A restless, rodeo-riding Fortune...

Finally finds his family

Celebrity rodeo rider Grayson Fortune is seeking a reprieve from the limelight. So as his sweet real estate agent, Billie Pemberton, searches to find him the perfect home, he struggles to keep his mind on business. With his famous (philandering) Fortune father, Grayson is sure he’s not cut out for commitment. Roping young, innocent Billie into a fling would only break her heart. But Billie is convinced that love and family are Grayson’s true birthright...

A frequent name on bestseller lists, ALLISON LEIGH’s high point as a writer is hearing from readers that they laughed, cried or lost sleep while reading her books. She credits her family with great patience for the time she’s parked at her computer, and for blessing her with the kind of love she wants her readers to share with the char-acters living in the pages of her books. Contact her at www.allisonleigh.com.

Also by Allison Leigh

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A Child Under His Tree

The BFF Bride

One Night in Weaver...

A Weaver Christmas Gift

A Weaver Beginning

A Weaver Vow

A Weaver Proposal

Courtney’s Baby Plan

The Rancher’s Dance

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Fortune’s Homecoming

Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07771-2

FORTUNE’S HOMECOMING

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my “forever” home.

Happy 10th.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“Holy cow. Is that who I think it is?”

Grayson Fortune heard the whispers start the second he walked into the office of Austin Elite Real Estate. He should have known better than to head straight there after the press conference. But going back to the hotel to change would have made him even later than he already was.

He hated being late. It was a product of his early years hustling from one rodeo to another, when being late could mean missing the event altogether. Wasted miles. Worse, wasted money.

“Ohmygawd. Is that Grayson? I just saw him on the news at noon. He’s taller than I expected.”

He didn’t bother trying to locate where in the office the whispers came from. He just pulled off his black Grayson Gear cowboy hat and strode toward the stylish woman seated behind the reception desk. He’d had lots of practice ignoring whispers, and gave the receptionist his usual grin.

She was probably about his mom’s age, and if she recognized him when she looked up at him with a friendly smile, there was nothing in her expression to say it.

“Welcome to Austin Elite.” Her eyes were bright behind her black-framed glasses. “How can I help you?”

He heard another muffled laugh that might have been inaudible had the modern office possessed actual walls instead of a sea of glass partitions. “I know how I’d like to help him.”

He’d asked his mother to find a real estate agent for him, and she’d set up the appointment. Otherwise he’d turn around and leave. He was used to public attention, but it was often a pain in the caboose.

“Do you suppose he’s as good in the sack as the saddle? Imagine him tossing you down on the bed like—”

He focused harder on the friendly receptionist. “I have an appointment with Billy Pemberton. Sorry I’m late.”

The receptionist consulted her computer, tapping a few keys. “Ah. There you are, Mr. Smith.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Billy, your client is here.” She looked up at him again with another smile. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

“Water would be great, ma’am.”

“My pleasure.” She came around the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured at the white chairs situated around an enormous world globe that sat right on the floor. Since the chairs looked like they came from outer space, he figured it made a weird sort of sense.

Two of the chairs were occupied and he took the one farthest away, nodding when the other people gave him sideways looks. Because they recognized him? Or because they’d heard the chair groan when he sat on it?

More than comfort, right now he just hoped he wouldn’t end up on the floor.

He also hoped the real estate agent wouldn’t keep him waiting long. But considering Grayson’s tardiness, he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on if the guy left him cooling his heels.

He’d expected a bottle of water, but when the receptionist returned, it was with a real glass filled with water, several sliced rounds of cucumber, some narrow ribbons of green stuff threaded on a wooden swizzle stick, all topped with a curl of lemon rind. A little overdone, but a nice touch, he supposed.

If you happened to like cucumber and unidentifiable green stuff. He did not.

He took the glass. “That’s real kind of you, ma’am. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She started to turn back to her desk. “Oh, there’s Billy now.”

