by Anna Jeffrey
THE TYCOON
By
Anna Jeffrey
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © Jeffery McClanahan, 2012. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Acknowledgements
I would never have finished this book had it not been for my friend and critique partner, Laura Renken, who writes historical romances as Melody Thomas. Thank you for your support and patience, Laura.
Chapter 1
Bill Cody Arena, Amarillo, Texas
2005
Drake Lockhart was freezing his ass off. February was not the ideal month to visit Amarillo, Texas, or to sit in a cold arena watching one cutting horse performance after another. But because his younger half brother and My Peppy Girl, the cutting horse had had trained would be competing in the world finals later in the year, Drake had taken time out of a busy schedule to see Troy and his mare show their stuff. And besides that, his little brother looked up to him and had asked him to come. No way would he disappoint him by not being here.
Still, he was in no mood for frivolous undertakings today, even something he enjoyed as much as cutting horse shows. He had come to Amarillo to parley on leases for hundreds of electricity-producing wind turbines to be constructed on one of his family’s cotton farms between Amarillo and Lubbock. The long-term leases would add much needed cash now and for years to come to the coffers of the Double Bar L Cattle Company—better known in North Texas as the Double-Barrel Ranch. Negotiations had gone well and Drake expected firm commitments from a large electrical power supplier.
The second reason for his visit to Amarillo hadn’t gone so well. He had met with an engineering company, exploring investing his family’s money in a new-age green energy project—the manufacture and construction of wind turbines. Getting a deal together could be worth millions to the Lockhart family and jobs for the local area. Unexpectedly, an issue that defied common sense had confronted him. But he hadn’t given up. With the scent of money in his nostrils, he wouldn’t let one small setback that could be resolved kill a deal. He was nothing if not determined.
While he waited for an announcement of Troy and his horse’s names, Drake sat with one boot resting on the back of the seat in front of him, absorbing familiar pungent animal smells ever present in horse competitions. A pouty-mouthed blonde a few seats away caught his attention again with another come-hither smile. She had been sending signals ever since they had first made eye contact. She was something to look at. Tall as a tree. Hair the color of honey that fell like a waterfall all the way to her ass. Jeans that fit like a coat of paint stuffed into the knee-high shafts of a pair of fancy boots. Underneath a woolly vest, she wore a chest-hugging bright pink sweater. Any fool could see her game was men, not horses.
Just then, Troy’s name on the loud speaker caught Drake’s ear and he turned his attention back to the activity in the arena. Troy and his horse—a shiny bay, small for a quarter horse—calmly approached a herd of calves bunched in the arena’s business end. Drake recognized when the calf was selected. He leaned forward, watching intently as My Peppy Girl separated it from the herd, then wheeled right and left on powerful haunches, preventing its return.
Troy sat deep in the saddle, looking as relaxed as if he were in a rocking chair. He and the horse performed as if they were one unit. Troy should be a good rider. He had been horseback since he was eight years old and he had an instinct about horses. The nearly flawless performance ended with a high score and Troy and My Peppy Girl still in the finals. Drake’s mood improved. A fine cutting horse in top form and a superior rider were a joy to behold and Troy had done a hell of a good job training his horse.
Drake found him with the mare at the stalls behind the arena. He raised a palm for a high-five. “Good job, Brother.”
“Hey, Drake.” Troy slapped his hand enthusiastically. “Girl’s in top shape. You saw us? I figured you wouldn’t come.”
Drake stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and scrunched his shoulders against the cold. “I wouldn’t miss my little brother’s performance as a champion. Girl looks great, kid.”
“We’re going again tomorrow in the finals,” he said, giving a thumbs up. “Listen Drake, I got an offer on Girl. Can we—”
Before he finished his question, a hot little brunette in tight jeans, pink boots and a thick coat appeared. “Oh, Troy,” she gushed. She grasped his forearm with both hands and made a little bounce on the balls of her feet. “That was so amazing!” She looked up at him with huge and adoring brown eyes. “You’re so wonderful.”
She cupped his neck with be-ringed fingers, pulled his head down for a sloppy kiss and Troy openly melted. Drake grinned. Even at twenty-one, his little brother had a reputation with women that equaled his standing as a horse trainer. And he also had a room at the Holiday Inn just minutes away. No doubt the kid was in for a rollicking good time tonight. And why not? He was smart, good-looking, able-bodied and hard-working. He had earned a good time.
“I’ll catch you later, Troy,” Drake told him. “I’m going home early tomorrow, so I’ll miss your ride in the finals. But I’ll be pulling for you. When you get back to Drinkwell, we’ll get together and talk about your horse.” He liked that Troy valued his opinion.
“Right,” Troy replied, now more interested in the girl hanging all over him than the potential sale of his mare.
Drake, too, had a room at the Holiday Inn and no one to share it with. Having no steady female companion at the moment, he hadn’t indulged his primal urges in weeks. He bee lined for the willowy blonde.
