"You're not married, are you?" He set his mouth over one lace-covered breast, and she held her breath, as if afraid to move and stop him. His hands framed her waist, but he felt her sigh and tremble.
She hesitated for the briefest of moments. "No. You?"
"No." And he had never been happier about that in his entire life. She smelled like roses and vanilla, looked like a goddess and—for now—she was all his.
"Have you ever been?" It took a moment for the question to register, since he'd grown harder with every second he'd kissed her. Cal reached behind her and unhooked the bra's catch, then eased the straps down her arms.
"No," Cal managed to reply, despite the tempting vision of a half-naked woman standing in front of him. Her breasts were beautiful, soft and round, and thankfully she made no move to cover them. "Never."
His heart in his throat, Cal watched her unsnap her jeans and kick off her boots before she stepped closer to him. He stood, removing his own boots and clothing in record time, and reached for her, a lovely silhouette in the dim light of the room.
Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, Calvin George Ennis McDonald figured he'd died and gone to heaven. The woman in his arms was passionate and warm, soft and demanding, all satin skin and hot need. Somehow they managed to toss the bed-covers aside and land together on the bed, neither noticing the cold temperature of the sheets. And somehow Cal managed to remember the condom he kept in his wallet—a habit left over from a wild youth—and when he would have slowed down, she urged him closer. And then he was between her legs, and with one smooth motion he was inside of all that tight, female warmth.
Her eyes were closed, but she grasped his shoulders and lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. She urged him deeper, and Cal, too long without a woman, didn't even try to slow down. She climaxed quickly, her hands pressed tight on his arms. Cal gave in to the pure pleasure of her body and, with a few quick thrusts, found his own release.
He'd shocked himself. Not with his need, for it had been a long time since he'd made love to a woman, but because he didn't have sex with strangers. And here in the bed was a woman whose name he didn't know, who still had her eyes closed when he rolled off her and onto his back.
Her arm went over her eyes, as if to shield them from a light that didn't exist. Cal didn't know what to say, so he lay quiet and waited for the pounding of his heart to ease before turning to look at the woman he'd just made love to. If you could call that "making love." It had been more like raw need at its most powerful. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice sounded choked. She was crying, he realized. He noticed that tears were snaking along the side of her face, though he still couldn't see her eyes. He knew better than to turn a light on, but he sure as hell didn't know what to do with a weeping woman in his bed.
"I'm sorry," he tried, hoping that would make things better.
"It's not your fault." She lowered her arm and wiped her face on a corner of the sheet before modestly covering herself with the rest of it. "Could you turn away, please, so I can get dressed?"
"All right." Cal moved over to the other side of the bed and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He wondered what she was crying about, and what wasn't his fault, but it didn't seem like the time to ask. He would give her time to dress and then he would turn around and try to talk to her. But right now he was naked as a jaybird and still half aroused, the condom thankfully in place, and he'd look downright ridiculous strutting around the motel room picking up his clothes.
"I'm done," she said. "The room's all yours."
He turned to see her looking flushed, her blond hair still spiky and appealingly messy. She looked terribly young all of a sudden and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her it was okay.
"Give me a minute," he said instead. "I'll walk you—"
"No." She was out the door in a flash. Cal hurried to get dressed, but that turned out to take more time than he'd figured. By the time he raced across the parking lot, she was already in her car.
"Your name," he called. "What is it?"
The woman shook her head and rolled up the window, shutting her away from him. She turned away and put the car in gear. In a heartbeat she was gone, the small car's taillights disappearing into the night.
Cal walked to his truck and climbed inside. He was so damn tired, he thought about spending the rest of the night in the motel room, but decided against it. There was no point torturing himself with the scent of a woman on the pillows and the odd realization that she didn't want to know his name.
He'd go back where he belonged.
* * *
Addie had done some stupid things in her life, but last night topped the list. Cursing quietly in a hot shower had done little to ease her embarrassment—or the realization that she'd behaved like a lonely, love-starved woman who couldn't resist the appeal of a few kisses and had ended up on her back in a motel room. No, nothing she'd done since arriving home last night had made her feel better about what had happened.
Blaming her behavior on too much rum would have been an easy way to excuse herself. But Lord knows those rum and Cokes hadn't helped.
The whole thing had been so out of character that Addie knew no one would believe her. If she cared to confess to one of her friends, that is. Which she didn't. This secret would go to her grave, and if she was very, very lucky—which she wasn't—she would never see that man again. And even if she did, she would pretend not to recognize the good-looking cowboy who had danced with her. And kissed her. And carried her across a parking lot to a motel.
Addie made herself a pot of very strong coffee and prayed the boys would sleep later than six. Her mother, last night's babysitter, was thankfully still asleep in the spare bedroom, and hadn't seen her daughter arrive home with her clothes rumpled and her underwear stuffed in her jacket pocket.
