For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2)

by Mary J. Williams

  To Rebecca's surprise—and delight—there was nothing boring or staid about her banker. Reliable plus just the right amount of edge equaled just right in her book.

  "Darren is out of town until Sunday." Rebecca fluffed her cap of short, dark hair before putting on her gloves. Lowering her voice, her dark eyes sparkled as she looked at Rowan. "I think he's going to propose."

  "What?" Finally, Rowan added to herself. "How do you know?"

  "A feeling." Shrugging, Rebecca tried her best to contain her grin, failing miserably. "The little hints have been getting bigger. And, Darren is taking me out to dinner on Sunday. Without the kids. To Pie in the Sky."

  "Why didn't you say so?" The fanciest restaurant in town was the place for 'spontaneous' marriage proposals. "Book the hall."

  "We aren't there yet."

  Seeing Rebecca's frown, Rowan placed a hand on her friend's arm.

  "I know you love him. Silla and Shirley love him." An understatement. Rebecca's daughters thought the sun rose and set on Darren Statham. "What's the problem?"

  "I want to spend the rest of my life with Darren."

  The absolute conviction in Rebecca's voice brought a smile to Rowan's lips. The touch of envy she felt wasn't unexpected. While not looking for the love of her life, she wouldn't complain if he dropped in unexpectedly.

  "Marriage scares me. What we have—Darren, the girls, and I—is so right. What if—?"

  "Stop right there." Rowan knew the dangers of what if. The words were an endless circle without an answer. Rebecca was better off if she never jumped on that particular train. "What happened during your first marriage won't happen again. Not with Darren."

  "But—"

  "He's a different man. And you're different this time around."

  "I am." Rebecca perked up. "That silly girl who followed an idiot—and her hormones—to the altar no longer exists. I grew up not just because I had to for the girl's sake. But for my own."

  "You have a good man. The right man." Rowan confirmed what her friend already knew.

  "I do." Chuckling, Rebecca nodded. "Listen to me. I guess I'm ready for the big day."

  "There you go."

  "Oh, God. What if after all this angst, Darren doesn't pop the question?"

  "Then you ask him."

  Rebecca seemed to like the idea, her face lighting up.

  "I can do that. Hooray for the twenty-first-century woman."

  "Hooray for women, period," Rowan countered, nodding toward her hardworking crew.

  "Truer words were never spoken. Oh, my God." Wide-eyed, Rebecca's mouth hung open. "Who is that? Yummy. I wonder if Darren would mind if I licked him? Just to see if he tastes half as good as he looks."

  Rowan could tell before she turned who had put the look of awe on Rebecca's face. Hadn't she reacted in a similar fashion the first time she took a good gander at Nick Sanders? And the second time. And the third.

  Rowan watched as Nick walked toward them. Yummy didn't begin to describe him. From the top of his dark hair that she knew from personal experience was unbelievably thick and soft to the touch. To that face that made her believe that miracles do happen.

  What other explanation was there? The man took her breath away. Pure and simple.

  And Rowan wasn't alone. The women on her crew stopped what they were doing as he walked by. She could almost hear their collective sighs.

  "Good morning, Rowan." Nick checked his watch. "Yup. Still morning with five minutes to spare."

  Even the sound of his voice sent a shiver down Rowan's spine. She would have bet her favorite set of gardening tools—the high-end ones she bought herself for her last birthday—that Nick hadn't noticed the attention he garnered from every woman within gazing distance.

  His focus completely on her as if they were the only two people in the world didn't hurt. A fact that wasn't lost on Rebecca.

  "How long has this been going on?" her friend said under her breath as if whispering the words would magically render Nick temporarily deaf. "And why didn't you tell me?"

  Rowan ignored the questions, settling on an introduction instead.

  "Rebecca Gibson, meet Nick Sanders."

  "The baseball player?" If possible, Rebecca's face lit up even more. "My boyfriend is a huge fan. He wheedled me into watching the World Series. Surprisingly, I wasn't the least bit bored."

  "What a relief." Charming as always, Nick's tone was tinged with irony. "We do our best not to put too many people to sleep."

  "And you succeeded," Rebecca assured him.

