A Lone Star Romance: Book 2 in The Only Love Series

by Violet Sparks

  A Lone Star Romance

  By Violet Sparks

  Copyright

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without prior written consent of the copyright holder. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Although some locations and businesses named may be real, any events involving them are fictional.

  Copyright © 2016 by Violet Sparks

  About the Author

  Violet Sparks pulls from her career in corporate America, her time at a major auction house, and her love of all things girly when penning her romance novels. She won writing contests as a teen and always dreamed of becoming an author. A fan of the arts, Violet created one-of-a-kind gift items, sold in shops throughout Southern California, before raising a family. She met and married the man of her dreams and they now have two young children. Violet has a zeal for vintage costume jewelry, literature, museums, and travel. She writes a blog about her other passions under a pen name.

  Please follow Violet on twitter at https://twitter.com/VioletSparks20 and on facebook at https://fb.me/violetsparksauthor or visit my website at https://www.violetsparksauthor.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 -Welcome to Texas-

  Chapter 2 -Mr. Liu?-

  Chapter 3 -Progress-

  Chapter 4 -A Long Day On the Ranch-

  Chapter 5 -How Bad Can A Storm Be?-

  Chapter 6 -A Night to Remember-

  Chapter 7 -The Morning and Days After-

  Chapter 8 -Two Rides in a Day-

  Chapter 9 -Los Angeles is My Home-

  Chapter 10 -An Unpleasant Encounter-

  Chapter 11 -The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You-

  Chapter 12 -The Really Big Texan-

  Chapter 13 -Lessons-

  Chapter 14 -A Meeting of the Minds-

  Chapter 15 -The Big Day-

  Chapter 1

  -Welcome to Texas-

  Amarillo by night didn't show well, at least not from the air. A gentle bump signaled that the plane had landed, and ten minutes later, Kiki stood near baggage claim, scanning the crowd for Mr. Liu. Mechanical issues in Phoenix delayed the small commercial jet three hours. She worried that the driver scheduled to pick her up from the airport may have given up and left. After all, this was Texas, and the first time visitor had no idea how they did things here.

  She had only secured her job at Tsang Fine Arts Consulting a month prior. Recommended for the position by her advisor at UCLA, she started one week after earning her master's degree. Leaving Dodd and Company, where she'd served as receptionist, office manager, and jack-of-all-trades, had been a smart move. Now, she had a plum post working in her field of interest. The consulting group employed only a handful of people, yet they were considered a major player in the field of Asian Fine Arts, advising enthusiasts regarding acquisitions, providing appraisals, locating pieces for those building collections, and giving expert counsel to museums and auction houses.

  When Tsang received the call that a Mr. Liu needed help with his newly acquired collection of Asian antiques, Ronald Jen assigned Kiki the position of assisting Alfred Shen with the task. Their client had inherited a large, possibly important collection from his great uncle. Knowing nothing about fine arts, he'd contacted the owner of their firm, asking for appraisals. Somehow, the major auction houses had not gotten wind of the valuable stockpile, and their loss had become Tsang's gain.

  Jen chose Al Shen to run the job with the new employee as his assistant. Mr. Shen would appraise the items while Kiki catalogued the pieces and learned the business. In Chinese, the name Shen meant to sink, and unfortunately, that's exactly what Alfred did the day before their scheduled trip.

  The owner of Tsang Consulting phoned his newest employee that morning from Hong Kong. He informed her that Al had broken both legs, badly, in a jet ski accident in Long Beach. He required surgery and could not accompany Kiki to Texas. Not wanting to risk losing the deal, her boss decided she'd have to travel solo and catalogue all the items by period, style, and form. A qualified appraiser would join her as soon as possible. Mr. Jen himself remained tied up overseas, pursuing a contract worth millions to the firm.

  So, here she was, stuck in a Texas airport, alone. The crowd began to thin, and still no sign of Mr. Liu. She found her eyes wandering to an old, dirty cowboy.

