Courted by the Texas Millionaire

by Crystal Green

  “I’ve brought the cavalry,” Wiley said, dropping her off just as quickly as he’d come.

  Violet tried not to look at Davis again, but it was impossible not to. Damn.

  She jerked her chin toward the open box. “What’s giving you trouble?”

  He grinned wryly. “Take a look.”

  She did, finding a tangle of what seemed to be long red, white and blue decorative ribbons in the box.

  “I thought everything was in order,” he said, “but I found a stray box that the committee really wants to put up.”

  “These decorations look like they’ll be used next Friday instead of today.”

  “Oh, no, the Chamber of Commerce has bigger plans for Founder’s Weekend. Huge bunting that’ll stretch down the streets. None of this little ribbon nonsense.”

  Why did it sound as if they were comfortable with each other, as if last night’s strained conversation hadn’t happened?

  As if she hadn’t been mired in memories of being with him, body and soul, for hours afterward?

  She pushed the memories away, pulling the box toward her and digging in to it. “I can wrangle these, then start hanging them up around the gazebo area.”

  A voice from behind her interrupted. “Your interest in community affairs is touching.”

  Violet would know that catty tone anywhere. When she turned around, she found Jennifer Neeson right behind her, looking every inch the glamour-puss that she had the other night in the newspaper office at that cocktail party. This time, though, she was wearing a white dress, probably made by someone like Ralph Lauren, plus a tennis bracelet that surely cost more than Vi’s rent back in L.A. Her dark hair was fixed in a low, elegant ponytail, and she bored a hole through Violet with her gaze.

  “Jennifer,” Davis said. “I think Lianna is setting out the playlist for the DJ. How about checking in there?”

  The news drew Jennifer’s gaze away from Violet. “I was in charge of the playlist.”

  Davis shrugged and went back to the ribbons in the box.

  Jennifer sighed and walked off, and Violet caught Davis’s subtle smile just before it vanished.

  “That was a wicked trick,” she said.

  “What—did you want her to stay?”

  “Not particularly.”

  As Violet pulled out a tumble of ribbon, Davis got serious. “I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here and see her sling insults at you, Vi.”

  She paused in her ribbon wrangling, warmth flowing through her at the grit in his tone.

  Obviously regretting his show of hard emotion, he dipped his hand deeper into the box, as if to concentrate on this simple activity.

  When he brought out his own bunch of ribbons, Violet’s hand got yanked forward, because the ribbon she’d been grasping was connected to his.

  Her fingers brushed against his hand, and fireworks went off in her chest, then even lower, but she didn’t pull away this time. Not after he’d just sounded so protective of her.

  And when he slid his index finger over hers, all she felt like doing was taking the couple of steps it would’ve required to go to him, wrapping her arms around him.

  Giving in to what seemed inevitable in this raw moment.

  Chapter Five

  An innocent touch shouldn’t have almost brought Davis to his knees. But just the slightest brush of skin against skin was enough to turn his belly upside down, his chest inside out.

  He looked down at Violet, her cinnamon brown eyes soft with an openness he hadn’t seen since she’d returned. Questions, answers.

  Could it work if we tried again?

  Yes, he thought, in this moment. Yes, it could.

  He could hear her breathing, and each inhalation swept through him, too. It seemed right to go a little further—to wind his finger around hers under the cover of all those ribbons, to link to her in such a small yet significant way.

  Around them, it was as if everything and everyone had stopped motion, stayed frozen in time while Violet and Davis caught up with each other in the Texas heat.

  He wanted to kiss her so badly…

  Then, out of nowhere it seemed, music invaded their bubble—tunes from the DJ stand at the edge of the square. Some kind of manufactured, autotuned pop that brought Davis out of this spell.

  Violet obviously got shaken out of it, also, and when she tried to move away from him, just as she always did, Davis didn’t let her.

  He kept his finger curled around hers under the ribbons. “I heard you used to make short visits to town, and you never let anyone know. Were you trying to avoid me all that time?”

  The ribbons rustled, tickling his arm, making him a little giddy to know that she hadn’t run off from him just yet.

  “I only came back to see my parents and Rita and her daughter. I wasn’t actively avoiding you,” she said, sidestepping his question. “Besides, it wasn’t as if people were clamoring to see me, so I stayed out of the town itself.”

  When she glanced up at him again, he saw the vulnerability in her—the former woman-who’d-had-it-all who’d lost the job that defined her, the one who’d had to slink back into St. Valentine to recoup her resources and maybe even her confidence. The one who probably thought he still had anger bottled up inside, all because of her.

  He’d give anything to see her on top of the world again.

  In the background, the music abruptly changed from pop to a Keith Urban song. Davis became ultra-aware that he and Violet were still touching each other under the ribbons. Violet realized it at the same time, and she finally unwound her finger from his, moving to the other side of the box and grabbing another bunch of gnarled decorations.

