Rick touched her shoulder

Kate lifted her eyes to his, afraid he might see how much she wanted him to stay. He looked as intent as he’d been the first time she’d met him. With a tinge of softness.

She closed her eyes then she leaned over and kissed him.

Not a peck like she was thanking him.

But a full-fledged kiss.

He moved in and allowed his mouth to soften beneath hers. She opened slightly, tasting him. He tasted like spearmint gum and warm male, so she tilted her head and opened her mouth a bit more. He took advantage, deepening the kiss, sliding his hand to her jawline. His hands were big and calloused.

Something dangerous slithered inside Kate, a flash of warning. She pulled away, breaking their connection before she did something she might regret.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes a character pulls at you and begs to be written. Such was the case with Kate. Of course, Kate would never beg…just demanded to have her story written. As I wrote, I discovered she was far more than a snappy comeback or a brazen move. This girl had baggage—it was designer and bursting to be unpacked.

Kate’s childhood wasn’t easy, and it made her tough, hard and so much more vulnerable than the average girl. She needed someone to guide her, so I gave her Rick, a guy who’s already walked a tough path himself. He’s perfect for holding her hand, pushing her forward and folding her into his arms as she faces her past. Like many people, Kate has to empty her heart of pain and anger, so she can fill it up with love.

Time to go back to Texas with Kate. Of course, the same old gang is waiting in Oak Stand— Nellie, Bubba and crazy Betty Monk among others. I even threw in a mangy stray named Banjo. Let me know what you think. Write me at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171 or through my website, www.liztalleybooks.com.

Happy reading!

Liz Talley

A Little Texas
Liz Talley

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From devouring the Harlequin Superromance books on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance novel. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath her baby-food-stained clothes a dream stirred. Liz followed that dream and, after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a menagerie of animals. Liz loves strawberries, fishing and retail therapy, and is always game for a spa day. When not writing contemporary romances for Harlequin Superromance, she can be found working in the flower bed, doing laundry or driving carpool.

Where would I be without friends?

This one is for a few good ones:

for Dianna for suggesting I write;

for Rachel, the most generous person I know

(who else would take me to Commander’s on her dad’s dime?);

for Connie, who keeps me on track

and should own stock in Starbucks;

and Sandy, who I’m convinced

really can run the world better.

There’s a bit of each of you in this book.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU DID WHAT?” KATE NEWMAN asked, tossing aside the letter from the IRS and shuffling through the papers piled on her desk. Maybe she would find something to negate what she’d read. Something that would magically make the whole tax mess disappear. “Tell me this is some kind of joke. Please.”

No sound came from the chair across from her. She stopped and looked up. “Jeremy?”

Her friend and business partner sat defeated, shoulders slumped, head drooping like a withered sunflower. Even his ever jittering leg was still.

She picked up the letter again. Only one question left to ask. “How?”

A tear dripped onto his silk shirt before he lifted his head and met her gaze with the saddest puppy-dog eyes she’d ever seen. Jeremy enjoyed being a drama queen, but this time the theatrics were absent. He shook his head. “It’s Victor.”

“Victor?” she repeated, dumbly. “What does he have to do with the salon? With paying our taxes?”

The small office at the rear of their salon seemed to rock as the reality of the situation sank in. IRS. Taxes not paid. Future in peril. Kate grabbed the edge of the desk and focused on her business partner.

He swallowed before replying in a near whisper, “He’s got cancer. It’s in his bones now.”

“Cancer?”

“He’s dying.”

Her legs collapsed and she fell into her swivel chair. “Oh, my God. What kind?”

More tears slid down Jeremy’s tanned cheeks. He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the torturous pain present within their honey depths. “He was diagnosed with testicular cancer two years ago. He underwent treatment, and the doctors said he was in the clear. We didn’t think it was a big deal. We never even told anyone. But six months ago, the cancer came back. And you know when he lost his job, he lost his insurance.”

Kate couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her feelings were swirling inside her, tangling into a knot of sorrow and outrage. How could this happen? How could Jeremy’s life partner be sick and her business at risk? The world had tipped upside down and now Kate was hanging on by her fingernails.

“I didn’t know what to do. He was so sick…is so sick, and there was all that money sitting there in the bank. I thought I could pay it back in time. Kate, he’s my life.” Jeremy’s last words emerged as a strangled plea before he broke into gut-wrenching sobs. “Please forgive me, Kate. I needed the money for his chemo. To stop the cancer. It didn’t work.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the leather chair. She wanted to cry, to express some emotion, or punch Jeremy in the mouth. But all she felt was emptiness. Then fear crowded her heart, choking her with the sour taste of failure. How could she have let this happen? Why had she assumed Jeremy was taking care of their taxes?

“I don’t know what to say, Jeremy. I’m seriously contemplating murder.”

His shoulders shook harder.

Shit. As angry as she was with him, she knew she’d have done the same thing.

The sunlight pouring in the window seemed way too cheerful for such a day. It pissed her off, so she jerked the blinds shut. “Why didn’t you tell me? Let me help you before it came to this?”

His sobs subsided into an occasional sniffle. She knew he hurt badly. His partner meant everything to him. The two men had been together for four years—they’d met at the launch of Fantabulous, Jeremy and Kate’s high-energy salon located on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Jeremy and Victor had hit it off immediately, acting like an old married couple almost from the beginning. They were the happiest couple she knew.

“I couldn’t. Victor is so private and didn’t want anyone to know. He was adamant about it. You’re my friend, but he’s my partner. I promised, and until now, I kept the promise.”

His eyes were plaintive. He could offer no other explanation and Kate couldn’t blame him. She’d felt much the same way her whole life. Private. Elusive. Never one to offer up a motive.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Kate, but there was nowhere else I could go for the money. I even called my parents.” Jeremy’s long fingers spread in a plea.

“They wouldn’t help you,” she said, shifting the colorful glass paperweight her friend had given her for Christmas. She wanted to yell at this particular friend, get it through his gel-spiked head, that somehow she would have helped, but it was too late.

“No. Didn’t even return my call.”

“So what are we going to do? Can’t we stop this? Put the IRS off somehow?” Kate knew she sounded desperate. She felt frantic, sick. Vomit perched in the back of her throat. Although Vegas had taken a huge hit economically, they’d been making it, but money wasn’t flowing the way it had when they’d first opened.

“I talked to my friend Wendell. He’s a bankruptcy lawyer. He said if we could scratch up ten thousand, we might hold them off then see where we stand. He also said we might cut a deal with the IRS and pay a lesser amount on the back taxes.”

“Ten thousand?” she echoed. She only had about three thousand in savings and she’d been dipping in to cover extra expenses for the past few months. She didn’t own anything she could use for collateral, and they’d put a second mortgage on the salon for an expansion right before the economy tanked. She looked down at the three-hundred-dollar boots she’d bought before the holidays and thought she might be ill on them. She felt stupid. Dumb. She should have been better at saving her money.

Jeremy dropped his head into his hands.

“That feels like a fortune. I don’t have it right now. No one does in this economy. The banks won’t give us free suckers anymore, much less a loan,” Kate said.

“I don’t have the cash, either,” he said. “I mean, obviously.”

She pushed her hands through her hair and looked at the IRS letter. It ridiculed her with its tyrannical words. She wanted to rip it up, pretend it was a silly nightmare. Lose her business? Ha. Ha. Joke’s on you, Kate, baby.

But no laughter came. Only the heavy silence of defeat.

Like a bolt of lightning, desperation struck. Once again she was a girl lying in the small bed inside her grandmother’s tinfoil trailer, praying she’d have enough to make the payment on her class ring. Praying she’d have enough to buy a secondhand prom dress. Praying no one would find out exactly how poor Katie Newman was.

Her unfortunate beginning had made her hungry, determined to never feel so insignificant again.

She had to get out of the salon.

She snatched her Prada handbag from the desk drawer.

“Where you going?” Jeremy’s head popped up. He swiveled to watch her stalk out of the small office.

“Anywhere but here,” she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. She felt as if someone had her around the throat, closing off her oxygen. She could hardly take in the temperate air that hit her when she flung open the back door.

“Kate! Wait! We have to tell Wendell something.”

“Tell him to go to hell. I’ll rot before they take the salon,” Kate managed to say through clenched teeth. And she meant it. She didn’t care what Jeremy had done. She wasn’t going to lose her business. She’d go Scarlett O’Hara on them if she had to. The image of her clutching a fistful of deposit slips in the bank lobby crying out, “As God is my witness, I shall never go hungry again!” popped into her mind. She saw herself sinking onto the bank’s cheap Oriental rug, tears streaming down her face.

She yanked open the door of her cute-as-a-button powder-blue VW Bug, plopped her purse on the seat and slid her sunglasses into place. “Screw ’em. I ain’t giving in. Even if I have to sew a dress from my stupid-ass curtains, I’ll get that money.”

She wasn’t making sense. She didn’t care that she wasn’t making sense. She needed money. She needed it fast.

And there was only one way for her to make money fast in Vegas.

Blackjack.

