by Paula Roe
Chase had that, all bundled up in his briefcase. That was his purpose here, not obsessing about some weird feelings he had when he was around Vanessa Partridge.
He was attracted to her, plain and simple. Nothing weird about that. Totally normal. She was an attractive woman, after all.
One whose soft voice had floated gently down the hallway, singing a song he’d instantly recognized. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough—until he just had to go and kiss her.
Idiot.
He didn’t do commitment. And Vanessa was the poster child for it.
His mind was still churning when he disembarked, collected his bag and drove an hour north to the Mac-D Ranch.
“He’s sleeping,” Mitch said after he opened the front door and they shared a brief hug. “That’s all he seems to do. He’s lost interest in his books, TV, the Playstation. You didn’t have to buy him that, by the way.”
“I wanted to.” Chase followed Mitch down the long hall to the guest bedroom. “We never had anything like that when we were Sam’s age. Your mom couldn’t afford it and I…”
“Yeah,” Mitch scowled as he swung the guest bedroom door wide. “Your folks were too wrapped up in all their crap.”
Chase slapped a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “I have something that might interest him.”
“Like what?”
“Remember when he started talking about D. B. Dunbar’s last book?”
Mitch’s face tightened. “How he said he wouldn’t be around to read it?” He puffed out a breath, his eyes closing briefly in pain before they sprung open. “Damn near broke my heart that day.”
“Well, I got it.”
“What, the book? But it’s not due out until next year.”
“No, the actual manuscript.”
“You got the…” Mitch frowned then stared at Chase. “How did you manage that?”
“Man, you have got to start watching the news.” Chase finally dropped his bag on the bed then unzipped his carry-on. “The manuscript came up for auction last week and I bought it.”
“You bought it,” Mitch repeated slowly, staring at the package Chase pulled from his bag. “Just like that. How much?”
Chase grinned, waving the sheaf of wrapped papers gently in the air. “More than a newspaper, less than a mansion.”
Mitch’s hand went through his shaggy hair then came to rest at the back of his neck. “Dude, you really don’t need to keep buying this stuff. No, listen,” he added when Chase tried to interrupt. “It means a lot—no, everything—that you’re here. Honestly, I can’t tell you how grateful I am that Sam’s last six months have been spent out of that hospital, in the comfort of his own home. You bought the specialist equipment, paid for all those tests, a nurse. Olivia’s been brilliant, by the way,” he added. “Hell, you also brought in Tom to cook—”
Chase put up a hand. “I need to stop you right there, because I know where you’re going with this. I want to do this and I can more than afford it. This is me you’re talking to, okay, Mitch? We’ve been best buds since junior high. I’m Sam’s godfather. I didn’t do anything all those years ago to help you, so please, let me do something now.”
Mitch shook his head. “I’ve told you, there’s nothing you could have done.”
“I could’ve returned your calls.”
“When you were in the middle of that whole insider-trading mess? No,” Mitch said firmly. “I completely understand. Seeing your boss go down in flames…that kind of crap can screw with your entire life for months.”
Chase remained silent, his past failure a faint, bitter memory. If anything should be a lesson in misplaced trust, Mason Keating—Rushford Investment’s senior manager, his former mentor and now criminal at large—was it.
He sighed now, tossed the package on the bed and loosened his collar. “This is about making Sam happy, not me assuaging misplaced guilt. And I know this will make him happy. You know it.”
Mitch cupped the back of his neck and gave his head a shake. “It will.”
“See? No problem.” Chase smiled. “Now, what say we grab a beer and you can get me up to speed with life in the slow lane?”
Mitch choked out a laugh, the rare sound a welcome relief to Chase’s ears. “Slow lane? Ten thousand head of cattle is hardly slow, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
* * *
When the phone rang on Monday night, Vanessa tore herself away from the televised Columbus Day parade to answer it.
It was Chase.
She nearly dropped the phone in shock.
But then he called again, same time Tuesday. Then the next night. By Thursday, she was anticipating the phone’s soft ring with schoolgirl glee, something she’d never done before.
At first she stayed on noncontentious ground, talking about work, then movies, books and the places they’d visited: Vanessa and her family ski trips to Colorado and Christmases in Hawaii, Chase with his travels across Texas, Arizona, Nevada. But gradually, by Thursday night, their conversations had branched off into various likes and dislikes, childhood experiences, future challenges. Yet Chase still skimmed over some of her innocent questions, which made Vanessa even more determined to find out more.
“Tell me something about you,” she began as she settled on her couch with a blanket and a cup of coffee then flicked the TV volume down.
“I had a new piece of art delivered today.”
Not what I meant, but still… “Which one?”
“A Gainsborough. It was part of the Cullen collection.”
“The collection that Waverly’s was auctioning off?”
“Yep. A very small but very expensive portrait.”
“You like Gainsborough?”
“Well, it’s an investment, so…”
“Do you ever buy anything that’s not an investment?”
His deep, frankly intimate chuckle reverberated in her ear like a caress, making her shiver. “Food. Clothes. Travel.”
