An Indecent Proposal

by Sandra Marton

  In Sha’allah, he thought, with a bitter smile. In Sha’allah.

  * * *

  Thousands of miles away, Angelica Gordon stared out her window at the blackness of the Texas night.

  Were these the same stars that hung in the sky back home in New England? Angelica smiled. She knew that they were. The stars just looked brighter here.

  Her father would have said it was because everything in Texas was bigger and better than it was anywhere else.

  Even debts, she thought, her smile fading. The ones at Gordon Oil were mounting so fast they made her head spin. She’d taken over the company flushed with determination, certain she could pull it back from the brink of disaster—but she only seemed to have pushed it closer.

  Sooner or later, somebody at Landon Enterprises would notice what was happening to one of its newest acquisitions, and then…

  Angelica stepped away from the window. She sighed, sank into an old-fashioned rocker and leaned back. Her hair, loose for the night, fell over her shoulders in a fiery tumble of soft, coppery curls.

  If only the men who worked for her, who worked with her in this super macho business, would give her a chance. If only they’d stop treating her as if she were an intruder in their private club—but that was about as likely as the moon suddenly dropping from the sky.

  This was a world where men flexed their muscles instead of their brains, where they spoke an unintelligible jargon in an incomprehensible drawl and where dressing for dinner meant wearing white Stetson hats and black boots. It was a world where men thought women belonged in the kitchen and in the bedroom. But in the boardroom? Never.

  Even her father had thought that way. Oh, Hank Gordon had let her work in his office each summer while she was in college, but whenever she’d suggested he take her on as a full-time employee after graduation, he’d chuckled and patted her on the head as if she’d made some marvelous joke. Eventually she’d had to accept the truth, that he’d never give her a real job at Gordon Oil no matter how many business courses she took or what amount of competency she showed, and she’d gone on to an academic career.

  Yet now, thanks to a twist of fate, here she was, running Gordon Oil.

  Running it straight into the ground.

  Angelica rose from the chair, drew the emerald green robe that was the same color as her eyes more tightly around her slender body and looked out the window again. The stars still blazed in the night sky, as bright and unreachable as they’d ever been.

  No, she told herself, no, she was not destroying Gordon Oil! The company’s problems had started long before she’d taken over. And she could turn things around. She had everything going for her—determination, and knowledge, and all the plans she’d drawn up over the years—plans her father had never wanted to look at.

  All she needed now was for fate—that same fate that had put her into this situation in the first place—to be kind.

  Angelica gave a deep sigh.

  But who could ever know what fate would bring?

  CHAPTER ONE

  EARLY morning sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the Landon mansion, lighting the dark corners and spilling golden brilliance on the kilim carpets that covered the oiled parquet floors.

  Cade smothered a yawn as he entered the dining room. It was empty, and he smiled to himself as he made straight for the silver coffee service set out on the sideboard.

  Some things never changed. There was always fresh coffee on the sideboard—and Landon House was still the biggest, most impressive dwelling on the grassy slopes overlooking Emerald Lake.

  “’Mornin’, Mr. Cade.”

  He turned as Stella, who’d been in charge of the kitchen for more years than he could remember, came edging through the service door, pushing a well-laden trolley. Cade moved to help her, but she waved him off.

  “You just relax and enjoy your coffee, Mr. Cade.” With deft, swift movements, she laid out platters of fruit, cheese, croissants, eggs, waffles, bacon and ham on the sideboard. “How’s that?” she said, surveying the mountains of food with obvious satisfaction.

  Cade grinned. “What?” he said. “No steak?”

  “Did you want steak?”

  “God, no,” Cade said quickly. “This is fine, Stella. Terrific, in fact.”

  Stella looked doubtful. “You sure?”

  “Who’d want anything more than to start the day with your wonderful coffee?” Cade said, lifting his cup in salute.