THREE HOURS LATER, KATE SLID onto a leather stool in the casino lounge. For all the clanging and clinking going on outside the bar, it was eerily quiet in here. Curved lamps threw soft light on the polished dark walnut tables scattered around the room. Kate had chosen the nearly empty bar over a cozy table. She needed to be close to the liquor.

Blackjack had not been her friend. In fact, blackjack had taken her last hundred dollars and bitch slapped her.

“What’ll it be?” said the bartender. He wore an old-fashioned white apron that suited the Old World ambience of the place. Soft music piping from the speakers settled over the few patrons.

Kate pursed her lips. “Grey Goose, twist of lime, three cubes of ice.”

“Nice. I like a woman who drinks like a man.” The voice came from her left. She glanced over at the guy.

“I wasn’t aware vodka was a man’s drink,” she responded with a lift of one eyebrow, a move she’d perfected in junior high school.

“Touché,” he said, sliding a predatory smile her way. He looked good. Toothy grin, disheveled brown hair, five o’clock stubble designed to make him doubly irresistible. Any other time and Kate might bite.

But not tonight.

She gave him a flashbulb smile and turned ever so slightly to her right. Stay away, buddy.

But he was like any other man—couldn’t read a woman’s body language.

She felt him scoot closer.

The bartender set the glass in front of her. Without hesitating, she picked it up and downed the vodka in one swallow. It felt good sliding down her throat, burning a path to her stomach.

“And you drink like a man, too,” her unwanted companion said.

Kate turned toward him, not bothering to toss him a smile this time. “How do you know I’m not a man? We’re in Vegas.”

His eyes raked her body. “I can see you’re not a man.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Good vision, huh? Well, don’t trust your eyes. Don’t trust anybody, for that matter.”

She didn’t say anything else, just turned from him and studied the way the light illuminated the bottles lining the mirrored bar. It made their contents glow, made them seductive.

Bars of “Sweet Caroline” erupted from her purse and she rifled through it until she found her cell phone. A quick glance at the screen and she knew her friend Billie had finally got around to returning her earlier call. Finally. She could seriously use a sympathetic shoulder. And not of the rumpled, sexy, “can I buy you a drink” variety.

She punched the answer button on her iPhone. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh, my God, I’m like so having an emergency here.” Billie’s normally sarcastic tone sounded like neurotic chicken. A whispery neurotic chicken.

“What’s going on?”

“He freakin’ proposed!”

“Nick?” Kate asked, picking up the fresh drink in front of her.

“No, the Easter Bunny,” Billie huffed into the phone. “I’m in the bathroom. Oh, God. I don’t know what to say…I think I’m hyperventilating.”

Kate pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. Where was her calm, self-assured friend? The one she needed now that her business was doomed? “Okay, first thing, head between your knees.”

“The toilet area’s not real clean. I’m gonna stand.”

Kate wanted to scream that she’d lost everything today and didn’t need to hear about Nick and his damned proposal. But she didn’t. Instead she said, “Okay.”

“Kate, he has a ring and everything. He actually got down on one knee.” Billie’s voice now sounded shell-shocked. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Kate picked up the vodka and tossed it back. It felt as good going down as the first one. “So you said…”

“I said I had to go pee,” Billie whispered.

Kate couldn’t help it. She laughed.

“Don’t you dare laugh, Kate Newman!” Billie snapped. “This is not funny.”

Kate sobered. Well, kinda sobered. The vodka was working its magic. “You’re right. It’s not funny. It’s sweet.”

“You can’t be serious,” Billie whispered. “He’s talking marriage. Marriage, Kate!”

Kate heard something muffled in the background, then Billie’s quick intake of breath. Then she heard Billie call, presumably to Nick, that she’d be right out.

“Okay, stop chewing your hair.”

“What?”

“Do you love him?” Kate asked.

“Yes. I totally love him,” Billie whispered.

“Then say yes.”

“Are you joking?” Billie said. “Did you just tell me to say yes? You don’t believe in marriage.”

It was true, she didn’t—well, at least not for herself. Love was fairy-tale bullshit. She shouldn’t be giving relationship advice to a dead cockroach, much less a living, breathing friend. “I don’t. But you do.”

The line remained silent.

“Can you imagine waking up with him every morning even when he’s old and wrinkly and…impotent? Can you imagine watching your grandchildren together? Filing joint taxes? Painting a nursery?” Kate couldn’t seem to stop the scenarios tumbling from her lips. “How about picking out china patterns or cleaning up your kids’ vomit—”

“Okay. I get it. Yes,” Billie said.

“Then hang up, open the door and take that ring.”

Kate punched the end button and tossed the phone on the bar. If Billie was so stupid as to reject a man who loved her despite her seriously weird attributes, then she deserved to stay locked in Nick’s bathroom. With pee on the floor.

When she looked up, the bartender and her previously pushy friend stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Well, she had. And her business along with it. And now Billie wasn’t even available to her. Kate was on her own.

Like always.

Before she’d hit the ATM machine several hours earlier, she’d contemplated borrowing the money she needed from Billie. As a successful glass artist with international acclaim, her friend had steady cash flow even in a bad economy. But Kate never asked for help. And to do so now, with a friend, felt not cool. With a possible wedding on the horizon for Billie, ten thousand would be hard to spare. Besides, if she were going to borrow money, it would be from her absolute best friend who lived in Texas and was loaded to the gills with old oil money. But Kate had never asked Nellie to help her before, not even when Kate had dropped out of college her freshman year to go to beauty school and spent three months eating bologna and ramen noodles.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Kate had always relied on herself to make it through whatever problem arose, and this was no different.

But what would she do? There was no way the salon could generate extra income in the coming months. It was post-Christmas and debt squashed unnecessary services for regular customers. Many spas had closed their doors and many friends had gone from esthetician to cocktail waitress in the past few months.

The bartender finally moseyed toward her. He eyed her a moment before asking, “You want another?”

Kate waved her hand over the empty tumbler. “No thanks. If I have any more, I might go home with Pushy over there.”

“In that case, I’d like to buy her another drink,” the bed-rumpled hunk deadpanned.

Kate laughed. What else could she do? Her life was falling apart and someone wanted to pick her up. Just not in the way she needed.

She turned to the guy. He stared back, amusement in his brown eyes. She almost rethought her position on taking him up on his not stated, but obviously intended offer. “Listen, you don’t want to deal with me tonight. It’s been a hell of a day, and I just lost eight hundred dollars at the blackjack table. Unless you’ve got ten thousand dollars in your pocket, there isn’t much else I want out of those pants.”

The bartender laughed. “She’s got you there, partner.”

The hunk joined in on the laughter. “Not only sexy, but a smart-ass mouth. Damn, if I don’t want to take you home right now.”

“How much are you worth?” Kate asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Not nearly enough.” He slid his own empty glass toward the bartender. “But I figure I can at least afford to buy you another drink.”

Kate smiled. “Well, I’m gonna pass. It’s almost midnight and that’s when my car turns into a pumpkin.”

She rummaged through her bag, found her matching Prada wallet, flipped it open and tossed her credit card onto the counter. As she snapped her wallet closed a small, yellowed piece of paper caught her eye. She’d carried it with her for years and years.

She pulled it from the pocket in which it had been nestled. Written in her grandmother’s shaky handwriting before she’d died was a name. It hadn’t mattered that Kate already knew the truth about him. That nearly everybody in her hometown had known the truth about the man. Her grandmother insisted on putting it in writing. Like that mattered. Justus Mitchell.

The name of her biological father.

The man who refused to claim her.

The man she hated.

She fingered the timeworn edges of the paper. Justus Mitchell had once been the richest man in East Texas. His lands had stretched as far as the eye could see and his oil money went as deep as the earth that sheltered the precious commodity. The man was rich, powerful and politically connected. In his heyday, he’d owned everyone from cocktail waitresses to governors. He still held influence, or had the last time she’d checked. But even the powerful were vulnerable to hidden truths. Look what illegitimate children and mistresses had done to politicians.

Kate had morals. She had character. But she wasn’t beyond blackmail in order to save her salon. And a low-down snake like Justus had mounds of money sitting in the bank.

So…if she needed money, he might as well provide what he’d refused to give her so many years ago. Child support.

He owed her. She’d feel no guilt because Justus wasn’t a victim.

And neither was she.

CHAPTER TWO

RICK MENDEZ SWALLOWED the words he wanted to say as he watched Justus Mitchell roll his way. He shouldn’t be here. There was no need. Rick could handle the center without the old man’s meddling.

Rick watched as Justus navigated the maze of the recreation room. The sloped shoulders, withered legs and blue-veined hands betrayed the power of the man halting his wheelchair before a table set with dominoes. He could no longer walk, but he still commanded any room he entered.

“So how are things progressing, Enrique?”

Rick set the bill for the sprinkler system on the Ping-Pong table and moved toward the older man. Only Justus called him Enrique. “No problems yet.”

“You know, I’ve launched many ventures over the years, but none of them have been as important as this one. This one is for Ryan.” His chin jutted forward emphatically, as if Rick could forget how intricately involved Justus’s son had been in the initial idea of Phoenix, the Hispanic gang rehabilitation center. Ryan had given it the name, believing that, like Rick, others could rise from the ashes and become new again.

