Texas Millionaire

by Dixie Browning

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said? If we’re going to talk about marriage, I have a right to present my side, too.”

  “Callie?” He turned her to face him, cupped her chin between thumb and forefinger and lifted her face to his. “Hush up, sweetheart. It’ll all work out, trust me.”

  “I just thought you might want to know that I gave it more thought while I was in the bathtub.”

  His mouth hovered over hers. “Hmm?”

  “You told me to think about it, so I did.”

  “Callie, not now. I’m getting ready to make love to you, and this time—”

  “I know, and I want you to, honestly I do. I like it. But remind me to tell you when we’re finished about the seven reasons why I’ll probably marry you, and the two reasons why I might not”

  Turning away, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m out of my mind. No sane man would marry a woman who can turn him on and tie his mind in knots at the same time.”

  She smelled of his bath soap. He wondered what, if anything, she was wearing underneath his silk brocaded bathrobe. He couldn’t figure out if she was sly as a fox or innocent as a day-old chick.

  He did know she was too damn young for him, but he told himself that for a woman who’d spent her entire twenty-two years in a town about half the size of Royal, she had more on the ball than any of the women he knew who’d spent a lifetime, not to mention a fortune, soaking up what passed for culture on several continents.

  “You’re frowning. Does your head hurt?” she asked.

  “No. Yeah, oh, hell, sweetheart, come here.”

  He swept her up and carried her to his bed, not even bothering to fold back the spread. He was in no condition to think, much less to argue. That could come later. Sometime during the next fifty years he might even come up with a few answers.

  This time there was no hesitation. In no more time than it took for her to untie the sash of his robe, Hank shed his shirt and shucked out of his jeans and briefs in one motion, stumbling only when he tried to pull them off over his boots.

  Her laughter was nearly his undoing. “Well, I could have told you that,” she said. “Shoes first, then britches. Oh, my, you’re gorgeous. I love looking at you.”

  “You’re a witch.” He came down beside her and scooped her into his arms.

  “The wicked witch of the west?”

  “East, west, whatever—just remember, you’re my witch.”

  “I’ll have to practice.”

  “Feel free.” Flopping over onto his back, Hank spread his arms and tried to wipe the grin off his face. Playfulness in bed was new to him. He had a lot to learn.

  “I mean about making love. I’m not the romantic type, you probably noticed that.”

  “Right. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. You don’t get your knickers in a wad if a man doesn’t spend all his time paying homage to your beauty.”

  “You’d hardly do that. But then, you knew what I looked like when you asked me to marry you, so it’s not like you’re buying a pig in a poke.”

  “Honey, we’ve got a lot to learn about each other, but now’s not the time.” She was wearing another pair of plain white cotton drawers. How could something so clean and wholesome turn him on the way she did? God help him if he ever saw her in skimpy, bias-cut peach-colored silk, his own particular weakness.

  He’d promised himself he’d take his time, only he hadn’t known a single touch, the mere sight of her lying in his bed, could ignite such a frenzy of white-hot sexual need.

  “Hush now,” he growled. Rolling over her, he began to explore her mouth while her hands fluttered over his shoulders, down his back to his buttocks. She stroked and patted him there. Feelings swelled inside him, feelings that were too new, too scary, too powerful to put into words. The best he could do was put his whole heart into kissing her. Which he did. Thoroughly, fiercely, hungrily. That’s when he discovered that his heart was no longer his own, he’d already given it away.

  Her fingers kneaded his flesh, and when his mouth dragged down her throat to her breast and he began to suckle her nipples, she twisted frantically beneath him.

  “Hank, I can’t bear to wait much longer,” she gasped.

  “It’ll be worth it, I promise. This time is for you.”

  But it was for both of them. That time, and the next time. If he hadn’t been half-dead from a lack of sleep over the past few nights, there would have been a third time as well.

  “I never knew—” she whispered. “I never dreamed—I can’t believe…”

  “Believe,” he told her, his voice as unsteady as his hands. He felt around for various articles of clothing, untangled and sorted them out. “Or don’t believe. I’ve got nothing better to do for the next twenty or thirty years than teaching you what lo—what sex is all about.”

  “I dare you to say it.”

  “What, sex?”

  “You were going to say love. Don’t, if it bothers you. It was one of the things on my list—one of the reasons for marrying you, but it can wait.”

  “Are you sure?” He wasn’t comfortable talking about his emotions, but if she wanted it in writing, signed, sealed and notarized, she could have it. Because he did. It had hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, scaring him damned near spitless.

  He was wiped out. She seemed almost energized. He could see right now he was going to have to stock up on vitamins.

  “Well, I just thought you might want to know. I love you,” she said calmly, “and there’s also the fact that I might be carrying your baby.”

  He just about swallowed his Adam’s apple.

  “Chances are pretty slim,” she went on, “but you can never be absolutely sure about these things. It takes a few weeks for—”

  “Whoa. Back up and run that by me again. You’re marrying me because you might be pregnant?” He should have been cheering. Hell, that was what he’d been angling for, wasn’t it? A quiet, trouble-free wife who would bear him a son and heir?

