Texas Proud

by Diana Palmer

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She read the card again, just to be sure that she wasn’t seeing things.

  “Well?” Sari prompted. “What does it say? Who’s it from? Or should we just guess?” she added with a grin.

  “Mikey,” Bernie said in a husky tone. “The flowers are from Mikey!”

  “Doesn’t he do things in a big way?” Olivia mused, studying the huge arrangement. “Amazing that your back didn’t break under the weight, Judy,” she teased the florist.

  “I have liniment,” Judy chuckled.

  “They’re so beautiful,” Bernie said, caressing a petal on one of the roses, most of which were in bloom.

  “I guess he thinks you are, too, sweetheart, because let me tell you, I could almost retire on what this arrangement cost,” Judy laughed.

  Bernie struggled to her feet and hugged the florist. “You always do the most beautiful arrangements, but this one is extraordinary.”

  “Thanks.” Judy hugged her back.

  Mr. Kemp came out of his office, stopped dead, and gaped at the arrangement that took up most of Bernie’s desk. “Did somebody die?” he asked.

  They all burst out laughing. Kemp grinned.

  “Mikey, huh?” he asked Bernie, who flushed. “I figured he’d work it out sooner or later. Okay, people, back to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

  Bernie and Judy moved her beautiful floral arrangement to a side table so that the desk was clear, but all day Bernie’s eyes went to it, and she felt as if she could walk on clouds.

  * * *

  Paul and Sari Fiore drove her home so that Paul could carry the arrangement inside for her. It was very heavy.

  “Right there, if you don’t mind,” Bernie said, indicating the cleared-off part of her chest of drawers. “It’s so beautiful!”

  “Good thing that Judy makes arrangements that don’t have a loud scent,” Sari teased, “or you’d smother in here from the fumes.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t even mind.” Bernie sighed. “Nobody ever sent me flowers in my whole life,” she added softly.

  Paul and Sari exchanged glances. It was obvious that Mikey’s peace offering had struck pay dirt.

  * * *

  He phoned Paul that night.

  “Well?” he asked. “Did she donate them to the hospital or her church?” he prompted, and sounded worried.

  “No. She cried,” Paul said. “Then Sari and I brought her home so I could carry them inside for her. God, Mikey, did you buy out a florist? I never knew there were that many yellow roses in the whole damned state,” he added, chuckling.

  “I wanted to make an impression,” Mikey replied. There was a smile in his voice. “So she liked them, huh?”

  “She loved them.”

  There was a sigh. “In that case, Santi and I might come down for a visit in a week or so. Just to get the lay of the land.”

  “I think that would be a very good idea,” Paul replied.

  * * *

  Bernie was walking home late in the afternoon, wrapped in a coat against the chill, using her cane because it was rainy and her footing wasn’t good.

  A big, black limousine pulled up beside her and the window rolled down while her heart almost beat her to death.

  “Now, don’t fall under the wheels this time, okay?” said a man with a New Jersey accent.

  Bernie laughed. “Hi,” she said softly.

  The door opened. Mikey got out, leaving Santi behind the wheel. He stuck his hands in his pockets and moved close to Bernie. His dark eyes searched her wan face in the late-afternoon dimness. They were intent, as if he was looking at something almost out of a fantasy.

  “You look good,” he said. “A little worn. You’ve lost weight, I think.”

  “Just a little,” she confessed. Her eyes went over his lean face. “You look worn, too.”

  “I never slept with Jessie,” he blurted out. “I like to stick to my own species.”

  She laughed in spite of herself.

  “I did a dumb thing,” he muttered. “I should have known that you wouldn’t pour your heart out to somebody in a public place.”

  She grimaced. “I should have known the same thing about you.”

  He drew in a breath and smiled. “So. Suppose we start over? Hi. My name’s Mikey. I sometimes break the law, but I’ll try to restrict myself to jaywalking for the rest of my life if you’ll take a chance on me.”

  Her heart leaped. “Hi. My name’s Bernadette, but everybody calls me Bernie. I never break the law, but I’d take a chance on you no matter what you did for a living.”

  His lips parted on a husky breath. “Oh, baby,” he said in a rough whisper. “God, I’ve missed you...!”

  She would have told him the same thing, but he had her up in his arms and was kissing her as if there was no tomorrow. Her arms were around his neck, her cane was on the sidewalk somewhere getting wet. She was kissing him back.

  Long minutes went by. The rain was coming down in buckets and they were both soaked. Finally Santi got out of the car and stopped beside them, coughing loudly.

  Mikey drew back, shivering a little with the overwhelming hunger he felt for Bernie. He looked at Santi blankly. “What? You got a cold?”

  “Boss, it’s raining. Really raining. You know?”

  Mikey blinked. Santi’s hair was plastered to his head and face. He scowled and looked down at Bernie. Her hair was plastered to her head and face, too. He laughed out loud. “Damn. So it is! I guess we should find a dry place, huh?”

