by Cathie Linz
“Which would be a first for you,” Zane teased him.
“I got a letter from them saying...” Buck paused to snap his suspenders as he puffed out his chest with pride before continuing, “They want to carry Buck’s Barbecue Sauce in their stores.”
His news caused another round of cowboy howls of victory, with the twins jumping up and down and asking for a puppy now that they were going to be rich because Grandpa was going to be famous, just like the Kentucky Fried Chicken guy. Then the jumping stopped and the search began as Lucky screeched that Joe, the mouse, was loose again and Precious was after him.
In the ensuing bedlam, Zane carefully made his way over to Tracy’s side to put his arm around her.
“See what you’ve let yourself in for?” he asked her over the rowdy din.
“I see,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder and smiling at her newfound family. “And I can’t wait,” she added before reaching up to kiss him.
The search for love and Cockeyed Curly’s
legendary treasure continues with Cord Best’s
story. THE COWBOY FINDS A BRIDE,
Harlequin Duets #17 January 2000.
For a sneak preview turn the page...
1
“I DON’T TRUST HER. She’s up to something.” Cord Best shoved a hand through his long dark hair and glared at his older brother, Zane.
“Who are we talking about?” Zane inquired absently, his attention on the spreadsheet of cattle production displayed on the computer in front of him.
“Hailey Hughes. I’m telling you, she has ulterior motives. Coming back here to Bliss and asking all kinds of questions about Cockeyed Curly’s lost gold.” Cord started pacing the small confines of the den, the only room in the ranch house not yet transformed by Zane’s new wife, Tracy. “She’s definitely up to something. I can’t help but be suspicious of why she wants that kind of information.”
“You can’t help being suspicious, period,” Zane retorted. “Especially where Hailey is concerned. The truth is that she’s come home for the summer. She’s a history professor at the University of Colorado. Anyway, she’s come home to research a book on Cockeyed Curly’s treasure.”
“There is no treasure. Just like there’s no Easter Bun... Oof!” Cord grunted as Zane elbowed him in the stomach.
“The twins see all and hear all,” Zane reminded him with a meaningful nod at the open doorway.
“Fight, fight!” Rusty, Zane’s small son, yelled as he ran into the den from the hallway where he’d been hiding.
“Son of a buck,” Cord’s dad exclaimed as he hurried into the room after Rusty. He looked at his two grown sons disapprovingly. “Aren’t you two old enough to settle your differences peaceful-like?”
“We were talking about Hailey Hughes,” Cord said, knowing his dad would understand.
Sure enough, Buck’s expression darkened. “Tadpole Hughes’s daughter?”
“I don’t believe that’s his given name,” Zane replied dryly.
“It’s the name I’ve given him. Lucky for him it’s not worse.” Buck’s voice reflected his agitation. “What can you call a low-down gizzard-sucking coyote who steals the best fish from your own river?”
“I know, I know,” Rusty inserted, eagerly jumping up and down. “You can call them a ba...”
Zane covered his son’s mouth with his hand before reminding his father, “Troublesome Creek borders their land as well as ours.”
“Bah,” Buck scoffed.
“Hailey is coming back to research one of your favorite topics—Cockeyed Curly,” Zane said in a clear attempt to distract his dad.
Buck’s blue eyes narrowed as he thought back. “She’s coming home? She always was a cute little thing as I recall.”
“Cute, hah! She was hell on wheels,” Cord vehemently declared. “She left a permanent mark on me.” He held out his hand where, if you looked very carefully, a faint scar was still evident.
Buck and Rusty both squinted to take a look. Buck shook his head. “Hard to tell with all those other nicks and dings you got on your hands.”
“Comes from working with wood.” Cord shrugged. “One of the dangers of the trade.”
“Carpenters work with wood. You, boy, have a God-given talent.” Buck thumped him on the back in a paternal show of pride.
“Yeah, well, talent or not I’m not looking forward to running into Hailey again,” Cord said. “She made my life miserable, making a nuisance of herself by trailing after me like a lovesick calf for years. You remember how she used to dog me, no matter how I tried to get rid of her. She had this crush on me the size of Texas.” Seeing Zane’s frantic hand movements, Cord said, “There’s no use denying it, I’m not exaggerating. She was a hellion who wouldn’t leave me alone, literally gluing my butt to my seat in high school. Even in the summer, I couldn’t turn around without bumping into her...” Finally recognizing his brother’s expression, Cord said in a resigned voice, “She’s standing right behind me, now, isn’t she.”
“Yes, she is,” a woman’s clear voice replied. “And she assures you that you have nothing to fear from little ol’ me.” Her tart voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Son of a buck,” Buck exclaimed, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “You boys sure need some training in how to act when there’s a lady around, even if she is an offspring of our no-good coyote of a neighbor, Tadpole Hughes.”
