Lone Star Knight

by Cindy Gerard

  “There’s always an interesting story in Texas.”

  When he smiled, she told herself she wasn’t lost. She was merely intrigued and that the thready thrum of her pulse was caused by the wine, not his nearness. She lifted her glass, and when his eyes met and held hers above the rim, she scrambled to believe it was just coincidence, that he hadn’t really been as intent on her as she had been on him. “You are going to tell me the story, aren’t you?”

  After a long moment, he drank, then started talking.

  “The long and the short of it is that my great-great-great-grandfather, Clint Walker, loved nothing better than a high stakes game of poker. Evidently, he was good at it because, among other things, he won this land—all twenty thousand acres—in one dramatic hand of five-card stud. That was back before Texas had even applied for state-hood. High Stakes has been Walker land ever since.”

  “High stakes, indeed,” she said, as delighted with the romance of the story as she was taken with the man telling it.

  He leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, his glass gripped loosely in his hand. “Not exactly the most noble method of starting a family dynasty.”

  The slightest trace of guilt in his expression made her smile. “Oh my, no. European methods are definitely more respectable. My ancestors merely pillaged and plundered their way to prosperity.”

  He chuckled softly.

  She watched him in momentary silence before her curiosity got the best of her. “So, you’ve no dramatic call to destiny that compels you, no burning desire that drives you to be anywhere else but here?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “That pretty well sums it up. My father retired a few years ago and he and Mother resettled on the Gulf. Becca and Kay both migrated to the west coast without a backward glance. Except for a hitch in the marines—a Walker tradition that began with my great-grandfather Cal—and five years at Texas State, High Stakes has pretty much been my life.”

  Clearly, Matt was a man of the land, his own man, and he saw no reason to disrupt or alter his life. And then there was the undeniable draw of High Stakes and Texas.

  “I think I can understand why,” she said reflectively. “It’s beautiful here. I could get used to it. The quiet. The solitude.”

  A tight smile played around his mouth. “No disrespect, but I find that a little hard to believe.”

  She lifted a brow, a little sorry for her unplanned confession, a lot curious about the trace of bitterness in his voice. “Why? Because I was born to the titled European aristocracy? Because what you know of me is most likely a media-fabricated image?”

  He regarded her a bit sadly, she thought. “Because you are a beautiful woman and my experience with beautiful women is that they prefer civilization and cities and all the varied and festive accoutrements that go with them to solitude and breathtaking sunsets.”

  She leaned back in her chair, regarded him thoughtfully and not for the first time wondered about the women in his life. Had there actually been a woman foolish enough to break his heart?

  “Well,” she said, instead of asking what she really wanted to ask, “it’s difficult to argue with a cynic, I suppose, isn’t it?”

  He leaned back too, hooking an arm over the chair’s ladder-back. He looked not at her, but at the sparkling glass of wine he held in his hand. “Were we arguing?”

  “Yes,” she said after a long, contemplative moment. “I think perhaps we were.”

  The question was, why? She’d dismissed his reference to her being a beautiful woman out of hand. Compliments, true or false, came to him as naturally as breathing and she could not easily forget that she was forever altered physically. What intrigued her was this new, darker facet to his personality. It didn’t fit with what she knew of him. Unfortunately, neither did it detract from his appeal. And it didn’t stop her from wanting to know more.

  “Are you truly a cynic, Matthew?”

  He took his time responding, as if he were trying to decide how much of himself he wanted to reveal to her. When he finally spoke, she was disappointed that he chose to evade the question.

  “What I am is hungry. It tends to make me a little cranky. I apologize,” he said with a finality that told her the subject was closed.

  She really had little choice. “Accepted,” she said after a brief moment.

  “Shall we?” He lifted a silver lid from the chafing dish centered on the table.

  Two smiles, polite and guarded, met across the polished pine. “By all means.”