  “I guess,” Santi mused. He opened the car door.

  “But I’m wet,” Bernie wailed.

  “The seats are leather, honey, they’ll dry. Santi, find her cane, would you?”

  “You bet!”

  Santi closed the door.

  “Now,” Mikey murmured, drawing her close. “Where were we...?”

  * * *

  They were married in the courthouse, in the office of the justice of the peace. Bernie wore a winter-white coatdress and carried a bouquet of white roses. She had on a little saucy white hat that had a veil, and Mikey lifted it as he kissed her for the first time as Mrs. Michael Fiore.

  Sari and Paul were their witnesses, and Tony Garza came down with his entourage for the wedding. In fact, Marcus Carrera and his Delia, and their little boys, also came to town for the event.

  “I owe you a lot,” Mikey told Marcus.

  The big man waved away the thanks. “No sweat,” he chuckled. “But if you come across a bolt of antique cloth, you know where to mail it, right?” he teased.

  Mikey clapped him on the back. “You bet I do.”

  * * *

  The honeymoon was in Jamaica, in Montego Bay, where they swam and acted like tourists. Well, at least, after the first night they were together.

  “You don’t need to worry about a thing,” Mikey whispered to her as he undressed her very slowly and eased her under the covers.

  She shivered a little at the first contact with his nude body, but he kissed her and caressed her until she didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t stop.

  He carried her from one breathless plateau to another, from one side of the bed to the other, for what seemed hours before he finally moved over her with intent. She was so sensitized by then that she barely felt the little flash of pain that hallmarked his slow penetration of her welcoming body.

  She was aching for him, so hungry that she knew nothing, saw nothing, except his face above her as the passion grew and grew and grew and finally exploded into pleasure beyond anything she’d ever dreamed.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she moaned as they finally moved apart. She shifted her hips and the exquisite sensations went on and on.

  He chuckled, drawing her to his side. “It’s addictive.”

  “Very!”
<
br />   He pulled her onto him and looked up into her soft eyes. “I’ve never missed anyone the way I missed you. I was just ashamed to even call you, after what I did.”

  She bent and kissed him tenderly. “We both believed lies because we were insecure.”

  “But no more.”

  “Not ever,” she agreed.

  “There’s still the matter of the little unlawful things,” he said, grimacing. “But I’ve got a legitimate casino now, and two of the biggest mob bosses in history in my corner. So if I want to move out into the world, so long as I don’t betray any secrets, I can leave the old life behind. Not that I’ll give up my house in Jersey. You’ll like it,” he added softly. “It’s old, but it’s got character.”

  “I’ll love anywhere you live,” she said simply. “And I’ll cope, however I have to.” Her pale eyes met his dark ones. “I love you.”

  He hugged her close. “I love you, too, baby. And don’t you dare think I mind about the cane and the days you have flares, or if you get sick. I can afford nurses, anything you need. But I’ll take care of you myself,” he added, lifting his head, and his eyes adored her. “Because you’re the most important thing in the whole world.”

  “So are you to me,” she whispered, and kissed him.

  “Listen, I spoke to your doctor,” he said. “Louise Coltrain said there are medicines you can inject, that will make your quality of life a hundred times better.”

  “Yes, but they’re so expensive—”

  “I could fund the treasury of a small country, honey,” he interrupted. “It will be money well spent, especially when the kids come along. You won’t need to try and keep up with me,” he chuckled. “I’ll carry you, if I need to. But you will need to keep up with our kids...”

  She laughed with pure delight. “Are we having several?”

  He grinned. “However many you want. And I’ll learn to change diapers and give bottles, just so you know.”

  “We can do it together,” she said softly.

  “We’ll do everything together,” he replied quietly. “As long as we live. Yes?”

  She bent and kissed him hungrily. “As long as we live.”

  And they did.

  * * *

  Wealthy Jake McGuire could have any woman in town...but he wants divorcée Ida Merridan. But the bond he builds with the socialite is one deeper than the cowboy ever imagined...

  Read on for a sneak preview of Wyoming True, the tenth book in the Wyoming Men series by New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer.

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  Wyoming True

  by Diana Palmer

  Jake McGuire was happy for Mina. She’d married a Texan, Cort Grier, who turned out to be a wealthy cattle baron. This was quite a surprise since she’d known him only as a working cowboy who was helping out on his cousin Bart Riddle’s ranch outside Catelow, Wyoming.

  It had been an odd love story. Mina was a famous author of romance novels, who actually went on commando missions with a bunch of mercenaries who’d taken her under their wing for research. Cort Grier hadn’t known that. But he was wearing a mask, too, pretending to be a poor cowboy. It was only after she’d married him that she knew who he really was. Many adjustments had been made, but the two seemed destined for happiness. They had a brand new son named Jeremiah, and while Mina kept the family ranch in Catelow, which her father was now managing, she lived with husband and son at Cort’s enormous family ranch, Latigo, in west Texas.

