Knight in Cowboy Boots: International Billionaires X: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  Her cell phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She wanted to ignore it, but she still held responsibilities at the hotel, and she’d been gone for too long. Anything could happen. Slipping the phone out, she stared at the screen in shock.

  Nick.

  Nick was calling her?

  She’d known her words in the barn were harsh and cold, yet she hadn’t realized she had the ability to drive him away forever. The man who hadn’t even said his goodbyes or seen her to the plane. The man who’d given up on making her change her mind. Who’d given up on them before she’d even left his ranch.

  Strike that. The ranch wasn’t the Townsends’, now.

  He’d lose the ranch just as surely as she’d lose her hotels. She’d made sure of that not fifteen minutes ago when she’d signed the petition for divorce.

  The phone buzzed again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Peter said.

  “It’s Nick,” she blurted.

  “Then don’t.” Skidding across the seat, he reached for the phone. “Give it to me. I’ll get rid of him.”

  “No.” With a gut instinct she couldn’t define, she tucked the phone close to her side. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Don’t talk to him.” Her bodyguard and friend leaned in, his mouth tightening. “He’ll only confuse you.”

  The phone buzzed again before going to voicemail.

  She tried to force herself to relax against the leather, but her emotions were too mixed and tortured. There were answers floating inside her that couldn’t be pinned down, something that caused a pain in the deep part of her soul. “Why do you hate him so much?”

  Peter reared back, his expression going blank. “I saw what he could do to you, if you let him.”

  “I let him,” she said. “With the emphasis on I. I did this as much as Nick.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he rasped. “He made that ugly deal with your father, and he fooled you into loving him.”

  “But I fell in love. I let that happen,” she pressed, not knowing why she kept at this, yet knowing she needed to talk this through. Figure this out, this dark, awful ache inside. “I was part of it, too.”

  “He isn’t good enough for you. He isn’t what you need.”

  Except Nick was what she’d needed. He’d given her a taste of freedom, something she’d never experienced. He’d given her a home in their Painted Lady, something she’d desperately wanted her entire life. He’d given her confidence in herself, in her body and her sex.

  He’d given her exactly what she needed.

  “Don’t look like that,” her friend grumbled, his hand ruffling through his gray hair. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Her phone buzzed once more.

  Looking down, she frowned. It was Nick, sending her a text this time.

  Call me. Urgent.

  “Ignore him.”

  Instead, she ignored Peter. Texting wouldn’t pull her into his charm. He couldn’t inject his crooning voice or his cajoling words into a text. Plus, she had to know he was all right.

  Her thumbs tapped on the screen.

  What is wrong?

  “Goddamnit,” Peter growled.

  Her phone immediately buzzed, a call this time.

  She had to know. The curiosity Nick consistently inspired in her rose like a phoenix inside. She had to know he was all right. Ignoring her bodyguard’s continued grumbling, she answered the phone. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Jessica.”

  It was Edward Townsend, not Nick. Concern swamped her curiosity because his voice was harsh and taut. “What’s happened?”

  “You shouldn’t care,” Peter huffed at her side.

  “It’s my son.”

  There was grief mixed in those words. A terrible grief. Everything inside her stilled: her brain, her blood, her heart. “Tell me.”

  “Nick fell yesterday.”

  “Fell? Fell off what? Where?” Her breath rattled in her chest and the stillness turned to ice.

  “Off a tall crag. Basically a mountain. He’s in the hospital.” Ed’s tone turned as icy as her brain and blood and heart. “Jessica. He’s not doing well. He’s asking for you.”

  “Pa.”

  A grunt was the only response.

  “What are you doing now?”

  Another grunt. The old man kept looking into the suitcase Jackson had delivered a few hours ago.

  Nick supposed he shouldn’t harass his father. After all, he’d have likely frozen in the desert if he hadn’t been found a mere hour after he’d fallen right in front of Caballo. The horse had shot off in fright, galloping away in a frenzy. That had been the last thing he remembered until he’d opened his eyes to see his father leaning over him.

