by Ann Logan
Copyright © 2013 by Ann Logan
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13(eBook): 978-1-938568-09-1
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Elizabeth Levy-Adams
Cover Design by Bri Bruce
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To Lora who said I could;
to Jack who said I should;
and to Kelly and Tanya who said I would.
Chapter 1
* * *
Never, ever accept a blind date! Why, oh, why couldn’t she ever follow her own rules? Mercy Fuentes groaned and delivered a perfect roundhouse kick to the body-size punching bag. But this was a date she couldn’t refuse, particularly after all Hazel Prendergast had done for her. Mercy grabbed a towel and wiped her face as she headed for the shower. Hazel was calling in her markers—a personal favor for a friend. How could Mercy argue? The fight was over before it even began, a knockout in the first round. She stuck her head under the shower faucet and turned the water on full blast, letting the heat steam some of her anxiety away.
It was her own fault, really. She’d fallen for the ultimate sucker punch: Money. She was actually getting paid to go on this date, though why Hazel had chosen her instead of one of her theatrical employees was a bit mystifying. But still, seven hundred and fifty dollars a day for seven days was nothing to sneeze at. Five thousand, two hundred, and fifty dollars. That would make a big dent in her student loan obligations.
Mercy finished her shower and slipped into the forest green suit Hazel insisted she wear. She ran her fingers through her still damp long curls, grabbed her purse, and headed to Hazel’s office.
Ten minutes later, Mercy stepped into an elevator and punched the button for the seventh floor. She glanced at her watch; her timing was good.
Hazel had hinted that the man didn’t date much and that “workaholic” described him best. Good. That made him somewhat more acceptable. It meant he was a nerd. She should know; she was one herself. Actually, being a nerd sounded far better than what she really was—a coward.
All she had to do was ignore the clammy hands and breathlessness that signaled a panic attack. She inhaled deeply and pushed back her still moist dark hair, studying herself in the elevator mirror.
The suit was flattering, but the sophisticated look didn’t feel right. Mercy tugged at the skirt clinging to her hips; she hated wearing clothes that attracted attention. She’d rather be hiding behind her roll top desk, the one piled high with books and notes and the work she should be doing right now. Just a few more weeks of work, a month at most, and she’d be through with her dissertation on German literature.
The elevator pinged. Mercy wiped her damp hands and entered Hazel’s office suite. The scents of lemon oil and potpourri brought a flood of memories of her mother, hard at work on a Saturday morning finishing paperwork. How she’d loved sitting on the carpet, listening to her mother’s faint German accent as she spun stories of Hazel’s cosmopolitan lifestyle.
Now, however, the days of youthful idealism were all past. How ironic that just when Hazel wanted to absorb her into that enviable world, Mercy wanted nothing to do with it. Academia, with its ivy-covered walls, was her sanctuary now.
Judy Garner, Hazel’s secretary, sat at her desk shuffling papers. She pulled a pencil out of her teased, bleached blonde hair and thumped it a couple of times on the wood in front of her. She shook her head, peering over the glasses perched on her nose. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Judy had a West Texas twang that could peel the spine off a cactus when she was angry. Today, it held some concern.
“Neither can I,” Mercy muttered. “Do I look okay?” She straightened her lightweight linen jacket, her gaze not quite meeting Judy’s.
“Hell, yes, you look okay. That green looks great on you. Brings out the color in your eyes.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry, kid. When I found out what Hazel planned, I read through this guy’s background. He checks out cleaner than a whistle. Just another petroleum engineer, kiddo. We have a bunch of those guys here in Texas. He’s no different than the rest of ‘em, even if he does have an accent.” Judy paused. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
Mercy grimaced. Judy had a real nose for the unusual or suspicious. If she hadn’t found anything bad about this man, then he was undoubtedly the card-carrying workaholic Hazel had described. Probably he met the three “b’s” of a blind date—bald, blubbery, and boring.
“Thanks,” she said again, her eyes finally meeting Judy’s, “for everything. Wish me luck. Okay?”
“You got it.” Judy flourished a hand at the closed door. “Her Royal Highness awaits you.”
Mercy tapped a couple of times on the door, then let herself into Hazel’s office. The plush blue and gold Aubusson rug on the gleaming oak parquet floor absorbed the sound of Hazel’s footsteps as she came around the desk to embrace her. “Darling, you look fabulous,” Hazel gushed in the upper class, British accent that never failed to entrance everyone. Lifting one eyebrow, she inspected Mercy. “Do you have to wear those glasses?” she asked, frowning.
Mercy shrugged. Glasses were her first line of defense against the world, and she normally clung to them with dogged persistence.
“I suppose I don’t really need them,” she admitted, tucking them into her purse. When she saw the glare Hazel continued to give her, she laughed. “Don’t give me that look. I put them away.”
“My dear,” Hazel shook her head in mock despair, “sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. You have a figure sent by the gods, but why you don’t do more with it, I’ll never know. Just look at all that beautiful, thick, dark hair.” Hazel lifted Mercy’s hair out from her face and let it fall back down. “Such flawless olive skin and lovely, exotic green eyes. It makes me weep, yes, weep to see how you ignore yourself.”