Rick looked at the old white man staring at him with violet-blue eyes. They were Ryan’s eyes…yet different. At that moment, Rick missed Ryan as keenly as he ever had.

“I haven’t forgotten, but I’m not doing this because of Ryan. This center isn’t a memorial. It’s vital. And working with gang members isn’t going to be easy. Theirs is a different world.” Rick unconsciously rubbed a hand across the tattoos on his chest before catching himself. “There will be resistance in the gang community, resistance that might not be pleasant.”

“We can deal with thugs. You of all people should know that.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. Justus shifted his gaze away, a small measure of retreat. Old Man Mitchell knew better than to remind him of who he’d been. “You’ll have to trust me. I can do this.”

“I want to be involved.”

Rick tamped down his anger. “You are involved.”

Justus snorted. “I’m only the bank.”

“Si,” he said, just to remind Justus of how different they still were. “That has been your role since the beginning, and it is a most worthy role. You can’t relate to the men who will come here. I can. I know the path they’ve walked. I know the pain and regret.”

Justus didn’t flinch. “I know regret, too.”

Rick nodded. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that the men who come here will have almost nothing in common with you. Other than wanting to shake free from the life they now lead.”

“Fine. I didn’t come here to oversee you.”

Rick felt a moment’s relief, then a prickling arose on his neck. Justus wanted something.

“I have a request. It’s quite, ahem, delicate.”

Rick crossed his arms. He didn’t need this now. Justus had employed Rick when he’d first come to live at Cottonwood and since then he’d done many things for the man before him. Nothing illegal, but some of those tasks made him feel uncomfortable in his skin. Of course that had been before Ryan died. Before Justus’s stroke. Before he had changed. Before Rick had tired of being Justus Mitchell’s lackey. Yet, Rick owed Justus more than he liked to admit.

And he owed the man’s late son.

If it hadn’t been for Ryan, Rick would not be the man he was today. Ryan’s death had bound him to the Mitchells with invisible ties that would never be severed.

“What?”

Justus’s eyes closed for a moment, before opening and piercing him with their intensity. “I have a daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Si,” he said to be annoying. Satisfaction flashed across his face before he continued, “No one knows about her. Well, rather, they don’t talk about her.”

“Why?”

The old man rolled a bit closer, banging into the foos-ball table and causing the little soccer men to spin. The low pendant light cast a gray pall on his pasty skin. “Her mother was a waitress over in Oak Stand. I’d been with her five or six times, but there could have been others. She didn’t seem the choosy type. The child could have been mine, or not. I never bothered to find out.”

“Then why worry about her now?” Rick eased himself onto the corner of the new pool table. The green felt was stiff beneath his fingers—very different from the one at the deli in the barrio where he’d won money off leathery broken men. He’d been a ten-year-old hustler with the instincts of a shark.

“Because of this.” Justus’s eyes shifted to the tray on the motorized wheelchair. The debilitating stroke had caused him to lose mobility in his right arm. His left arm was weak, but he could use it.

Rick picked up the folded paper. The heaviness of the paper spoke much about the sender of the letter. This woman meant business.

He unfolded it and read silently while the old man watched him. The note was brief and to the point. The woman wanted money to keep quiet.

“Well?” Rick said, refolding the paper. “You want me to kill her?”

Justus laughed at his jest. It was a running joke between them. Justus didn’t need a Hispanic jack-of-all-trades to take out his competition. The old man could crush whomever got in his way. Money was his weapon, always had been, and Rick knew the power of that particular sword.

“No, I want you to bring her to me.”

Rick stiffened. He didn’t have time to play nursemaid to some upstart claim to the Mitchell fortune. He had a center to open. The rehabilitation center was the promise Justus had made him the year after Ryan died, and starting next week, Rick would be attempting the near impossible—bringing gang members from the streets of Dallas to the countryside of East Texas for a chance to change their live’s direction. It was a bold undertaking, but Rick wanted to give others what had been given to him. A second chance.

“I can’t. I’m no longer employed by you. My focus is on the center.”

“I can’t trust anyone else.” The old man rolled even closer. So close Rick could smell his Aramis cologne, see the deep grooves around his shocking blue eyes. “Please.”

“I have to focus on Phoenix.”

“You must do this for me, Enrique. This is all I shall ask. One last favor and I will sign the land over to the foundation. Think about it. The center would be secure.”

Rick felt his heart pound. Mitchell did not part with much in life. The center was funded through Ryan’s foundation. They’d received some federal money, but much of it came through the foundation. Justus was now offering something more. “All for finding this woman and bringing her to you?”

The old man smiled. White veneers flashed, a gold crown winked. “Finding the girl won’t be hard. She used a post office box. Probably thought I hadn’t kept tabs on her, but, of course, I always have.”

Rick glanced at the folded note in his hand. It had not been signed. Just a post office box number given. The girl lived in Las Vegas. “Of course you would. You always know your enemies.”

Something flashed again in Justus’s eyes. It was an emotion Rick had seen before in those blue depths, and he knew it well. Regret stared at him in his mirror each and every morning.

“She’s not an enemy. There is much of me in this girl. She’s determined.”

“And underhanded,” Rick said. “How can you admire a girl who would threaten to ruin you unless you give her money?”

“It’s not so different than what I would have done once. She’s got her back against a wall. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have heard from her. Besides, there’s not much left to ruin, is there? Other than the money, of course.” The smile Justus gave reminded Rick of a clown in a fun house. He supposed the atrophy on the man’s right side was to blame, but still, he couldn’t help the prickles that crept along his skin.

The only sound in the room was the hum of the restored soda machine in the corner. Rick wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with this woman, but the allure of owning the hilly land surrounding the center won over the doubt embedded in his gut.

He’d started trusting Justus Mitchell long ago and hadn’t regretted it yet. The man had been ruthless, conniving and dangerous, but the day Ryan died had changed everything about Justus.

Nothing defeated a man like the death of his son. And nothing gave a man purpose like finishing the job his dead son had started. Justus had lost Ryan but found Jesus, and he’d declared himself transformed. From that day on, he had tried to perpetuate Ryan’s legacy of seeing value in helping others.

“Fine. I’ll go to Vegas, but it has to be tomorrow. The center opens next week and I’ve got five guys coming. That’s more important than this girl.”

Justus frowned but didn’t disagree. “Good. I’ll arrange for the flight. She’s expecting me to send the money with no questions, but she’ll have to give me more than some contrived claim. When you show up, we’ll see how serious she is about this venture. The girl will dance to my tune if she wants something from me.”

“Don’t we all?” Rick said.

A laugh blasted past Justus’s lips. “You learned long ago, didn’t you? I’m a hard man, there’s little doubt of that, Enrique, but I have a heart somewhere in here. I think.” The old man moved his left hand jerkily toward his shrunken chest.

Rick nodded. “What’s her name?”

“Kate Newman.”

“She’s gonna be trouble,” Rick said, slipping off the pool table.

“All women are.”

KATE BALANCED ON HER TOES in order to check the box at the post office. Why they’d given her one in the highest row she couldn’t guess. At barely five feet, it was obvious she’d have a hard time obtaining the mail. Must have been retaliation from the clerk, whose invitation to the movies she’d turned down. Some guys couldn’t handle even the gentlest of brush-offs. Jeez. She’d been nice about it. Or as nice as she could be.

She tottered on her toes, her hand barely brushing the inside of the empty box. Damn. Nothing.

“Can I help you, chavala?” The low-accented question came from over her shoulder.

She dropped back onto her three-inch heels. “Nope.”

She turned around and met eyes as dark as sin.

The man stood with one arm against the tiled wall. His posture affected ease, but she could tell there was nothing easy about him. Energy radiated from him like a wave of heat off the Vegas desert. “You sure?”

Kate bristled. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

His gaze slid down her body, but she was used to men looking her over. She waited while he took in her high-heeled boots, textured black tights, ruffled blue taffeta skirt, skin-tight lycra turtleneck, hoop earrings and short raven hair. “Get your fill?”

A quick smile crossed his lips. “Not quite.”

A strange heat gathered inside her at his words. They were spoken quietly, with a hint of a Spanish accent. “Well, too bad.”

She spun and stalked toward the glass doors at the front of the post office. She could feel him following her. Alarm curled around her gut.

She faced him. “Listen, buddy. That wasn’t an invitation. Back off.”

The man stopped, crossed his arms and grinned. “Oh, man. You’re a live one.”

Kate swallowed. He acted as though he knew her. “Whatever.”

She turned around. He followed her. Alarm shrieked in her head. This dude, though seriously sexy, was off his rocker. What kind of lowlife stalked women in a post office? She tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He seemed right on her heels. In fact, she could smell his spicy warmth. It was dark and delicious. Forbidden.

She pushed through the doors and emerged into the blinding Nevada sunlight. Her car was parked under a withered palm tree, right beside an economy rental car. The man still trailed her. She didn’t know what to do. It was broad daylight—surely he wouldn’t try to abduct her. There were people crawling over the whole complex. It would be lunacy. Stupid. And the man didn’t look stupid.