  It was over…for now, Davis thought. But he’d seen a lot in her this afternoon—things she probably hadn’t meant to reveal. Enough to make him think that there was a reason fate had seen fit to bring Violet back to St. Valentine.

  Back to him.

  But did he have the strength to put his heart out there again? Was it even the same heart as before, when he’d been young and hopeful, too crazy in love to know what life might do to break it?

  After the music switched back to the pop song, Violet looked toward the DJ stand, where Jennifer Neeson and Lianna Hurst were standing toe-to-toe, clearly unhappy with each other.

  Violet laughed, but it was a little forced. “I remember when those two were vying for captain of the cheerleading squad. The competition never really ended there, did it?”

  Davis wasn’t about to get into just how the women had competed with each other since high school. After he’d come back to town, he might’ve had a little bit to do with their competitive streaks.

  After Violet, he’d always made it clear that he wasn’t up for permanent grabs—not for Jennifer, Lianna or anyone who agreed to his noncommittal style.

  Violet was giving him a knowing glance. She was on to him, as usual.

  He shrugged, and she seemed to be waiting for him to deny her suspicions.

  Always the playboy. That’s what she had to be thinking.

  How could he change her mind?

  They continued to untangle the ribbons, and he wished it was this simple to untangle everything else between them. During the silence, his thoughts even became a mess—was Violet wondering if he’d dated anyone seriously over the years? Had she already heard through the grapevine about how he had played a wide field?

  And was she thinking that she’d been right to listen to his mom all that time ago, because he probably wouldn’t have ever sto
pped his habits?

  By the time the ribbons were ready to go, Jennifer Neeson’s dad, the mayor of St. Valentine, had clearly settled the great DJ debate, and more hard-driving country music was playing. Over by the side dish table, where Jennifer had taken charge of doling out the food buffet-style, she looked smug.

  “Point for the mayor’s daughter,” Davis said as Violet took up a handful of decorations and started to fix them to the gazebo railings.

  “I noticed.” She glanced toward the street, in the direction of the Recorder office. “When I’m off ribbon duty, would you mind if I used one of your computers to access the archives? I’d like to start interviewing tomorrow, but I want to firm up my questions and some research first.”

  Satisfaction whirled in the center of him. He had her for at least another couple of days.

  Holding back a grin, Davis said, “That sounds fine. By the way, rumor has it that Jared checked into Rita’s hotel.”

  “Sticking around, is he?”

  “Strange, for a man who said he was only passing through.”

  When she smiled at him, it was one of genuine camaraderie, just like the kind of smile she would’ve flashed after he’d proved himself worthy to her on the high school paper. The kind of smile he’d seen before they’d first kissed and her smiles had started to take on a whole different meaning.

  A ragged need tore through him, not only because he longed to prove himself worthy to her all over again, but because now, more than ever, he was determined to see her gaze melt whenever she looked at him.

  Maybe he was out to prove to her, and himself, that he could still have her—just as his mom suggested. And maybe it was something else he didn’t want to think too hard about right now.

  But, either way, he wanted to win her over, come hell or high water.

  * * *

  The ride home from the barbecue convinced Violet that tomorrow, when her car would be out of the shop, couldn’t come soon enough.

  Her dad was currently at the wheel of their Ford truck, which bounced every time they hit a rut. He’d given Violet one wary look when he’d seen her come out of the Recorder office at the end of the barbecue and hadn’t said a word since.

  Mom wasn’t so shy with her feedback. “No wonder you come off as antisocial, Vi. Working through the barbecue? Why?”

  “It’s no big deal. I put in an appearance, and I donated money and hung some decorations.”

  “And then you disappeared. How do you think that looks to everyone?”

  “Like I’m working hard on the Recorder article. When they see it, they’ll understand.”

  She hoped. Because, honestly, she probably hadn’t won any favor with people like the Blue Belles today by skipping off to do her work. But she’d known that Davis would be busy at the barbecue, and that meant she could concentrate without him there to distract her.

  She tried not to think about that moment between them this afternoon. The look in his eyes—that “He’s going to kiss me” sensation that had sent the blood racing through her. Even now, her heart clamored so loudly that she was lucky her parents didn’t hear it.

  What would she have done if he had tried to kiss her?

  “Well,” Mom said, “at least you’re on friendly terms with Davis.”

  “Too friendly,” Dad piped in.

  “Gary.” Mom nudged him.

  “Just saying my piece.”

  Right now, more than ever, Violet wished for L.A., where she wouldn’t have anyone peering over her shoulder at every move she made. She loved her parents, but she loved wonderful, well-earned privacy, too.

  When they got home, Violet wasted no time in retreating to her guest cabin, flopping belly down on the bed and inputting a number into her phone.

  Rita. Violet surely could’ve used her old friend here today.

  She knew Rita was helping out a cousin who’d broken a leg, though, and when she got her friend’s voice mail, she wasn’t surprised.

