by Erica Penrod
Cowboy boots? Gemma shifted in her seat and her eyes dropped to his feet, which were indeed clad in cowboy boots. Alligator skin, if she guessed right.
Sophia came through the door holding a tray. She set a tall glass of tea with a lemon in front of Jamon and placed another glass in front of Gemma. The petite woman opened a bottle of water and poured it into the glass.
“Thank you, Sophia.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. West.” She took the empty water bottle and returned it to the tray. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you.” Jamon smiled, and Gemma noticed the sincerity in his words when he spoke to his maid. “And how is your granddaughter doing today?”
“She is doing much better now. Her fever is gone, and the doctor said she should be able to go to school next week.” She flashed a set of pearly whites.
“I’m glad to hear that. Tell her when she feels better, I want her to come over and see the horses. She can go for a ride if she’d like to.”
“I’m sure she would love that. I will tell her. Thank you, Mr. West.”
Sophia left, and Gemma was confused. “Sophia calls you Mr. West.”
“Have you ever tried to argue with a spicy little Spanish lady? You can’t win.” His lips parted in a soft smile. “Believe me, I tried.”
Gemma sipped on her water. She tried to compartmentalize Jamon West and realized she had no idea where to begin. Part of managing a person’s image was showing their best side to the public. With Mr. Moreau, that was easy. He only had one good side. But Jamon was … different.
“Gemma, I understand it’s a necessary evil to appear in the public eye and to keep in the good graces of influential people, to accomplish all I want to do. That much has been made clear to me, and even though I don’t like it, I will do it, if it means I’m able to help more people and horses.”
“Horses?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
“Yes. Horses are my passion and there are few people I care about.” There was a twinkle in his eye, and Gemma assumed he was teasing her. “You’ve heard of horses going lame? Or when a horse breaks a leg, the animal usually has to be euthanized?”
“Not really.”
“It’s a huge and costly problem for the equine world, and I developed an injection that saves many injured horses from having to be put down.”
“Can’t they just put a cast on the leg?”
“Sometimes, depending on the break, the bone can heal, but often, because horse’s legs bear so much weight and have no muscle or tissue below the knee to help support it, a break is a death sentence. Even if they manage to keep the horse off the broken leg, the other legs take on so much weight, one of them will go lame—or rather, the laminae, which are like shock absorbers in the hooves, are destroyed—and the horse is unable to walk. My formula is an artificial lamina and allows the horse time to recover.”
“You’re a scientist?” She tried to picture him in a white lab coat and cowboy boots.
“Sort of.” He drank his tea. “I didn’t graduate, which is something I still plan to do, but I’ve always loved chemistry. I came up with the formula as a class project, and after that, everything exploded.”
“That must be overwhelming and satisfying at the same time. Your parents must be proud of you.” Visions of her own mom and dad in the front row as she danced filled her head. She pushed the thought aside.
“I’d like to think so, but they died a few years before all this happened.”
“I’m sorry.” This was so unlike any other first day she’d ever had. Gemma prided herself on the fact that even though her job involved many personal aspects, she refrained from becoming emotionally involved. But the fact that this cowboy had lost parents and treated Sophia like a valued member of his home melted the outer layer of ice around her heart.
“It’s fine.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the time. “Daylight’s burning, so I guess we’d better wrap this up. I jotted down a few things I needed you to take care of first. The list is on my desk. Sophia can show you where it is and where your office is located. Feel free to make it your own. I had no idea what you liked or what color you’d want the walls, but we can change anything you want. I’d like you to feel at home here.”
Gemma smiled, and for the first time in a while, the expression came from the inside out. “Thank you.”
“Look, I realize you probably have a lot of questions and we need to sit down in a more formal situation, but we can get to that tomorrow.” Jamon stood up and grinned down at her. She noticed the dimple in his chin barely visible beneath the stubble. “You know you’ve got your work cut out for you, right? I imagine it would be easier to put pantyhose on a pig and paint its lips red than it will be to turn me into a proper billionaire, as Adam put it.”
She stared at him, replaying his words in her head as she scrunched up her forehead. “I think you’re right, if I understand what you just said correctly, and that will be the first place we start. You can’t go around comparing people to pigs and dogs and any other slang you might’ve brought with you.”
“That’s just it, darlin’.” He winked at her. “You can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the man.”
Chapter Two
“I’m still not sure this was the best move for me.” Jamon padded through the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. He took two glasses from the cupboard and filled them both.
His friend and financial manager, Koven Kent, sat on a barstool at the counter. “You said anywhere but Texas, and this place offered everything you were looking for.” He took the glass from Jamon. “Reclusive, secure, and plenty of land to build your barns. And Washington is a great place to start up your research lab.”
“I guess on paper it fits the description, but I’ve never lived anywhere other than Texas, and the way people look at me here, I feel like I’m walking around with horns growing out of my head.” He worried this would never feel like home no matter how much time passed.
Koven laughed. “Not horns, just a cowboy hat. And then there’s your jeans with money spilling out of the pockets.”
