The Lone Star Groom: Bachelor Billionaire Romances

by Taylor Hart

  “It’s alright. You were raised rich, no shame in that.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Previous relationships?”

  She looked baffled. “We’re not talking about this.”

  “Hey, fair play.”

  “I’m interviewing you for an article.”

  Giving her a poignant look, he cocked his head to the side. “I want to know more about you first.”

  She scoffed and looked at her hands. “I’ve been dating someone on again, off again,” she said solemnly. “I’ve known him since we were young.”

  He leaned in, finding this information extremely interesting. “How long?"

  “I’ve known him my whole life.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” She looked up at him.

  “Nothing.” He shrugged.

  “That’s not very telling, that little shrug.”

  He grinned, not wanting to tell her what he really thought.

  She smiled back. “Your shrug reminds of that line in your song.” She tapped her finger to her head and scrunched her forehead. “Something about your shrug tells me nothing.”

  Pleasure filled him. She knew his music after all. “Can’t say it hurts my feelings you’re quoting my song.” He let out a loud laugh, loving that she knew his song. “Could it be that you do like my music?”

  She leveled him with a look. “I’ve been doing research,” she said in a playful tone. “That’s all.”

  He grinned, not caring she wouldn’t give more than that. The moment felt fun and light and happy. “I’ll take it. Tell me about this guy. What’s his name?”

  “Hale.”

  “Of course it is,” he said under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She glared at him. “Hey, leave Hale out of this.”

  “Out of what?” He winked at her again. “This is an interview.” Though he was starting to want it to be more than that.

  Giving him a skeptical look, she grunted. “Whatever.”

  Letting out another laugh, he liked how naturally she interacted with him. She was completely unimpressed by his fame. It was kind of refreshing. Usually, any girl he met tried way too hard. “Okay, so give me the long, boring, probably really boring if you’re not already married and you’ve known him your whole life, story.”

  She cocked another eyebrow. “You need more country love song material? Let’s see, my truck broke down and my dog got run over.”

  It unnerved him a bit she’d done that because if she knew anything about his music, she knew it wasn’t like that. Boring. Typical country. That had been the whole controversy about Montana taking him on his label. Texas was the bad boy of country music for a reason. He scoffed. “You’re not answering the question.”

  Giving him a look that said, “check mate,” she let out a breath then took a sip of water. "Okay, I’ll play this game, but you have to give me the real story about why you started writing music.”

  Frowning, and letting out a light breath, he found it disconcerting she seemed so sure there was a story. “Dying men aren’t enough of a reason to write music?”

  She shook her head. “No, it is. But …” She broke off. “I just feel like there’s more to the story. I feel like you’re holding back the meat of it.”

  “Are you vegan?” He asked deflecting, not liking that she could sense he’d been holding back.

  Giving him a patronizing look, she narrowed her eyes. “C’mon, there’s more to the story. Tell me.”

  He didn’t want to be one of those stars who constantly dredged up the past so everybody felt bad for him. “I told you the truth.”

  “Part of the truth.”

  He shook his head no.

  “Come on.”

  He considered it. It was a good story. “Maybe. Not tonight.”

  She seemed to accept the answer.

  “I need veto power for whatever I tell you that I don’t want put into your article.”

  She gestured to him. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about the real story tonight, let’s talk about your Purple Heart.”

  “Not tonight either. Let’s talk about Hale.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “You mean, let’s see if the exchange of information is worth it to you.”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  Looking at her hands, he watched her rub the center of one palm with the other. “Okay.” She met his eyes. “Like I told you, I’ve known him my whole life. We took family vacations together, etc. In college, we started dating.”

  “On again, off again dating.” He lifted his brows.

  “Yep.”

  “How spontaneous.” He flashed her a sarcastic grin.

  She looked away. “Not every person’s life is a country song.”

  “True. But I don’t write simple country songs.”

  Her eyes swept him up and down. “What do you write, Texas Waters?"

  “I write pain. Truth.” He pounded a fist into his chest. “The real stuff. The stuff that clicks for people. That’s why, even though I’m 'controversial,’”—he air-quoted—“in country music, I’m still-making a lot of money. Money is a result. People like what I write. Even non-country people like my music.” He was proud of that.

  The side of her lip tugged up. “You forgot to add you’re humble, gracious, and succinct. You don’t ramble at all when trying to make a point.” She said it all nerdy and sarcastic, like she would be writing notes for the article.

  He laughed. “I never said humility was a great quality of mine.”

  She laughed. “And he doesn’t even try to deny it.”

  “I know what I am. In the military, especially in leadership, you can’t pretend things. You, as a leader, have to be out on the front lines. You need to take ownership for what is happening, good or bad. No one is served by sitting back and waiting for things to happen. You have to get out there and make things happen. Life doesn’t give you a thing. Doesn’t owe you a thing. People who get things, earn them.”

  For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, and he felt all this intensity. He usually didn’t show this side to his audience, especially not to an interviewer.

  “You’re different, Texas.”

