CJ Wesley kept an eye on the woman through the grimy windows of the feed store. She stood on the front step, no doubt plotting where to look for him next. Jesus, Natalie Baker was even more gorgeous in real life than she was on television. And in that outfit?
He knew what she was wearing was part of her act. No sane human would drive out to the windswept northern hills of Colorado in December in a skin-tight black skirt that, with black lace overlaying a black silk lining, looked exactly as warm as a bathing suit. Between the skirt and the sky-high heels—he was damn impressed at how she walked in them—her legs were what men wrote poetry about.
CJ cleared his throat. He wasn’t a poet and he wasn’t interested in Natalie Baker. As he watched, she stepped carefully down the stairs and moved toward a red convertible—a Mustang. Was there any car less appropriate for December in Colorado than that one?
Then again, everything about Natalie Baker was inappropriate, from her amazing cleavage to her fake smiles to her terrifying questions.
“No idea,” CJ lied.
“She’s one of those TV people,” Wilmer said, and CJ had to wonder if Wilmer had just figured that out. He was many things, but Wilmer was not a morning-chat-show guy. If anyone paid even the slightest attention to the morning shows, they’d recognize Natalie Baker immediately. She kept her finger firmly on the pulse of the Denver social scene. If a sports star cheated on his wife, an actress fell in love or, say, a billionaire fathered a bunch of illegitimate children, Natalie Baker was there.
Which meant she was here.
Of course, CJ knew Natalie Baker was a beautiful woman. Her face smiled out at him in high definition every morning. But in real life, she’d not only been more beautiful, but also more...delicate, too. Although that could have just been the juxtaposition of her expensive clothes and perfect makeup with the grime of the feed store.
Wilmer waited until her car was out of sight before speaking again. “What do TV people want with your dad?”
“Don’t have a clue,” CJ lied again. Because he knew. He knew exactly why Natalie Baker was here. It had very little to do with his father, Patrick Wesley.
It had everything to do with Hardwick Beaumont.
CJ shook his head, hoping Wilmer would read it as confusion. “Dad’s not even here,” he reminded Wilmer because CJ knew one thing: all the gossip in this town ran through Wilmer. The Firestone Diner was almost as bad, but Wilmer Higgins at the Firestone Grain and Feed was officially worse. CJ had to get out in front of this and make sure Wilmer had his version of events before anyone started looking around too hard. “You know that man’s never done a scandalous thing in his life.”
It helped that Pat Wesley had lived in Firestone for all of his fifty-six years. Everyone thought they knew everything about him and not a damn bit of it was scandalous. He was the third generation of Wesleys to raise beef cattle on his land—CJ was the fourth. As far as this town was concerned, the most outrageous thing Patrick Wesley had ever done was marry a woman named Bell that he’d met while he was in the army instead of the girl who’d been his high-school sweetheart. But that had been thirty-three years ago, and since then?
CJ knew exactly how dull his dad was. It was not a bad thing. Patrick Wesley was a good man and a good father, but his idea of a wild Friday night was driving to the next town over to eat at Cracker Barrel and even then, he’d be home by eight and snoring in his recliner by eight thirty. Safe? Yes. Reliable? Absolutely.
Newsworthy? Not a shot in hell.
CJ didn’t know what made him madder about the sudden appearance of the gorgeous Natalie Baker asking questions—that the people he’d grown up with might one day figure out he wasn’t actually Pat’s son or that, once they found out, they might treat Pat and Bell Wesley differently.
He knew who Natalie was, of course. She was hard to miss. Her beautiful face was on his screen every morning at seven thirty. CJ didn’t actually like her show—it was too much gossip and innuendo about celebrities. But she also seemed to be the first to know anything about the Beaumonts. It wasn’t like CJ religiously followed them. Hell, he didn’t even like their beer. But he liked to stay informed. And that meant he caught A Good Morning with Natalie Baker most days.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was watching it for her. He wasn’t. Yes, she was beautiful on screen and, okay, she was stunning in real life. That had nothing to do with anything. He preferred that station’s morning weatherman to the other options, that was all. So watching her show was just a matter of convenience, really.
