A Texas Chance

by Jean Brashear

  She peered out the bedroom window and spotted him almost immediately. He and the foreman of her crew were earnestly discussing something, and Cade was clearly listening then nodding as a decision was made.

  After costing her both time and progress she could not afford, he presumed to make the decisions.

  On her grounds.

  With her crew.

  Undermining her authority and telling the crew God knew what.

  Sophie charged down the stairs and outside. At her approach, both men looked up, the foreman seeming far too cheerful while Cade appeared to be without remorse. He said something in Spanish that made the other man laugh.

  Sophie hit the red zone. He’d had no right to let her sleep, much less take over her job.

  Her job. Not his.

  “We’re making great progress,” Cade said as she approached. “Armando and his guys are good. You’re lucky to have them.”

  Armando’s grin was huge.

  She tried to get herself under control. You know better than this. Focus on the crew, the foreman. You can have it out with Cade later.

  She was too smart to be wading in and throwing her weight around, even if she wanted to strangle Cade. As if, she thought wryly, she was strong enough to make the faintest impression on someone that muscular. Instead she glanced around then fastened her gaze squarely on Armando’s. “Gracias. It looks wonderful.” And it did. She had no idea how she’d slept through the hammering necessary to erect the pergola.

  It would be churlish to withhold her gratitude not only from the crew but from the man who’d obviously listened carefully to her plans. Except, of course, to the part about her not having time to take a nap.

  A three-freaking-hour nap.

  “Muy bonita.” She let her gaze take in the entire crew. “Muchas gracias.” All of which was about the extent of her Spanish. Good thing Armando’s English was enough for them to get most things squared away.

  “We have an idea. I think you’ll like it. This way.” Cade gestured toward the tool shed. Armando accompanied them. “You didn’t mention any plans for this structure.”

  “Storage building, I guess.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to have a great deal of that.”

  “You will, but there’s room to add on to the garage if you need more storage.” He paused. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Why not? Since you’ve apparently decided to take over while you let me sleep.”

  “Chill, Queenie.” Impatience crowded his gaze. “I’m not trying to stage a coup, and you needed the rest.”

  “You had no right.”

  “You really want to have this discussion now?” His eyes cut to Armando before returning to her, and in it temper simmered.

  The old Cade was back, the cranky, high-handed one. Good. The kinder one she’d gotten glimpses of was too much temptation. She pressed her lips together to stifle the upbraiding she wanted to give and merely shook her head.

  He jammed his hands on his hips in irritation, but he hauled in a deep breath and went on. “I stayed in this place in Sumatra where they had a… I don’t really know what to call it in English, but it was sort of like a cabana, except made from an old building, as small as this. One side was left mostly open but was screened from view, and inside was a really great chair for lounging. It was a fantastic place to be by yourself. They even had a masseuse available who’d set up a table there if you wanted. You heard the birds and smelled the flowers… It was peaceful. The style’s not practical for all weather, but winter doesn’t last that long here, and with some wiring for a ceiling fan and—”

  She was far too intrigued to hold on to her pique. “We could do that with the storage shed, you think?” Her mind was spinning out scenarios, already sorting through which furnishings could fit. Then she made herself stop. “I don’t have any money in the budget for more renovations,” she said with more regret than he could imagine.

  “It won’t take much. I can wire it and install the fan myself.” He stepped beside her. “Take out part of this wall then use the same lumber for door facings. The wood, like everything else around the house, is solid. I learned as a kid never to waste materials. Some new nails, a ceiling fan and some wiring is all you’d need to have.” He turned to her, and eagerness had replaced his irritation. “Intriguing idea?”

  She’d been wanting to offer massage services but assumed they’d have to take place in the guest rooms. If they built this…shelter, there would be some times of the year they still would, but this building could be an amazing space, and if it couldn’t be used year-round, so what? That only made it more special.

  “Very intriguing.” Her mind was racing. “I know exactly the chaise. And there’s a ceiling fan we removed from the kitchen that still seems to work.”

  “There you go.”

  Her gaze met his. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”

  “No sweat. Armando has a suggestion for creating a path and relocating a few plants from elsewhere on the property to soften up the look of this structure.”

  “Really?” She looked at her foreman.

  “Es verdad. We do this, Señorita Sophie. Muy bueno.”

  “And there’s time?”

  “Esé,” he indicated Cade. “He is strong. Good help.”

  She couldn’t help grinning at Cade’s smug expression. “You heard the man, Queenie. Some people like having me around.”

  Armando’s face split into a smile.

  Sophie gave up and laughed. “Thank you,” she said to Armando, then lifted her eyes to the blue ones smiling down at her. “And thank you.”

  The moment shimmered with pleasure.

  And hope.

  Sophie had forgotten too much about both.

  “I, uh, I see to my men,” Armando said.