  "In what way?”

  She shrugged. “You’re not the typical bad boy I thought you were.”

  He winked at her. “I don’t like the phrase ‘bad boy.’” He air quoted. “I’ve never thought of myself that way.” He flashed another grin. “Take comfort in the fact I guess you’re not the snotty, elitist brat I thought you were, either.”

  She laughed.

  “Hale.” He demanded.

  “What?”

  “More, what would your love song with Hale be like?”

  She laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Everything’s a love song.” He flashed her a smile and discovered he liked talking to her. “Moments. Events. Sometimes they’re wide, encompassing more of life, sometimes they’re just snippets. That’s what people love about music. The stories in them.” He shrugged. “I guess we’re alike in that way, we’re both trying to find great stories.”

  A grin swept across her face. “So I’m a country song, and you’re a national spot.”

  He pointed at her. “Exactly. We’re both using each other for material. We can’t help it, can we?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know why you’re interrogating me about Hale though.”

  He laughed. “Why would anyone be on again and off again their whole lives?”

  She shrugged.

  “We’ve just been friends forever.”

  There must have been some look that crossed his face that she didn’t like because she shook her head. “Hey, no, you don’t get to act like it’s stupid.”

  That’s not what he was feeling. To cover his genuine interest in her, he said, “Actually, I’m feeling bored.”

  She glared at him.

  “So, let me get t
his straight. You’re here because your mama put pressure on you to do this stupid article or what? Your trust fund will be revoked?”

  When she didn’t answer, he laughed harder. “Oh. My. Gosh. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you. Well, strike that. I’ve met really rich people, but most of us are artists and come from nothing.”

  An annoyed look flashed onto her face. “Well, now you’re clearly part of the rich, superior elite who treat reporters like dog dung.” She had a spark in her eyes.

  A fire. It called to him on a primal level. He grinned and let out a laugh. “Well, girl, guess I didn’t think of it like that.”

  She kept her face serious. “Just because we come from two different paths, doesn’t mean I haven’t had complications or hardships. Money is just a tool, but there’s so much more to people. Dreams. Inspirations. Places they want to go.”

  There was a catch to her voice. “Where do you want to go?” Texas couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  There was a pause in which she seemed to be holding back a bit.

  “Nigeria.”

  Complete shock pulsed through him. “What the?” He gestured to her. “I was thinking backpack across Europe, or I don’t know … but Nigeria? You’re going to get yourself killed there.” Real concern flitted through him.

  “I’m tired,” she said, and a blank expression crossed her features. “I need some sleep.”

  He wasn’t done. “Hey, I’ve been in war-torn countries, remember? They’re not pretty. They’re not for girls like you.”

  She blinked, and he saw tears in her eyes. “Princesses like me you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

  Letting out a sound of frustration, she shook her head. “I would tell you I hate you again, but you kind of have me in a pinch at the moment.” She gestured to her ankle.

  It made him laugh. She was raw, and he liked it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly quiet. “I don’t know what comes over me around you.”

  Liking the admission, he grinned. “Hey, I like evoking emotions of any kind. At least people aren’t bored around me.”

  The moment lightened again.

  “True.” She conceded.

  He stood and took her glass. “It’s late. I’m going to go ahead and run to your hotel and get your things.” He picked up her purse. “Where is the key?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, no one will even know I was there.”

  Relenting, she told him where the key was.

  He got it and told her to make herself at home.

  She laid back and closed her eyes before he left the room.

  “Thank you, Texas. You’re a decent guy.”

  “Please … stop with the compliments, it’ll give me a big head.”

  A soft smile played at her lips and she closed her eyes.

  Leaving the room he was thinking the story of how they met would make a good love song.

  Chapter 9

  When Liberty woke to the sun on her face, she immediately jolted to a sitting position, a somewhat awkward feeling as her foot was propped up on the bed in Montana’s house.

  The discomfort brought the events of the previous day back to her. Pain throbbed behind her left eye. Not to mention her foot was surrounded by water. The ice bag had leaked.

  She cursed under her breath then pulled off all the wraps and the what was left of the bag of water. She hated that the pillow and bedding were soaked.

  “Shoot.” She stood on her good foot and searched for her possessions.

  Her suitcase and makeup bag were placed neatly in the center of the floor. She blushed, thinking about Texas being in her hotel room. She wasn’t a messy person, but there had been some dirty clothes in a bag he would have had to gather, and when she thought about him looking at all of her toiletries it felt intimate.

  She inspected her hurt ankle for a few seconds. It was still swollen, but it could be worse. She figured for a day or two she’d have to stay completely off of it. Then she’d be good.

  Hopping over to her toiletry bag, she picked it up and continued hopping to the bathroom. Taking care, she inspected herself in the bathroom mirror.

  Blah. Her hair was all matted and fuzzy around her face. A twinge of annoyance flitted through her. She’d made such a fool out of herself yesterday. She especially hated that she had done it in front of Texas.