  "You know who Nick is?" Once again, Rowan seemed to be the only person outside the baseball loop.

  Going on as if she hadn't heard Rowan's question, Rebecca's eyes didn't waver from Nick.

  "I remember thinking while I was watching the games that you were handsome. But in person, you reach a whole different level of gorgeous."

  Amused by Rebecca's outspoken admiration, Rowan crossed her arms, waiting to see if Nick's reaction was just as entertaining.

  Though suitably flattered, Nick didn't eat up the attention as his due. Instead, he changed the subject, shifting the focus off him.

  "Do you work with Rowan?"

  "Yes. And speaking of which, I need to hustle along." Rebecca sent Nick a dazzling smile. "If you're going to be in town for a while, I would love to introduce you to my boyfriend. Darren will go mental when I tell him we met."

  "I'll be here at least until Wednesday."

  Wednesday? As Rebecca drove down the long driveway, Rowan mulled over Nick's news.

  "I couldn't get an appointment to see Cartwright until next week," Nick explained, anticipating Rowan's question.

  He sounded frustrated. Knowing how Leo operated, Rowan wasn't that surprised. Not that Leo played games—exactly. But sometimes, he wielded his power in odd, inexplicable ways.

  "You didn't tell Leo why you wanted to see him?"

  "Seems like more of a face-to-face kind of thing."

  As she grabbed the handles on the wheelbarrow, Rowan wondered how to tell Nick a few hard truths. Three steps ahead of her, he saved her trouble.

  "If Cartwright is half the businessman he's purported to be, he already knows who I am. Who my mother is. And the probable reason I'm in Jasper."

  They took the path toward the bed of roses near the back of the property. Nick strolled by her side. He didn't try to do the manly thing, muscling her aside. Instead, he let Rowan do her job.

  Another major round of brownie points for Mr. Sanders.

  "Leo has a crack team of investigators on retainer. You're right. By now, they've checked you out pretty thoroughly."

  "Yet, no phone call moving up our meeting. I guess Lenny isn't terribly anxious to meet his long-lost son."

  For the first time in her life, Rowan wished she was somebody else. A person not connected to Leonard Cartwright. Her loyalty to him was more about gratitude than affection, but the reason didn't change the facts.

  Leo was her stepfather. Married to her mother. Her brother worked for him as his right-hand man and heir apparent. Rowan's refusal to conform to her stepfather's idea of how a young woman should behave had made her a bit of an outsider. But the fact remained. They were the only family she had.

  "You can't take my side, Rowan."

  Funny, hearing Nick give voice to her thoughts suddenly brought them into complete clarity.

  "I'm not taking sides."

  Not yet. Rowan would cross that bridge if and when she came to it. Reaching the end of the path, she set down the wheelbarrow.

  "I'm helping a friend find the answers he deserves."

  "Some friend." Without asking, Nick handed Rowan one of the nearby shovels, taking another for himself. He followed her lead, distributing the compost around the roses. "More like a pain in the ass."

  "Not mine. Yet," Rowan laughed.

  "Rowan. Lunch is here."

  "We'll be right there, Minnie. Come on." Row
an took Nick's hand. Even through her thick work gloves, she liked the feel of his fingers closing over hers. "There's a place in the greenhouse where we can wash up."

  "Word is going to get around that we're spending time together."

  "Some of the biggest gossips in Jasper saw us together this morning," Rowan said as she opened the door to the large, domed building. To the right, she stopped by a ceramic sink. Turning on the taps, she shrugged. "I can't control what people say—or who hears what they say."

  "That's a nice way of looking at things, Rowan." Nick squirted a dollop of soap into his palm. "But you don't strike me as the head-in-the-sand type. I have nothing to lose in all of this. You, on the other hand…"

  "Why are you here, Nick?"

  "In Jasper?" Nick frowned. "I told you."

  "I mean here." Tossing him a towel, Rowan looked him straight in the eyes. "With me. If you're so worried about unsettling my life, why not stay away?"

  "Because at heart, I'm a selfish bastard."

