“What?”
Her eyes met his again. “That you were flirting. Okay, that’s not fair, considering everything you’ve done for me, but…” She heaved a sigh. “I guess I figured you were simply amusing yourself. That there was no way you could be serious.”
“Why is it so difficult to believe that I am?”
“Ohmigosh—where would you like me to start? Like I said before, we’re so different. And the way we met…honestly, meeting on The Bachelor would be more normal—!”
He cupped her face, watching the words snag in her throat, silently cursing at all that ambivalence in her eyes. “And I’ve been on more ‘normal’ first dates than I can count, 95 percent of which I couldn’t wait to be over so I could get back to work. So tell me one thing, and be honest—no qualifiers, no prevarication, just the truth. Do you have feelings for me, too?”
Their gazes tangled for what seemed like an eternity until she finally said, “Yes. But—”
“Then I don’t give a damn how we met, I’m only glad we did. Because you woke me up. Made me take a good, long look at myself and realize I didn’t like what I saw. Who I’d become. If nothing ever happens between us I’ll always be grateful for that.”
He released her to lean against the car, his arms crossed. “Yeah, I stuck around because of you. I never denied it. But I’m staying because to go back to what I was before, who I was before, would be a lie. And every day I’m here the clearer that becomes.”
After another exchanged look, she said, “My leg’s getting tired, I need to sit.”
Scott stepped aside so she could get into the car—under her own steam—shutting the door after her then going around to his side. By the time he got in, she’d clearly regrouped. “So you’re saying no matter what I do you’re still buying that ranch?”
He could almost feel the relief radiating from her. He started the car, backed out of the space. Finally, got it through his thick head that if he had any hope whatsoever of this working he’d have to let her call at least some of the shots. “Yup.”
Christina lifted her hand to gently scrape the edge of her thumbnail across her bottom teeth, a habit she indulged when she was nervous, he’d noticed. Then she dropped her hand and he ventured, “Would you like to see it?”
A pause. “I thought it wasn’t yours yet.”
“I can’t get into the house, but I can drive onto the land. The owner’s not there.”
After a moment she nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Why not?”
Even though it nearly killed him, Scott managed not to grin too hard.
She could have lied. Kept her traitorous feelings to herself. Except for one thing they’d already established—she was a sucky liar. And for another, she mused as Scott took her by the hand and leisurely led her across a vast pasture, she couldn’t hide her emotions from him if her life depended on it. No man had ever given her the freedom to be herself as he had…or threatened her peace of mind more.
Good news, meet bad news.
“How big did you say the spread was again?”
“Not huge.” His elbows now propped on the split-rail fence overlooking a pond edged in live oaks, Scott looked content in the way of a man who could pretty much make anything happen he wanted. “By Texas standards, anyway. Seven hundred acres and change. Close to a thousand if I can wrangle that adjacent parcel.”
Christina laughed in spite of herself, even though she couldn’t imagine owning that much land. Or any land, for that matter. “What on earth are you going to do with a thousand acres?”
“Anything I want?” And his being as nonchalant about buying an entire ranch as she might have been buying, oh, a carton of milk, only proved they were from different worlds. Why he couldn’t see that—or refused to—she did not know. “Raise some horses. And kids. Watch those kids learn to ride.”
She started. “So…how many kids are we talking?”
“Dunno. Two? Six? Haven’t decided.”
“Six?”
“Why not?” He nodded toward the house, a two-story, dormer-windowed jewel with a wraparound porch, set on a tree-crowded berm a half mile or so from where they stood. Late-afternoon sunshine gilded the white clapboards, the simple but stately columns. “House has seven bedrooms. May as well fill them.”
“Because it would be inefficient otherwise?”
He glanced over, his grin doing very, very bad things to her stomach. If this was his way of backing off, she was in serious trouble. “That would be my take on it. House is barely five years old and impeccably decorated, by the way. And everything stays, down to the towels in the bathroom cupboards.”
“Really? How come?”
“Owner passed away about a year ago. The widow’s moving to California to be with their daughter, wants to start completely over. So she’s selling the house furnished.” He made a face. “Although I could do without the heads.”
“Heads? Oh. As in, deer and such.”
“As in. Will they let me stay in Texas if I don’t hunt?”
“That could be an issue,” she said, and he gave an exaggerated sigh, making her laugh. Making her regret…so much. Then he pointed to the west. “There’s state-of-the-art stables for twenty horses, right on the other side of the house. Training arenas. Pastures for days.” He paused. “And a kennel.”
“A kennel?”
“She raised champion beagles. It would be perfect for—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—your doggy hotel.”
Her throat got all tight. “You’re doing it again.”
“Taking your needs into consideration? Guilty as charged.”
“Speaking of dogs,” she said, before her imagination ran away from her. “I need to get back to mine.”