Hailey sighed. “I can tell this isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
“Nothing worthwhile is,” Buck assured her with a grin.
An Affair of Convenience
MARISSA
HALL
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Dear Reader,
Have you ever concocted the perfect plan? You know what I mean: You decide you’ll just get that one particular job, then you’ll head up that high-profile project, bringing it in under budget and on schedule, of course! That will naturally lead to another promotion and, before you know it, you’re the head honcho.
At least, that’s the way the plan goes.
Or maybe you’ll just clean out that front hall closet, the one you have to lean against to shut the door. Then, while you’re at it, you might as well get rid of the kitchen floor’s waxy yellow buildup, rewire your house and convert your attic to a charming vacation getaway complete with Jacuzzi and exercise room for less than $50.
I got to thinking about plans—and reality—and I realized that for most of us, real life has a nasty way of interfering with our ambitions. So that’s why I had my hero and heroine construct their own plans to build perfect lives, get their perfect jobs and conduct a perfect affair. As a writer, all that perfection is just too good a target to pass up.
And wasn’t there something about the best laid plans...
Happy reading!
Marissa Hall
To Joyce Winter,
the big sister I always wanted
1
MALLORY REISSEN fiddled for the fourth time with the glass of ice water by her plate. Why had she given in to Mark’s demands and agreed to this Sunday brunch?
It wasn’t the restaurant. She’d frequented La Grande Passion’s Sunday buffet on a regular basis since she’d moved into a nearby condo complex three years ago.
It wasn’t the weather. She and her date sat in a small nook on the restaurant’s terrace in bright San Diego spring sunshine. At the other table in the nook, intent on their own conversation, sat her handsome neighbor Cliff Young and his current girlfriend.
It wasn’t even the company. Mark was an attractive, entertaining man—most of the time.
When he wasn’t haranguing her about her work habits.
“Mallory, you’ve got to put things in perspective. You’re never on time for any of our dates. And that’s not counting that
you break half of them because your boss wants you to do a ‘little something’ extra.” A flush tinged Mark’s face, giving it a pettish, unattractive quality.
“I was on time today, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “The first time ever. Should I give you a medal?”
She put down her fork and tried to ignore the tightening of her stomach. God, she hated this. How many times had she gone through the same argument with other escorts? Fifty? A hundred?
“No,” she said. “A simple recognition that I’m not always—”
He didn’t let her finish. “The only reason you were on time today was because I told you that we were through if you weren’t!”
“Hush! This is a public restaurant.” Too late. Mallory’s gaze had already been snared briefly by Cliff’s at the next table. His date sat with her back to Mallory and Mark’s table, and Cliff was facing them.
“Do you think I care?” Mark said without lowering his voice. “I’m a good catch. I could have practically any woman in San Diego, and you’re too busy fussing with your cameras and makeup to notice.”
Mallory sighed. “Mark,” she said as gently as she could manage, “as a television news anchor, cameras and makeup are part of my business. It’s what I do.” She touched the pristine pink linen napkin to her lips to hide their wry twist She’d heard this complaint a hundred times, too. “You knew about my job before you asked me out the first time.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know you’d made your job into some kind of obsession. And a full-time one at that.”
Damn. Men always wanted more from her than she could give. Didn’t any man understand that a woman in the television-news business had to work twice as hard, be twice as good, to command respect?
To be a success, to become someone even her parents would admit had done well, she had to break out of the local news market onto the national scene. That big break hovered just around the corner. She could feel it She’d already received a few feelers from one of the networks. Nothing substantial, of course, but still...
But to grab that opportunity when it finally presented itself, she had to prove herself better than all those other local newspeople.
She had to be the best.
And being the best meant always being ready to cover a breaking news story, wherever and whenever it happened. That always-on-call status sometimes—often—meant broken dates, late arrivals, damaged egos whenever she tried to have a relationship with a man.
None of them ever understood how important it was to her to be a success. None ever realized that any personal relationship—even a lover—must always take second place to her career. And rightfully so. The only way she knew to get ahead was to put job and career at the very top of her priority list.
Those priorities had worked so far, though she had left a string of broken relationships and lost friendships scattered behind her.
Frustrated, concerned she would say something to Mark that would sever the few threads remaining in their friendship, she rose and manufactured a smile. “I’m going to get a plate from the fruit table.”
She lingered at the artistic display of exotic fruits to avoid returning to the argument Mark seemed determined to pick. She reached for a luscious strawberry, but the tongs she held were trembling so much she nearly dropped the berry.
A warm masculine hand closed over hers, steadied the tongs, and helped her put the berry on her plate. Startled, she looked over her shoulder, prepared to jerk away, only to relax when she realized the hand belonged to Cliff.
“Thanks.” She reached for another strawberry along with a dollop of sweetened whipped cream—her fatal weakness—and again his hand kept hers from fumbling.
He took the tongs and lifted two or three succulent berries to her plate. “Enough?”