She slowed and watched as he passed her. He pressed a button on his key ring and the rental honked a greeting. Relief washed over her.

She unlocked her own car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat.

“Kate.”

She froze, one leg in the car, one still on the pavement. The guy knew her name. Her heart pounded and the first thing that popped into her mind was that the IRS had found her.

Which was ridiculous. Wendell had said she and Jeremy would have a month before any action should take place. And the IRS didn’t have field agents, did they?

So how did this guy know her?

She looked at him. He rested a forearm on the top of the silver rental and pierced her with his dark eyes. She eased into the depths of the VW, not sure what to do next.

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled. White teeth flashed in the brightness of the afternoon. “There’s much I know about you, Miss Newman. But the most important thing I know is that if you want to carry through with your threat against Justus Mitchell, you’ll have to get through me first.”

Not much shook Kate, but his words made her shiver in the temperate Vegas air. “Wh-what?”

“I read the letter. I know what you want.”

“Who are you?” Her legs quaked as adrenaline surged through her. Time to decide—fight or flight?

“Let’s just say I’m a good friend of Mr. Mitchell.”

Jeez, Louise. Who did her father employ? Henchmen? She looked around. A security officer sat in his little clown car about thirty yards away. She climbed from the car, slamming the door behind her. She knew how to stand up to men like this.

“Well, good friend of Mr. Mitchell, I guess you already know my father is a low-down, no-good bastard who spreads his seed all over Texas and leaves it to sprout with no help. He never acknowledged me or helped my family. I figure he owes me.”

She advanced on the man. She could tell he hadn’t expected much of a fight from her. What did he think she’d do? Squeak like a mouse, hop in her car and speed away? She’d sent the letter. She wanted the money. The bastard owed her that much. Likely more, but she wouldn’t be greedy.

He watched her as she stalked around his car.

She stopped in front of him and planted her fists on her hips. “So, does that get the attention of his majesty? Or do I have to write Mrs. Vera a little note signed ‘Kate Mitchell, your husband’s illegitimate daughter’? Or maybe I can take out an ad in the Houston Chronicle? Bet that’d get the governor’s attention.”

The man blinked. Then he smiled. “You are his daughter.”

She narrowed her eyes and waited.

“Justus wants you to come to Texas.”

“No. I don’t take orders from him. I’ll go to a lab and have blood drawn. I know he’s my biological father. I’ve known it for years. My mother and grandmother were not liars.”

The man crossed his arms and released a sigh. Though he was slightly under six feet, he towered over her. His shoulders were sinewy and tight, his body trim and coiled. He reminded her of a soldier. Perhaps he was one. “Mr. Mitchell’s instructions were firm. You want the money. You come to him.”

There was no way she could go to Texas. She needed to be at the salon raking in all she could, and if she canceled her appointments, she’d likely lose her clients. That was something she couldn’t do. She needed steady customers—her future depended on it. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t gone to Texas in the first place. That and the killer airfare.

“I can’t. I have responsibilities.”

“The salon?”

A thread of unease snaked up her spine. Did her father know about her financial troubles? Surely not. “Yes, if you must know. I can’t pack up a suitcase and head to Texas to satisfy some old man’s whim. I—”

“But you expect him to satisfy yours? Meet your demands with no proof? It’s more than reasonable to expect to meet you face-to-face. That was his offer. Take it or leave him be.”

Kate chewed on his words. “If he wanted to meet me face-to-face, why send you? Why not come himself?”

The man swallowed what she assumed to be aggravation. “You evidently didn’t do your research well. Mr. Mitchell is ill and confined to a wheelchair.”

Now, that was something she’d never expected. The powerful Justus Mitchell confined to a chair, crippled and sick? Something stabbed her insides. She was certain it was guilt. After all, she stood there ready to blackmail an ailing man and his reputed angel of a wife with dirty laundry from years past.

But Justus Mitchell wasn’t a victim.

Kate didn’t consider herself a victim, either. But she’d also grown up without the necessities of life while her father and his wife ate Chateaubriand and drank Perrier. She’d lived in castoffs from the Oak Stand Pentecostal Church while their precious Ryan had galloped upon a pristine lawn in a smocked John-John suit. She’d crawled into a used single-wide trailer each night praying it wouldn’t storm while the Mitchells tucked into plush beds in one of the seven bedrooms at the family estate, Cottonwood. And worse still was that everyone knew she was his daughter…and felt sorry for her.

Kate deserved the money.

But she’d rather face a firing squad than go to Texas.

“Here’s a plane ticket for tomorrow morning. Either you get on the plane or Mr. Mitchell will fix it so you never see a dime from him. Your choice.” He shoved an envelope into her hand.

“You’re threatening me?” Kate felt her toes sweat in her boots. They always did when she felt scared. Damn it.

“Turnabout is fair play, Kate.”

With those words, the man opened his car door and climbed inside. Kate barely had time to step back before he pulled out of the narrow parking space. She couldn’t tell if he watched her in his rearview mirror, standing bereft in the parking lot holding the envelope. He’d put on dark sunglasses that made him look even more menacing.

“I didn’t even get your name,” Kate muttered to the taillights of the car. “Rude ass.”

There was nothing left to do but climb into the comfort of the VW. She blinked back desperate tears. Justus played hardball.

But what had she expected? The man hadn’t risen to the top of Texas by letting people run roughshod over him. Of course he’d be as tough as the West Texas landscape that held his oil wells.

So now she had no choice. She’d have to go to him if she wanted to get the money for Fantabulous. She only hoped she could pull it off. Everything depended on her playing the game well.

CHAPTER THREE

RICK DROVE OUT OF THE PARKING lot as his cell phone jittered beside him. He glanced at Kate in the rearview mirror. She stared after him looking not the least bit happy, her lips forming words he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine the curses being shot his way.

Who could blame her? The tables had been turned on her little blackmail game. And strangely enough, it hadn’t amused him to get beneath her skin. He knew how it felt to be jacked around. But she’d brought it on herself.

The phone vibrated again. And again. He glanced down at the persistent humming. Justus’s number flashed on the BlackBerry’s screen.

He didn’t want to talk to the old man right now. He needed to process Kate Newman.

She was a smart-mouthed, sexy piece of work. He liked her style—the edgy look she wore like an attitude. She’d responded to him. He hadn’t missed that. And she didn’t seem afraid of him like other women were. There was little doubt she was Justus’s biological daughter—not because her manner was as brash as his, but because she had his eyes. Ryan’s eyes.

Justus had stamped his mark on his two children.

Kate’s eyes were like an exotic sea glittering at sunset. They dominated her delicate face, even overshadowed her tempting lips. He imagined men tripped over each other for a shot at her. She had a daring vibe, an appeal that would make people draw near to see what she’d do or say next.

Something stirred inside him. He wanted to tell Kate to stay in Vegas and not worry about Justus. There was a pall hanging over Cottonwood. It would suck her in and suffocate her.

Mind your own business, he told himself.

But logic couldn’t stop the feelings rising inside him. The one that said “protect her” and the other he didn’t even want to acknowledge. The one that whispered “bed her.” Those responses were asinine. Kate didn’t need protecting—he hadn’t seen so much as a hint of fear or regret in those Mitchell-blue eyes. And as to the other, well, he wasn’t that man anymore.

The phone sounded again.

He stopped arguing with himself and pulled into an empty lot, pressing the answer button. “Rick.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Yes, I’m having a nice day. And you, Justus?”

“Skip the bullshit. You’re in Vegas. You’ve seen her.”

Rick grimaced. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”

“And?”

“And I think she’ll come to Texas, but I can’t be certain. She’s not what I expected.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything about Kate. He should let the man draw his own conclusions about his biological daughter. Don’t involve yourself. Keep your distance. The less said, the better.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s…salty. She won’t be pushed around easily.”

“So she is my daughter.”

Rick’s gaze roamed the lot surrounding his car. It was empty. Yellowed weeds poked through zigzag cracks. Boards covered the windows of a vacuum cleaner repair shop and a series of blue graffiti marked the boards. Staking territory. The number thirteen was displayed prominently, as was the letter M. He’d parked on Sureño turf, the street gang that had once been his sworn enemy. “You keep saying she’s your daughter, so why go through all this? Just give her some money. You owe her at least that.”

But Rick knew why Justus wanted Kate to come to Texas. He’d lost Ryan three years ago, then he’d had the stroke that nearly killed him. His wife, Vera, clung to the past, drowning herself in grief. Things were bad at Cottonwood. Justus needed deliverance. He thought he could get that in Kate.

“I need to see her. For proof.”

Just look at her eyes. The words sprang to his lips but he didn’t give voice to them. “I’ll be back tomorrow, with or without her.”

The old man sighed. For a brief moment the silence sat heavy on the line. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

The line went dead. No platitudes about having a safe trip back. No polite farewell. Justus had never used niceties on Rick.

He shifted the car into gear and eased toward the road. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of two young guys crossing the back of the empty lot. Young Hispanic men. Flat-billed caps, thigh-length jerseys, baggy jeans, blue bandanas in pocket. Tattoos covered their forearms. Gang members.