  “Just want to say hi, and I miss having you here. Hurry home. Hope the caretaking isn’t driving you up a wall. And give Kristy a big hug for me.” Violet grinned at the mention of Rita’s four-year-old sprite of a daughter as she hung up the phone.

  Restless, she went to her bookshelves, where Mom had stored everything from textbooks for poetry and literature classes to high school yearbooks. She grabbed one of the latter and tossed it on the bed.

  In the mood to talk, she dialed her best friend in L.A.

  “Hello?”

  Just hearing Nancy’s voice made Violet sigh. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself! What’s going on?”

  “Just got home from a rootin’-tootin’ barbecue.”

  “Lots of Texas beef?”

  Violet had told Nancy all about St. Valentine…and Davis.

  She opened the yearbook to a page with Davis’s color senior photo. She’d turned to it enough times so it was permanently marked, making it easy to look at him in his custom-made shirt and red tie, a cocky smile on his face.

  “Hey…Violet?” Nancy asked. She’d also been on staff at the Times, except she still had a job as an associate features editor. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know what I expected when I came back here,” Violet said.

  “I do. For some reason, you were hoping that everybody would be different, and the years would erase what happened in the past. I told you it wouldn’t be that way. Haven’t you ever been to a high school reunion? Only the hairlines and dress sizes change.” Nancy paused. “So…what’s he like?”

  Violet traced her fingers over his picture, her throat burning.

  “Oh, that good, huh?” Nancy asked, filling the silence.

  “Better.”

  “And…?”

  And Violet told Nancy everything: about how angry Davis had been with her at first, about how he was trying—successfully, she hated to admit—to lure her back with the promise of a story. How she thought he might still have feelings for her.

  Who knew what those feelings were, though? The remnants of a broken love affair? A burning need to right the past?

  “None of it can go anywhere,” she finished.

  “Why?”

  “Because I won’t be here for the long run, and he knows it. Why get involved, especially with a keg of dynamite, when I’ll just have to leave again?”

  Nancy was quiet, then she said, “That’s sad.”

  It was as if she’d been hit in the gut. “Sad?”

  “Sad that you wouldn’t even consider that you could fall in love, and that you’d be able to work things out with someone you were meant to be with. Did he really do such a number on you?”

  Now that Nancy said it, Violet wondered. After Davis, she’d never been able to fully commit to a man, had always told herself that she was swamped with work and there was no time for a truly serious relationship. Was there something more to it?

  Or did it have everything to do with getting so damned beaten down by what she thought was love way back when?

  Davis couldn’t have mattered that much, but even as she tried to fool herself, she knew that he had.

  And still did.

  Violet rolled onto her back, staring at the blank ceiling and trying not to think about how empty it looked.

  “At any rate,” Nancy said, obviously knowing when to quit, “we all miss you here. The paper’s been hell with a skeleton crew.”

  “I miss it, too.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything about an opening anywhere, okay?”

  “Great. Thanks, Nance.”

  “All right. I hate to cut this short, but I do have a hot date.”

  And Violet didn’t. But when she recalled the way Davi
s had looked at her today, as if he were about to take her in his arms and press her against him, she tingled all over.

  She said her goodbyes to Nancy, wishing her luck, then hung up the phone, picturing Davis’s face on the blankness of the ceiling.

  Filling her mind with an image that haunted her dreams all night.

  * * *

  The next morning, Davis was approving a digital layout of the Recorder when Violet came through the office door, flushed from being outside.

  When she saw him, she took a breath, as if she hadn’t anticipated him being here. But she recovered way before he did, his stomach still flipping with unexpected somersaults.

  Did she remember yesterday, in the gazebo?

  Did it even mean anything to her?

  She held up a notepad, filled with scribbles. “Got my first interview. I would’ve loved to have caught our elusive Jared the stranger out and about, but he never seems to be around when I am.”

  “Maybe he sees you coming.” Davis grinned. “Who’d you get?”

  “Mrs. Ferris. She was outside the hotel on a bench, smoking a cigar.”

  Mrs. Ferris was the ninety-five-year-old town eccentric, who’d never cared much for convention. A perfect choice for Violet to approach first.

  “How did it go?” Davis asked, trying not to dwell on Violet’s lush mouth and how much he’d wanted to taste it yesterday. And every day.

  “She was nice, forthcoming, cordial. But all she had for me was old stories about how, when she was knee-high, she’d see Tony Amati driving the first car in St. Valentine through town. And how he preferred to ride his horse on the roads near his ranch so he could watch the sunsets.” Violet furrowed her brow. “I guess he did a lot of sunset watching, and Mrs. Ferris has a romantic notion that he was actually watching for someone.”

  Davis could relate to old Tony. After Violet had shattered his heart, he’d done some sunset watching, but he’d been bitter, not romantic.

  He stood from his desk and jerked his chin toward her notepad. “You do things old school, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got my system down. It’s hard for me to concentrate on interviewing when I’m tapping on a palm keyboard. Besides, my shorthand is much faster.”