He wished the globe were a coffee table, so he could have set aside the water. Instead, he stood, turning in the same direction.

The real estate agent smiled at him, approaching with a hand outstretched. “Mr. Smith, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.”

Not a Billy.

But a Billie.

And what a Billie she was. From the top of her gleaming hair to the shine on her shoes, every inch was...amazing.

He juggled the glass and his hat, and stuck out his hand, anticipating the feel of her palm against his.

Bam.

No disappointment there. No, ma’am. Her skin was as soft and smooth as kid leather.

“Darlin’, you weren’t the one making someone wait. That’s all on me.”

Her rosy smile looked a little nervous and she tugged her hand free. “Don’t be silly. I’m Billie Pemberton.”

He wondered if his mom had chosen the attractive real estate agent deliberately.

Considering Deborah Fortune’s lament lately that he needed a good woman in his life? Probably.

“Let’s go back to my office, shall we?” Billie’s straight hair was long and deep brown, and she tucked one side of the sleek strands behind her ear. No earrings on her earlobe. Just a tiny sparkling stud high inside her ear and two equally tiny gold rings around the top edge.

He realized he was staring, as if he’d never seen an ear before. “Yeah.” He gestured with the upturned brim of his hat. “Let’s get on it.”

She smiled again. Definitely a hint of shyness in those appealing eyes.

Too bad she also looked like she was young enough to still be in high school. She was a real estate agent, so he knew she couldn’t be that young, but still...

Grayson liked women. Young women. Old women. Anything-in-between women. He liked the way they thought and the way they smiled and the way they smelled.

But he didn’t mess with girls. Especially ones who looked like they came complete with starry-eyed visions of picket fences and babies.

So no matter what his mom was thinking when she’d set this up, if she’d set this up, she was on the wrong track.

Despite all that, he told himself there was no law against appreciating how the fat silver zipper running the entire length of the back of her short white skirt worked its way up from the hem an inch as she walked ahead of him.

“He looks older than I thought he was.”

The whispers started up again as the two of them made their way along a glossy hall between glass panes. Or maybe they’d never stopped. He’d quit noticing anything when Billie had smiled at him. The whispers floating in the air. The aches and pains left over from his run a few days ago in Silver City, when he’d earned nothing but a bruised rib and a face full of dirt.

Billie stepped into a cube on her right. “I’m sorry it’s so tight in here.” She slid onto a rolling chair at the desk. Using the toe of one tall, neon-yellow high heel, she swiveled to face the two narrow chairs positioned adjacent to her. Her sparkling eyes met his, then danced away. “Sit wherever you like.”

He chuckled and dumped his hat on one of the acrylic-and-steel contraptions, then took the other. It seemed sturdier than the chairs in the reception area, at least. “D’you mind?” He lifted the water glass slightly. She didn’t have anything on her desktop other than a computer screen, a stapled set of papers and a desk pad that looked like clear glass.

He had a desk that he rarely used at the Grayson Gear office. It was nowhere near as neat.

“Not at all.” Her eyes danced to his. “Nasty stuff, if you ask me. I have a drawer full of plain bottled water if you prefer.”

He grinned. “If you’re sure you don’t mind sharing.”

Those eyes danced away again. “I’m sure.” She moistened her soft-looking lips as she leaned over to open the bottom drawer of a short cabinet wedged into the only free corner. Beneath her silky black tank top there was a glimpse of a black bra strap, but what kept drawing his attention was the translucent creaminess of her skin.

It made him almost thirsty enough to drink the cuke crud.

She moved his water glass from the desk to the top of the cabinet, nudging aside several photo frames to make room. Then she held out the slender water bottle.

When he took it, their fingers brushed.

She quickly swiveled back to face her desk and slid her papers squarely in front of her with one hand, touching the computer screen with her other. The blank screen leaped to life, showing the same logo that was on the front door of the office. She glanced at him. “I understand you’re looking for a new home.”