  But that was before he’d met Callie.

  “That was number one on my list, but it’s not the only reason. Aunt Manie told me about this house your parents lived in, and—”

  “My father and his fourth wife, not my parents.”

  “Yes, well…the club’s real nice, but I can’t see living there with Manie and our children.”

  He wanted to yell, “Slow down!” He wanted to wake up the judge and marry Callie before she came to her senses.

  Even more than that, he wanted to catch his breath, roll over and spend the forseeable future convincing her that she wasn’t making a mistake.

  In other words, he was a basket case.

  “Happens I own a small ranch out in the country. About forty-five sections, a house, the usual outbuildings. We could look it over in the next few days, see if you think it can be brought up to standard.”

  “Does anything grow there?”

  “You mean other than mesquite, mulberry and chinaberry trees?”

  The fingers of his left hand touched the fingers of her right hand, tangled and held. “Yes, well…you know Aunt Manie likes to grow things. It’s awfully dry once you get away from Royal. Do you suppose we could irrigate?”

  I can’t believe I’m lying in bed with a woman, having a conversation about irrigating a damned defunct ranch.

  He traced a heart in the palm of her hand, heard her catch her breath and smiled. “Make an appointment with your boss to look over all properties.”

  “Done. Is this a good time to talk about prenuptial agreements? I overheard Pansy talking to Bianca in the ladies’ room at the ball about who’s the best lawyer and what to go for. I don’t think they were talking about anyone in particular, just husbands and agreements in general.”

  His head came up off the pillow, and he rolled over to stare at her. “I know, I know,” she said hurriedly, “I shouldn’t have been listening, but I was feeling sort of—you know. The champagne and all—and, well, anyway, I thoug
ht the simplest thing to do was wait until they left to come out of the—the booth.”

  Hank didn’t know whether to laugh, swear, or give up. At least they seemed to have settled one thing: she was going to marry him. “You can have one if you want one, but I’m not insisting.” He’d fire every lawyer on his payroll if they tried to force the issue.

  “I do. I want it in writing that Aunt Manie can live with us, and that you’ll take care of her—” He tried to interrupt, but she kept right on talking. “And that you’ll be a fulltime father to any children we might have, and that you’ll let me have as many as I want. Children, that is. And that you won’t yell at me when they’re around, because it would make them feel awful, and I’d never want a child of mine to go through that.” She took a deep breath, clutching his hand, but still staring up at the overhead.

  He waited. “Is that it?”

  She swallowed audibly and said, “All the important stuff, anyway.”

  “I’ve got a condition of my own.”

  Warily she turned her head to look at him. “I guess I’d better hear it now, before this discussion goes any further.”

  “I love you. I can’t think of anything else it could possibly be. In case it matters, I’ve had all my shots, I like kids and animals, I don’t have any bad habits—well, none I can’t handle—and—” He broke off and looked at her apologetically. “I guess that about sums it up.”

  “I guess it does,” she said softly, and came into his arms as if she’d finally made her way home.

  Epilogue

  Wearing a plain ivory silk dress and looking as composed as any woman with a suspicious glow on her face could possibly look under the circumstances, Callie buried her face in the bouquet of orchids and stephanotis.

  Mercy, she hadn’t even had time to catch her breath.

  Hank was openly gloating. Wearing a yellow rosebud in his lapel, he looked devastatingly handsome. His best man, Sterling Churchill, kept glancing at his watch. Callie happened to know he had a plane to catch. Something to do with this mysterious Alpha thing, which was the main reason why she’d let herself be bulldozed into marrying with such indecent haste.

  Her parents couldn’t make it, which hurt more than she’d thought it would, but between them, Aunt Manie and Susan Wilkins, her bridesmaid and new best friend, had more than made up the loss. Aunt Manie had brought along her fiancé, Marion Jones, greenhouse tycoon, grower of fine orchids and half owner of a baseball team. Callie had never even known her aunt was a baseball fan.

  “Ready? Here, take this handkerchief, every woman in my family for generations has carried it for her wedding. I doubt that I’ll ever get to use it.” Susan Wilkins poked the lacy scrap in her hand, adjusted her headdress and signaled to the musicians.

  Just as the trumpet, two fiddles, three guitars and a banjo struck up the first notes of the wedding march, the sound of a jet plane could be heard overhead.

  Sterling glanced at his watch again, caught Hank’s eyes and nodded.

  Susan walked slowly toward where the minister waited in front of the massive fireplace, her gaze never once straying to the handsome, gray-eyed man standing proudly beside the groom.

  “My friends, fellow Texans and the few Tarheels who are gathered here today on this joyous occasion,” the minister intoned.

  Callie bit her lip, eyes glistening with tears of happiness.

  Hank leaned over and whispered, “No bawling on our wedding day, Caledonia. Texas rules, remember?” She laughed out loud, and then so did he.

  As the venerable old club rang with the sound of music, cheers and laughter, the bridesmaid glanced over at the best man and shook her head. Long after the preacher had pronounced the couple man and wife, an odd gleam seemed to linger in the eyes of the tall young business tycoon.