Mercy flushed. “Hazel, you exaggerate.”
“I do not. Turn around. Let me really look at you.”
Mercy pirouetted for Hazel’s inspection, then laughed. “You’ve been gone for almost a month Hazel, too long, but as usual you look great.” It was remarkable how tanned, toned, and fit Hazel Prendergast always looked. She had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, but you’d never know it.
Hazel shrugged. “The Caribbean always does that for me.”
“There’s something different, though.” Mercy narrowed her eyes and shot Hazel a pointed look. “You’ve been to Dr. Fix-it again, haven’t you?”
“Darling, I’ll never tell.” Hazel laughed. “No woman would admit such a thing, unless she’s a fool, which, you know I’m not. Besides, a woman who’d tell that kind of secret would tell anything and should never be trusted.”
“You did say ten, didn’t you?” Mercy squinted at her watch.
“I did say ten.” Hazel nodded. “And you can see fine without those hideous glasses. I wanted to talk to you
before Mr. Rheinhart arrives. It seems your assignment will involve more twists than we’d originally discussed.”
Mercy held her breath. “Twists, what twists?”
“Oh, sit down. You make me uncomfortable standing there.” Hazel waved her to a chair. “I didn’t know about this until this morning. Of course, I demanded that he pay you twice the normal rate when he told me his new requirements.”
Mercy gulped, ten thousand, five hundred dollars! She could almost pay off her loans! She took a deep breath. “I know I owe you. I should volunteer to do this for free.”
“No way!” Hazel snapped. “He’s going to pay, and pay through the nose, too.”
“Look, I still don’t understand why you need me.”
“I need you,” Hazel said with some exasperation, “precisely because of your unusual assets. You’re attractive, you’re…”
“Oh, Hazel, not that again.”
“No, don’t argue with me. Just listen. You’re not only attractive, you’re educated, and I need someone who speaks German fluently.”
“But Ursula can speak German,” Mercy interrupted, knowing Ursula was one of Hazel’s favorite clients for her dating service. What was Hazel up to? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to trick Mercy into dating someone.
“Yes, she does, but she doesn’t play golf. Certainly not like you do. Nobody I have is in your league.”
What Hazel said was true. Mercy could have been on the pro circuit if she’d wanted to be. However, the pro circuit held too many unknowns—meaning men. “Okay,” Mercy conceded with as much grace as she could muster, “but what about these ‘special twists?’”
“Nothing outside your abilities,” Hazel replied with a flippant shrug. “But it will involve a little more acting than originally planned.”
“Come on, Hazel. What gives?”
“Simple, darling. You just have to pretend that you’re, um, shall we say, affectionate?”
Mercy took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Define affectionate,” she began. “I draw the line at anything more than holding hands.” Not that she had anything to worry about. Men rarely looked twice at her.
Hazel skirted the question with ease. “I’m sure Judy told you, he’s been investigated thoroughly. He’s a legitimate workaholic who is totally inept with women.”
“So, what is the problem?”
“The problem, my dear, is he’s trying to explore for oil in Ecuador. Everything is lined up, the government, the site, they even know the oil is there.”
Mercy shrugged. “I repeat, what is the problem?”
“Unfortunately, to get the oil, he needs Red Ryder’s company, Reveille Drilling. They’re the company with the patent for the new laser drill that practically melts rock as it bores a hole.”
“Keep talking.”
“Well, this Ryder chap likes to get to know a person better before he signs on the dotted line with them. In the interest of further negotiations, he’s asked Mr. Rheinhart to join him for a week at his Texas ranch near Boerne. That’s where you come in. You’ll complete a foursome with them on their private golf course. Ryder’s wife is a golf nut, you see.”
Hazel waved a hand in the air. “You’ll get to play golf to your heart’s delight, as well as ride, fish, hunt, or whatever else it is you Texans do on your ranches. I hear they have a Scottish style course, a bit more wild and challenging. Sound like fun?”
Fun, yes. But it still sounded too easy for all that money. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Hazel coughed. “Well, actually, you won’t be just his date for the week, you’re to be his fiancée.”
“His what?”
“You know, his ‘intended?’” Hazel said patiently. “Mr. Rheinhart is quite adamant about this. It has to look as though you’re planning to marry in the very near future. Red Ryder only works with family men.”
“I don’t know about this,” Mercy said. She stood up, shaking her head.
“Let me explain. Mr. Rheinhart is a self-made man who’s never had time for a girlfriend, much less a fiancée.”
Mercy walked over to the window, unsure. She took a few calming breaths. “Okay, so he’s a nerd like me. How old is he? It won’t be very convincing if he’s too old and I look like a young ‘chippie.’”
Hazel pursed her lips in obvious irritation. “He’s only thirty-one, so you certainly won’t look like anyone’s ‘chippie.’”