  Rowan wouldn't argue Nick's assessment of himself. The man was a professional athlete. She imagined selfish had to be part of the package. But he had given her a pretty sizable peek inside himself. Self-centered? Sure. To some degree, who wasn't? Self-obsessed to the exclusion of anybody else's feelings? No. Rowan wasn't buying that as an explanation.

  "Try again," she said.

  When Nick hesitated, Rowan simply crossed her arms and waited.

  "What other reason could there be?" he hedged.

  "Maybe that you like my company? You think I'm funny and easy to talk to?"

  "True."

  Copying a model's stance, Rowan posed as if in front of a camera. The incongruity of her old jeans, worn work boots, and dirt-smudged face added to the image she deliberately created for Nick's amusement.

  "Beautiful." Rowan batted her naturally long eyelashes. "And sexy as hell."

  Lips twitching, eyes twinkling, Nick nodded. "Don't forget humble."

  "Why state the obvious?"

  Deliberately, Nick stepped toward Rowan, his arms closing around her waist until his body pressed fully against hers.

  "There is nothing obvious about you, Rowan. Subtle curves." He ran his hand down her side, grazing her breast, coming to rest on her denim-covered hip. Leaning close, his lips brushed the side of her neck. "Subtle scent. Yet so intoxicating."

  "Compost and sweat. Every man's dream smell."

  A moan of pleasure as Nick bit lightly into the soft flesh right below her ear quickly followed Rowan's self-deprecating laugh.

  "I have a friend who sells pots of potions, lotions, and tempting fragrances. If she could bottle your scent, she would make a fortune."

  The sound of Nick's voice—the low, raspy rumble—sent shivers through Rowan's overheated body. She wasn't listening to the nonsense of his words as much as the tone. Bone melting. Hormone inducing.

  At that very moment, Rowan would have agreed to anything Nick asked. Though one thing quickly sprung to her mind.

  Sex on the floor of her employer's greenhouse? Sure. Absolutely. Yes. Please.

  "Gorgeous."

  Opening her eyes, Rowan found Nick staring. She didn't consider herself a vain person. But she knew when she made a little effort, turning heads wasn't out of the question.

  At the moment, though, Rowan wasn't at her best. Her hair was in a simple braid held in place by the usual rubber band, shoved under her knit hat. Not a lick of makeup adorned her face. Her coat hung open, leaving little doubt that she was a woman. But most of the time, an onlooker would be hard pressed if asked to describe her shape hidden beneath.

  However, the open admiration—the unfettered desire—in Nick's eyes left little doubt in her mind that he spoke the truth. To him—dirt smudges and all—she was indeed gorgeous.

  "We could skip lunch." Nick cupped Rowan's cheek, his thumb running over her skin with a gentle caress. "But your crew would probably guess what we were doing in here."

  "They're a sharp bunch," Rowan agreed, her sigh laced with regret. "Not that they would need much of an imagination."

  "Just as well. What I have in mind is much better accomplished on a bed. King sized, if possible."

  "I own a queen."

  "Please tell me that's an invitation," Nick said as he matter-of-factly buttoned Rowan's jacket.

  "More of a let's see how things go. With a big probably added on for good measure."

  "Fair enough." Nick took Rowan's words with good humor. A major twinkle in his dark eyes. "I plan on doing my best to change that probably into a definite yes."

  "I'm sure I’ll enjoy your efforts," Rowan chuckled.

  Her laugh turned into a gasp when Nick pulled her close for a quick but breathtaking, intense kiss.

  "You'll enjoy every second. Guaranteed," Nick assured her, holding open the greenhouse door.

  Rowan searched for a clever quip—one designed to let a little air out of the man's inflated ego. But she had nothing. Her brain was thoroughly scrambled. If she tried to speak, she would only embarrass herself as she fumbled to string words into a simple, cohesive sentence.

  Instead, Rowan gave him what she considered her best cool, withering look. The one that had sent more than one lounge lizard slinking away, his balls shriveled to the size of dried prunes. Nick simply smiled, his gaze seeming to say he wasn't intimidated.

  If anything, Rowan had the impression Nick's interest in her had intensified. Great. A professional athlete, he undoubtedly possessed a finely honed competitive side.