  * * * * *

  Watch for the next installment of the Texas Cattleman’s Club where the romance between Susan Wilkins and Sterling Churchill causes sparks to fly, and more of the ultra-secret Alpha mission is uncovered in CINDERELLA’S TYCOON by Caroline Cross Coming to you from Silhouette Desire in September 1999. And now for a sneak preview of CINDERELLA’S TYCOON, please turn the page.

  The telephone was ringing.

  Head down, arms braced against the slick white shower tile, Sterling Churchill tensed at the shrill sound, the muscles in his back tightening reflexively beneath the pounding spray.

  Why the hell doesn’t Maxine get that? he wondered irritably a second before he remembered he was alone in the house. His return from Obersbourg earlier than planned had sent his housekeeper rushing off to the grocery store.

  As it was, Sterling was just glad to be home in one piece, the mission successfully completed. To the relief of everyone involved, Princess Anna and young William were now safely in Royal, Texas.

  He yawned. While the first part of the rescue had mostly involved a lot of time-consuming research and planning, once they’d put their plan into motion, things had happened fast. As a consequence, for the past week he’d operated on too little sleep and too much adrenaline, and it was finally taking its toll.

  Not that he was complaining. Lately, his life had seemed increasingly empty, and he’d welcomed the break in his routine. And he had to admit that, despite the potential danger, he’d enjoyed the adrenaline rush of eluding the Obersbourg Palace Guard as their small group—he, Greg Hunt and Forrest Cunningham, the Princess and her little boy—made their way to the small, private airfield where their plane had been waiting.

  The phone continued to ring.

  Abruptly out of patience, Sterling straightened, turned off the water and shoved open the door. Snatching a burgundy bath sheet off the heated rack, he wrapped it around his waist and stormed into his oversize bedroom, stopping before the inlaid table next to the bed. He snatched up the receiver. “What?”

  “Hello? Mr. Churchill?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Mike Tarlick. Margaret’s son?”

  Some of his tension drained away. Margaret Tarlick had worked as a secretary in Sterling’s main office of Churchill Enterprises.

  “What can I do for you, Mike?”

  “Actually, it’s what I can do for you, Mr. Churchill. I’m working as a tech at the Buddy Clinic these days, and I overheard something I think you ought to know.”

  Sterling scowled, his mood instantly deteriorating. The Buddy Clinic was local lingo for the Buddy Williams’s Clinic for Reproductive Technology. Ever since Sterling’s marriage had gone bust, he’d done his level best to put the fertility clinic’s existence out of his mind, associating it as he did with his most bitter personal failure.

  “You understand, I could lose my job if the Clinic ever finds out I called you,” Mike went on, his voice growing anxious. “But I just thought…after all you’ve done for Mom…this is something you have a right to know.”

  Sterling seriously doubted there was anything Margaret’s son could tell him that he didn’t already know. He and Teresa had undergone every test known to mankind, and the Clinic still had been unable to come up with a reason why they couldn’t conceive. Nevertheless…“You’ve got my word that I won’t tell anyone I talked to you.”

  Mike took a deep breath. “Okay. I overheard two of the nurses talking. It seems there was a mix-up. A patient came in to be artificially inseminated and somehow the lab misread the code on the storage vial. The donor specimen that was used was…yours.”

  “What?” Sterling’s head snapped up, his exhaustion suddenly forgotten.

  “I don’t know what happened, Mr. Churchill, honest. Everyone here is always so careful. I wouldn’t have bothered you, except that I pulled the chart and the test came back positive and I thought you ought to know.”

  Sterling forced himself to concentrate as he tried to sort through the avalanche of information. Finally, he said carefully. “What test came back positive?”

  “The pregnancy test,” the young man said matter-offactly.

  For a second Sterlin
g couldn’t seem to breathe. “The woman is pregnant?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I thought you ought to know.”

  Damn. Damn it all to hell. Some stranger was going to have his baby? “What’s this pregnant woman’s name, Mike?”

  “Oh, I don’t think…”

  Sterling squeezed his eyes shut. “Please. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  There was silence, and then Mike Tarlick said with obvious reluctance, “I really shouldn’t do this, but I guess. I mean, I suppose you have the right to know. It’s Wilkins. Susan Wilkins.”

  The name seemed vaguely familiar. Sterling struggled to put a face with it. For a moment nothing surfaced, and then it came to him. Susan Wilkins was that nondescript little redhead who worked at the library, the one who was a friend of Callie Langley’s.

  “Mr. Churchill? Are you there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. I appreciate the call, Mike. I won’t forget it. Thanks.”

  “You’re wel—”

  Sterling dropped the receiver into the cradle, uncaring that he’d cut the young man off. Ripping the towel free of his waist, he strode toward the huge walk-in closet, his mind whirling.

  Like it or not, sleep would have to wait. Not only did he have a call to make at the fertility clinic, but—more importantly—he had urgent business with a certain redheaded librarian.

  eISBN 978-14592-5832-7

  TEXAS MILLIONAIRE

  Copyright © 1999 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.