“Yes.” More grateful than she felt comfortable admitting, she studied the display of fruit, mainly to keep from having to meet his gaze. She didn’t want more to eat—she knew she would have a hard time swallowing the fruit already on her plate.
“Trouble with your date?” Cliff asked in an undertone.
She started to lie, then stopped herself. What was the point? Cliff had to have overheard much of her argument with Mark. Besides, in the three years they’d lived next door to each other, she’d come to count on him as a casual but very real friend. She had shared more in-depth conversations with him than with anyone else she could name.
Something about Cliff inspired confidence. It was one reason he was a terrific lawyer, she supposed. But long ago she’d learned to stifle the occasional pang of attraction that surfaced and to concentrate on building a platonic friendship with him.
He seemed to be doing the same, never giving even the slightest hint that he wanted anything more personal from her.
“Yeah,” she admitted, dragging her mind away from Cliff and back to their conversation. “Mark’s not very happy with me right now.”
“Why? Have you been two-timing him?” He put the question so smoothly that it took her a moment to take offense.
“Of course not!” She turned to look at him fully. “I barely have time for one relationship. When would I find the time for another?”
He shrugged, and plucked a juicy green kiwi slice for his own plate. “Women cheat all the time.”
“Not me.” Mallory glanced over her shoulder. From this angle she could see his date’s face. She thought she recognized her as an actress currently starring in a production downtown at Spreckel’s Theater. “If you ask me, your friend doesn’t look too happy, either.”
Cliff grimaced and added a spoonful of raspberries to his plate. A questioning brow asked if she wanted some too, and she nodded automatically.
“She’s not. In fact, I think Suzanne and your guy could well be singing the same song.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wasn’t Mike—”
“Mark.”
“Oh. Well, wasn’t Mark complaining that you spend too much time working? That you break dates because of work commitments? That you don’t spend enough time with him? That you willingly sacrifice your social life if something needs to be done at work?”
Mallory’s jaw dropped. Hastily, she shut it again. “How did you know?”
He hunched a shoulder to subtly indicate his date, who was now tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “Sounds just like what Suzanne says to me.”
Their eyes met in mutual understanding. Mallory knew that Cliff was one of San Diego’s hottest defense attorneys. He had once confided over coffee that he planned to be the youngest partner ever in his law firm, the most prestigious in San Diego. She knew enough of his schedule to understand that sixty-toeighty-hour workweeks were typical for him.
Just as they were for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“It happens.” He glanced over at their tables as he snared a couple of muffins. “I guess we’ve both stalled too long.”
Mallory turned and saw Mark swallow the last of his champagne cocktail, get to his feet, and stalk off. As he passed the fruit table, his glare should have incinerated her on the spot, though he didn’t say a word.
Right behind him came Suzanne. She sashayed up to Cliff, ran her crimson-tipped fingers along his jaw, and gave him what had to be a stinging pat.
“See you, Cliff,” she said. “Next time you want to get together, give me a call. If I’m not doing anything that night—” her tone indicated that counting coat hangers in her closet would be preferable “—maybe we can see each other.”
She sauntered away, snaring every masculine glance in the room.
Mallory looked down at her plate of fruit and over to their two empty tables, then glanced up at Cliff. “What do you want to bet both our respective dates stuck us with the checks?”
CLIFF SMILED, relieved to see the hint of laughter lurking in Mallory’s eyes. While Suzanne had been jabbing his ego with her subtly snide barbs, he’d found himself straining to overhear as much as he
could of the conversation at the next table. The tension between Mallory and Mark could have supported a span of the Coronado Bridge.
Although he’d never tried to date Mallory himself, her relaxed manner and sympathetic smile made him count her as one of his few friends. He rarely allowed people close enough to be called friends.
The lure of that friendship was strong enough that he’d deliberately trained himself not to think of her in a romantic way. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to her—he was. But he didn’t want to ruin the one sofar-successful relationship he’d ever forged with a woman.
He walked with Mallory back to their seats. Sure enough, each table had an unpaid check for two outrageously expensive buffet brunches. He set his plate of fruit and muffins on his table, thought better of it, and carried it and his check to Mallory’s table.
“We might as well finish the meal together, don’t you think?”
“Well...I’m probably not very good company right now.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that misery loves company?” Without waiting for a response, he slid into the chair across from her. “Besides, I’m sure the restaurant would appreciate having an open table. Didn’t you notice the line of people waiting to be seated?”
She fingered her fork but made no move to pick it up. “We could just leave. Then they’d have both tables for other parties.”
“And waste a brunch that’s going to cost each of us well over fifty bucks? Are you kidding?” Cliff wasn’t really joking. Although he could spend money with the best of them, he made sure he got good value for his dollars. When you grew up thrift-shop poor, you didn’t waste your pennies. Or in this case, you didn’t waste your twenty-dollar bills.