by Teri Wilson
Next to the platter was a take-out box of plain burger. It wouldn’t stay warm, but having first seen the dog scrounging from a garbage can on the waterfront, Seth figured Bandit didn’t care about the temperature of his dinner.
“So, you’re eating in tonight,” a bearded giant wearing a T-shirt with Embrace the Lard on the front said in a deep foghorn voice. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Everyone’s a damn joker,” Seth muttered, even as the aroma of grilled beef and melted cheese drew him in. He took a bite and nearly moaned. The Norwegian, who’d given up cooking on fishing boats when he’d gotten tired of freezing his ass off during winter crabbing season, might be a sarcastic smart-ass, but the guy sure as hell could cook.
“He’s got a dinner date tonight at Leaf.” Quinn, for some damn reason, chose this moment to decide to get chatty. “This is an appetizer.”
Jarle Bjornstad snorted. “I tried going vegan,” he said. “I’d hooked up with a woman in Anchorage who wouldn’t even wear leather. It didn’t work out.”
“Mine’s not that kind of date.” Seth wondered how much arugula, kale and flowers it would take to fill up the man with shoulders as wide as a redwood trunk and arms like huge steel bands. His full-sleeve tattoo boasted a butcher’s chart of a cow. Which might explain his ability to turn a beef patty into something close to nirvana. “And there probably aren’t enough vegetables on the planet to sustain you.”
During the remodeling, Seth had taken out four rows of bricks in the wall leading to the kitchen to allow the six-foot-seven-inch-tall cook to go back and forth without having to duck his head to keep from hitting the doorjamb every trip.
“On our first date, she cited all this damn research claiming vegans lived nine years longer than meat eaters.” Jarle’s teeth flashed in a grin in his flaming red beard. “After a week of grazing, I decided that her statistics might be true, but that extra time would be nine horrible baconless years.”
That said, he turned and stomped back into the kitchen.
“He’s got a point,” Quinn said.
“Amen to that.” Having learned firsthand how treacherous and unpredictable death could be, with his current family situation on the verge of possibly exploding, Seth decided to worry about his arteries later and took another huge bite of beef-and-cheese heaven.
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Copyright © 2018 by JoAnn Ross
Fortune’s Homecoming
by Allison Leigh
Chapter One
“Holy cow. Is that who I think it is?”
Grayson Fortune heard the whispers start the second he walked into the office of Austin Elite Real Estate. He should have known better than to head straight there after the press conference. But going back to the hotel to change would have made him even later than he already was.
He hated being late. It was a product of his early years hustling from one rodeo to another, when being late could mean missing the event altogether. Wasted miles. Worse, wasted money.
“Ohmygawd. Is that Grayson? I just saw him on the news at noon. He’s taller than I expected.”
He didn’t bother trying to locate where in the office the whispers came from. He just pulled off his black Grayson Gear cowboy hat and strode toward the stylish woman seated behind the reception desk. He’d had lots of practice ignoring whispers, and gave the receptionist his usual grin.
She was probably about his mom’s age, and if she recognized him when she looked up at him with a friendly smile, there was nothing in her expression to say it.
“Welcome to Austin Elite.” Her eyes were bright behind her black-framed glasses. “How can I help you?”
He heard another muffled laugh that might have been inaudible had the modern office possessed actual walls instead of a sea of glass partitions. “I know how I’d like to help him.”
He’d asked his mother to find a real estate agent for him, and she’d set up the appointment. Otherwise he’d turn around and leave. He was used to public attention, but it was often a pain in the caboose.
“Do you suppose he’s as good in the sack as the saddle? Imagine him tossing you down on the bed like—”
He focused harder on the friendly receptionist. “I have an appointment with Billy Pemberton. Sorry I’m late.”
The receptionist consulted her computer, tapping a few keys. “Ah. There you are, Mr. Smith.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Billy, your client is here.” She looked up at him again with another smile. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?”
“Water would be great, ma’am.”
“My pleasure.” She came around the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured at the white chairs situated around an enormous world globe that sat right on the floor. Since the chairs looked like they came from outer space, he figured it made a weird sort of sense.
Two of the chairs were occupied and he took the one farthest away, nodding when the other people gave him sideways looks. Because they recognized him? Or because they’d heard the chair groan when he sat on it?
More than comfort, right now he just hoped he wouldn’t end up on the floor.
He also hoped the real estate agent wouldn’t keep him waiting long. But considering Grayson’s tardiness, he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on if the guy left him cooling his heels.
He’d expected a bottle of water, but when the receptionist returned, it was with a real glass filled with water, several sliced rounds of cucumber, some narrow ribbons of green stuff threaded on a wooden swizzle stick, all topped with a curl of lemon rind. A little overdone, but a nice touch, he supposed.
If you happened to like cucumber and unidentifiable green stuff. He did not.