  How was she supposed to make a rational decision when the sexiest man she had ever met focused all his considerable talent on getting her into bed?

  They had until Wednesday. Much longer than Rowan had anticipated. Her insides jumped at the idea of having Nick around for the better part of a week. The calm, logical side of her brain wasn't as sure, throwing out warning signals like crazy.

  Dangerous flashed in big, bold neon letters.

  Not physically. Rowan knew with the certainty of the sun coming up in the east that Nick would never raise a hand to cause her harm.

  Her body would be fine.

  Her heart was another matter.

  After only a day, Rowan knew more about him than most of the men she had dated for months. Her fiancé—the man she planned to spend the rest of her life? She had never cracked the surface of what made him tick. Though to be fair, the blame fell on her as much as Wilton. She hadn't tried to make him open up simply because she hadn't cared.

  Almost from the moment they met, Rowan wanted to know everything about Nick. And there lay her problem. For perhaps the first time in her life she had met a man who made her want…

  Everything.

  "Don't look so worried," Nick teased, blissfully unaware of the direction of Rowan's thoughts. "I'm not going to jump you during lunch. A little seduction here. A little there."

  To illustrate his point, Nick brushed his hand against hers as they made their way to where her crew already tucked into the delivered sandwiches and hot soup. One light touch, yet enough to make Rowan's heart race with anticipation for more.

  Oh, yes. Nick was a danger to Rowan. In so many ways. And the crazy part? He had absolutely no idea. And for the sake of her peace of mind—and the rest of her—Rowan knew the best thing would be to keep him in the dark.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  OUT OF HABIT, Rowan stopped to check her reflection in the oval mirror hanging in the hall. As far as she knew, the antique silver-framed glass had been there as long as the house.

  Built just after the Civil War by Leonard Cartwright's direct ancestor, Langford Cartwright used the money he made off government contracts. His company supplied the North with anything and everything he could get his hands on. From bullets to tents. Anticipating the conflict to come, the wily up-and-coming businessman bought cheap. Stockpiling warehouse after warehouse. Then, when demand peaked, he sold at a pr
emium.

  Langford Cartwright began the 1860s with a decent fortune. By the end of the decade, he was one of the wealthiest men on the eastern seaboard.

  The mansion of sizable proportions sat on the outskirts of Jasper with a sweeping view of the ocean. Generation after generation lived there. Some happy. Some, not so much. But year after year. Decade after decade. As one century flowed into the next. Two things continued to grow.

  The Cartwright money. And the power that a family with great wealth and burning ambition, inevitably wielded.

  Smoothing her already neat-as-a-pin hair, Rowan wondered, as she often did when visiting the house she lived in until she was eighteen, how she had lasted that long.

  Just after Leo and her mother married, Rowan's natural exuberance was temporarily subdued by the dark halls and somber-faced portraits that seemed to watch with disapproval every time she walked the grand, curving staircase.

  In those days, Leo's mother was alive. Sternly unsmiling, she had little patience for children. Though Agnes Cartwright warmed a little toward Rowan's brother. Possessing the right combination of chromosomes, Geoff—as a boy—held more value. He wasn't a Cartwright by blood, but until their mother did her duty and produced an heir, Geoff was the next best thing.

  Blessed with the kind of personality that didn't dwell on what was wrong with her life, Rowan quickly—happily—discovered that in the Cartwright household, her sex—that of a lowly girl—paid major dividends.

  Once beyond the claustrophobic confines of their precious mansion, the Cartwrights couldn't have cared less where she went or what she did. Her friends—like Rowan—didn't matter. As long as she didn't attract attention, she was free to do as she pleased.

  The year Rowan turned fourteen, the sum of her worth—at least in the eyes of her step-grandmother—took a dramatic tick upward.

  Suddenly, as Rowan matured. Shooting upward. And outward—in all the proper places. As her somewhat pretty face lost the girlish softness becoming interesting. Some might even say beautiful. Which meant she could attract the right kind of husband. One from the right kind of family.

  Rowan spent the next four years under Agnes Cartwright's eagle eye. Her activities were closely scrutinized. As were her friends. To keep the peace, she went along with the old woman's archaic notions of how a young woman should behave.