  His obviously worried pa.

  The memory tingled through him, stringing hope and fear and a quagmire of other mixed emotions in his wake.

  There’d been clear love in his father’s eyes. He might have been dazed by the knock on his head, and the pain of his broken leg, arm, and collarbone might have fogged his mind, but not enough to block out the realization.

  His pa loved him.

  “I’m going to brush your hair.” His father turned to stare at him, a look of grim concentration on his face.

  A concentration on Nick’s appearance that had filled the entire last two hours. He didn’t need to have a shave, although his pa kept insisting. He didn’t need to change into a new hospital gown. After all, he’d only been in the hospital for less than a day. “What the hell is going on?”

  His father ignored him again, poking around in the suitcase. From what Nick could tell, the thing was filled with an assortment of his stuff—none of which he needed for a stay in the hospital. The assortment included things like razors and shaving cream, not his laptop filled with numbers to take a man’s mind off his own idiocy.

  “Come on,” his pa coaxed, coming to the side of the bed and waving a comb in his face. “Lift your head.”

  In his other hand, he held a bottle of Nick’s aftershave. In a flash, it came to him. “Where’s my cell phone?”

  By the look that filled his pa’s eyes, he knew he’d been right.

  “You didn’t,” he groaned, slamming his head on the pillow in disgust.

  After he’d been checked over by Tiny, who was the ranch’s trained paramedic, he’d been immobilized on a backboard, placed on a stretcher, and lifted into his pa’s truck. The only thing he could think of during the entire time was how glad he was that Jessie wasn’t around to see this. See his stupidity, his broken body, his pride and power gone.

  “I called her,” his pa announced, a firm tightness in his words. “She’s your wife, and she deserves to know.”

  His temper flew up to the ceiling and filled his lungs with a roar. “She’s not my wife anymore.”

  “She said she’d come immediately.”

  “Dios puta maldita mierda.” The thought of her seeing him like this turned his insides into a stewing pot of heated rage.

  “Foreign crap,” his father muttered. “Lift you head so I can brush your hair.”

  Swatting his pa away, he tried to think. “Where’s my phone? Give me back my phone. I’ll call her and tell her I’m fine.”

  “I called her as soon as we got to the hospital. So she’s had plenty of time to get here.”

  “From where?” Wild with anger, he glared at the old man.

  “New York City.” Edward Townsend didn’t ever back down, and, as usual, he didn’t back down now.

  “This is a fucking disaster.” Plopping his head on the pillow once more, he grimaced at the ceiling. “Going from New York City to Winnemucca is sure to impress her.”

  “Swearing,” his pa grumbled. “She’s not coming here to view the town, boy. She’s coming to see you.”

  “Fuck. Mierda.”

  His pa sighed. “I’m going to have to wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “Just like old times.” Hysterical amusement was beginning to replac
e his anger. Did his pa really think his Jessie was going to walk in here and forgive him because he’d stupidly fallen and broken several bones? Forgive him for lying to her and tricking her. Forgive him for touching her in rage and then taking her on the floor of a loft with a fucking wool blanket the only thing beneath her. “You’re crazy, old man.”

  Crazy.

  The word curled around both of them. An echo of their past, a replay of their present.

  His pa paused, a scowl crossing his face. “Maybe we’re both crazy.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled. “That’s the God-honest truth, isn’t it? Two crazy men who lost the loves of their lives.”

  Pain flashed across the old man’s face, and Nick couldn’t bear it. He’d done enough emotional damage to last a lifetime. If he did nothing else going forward, he was going to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone he loved ever again.

  And sí, he loved his pa. Had loved him through the roughest points of their relationship. He’d admit it to himself now, when he’d lost everything. “Pa.”

  “Yeah?” A gnarled hand tightened on the comb, fingers going white.

