Cowgirl Heart (The Dalton Boys Book 12)

by Em Petrova

  Looking at Kizzy again, he took note of her drawl, not for the first time. “I’ve never asked what part of Texas you’re from, Kizzy.”

  “A small town, sir, south of here.” She didn’t seem eager to share more, so he dropped the subject.

  “Could you rustle me up some painkillers too? I’ve got a pounding headache. Add that to my list—no more women and no more whiskey doubles.”

  Her smile widened enough that he saw a flash of a dimple in her cheek. “I’ll be sure to make a memo about that for you, KC.”

  He centered his gaze on her. “I really shouldn’t be saying stuff like that to my assistant.”

  To prove she wouldn’t spread rumors about him, she made a zipping motion over her full pink lips and reached into a drawer beneath her desk, coming out with a bottle of painkillers.

  She shook two out into her palm and strode in her high heels to the water cooler, where she poured him a paper cone of water.

  Bustling back, she handed him both.

  Good thing he had both hands full, because her curves were very tempting.

  No more women, no more whiskey, he reminded himself, tossing the pills into his mouth and chasing them with the water.

  Back in his office with the door closed, he groaned at his own behavior. It wasn’t easy sitting at the top, both in business or in his personal life. He didn’t know who was friend or foe, and it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that most people just wanted to be around him because of his worth.

  Having his photo slapped on the front of Finances Today had made things worse, and he’d been invited to the best parties in Houston and ski weekends in Colorado. He’d been handed keys to townhouses in Manhattan, in the event he was ever in town and needed a place to stay, and asked to join the best of society on trips overseas. But he’d turned all those down and managed to keep his feet somewhat planted in reality and focused on his business.

  But he was only human, and sometimes his head was turned.

  He sat at his desk a moment, thinking of what he needed to say at the conference. Pushing the intercom button, he waited for Kizzy’s reply.

  “Yes, KC?” Good, she’d gotten it right this time.

  “Bring your pen and paper to the meeting please. I need you to take notes.”

  “Of course. You only have four minutes before the meeting starts if you’d like to head into the conference room.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” He stood and went back out of his office. Kizzy stood too and followed him.

  As he walked down the hall to the conference room, he was aware of her a step behind him and the click-clack of her heels on the tile. He could picture her legs crossed beneath her desk and how the color of her heels matched her hosiery. Or was that the color of her tanned skin?

  No women. Just business. He had something to prove—to himself and even to his family members back home who’d laughed at his idea to grow a business from the ground up with absolutely no working capital. But who was laughing now? He’d done it, with hard work and wise investments, starting by flipping his first house and gaining enough money to rent an office space. That had grown into all this—the glass-walled offices and the people who nodded to him with respect as he passed them.

  He opened the door of the conference room and held it, motioning for Kizzy to go ahead of him.

  She thanked him in that sugary drawl and offered the smallest smile. He took his seat at the head of the table, seeing the copied booklets of the quarterly figures already laid out at each seat and the platters of sandwiches and small bottles of water on ice along the side for after the meeting.

  They were alone in the room.

  “If I haven’t told you yet—” he began.

  She looked up into his eyes, her own the intense blue of the sky. “Yes?”

  “You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

  She grinned, and the dimple was back. “Thank you for the compliment. I strive to do my best for you and this company.”

  Dammit. He wanted to see more of that dimple, but she was more off-limits than any other woman in this universe he’d created for himself.

  He added another thing to his mental list—no women, no whiskey, and definitely no sweet and sexy little personal assistants with dimples and blue eyes.

  * * * * *

  One thing Kizzy hadn’t yet gotten used to were long checkout lines. Back home, you had to wait for two, possibly three customers before you, and you just had a nice chat with them while you did it.

  But city people weren’t chatty Kathys or Steves, and she’d gotten some weird looks and even a glare when she attempted small-talk. So instead, she had discovered her long wait times were well spent talking to a family member.

  She chose a new one each time she stood in line, and today was her brother Justus. She’d caught him coming in from the barn, and he’d filled her in on all the day’s work with the horses, and man, she missed hearing his voice.

  With her phone to her ear, she pushed her cart six inches ahead in line as another person was finished and on his way. Four more to go. She sighed and settled in for a long chat with her brother.

  Hearing all the family news made her feel a twist of homesickness but talking to a family member on a weekly basis gave her a feeling of still belonging.

  “Don’t know how you tolerate all those long lines and the crowds there in the city, sis,” Justus said.

  “Me either, at times,” she confessed, looking to the head of the line, where the clerk had encountered an item needing a price check. Just Kizzy’s luck—and all the other poor bastards in line with her too.

  She asked after the nieces and nephews, which took some time for Justus to relate, and by the time he finished a story about the last pipsqueak in the bunch, it was Kizzy’s turn to place her items on the conveyor.

  With the phone squashed between her ear and shoulder, she turned to her cart and began unpacking the few items she needed for the week.

  “Nice chattin’, sis, but I gotta go. Food’s on and Saturdays are pork chops. Love you, Kiz.”

  “I love you, Justus. Bye!” The words barely left her lips, when she glanced up.