  Stella blushed prettily. “Your teasin’ ways are gonna get you in trouble one of these days, Mr. Cade,” she said as she sailed through the door to the kitchen.

  Cade hooked a chair out from the table with one booted foot and sank into it, his coffee cup balanced in his strong, tanned hands. Stella always produced a gargantuan breakfast as decreed years before by Charles Landon, even though no one ever put more than a dent into the mountains of food.

  Cade sighed. Landon House was still less a home than one man’s statement of control—control Charles Landon’s sons had all fought against, one way or another.

  But others had bowed to his power, right to the end.

  Three days ago, at the funeral, the house had been filled with those come to pay final homage. Bankers, judges, captains of finance and industry as well as half a dozen congressmen and senators—they’d all shown up.

  “Damn,” Zach had mumbled as he’d sidled past Cade late in the afternoon, “it’s like a three-ring circus.”

  Their father would have loved every minute of it, right down to the mile-long stream of Cadillacs, Lincolns and Mercedeses that had followed the hearse to the marble mausoleum where Ellen Landon, who’d died giving birth to Kyra, lay entombed.

  But he would never have understood what had happened yesterday, after the formal reading of his will.

  The mansion and all its vast acreage had been left to Kyra, along with the bulk of Charles’s personal fortune.

  Landon Enterprises—the far-flung, multimillion-dollar empire on which Charles had lavished all his attention and energy—had gone to his three sons.

  But none of them wanted it.

  Cade had been the first to say it, as soon as he and his brothers were alone.

  “You can have my share,” he’d said bluntly. “I don’t want anything to do with the old man’s business.”

  Grant had risen to pour them all a drink. “Always have to be first, don’t you, little brother? You took the words right out of my mouth. I don’t want my piece, either.”

  Zach had accepted the cut-glass tumbler of bourbon whiskey Grant held out to him.

  “Well,” he’d said, “that means the vote’s unanimous.”

  Within minutes, they’d agreed that Zach, whose specialty was finance, would figure out Landon Enterprises’s net worth. Grant, whose field was the law, would draw up the necessary legal papers for its sale.

  Cade’s mouth had twitched when his brothers looked at him.

  “I’ll find us an oil well to invest the profits in,” he’d said, and all three of them had laughed, which had helped ease away the last remaining tension that came of finally acknowledging the painful truth.

  They had all, at different times, respected, feared, even hated their father. But none of them had loved him.

  After the laughter had faded, Cade had assured his brothers he’d been in a dozen different hellholes where they could use the profits of the sale to build muchneeded schools and medical centers.

  And so it was over, Cade thought now as he rose and walked to the sideboard, all but the details. Victor Bayliss, their father’s administrative assistant, had asked for a breakfast meeting to tie up loose ends.

  Thanks to Cade, Grant had got stuck with the job.

  “You’re the logical one to meet with Bayliss,” he’d said with an innocent smile. “Everybody knows it takes a lawyer to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Thrown to the wolves by my own flesh and blood,” Grant had said, but he’d softened the words with a grin.

  C
ade glanced at the grandfather clock, ticking in the corner. Grant would be back soon, and then they’d all be off, scattering to the four winds—Grant to New York, Zach to Boston, Cade to London.

  There was a kind of comfort in knowing that Kyra would be here, where she’d always been, the keeper of the hearth they could all count on to maintain them as afamily.

  “Why so misty-eyed, baby brother? I thought you liked Stella’s coffee.”

  Cade looked up. Kyra was smiling as she came toward him. She was dressed as he was, in faded jeans and a wool shirt, her leather boots as softly worn and comfortable-looking as his.

  “It’s chilly this morning,” he said, smiling back at her. “Be sure and put on something warmer before you go down to the stables.”

  His sister sighed. “Words of wisdom from my baby brother,” she said. “As always.”

  Cade smiled and lifted his cheek for her kiss as she made her way past his chair.

  “Watch that baby-brother stuff, Squirt. I’ve got six years on you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  She stood back, put her hands on her hips and looked him over.