  Thinking of him, she felt her heart rate quicken. Last night, she’d gotten more out of him than she ever thought she would for the article. His words and actions had also deeply affected her.

  It might sound fairy tale-ish and prince charmingish, and she knew Texas would hate if she mentioned it, but he was a hero to her.

  What most fascinated her was how those broody eyes could be open and warm and tantalizingly seductive as he teased her.

  Inhaling a sharp intake of breath, she felt nervous jitters in her gut. No. No. No. She couldn’t be thinking about Texas this way—tantalizing, seductive—she wasn’t a romance writer.

  No way.

  She was a reporter. Reporting hard news, facts.

  Her mind flitted to the way Texas had gently wrapped her ankle. The way he went and got her things and then chatted. It felt intimate. Personal. That was everything she was supposed to get out of this article, but …

  It didn’t feel right. It felt too personal. Part of her was glad she’d given him veto power. The other part of her worried he would censor too much. She knew he hated the press. Was fiercely private. She could see in his eyes those demons he carried as clearly as the tattoo wrapped around his arm. Carefully, she stepped into the bathtub to shower. She didn’t want to slip, so halfway through the shower, she changed position and took a bath.

  When she got out and took extra care to do her hair and makeup, she felt a bit foolish. She did want to look better today for Texas.

  Checking her phone, she saw it was already nine thirty. She also noticed the ten texts from assorted people including her mother and Hale. Unable to avoid comparing Hale to Texas, she thought about his rude comment that her relationship with Hale must be boring. That wasn’t true.

  Frustration pulsed through her as she thought of her mother wanting her to get close to Texas for the article. It wasn’t why she was getting closer to him … but she did feel closer to him.

  Letting those thoughts go, she realized her stomach was rumbling. She was starving, so she plugged in her phone and hopped out the door, holding the wall for support. To her surprise, right outside the door, she found crutches. Gratitude washed over her. Texas had somehow gotten these for her.

  Using them, she found her way to the kitchen where Texas was nowhere to be seen. If she remembered his schedule correctly, he’d be in the studio by now.

  She was, however, amazed to see the note he’d left on the counter. “Eggs in the fridge for you or help yourself to anything.”

  Opening the fridge, she found a bowl of scrambled eggs.

  Yes, he would be health conscious in his meals, she thought. Something interesting to put in the article, she mused. Something benign, but something people would care about—what were Texas Water’s food habits?

  Her mother probably wouldn’t think that’s edgy enough … but it was important to file away.

  She pulled the eggs out and thought about heating them up, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. After finding a spoon, she sat at the counter and ate her eggs, thinking about what she would do today.

  It amused her how different she felt about Texas Waters compared to yesterday. How she actually wanted to be part of his schedule. She wanted to go to the studio and just watch him. Yes, that would be good. She could observe through the glass.

  Turning, she took in the view from the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked Montana’s luxury ranch. She saw the big barn in the back, behind the large landscaped deck, hot tub, and pool. There was someone in the barn pulling a horse out with a cowboy hat on. Startled, she realized it was T
exas. Standing, she took the crutches and hobbled closer to the window. She hadn’t realized he could ride. She watched him gently pet the horse’s nose. He appeared to be whispering something in his ear.

  His jeans, boots, white t-shirt, and real cowboy hat looked comfortable and well-worn. His cowboy look kicked up another round of nervous flutters in her stomach.

  She grinned. Cowboy. Yes, Texas wasn’t a bad boy of country music, he was actually a true cowboy.

  The old west kind of Cowboy. Saving the girl, defending the fort.

  Her grin widened.

  She wondered how she could use that angle for the article. After a couple of seconds of talking to the horse, Texas slung his foot into the stirrup and settled into the saddle. Immediately, he was off like a shot. No walk to gallop, just off.

  She watched them fly across the property and then disappear onto a trail.

  Texas surprised her. By all reports, this was one of the biggest complaints from die-hard country fans—he wasn’t country. He hadn’t been raised on a ranch. But you would never be able to tell by watching him right now. Inspiration struck, and she couldn’t stop herself. She went back to her room and gathered up her laptop.

  Setting it on the kitchen table, she opened it eagerly, her mind full of all kinds of things she could write about Texas Waters. She began cataloguing the facts she’d discovered, putting a mark next to the things he might not let her talk about.

  She had four major categories:

  Food, Hobbies, Military, Home Life.

  She realized she knew next to nothing about his home life, past or present. She figured he probably didn’t have much of one with all the traveling and recording. That would make it hard for someone trying to build a relationship with him, she mused. Catching herself, she questioned her level of personal interest in that line of questioning.

  Before she knew it, she’d gone off the categories structure, and she’d simply started describing her very personal experience with Texas. It made her a bit embarrassed to think about how her falling off a ski lift would be a great hook for the article, but she pushed on, her instincts telling her that a personal article could be exactly what she needed to write. She thought about watching him shimmy down the ski lift and come to her aid. Again, the word hero popped in her mind as the perfect way to describe him.