  Her stare locked on a familiar set of eyes, hazel, and with a crease in the strong brows above that was even more recognizable.

  “Mr. Cohen.” She dropped the phone from her ear.

  KC looked at her for a long heartbeat, and for a terrifying moment, she wondered if she had the wrong guy. He was out of his sharp, designer business suits and the beautiful silk ties she was used to seeing. Dressed in jeans and a simple blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled over his forearms, he didn’t look like her business mogul boss at all.

  She shook herself. No, it was definitely KC, and now he was staring at her like she’d purchased a second head for herself and placed it onto the conveyor belt.

  “I thought I told you to call me KC,” he said at last.

  The formal name had sprang to her lips, maybe in contrast to the casualness of food shopping on a Saturday morning in jeans and a T-shirt.

  He glanced at the phone in her hand.

  She slipped it into her leather handbag with the long strap hanging across her body. “I hate those people who talk on the phone in public,” she said with a nervous overtone.

  “Is that everything for you?” the cashier asked her.

  Kizzy glanced around to see that somehow, the cashier had hurried through her order and was waiting for her to pay.

  “Now it’s me holding up the line,” she said to KC and quickly paid.

  She was aware of his gaze on her as she gathered all her bags and stowed them back in the cart. He only carried a small basket, and she wasn’t able to see the contents. Suddenly, she wanted to snoop—it would be the equivalent of going through somebody’s trash. Did one really know their boss till they saw what he went to the grocery store for on a Saturday morning?

  He captured her gaze. “See you Monday, Kizzy.” The drawl in his voice, usually kept t
o a minimum while taking calls or holding meetings with his team of brokers, seemed to have a bit heavier twang today.

  “Bye.” She threw a little wave and pushed her cart out of the store. All the way to her car, she wondered how much of an idiot she’d made of herself. First the phone call that he had probably heard every word of, and then her inattentiveness and the clerk prompting her for payment.

  Who was the best personal assistant to KC Cohen now? She groaned and packed her purchases into the back seat.

  It was only natural for her to glance around for her boss, but she didn’t see him and drove home.

  The traffic was horrific on weekdays with commuters, and weekends weren’t much better. But she had long ago lost her impatience and used her time in the car for listening to audiobooks or podcasts. At least she could be more cultured by the time she reached her next destination, right?

  Her mind swept back to her family. Saturday mornings on the ranch were spent wrapping up any chores that had been missed during the week and a few extras they could skip on Sunday. And at home, her momma would be performing her ritual cleaning day, mucking out the fridge and vacuuming under furniture.

  Kizzy wrinkled her nose. At least she wasn’t doing that. Her work week was finished, and she had some time to herself. Over the few months she’d lived in the city, she had developed her own routine. A trip to the market and running any other errands on Saturday morning. Then catching up on the shows she’d missed during the week or devouring a novel. By evening, she’d meet the few friends she had for drinks or dinner and sometimes a movie.

  This evening, she didn’t have plans outside of the house, which suddenly felt a bit depressing. The city had so much to offer. Maybe she could catch a lecture at the library or a concert.

  Lugging her bags up two flights of stairs to her apartment was the least fun thing on her list, but she figured it would keep her in shape. Without the barn work and sitting at a desk all day, she was bound to lose some tone. She still jogged or walked but it wasn’t the same as the manual labor that was a constant on the family homestead, where they had always kept a few horses, goats and chickens, or on the big Dalton Ranch she visited so often.

  Her apartment was quiet and tidy. Only the honking of a car alarm in the street broke the Saturday silence. After she put away her shopping, she grabbed her computer tablet and walked the few steps to her living area.

  She dropped to the sofa and found a list of attractions in Houston. Today, there was a festival at a local church. Boy, that brought back a flood of memories of helping out at their own parish growing up. She and her sisters had been pressed into service as waitresses even from a young age, and one time Gracie had dumped red fruit punch all over Mrs. Myers’ lily-white pants.

  The woman had been shocked to have the icy liquid splashed on her lap, and Gracie, horrible girl, had burst out laughing. Which got her hauled away by her ear and scolded by their momma.

  Kizzy giggled. Maybe she’d skip the church festival.

  There was a concert in the park. Now that was up her alley—lawn chairs, cool drinks and some great live music. She bookmarked the address and moved on through the list of activities. The concert seemed the best option for her day.

  How funny to think of her family back home and what they did on a Saturday. In comparison, her life seemed almost leisurely. Though she worked hard all day and long into the evening for KC, she wasn’t mucking out the barn or caring for sick calves.

  The modern surroundings in her apartment couldn’t be further from home, either. While everything there was serviceable, well-scrubbed and cozy, the owners who had decorated this place and sublet it to her had a more sterile aesthetic.

  For some reason, she wondered what KC Cohen’s home was like. If his tastes reflected his office building, it would be high-end and sleek.

  But today in the market, he hadn’t looked like the same man. Instead of Armani, he’d worn Levi’s. His shirt hadn’t been silk blend but cotton. And had she actually seen a shadow of stubble on his angular jaw?