“Sure thing,” Scott said lightly, offering her his arm to walk back over the uneven ground to the car. He plugged his iPod into the car stereo and chose his classical playlist for the ride back to her place, the soothing music filling the space where conversation should have been. When he pulled up in front of her apartment, however, he said, “I have to leave for a few days. Will you be okay?”
“Of course. But why—?”
“I can’t very well dump this on my father over the phone.”
Steady though his voice might have been, even she could hear the faint anxiety edging his words. “Scott…if this is the right decision, it’ll all work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”
His eyes tilted to hers, the barest of smiles curving his lips. “Exactly what I keep telling myself,” he said quietly, and too late she realized what she’d said. A second later he leaned over and touched his lips to hers, then kissed her forehead. And oh, my, was it hard to get out of the car, to watch him drive off, feeling like her heart was gonna pop out of her chest. At which point she finally, hopelessly admitted that all that kicking and screaming she’d been doing to not fall for the guy?
Had been one big, fat waste of time.
Chapter Nine
“Like hell you’re moving to Red Rock,” John Michael said, his voice lethally soft. A voice Scott recognized all too well. And had more than steeled himself against.
“I’m not sixteen anymore, Dad,” Scott said, every bit as softly, his hands shoved into his pants pockets as he stood in front of his father’s massive, curved black glass desk at FortuneSouth’s headquarters. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his father the entire Atlanta skyline seemed to glower at Scott in disapproval. “This is what I need to do—”
“Become a rancher? Have you lost your mind?”
“No, Dad. I’ve finally found it.”
To his right, leaning against a wall of mahogany bookcases, his brother Mike released an incredulous laugh. “You’ve dedicated your whole life to FortuneSou
th. You can’t simply walk away on a whim. For crying out loud, Scott—what about loyalty?”
Scott’s eyes swung to his brother’s. “Considering the amount of business I’ve brought in? The untold number of fires I’ve put out over the last ten years? Somehow I think I proved my loyalty some time ago.”
His brother looked genuinely perplexed. “Then why—?”
“Because I finally woke up and realized this isn’t me.” He faced his father again. “And why would you want me in a position of authority if my heart’s not in it anymore? That’s only a lose-lose situation for everybody, don’t you think?”
As Mike muttered something Scott was frankly grateful he couldn’t hear, he and his father stared each other down. Then John Michael lowered himself into his leather chair again, rubbing his mouth for a moment until he let his hand fall to squint at Scott. “I know what this is. It’s some kind of post-traumatic reaction, from the tornado—”
“No, it’s not. Yes, what I went through made me reassess my life, but trust me, I’m thinking perfectly clearly. More clearly than I ever have in my life—”
“You can’t quit,” his father blustered. “I won’t hear of it. To leave me, to leave us, in the lurch like this…that’s not the way I raised you.”
“Then consider this my thirty days’ notice,” Scott said mildly. “Whatever duties I can’t immediately assign to someone else I’ll continue to handle from Red Rock. If nothing else, I can promise you a smooth transition. I owe you at least that much.”
“You owe me a helluva lot more than that.”
“No, Dad. I don’t. Especially since you’ve made it more than clear that Mike’s the heir apparent. Which is fine by me,” he said, facing his brother again. “I’m done competing with you, big brother.” At his brother’s snort, Scott frowned. “What?”
“Can’t deal with the competition anymore is more like it. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’ve finally caved.”
Scott laughed. Not what his brother expected, judging from the slightly startled look on his face. “Not at all. I did realize, however, what a waste of energy it is, fighting for something I don’t even want.”
He caught the exchanged glance between his brother and father, fought the surge of irritation that neither was taking him seriously. “Don’t give your notice yet, Scott,” John Michael said. “Go on back to Red Rock, take all the time you need—”
“Dad. You’re not listening. I’m not going to change my mind. When have you ever known me to make an impetuous decision?”
“Never. Which is why I know this is an aberration. That given enough time you’ll realize what a damn fool idea this is and come to your senses—”
Mike’s laugh brought both their heads around. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner… Dad, don’t you get it? It’s about that gal from the airport, isn’t it?” he said to Scott. “The one you stayed behind to ‘help’?”
His father’s gaze rocketed to his. “Is that true, Scott?”
Until things were settled with Christina, Scott had intended to leave her out of the equation. Especially since he knew his parents hadn’t yet fully reconciled themselves to Wendy’s precipitous marriage, their approval of Marcos notwithstanding. But at least Wendy’s relocation to Red Rock hadn’t left a gaping hole in the company’s infrastructure, even if it had in his mother’s heart. Now, however, he realized he did owe his father something even more than that smooth transition—he owed him the whole truth. Or as much of it as Scott himself knew.
“Yes,” he said, over Mike’s triumphant, “I knew it!”
“A…woman?” his father said, his expression even more gobsmacked than before. “You’re chucking it all for a woman?”
“Not just a woman, Dad. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” If she’ll have me.
“So let me get this straight…you met somebody in Red Rock barely two weeks ago and you’re ready to give up everything you’ve ever known, everything you’ve achieved, for her?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Then…what was all that about wanting to be a rancher?”