The guys laughed, punching each other on the arm, but their laughter died when they saw him. He could feel them stiffen, grow aware.

He drove from the lot, leaving only sympathy behind. Sadness for a childhood lost. He wasn’t sure if it was for the two bangers or for himself.

His mind cut to the center. The true test was about to begin. Next week, he’d find out if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Reality was he didn’t know squat about rehabilitating gang members. He only knew how to be one.

Maybe knowing the life would be enough.

THE NEXT MORNING KATE PUSHED her sunglasses to the top of her head as she entered McCarran International Airport. She glanced through the sliding doors to where Jeremy sat in her car. She gave him a wave and he saluted before pulling away from passenger drop-off.

She wanted to run after him, tell him he screwed up, he should have to fix everything. But she didn’t. Because Jeremy didn’t care about Fantabulous as much as she did. And because his partner had taken a turn for the worst and was under hospice care. And because that morning, the IRS letter had mocked her from its position on her fridge. She swore it even gave a snicker when she opened the door to grab a bottle of water and a yogurt. Two weeks ago, life had been much easier.

Now she had a mere three weeks to get ten thousand dollars to Wendell.

Or lose her salon.

That made her throat tighten. She tried her best to ignore the gut-clenching thoughts tumbling in her head as she stepped into a security line that seemed to be moving as slowly as the Vegas economy. One step every two minutes. At this rate, she’d likely miss her flight.

She scoured the crowd for the man who’d confronted her in the post office parking lot the day before. She didn’t know if she would see him again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d tracked her down through the post office box. If she really didn’t want her father finding her, then she should have devised a more anonymous method of contact.

She should have known this whole blackmail thing was a stupid idea. Blackmailing a man who took pleasure in crushing anyone who got in his way—who did that? She knew the answer. Only someone who was desperate. And now look where it had landed her. She’d set something into motion. Could she handle what was about to happen?

A woman tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts, and pointed toward the moving line.

Finally, Kate made it through the checkpoint, reassembled everything in her purse and carry-on, and headed for the gate. The ticket was in her hand. It was one-way, and that made her nervous.

“Kate.”

Her name sounded like a caress on his lips. She turned to face the man who’d shadowed her dreams the night before. He looked calm, as though he’d actually slept. The bags under her eyes sagged lower. “I’d say hello, but you never introduced yourself.”

His lips twitched. “Enrique Mendez, but everyone calls me Rick.”

He offered his hand. She ignored it. “Do you work for Justus, or just stalk random women at post offices for fun?”

Amusement flashed in his dark eyes before his face went blank. “Not necessarily.”

The man was totally vague, but at least she knew his name. “Are you local or are you from Texas?”

His eyes scanned the crowded airport. He took her elbow and started walking toward the gate. “I’m from Texas. I’m flying back with you.”

Kate tugged her arm from his grasp. “I can walk by myself.”

He didn’t react. Simply kept moving toward Gate D-13. She followed, but put space in between them. She studied him from behind as he moved purposefully toward the Delta Air Lines desk. He wore his dark hair clipped close, military-style and had on a black Nike athletic jacket, jeans and hiking boots. The boots didn’t fit the look, but she imagined he didn’t care. They were probably comfortable. Rick was one of those guys.

He stood in line behind two other people. She didn’t bother. She already had a seat on the plane. Instead, she plopped into one of the bucket seats next to a dapper Asian guy reading on a Kindle, parked her stuffed-to-the-max suitcase next to her and watched Rick.

The man who’d made her so uneasy at the post office smiled at the attendant. The dour-looking older lady was forty pounds overweight with a horrible dye job, but she melted like a Popsicle in July at Rick’s coaxing.

She wondered what he was trying to get from her. She also wondered why she hadn’t been treated to such a smile.

The woman nodded, fluttered her lashes a little and took his boarding pass. She studied the screen before her, tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, and looked up with a triumphant smile. She pulled something from a machine beside the computer and handed it to Rick.

The ass had obviously been upgraded.

The woman grabbed the intercom and asked all passengers seated in business class to please begin boarding.

Rick didn’t even glance Kate’s way as he stepped into the line.

Great.

By the time Kate had stowed her carry-on, popped a Xanax and sank into her seat, she decided she didn’t like Rick Mendez one bit. He was chatting with an attractive flight attendant, his legs stretched out in front of him, while Kate had the sharp elbows of the guy to her left to look forward to. Not good.

She blew away the pieces of hair hanging in her eyes and settled into the not-so-comfortable seat. She had forgotten her iPod, so she’d spent her last bit of cash on a book at Walgreens. She hoped the legal thriller could take her mind off the jitteriness she felt at sitting inside the metal bird of death. If that didn’t do the trick, the medication would likely kick in to soften takeoff.

She didn’t like to fly. She did it when she had to, but only when it was absolutely necessary. Given a chance, she’d have elected to put the top down on her VW convertible, flood the car with her new Pink album and set out for Texas. Nothing better than the wind in her hair, but it was the end of January and she didn’t think icicles forming on her nose would be a good look.

She took another peek at business class, but the flight attendant jerked the partition closed, throwing a knowing look at the people sitting in coach. Kate sighed. Yeah, yeah, sister. We all want to be in there.

“’Scuse me,” Sharp Elbows said as he nearly pierced one of her lungs.

“No problem,” she muttered, shifting aside and praying no one would take the seat to her right.

Her prayers went unanswered when a granny toddled toward her, counting off the seat numbers. Sure enough, she was 23E. The woman wore a floating caftan, had poofy hair and carried a purse so big it threatened to topple her forward onto Pokey Elbows’s lap as she passed him. She grinned at Kate, showing her silver-framed partial and yellowed teeth smudged with fuchsia lipstick. No doubt she had jeweled sunshades and a brag book of grandchildren lurking in her purse.

“Honey, I’m over there next to you.”

Kate lifted herself so the woman could slide into her seat. The ginormous purse smacked her on the thigh.

“Sorry, honey. I’ll get settled…right…here.” The elderly lady huffed and puffed as she adjusted her seat and tucked tissues in the pouch in front of her.

Kate really hated Rick Mendez. He was getting free liquor. While she was tucked in tight between Lemony Snicket and Mrs. Roper. Kate yawned. The Xanax was kicking in, leaving her feeling sleepy and foggy. She only used the medication for flights. Okay, and when she couldn’t stop the merciless anxiety that sometimes swamped her and kept her pacing the floors at all hours of the night. Jeremy had forced her into getting some when she’d let it slip that she suffered from periodic anxiety.

Jeremy.

He wasn’t so bad, even if he had risked her future without asking. She still loved her flamboyantly gay friend. Besides, she was as unsinkable as Molly Brown. She wasn’t going to throw their friendship away over his moment of insanity. After her ill-fated blackjack game, she’d phoned him, listened as he threw himself a pity party, then told him her plan.

Part of the blame fell on her. She’d gotten lax in double-checking the books. Lord knew her accountant had harped on it enough. But she’d never thought Jeremy would endanger their business or friendship. Never. Which went to prove what she’d known all along. She had to rely on herself. No one else. “Ma’am?”

A smartly dressed flight attendant with a fake smile and a platinum bob jarred Kate from her musings.

“Huh? I mean, what?”

“You can follow me. I’ve cleared you for business class.”

Kate couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to her lips, the first one she’d hatched in weeks. Hell, yeah. “Absolutely.”

She turned the smile on her former seatmates. “Well, I’m outta here.”

“I don’t blame you, honey. I wish I’d had the time to show you pictures of my Pomeranians. You know I show them all over the country. Little Boy Blue just won the Hanover.”

Kate nodded at the prattling granny. “Sorry I didn’t get to see them. Have a good flight.”

Then Kate followed the lithe attendant toward the Holy Grail of the plane. If the plane went down, at least she would die in first class.

It was small consolation.

But it was consolation.

“YOU LOOK GROGGY.” RICK didn’t mean for his words to sound accusatory. Hell, he didn’t really know Kate. And shouldn’t care. But he knew she was on something. Her eyes showed it.

“I’m fine. Just took a little pill to help me fly,” she said sinking into the seat next to him. “Wait. That didn’t sound right. What I meant is I get kinda nervous when I fly, so I took a Xanax.”

He eyed her. Xanax? “Should you be taking that?”

She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “I only take it when I feel anxious.”

“You want a drink?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.” Her voice sounded sleepy, reminding him of rumpled bedsheets and lazy morning sex. Not good. This was Justus’s daughter. No sense in fantasizing about her.

“I meant a Coke or something.”

Kate laughed. It was a smoky laugh. He felt himself grow semierect. Shit. What was wrong with him?

“Now I know you’re from Texas. You called a soda a Coke.”

He blinked at her. She was an odd one. Or maybe the medication was making her loopy. And talkative. He could have sworn she hated his guts.

She fell silent and fumbled for her lap belt. Rooting around, her hand bumped his thigh, which only served to heighten the flash of desire he felt for her. He reached down and grabbed the belt before she could slip her hand beneath his ass and pull it out.