Jamon shook his head and grinned. He leaned against the marble countertop. “I miss being around folks who know the difference between a cinch and a tie-down. I feel like everything that comes out of my mouth is a foreign language, and don’t even get me started on all the recycling bins in this city. I’ll need to hire someone full time just to sort out my trash.”
“Dude, you’re killing me, and you do have staff to take care of your recycling.” Koven chuckled. “You grew up working for McAllister’s Ranch, and that’s all you’ve ever known besides college. Your life has been one major event after another for the last few years, and it’s going to take some time to adjust to everything. Besides, you leaving Texas was the best thing for your brother.”
“I know.” Jamon drew in a breath. There were just some things money couldn’t fix, and in his brother’s case, it only made things worse. “But I still feel guilty for leaving Waylon behind.”
“You did everything you could. You put him though the most expensive rehab facility in the country, and it didn’t work. I hate to say it, but I don’t think Waylon’s ever going to get a hold of his addiction until he decides to do it, or he hits rock bottom.”
“I thought six months in jail was rock bottom, but apparently not.” Jamon rubbed his temples. “I wish I knew what the answer was.” He’d spent so much time consumed with how to help his brother—and discouraged when nothing seemed to work—that he’d lost hope.
“I’m sorry, man. I do too.”
“Enough about that. I’ve got other things to worry about, like how to be a billionaire.”
Koven adjusted his tie. “You’re not expecting me to feel sorry for you, are you? You developed an injection that revolutionized the equine world, and now you’ve got to learn how to be rich. I’m sure you’ll manage. And b
esides, your new PR assistant isn’t too hard to look at. I met her once when she worked for Moreau.”
“She is pretty … in a glass museum sort of way.” He couldn’t deny the way her pale blue eyes lingered in his mind long after she’d left. Jamon wasn’t sure he’d ever met a woman like Gemma Stonewall before. Whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t think she was too impressed by me yesterday. I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up for work today. I’m sure after working for Adam Moreau, she thinks I’m just some country bumpkin.” Jamon took a gulp of juice. “But none of that matters if she’s as good at her job as Moreau says she is.”
“Maybe she likes a challenge.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think she knows what she’s getting into. Heck, I’m still not sure about everything. Put me in a lab or a barn and I’m right at home, but in this house, I feel like a stranger. Nothing about this way of living is familiar to me.” Jamon reached up and scratched at his chin. He’d lived in the same house all his life, except for the two years at college. He’d grown up working right beside his parents, especially his father, on the ranch. Self-reliance and responsibility were ingrained in him. “Having people here to do everything isn’t easy for me, nor for them. I had to order Henry out of the kitchen so I could pour my own glass of juice. He’s probably standing on the other side of the wall with heart palpitations. And you should see the looks I got from Sophia when I asked her if we had a washer and dryer yet. My mom would’ve scolded me from here to Texas if I dropped my muddy jeans in the hamper.” His mother’s face hung in his mind like a portrait on the wall: beautiful and lifelike, but unanimated. He struggled to remember the sound of her laughter or the twinkle in her eyes on Christmas morning. Jamon tried to keep her memory alive as much as possible, but time continued to steal bits and pieces. He wanted nothing more than to remember every detail of their imperfect lives together, every meal shared around their small kitchen table. “And why do I have to eat in that huge dining room by myself?”
Koven cocked a brow. “It’s your house; eat wherever you want. Thanks to your brilliant, yet humble, financial manager.” Koven cleared his throat, and a smile eased across his lips. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to again.” Koven finished his juice. “If you’re not comfortable being a billionaire in public, then don’t.”
“But …” Jamon waited. He’d known Koven long enough to know there was more.
“But that’s not you. You need to work, physically and mentally, and to push yourself. I found that out in college and have known it every day since then. Really, bro, you can do this. Let the girl pick out your clothes and teach you a thing or two about maneuvering your way through the land of the rich and famous. You’ll get the hang of it, and then you’ll be comfortable enough to rub shoulders with the kind of people you want involved with your research facility.”
Man, he hoped Koven was right. Jamon was a confident man. He knew he was smart, knew his way around a horse, and could hold his own in a fistfight, but for some reason, around the über-wealthy, he felt like the boots never fit just right.
“I hope so. I want the research facility to be world renowned, and not just because I’ve got the money to do it.” Jamon picked up the glasses and put them in the sink. He thought he heard Henry gasp somewhere in the distance. He turned back to Koven. “I guess I just want respect. I know there’s people out there who think the formula was a fluke.” He’d heard the rumors that he was a one-hit wonder in the scientific world. When he’d announced plans to build a research facility of his own, some had said it was a good thing Jamon had the money to buy his way into the scientific community; otherwise, the building would be a big waste of space.
“Anyone who worked with you in the lab or sat in the classroom with you would argue otherwise. What do you care what others think, anyway?”