  Quite obviously, the subject of what made Matthew Walker tick was off-limits. It was just as well, she decided as they enjoyed another of Lois’s delicious meals and retreated into a conversation about horses that was familiar to both of them—and entirely safe. Safe, because he did not have to reveal anything of himself to her. Safe, because she did not have to reveal anything of herself to him.

  Safe, because, if ever there had been a man who could persuade her to relinquish her secrets, her insecurities, it was this man—and this man couldn’t have made it clearer that he did not want to know.

  That knowledge didn’t hurt her. As she lay in bed later that night, listening to the midnight sounds, staring into the moon-drenched night, the tear that trickled slowly down her temple and into her hair had nothing to do with wishing he had cared for her enough to ask. It had nothing to do with knowing that if he had, she might have told him anything. Anything. And with the telling, she might have given him her heart.

  “You’re not serious?” Sitting in the library, Matt rocked back in the leather desk chair. He dragged a hand through his hair as he fought to accept Greg Hunt’s news.

  “’Fraid so. We’re flying out this morning. Damned inconvenient sometimes, being married to a woman who has a country to run.” The pride and affection in Greg’s voice undercut the staged complaint of his words. “Something about a problem in the security system at the casino. Sorry, Matt. Look, I’ve got to run. We’re cutting it close as it is. Helena will be fine with you, right?”

  Matt mumbled the obligatory, “Right. Don’t worry about it. You need to take care of your own,” and hung up.

  This was not good.

  This was not good at all.

  He thought back to last night. To the quiet dinner he had shared with Helena. He’d liked seeing her at his table. He’d liked too much the intelligence of her conversation. And he’d had to guard himself too carefully or he would have been spilling his guts about his marriage to Jena, about this growing attraction he felt for her. He’d have been asking her to confide in him about how she felt about herself, about what hurt her, about that pride that made her so damn strong.

  She was too irresistible. She was too vulnerable. She was too everything, and he’d known by the end of the evening that despite his resolve to send her to the Hunts’, he was going to have a hard time letting her go anywhere.

  And now, it appeared that she would be staying.

  Surely there were other options? He couldn’t ask Aaron and Pamela. They were barely back from their honeymoon. Sheikh Ben Rassad had his hands full watching out for Jamie Morris who had been on the plane with Helena and may also be in danger. Besides, as much as he liked and trusted the handsome sheikh who was his neighbor and friend, the thought of turning Helena over to all that mysterious middle-eastern charm didn’t set well. There was Justin, but he was little more than a newlywed himself. He and Winona were completely mired in each other and the baby they were in the process of adopting.

  That left Dakota Lewis, the last of the five club members trying to solve the puzzle surrounding the missing diamond and Riley’s death. Dakota was more than capable of protecting Helena. But, like Ben, he was another one of those darkly good-looking men. As far as Matt was concerned, that was enough of a reason to dismiss him out of hand, even though it was obvious to everyone but Dakota that he still carried a torch for his estranged wife.

  Refusing to dwell on why he didn’t see either Dakota or Ben as an option, he picked up the ph
one and dialed Aaron’s number. The obvious solution was to get this thing wrapped up so Helena was no longer at risk. Until they did, it looked like she would be remaining at High Stakes, and he wasn’t going to be able to get on with his life—for that matter, neither was she.

  “Black residence.”

  “Pamela. It’s Matt.”

  “Matt! How are you?”

  He smiled at the warmth in her voice. “The question is how are you? Never mind. I think I’ve got that one figured out by the sound of your voice. I take it married life is agreeing with you.”

  “Married life is fabulous.”

  “I’m glad. And I’m apologizing in advance for calling, but I need to talk to Aaron.”

  “Not a problem. He’s right here.”

  A few seconds later, Aaron came on the line. “Hey, Matt. What’s up?”

  “Two things. One, the five of us need to meet.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  “Two, Helena Reichard was released from the hospital the day before yesterday.”