  The spell that locked her gaze to Cade’s shattered, and she hastily turned away, rubbing her palms on her jeans when her hands itched to touch him, to… “I—I have work to do. And you should go home,” she said to Cade, trying to put distance between them. He already had proved himself a distraction she couldn’t afford. She could not lose her focus on what was important.

  “Scared, Queenie?” His amused voice followed her.

  Don’t look back. Whatever you do, don’t look back at him.

  The rich sound of his laughter accompanied her all the way into the house.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON THE DARKENED PORCH of Jenna’s home, Cade drew his laptop from its case with the caution of someone handling a rattlesnake. He’d never been one to submit to the electronic leash so many people accepted. Much of his life had been spent far from cell phone towers or Wi-Fi hotspots, and though he knew it made him seem a Neanderthal to others, he liked the world better that way—observed firsthand, experienced in its raw reality, not on a computer screen. Talking to real people—though, he admitted, no more often than he had to—not via text messages and emoticons.

  He was a throwback, and he’d never minded the label. Too many people in the “civilized world” had gotten so far away from the realities of their ancestors that they lived in their heads. Their experiences were made up entirely of the visual, the artificial—the world as seen in the mind, not felt in all its messy, startling, sometimes astonishing truth.

  So while he did communicate via email with his editor and agent, he felt not the slightest twinge at being away from communications for long spans of time. His laptop was a tool, a place to store his images, but it was not his lifeline—or shackle.

  Since the accident, he’d opened his laptop maybe three times. Once, he’d gone so far as to enter the directory where his images were stored, even dared to open a folder.

  The hardest one, the one containing the picture of Jaime grinning at him only minutes before
he would die. Cade closed his eyes, bowed his head. God, Jaime, I am so sorry.

  Jaime and he had shared amazing experiences that couldn’t be explained in words. Jaime was, in many ways, as much a brother to him as his own siblings were.

  As soon as he’d been conscious enough to think clearly, he’d asked his dad to ensure the climber’s insurance he’d bought for Jaime would pay out, and he’d sent money to the family himself to tide them over in the meantime.

  But no amount of money made up for the love of a father and a husband, or the memories his family would miss out on for the rest of their lives, all because Cade had wanted adventure.

  Every trip Cade had taken, reveling in the risks and the exploration…had stolen Jaime from his family. For short periods at first, and then, permanently....

  He hadn’t been reckless, no—Jaime wouldn’t have let him be—but his definition of reckless was not like others’. He’d told himself that his purpose was important, that he was bringing the world’s mysteries and beauty to those who would otherwise be denied them and that was worth the risks.

  For the first time in his life, Cade questioned what he’d previously been so certain about. He’d expected to spend his days wandering, searching…and alone. He’d even been prepared for the number of those days to be less than most—only a fool would ignore the dangers inherent in the wild locales he traversed.

  He should have been the one to die, not Jaime. His own family would have been devastated to lose him, but if one of the two of them had to be taken, it should have been Cade who would leave behind no children, no mate.

  He nearly closed his laptop before it had even powered up. Confronting the one-dimensional nature of his life, considering how few people would miss him if he were gone, was damn near as painful as dealing with the loss of his friend.

  And then there was the need to think about what kind of life he could make, robbed of its one essential element. His fingers tightened on the lid. To still them from shutting it took everything he had.

  But this time, there was another reason to face his demons. Sophie. Admirable, fierce, exhausted Sophie, who touched more than his libido. Who stirred things in him that didn’t bear considering. So he wouldn’t. He’d focus instead on the crackling heat between them. He had always been a man of action, a physical man more than a cerebral one. She touched him at a very primal level. An intensely physical one.

  And she reacted strongly to him, too.

  Cade was surprised to find a faint grin spreading across his face even as he watched the program he dreaded begin to load.

  He’d be more than happy to lose his non-bet with Sophie. Getting his hands on her would more than compensate for his damaged ego. It would also distract him from the ticking clock of his deadline with his publisher.

  He and Sophie could have some fun, and Sophie needed fun more than anyone he’d met in a long time. She was so serious, so driven....

  His chest tightened.

  He had been the same, once. His work had been everything to him, too, once upon a time.

  His gut twisted as he contemplated a life without his work. He couldn’t look at any more shots, couldn’t stand on the outside looking, a has-been with his nose pressed to the glass....

  But he’d promised her. Grimly, Cade stilled his hands, closed his eyes, willed the fear away.

  Oddly enough, what helped most was picturing Sophie asleep, the lines of exhaustion easing from her body.

  She needed his help. Cade shoveled everything else in a mental closet and slammed the door. Then he began sorting through shots in search of two he’d known would be perfect when he’d stood in the grand old house and listened to Sophie lay out her dream.