Minutes later, he knew the blonde was no cowgirl. Nor was she a horse owner or trainer. She barely knew one end of the animal from the other. Her name was Gretchen Something from somewhere in Sweden. While her politician father schmoozed in Washington, she had come to Texas to visit a friend, who had brought her to the cutting horse show to meet big, rich cowboys.
Drake met those criteria on both fronts.
A short time later, he had a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in a brown paper sack and he and Gretchen were on the way to his room. Apparently, she liked cutting to the chase. So did he. Subtlety and all of that let’s-get-acquainted bullshit were a waste of time. And if there was anything Drake had not nearly enough of, it was time.
He had no sooner shut the hotel room door, locked it and bolted it before she had backed him against the door, unzipped his jeans and slid her long fingers into his shorts. “Oohh, you are very big,” she said, breathless and smiling as she stroked the tip of him with her fingertips.
His hard-on turned to blue steel. He gave a low groan.
“And you are very hot,
” she said breathily.
“You’re not kidding,” he said huskily, pushing away from the door and yanking off his coat.
A few minutes later, he had rid her of her boots, jeans, that woolly vest and tight sweater, which left her wearing only a pink lacy bra and a tiny pink thong.
As he unbuttoned his cuffs, she quickly disposed of the wisps of underwear. Without inhibition, she struck a pose and let him drink in her nearly perfect body. He almost drooled. She was tanned to golden all over and waxed in strategic places. Why women did that to themselves he didn’t know. It had to hurt. “Awesome,” he muttered.
He hadn’t finished unbuttoning his shirt before she was on him like a hungry tigress,
pushing her tongue into his mouth, sliding her hands inside his shorts. As he sucked her tongue, he urged her backward toward the king-size bed. Together they fell onto the mattress, landing with a bounce. She kissed like a vacuum cleaner and evidently didn’t intend to stop with his mouth. She rose to her knees and straddled him, then licked and nipped her way south.
Just then, his cell phone warbled from the bedside table. He turned his head and stared at it, as if a stern look could cause him to divine the caller’s name. He had too much going on back in Fort Worth to ignore it. “Shit. I’ve got to get that.”
He leaned to his side, propped himself on his elbow and reached for the phone. Caller ID said Kate. His baby sister.
Gretchen Something crawled off him, stretched out behind him and pressed her hot tits against his back. She reached around him and played with the hair on his belly.
He pulled himself together and tried to sound as if he hadn’t been running a marathon. “Hey, baby,” he said into the receiver.
Breath-hitching sobs came at him from the other end of the line. His gut kinked. He pushed Gretchen’s hand away, swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “Kate. Baby, what wrong?”
She launched into an explanation, but her speech was no more coherent than the Swedish that came out of Gretchen’s mouth.
He leaned forward and braced his elbow on his thigh. “Calm down, sweetheart. And tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Mama and Daddy, Drake. They had this big fight and Mama’s moving out.”
Drake frowned. “She’s what?”
“She’s moving away from the ranch.”
Jesus Christ. His parents, the king and queen of melodrama. They were no strangers to loud, cussing brawls. “Why now? It’s not like she hasn’t been pissed off at him before.”
“But it’s different this time. She went to town to get her hair done and she heard the women in the beauty shop talking about Daddy sleeping with Marilyn Bilberry. You know how much Mama hates her.” Kate began to cry and her voice began to hitch again. “Mama says that’s the...the last straw. She’s through...with him.”
“Calm down, sweetheart,” Drake said again, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “I can’t understand what you’re saying when you’re so upset.”
Kate gained control of her voice. “She told Daddy she hopes he doesn’t forget that she raised his bastard son, because it’s the last thing she’ll ever do for him. Oh, Drake, I’m just glad Troy wasn’t here to hear her say such a mean thing about him.”
Drake never thought of their half brother as a bastard. “She’s just pissed off again, right? She doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes, she does, Drake. She’s bought this big house in Oakwood in Fort Worth. Nobody even knew she’d done it. She’s been sleep—sleep...dating some real estate agent up there.”
At that, Drake’s eyes popped wide. He couldn’t imagine his mother sleeping with anybody, not even his dad, though they had three kids. “Where’s Dad now?”
“At his desk in the den. He’s got a bottle of Wild Turkey and his forty-five. A moving van came and picked up most of our furniture and he shot the tires out from under it. Then he threatened to shoot the driver and Mama both.” She broke into sobs again. “Now—now he says he’s go—going to shoot himself.”
Drake had been refereeing his parents’ upheavals since he was a teenager, had largely become immune to them. This one didn’t sound much different from some of the others. He got to his feet. Cradling the phone against his ear with his shoulder, he pulled on his shirt. “He didn’t
hurt anyone, did he?”
“No. But he scared that poor van driver and his helper to death. And now his truck’s stuck in the driveway. Mom took the van people to town to get the sheriff. The driver wants Daddy arrested, Drake. He says his company will bring charges against him.”