He took the glass. “That’s real kind of you, ma’am. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She started to turn back to her desk. “Oh, there’s Billy now.”
He wished the globe were a coffee table, so he could have set aside the water. Instead, he stood, turning in the same direction.
The real estate agent smiled at him, approaching with a hand outstretched. “Mr. Smith, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.”
Not a Billy.
But a Billie.
And what a Billie she was. From the top of her gleaming hair to the shine on her shoes, every inch was...amazing.
He juggled the glass and his hat, and stuck out his hand, anticipating the feel of her palm against his.
Bam.
No disappointment there. No, ma’am. Her skin was as soft and smooth as kid leather.
“Darlin’, you weren’t the one making someone wait. That’s all on me.”
Her rosy smile looked a little nervous and she tugged her hand free. “Don’t be silly. I’m Billie Pemberton.”
He wondered if his mom had chosen the attractive real estate agent deliberately.
Considering Deborah Fortune’s lament lately that he needed a good woman in his life? Probably.
“Let’s go back to my office, shall we?” Billie’s straight hair was long and deep brown, and she tucked one side of the sleek strands behind her ear. No earrings on her earlobe. Just a tiny sparkling stud high inside her ear and two equally tiny gold rings around the top edge.
He realized he was staring, as if he’d never seen an ear before. “Yeah.” He gestured with the upturned brim of his hat. “Let’s get on it.”
She smiled again. Definitely a hint of shyness in those appealing eyes.
Too bad she also looked like she was young enough to still be in high school. She was a real estate agent, so he knew she couldn’t be that young, but still...
Grayson liked women. Young women. Old women. Anything-in-between women. He liked the way they thought and the way they smiled and th
e way they smelled.
But he didn’t mess with girls. Especially ones who looked like they came complete with starry-eyed visions of picket fences and babies.
So no matter what his mom was thinking when she’d set this up, if she’d set this up, she was on the wrong track.
Despite all that, he told himself there was no law against appreciating how the fat silver zipper running the entire length of the back of her short white skirt worked its way up from the hem an inch as she walked ahead of him.
“He looks older than I thought he was.”
The whispers started up again as the two of them made their way along a glossy hall between glass panes. Or maybe they’d never stopped. He’d quit noticing anything when Billie had smiled at him. The whispers floating in the air. The aches and pains left over from his run a few days ago in Silver City, when he’d earned nothing but a bruised rib and a face full of dirt.
Billie stepped into a cube on her right. “I’m sorry it’s so tight in here.” She slid onto a rolling chair at the desk. Using the toe of one tall, neon-yellow high heel, she swiveled to face the two narrow chairs positioned adjacent to her. Her sparkling eyes met his, then danced away. “Sit wherever you like.”
He chuckled and dumped his hat on one of the acrylic-and-steel contraptions, then took the other. It seemed sturdier than the chairs in the reception area, at least. “D’you mind?” He lifted the water glass slightly. She didn’t have anything on her desktop other than a computer screen, a stapled set of papers and a desk pad that looked like clear glass.
He had a desk that he rarely used at the Grayson Gear office. It was nowhere near as neat.
“Not at all.” Her eyes danced to his. “Nasty stuff, if you ask me. I have a drawer full of plain bottled water if you prefer.”
He grinned. “If you’re sure you don’t mind sharing.”
Those eyes danced away again. “I’m sure.” She moistened her soft-looking lips as she leaned over to open the bottom drawer of a short cabinet wedged into the only free corner. Beneath her silky black tank top there was a glimpse of a black bra strap, but what kept drawing his attention was the translucent creaminess of her skin.
It made him almost thirsty enough to drink the cuke crud.
She moved his water glass from the desk to the top of the cabinet, nudging aside several photo frames to make room. Then she held out the slender water bottle.
When he took it, their fingers brushed.
She quickly swiveled back to face her desk and slid her papers squarely in front of her with one hand, touching the computer screen with her other. The blank screen leaped to life, showing the same logo that was on the front door of the office. She glanced at him. “I understand you’re looking for a new home.”
“Yup.” He waited a beat. What the hell? “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I guess that depends,” she said warily. “Will you answer my questions?”
He spread his palms. “I’m an open book, darlin’.”
As he’d hoped, her expression lightened. “Somehow I doubt that. But what’s the question?”
“How old are you?”
Fortunately, she didn’t look offended. “Twenty-four. I have a college degree and I’ve had my real estate license for several years. I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to represent your interests and—”
He lifted his hand, cutting her off. His mom wouldn’t have sent him to an unqualified agent. “I’m not going anywhere. I just thought I’d ask.” At least she wasn’t quite fresh out of high school. But she was still too young for him to be as attracted to her as he was, even though he appreciated her ambition. “So, let’s get on with your questions.”
Her lips twitched faintly. “How old are you?”