  There. He clicked on a picture he’d taken on a Tibetan peak, not from the top, not the expected shot, but one from a hundred meters or so down the slope where he’d stopped to gather himself for the final assault on the summit.

  It was more optical illusion than photograph, more surreal than representational, a pattern of ridged ice and windswept drifts, with the stark sunlight of high altitudes an unexpected foil for the sprinkling of stars that shouldn’t have been possible in daylight.

  The last bedroom—the one Sophie had napped in—there was a wall beside the bed, one where you could wake up and see this picture first thing in the morning....

  He’d never sent this one for publication. It was too hard to categorize, too mystical to easily peg with a caption, to explain to an audience.

  But he’d kept it because it spoke to him. He clicked and saved it to a new folder, then hunted up the Mayan temple series. He focused on one image that exuded a sense of mystery—the jungle’s endless shades of color were muted to nearly black but for the hot pink and orange flowers dotting the vines and branches, the focus of the picture leading the viewer’s eye to the surprise of one angled stone edge, which revealed that man had been there before. And that man’s efforts were nothing in the face of nature.

  He saved that one, as well, for Sophie. It was powerful and seductive, but it wasn’t pretty. She might hate it.

  Cade scowled. Could it be that he was actually nervous? When was the last time he’d felt uncertain about the reception of his work?

  Of course he wasn’t nervous. If she couldn’t handle the image, then that was on her. He shut down his laptop, rose and slipped it into his case, then entered the house.

  “I’ll be back,” he said to Jenna as he strode through to the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.” He wasn’t used to accounting for his whereabouts. He kept no timetable but his own, answered to others only so they’d know where to find the body if he didn’t return.

  But Jenna had exerted a great deal of effort not to hover, he chided himself. And being nosy was only her nature. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I have a couple of shots to show Sophie.”

  “This late? She said she wasn’t still working half the night.”

  “I’m betting she lied. You?”

  Jenna sighed. “No bet—you’re likely right. Maybe I’ll come with you. She might let me do something useful for a change.”

  Cade observed the stacks of papers scattered around Jenna—the miles of red tape she hacked through on a regular basis to help those she felt responsible for. “Sophie’s not the only one who could use more time off, Jen.”

  “Part of the job.”

  Cade paused. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

  She looked startled. “For what?”

  “For how hard you try to make a difference.”

  Her smile was tired. “Some days it feels like swimming uphill in molasses.”

  “Armando told me how you helped his mother straighten out her disability checks. You do make a difference.”

  Jenna’s cheeks stained with color. “Not enough.”

  He crossed back to her, bent and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “There are any number of people who would disagree.” He laid his hand on her hair. “You could use some sleep, too. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “Yeah, well, at least I’m not almost forty.” A saucy grin lit up her tired face.

  “I love you, sis. Get some rest, okay? Tomorrow’s soon enough to save the world.”

  “I love you, too. I’ll leave a light on. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Sure thing, Mom.” He headed out. Turned back and grinned. “Don’t wait up.”

  Jenna made a rude noise and returned to her work.

  CADE SPOTTED THE LIGHT on in the garage at Sophie’s and made his way over. Of course she wouldn’t take the night off.

  He was about to knock on the door when he caught sight of her through a window. The space was a jumble of furniture and work surfaces. In one c
orner he saw a chaise with torn cushions, next to it an end table that seemed already finished. So this was her workspace. He drew closer to the glass.

  Golden light pooled around her as she sanded the frame of a chair. She paused periodically to lightly run her long, slender fingers over the curves of the wood.

  He could feel the caress of them low in his body.

  She was a long way from the tightly controlled hotelier now, no hotshot executive in sight. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail as she often kept it when working outdoors, but in the humid night air, strands had escaped to curl at her temples and along the graceful line of her neck, lazily disturbed now and then by the rotating fan.

  His fingers itched for his camera.

  Cade barely breathed. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling for an instant before his mind darted away. He felt almost superstitious about lighting too heavily on the long-lost sensation and scaring it off.

  When he opened his eyes, however, the lines of her still fascinated him.

  Which was odd. He’d never been drawn to photographing people. Viewers brought baggage with them, and they were too prone to reading that baggage into depictions of other people. Humans studied other humans, focused on them more than any other part of nature, and he didn’t normally want that interference with his vision.

  But tonight it was the elements of Sophie that drew him in. The single line of the tendon at one side of her throat, the plump flesh at the base of her thumb. The drift of hair across her cheekbone.

  He cursed himself—once, his camera had been always within reach, and now it was several blocks away. Damn it, if he didn’t grasp the moment, it might leave and never return....

  He must have made a sound because her head snapped up and she saw that someone was watching her. Caution crept into her frame, and she gripped a hammer lying on the workbench as she approached the window.

  When she reached the glass, her eyes widened. “Cade?”