  “We might both be crazy, but we’re still Townsends.”

  A gleam of humor replaced the pain. “We are, aren’t we?”

  “We might have lost the ranch for good—”

  “Naw, I won’t accept that.” The comb swung in front of him. “You still have a chance.”

  “Pa, I don’t—”

  “I was a stubborn fool. Don’t repeat my mistake.” His father leaned closer, his blue eyes fierce. “I got her to come here. Don’t waste my efforts.”

  Was it possible his pa actually looked proud of what he’d done?

  “I’ve given you a second chance at catching her.”

  Sí, it was possible. “I’m going to tell her I’m fine and she can leave again. Get on with her life.”

  Because even if he could conjure up more charm and cajoling, he didn’t have the heart for it anymore. The conclusion he’d come to on his crag still rang through him like a tolling bell.

  He didn’t deserve her.

  “Nick?”

  His head shot up.

  “Jessie,” he whispered, all thoughts and decisions flying out of his brain.

  She stood in the open doorway, her face white, her lips pressed in a tight line. Behind her, loomed her ferocious guard dog, looking…ferocious.

  Great. The guy could come in and break his other leg.

  “You’re awake.” With several tentative steps, she came to the end of his bed. “Your father—”

  “He’s got a broken arm, and leg, and collarbone,” his helpful parent broke in. “He also suffered a major concussion.”

  “Pa, would you shut—”

  “Oh, Nick.” Her wispy brows furrowed in clear distress. “What happened?”

  “I slipped and fell.” He pasted a sunny smile on his face. “No big deal.”

  Her worried eyes told him she didn’t buy it. As usual, she never bought his bullshit. “It is a big deal.”

  “You’ve seen him, and he’s not on death’s door,” her guard dog barked. “You can see he’s fine. We can go.”

  “He’s far from fine,” his pa intoned. “He’s going to be in the hospital for days and laid up for months. He barely escaped having surgery.”

  “That’s none of her business, Pa.”

  His father didn’t stop his own set of complete bullshit. “The doctor’s still very concerned. People have died after suffering a concussion.”

  A horrified gasp came from her, and Nick’s temper flew once more.

  “Stop scaring her,” he shot at the older man. “Stop talking shit. Dios puta maldita mierda.”

  “Foreign crap and swearing.” His pa shook his head. “In front of your wife.”

  She stiffened, and something crossed her face that made Nick want to vomit. She’d done it. She’d initiated their divorce. It was written all over her.

  “Go on, Jessie,” he snarled, letting his anger wash away any last need to charm. “Get out of here.”

  “You heard him, Ginger Snap,” her guard snarled, too. “Let’s go.”

  For a moment, she tottered, literally tottered on her feet, and he wanted desperately to jump up and take her in his arms, steady her with his presence. But he was incapacitated, thankfully. The last thing Jessica McDowell wanted from him was another lunging grab. “Leave. I’m fine.”

  His words sparked something in her eyes. The green-blue-brown melted…into gold. The gold he’d only seen when she’d loved him.

  That wasn’t possible.

  He frowned at her. “Go away.”

  “Nope, cowboy.” She gave him a serene smile. “I’m here to stay.”

  His frown turned to a scowl. “Fuck.”

  “Swearing,” his father murmured.

  Jessie laughed.

  Chapter 36

  He was alive.

  Her heart, which had centered in the middle of her throat for the last ten hours, slowly slid down to its rightful place in her chest.

  “There’s no reason for you to stay.” He glowered at her from his bed, his black curls tumbling on his forehead instead of sleekly falling in his usual perfect cut. A dark bruise colored one cheek, turning his glossy olive skin to purple. The white cast protruded from one sleeve of the blue hospital gown, holding his arm in a tight sling, and his plastered leg hung from a sling, as well.

  His father was right. Nick would be laid up for weeks, probably months. Jess would take any bet in the world that he was bound to be a terrible patient.