  “You look like one of the ranch hands,” she said.

  Cade laughed. “Look who’s talking.”

  His sister grinned. “Yeah. But this is a ranch, and I live here. What’s your excuse?”

  Cade shrugged. “I always dress this way. Hell, these are my working clothes. People get nervous if the guy in charge of bringing in a well sashays around in a suit and tie.”

  “You’re flying to London, dressed like that?”

  “Come on, Sis. What is this?”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been looking at my three big brothers all week and thinking it’s time you guys settled down.”

  Cade looked at her blankly, and then he grinned. “Don’t tell me you want to marry us off!”

  “Having a woman to look after you might be just what you need,” Kyra said mildly.

  Cade thought of the birthday gift he hadn’t had time to unwrap, still awaiting his pleasure in Dumai, and he chuckled.

  “Trust me, Squirt,” he said. “I’ve got all the women I need.”

  “Yeah,” his sister said with a little smile as she turned to the sideboard, “I’ll just bet you do.” She looked at the heaping platters of food, gave a delicate shudder and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I guess somebody’d better tell Stella that she doesn’t have to turn out this kind of feed anymore.”

  “That’s your job,” Cade said. “You’re in charge of Landon House from now on, remember?”

  A funny look crept over Kyra’s face. “I know,” she said slowly. “I still can’t believe Dad left the place to me.

  “Who else would he have left it to?” Zach said, as he came into the room. “You’re the only one of us who gives a damn for this pile of brick.” He nodded to Cade, dropped a kiss on the top of Kyra’s head, then shot back the cuff of his Harris tweed sports jacket and frowned at his Rolex. “I’ve got an eleven o’clock flight to Boston. Isn’t Grant back from that meeting yet?”

  Cade put down his empty cup, rose from his chair and leaned back against the sideboard, his feet crossed at the ankles, hands tucked into the back pockets of his Levi’s.

  “You’re out of uniform, aren’t you? I heard you banker types signed a pledge that said you had to go around in pinstripes.”

  Zach’s frown became a grin that softened the ruggedly handsome lines of his face.

  “Laugh all you like, pal. Just remember that in a couple of days you’ll be cozying up to an English version of me, trying your best to sweet-talk him into investing in your latest search for pie in the sky in—where’d you say you were going this time?”

  “The North Sea,” Cade said, flashing an answering grin. “And it’s not pie in the sky, buddy. It’s at least as sure a bet as those investments you tout.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And I suspect that if your fancy clients had any idea I could still pin you arm wrestling without breaking a sweat—”

  “Still? What do you mean, still? You never beat me, not once.”

  “Prove it.”

  “With pleasure. Just let me take off this jacket and—”

  “Dammit, what’s going on here? Are we kids or what?”

  Cade, Zach and Kyra spun around as Grant entered the dining room. He glared at each of them, dropped a manila folder on the table and stalked to the sideboard.

  “Grant?” Kyra said. “Are you OK?”

  Grant nodded as he poured himself coffee. “Fine.”

  Not true, thought Cade. Grant’s chiseled features, always stern, today seemed to have been carved in granite.

  He waited until Grant had taken his first sip of coffee, and then he cleared his throat.

  “So,” he said, “what did Bayliss want to talk about?”

  “Trouble.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of trouble?”

  Grant took the folder from the table. “This kind,” he said. He drew out two stacks of papers and handed one to each of his brothers. Kyra waited a moment, and then she turned and walked to the window.

  For a while, the only sound in the room was that of rustling paper.

  Finally, Cade looked up, his brow furrowed.

  “What is this crap?” he said.

  “It’s just what it looks like. Father bought a small oil company in Dallas—”

  “You mean, he bought a disaster.” Cade tapped his fingers against the papers he held in his hand. “And then he let it go from bad to worse. It’s almost bankrupt.”