  That's something you don't see in LA.

  Arms entwined over his chest, hat pulled low across his eyes, the man reclined against a column, his long legs stretching in front, crossed. He'd been there since she first arrived and hadn't moved. Maybe he was one of those statues that looks real? Even propped against the post, he remained head and shoulders above the rest of the mob, easy to spot.

  As more travelers greeted their loved ones, pulled luggage from the carousel and left the airport, Kiki got a good look at the cowpoke. Worn, snub-nosed leather boots protruded from filthy Levis, which hugged his muscular legs. A red and black plaid flannel jacket covered most of his torso, but a snug waffle knit shirt, tucked into an old belt beneath the coat, revealed a hint of hard muscle. Maybe he wasn't as old as she first thought. She couldn't see his eyes due to that darned hat, but the stubble on his face only accentuated his large, square jaw. Some kind of hostility emanated from the man, which kept others arm's distance from him. Whoever he was, she didn't like the look of him.

  Glancing towards the carousel, she saw her baggage bouncing down the shoot. Kiki made her way to the conveyor belt and waited for her bags to circle around again. She didn't relish struggling with the heavy designer cases by herself. As the last of the throng left the area, she took note of their clothes. She wondered if her chic LA business attire might not be appropriate for Amarillo.

  Bending to grab the smaller piece of luggage, she became aware that her tight pencil skirt crept up her thighs. Kiki set her carry-on, containing her laptop and other essentials, down on the terrazzo floor and tugged at her hem. She snagged the square case and waited for the behemoth one to arrive.

  She braced herself for the huge heave that would be required to lift the bag from the moving channel and extended her arm, shaking her hand to loosen her wrist. She reached for the suitcase, anticipating its imminent arrival.

  Just as she grabbed the handle, a large, rough hand came down on hers, trapping her fingers between its palm and the leather grip. Ouch! The man slung the valise from the belt to the floor, and Kiki caught sight of a muscular arm clad in plaid flannel. As he dropped the bag in front of her, his hard chest grazed her back while his upper arm touched her shoulder. The expensive suitcase landed with a thud.

  She turned to thank the man, cringing inside. The vibes he sent out frightened her.

  "Thank you," she said in a polite tone.

  A grimace met her forced smile. The cowboy towered over Kiki, his eyes still shaded by a dark brown felt brim.

  "You K. K. Tam?" he snarled.

  "Yes," she replied, taking a step back. Her suitcase stopped her retreat.

  "I'm your driver."

  "What?" she said with what sounded like a gasp.

  The man drew himself up even taller and frowned. He must have taken offense to her reaction. Kiki glanced around the airport. Only she and the cowboy remained.

  "Mr. Liu sent you to pick me up?" she asked, her voice tentative, trying to smooth things over.

  "It's late. You want a ride or not?" he said with what she assumed was a Texas accent and a gr
uff tone.

  Various thoughts flooded her brain. Who is this guy? Should I get in a car with him? He did know my name—well, sort of.

  "Yes," she said, trying to sound brave but feeling uneasy.

  Without another word, he grabbed her luggage, slung her carry-on over his shoulder, and headed for the automatic sliding exit. She watched him go, mesmerized by his long gait. At the doors, he turned and scowled—her signal to follow.

  She rushed after the man, stopping when a cold blast of air hit her at the glass opening.

  The cowboy glowered at her again.

  "You got a coat in there?" he growled, jerking a thumb towards her large suitcase.

  She shook her head.

  The man lifted his brim with a forefinger, revealing a disapproving look and large, piercing, deep blue eyes. He shook his head in disgust.

  "Stay here," he commanded, dropping her bags.

  She watched as he dashed into the parking lot, disappearing behind rows of pick-up trucks in the darkness.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Minutes later, her feet tired from standing in her three-inch pumps, Kiki sat on her designer suitcase, crossing her legs. She braced her elbow on one knee and dropped her chin into a cupped palm. Exhausted, she craved a hot shower and a warm bed.