  “I’d like a moment with my husband alone, please.”

  Her words made Peter stiffen at her side. “That’s not a good idea—”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Edward Townsend chimed in. “Exactly what’s called for.”

  “Pa,” the impatient patient grumbled from his bed.

  “You can go, Peter.”

  With a growl of disgust, her security guard followed the older man out the door. Walking behind them, she made sure the door was shut. To her delight, it also had a lock. The click echoed through the room.

  “What are you doing?” the patient grumbled again.

  Somewhere over the plains of Kansas, Jess had come to a conclusion. The shock of the phone call had blanked her mind for several hours. The only thing she could think of was getting to Nick. But when she’d calmed down, she finally understood what was important, what mattered. Sometimes, a woman needed a good hard slap to understand herself. And her life.

  The slap of thinking about a world without Nick Townsend in it…

  She loved him. For now and forever.

  Everything else was…nothing.

  Yes, she wanted and loved her hotels. They felt like a part of her. And yes, she was still angry at her father and Nick for what they’d done. She was more than someone who needed protection. However, she no longer believed the ugly contract was the only thing Nick wanted from her.

  She believed in him once more.

  Créeme.

  Believed in his words of love and his tenderness. She also believed in his ability to set her free. And she wanted that. She wanted everything. Her pride had dropped away from her, along with the defenses she’d put in place many years ago to keep away the men wanting to pluck at her fortune. The defenses she’d wrapped around her in Tasmania when the hurt had been too great to take in.

  Yet, she knew now. Knew to the bottom of her soul.

  She was more than her fortune and her hotels.

  She was Nick’s Jessie.

  Turning, she surveyed him, trying to decide where to begin. He didn’t look very receptive. In fact, he looked downright surly.

  Luckily, though, he couldn’t dance away from her.

  “I want you to leave.” A sullen look of rejection crossed his face. “There’s nothing more to say.”

  She’d never been brave with men. Except this man had given her the gift of confidence. She’d lost that for awhile when she�
��d found the contract in Tasmania. But right at this moment, staring into his celestial-blue eyes brimming with infernal wrath, she felt that confidence seeping into her soul, never to be lost again. “I think there’s plenty of things to say.”

  “No, there isn’t.” He shifted in the bed when she took two steps nearer. As if he wanted to run. “You said all you had to say at your divorce lawyer’s office.”

  Ah. So he’d figured that out. This man might have received a knock to the head. Still, his brilliant brain evidently hadn’t suffered. If she played her cards right, she’d never have to live without his intelligence. “Things have changed.”

  “Just because of this?” He used his one good arm to wave at his casts. “I don’t want your pity.”

  His growled response didn’t surprise her. He had his pride. Just as she did. What he didn’t know was she’d left hers behind in the skies above America. But how could she make him understand that? How could she make him drop his own?

  Trying to think of how to approach this, she zeroed in on something beside his adorable disgruntlement. Her gaze landed on his foot peeking out of the cast. Without thinking it through, she took another step and reached up to pluck a toe. “Ticklish?”

  “What?” Astonishment filled his face before it went cross once more. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I could make you laugh.” She held onto his wiggling toe. “And it’s ¿qué, remember, cowboy?”

  “I don’t feel like laughing,” he grouched. “I fell off a cliff and my ex-wife just filed for divorce.”

  “I’m still your wife,” she ventured.

  “Not for long.” He sank back in his bed, like he’d given up the fight. “That’s the way I want it, too.”

  “Really?” Her confidence shuddered. “That’s not what you were saying at the ranch a few days ago.”

  “And look where that got me.” Sarcasm dripped from every vowel.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

  “I know what this is about.” His focus centered on the light in the ceiling, apparently unwilling to even look at her anymore. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Do you?” She kept her grasp on his big toe because she wanted to touch him, and his skin was too cold in her estimation. “I bet you don’t.”