“Okay, so…tell me something else about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like…did you live in Texas your whole life?”
She heard the pause, a second too long. “Until college.”
“And you didn’t keep the accent.”
“No, ma’am,” he drawled, making her smile. Then, “I worked hard to lose it.”
“Why? I think it’s charming. Very Matthew McConaughey.”
“It was more of a disadvantage than anything.”
“I bet the college girls loved it,” she teased, taking a sip from her cup as she glanced briefly at the soundless TV screen.
A brief pause, then, “Not really.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t that kind of guy.”
“And what kind of guy is that?”
“The jock who partied every weekend, had a dozen girlfriends and got by on charm, off-color jokes and a football scholarship.”
Was that a thin veil of disgust she could hear? Vanessa frowned. “That’s right, Mr. Photographic Memory.” She affected a tone of gentle playfulness. “Gosh, you would’ve been an awesome study partner. I was always a last-minute crammer. How I got my degree I’ll never know.”
His huff of laughter meant she’d hit the right note, and Vanessa breathed out an inaudible sigh.
“Says the girl who scored a job at Winchester Prep.”
“They had hundreds of applicants, mine included. I’m sure my father’s influence gave me an unfair advantage,” she asserted. “But let’s not talk about him.”
“Okay. So how’s the weather?”
Vanessa laughed. “Oh, smooth segue, Mr. Harrington.”
“One of my many talents.”
“Many, huh?”
“Mmm-hmm.” That soft, deep hum in her ear sent her skin prickling and she swallowed, steeling herself against the delicious, involuntary sensation.
“Like?”
“I can name the last thirty Oscar winners in the Best Director c
ategory.”
“Handy for when we play Trivial Pursuit. Anything else?”
“What did you have in mind?” His voice had taken on a deeper timbre, and dangerous anticipation suddenly swirled in the air.
Vanessa closed her eyes, squeezing her thighs together as an unexpected spark of desire flared. She was enjoying their banter way too much. “Like—” Then she glanced at the TV and frowned. “Oh, great.”
“What?”
“Waverly’s is on the news again.” She grabbed the remote and flicked the screen off, the mood broken. “Poor Ann.”
A pause, then Chase said slowly, “You and Ann are close.”
“Close enough. She and my sister stayed in touch even after Juliet moved. I really like Ann—she’s smart, tough, doesn’t gossip and is completely loyal to her friends. She’s worked very hard to get where she is.”
“And made a few enemies, by the looks of things.”
“Who hasn’t? Waverly’s woes sell papers and Ann’s love life just makes it more titillating. If the CEO were a man, the press wouldn’t be half as brutal.”
Chase paused. “You’re probably right.”
“I know I am. Female execs are judged on their physical appearance and emotional suitability all the time. When a man is tough, he’s assertive. When a woman is, she’s a bitch. And no one ever asks a man to choose between his career and marriage.” She paused to take a breath. “Sorry. I’m ranting, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.”
She snorted. “Now you’re just being polite.”
“Vanessa,” he said with a smile in his voice, “you should know by now I’m not ‘just’ anything to be polite.”
“I’m…not sure.”
“Of what?”
Of everything. Of you. Of this. “You’re not an easy read, Chase Harrington.”
“I can’t afford to be.”
“In business? Or in your personal life too?”
Silence.
Vanessa stilled, her hand tight on the phone. Would he actually answer that or dance around the topic again?
Finally, he said, “Both. Vanessa?”
“Yes?”
“I believe you’re getting a bit personal.”
“Am I?” she said lightly, sliding down into the couch and crossing her ankles over the armrest.
“You know you are. So let me ask you something.”
A faint anticipatory throb started up in her chest. “Oooookay…”
“What perfume do you wear?”
She blinked. “Sorry?”
“There’s this smell about you, vanilla mixed with something else, something almost powdery that I can’t quite figure out. It’s driving me nuts.”
She was driving him nuts.
Her breath rushed out in one huge whoosh.
The palpable silence throbbed as he waited for her reply, but all she could do was listen to her heart going crazy.
He’d been thinking about her.
She reached up and pulled the elastic from her ponytail and the newly washed curls fell over her shoulders like a soft kiss. She shivered.
“The vanilla is my hair conditioner,” she finally said. “The other is probably diaper-rash cream.”
Oh, man! As soon as it was out, she rolled her eyes and mugged at the ceiling. Way to kill a mood, Ness.
“Diaper-rash cream,” Chase repeated.
“Mmm-hmm.” Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pressed tight.
“Interesting. Vanessa?”
“Mmm?”
“What are you doing on the weekend?”
She wound a curl around her finger, first one way, then the other. “Oh, the usual—washing, cleaning, cooking, tending to babies. You?”
“Why don’t you come to Georgia?”
“What?”
There was yet another pause, long seconds during which Vanessa tried to unravel the tangle. “Chase, Georgia? Why would I—I can’t afford—and I have the girls and… What’s in Georgia?”
“Me. And my godson, Sam.”