  What's that white stuff swirling in the air?

  She observed small, lightweight specks twirling around in the beams cast from light poles in the parking lot. It looked like the ashes that rained down from the fires which often ravaged areas around Los Angeles.

  A large, mud-splattered truck squealed to a stop in front of the sliding doors, and she watched as the cowboy leapt from the pickup and dashed inside the airport. He grabbed for her bag, and she shot to her feet just as the case was almost yanked from beneath her. With two long steps, he reached his vehicle, tossing the luggage into the vehicle's bed. She pushed down a scream as her designer gear disappeared behind a fence-like structure, which was welded to the truck's sides. He returned for Kiki, his long strides reaching her in a split second.

  "You'll need this," he said, removing his flannel jacket.

  As he pulled the coat from his torso, muscles visible beneath his tight shirt rippled across his chest and abdomen. Biceps bunched in his upper arms as he tugged at a sleeve. Kiki watched in awe and couldn't help but gawk. This was no old man. When he draped the wool garment over her shoulders and pulled the collar tight about her neck, she saw veins popping along his massive forearms. Everything about him shouted masculine, something not common in LA. She didn't even mind his scent, something like hay, spices, and animal hide. Adjusting the coat, his fingers brushed Kiki's neck, searing her skin and causing a tingle to run up and down her body.

  He turned and headed outside while the Asian art expert stood riveted to the spot, shaking her head. Even James hadn't affected her like this.

  Get ahold of yourself!

  "What's wrong now?" he shouted, his tone gruff. "Come on!" he yelled.

  The girl hurried outside, stopping to peer into the truck bed. Kiki grabbed the metal railing that protruded above the auto's sides and stood on her tip toes, trying to catch sight of her bags. The truck was grubby and filled with small ranching implements, and she could imagine the intertwined L and V motifs on her luggage smudged beyond recognition or the leather surface slashed. She reached higher for the top rung and pulled herself off the ground. Legs dangling, she spotted her cases amid hay and dirty ropes. She felt large hands on her waist, almost encircling her, as the cowboy pulled her away from the truck, setting her down on the curb. His touch left her breathless.

  "Can you please place my bags in the cab?" she asked, steam puffing from her mouth in the cold night air.

  The man shot her a look of astonishment, which quickly faded to one of supreme aggravation. She didn't care. This guy might be gorgeous, but he had a lousy attitude. Besides, he was paid to deliver her to a hotel, bags intact. That luggage was a recent gift from her parents, and she didn't want it ruined the first time she used it. Kiki stood her ground.

  The cowboy jerked the passenger door open and said, "Get in," before walking to the back of the truck and lowering the tailgate.

  She watched through the rear view mirror as the man hauled her bags out, yanking them from the bed with a ferocity she'd not seen before. Luckily, the truck had a full backseat, large enough to hold her luggage. She felt another blast of cold air as the man opened the rear door and heaved her large suitcase inside. Kiki glanced over her shoulder to make sure her beloved case remained undamaged.

  "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, looking around the back of the pick-up.

  She twisted, pulling her knees under herself, and poked her head over the seat into the rear of the vehicle. Her small square case came flying into the truck, barely missing her face. The back seat was as dirty as the truck bed.

  "Look, Lady, I don't know what you've got in them cases, but it feels like lead! We're running outta options here," he barked, his hot breath tingling against her neck.

  The man leaned over her bags, his face inches from hers. His scent flooded the cab, along with crisp outside air. Overwhelmed by his presence, Kiki slid back into her seat.

  "I've got an idea," she whispered.

  * * * * *

  "Ow!" she shrieked.

  "You asked for it, Lady," the cowboy drawled from the front seat.