“Sorry,” he commented, reaching over and snapping the belt into the end she held against her stomach. He got a whiff of her perfume as he pulled away. Something expensive. And sexy. It made him want to dip his head closer and smell her hair or the silkiness of her collarbone where the perfume had no doubt been applied.

“Thanks,” she muttered before opening a book.

He spent several minutes studying her out of the corner of his eye as she read. She’d shown up in tight jeans and an even tighter yellow shirt that wrapped her torso and cupped her small breasts. Yesterday, her hair had been spiky, tinted blue. Today, it was a mass of raven curls, making her look younger and softer. Dangly earrings brushed her shoulders. Her legs, encased in brown high-heeled boots, were crossed at her ankles.

Finally the engines roared to life, causing the huge 737 to thrum with power. He glanced at Kate’s book. The cover showcased shadowy figures behind a blood splattered dagger. Horror? Thriller? He couldn’t decide, but he’d never seen anyone so engrossed in a book. She hadn’t moved.

Then he looked at her face.

Her eyes were closed. Not reading. Her nostrils flared lightly as she took calm measured breaths. Her knuckles weren’t white from the suspense in the book.

He pried her fingers from the book, closing it and tossing it toward her crinkled-looking bag. Her eyes flew open.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” he said, wrapping one of her cold hands in his. Her small hand felt delicate. It also seemed clammy. He threaded his fingers through hers and gave her hand a squeeze.

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it when he gave her a nod.

“Thanks,” she whispered as the plane began its taxi down the long expanse of runway.

Rick thought about winding an arm about her, but that would be stepping over a boundary he shouldn’t cross. He shouldn’t care about this woman who’d stooped to blackmail her own father. He shouldn’t enjoy the feel of her hand in his so much.

But he did.

Even as his rational mind threw up a roadblock, he squeezed her hand again as the wheels left the ground. She glanced at him.

Her blue eyes were twin pools of vulnerability.

“No problem,” he said.

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

The plane hit a pocket of air and tilted ever so slightly. Kate took deep breaths as they climbed higher and higher. He rubbed small circles on her wrist with his thumb, offering what little comfort he could, but enjoying the hell out of her tender skin.

They hit one final air pocket before leveling out. Kate let loose her breath. “Okay. Okay. We made it.”

“Yep, we made it.” He released her hand.

Kate looked at him. “No problem.”

But he couldn’t respond because he knew there was a problem. And her name was Kate. And she was Justus’s daughter. And she had Ryan’s eyes. And she stirred some tucked away feeling of protection.

It didn’t help that she wore tight-ass jeans and lowcut sexy shirts. That she pranced around in teetering heels, smelling of spicy earthiness. That she knew how to handle a man.

He had to resist her, so he didn’t say a word. Because he knew.

Big problem.

CHAPTER FOUR

ARRIVING IN OAK STAND, Texas, felt like being tossed into a game of pickup at a state prison. At the end of the day, someone would likely get shanked. The bucolic Texas countryside framed ten square miles of hypocrites and busybodies all wrapped up in a Norman Rockwell-style package with a gingham bow. Kate felt the prying eyes and raised eyebrows as she climbed from Jack Darby’s massive pickup.

Yep. The bitch was back.

She stretched, glad the two-hour ride from the Dallas airport was over. She’d been cooped up far too long and needed to move her legs.

“You sure you want to walk to Tucker House? I don’t mind dropping you by after I make this deposit,” her friend’s husband said, doffing his baseball cap and tucking it into his back pocket. Jack looked around as if he too felt the curiosity of the townsfolk. They’d parked in front of the Oak Stand Bank and Trust, the hometown bank with a friendly smile. Service you can bank on.

“I need the walk,” Kate said, refusing to remove her sunglasses. She didn’t need the protection from the graying sky—she needed it from the prying eyes.

Jack’s brow crinkled as he eyed her high-heeled boots. “You sure?”

“I started walking in these when I was five.”

“You had big feet, huh?” Jack chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s it. And all the kids called me Bozo,” Kate drawled, grabbing her purple Balenciaga handbag and slamming the truck door. “I know the way.”

Nellie’s husband threw her a salute much as Jeremy had earlier that day. Kate never minded a man saluting her. Even a smart-ass like Jack. The man lived to get under her skin, even though she knew he held a grudging affection for her. “See you back at the house, Katie.”

“Kate,” she said as she yanked the belt of her Burberry raincoat tighter and looked around.

Oak Stand looked about the same as it had the last time she’d visited except The Curlique Salon had gotten a new sign out front and the town square’s grass was faded yellow. That was pretty much it for change.

Tucker House wasn’t far. She could see the huge white structure across the square, right behind the statue of Rufus Tucker, founder of Oak Stand and great-great-grandfather to Nellie. She could cross through the park on the flagstone-paved path easily enough, but she decided to take the long way around to decompress a bit. Prepare herself. Everything had happened so quickly, she felt cut loose. Floating above herself.

It didn’t help that the plane ride seemed a misty memory. The Xanax she’d taken had calmed her too much. She could barely remember the journey. But she remembered Rick, the way he smelled, the way he felt next to her.

She looked down at her bare hand. She’d forgotten her gloves at home, but she hadn’t forgotten his touch. The way his thumb had stroked the skin on her wrist as the plane had climbed into the sky. Then once again as the plane prepared to land. Kate had had guys do lots of things to her hands—hold them, squeeze them, kiss them, suck her fingers—but she’d never had a man comfort them.

She tucked her hand into her coat pocket. She didn’t have time to think about Rick Mendez and the weird tingling his touch had awakened in her. She’d bought herself some time, but she needed a plan.

When Jack had pulled up to baggage claim at the airport and tossed Kate’s carry-on into the cab of his truck, she thought Rick might protest, but he held back, nodding to Jack as he passed him. Rick had told her Justus was expecting her, but she wanted to meet her biological father on her own terms. If this were some sort of a game Justus was playing, she needed home field advantage. Nellie, not Oak Stand, had always been that for her.

She approached the steps of Tucker House feeling as if she’d stepped back through time. As always, the porch was freshly painted and Margo met her at the door.

“Well, I do declare, Miss Katiebug Newman, as I live and die.”

“Hey, Margo. And it’s Kate, by the way.”

The diminutive woman grinned. “I know. Just like to ruffle your feathers is all.”

Kate rolled her eyes. Margo had worked for Nellie’s grandmother when Nellie was a child, cleaning house and ironing all those Peter Pan collars Nellie had had to wear. Margo had taken a break to help raise her own grandchild, but returned to Tucker House when Nellie had started the senior care center a few years ago. It was good to see Margo holding the door open again.

“Come on in. Nellie’s out back with Mae trying to dig up some bulb she wants to plant at her place.”

Kate stepped into the heat of Tucker House. The walk had made her plenty warm, and several older ladies and gentlemen peered unabashedly at her as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a peg by the beveled glass door.

“You’re Myrtle Newman’s granddaughter,” a spry silver-headed lady said, rising from the couch. The woman wore lavender yoga pants and a sweatshirt that said Hot Yoga Mama.

Kate felt herself stiffen even as she smiled. “Yes.”

“Myrtle made a good pie,” the lady said, her eyes twinkling in a friendly manner. “I tried to make her chocolate pie one year. Just wasn’t the same. I’m Ester.”

“Oh, yes, Ester. You taught Sunday school.” Kate tried to smile, but it felt stuck. Something about Oak Stand made her feel claustrophobic. As though she was knotted up and couldn’t move or breathe.

“Yep. Taught it for twenty-eight years before I got too tired to deal with kids kicking my shins. But you never kicked me, Katie.”

“Kate.”

“Kate. Of course,” Ester beamed at her.

Kate needed to get out of here. Other ladies were creeping closer. “Well, I need to find Nellie.”

Kate bolted before anyone could ask her anything else about her late grandmother, her past, her future or her dietary habits. She could never live in Oak Stand. Too many nosy people. Margo laughed at her as she scurried through the kitchen and out the back door.

Kate let the screen door bang against the house as she exited. Nellie dropped the shovel and turned. “Kate!”

“Finally, someone gets my name right,” Kate grumbled as she trotted down the stairs toward the only person who felt like family.

Nellie looked terrific. Her blond-streaked hair was in a lopsided ponytail and dirt smudged one cheek. She wore tight jeans tucked into polka-dotted rubber boots and a hooded sweatshirt that hung midthigh. A chubby baby in a pink knitted parka and matching cap clung to her knees. The smile Nellie gave her made the cloudy day seem brighter.

Kate gave her friend a hard hug before dropping to one knee. “Hi, Mae flower, it’s Auntie Kate.”

Mae blinked green eyes at Kate, then hid her face between Nellie’s knees.

Nellie patted her daughter’s head. “She’s going through a stage. She won’t look at people. No one. Not even Margo.”

Kate rose. “That’s okay. I’m not good with kids anyway.”

Nellie sighed and shook her head. “Kate, how would you know? You’re probably brilliant with kids. She loves the boots you sent her. Don’t you, Mae?”

They both looked down at the baby, who still clutched Nellie like a street peddler would clutch a shiny penny.