  Zach shook his head. “What are you talking about? This report’s got nothing to do with oil. It’s about a Hollywood production outfit named Triad, on the verge of going belly up.”

  “You’ve each got different reports, drawn up by Bayliss, but the bottom line’s the same. It seems Father bought both these companies just before he took ill, and they got lost in the shuffle.”

  Cade shook his head. “When Gordon Oil goes under, it’s going to take a lot of Landon dough with it.”

  “The same for Triad,” Zach said with a scowl. “Landon Enterprises will be lucky if it takes out a dime on a dollar.”

  Grant’s expression was grim. “It seems that Landon went into the two firms to bail them out. Instead, we seem to have helped them get into worse condition.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” Cade said.

  “Maybe you’ve forgotten that, as of yesterday, we are Landon Enterprises. And we will be, until we find a buyer.”

  Cade sighed. “Yeah—and if these babies go under, we’ll have a hole in the balance sheet that’ll drop the value of the company into the sewer.” He looked at Grant. “OK. Tell Bayliss to-”

  “Bayliss retired, as of this morning.” Grant smiled slightly at the looks on his brothers’ faces. “He said he was too old to face another Colorado winter. Seems he bought himself a house in the Virgin Islands somewhere, and he’s going to spend the rest of his days on the beach, sipping piña coladas.”

  “Well, I’ll phone Goodwin, then. Bayliss’s second in command. He can—”

  “Goodwin’s got a dozen things on his plate already.”

  Cade tossed the Gordon Oil report onto the table. “Terrific. Now what do we do?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The men swung around. Kyra was glaring at them, her hands planted firmly on her hips as if she couldn’t believe what she’d been hearing. “What’s the matter with you guys? Are you stupid, or what?”

  “Squirt,” Cade said gently, “I know you mean well, but hell, you don’t know anything about business, and-”

  “A ten-year-old could figure this out!” She looked at Zach. “You’re the financial whiz in this family. Surely you could fly out to the coast, take a look at Triad Productions’ books and decide what can be done to help it.”

  “Me? Don’t be silly. I’ve got people waiting for me in Boston. I can’t just—”

  “And you,” she said to Cade. “Y
ou’re the genius who knows all about oil. And here’s this little company, having some kind of problem.” Kyra’s brows lifted toward her hairline. “Would it be too much to hope that maybe, just maybe, you might be the one to check things out in Dallas?”

  “It’s out of the question! I’ve business in London. I can’t-”

  “She’s right,” Grant said brusquely. “You guys could get a handle on things faster than anybody else.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Cade and Zach looked at each other, and then Zach threw up his arms in defeat.

  “Two days,” he snapped, “and not a second more.”

  Cade blew out his breath. “The same here. Two days, and then… Wait just a minute.” He swung toward Grant. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re the only one of us who gets to walk away from this mess?”

  Grant’s expression grew even darker. “It seems some old pal of Father’s named him guardian of his kid a couple of years ago.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Cade’s lips. “Don’t tell me,” he said.

  Grant shrugged. “You pick it, brother mine. Would you rather baby-sit an oil company in Dallas—or a twelve-year-old kid in New York?”

  When they finished laughing, the brothers clasped right hands, the way they used to when they were children.

  “Here’s to the Deadeye Defenders,” Cade said solemnly.

  “To the Deadeyes,” his brothers echoed, and then they grinned and set off in separate directions.

  Cade went to the library. He phoned London and postponed his meeting, then settled into a leather armchair and read slowly and carefully through the Gordon Oil report.

  When he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Without setting foot in the Gordon Oil office in Dallas, he already knew what the problem was.

  Management.

  The company’s director was running things straight into the ground.

  Hank Gordon, the founder, had died a few months ago. Ever since, his daughter had been running the show.

  Her name was A.H.

  A woman, Cade thought with a shudder of disbelief, heading up an oil company. And if that weren’t bad enough, one who used initials instead of a name.