  Bouncing along the potholed freeway, greasy metal tools poked, rammed and hammered against the art expert's hip, foot, and elbow. The road needed work, and so did the vehicle! Kiki took comfort in the fact that her designer luggage, worth thousands, remained safely belted in the front passenger seat, her smaller square bag secure on her lap. She didn't care about the carry-on lodged at the foot of the seat in front of her. After all, it was made of cheap nylon and only carried a laptop. She was sure the cowboy hit each dip, crack, and hole in the street on purpose. Every so often, he flashed a grin in the rear view mirror, intended to show his amusement at her discomfort.

  "Where are you taking me?" she demanded as buildings along the side of the road became scarce.

  He'd turned off the freeway minutes before. She'd breathed a sigh of relief then, figuring she'd soon arrive at the hotel. Mr. Liu made the arrangements for the team's lodgings, according to the broken English of Ronald Jen. Now, she felt worried.

  The cowboy lifted his square jaw to give her a good look in the mirror. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, his lips drawing into a tight, thin line before replying.

  "To the Bar H, where else?" he said, his tone revealing what a pain in the butt he considered her.

  "Now you turn this car, er . . . truck around right now, Mister. I'm staying at a hotel in Amarillo, not some farm in the middle of nowhere!"

  She'd had enough of this escapade and forgot all about making a good impression on Mr. Liu and her new boss, Mr. Jen. It was after ten p.m., and she'd been up since five when she got the call from Hong Kong. She wasn't about to let this redneck drive her into the wilds of Texas.

  "Sorry, but that's a no go. Big convention of cattlemen in town. Not a room to be had. Besides, it's an hour and a half of two-lane country roads between Amarillo and the Bar H. With a storm coming, you'd be stuck in town for at least a week."

  She wanted to protest but bit her lip instead. She shot a quick prayer for her safety to the Man Upstairs and decided she had no option but to trust this rude character. He hit a bump for good measure, jolting her from her thoughts.

  The firm had better appreciate this!

  After a miserable two-hour trek, the truck turned onto a dirt road. Headlights shone on an imposing wooden entrance. Posts of stones, on each side of the entry, held large lanterns. Above, an arch featured a wrought iron H over a bar, the emblem encased by a circle. After a short pause, the gates swung open and the pickup continued onward. A few minutes later, they descended a steep hill. Lights appeared, and before long, the vehicle pulled into a large flagstone courtyard and came to a stop in front of
a nondescript building.

  Before Kiki knew what happened, the cowboy removed the case from her lap, unbuckled her seat belt, and lifted her from the large truck. She'd had trouble climbing into the monstrosity, as it didn't have a proper step like some pickups. The man set her down on the building's stoop and opened the door for her, nodding for her to enter.

  Her sleepy eyes grew large and round as she took in her lodgings. She started down a brightly lit long hall, leading to a great room beyond. The modern decor shocked. No frontier cabin, the stark entrance led to a large living area with walls of floor to ceiling windows. A big, sleek modern kitchen greeted her to the left.

  She heard a muffled thud and assumed the cowboy had dropped her cases in another room. Walking in the direction of the sound, she retraced her steps and veered through a doorway off a short hall to her right. She found herself in a large bedroom. The man leaned over the bed, fluffing a crisp white pillow. The dirt under his fingernails stood in sharp contrast to the spiffy linens.

  "This to your standards?" he asked, his voice filled with sarcasm.

  "It's lovely," she replied, her voice cracking. It unnerved her, having a stranger in her soon-to-be boudoir.

  She wanted to add, Now get out, but she bit her lip instead as the cowboy strolled towards her. He took his time, nothing like the way he'd moved at the airport. She swallowed hard, trying to calm her quickening pulse. The man drew up right next to her and locked his eyes on hers. He held her gaze for what seemed like minutes, scrutinizing her with his deep, piercing eyes, then reached for her.

  Kiki took a step back, releasing a small gasp. She'd been unaware that she held her breath.

  His long arm easily covered the distance between them as his hand grasped the collar of the wool coat. Again, his calloused fingers brushed against Kiki's neck, and she swallowed hard.

  "You won't be needing this anymore tonight," he said in a low tone, gently tugging the garment.