Drake wasn’t worried about Bill Lockhart Junior being arrested in Treadway County, nor about charges being brought against him. The sheriff knew who had handed him his election to office. While the arrest of their father might be unlikely, the thought of the possibility still brought a new knot to Drake’s gut. “Are you there all by yourself? I assume Pic’s taken a powder.”
Since Drake had moved to Fort Worth, conflict resolution had been left to his younger brother, Pic, who still lived in the ranch house. More often than not, Pic handled the various eruptions by getting into his truck, driving to town and staying at his girlfriend’s house until the tempest passed.
“He’s here.” Kate sobbed again. “He’s scared Daddy really might do something crazy….And Jordan’s here.”
At that news, Drake’s jaw clenched. “Kate, stop crying. What’s Jordan Palmer doing there?”
“I ca—called him...and he came down…from Fort Worth.”
Jordan Palmer would slit his own mother’s throat for a dollar. Drake had to get to Drinkwell. He yanked up his pants, stuffing in his shirttail. “He has no business being there. This is a family matter.”
“He’s my fiancé, Drake. He practically is family.”
Drake rolled his eyes. Shit. He had never figured out his little sister’s attraction to a flakey guy ten years older than she was. Kate had met him hanging out with the cutting horse crowd. Drake was surprised Pic hadn’t already run his ass off. “Okay, okay, but—”
“You can come home, can’t you? Mama always listens to you. And the sheriff will listen to you, too.”
Probably true. Drake knew he was his mother’s favorite son as well as the reluctant family arbiter. And he’d had conversations with the sheriff before. “I’m on my way, Kate. The weather’s a mess, but I think we can still fly out of here. I’ll find my pilot. I’ll call you back if he says we can’t.”
He disconnected, dropped the phone on the bed, He hadn’t yet removed his jeans, so he straightened them and hooked his belt. His companion, posed on the bed with one knee cocked and bent, watched him. She looked up at him, no longer smiling. “You are leaving?”
“I’ve got to go.”
She let her cocked knee fall wide, exposing her sex, pink and glistening with moisture.
He paused to look, tension straining low in his belly. “I’ve really got to go, darlin’.”
“You do not know what you miss.” She slid her middle finger in and out of her mouth, then moved it down and began to stroke herself, her eyes all the while giving him a lazy-lidded invitation.
He shook his head and turned away, trying to clear his mind. He picked up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket. “Stay here if you want. The room’s paid for. Checkout time’s around noon tomorrow.” The unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat on the bedside table, still in its brown sack. “And keep the whiskey,” he added.
She flounced off the bed and started for the bathroom. “Asshole,” she spat. “I do not like American whiskey.” Crash! She slammed the bathroom door.
While disturbed by her being so angry, Drake didn’t have time to deal with it today. He puffed his cheeks and blew out a long breath. Then he picked up his phone, reattached it to
his belt, picked his coat off the floor and shrugged into it. He snagged the duffel he had already packed in anticipation of tomorrow’s early morning departure and hooked it over his shoulder.
>
He made one quick perusal of the room and let himself out, locking the door behind him. As much as he hated to leave the hot and gorgeous Gretchen, at the moment, nothing else was as important as quashing the latest crisis at the Double-Barrel Ranch in Drinkwell, Texas. No way would he let his little sister battle it alone.
Chapter 2
Camden, Texas
Seven Years Later...
On a forty-four degree Monday morning after the long Thanksgiving weekend, bundled up to their earlobes, Realtors Shannon Piper and Kelly Thompson stood outside Kelly’s SUV staring at the object of Shannon’s greatest desire—a weedy 500 x 450-foot corner tract of land at the edge of the city limits of Camden, Texas. A huge FOR SALE sign towered in the middle of it, touting in bright red letters the name of a Dallas real estate company and a phone number.
“My God. It’s finally for sale.” Kelly’s breath made little vapor puffs in the air.
Shannon’s excitement had vaulted the minute she had seen the sign. She scarcely noticed the cold north wind that ruffled tendrils of her hair and made her eyes tear. She had waited so long for this 5.17-acre tract, this postage-stamp-size corner, this diamond in a golden crown, to come on the market. Because adjoining it on two sides were three other parcels directly in the path of Camden’s growth pattern—roughly thirty acres—that Shannon already owned outright or was buying.
Kelly, as well as all three of Shannon’s other teammates, and even the receptionist at Piper Real Estate Company, knew how desperately Shannon needed to own this five acres. It would square up a thirty-five-acre parcel and amp up the value of the total package.
A crumbling vacant house almost hidden by huge old live oak trees hunkered in the far corner of the largest piece. This parcel had been a small farm many years back. It had been the most expensive of the three properties Shannon had already bought. She’d had to use most of her business emergency fund as a down payment. At one point, she considered fixing up the house to rent and offset the monthly payments. She gave up the idea after calculating that the costs to make it livable rendered the rental option unfeasible. Thus, she had been making the payments out of her skimpy income.