deprecating thought went through her mind, Blake stepped forward and gathered her up in a hug. “I see you at Conchita’s fairly often, but it’s nice to have you here on the ranch. Jazelle is mixing drinks. Tell me what you’d like and I’ll get it.”
“Not yet,” Camille told him, her gaze searching the ever-gro
wing crowd. “I thought Matthew and Tag might be over here with you guys. Where—oh, I see them coming now.”
Grabbing her by the upper arm, Camille tugged her forward and Emily-Ann followed, albeit reluctantly. She was fairly acquainted with Matthew, Camille’s husband, but the tall cowboy with him was a total stranger to her. A wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the color of dark coffee, shaded a tanned face with roughly honed features. His eyes were hooded beneath a pair of dark brows, while his chin jutted forward just enough to give him a dash of arrogance. Or it could be the way he was looking at her, as though she was a geek, or worse, that made him seem arrogant. Either way, Emily-Ann would’ve been happy to avoid the man entirely. But she couldn’t escape the tight hold Camille had on her arm. Not without making a scene.
“So you two finally made it to the party?” Camille teased, directing the question mostly to her husband.
Matthew’s grin was a bit guilty. “Sorry, honey, I’ve been showing Tag some of the more important things down at the ranch yard.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a perceptive smile, “like the saddles and tack and training arena and cow barn and—”
Matthew stopped her with a laugh. “We didn’t get that far,” he said, then inclined his head toward Emily-Ann. “Nice to see you again, Emily-Ann. Glad you could make it to the party.”
“Thank you, Matthew,” Emily-Ann replied, while trying not to pay extra notice to the tall, hard-looking cowboy standing next to him. From this distance, she could see his eyes were warm brown and his hair a mixture of rust and chocolate. “It’s wonderful having you and Camille back at Three Rivers. Even if it’s just for a short while.”
She felt Camille’s hand urging her to take a step toward the foreman, and though she wanted to glower at her friend, Emily-Ann purposely kept a smile fixed upon her face.
“Tag, I’d like for you to meet Emily-Ann Broadmoor, my best friend since childhood,” Camille introduced. “And Emily-Ann, this is Taggart O’Brien. He’s going to be Three Rivers’s new foreman.”
The man’s lips curved into a semblance of a polite smile and Emily-Ann found her gaze transfixed on his mouth. The lower lip was full and plush, while the top was thin and tilted upward just enough to show a glimpse of white teeth.
Extending his hand to her, he said, “Hello, Ms. Broadmoor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A strange roaring in her ears very nearly drowned out the sound of his voice and, in spite of feeling as though she’d suddenly fallen into some sort of trance, she managed to place her hand in his.
“Thank you,” she told him, while her swirling senses recognized the hard-calloused skin of his palm and the warmth of his fingers curling around hers. “Nice meeting you, too, Mr. O’Brien.”
With an impatient roll of her eyes, Camille interjected, “Oh, this just won’t do at all. Surely you two can use your first names. We’re all family around here.”
“I’m fine with it,” Taggart said. “If Ms. Broadmoor doesn’t mind.”
“First of all, Emily-Ann is a Miss, not a Ms.,” Camille corrected him, then turned a clever smile on Emily-Ann. “And she doesn’t mind. Do you?”
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why Camille was making such a big to-do out of this introduction. It wasn’t like she’d be seeing the man after tonight. And from the stoic look on his face, he was totally bored by this whole meeting anyway.
Well, that was okay with her, Emily-Ann decided. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about exchanging hellos with this hard-looking cowboy, either. With that thought in mind, she pulled her shoulders back and tried to forget she’d always been the poor little girl who lived on the shabby side of town.
“I don’t mind,” she answered, then forced her gaze back to Taggart O’Brien. “Everyone calls me Emily-Ann.”
The faint smile on his lips twisted to a wider slant. “Well, everyone calls me Tag, or a few other things I shouldn’t repeat.”
He released her hand and Emily-Ann resisted the urge to wipe her sizzling palm against the side of her skirt.
“Tag is from West Texas,” Matthew informed her. “This is his first trip to Arizona and definitely his last. The Hollisters will see to that. He’s going to be a permanent fixture around here.”
“Welcome to Arizona, Tag,” Emily-Ann said with genuine sincerity. “I hope you like it here—in spite of the heat.”
His brown eyes were roaming her face as though she had two noses or something equally strange. The sensation was definitely unsettling, she thought, almost as much as the unadorned ring finger on his left hand. Surely this sexy-looking rancher was married. From the looks of him he had to be somewhere in his thirties. Plenty old enough to have a wife and kids stashed away somewhere.