  “So I heard. The big question buzzing around town is where did she go? She seems to have disappeared into thin air. The press are going crazy trying to bring her to ground.”

  Briefly, Matt explained that Helena was with him at High Stakes and how she ended up there.

  “Here’s the problem—she has a string of medical appointments this afternoon, so I’ve got to get her into town. Greg and Anna were going to help but Anna’s been called back to Obersbourg. I don’t want the press or anyone but the five of us knowing where she is, so I can’t afford to have her seen in any of my vehicles or they’ll make the connection.”

  “Say no more. Tell me what time you need us to show up at High Stakes, and Pamela and I will be there.”

  He’d known he could count on Aaron. “Thanks, man. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about gathering the rest of the troops. If Pamela can stay with Helena during her clinic visits, the five of us can get together at the club for an hour or so.”

  And then maybe, just maybe, Matt thought, as he disconnected, they could make some forward progress.

  Matt found Helena out on the terrace half an hour later. He stood for a moment and simply watched her. The sunlight danced across the golden highlights of her hair as a soft breeze lifted it away from her face and stirred the leaves of an overhanging crape myrtle.

  It was as difficult to read her reaction when he broke the news about Greg and Anna’s unplanned trip to Obersbourg as it was to control his urge to brush a silken strand away from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

  He knew why he was suddenly quiet. He wasn’t sure why she was, as she looked, with what seemed like longing, over the gardens and the endless desert plains beyond.

  When she finally met his eyes, they were blank of emotion, utterly unreadable. “If I could just use your phone, I can make arrangements with the Royalton Hotel. I’m sure they’ll send a car for me.”

  If he were being honest, he might admit—at least to himself—that he’d been hoping for a little twinge of regret on her part. He wasn’t sure how he felt when she didn’t show any. Relief is what he should have felt. And maybe a sense of satisfaction that he’d been right about her. That she was only being polite when she’d insisted she was taken with High Stakes. That he’d been right to believe that titled ladies and desert plains mixed about as well as chili powder and cre`me bruˆlée.

  He didn’t much feel like smiling over the fact that she seemed to find it so easy to leave, but he did anyway. For his sake, if not for hers. And then he told himself that the reason he was suddenly so determined that she stay when an hour ago he’d been desperate to get her out of his hair was that her life might still be in danger. Of course, she didn’t know that. She wasn’t going to know it as long as it was within his power to keep it from her.

  The danger, he finally admitted, was only part of it. She was facing an entirely different threat here at High Stakes, but since the only thing he had to protect her from was himself, he figured he had an edge on keeping her out of that particular line of fire.

  “There’s no need for you to move to the hotel,” he said casually and tried to read the expression in the eyes that lifted with quiet expectancy to his. “You’re welcome at High Stakes for as long as you need to stay.”

  It might have been hope that flickered in those brilliant blue depths. It might have been relief. And it might have been a lot of wishful thinking on his part when her softly murmured, “I don’t wish to impose on you, Matthew,” rode on the stillness of the morning.

  “Impose? I promise you’ll be doing me a favor. The truth is, I’m in a little hot water with Lois over the fact that you were going to be moving to the Hunts’. She says you’ve created the most excitement around Royal since that Hunt boy married the princess.”

  It wasn’t a lie exactly. He’d just embellished the truth a bit.

  “So help me out here, okay?” he coaxed when her lips curved into a slow and utterly enchanting smile. “Say you’ll stay. Make me the good guy—at least in Lois’s eyes.”

  She’d looked away from him then, a smile still tilting her lips as she squinted, quite beautifully, against the sun. “Well, what with you wearing that nice white hat today, I suppose that’s the only role you could play, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear at the relief her concession created. And he didn’t know if she should be running instead of smiling. He might be wearing his white hat, but if she knew what he thought about at night, if she knew how he ached to tumble her across his bed, she’d have him pegged for the bad guy in a black hat in a heartbeat.