“I know,” Wilmer said, snapping his suspenders. “It just don’t make a lick of sense. I mean, you weren’t adopted.”
CJ forced himself to smile. “That’s what they tell me,” he said in a joking tone. It was a relief when Wilmer chuckled. “Clearly, they have the wrong Wesley.” Wilmer nodded and CJ took advantage of the pause to ask about the latest supplements for his horses. Wilmer enjoyed gossip, but he wasn’t about to miss out on a chance to sell a feed supplement.
CJ didn’t actually want the supplement but it was a small price to pay for distracting Wilmer from one Ms. Natalie Baker. He finished up his regular order with a sample of the new supplement and headed out to his truck.
He was going to have to tell his mother. She had lived in fear of the day when the Beaumonts would come for him. He had heard all the stories and, for years now, had followed all the headlines. He knew Hardwick Beaumont was dead and the idea didn’t bother him even a little. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the man as his father—not even his birth father. Hardwick had been nothing more than a sperm donor. Patrick Wesley was his father in every sense of the word. He knew it, his parents knew it and the state of Colorado knew it. End of discussion.
God, this was going to upset his mother. She had relaxed after Hardwick’s death—although by then, CJ had been twenty-one and a man in his own right. But Bell Wesley had lived in fear that Hardwick Beaumont would come for her son for so long that worrying about it was a reflexive habit she couldn’t break. It was one of the reasons why his parents wintered in Arizona now. The Denver TV stations were saturated with Beaumont Brewery Christmas commercials this time of year and it always upset her. And his dad hated it when his mom was upset.
CJ always missed them at Christmas, but otherwise, he was glad to have the place to himself. And when they came back from wintering in Arizona, they were happy and relaxed and everything went smoothly.
This year, he was even gladder they were in Arizona. If Natalie Baker had found his mother and started asking questions, Mom might’ve had a nervous breakdown.
He drove slowly through town, keeping his eyes peeled. It was impossible to miss her Mustang parked in front of the diner.
Damn it all. He knew deep in his heart that he had not seen the last of that woman. Isabel might’ve gone by Bell and they might’ve downplayed her being Hispanic, but it was a damn short leap from Carlos Julián to CJ.
It was only a matter of time until he was outed as one of the Beaumont bastards.
Two
There were many things Natalie wasn’t—talented, pretty, likable, smart—but no one could say she wasn’t persistent. Even her father would have to grudgingly admit that she didn’t give up when the going got tough. It was maybe the only valuable lesson he’d ever taught her.
She shivered in her car, cranking the heat up a little more—not that it made a difference. The winds were blowing out of what she assumed was the north with a howling ferocity and there was no way her trusty Mustang was going to keep the chill at bay.
She’d spent the better part of the last three weeks visiting Firestone, making friends with the locals and trying to weasel out more information about Patrick Wesley and his family. It had not been easy. For starters, the coffee at the diner was awful and no one in this town had ever heard of a latte. More than that, it felt like the town had closed ranks. Just like that handsome cowboy and the feed store owner had.
Natalie was an outsider and they weren’t going
to allow her in.
Still, she had just enough celebrity cachet to razzle-dazzle some of the locals. She was famous enough and pretty enough and she knew how to use those assets like laser-guided weapons. She had spent weeks flirting and smiling and cooing and touching the shoulders of men who probably knew better but were flattered by a young woman paying attention to them.
Maybe they did know better. Because it hadn’t been one of the old geezers who’d finally slipped up. It had been a younger man, in his late twenties and full of swagger. He’d been the only real threat to her. The old guys never would’ve followed up on her flirtations, which was why it was safe to make them. But this guy had seen her as someone he could use just as much as she could use him.