He said, “I’m used to hot weather. And from everything I’ve seen since I arrived, I think I’m going to like it here just fine. The Hollisters are great and the area is beautiful.”
“Yes, the Hollisters are the best,” Emily-Ann murmured, then purposely turned her gaze on Camille. “Uh—don’t you think it’s time we go get that drink?”
“Sure! I can’t have anything alcoholic, but Jazelle will mix up something tasty for me.” She looped her arm through Emily-Ann’s, then cast a pointed look at her husband. “Would you men care to join us? It shouldn’t be long before they start bringing out the food.”
Smiling just for her, Matthew wrapped his hand around his wife’s free arm. “I don’t know about Tag, but I’d love to.”
* * *
Taggart hated parties, even when they were being held partly in his honor, such as this one. He’d never been good at mixing and mingling with people and being single made everything more awkward when he was introduced to the unwed women in the group. He didn’t have a wife to help him escape unwanted company, or to give him a reason to excuse himself.
Yet in this case, he wasn’t looking around for an escape route. Emily-Ann Broadmoor didn’t appear to be one of those boring cookie-cutter young women who spent hours trying to improve their appearance and five minutes or less educating themselves on things that actually mattered.
She wasn’t batting her long lashes at him or slanting him a coy look. She wasn’t grabbing his arm and hanging on as though she’d suddenly lost the strength to stand on her own two feet. No, this woman was refreshingly different, he thought. She might even be one he’d like to get to know as a friend. There couldn’t be any harm in that, he assured himself.
“I’m more than ready for a drink and dinner.” Purposely stepping up to the pretty redhead’s side, he offered her his arm. “What about you, Emily-Ann?”
For a moment he thought she was going to ignore him or simply walk away, but then she smiled and wrapped an arm through his.
“Thank you, Tag.”
The four of them moved slowly through the crowd toward the bar area where the four Hollister brothers were sipping cocktails and chatting with a few of the ranch hands. It was a sight that Taggart would’ve never seen on the Flying W back in Texas. Once the Armstrong family had taken over, the hands were never invited to mix with the employers, unless it was to take orders.
Hoping to shake away the unpleasant thoughts, he glanced down at Emily-Ann. She wasn’t exactly a beautiful woman, but she was very pretty in a unique sort of way. Her square face had a wide plush mouth, high cheekbones and a sprinkling of pale freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. Long brown lashes shaded eyes that were emerald green. Or, at least, that had been his first impression of their color. Until she’d turned her head and the light had hit them from a different angle. Then her eyes had taken on the color of a spring leaf that hadn’t yet ripened in the sun.
“Do you come out here to the ranch often?” he asked her as they followed Matthew and Camille through a group of milling guests.
“When Camille lived here I visited the ranch quite often. Now I don’t have much reason to d
rive out here. Most of the family stops by the coffee shop where I work, so I see them regularly.”
Ahead of them, Matthew and Camille paused to acknowledge a small group of old acquaintances. While Taggart and Emily-Ann stood waiting, he turned his gaze back to the redhead. And suddenly he wished the gentleman in him had never offered his arm to this woman. The casual touch of her hand was causing hot sparks to shoot all the way up to his shoulder, making it difficult to concentrate.
Doing his damnedest to ignore the unexpected reaction, he tried to focus on her last remarks. “You work as a waitress?” he asked.
“I guess you could call me a waitress,” she told him. “The coffee shop is small and I run it by myself. The owner does the pastry baking, then leaves everything else up to me.”
“I’d never be able to do your job,” he told her. “I’d end up eating all the profits.”
The smile on her face drew him like a warm fire on a frigid night and he silently cursed himself for being so responsive to her. He was in no position to be feeling such things toward any woman.
A week had hardly passed since he’d arrived here on the ranch. Boxes of his belongings were still stacked in the modest house where Matthew had lived during his tenure as the ranch’s foreman. What with getting to know the Hollister family and learning his way around the ranch, he’d hardly had a chance to draw a good breath, much less unpack. He didn’t have time for a woman. And even if he did, he wasn’t in the market for marriage or even a serious affair. Furthermore, he never would be.
Her rich voice suddenly broke into his dire thoughts. “Once you have one of Conchita’s pastries you’re hooked. I try not to eat them, but it’s a fight. Now Holt’s wife, Isabelle, is a different matter. She comes in and eats a pile of brownies or whatever she wants and never gains an ounce. It isn’t fair. Little Carter hasn’t turned a month old yet and Isabelle already looks great. Must be all that horseback riding she does.”
Fortune's Greatest Risk (The Fortunes 0f Texas: Rambling Rose Book 4) Page 19