“Here’s the bucket you wanted,” a voice came from behind Kate. A voice with a soft Hispanic accent.

Kate spun around. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I’d meet with Justus when I’m ready and not before.”

Rick shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t know you were here. I stopped by to talk to Nellie.”

Kate faced her friend. “You know this creep?”

“Kate!” Nellie said, scooping up Mae and taking the pail from Rick. “Rick’s not a creep. He’s a friend. And why are you meeting Justus Mitchell? What is all this about? You never come to Oak Stand.”

Kate opened her mouth then closed it. She turned to Rick. “What are you doing here?”

“He came about Phoenix.” Nellie said, dropping an absentminded kiss on her daughter’s forehead. Mae peeked out at Rick and gave him a drooling smile. Kate guessed Mae looked at good-looking, sneaky guys. Traitor.

She pulled her eyes from the baby. No matter what Rick said, he’d come to Tucker House because she was here. She’d irritated him when she’d turned the tables on him at the airport. He’d seemed to handle her leaving with Jack calmly, but she’d be willing to bet he didn’t like it one bit.

“Phoenix is a gang rehabilitation center,” he explained. “A place to help gang members make a break from the life and get an education and job training. The rehab center is right outside Oak Stand. Nellie’s on the foundation board and I’m the director.” Rick’s eyes met hers. They were powerful, those dark eyes. Full of mystery and determination. They were obsidian chips of intent. Strong intent. And they made her toes sweat.

“Oh,” Kate said.

Nellie looked confused. Kate felt something sink in her stomach. She hadn’t told Nellie about trying to blackmail Justus. She hadn’t told her friend much of anything except she was coming to town and needed a place to stay. Perhaps Rick had already told Nellie what Kate had done. Or what Justus wanted from her. But she didn’t think so. He didn’t seem the type to spread anyone’s business around town.

“How do you know Rick?” Nellie asked her. “And what’s this have to do with Justus?”

Rick smiled at Mae and chucked her on the chin. Kate averted her eyes and watched some small gray birds hop between barren branches before dive-bombing a bird feeder. She didn’t say anything. Finally, she met Nellie’s gaze and gave her the signal they’d developed when they’d been girls. Two blinks meant “later.”

“Okay,” Nellie said, shifting Mae to her other hip and dropping some strange-looking potato things in the bucket Rick had brought her. “Let me wash my hands and get those papers.”

Nellie shoved Mae into Kate’s arms and stalked up the stairs. The baby immediately began kicking and crying, and one of her little boots caught Kate in the upper thigh. This was her punishment for lying to Nellie.

Rick glanced at the squirming child. “Want me to take her?”

She set Mae down. “No, she can walk.”

Mae immediately dropped to the ground and wailed. Kate could have sworn it was on purpose, but surely fifteen-month-old babies couldn’t be so devious.

He bent down. “Mae, come see what I have in my pocket.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Kate drawled.

He shot her a look before focusing on Mae. The baby sat up and studied him. Her cries stopped as abruptly as they’d started.

“Here,” Rick said, pulling a package from his pocket. Kate blinked. It was a package of crackers from the airplane.

“Crackers? I hope that’s not what you actually give all the girls.”

Mae reached out a grubby little hand and grunted.

“Babies love crackers,” Rick said, opening the package and handing one to Mae. Sure enough, the baby took it and crammed it in her mouth. “And if I have something in my pocket for you, it won’t be crackers.”

She frowned at the double entendre, but she had started it.

Kate stooped so she could see the baby’s mouth. She didn’t know how to do the Heimlich maneuver on an infant. “Does she even have teeth?”

“Yeah, she has teeth. Not all of them but enough to gum a cracker.” He lifted the baby and gave her the sweetest of smiles.

Something plinked in Kate’s chest. She wasn’t sure what it was because she’d never felt anything like it before.

Nellie returned holding an envelope. She shoved it toward Rick and gathered Mae in her arms. “Everything is signed and notarized. I’ll come by Phoenix sometime soon. I can’t wait to see the guys there. You’ve worked so hard, Rick. It’s going to be fantastic.”

“Let’s hope so.” Rick tucked the missive under his arm before turning to Kate. “I’ll pick you up at Nellie’s at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Justus will expect you before lunch. Bye, ladies.”

He headed around the corner of the house.

Nellie shook her head. “What the hell is going on, Kate?”

Rick turned before she could bustle Nellie up the stairs. His eyes flashed something almost naughty, but he didn’t say a word. Just nodded and then he was gone.

Kate closed her eyes and blurted, “Oh, nothing. I just have to go meet dear old dad about a blackmailing scheme.”

Her friend didn’t say a thing, so Kate cracked one eye open. Poor Nellie looked like she’d swallowed a bug. Her mouth opened then closed. Finally, she managed to choke out, “What?”

“What can I say except what you already know? I’m a bastard child.” Kate shrugged, trying to pretend she blackmailed reluctant biological fathers every day.

“You’re admitting Justus Mitchell is your father?” Nellie asked, shaking her head.

“Shh!” Kate clamped a hand over her friend’s mouth. Mae contemplated her with blank green eyes. Gooey cracker mush dripped from her mouth and landed on Kate’s arm. “Don’t.”

Nellie pulled Kate’s hand from her mouth. “Holy shit!”

Kate looked at Mae. “She didn’t mean that, Mae flower. She meant holy shuckins.”

Nellie swiped at the baby’s chin while Kate scraped off the mess. She was glad she hadn’t worn her Burberry outside.

“Would you be serious about this?” Nellie huffed.

“I am.”

Mae squirmed in her mother’s arms. Nellie set her down and studied Kate. “Kate, how is this… I mean, why haven’t you ever said anything? And blackmail? I don’t understand.”

“Look, I’ll tell you about it when we get to the ranch. Now’s not the time.”

“Kate—”

“Please. Let it ride, Nell.” She stalked up the steps without looking at her friend again. She’d tell Nellie that night. After dinner. After Mae had toddled off to bed. After Jack had dozed off in the recliner. But not now. Not when her nerves felt shredded and her stomach felt like it harbored rocks. Really heavy rocks.

She’d screwed up when she’d devised this plan.

She should have let the salon go. It was just a business. People lost businesses every day. She could start over, get a job in L.A. She’d done it before.

But it was too late. What she’d put in motion had to be ridden out. She’d poked the devil with a stick, and messing with the devil was dangerous, especially when he had huge stockpiles of supplies and a sexy henchman who made her pulse flutter. And that was the scariest thing about facing the battle that would come in the morning. Something about the devil’s henchman made her want to sleep with the enemy. And that couldn’t be good.

War really was hell.

RICK PULLED HIS CAR INTO the drive of Cottonwood Ranch, Justus’s colossal spread. The drive leading up to the enormous white house was long and straight. No meandering for a man like Justus. Direct and to the point.

Rick knew Justus would be irate with him for not bringing Kate directly to the ranch, but he’d rather deal with Justus’s anger than deal with being thrown into prison for binding and gagging Kate Newman then shoving her into the backseat of his car.

The thought of controlling Kate appealed to him. He envisioned her under his power, and desire stirred inside him. That was seriously whacked, so he checked that feeling as he parked on the checkerboard grass-and-stone parking area.

Justus’s wife, Vera, dabbled in gardening and landscaping, so she’d designed this parking area declaring it more welcoming than concrete. Every time his foot crushed the low-growing thyme in between the pavers, a sweet aroma filled the air. Leave it to Vera to deliver an unexpected gift to the person parking outside her home.

“Rick,” Vera called out from the prayer garden she’d built behind the carriage-style garage. “Come see what I’ve found.”

Rick could no more ignore the hint of pleasure in Vera’s voice than he could turn out a hungry stray. Grains of happiness were few and far between for the woman Justus had brought to Cottonwood and made his bride over twenty years ago.

He rounded the corner and found her kneeling in a patch of withered canna lily stalks. He looked around at the garden they’d neglected during the holidays. “I guess I need to clear all this dead stuff away and put down another layer of mulch.”

Vera looked up at him, her hair falling over her shoulders, brown eyes crinkled with a haunting smile. “I know, but look what I found.”

He bent and pushed a hand through the matted pine straw. Small green stalks barely cleared the fertile loam. “Crocus?”

“Yes,” she breathed, passing a bare hand over the tiny new growth rising in the grayness. “Ryan planted them when he was a child. Some years they don’t come up. I don’t know why, but this year they’re making an appearance.”

“A sign of good fortune, I bet. Better cover them well,” he said, straightening and eyeing the low, dark clouds. “Those clouds carry rain and with temperatures dipping tonight, we might have a freeze.”

She carefully covered the plants then stood. She brushed her hands on her worn jeans and pulled her hair to the side. She looked much younger than her fifty years.

“Did you bring her back?”

Rick stiffened, dread uncoiling in his stomach. How did Vera know about Kate?

“He can’t keep secrets from me, Rick,” she said softly, tucking her hands into her back pockets and shivering. The wind had picked up and the jacket she wore afforded little protection against the air sweeping across the hilled pasture.

“Don’t get involved in this, Vera.”