  Anytime she saw stubble, she thought of home. Her rough and rugged male relations often neglected shaving in favor of another few minutes of sleep in the mornings. Perhaps KC was the same way on a Saturday.

  Imagining the man as an actual human and not a business powerhouse was a big departure for her. She didn’t look at him as a man so much as her boss. He was ruthless if you crossed him, and he’d purchased two small mortgage companies in the time she’d been on board and split them off, selling everything but the mortgages, which his company acquired.

  The corporate life was fascinating to her, and as his assistant, she was able to be part of it while still on the sidelines as a spectator.

  She saw a lot of his personal life as well, if the women who paraded in and out of his office were anything to go by. KC preferred them sleek too, tall and model-thin and sporting expensive clothes and shoes. In comparison to some of those women, she felt like a poor college kid all over again.

  The latest woman had given her a lot of amusement, especially when he had told her that she had to go. The woman had been visibly upset. KC Cohen, Heartbreaker should be written on his door in place of CEO.

  When her phone buzzed, still in her purse, she had to hurry to grab it. Thinking it might be her momma, she bounced to the sofa again, but a male voice filled her ear.

  “Kizzy. It’s KC.”

  A little unnerving that she’d been thinking about him and he’d called.

  “Yes, KC. Do you need something today?”

  “Do you have plans?”

  She blinked into space. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, if you have plans, then what I had to ask can wait.”

  “Oh. I have a little time. I was just going to attend the concert in the park.”

  “Jazz? Maybe I’ll attend.”

  “No, country.”

  A beat of silence. “Not for me.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to the personal talk, when all they ever exchanged were notes and messages about calls, and orders for his lunch or coffee. The most personal she ever got with KC was booking hotel rooms for him when he traveled.

  “If you need some work done, I can—”

  He cut her off. “That’s all right. It can wait till Monday, now that I think about it.”

  “You’re sure?” She nibbled her lip, wondering what it was she’d forgotten. Her to-do list had been checked off.

  “Totally sure. I’ll see you Monday, Kizzy.”

  For some reason, she pictured how the green flecks in his hazel eyes had seemed almost blue because of the shirt he wore today. And the way those cuffs had stretched over his forearms, surprisingly roped with muscle. He must spend a lot of time in the gym.

  “All right then, if you’re sure.”

  “I am,” he said but didn’t immediately end the call.

  An awkward pause followed and Kizzy said, “See you Monday.”

  “Goodbye.”

  After the call ended, Kizzy looked at her phone as if it was going to tell her what that was all about. Apparently she didn’t know quite enough about her boss to guess, so she just had to wait and find out on Monday morning.

  Chapter Two

  “Hello, Miss Dalton.” Charles Davis, one of the only people with a direct line to KC’s ear, stopped before her desk and smiled down at her.

  He was middle-aged with white threads in his hair and a ready smile, especially for Kizzy. She also kept her guard up around him, not wanting in the least to give him reason to flirt.

  “Hello, Mr. Davis. KC is waiting for you in his office.”

  He leaned in. “Do you know what he wants to speak to me about?”

  “I’m sorry, but no, I don’t.”

  “Am I going to get my ass chewed?”

  She smiled. “Can’t tell you that either.”

  He grunted. “Guess I’ll just take my chances I make it out alive for the meeting afterward. Will you have those good sandwiches for u
s?”

  “The caterers are setting up now,” she said.

  Monday morning meetings were the norm. So were Friday and Wednesday and some days in between. KC was a man who liked to make his goals known, and his team followed his orders to a T, which was the reason the company was one of the top in the country.

  “I’ll just go on in now,” Mr. Davis said.

  She pressed the button to call KC. “Mr. Davis on his way, sir.”

  “Dammit, stop calling me sir!”

  The sharp reply made her freeze, and Mr. Davis laughed out loud. “He’s in rare form today, isn’t he? Had one of his women in, has he?”

  “I can still hear you, and no, goddammit, I don’t have a woman in. Get your ass in here, Chuck.”

  Kizzy sat up straighter in her seat and watched the man walk through the door of KC’s office. She half-expected something to come flying out, but it seemed his fit of temper was over.

  Some Mondays were rougher than others, and she was glad she’d gotten some downtime with the concert, and on Sunday she’d had a leisurely stroll around the city, stopping to buy some pretty flowers for her kitchen table. She’d placed them into a vase left by the previous renter. But the daisy bouquet looked so odd in the modern white vase that she’d taken out a creamer jug and used it instead. The arrangement sat on her kitchen counter, a cheery reminder of home.

  She continued her typing for several minutes before KC’s office door opened and Mr. Davis and KC both came out. She looked up, awaiting some request from her boss, but he ignored her entirely and breezed past to the conference room.

  She got up to follow with her pen and paper for notes, but the phone rang and she took the call first.

  “Cohen Mortgages. This is Mr. Cohen’s personal assistant. How may I help you?” Whoever it was would need something directly from KC.

  “I need to speak with Knox.”

  She hesitated. Since she never called her boss by that name, and she typed everything using his initials, she had to think a moment. “Mr. Cohen is in a meeting now.”