  Six

  An hour later, the four of them, Pamela and Aaron, Matt and Helena, were on the road to town. The trip into Royal, for all the catastrophic potential, went as smoothly as silk. Since the press was still halfway convinced that Helena was with the Hunts, they hadn’t been looking for her in Aaron’s big black luxury car. With Pamela at her side for support, Helena was now safely tucked away at the clinic for a series of exams and X rays. After that she’d have physical therapy that would keep her there for the better part of two hours.

  Matt checked his watch as Aaron drove down the main street toward the Cattleman’s Club, which was located on the outskirts of town.

  “We’ve got a few minutes. Let’s stop at the diner—see if we can pick up on any chatter about Helena or the plane crash.”

  Aaron shrugged. “Worth a try. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one of Manny Hernandez’s pecan rolls.”

  “Well, there is that,” Matt said with a grin as Aaron pulled the black sedan into a parking place outside the Royal Diner.

  Half an hour later, they walked into the ultra-masculine, ultra-luxurious interior of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Matt looked around the room and returned nodding hellos to the four men seated at a round table in the corner of the room. Hank Langley, the great-grandson of Tex Langley, the club’s founder, Forrest Cunningham, Sterling Churchill, and Greg Hunt’s brother, Blake, returned to a good-natured, but heated, card game.

  When Matt spotted Dakota Lewis at the far end of the polished oak bar, he and Aaron walked toward him.

  Dakota jerked his head toward an intricately carved walnut door at the end of the hall after the three men exchanged handshakes. “Ben and Justin are already in the back room.”

  Justin was seated at the central table. He looked up from his coffee when the three of them entered the ornately appointed private meeting room. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Matt nodded to Justin and clasped a hand to Sheikh Ben Rassad’s shoulder in greeting then reached for a bone-china cup with the club’s crest embossed in gold. He drew coffee from the silver urn that was set in the middle of the table, took a sip.

  “Now this,” he said pointedly to Justin, “is coffee.”

  Justin smirked. “You’re a lightweight, Walker.”

  Taking no offense at Justin’s grinning
jab, Matt scanned the faces around the room. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Dakota, standing with an elbow propped on the marble mantel, made a sound of disbelief. “What? No horse talk?”

  Matt exchanged a smile with Ben, who Matt had come to know and like since he’d bought an adjacent ranch and joined the club. “Maybe later. Anybody got anything for show-and-tell today?”

  “Suppose you start with Helena,” Justin suggested. “How is she? More specifically, where is she?”

  “She’s one tough lady, that’s how she is—or so she would have everyone think,” Matt added and thought about the apprehension on her face when he’d left her at the clinic with Pamela. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. Because he’d had no right to attach himself to those proprietary feelings, and because they weren’t going to do him any good at this meeting, he shrugged them off.

  “As to where is she, for the long haul, it looks like she’ll be staying with me.” He explained about the Hunts being called to Obersbourg and ignored the quick glances the other men exchanged. “For the short haul, she’s at the clinic.”

  “Under guard?” Ben asked, his gray eyes smoky with concern beneath his kaffiyeh, the traditional headdress of his Amythra culture. His skin was as dark as a Texan’s beneath his djellaba, the white robes that, like the kaffiyeh, he always wore in public.

  Matt shook his head and tried not to feel too antsy about leaving Helena with Pamela, even for a short period of time.

  “Are you not afraid someone will get to her?”

  “You ever tried to get into a doctor’s office without an appointment?” he said with a pointed, but grinning glance toward Justin.

  Justin, conceding Matt’s congenial but well-aimed slur against the medical profession in general, merely shrugged. “The man’s got a point.”

  “Okay,” Aaron, ever the diplomat, interrupted, “let’s get back on track. What’s happening with the Blues Brothers, Dakota?”

  The men all had their pet names for Garth Yungst and Milo Johannes—not all of them as kind as Aaron’s.