He had finally given her what she wanted, after she had made some vague promises that maybe the next time he was in Denver, he should look her up. It turned out that Pat Wesley—who appeared to be some sort of saint, according to the locals—did have a son. That in and of itself wasn’t so unusual.
But his son’s name was CJ.
Carlos Julián Santino had to be CJ Wesley. There was simply no other alternative.
She rubbed her arms over her coat, trying to keep the blood circulating through some of her body. She had been sitting outside of the house on Wesley land for half an hour and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. It was freezing.
She kept going over the questions she’d ask this Wesley guy. Maybe it was the mind-numbing cold, though, because her thoughts kept drifting back to the second person she’d talked to—the tall, dark cowboy in the feed store.
Despite the amount of time she’d spent in Firestone over the last three weeks, she hadn’t seen him again. Not that she’d been looking—she hadn’t. He’d made his position clear. He would not help her and she couldn’t afford to waste time on a dead end.
But that hadn’t stopped her from thinking of him. It was hard not to—not when she peeled that heavy sheepskin coat off his body and threw his hat to the side in her dreams. She’d spent weeks waking up frustrated and achy, all because of one cowboy with an attitude problem.
What had his eyes looked like? Did he watch her show? Did he ever wonder what she was like?
While she mused, she kept scrolling through Twitter. Her last tweet—a tease about tomorrow’s big reveal of a “major star” on A Good Morning—had only gotten four retweets. She clicked over to Instagram and saw that the cross post had gotten no replies.
Tightness took hold of her chest that had nothing to do with the cold. It’d been like this for weeks now—her reach falling, her interactions dropping off a cliff. If no one paid attention to her, she wouldn’t matter. At least if they were mad at her, they were paying attention. But once the attention stopped...
Her phone pinged—a text from her producer, Steve. Anything yet?
Natalie forced herself to breathe once, and then twice. Working on it, she texted back.
The latest numbers are in—you’re falling behind. If you can’t pull this out, I’m giving your slot to Kevin.
The tightness in her chest squeezed so hard she had trouble breathing. There was no way she could wait until the next Beaumont baby was born—she needed Carlos Julián Santino or CJ Wesley or whatever name he went by and she needed him now. She could not lose her spot to Kevin Durante. Kevin had great hair and that was it. He was dumber than a post, lousy in bed and, unfortunately, was exactly the sort of benign golden boy that did well on morning television. She’d rather cut off her toe than give her spot to Kevin.
No worries! she texted back. I’ll be in touch.
There was an agonizingly long pause before Steve replied. You better be right about this, Baker.
I won’t let you down! she texted back, hoping that sounded far more confident than she felt.
Steve was running out of patience with her. If she lost ground to Denver This Morning, then she’d be out of a job, out of broadcasting, out of the public eye. Steve’s job security rested entirely on beating Denver This Morning in the ratings. She knew damn good and well he wouldn’t go down with her ship. He would replace her in a heartbeat if it came to that. With Kevin.
So, she continued to sit in the freezing cold outside of the Wesley house, waiting. The house was dark and she had knocked on every visible door when she’d arrived. She was as confident as she could be without breaking and entering that no one was home.
Okay, she bargained with herself, she would tough it out for ten minutes and if no one showed up she would head back to the diner. The coffee might be god-awful, but it was hot. And maybe that grumpy cowboy would show up.
She spent the next ten minutes toggling between Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, trying to fight the growing sense of panic at the lack of likes and hearts and favorites and retweets. Clearly, her last posts hadn’t been shocking enough. Feeling desperate, she posted: Rumor has it that Matthew Beaumont and his child-star bride Whitney Wildz are expecting—but is the baby really his?
She felt a pang of guilt at the lie before she reminded herself that the Beaumonts were a public entity and this was how the game was played. Besides, if anyone could handle the heat, it was PR genius Matthew Beaumont. Really, the Beaumonts should be thanking her. She helped them sell beer, after all.
The guilt successfully contained, she posted and cross-posted the rumor. As the comments added up and the retweets accumulated, the tightness in her chest loosened. This was better. She had a therapist once tell her that her need for approval was unhealthy and she should accept herself for who she was. Natalie had accepted that she was not going back to that therapist ever again.