“For the most part, I don’t. I don’t care about what people think about my clothes, or my accent, but I take my research seriously. And I want the best of the best working for me, and not just because of the money I can pay them, but because they respect me.” He wanted to show the world his capabilities, to be accepted on his own merits, but regardless of other’s opinions, what mattered most was to build the kind of place where miracles were created, where lives were changed by the work done in his facility—and in order to do that, he had to play the game. Jamon had to become affluent in the politics of the wealthy and powerful if he was to achieve the status he was shooting for.
“And that’s what I like about you—well, that and your magic touch with the horses. Speaking of, how’s my little mare coming along?” Koven pulled his phone from his suit pocket.
“Good. I’ll be glad when the indoor arena is finished. The rain tends to interfere with training, but I’ve got Howard keeping her going. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about horses, besides my dad. I’m sure glad I talked him into coming out here with me.” He didn’t tell Koven the truth, that if Howard hadn’t decided to make the trip with him, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been strong enough to make the move alone. Howard didn’t fill the gaping wound left in Jamon’s chest after his parents died, but he was like a balm that took the bite out of the sting, and Jamon needed to be near the man. He didn’t want to think about his life without the burly guy, built like a bear, but as a gentle as a cub. Since his brother was such a mess, Howard and Koven felt like the only family he had left on earth. He didn’t count the second and third cousins who hadn’t bothered to show up to his parents’ funeral but knocked on the door the day his wallet had grown fat as a fed-out pig. No, Howard was his family, and so was the man in front of him.
“Wasn’t he ready to retire from McAllister’s?” Koven glanced down at the screen.
“Yeah, and I think that’s the only reason I got him to follow me out here.”
“Howard considers you a son. I’m sure he’d follow you anywhere.”
Jamon smiled. “I’m just grateful he did, and I’m grateful I can give him a place where he can do as little or as much as he wants. But I think full-time retirement would’ve killed him. He wouldn’t survive too long without a colt to break.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” Koven stood up and straightened his tie. “I’d better get going. I’ve got a meeting in a half hour downtown.”
Jamon glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Me too. Gemma is supposed to arrive at ten, and I probably should try and look presentable. That way, I might convince her I’m not a few chickens short of a coop.” He might not have made the greatest first impression. She might just turn in her two weeks’ notice before her first day on the job. If that were true, he was in greater need of someone like Gemma Stonewall working for him than he’d thought.
“Yeah, probably don’t use those exact words around her if you’re trying to impress her.”
Jamon chuckled. “I don’t need to impress her. I just don’t want her to quit.” Gemma’s face, exquisite and smooth as polished stone, came to mind. He’d seen the way she carried herself when she’d walked into the back yard. Every movement and gesture had a purpose. She was like an art piece, a statue of grace and elegance, other than when she’d gotten her shoe stuck in the mud. Jamon smiled to himself, remembering the look on her face. It was the only time he’d caught a glimpse of vulnerability. Maybe it was the scientist in him, but he wanted to discover more about Miss Gemma Stonewall.
Chapter Three
Gemma placed the throw pillows on her bed, careful to align the patterns. She ran her hand over the comforter, smoothing out the last wrinkle. Her second-floor condo was small, but what the place lacked in size, it made up with a spectacular view of the Space Needle. The conjoined living room and kitchen were functional, and the exposed brick and pipes oozed with character, overpowering the scarcity of space. Glass doors opened to a deck, just large enough for two chairs. Gemma enjoyed the occasional sunny morning sitting on one chair with her feet propped on the other. Some evenings, she li
ked to open the doors and let the fragrance of rain fill the condo. Original wood floors ran throughout the living space and into the one bedroom. The bedroom offered the most square footage, so she’d created an office nook in the corner with a bookshelf and a small desk. A quick scan of the room and she checked the task off in her mind. Everything was in its proper place.
Her laptop chirped, alerting her to a new message. She walked over to the desk, leaned over, and tapped the screen. A reminder from the tailor she’d scheduled for today. Although she and Mr. West—ugh, Jamon—had much to discuss about her responsibilities, she knew that first on her list would be making sure he was dressed accordingly, and custom suits sewn in Italy took time. In fact, more time than she had. Jamon emailed her an invitation to an upcoming charity auction, and he’d needed a tux. She’d have to make do with using a local tailor. Sal Tavio was good, but his business was relatively small and couldn’t produce the number of suits she’d need to get Jamon looking the part of a billionaire on a day-to-day basis.
Gemma furrowed her brow as the man she’d met yesterday, in his dirt-covered T-shirt and faded jeans, came to mind. She had a difficult time imagining him in a suit every day and decided she needed to know his calendar before she planned his wardrobe for the coming month. Horses were important to Jamon, and while she didn’t know much about the animals, she figured a three-piece suit wouldn’t be needed in a barn. Just how many days of the week did Jamon plan to spend in his barn? If things had gone as she’d arranged in her mind yesterday, she’d already have the answers to many of her questions, and by now, she’d have a spreadsheet and a detailed calendar. But since she’d lost a day, she’d have to work double time. She huffed as she headed to the shower. Even if Jamon West wasn’t in a hurry to organize his life, Gemma was. She didn’t know how to work any other way.