Suddenly, Scott wanted nothing more than for his father to understand, to feel the scorching heat from inside Scott’s belly that had rendered him willing to incur not only his father’s disapproval, but his wrath—the exact opposite of everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted. Feeling like a Jimmy Stewart character, Scott grabbed the back of the chair in front of John Michael’s desk and yanked it out, then dropped into it, pitching toward his father to snag his gaze.
“What keeps you going, Dad? What makes you glad to be alive?”
John Michael looked slightly taken aback. “Pride,” he shot back after a moment. “In this business. In family—”
“Exactly. Now tell me why.”
“I don’t have time for this—”
“Of course you do. Answer the question.”
A beat or two passed before his father said, “Because they’re mine.”
Scott fought a smile. “Then don’t you wish the same for your children? To be able to take pride in their own accomplishments? To be their own people the way you’ve been?” He paused. “To have families of their own they can be proud of?”
“Then marry some girl right here in Atlanta. You could have your pick—”
“I don’t want ‘some girl’ from here. I want Christina.”
“Why?”
“Aside from her being the most genuine woman I’ve ever met? Or that she’s not impressed with my investment portfolio? Not to mention I get this, this incredible rush every time I hear her laugh, or see her smile…” He paused, caught a breath. “I want this woman in my life because she’s smart and funny and brings out the best—or at least what I hope is the best—in me without even realizing she’s doing it. And because I know if I let her go, especially without putting everything I have into trying to make things work between us, I’ll spend the rest of my life comparing every woman I meet to her.”
Taking no small pleasure in his father’s even more flummoxed expression, Scott leaned back in the chair, his hands loosely folded over his abs. “You know, you can be pissed at me all you want, but you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Me?”
“You. Because not only do we all carry your genes, but nobody has ever set a better example of how to go after what you want—and getting it—than you.” He let the smile bloom. “Mom’s told us it took you three years to convince her to marry you.”
To Scott’s great delight, color flooded his father’s face. Then John Michael stood, linking his hands behind his back as he turned to the window and the vista beyond. “But the ranching thing—”
“Dad—from the first time I rode I’ve always wanted to be around horses, to be able to walk outside my front door and see nothing but land and sky. But to please you, I did my best to convince myself that what I wanted didn’t matter. Or that it could at least wait. So tell me—in my place, would you have done the same thing?”
His father turned, the window’s aura behind him obliterating his expression. “And this woman…she’s really worth the risk?”
A sweet, soul-deep calm such as he’d never known settled over him. “Yes.”
John Michael faced the window again. “I need some time to process all this.”
“Take all the time you want,” Scott echoed, getting to his feet. “As long as you keep in mind that I’m not changing mine.”
Mike followed him through his father’s outer office and into the black granite-walled, tenth-floor lobby fronting the elevator bank. Scott punched the down button, then stepped back, his eyes cutting to his brother’s frowning profile. “Okay. Spit it out.”
A moment passed before, a tight smile curving Mike’s
mouth, he angled his head toward Scott. “I don’t think you have any idea how worthy an opponent you’ve been. How much knowing you were breathing down my neck kept my ass in check all these years. Hard as this is for me to admit, I wouldn’t be nearly the asset to FortuneSouth I am if it hadn’t been for you.”
His turn to be poleaxed, apparently. “Thank you—”
“I’m not done yet.” Sucking in a deep breath, Mike glanced toward the elevator door as it silently slid open. As the brothers entered the stainless steel-and-cherrywood-trimmed car, Mike punched the first-floor button and leaned back. “But I can honestly say I never really admired you.” One corner of his mouth tilted up, he looked at Scott again. “Until today. Nobody knows better than I do the guts it takes to stand up to Dad. So whatever you do, I’m behind you. A hundred percent. Because damn, bro…” Mike extended his hand. “You rock.”
A moment passed before, laughing, Scott gripped his brother’s hand. Now, he mused as he crossed through the glass atrium main lobby and through the middle of three massive revolving doors, the only obstacle left was winning over Christina.
Piece of cake, right?
With a loud, frustrated groan, Christina threw off her bedcovers and grabbed for the cast, strapping it on and clumping to the kitchenette to make herself some instant cocoa. From the end of the sofa, Gumbo heaved a great doggy sigh and slid to the floor, yawning as he plodded across the floor to sit catawhompus at her feet.
“I wasn’t supposed to miss him, dammit!”
Gumbo wagged his head in slow motion, his big old ears flapping, followed by the God, again? eyeroll.
So she might have expressed the sentiment a time or six over the past couple of days. But if the turkey’s plan had been to get her so used to having him around she’d feel downright lost when he wasn’t, it was working.
Dammit.
The cocoa made, she clomped back to the living room and eased herself onto the sofa, the wind’s melancholy moan outside doing nothing to boost her mood. Gumbo hopped up to lay his head on her lap, offering sympathy for about ten seconds before he passed out again.
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