She shrugged. “I know my husband. Knew what kind of man he was before I married him. A secret love child comes as no surprise to me.”

Love child? Rick didn’t think the term could be applied to Kate. Not the way Justus had talked about her mother. Rick didn’t sense any tenderness where Susie Newman was concerned. She’d been just another woman who’d thought she could catch the mighty Justus Mitchell and failed.

Rick studied the woman who hadn’t. Her face bore the tale of losing her only child and surviving her husband’s declining health, yet, she was lovely. Touched by time and misfortune, Vera still held traces of that Alabama Southern belle she’d been. She was a woman who could serve up coffee and pound cake with the hands she’d just used to transplant a hydrangea or nurse a sick child. She’d been Rick’s only friend for a while…aside from the gangly boy who’d dogged his heels when he’d first come to live at Cottonwood.

“You’ve talked to him about this girl?” he asked as he walked toward the rear of the house.

She followed, tossing her gardening gloves onto a bench outside the mudroom. “Not exactly, no. But I always know what’s going on, Rick.”

“So you’re just pretending not to?”

Vera smiled. “Of course. Justus will tell me when he’s ready. He thinks I’m weak. That I have to be protected.”

For good reason. Vera had been hovering on the edge of severe depression since Ryan’s passing. Few things brought her joy.

They entered the kitchen where Rick’s grandmother Rosa ruled. Rosa had been with Justus for over forty years. She ran Cottonwood, and she was the reason for every good thing in Rick’s life.

“Hola,” Rosa said, her accent still thick despite the years she’d spent in the United States. His grandmother stood at the stove stirring something in a pot. It seemed he could always find her there. The kitchen smelled like barbecue and made his stomach growl. “Mr. Justus said to go to his office. He just called down, upset you weren’t here.”

Rick shrugged. “He’s going to get even more upset. Put antacid next to his plate tonight, abuela.”

Vera disappeared before he could say goodbye.

Leaving Rick to tell Justus that Kate played by her own rules.

CHAPTER FIVE

KATE HADN’T GOTTEN MUCH SLEEP. Mostly because she’d stayed up late listening to Nellie lecture her. Eventually she’d fallen into a fitful, shadowy sleep. When she’d woken this morning, her head pounded and she could barely swallow. A suspicious substance dripped from her nose. The pine trees of East Texas had done their job. Her allergies were going haywire.

Even so, she’d staggered from Nellie’s guest bedroom, managed a long shower, and pulled on a tight sweaterdress with black kick-ass Tory Burch boots. Of course, her slightly red nose didn’t match the violet minidress, but at least it was in color range.

The kitchen was empty. Kate made herself at home, grabbing a cup of black coffee and a Pop-Tart. After three bites of the pastry, she remembered why she never bought them—they tasted like flavored cardboard. Her half-eaten breakfast hit the trash can just as the doorbell sounded.

Rick had not forgotten. Damn.

She took another sip of coffee with an unsteady hand. She’d once read an Emily Dickinson poem in college where Death had politely rung the doorbell. When answered, Death had taken the dude on a trip that ended at the cemetery. This felt a little like that.

The doorbell sounded again.

“I’ve got it,” Kate called out, forcing herself to move. She didn’t want Nellie to answer. Almost always reserved, Nellie left the outlandishness to Kate, but if and when Nellie got her dander up, there was no subtlety about it. And last night, Nellie had been as mad as Kate had ever seen her. She wasn’t sure if the fury was at her, Justus or Rick.

Kate threw the door open, and Rick jumped back before giving her a quasi grin. “Good morning, cupcake.”

She snorted. “I’ve been called lots of names before, but never cupcake. Come in. I’ll grab my purse and gun.”

“Bring plenty of ammunition. His wheelchair is motorized and he’s pretty fast in it.”

“I have a whole box,” she said as she turned toward the kitchen where she’d left her purse. Nellie hadn’t appeared. Thank the Lord. She figured her friend didn’t trust herself not to lash out at Rick for carrying out Justus’s heinous mission. Kate hadn’t been able to reason with her over this whole fiasco. And it was a fiasco, but Nellie didn’t seem to understand Kate had asked for this when she’d written that damn letter. Nor did she understand why Kate hadn’t come to her for the money.

Kate had thought Nellie would get why she hadn’t made that call. Everyone in Oak Stand knew Kate and her grandmother had lived off donations and cast-off clothing, and everyone knew Kate was embarrassed by that fact. Kate had never asked Nellie for anything. Ever. No matter how desperate she felt, it was an unwritten code they never talked about. Another elephant in the room of Kate’s life, one that had so many pachyderms in it, it was a wonder she had air left to breathe.

Kate wouldn’t take charity. Not from a friend.

But she would take Justus’s hush money.

She scooped up her purse and checked herself in the den mirror. She looked good for someone who had a raging sinus headache. She’d made up her eyes a little too heavily, but the blue streaks in her hair balanced the look. She’d finger-combed her hair into a straight edgy look and added dangly hoop earrings. The outfit was cutting-edge fashion. Overall, she looked like Justus’s worst nightmare—something like Posh Spice meets Reno prostitute.

She sauntered to the foyer where Rick studied a collage of Mae. The whole damned house was Ode to Mae. Nellie must have taken a picture of the baby every single day of her fifteen months of life.

“She’s a cute kid,” Rick said as he turned to her. His gaze swept her length, lingering on the high points. Namely her small breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra because she didn’t really need one. She felt her nipples harden under his perusal. The friction of the sweater dress only served to incite the heat in the pit of her stomach.

Rick Mendez was a nice piece of work. He’d look good on her, no doubt.

“Yeah, she is,” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But they could give the camera a rest. Jeez.”

“Ready to go?” Rick stepped back to let her pass through the door he’d left open. The last day in January felt cool and rain-soaked.

“Yeah. You have the blindfold ready?” She shrugged into her coat and tugged the ties.

“Blindfold?”

“For the firing squad.”

He narrowed his eyes. They were nice eyes. Chocolaty-brown, but forceful all the same. Like they’d seen and endured much.

She shot him a brave smile and trotted down the steps toward the ’66 convertible Mustang parked in the curved drive. The car was salsa-red with a white top. A muscle car to match the intensity of the man walking behind her.

“I carry the blindfolds in my glove box,” Rick said, following her to the passenger door. He pushed a key into the lock, pulled the door open for her, then walked around to slip into the car beside her. His shoulder brushed hers as he pulled the modified seat belt over his chest and she got a whiff of him. He smelled clean. His short hair looked damp, as though he’d climbed from the shower only moments ago.

“So you are into kinky stuff. Nice.”

For a moment, the air ignited. Heat came off Rick in waves. He wanted her. She knew that. But what would he do about it?

“Damn straight,” he said, his accent low and dangerous. Kate’s stomach prickled. “But they’re only for the really bad girls. You’re not a bad girl, are you, Kate?”

Kate snorted. “I think you know the answer to that.”

His response was to rev the engine. But he wore a smile.

COTTONWOOD LOOMED IN FRONT of them like the dream of a nine-year-old girl. Its stately columns and fanciful curved front steps ignited visions of hooped dresses and shiny carriages. Kate had stood outside the gates before, peering through the cold bars where an intricate M was carved. She’d dreamed of walking down those stairs, lifting the edge of her wedding gown and stepping into a limousine.

Once she’d imagined herself crossing the trimmed lawn to her smiling father. Imagined him lifting her veil and giving her a gentle kiss. It was a kid’s dream. Utter make-believe.

She glanced at Rick as they approached the house. Even he seemed tense. His shoulders were bunched beneath the same jacket he’d worn yesterday and his jaw looked set. Rock hard. That image of Rick was both titillating and off-putting.

“Honey, I’m home.” Her voice sounded on edge to her own ears.

Rick glanced at her.

She gave him a shaky smile. “Too soon to call it home?”

At this his lips twitched. Something in his smile gave her comfort. She wanted to thank him for that, for offering her some solace in this moment she faced. That comfort shouldn’t have meant anything to her. Justus Mitchell had denied her once—it was entirely conceivable he’d do it again.

She had carried her hatred of him around with her because it had made her who she was. She didn’t take crap from anybody and she lived by her own rules. That was what Justus had given her. That and nothing else. But now she wanted money from him. Money that was way past due.

Rick pulled onto an odd patterned parking area adjacent to the house and cut the engine. “I’ll walk you in, then I’m running over to Phoenix. It’s not far. My grandmother will call me when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up.”

He was leaving her. For some reason, she didn’t want him to. Even though he worked for Justus, he felt like the only guy on her team.

Which was stupid.

He touched her on the shoulder. “Hey.”

She lifted her gaze to his, afraid he might see how much she wanted him to stay. He wasn’t smiling. He looked as intense as the first time she’d met him, but there was a tinge of softness now.

“You’re strong.”

His words wrapped round her, doing as he intended, strengthening her, bolstering the courage she’d felt she’d lost for a moment as they’d driven up the lane.

Kate closed her eyes, then she leaned over and kissed him.

Not a peck, like she was thanking him.

But a full-fledged kiss.

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