  Even though Jake was glad for her, he was miserable for himself. He’d had a real case for her, and it had hurt to realize that even his own wealth and status wasn’t enough to attract her. It was the first time in his life that he’d ever been truly smitten with a woman, and she turned out to be in love with someone else.

  Well, he could go back to the cattle station he shared with Mina’s cousin Rogan in Australia, but fires in the outback were seriously impacting their vast herds of cattle. Along with hundreds of wildfires, many set deliberately, there was drought and lack of feed. Rogan had already mentioned that they’d have to sell off a lot of their purebred stock to break even. Jake had come back to the states to help get their finances on target and send assistance to get the fires out on the large property and the surviving livestock shipped to a safer location.

  The wildfires had hit Rogan even harder than Jake. Mina’s cousin loved the Australian property. He owned a big ranch outside Catelow as well, but he hated snow, so he only came home in warm months, leaving his manager in charge. Well, unless Jake was there to hold the reins.

  Less and less did Jake like being out of the country. He missed Catelow. While he was squiring Mina Michaels around town and to various far-flung five star restaurants in other states, he’d become accustomed to being back in the States. He was reluctant to leave the country.

  Stupid, really, because he’d lost Mina and he had no other female interests here. He sipped coffee in the café and glared into the cup. He felt more alone than he had since the death of his parents long ago. He was an only child. There had been a younger sister, who died of meningitis when she was only six years old, but no other siblings. He missed his mother, although he never spoke of his father. He had no family left.

  He’d have loved to be a father. The thought of it had sustained him while he was courting Mina, hoping against hope that he could win out over the Texas rancher. But that hadn’t happened. He was nursing a broken heart and trying not to let it show. Meanwhile, the social lions of Catelow, especially Pam Simpson, had been pouncing, trying to set him up with widows and divorcées. He had no interest in any of the local women now. He’d had his share of brief affairs, but he felt jaded, used. Women wanted what he had. He could, and did, bestow his favors generously on the women he dated. Diamonds, five-star hotels and restaurants, travels abroad on his own private jet. But more and more, he felt he was buying them. Or, he thought facetiously, renting them.

  He made a sound deep in his throat as the thought processed, drawing an interested glance from people at the counter waiting for orders to take out.

  One of them was glaring. That local divorcée, Ida Merridan. She was drop-dead gorgeous. Short, thick black hair, blue eyes, impossibly long eyelashes and a killer figure. The problem with her was that she collected men like dolls and tossed them aside when she’d had her fill. She was twice married, gossip said. Her first husband, the source of her great wealth, had been committed suicide. Nobody knew about the second husband, except that she’d divorced him. Cort Grier had dated her before he became entangled with Mina. He’d seen them on a dance floor, glued to each other at a party, and they left together. They’d dated often while he was in town. So presumably the cattle baron had a brief liaison with her. From what people said about her, she wasn’t picky about men. Anybody would do.

  He didn’t like promiscuous women. That was probably hypocritical, he considered, because he’d sowed his own wild oats years ago. He averted his eyes from the divorcée’s blistering glare and sipped coffee.

  But he glanced back at the widow, who was smiling at the clerk and paying for her take out. He didn’t like her. She knew it. He’d made his opinion of her quite clear at a party they’d both attended
a week back. Their hostess had been match-making, and nudged them together onto the dance floor. He could do Latin dances. So could she. But this was a slow two-step and he hated the contact.

  “I don’t have a fatal contagious disease,” Ida had said bitingly when he held her as if he had a stick of dynamite in his reluctant arms.

  He lifted an eyebrow, his pale glittery silver eyes lancing down into her china blue ones. “Really? Have you had labwork to make sure?” he added, just to irritate her.

  The glare grew hotter. “I don’t want to dance with you,” she said curtly. She was stiff even in the light embrace. Amazing, with her reputation, that she seemed to dislike him.

  “They say any man will do, where you’re concerned,” he drawled. “I don’t appeal to you?”

  She swallowed, hard, and glanced around, as if hoping the music would stop.

  “And here I thought you’d come up with something trite, along the lines that you only dated men in your own species,” he taunted.

  Another couple, spinning around, came a little too close and Jake pulled Ida abruptly closer and turned her to avoid a collision.

  Her reaction was sudden and stark. She jerked away from him, almost shivering, her eyes lowered. “I can’t...” she began in a choked tone.

  He’d glared at her. “Any man but me, is that how it goes?” he asked in a deep, biting whisper, viciously offended and not even sure why he was offended.

  She hadn’t even looked at him. She’d turned and walked off the dance floor. Minutes later, she’d thanked her hostess for the invitation and driven her car away. Jake, standing by the punch bowl, was confounded by her behavior. She’d actually seemed afraid of him. And that was fanciful thinking when the whole town knew what she was.