Still, she was freezing. She put down her phone and went to put her car into Reverse when she saw it—a vaguely familiar pickup truck rolling up behind her. Oh, thank God—she was in no mood to die of frostbite out in the middle of nowhere.
Well, well, well. If it wasn’t a particularly familiar-looking tall, dark, handsome cowboy climbing out of that pickup truck. She should’ve known. The cowboy in the black hat from the feed store was none other than Carlos Julián Santino Beaumont Wesley. That muscle twitch in his jaw—that was his tell. She had been so close to the truth—why hadn’t she seen it?
Her heart did a funny little skip at the sight of him and honestly, she wasn’t sure if that was because he was the man she’d been searching for to secure her job for the foreseeable future or...
Or if she was just glad to see him.
That was ridiculous. She wasn’t glad to see him and he sure as hell wasn’t glad to see her—even at this distance, his scowl was ferocious. She waited until he had shut the door of his truck before she opened her own door. She unfolded her legs slowly, letting her skirt ride up a little so he could catch a glimpse of her thigh as she stood. “We meet again.”
A whole lot more than his jaw was twitching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He was pissed, but she refused to cower. “I believe I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Santino. Or should I say, Mr. Beaumont?”
She was pushing her luck and she knew it. He was practically vibrating with rage and no amount of bare leg was going to appease him. If only she’d guessed that the man she was looking for was the cowboy from the feed store, she would’ve at least put on long pants because that cowboy had not been interested in her body. And, by all accounts, he still wasn’t.
“My name is Wesley,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Sure, we can play it that way. CJ Wesley, right?” With shivering fingers, she pulled out her phone and opened up the camera app.
The next thing she knew, she was staring at her empty hand. She blinked and looked up just in time to see Wesley pocketing her phone. “Hey! Give that back!”
“No,” he said, and almost smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to. You’re on private property, Ms. Baker. You’re about two steps away from flat-out stalking me. You’ve been working your way through the population of Firestone for the last three weeks trying to get out here. I’m
trying to think of a good reason why I shouldn’t call Jim Bob and have you arrested for stalking, trespassing, and—” His gaze swept over her body. “And sheer stupidity. Did you even look at the weather before you drove out here today? Don’t you know there’s supposed to be a blizzard that hits tonight? And you’re out here in what—a pair of heels and a skirt? You’re lucky you’re not dead of exposure already.”
She stared at him and, for a moment, forgot to arrange herself in the most seductive way possible. The first part of what he said—the trespassing and stalking—wasn’t so surprising. She’d had people angry at her before.
But the part about the blizzard and exposure? He was mad at her—perhaps justifiably—but it had almost sounded like he was concerned about her. “Our meteorologist said it wasn’t going to hit until tomorrow.”
“Get in your car,” he said sharply.
The force of his words backed her up a bit. Although it could have been the wind. “What? No! You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere without my phone.”
Unexpectedly, he jerked his head up and looked at the sky. Dark, she realized. His eyes were a deeper color—hazel? Maybe light brown. Not the light green of so many of the Beaumonts. The shadow from the brim of his hat had to have been the reason why she hadn’t seen the Beaumont in his face in the feed store. Every Beaumont man had the same jawline. CJ Wesley was no exception.
She was beginning to shake, the wind was that vicious. She eyed his heavy sheepskin coat with jealousy. “Look,” she began, “I’m sure there’s something—”
“Ms. Baker,” he interrupted, “get in your car and start driving. That storm isn’t going to hit tomorrow. It’s coming. Now.” As he spoke, he reached back into the bed of his truck and pulled out several grocery bags. “And I’m not giving you your phone back. I’ll take a hatchet to it before I let you take pictures of me and splash them all over God’s green earth. My life is not for sale.” He looked up at the sky and grimaced. “City slickers,” he mumbled, she thought.
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