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
April 1st
"Mrs. Larson?" The lawyer coughed politely and waited for Adelaide to lift her head off his glass-topped desk, but she was in no hurry. Especially since the room was spinning around her and she had to concentrate on staying in the chair. Falling on the floor in a dead faint was not at all the image she wanted to project while in a meeting with her deceased father's lawyer. She'd dressed in her best black pants and her favorite taupe knit top, the one she thought made her look sophisticated when she wore it with taupe dangle earrings and bronze lip shimmer. She'd wanted to look her best, and here she was making a spectacle of herself. Some things never changed.
"Adelaide, are you all right?" She heard the scrape of the chair as her mother drew closer and began to pat her between the shoulder blades. "Leave it to Eddie to cause problems even after he's dead and buried."
"Mom," Addie muttered, willing her to stop talking. She loved her mother—Paula Johanson had raised her single-handedly and with a devotion that stopped just short of obsession—but Paula had never forgiven her ex-husband for his many sins, one of which was walking out on his family. And she wasn't shy about discussing those sins, either. "Please don't say anything. Not now."
"You should put your head between your legs," her mother said.
"I can't … breathe," Addie managed to say after doing what she was told.
"Here," Mr. Anders said, sliding a paper bag across the desk as Addie lifted her head. "We find that breathing into a bag helps."
"Good idea." Her mother nodded her approval.
She tried it, wondering how many times a week the plump, balding lawyer faced fainting clients. Probably more times than she'd imagine. After long moments of breathing, while her mother discussed financial options with Mr. Anders, Addie felt well enough to put the bag down.
"She fainted when the doctor told her she was expecting twins, too," Paula informed the lawyer. "Adelaide's a little sensitive to surprises."
"Well, that's certainly, uh, unfortunate," he mumbled, tapping the stack of papers in front of him. "Are
you feeling well enough to continue, Mrs. Larson? We can reschedule, if you like, but we're almost at the end now."
"Yes," Addie said, but she kept the paper bag in her lap and tried not to fidget with it while the lawyer droned on about stocks and bonds, trust funds, inheritance taxes and properties. She didn't remember much about her father, and her memories mostly came from old photographs of the three of them together when she was still in diapers, toddling across the front lawn of the house on Oakdale Drive
. In one, he had short, blond hair and wore a psychedelic orange T-shirt over blue jeans. He had smiled at the camera, but the expression looked forced, as if he was making an effort to enjoy family life. Her mother had stood slightly apart from him, and her smile, as always, had been for her daughter.
"And you'll be able to take possession immediately," Mr. Anders concluded with a relieved air. He placed a small, manila envelope in front of her. "All the keys are inside. I'm sure you'll want to inspect the property, but I will warn you that the house itself is quite old. It's the land around it that's valuable. I've included the appraisal of the property with the papers, and you already have an offer—"
"Someone wants to buy it?" Addie's mother didn't try to hide her excitement. "Oh, Adelaide, this is so wonderful!"
"Mom," Addie cautioned, "let Mr. Anders finish."
"Sorry." She patted her daughter's back. "How are you feeling? Do you need to take a little break from this, get some coffee, some air, maybe a little something to eat?"
"I'm okay." She wasn't okay. Not at all. She was numb and dizzy and wanted to cry, but she wasn't about to shed tears in front of anyone. Not over a father she'd hardly known, that was certain. And not because she'd just discovered that she was wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. I've had enough surprises this winter, she wanted to shout, but she gripped her hands together in her lap and crushed the edge of the paper bag instead.
"You look a little pale," Paula fumed, but Addie ignored her and met Mr. Anders's gaze.
"Please," she said, "let's continue. You said there was an offer?"
"For the two commercial building lots in San Marcos, yes. But your father hoped you would keep the ranch itself in the family," the lawyer reminded her. "I believe I explained that a few minutes ago? I think your father hoped you would live there, but—"
"As if he has any business giving orders to a daughter he never saw," Paula muttered.
"But," Mr. Anders continued, "if you decide to sell, there are some conditions that will have to be met, according to the codicil on page forty-one."
"I understand," Addie told the lawyer, although she wasn't sure she did. Not exactly. But she knew one thing—that she would now be able to take her children to live in her very own house where no rent was due. She could quit her job, thank goodness. And buy the boys new clothes, and go out to dinner without guilt. This must be what winning the lottery felt like, if only she could feel well enough to enjoy it.
"If you'll just sign one more document," Mr. Anders said, showing her the last paper, with a red X next to a signature line. "Then we're done. If I can be of any further help to you, please contact the office at any time. I realize this has been overwhelming."
"Thank you." She signed her name, Adelaide L. Larson, in neat script. She ignored another wave of dizziness, and prayed that she could exit the lawyer's oak and leather office without being sick all over the expensive Oriental carpet.
"Now, do you know where your father's land is located?" He opened another folder and pulled out a photocopied map of central Texas.
"Not really."
"Approximately seventy miles north of Austin." He drew a circle around a town before handing her the map. "There."
"In Nowhere?" The dizziness swung through her head again as she saw the name of the town.
Her mother peered over her shoulder. "Leave it to Eddie to live in a town called that." She laughed, and even the lawyer smiled.
"It's supposed to be quite picturesque. Have you ever been there?" he asked Addie.