Mercy nodded. She was still betting on the nerd part, praying for it, in fact. “All right, all right. So when do I meet him?”
Hazel looked at her watch. “He should be here any minute. I scheduled him later than you. I’ll just buzz Judy for some tea while we wait.”
Before she could press the button, however, Judy’s nasal twang echoed over the intercom announcing Mr. Rheinhart. Mercy swallowed a large lump in her throat, sat down to keep her knees from shaking, and smoothed her skirt. Her blind date, ah… ‘fiancé’ had arrived.
“Send him in,” Hazel cooed, settling herself into the leather chair behind her desk, a Cheshire cat smile dancing over her face.
When the door opened, Mercy turned her head. Never until that moment had she believed in the idea of chemistry between two people, much less love at first sight. The man who stood in the doorway, however, made her heart stop beating.
Mercy tended to avoid men like the plague, actually she thought of men more like a virus—if she wasn’t exposed, she couldn’t get sick. Suddenly she felt ill.
Several inches over six feet, his height gave him a commanding, over-powering appearance. Neither his navy blue jacket nor his khaki pants could hide the width of his shoulders or the slimness of his hips. The light blue shirt, open at the throat, set off his tanned, incredibly handsome face.
Damn virus. Her mouth went dry, her bones were suddenly soft, and a fever and chills began to set in.
His large, tanned hand brushed rich dark hair back from his high, broad forehead. A nervous gesture? Not likely. Intelligent blue eyes, as dark as they were mesmerizing, pinned her with a penetrating gaze through dark-framed glasses. She noted how the angular bones of his face shaped a strong jaw and a determined chin. But it was his eyes that drew her.
Mercy made herself breathe slowly through her nose as he broke into a wide smile that radiated openness and sincerity. She pulled her gaze from his face, catching only the last bit of Hazel’s sentence.
“…is Wulfgar Rheinhart, your fiancé for the next week. Wulf, this is Mercedes Fuentes. You may call her Mercy. I understand you go by Wulf, is that right?” Hazel guided the introductions with her usual practiced ease.
“That is my preference,” he agreed, nodding.
His German accent charmed Mercy right away. It reminded her of her mother and the many German students she’d tutored. If only she could view him as just another student.
“Fine,” Hazel continued. “Please sit down.” As Wulf sat down next to her, Mercy concentrated on her breathing. Her heart beat so erratically her head swam. She tried to keep her attention on what Hazel was saying, but failed miserably. She’d never felt so self-conscious and yet so fascinated. She glanced at him, trying to keep the look casual and found those incredible blue eyes gazing back.
“Wulf, if you would,” Hazel said, turning to him, “please tell Mercy what you require.”
“It is simple,” he began, captivating Mercy again with his mellow baritone voice, his charming accent, and his awkward syntax.
“Mr. Ryder and his wife have been married many years. To them, marriage is stability.” He looked directly at Mercy. “I am unhappy to say because I have no plan to marry, I would not be considered stable to them. Steiger Oil is still the best company for the job,” he insisted.
Mercy watched, fascinated, as he pushed his glasses up on his nose with a shaky hand. Could he be as nervous as she?
“I did all analyses myself,” he maintained with a small smile of obvious pride.
“I’m sure you did
,” Hazel added, nodding encouragement.
He looked so sincere, so serious, so earnest, Mercy’s heart went out to him. She frowned. He should have plenty of girlfriends with his looks. Maybe he did work too hard.
“I must make Ryder believe,” Wulf continued, “I am in the process of marrying and will soon be as stable as he wants.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re being…” Mercy hesitated, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “just a little dishonest with him?”
“Of course.” He stiffened though his gaze remained fastened on hers. “Do you think I like this? I am only trying to stop his, his…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Voreinggenommenheit.”
“His prejudice?”
“Ja, prejudice! I must be married or engaged if I want to do business with him. Me, I just want business to be business.” Mercy smiled at his problem with vocabulary and phrasing, and at his candor. “Then you’re never planning to marry?” she teased.
“When is time? I work very hard. I think some day I marry, maybe, if the right woman is there.”
“I’m sorry if I’m being so inquisitive,” Mercy interjected. Had she hurt his feelings? “I’ve never done anything like this before. Nor have I ever been engaged.”
“It is dishonest,” he said, looking glum. “I do not like it either.”
The dejected sound in his voice made Mercy almost forget her own fear. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. He seemed perfectly harmless, just like the nerd she had hoped he would be.
His posture was open, arms spread, and legs extended. Mercy frowned. She, on the other hand, sat all wrapped up, her legs crossed at the knees and the ankles, and her arms folded across her chest with her hands tucked into them. It wasn’t hard to tell who was the uncomfortable one here. No reason to be so wary, she decided, pulling her hands from her elbows and uncrossing her ankles. Even if she felt that way.
“Are there any other questions, Mercy?” Hazel asked.
“I’d like to get clear on, uh, what we’re supposed to do to act like an engaged couple,” she explained, annoyed at the way the heat rose in her cheeks.