The confusion cleared with those few words.
“You’re in Georgia?” Wait, hang on. “You want me to meet your godson?”
“Yes. He has leukemia. It’s terminal and I promised I’d read him the last Charlie Jack book.”
A handful of replies swam in her mind, all congealing into an inadequate ball of excuses. Finally, she said, “Sam is your Make-A-Wish child.”
“He is. He…”
She waited with a held breath for Chase to continue, until her head practically spun from lack of air. Eventually he said, “I’d like you to read the book with me. If you want to.”
Oh. This was big. So very, very big. How long had he chewed this decision over and over, debating whether or not to include her in his tight, private circle?
It meant progress and that meant scary relationship stuff. Stuff she wasn’t sure she’d be any good at, considering her priorities would always lie with her girls, first and foremost.
Erin and Heather, who’d been born perfectly healthy.
She gripped the phone, squeezing her eyes shut. “Chase, I can’t afford to—”
“I’ll take care of that. There’s a direct flight out of Dulles tomorrow morning which will get you here in a couple of hours. You can be back Sunday night.”
Her eyes sprung open to stare at the ceiling. She remembered that feeling, when you could pick up a phone or open a web browser and just buy what you wanted. For a brief second she felt the shallow, envious tug from her previous life, but it was quickly doused by reality.
“I’m not sure I can,” she said now.
A beat passed, then, “I understand.”
“Chase, I don’t—”
“It’s okay, Vanessa. You don’t have to.”
No, she didn’t. But she understood what it meant for him to ask and that meant something to her.
“No, I want to do this, Chase. Let me make a few calls,” she said.
He paused, then said, “You sure?”
“Yes. Call me back in ten.”
She hung up with a click then dialed her sister’s cell number.
“Jules.”
“Ness! We were just talking about you!”
Vanessa frowned. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Oh, Mom and Dad and some client of theirs. We’re at Citronelle. Have you seen this place? It’s gorgeous!”
“No, I haven’t. Listen, when are you going back to L.A.?”
“A week Saturday. Why?”
Vanessa bit her lip. “How would you like to spend some quality time with your nieces?”
* * *
When Chase finally hung up he paused, the phone in his hand as he stared out into the black night from his patio window. Any minute now, it would hit—the tight gut, the pounding head, the sweat. His body was a pretty accurate prewarning system and he’d gotten adept at listening to the signs of doubt, trusting his instincts when his head failed.
This time, however, nothing happened. Still, he waited a full ten minutes, engrossed in the view, before he finally placed the phone on the desk.
He’d made the right decision.
Mitch ran a ranch, coped with Sam’s illness, plus dealt with Jess running out on him. So much crap in his life, yet he remained strong, unbending, resolute. It was the kind of strength Chase sensed in Vanessa, the kind of strength he wished he had. The kind of strength that faltered every time he started to tell Sam he had the last Charlie Jack book. Just thinking of reading that story aloud, alone, knowing it was the beginning of the end, engulfed him in a huge wave of sadness.
Did that make him selfish for wishing Vanessa was with him, to channel some of that sadness?
Without her physical distraction, he’d found himself totally focused on their conversations these past few days. Vanessa not only revealed a very smart mind, but also, to his surprise, a wicked sense of humor. He’d actually loosened up, even caught his grinning reflection in the glass door once or twice. Pretty soon,
hanging up had become an annoyance and he’d spent the next day looking forward to that night’s call, then the next, like some giddy, smitten kid.
They might have started out talking about normal stuff, but they also veered off course, and that’s when it had turned weird.
Weird in a “dangerous, uncharted territory” way.
Chase had never really gotten the hang of flirting. As a teenager he’d been too embarrassed and lacking confidence. Then, as an adult, women had seemed perfectly okay with verbalizing exactly what they wanted from him. Frankly, he’d appreciated the no-nonsense honesty. But this was different. He and Vanessa talked—seemingly innocuous topics—yet a subtle undercurrent tightened his body and sent his heartbeat galloping every time.
Like those two kisses.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
And now Vanessa was coming here. With Mitch’s approval, Chase had not only invited her to the Mac-D Ranch, but also into a private part of his life.
He stilled, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure, but the only emotion chomping away in his belly was nervous anticipation.
He wanted to see her again. Damn, was actually eager for it. A need had taken shape inside, growing until it had urged him into action. An action that was so out of character that he’d second-guessed his decision up until the very moment he’d asked Vanessa to join him.
He scowled at his reflection before turning away.
Interesting that now, after all these years, he’d succumbed to a lust that dictated his actions and went against all those years of self-preservation.
No, it wasn’t just lust. Dunbar had obviously rewritten parts of the story with Erin and Heather in mind, so including Vanessa in this, giving her the opportunity to read those scenes in advance, before the book exploded into the stores, was the right thing to do.
Chase always did the right thing.
Nine
“You could have brought Erin and Heather,” Chase said for the third time since he’d picked her up from the airport.
“I didn’t think that would’ve been appropriate, considering.”