He couldn’t help grinning. “Thirty-seven and feeling every minute of ’em, darlin’.”
Her eyes twinkled. Then she looked past him for a millisecond and sat straighter in front of her computer. “All right.” She slid her fingers on the glass desk pad and the logo on the screen folded away, to be replaced by a form. “Do you have an existing home now?”
“Nope.”
She slid her fingers again. The screen morphed again.
“Fancy desk pad you got there.” The glass clearly acted as a computer mouse pad. “How do you type?” There was no visible keyboard.
“Here.” She leaned back in her chair slightly so he could see her tap the corner of the glass. The faint outline of a keyboard appeared in it. She moved her fingers across it as if she were typing on the keys, and a line of gibberish streamed across the screen. “It’s cool, but it took me quite a while to get used to it.” Her smile stretched, looking more than a little impish again. “Nothing but the best and cutting edge here at Austin Elite.”
He shifted on the chair, staring for a second at his water bottle. Damn. She was prettier than a spring filly. He took a healthy swig from the bottle, took his time capping it, and focused on the computer screen once more. “That’s what my mom said when she made the appointment here. You were the best.”
“Your mother?” She’d turned her attention to the screen, as well. “Will she be living with you also?”
Not unless he could change her mind. “I doubt it. She’s my business manager.” He waited for Billie to ask what his business was, because she’d given no sign that she knew who he was.
“Is there anyone else you’ll be consulting with on your choice of a home?”
“Like who? A wife?”
“Or a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Psychic?”
He laughed silently. “Only one I’ve gotta please is me.”
For a second, she looked disbelieving, but she moved on. “Are you working already with a lender, by any chance? I can give you a list of excellent choices if you’re not.”
Outside the clear cubicle, a steady parade of people kept going past, most sneaking a look their way. “No need. It’ll be a cash purchase.”
She was obviously accustomed to hearing that particular answer. “That makes things very simple. Is there some area of Austin that particularly interests you?”
“No, ma’am.” Grayson Gear had claimed its headquarters in Austin since the start, though most of his involvement was conducted from wherever he was on the road. He’d competed in plenty of rodeos in the area, though he knew only certain parts of town, and generally liked what he knew. “My personal knowledge of the city is limited, actually. I’m not from here.”
Her gaze slid his way again. “Is your relocation for business purposes?”
“Mostly.”
She looked back at her computer. “And where are you coming from?”
“All over.” That was true enough. His actual home was Paseo, Texas. But few people had heard of the minuscule town, much less knew where it was. Ever since news had gotten out that Gerald Robinson aka Jerome Fortune was his and his triplet brothers’ absentee biological father, though, the journalists and the Grayson groupies had been getting too damn close to ruining the peace there that he was determined to protect. His employees at Grayson Gear had been operating just fine for years despite his frequent absences, but they could always be counted on to keep interlopers away from his door when he was there. Especially Gerald Robinson, despite him being a fixture on the Austin landscape.
Grayson’s lack of a precise answer didn’t seem to bother Billie. Her finger continued sliding on the glass as the form on the screen slowly filled. “Then you haven’t looked at any houses already?”
“Nope.” He shifted and hitched one boot on top of his knee. They were brand-new Castletons, and as fine as the custom boots were, he preferred the ones he tramped around in at the ranch in Paseo where he and his brothers had grown up. They were Castletons, too. Bought nearly twenty years ago out of his first big win and just getting real comfortable now.
He and his Grayson Gear manager
, Jessica Monroe, had been working on establishing a line of Castletons specifically for the company. But progress was slow. Castleton was an old family business and getting in the door was difficult. Considering his numerous endorsement deals, the challenge with Castleton had only made Grayson more determined. He’d even enlisted his mother’s help. Though she’d been managing his rodeo career since the get-go, she generally left Grayson Gear business to him. Always said she had enough keeping her busy without adding that to her plate. But since she happened to think Castleton was the best bootmaker around, he’d talked her around to it.
“Haven’t worked with any other Realtor?”
His eyes drifted past his boots to land on the curve of Billie’s hip where she sat. The chair was black, making the white of her skirt seem even whiter. Below the hem, her smooth thighs were golden. “No, ma’am. You’re my first.”
He caught a wisp of blush rise in her cheeks and saw her moisten her lips again. He couldn’t help smiling a little. Women often blushed around him, but none quite as charmingly as she.
Blushing or not, she stayed on course. “You’re probably anxious to get on with properties to view, so we can finish up the rest of the details along the way.” She tapped her glass-driven mouse and tiny images filled the screen. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? You want your forever home? Or something more short-term?”
Until Gerald Robinson came calling, he’d considered Paseo to be his home. “Forever.”
Her smile deepened, as if his answer pleased her. “What kind of home? Single family? Condo? Any particular square footage in mind? Number of bedrooms? Lot size?”