"No, but I've heard of it," she admitted and was glad she was too old to blush. She'd made a foolish, stupid, careless mistake six weeks ago. With a man from Nowhere. He'd made a joke of it; he'd made her laugh. It had been quite flattering, until she'd come to her senses and raced out of the motel room. Not one of her shining moments as a responsible human being and sensible mother of two, and one she wasn't likely to forget.
Paula frowned. "It's not a place I remember him talking about. I wonder why he stayed in Texas. I figured he'd headed for California or Mexico."
Addie felt it important that Mr. Anders understand. "We thought he'd died years ago. He didn't keep in touch."
"Not a paternal bone in the man's body," Paula said. "Not your fault, honey, but at least he came through for you once in his life, when he made out his will. Too bad you have to move, but maybe it's for the best. And a year goes by fast, though I can't imagine what the house must look like. Your father never cared much what people thought." She faced the lawyer. "What's this ranch like?"
"I've never been there. I didn't know your, uh, ex-husband very well," the man admitted. "He came in one day and asked for help drawing up his will. I'd had a cancellation and, well, we took care of business. Mr. Johanson wasn't much for small talk. We mailed papers back and forth, but we never met again. I suspect he had a little of the hermit in him."
"More than a little," Paula pointed out. "He never did have much to say. Not even 'good-bye.'"
Addie thanked Mr. Anders again. They discussed the weather—unseasonably rainy for the first of April—while his secretary made copies of the signed documents. She looked at her watch and realized she was late picking up the boys from Kate's. She crammed the proof of her inheritance into her tote bag and hurried her mother out of the lawyer's office before Paula could make any more remarks about the deceased man who'd left his daughter hundreds of thousands of dollars, a ranch and an unfortunate reason to move to Nowhere.
"Come on, Mom," she said, searching through her bag for her car keys. "I need to get the boys."
"We can't go out to lunch first?" Paula pushed the heavy glass door open and hesitated before stepping out into the rain. "It's almost noon. I could use a cup of coffee, and you look like you haven't eaten in a week. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
No, she wanted to say. I have never been worse. But instead the words "I'm fine" came out of her mouth once again. She followed her mother outside, but Paula didn't budge from the protection of the roof's overhang.
"We're going to get something to eat," her mother ordered in her best don't-bother-to-argue voice, at the same time pointing to a restaurant across the street. "You can call Kate and tell her that we'll be home in an hour and a half. I'll treat the new heiress to a hamburger and a chocolate shake."
Addie's stomach protested at the thought of grease and milk. "What I'd really like is a bowl of soup."
"Then soup it is. We'll celebrate properly tonight," her mother continued. "How about I get us a couple of steaks and a bottle of champagne? We'll toast Eddie, who came through at the end, even if he wasn't worth much when he was alive."
"No champagne," she managed to say. "No celebration."
"Oh, dear, honey," her mother crooned, putting an arm around Addie's shoulders. "You're feeling bad about your father and I'm acting like a bitter, middle-aged woman when I actually got over the man years ago and moved on with my life. And now he's gone and you never knew him, which might have been a good thing, may he rest in peace, but Addie, honey, you've got to look on the bright side."
"The bright side?" Addie repeated, taking deep breaths of fresh air through her nose and breathing slowly out through her mouth, the way she'd heard reduced stress. She had the flu, she told herself for possibly the two hundredth time. This wasn't morning sickness. He had used a condom. "I know what the bright side is, Mom."
"An inheritance. Financial freedom. A fresh start. A bright future for you and your family."
"You
sound like an infomercial."
Paula laughed and took her daughter's elbow. "Becoming rich hasn't spoiled your sense of humor. Come on," she said, urging her into the rain. "Soup it is."
"Wait," Addie said, knowing once and for all there was going to be no fighting this. She thrust the tote bag full of papers into her mother's arms and threw up in Mr. Anders's marble urn.
Which of course made perfect sense; according to the Adelaide Larson Rules of Life: every silver cloud had a black lining, complete with lightning, hail and torrential rains.
* * *
"Hell and damnation, this weather's getting to me."
"You're griping about a little rain again?" Cal grinned. John had complained about the weather for as long as Cal had known him, which was going on fifteen years now.
"Well, I'm close to eighty, you know," the old man blustered. He stared out the open barn door and watched the rain soak the yard. "I've had enough rain to last me a lifetime. This arthur-itis is going to be the death of me, 'specially my damned legs."
"You'd better move to Arizona, then." Cal tipped his hat back and eyed the gray sky. "Get yourself into one of those senior citizens' places and learn how to play bingo with the ladies."
"Yeah, well, you think you're funny, but you never know what could happen to either one of us now that Ed's gone." John wore an ancient ball cap with John Deere scrawled across the top in thick, green letters that had faded to an odd shade of yellow. He liked to say the cap and the tractor were the only things his wife left him with when she'd run off fifty or so years ago. "I'm too old to start over."
"You've got a lifetime lease on your place," Cal reminded him. But they both knew that whoever took over the Triple J could do exactly as he damned well pleased. Leases could be broken, land could be sold, and there wasn't a darn thing Cal and John could do about it except bitch a little and then move on.
MADE IN TEXAS Page 2