“Yup.” He waited a beat. What the hell? “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I guess that depends,” she said warily. “Will you answer my questions?”

He spread his palms. “I’m an open book, darlin’.”

As he’d hoped, her expression lightened. “Somehow I doubt that. But what’s the question?”

“How old are you?”

Fortunately, she didn’t look offended. “Twenty-four. I have a college degree and I’ve had my real estate license for several years. I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to represent your interests and—”

He lifted his hand, cutting her off. His mom wouldn’t have sent him to an unqualified agent. “I’m not going anywhere. I just thought I’d ask.” At least she wasn’t quite fresh out of high school. But she was still too young for him to be as attracted to her as he was, even though he appreciated her ambition. “So, let’s get on with your questions.”

Her lips twitched faintly. “How old are you?”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Thirty-seven and feeling every minute of ’em, darlin’.”

Her eyes twinkled. Then she looked past him for a millisecond and sat straighter in front of her computer. “All right.” She slid her fingers on the glass desk pad and the logo on the screen folded away, to be replaced by a form. “Do you have an existing home now?”

“Nope.”

She slid her fingers again. The screen morphed again.

“Fancy desk pad you got there.” The glass clearly acted as a computer mouse pad. “How do you type?” There was no visible keyboard.

“Here.” She leaned back in her chair slightly so he could see her tap the corner of the glass. The faint outline of a keyboard appeared in it. She moved her fingers across it as if she were typing on the keys, and a line of gibberish streamed across the screen. “It’s cool, but it took me quite a while to get used to it.” Her smile stretched, looking more than a little impish again. “Nothing but the best and cutting edge here at Austin Elite.”

He shifted on the chair, staring for a second at his water bottle. Damn. She was prettier than a spring filly. He took a healthy swig from the bottle, took his time capping it, and focused on the computer screen once more. “That’s what my mom said when she made the appointment here. You were the best.”

“Your mother?” She’d turned her attention to the screen, as well. “Will she be living with you also?”

Not unless he could change her mind. “I doubt it. She’s my business manager.” He waited for Billie to ask what his business was, because she’d given no sign that she knew who he was.

“Is there anyone else you’ll be consulting with on your choice of a home?”

“Like who? A wife?”

“Or a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Psychic?”

He laughed silently. “Only one I’ve gotta please is me.”

For a second, she looked disbelieving, but she moved on. “Are you working already with a lender, by any chance? I can give you a list of excellent choices if you’re not.”

Outside the clear cubicle, a steady parade of people kept going past, most sneaking a look their way. “No need. It’ll be a cash purchase.”

She was obviously accustomed to hearing that particular answer. “That makes things very simple. Is there some area of Austin that particularly interests you?”

“No, ma’am.” Grayson Gear had claimed its headquarters in Austin since the start, though most of his involvement was conducted from wherever he was on the road. He’d competed in plenty of rodeos in the area, though he knew only certain parts of town, and generally liked what he knew. “My personal knowledge of the city is limited, actually. I’m not from here.”

Her gaze slid his way again. “Is your relocation for business purposes?”

“Mostly.”

She looked back at her computer. “And where are you coming from?”

“All over.” That was true enough. His actual home was Paseo, Texas. But few people had heard of the minuscule town, much less knew where it was. Ever since news had gotten out that Gerald Robinson aka Jerome Fortune was his and his triplet brothers’ absentee biological father, though, the journalists and the Grayson groupies had been getting too damn close to ruining the peace there that he was determined to protect. His employees at Grayson Gear had been operating just fine for years despite his frequent absences, but they could always be counted on to keep interlopers away from his door when he was there. Especially Gerald Robinson, despite him being a fixture on the Austin landscape.

Grayson’s lack of a precise answer didn’t seem to bother Billie. Her finger continued sliding on the glass as the form on the screen slowly filled. “Then you haven’t looked at any houses already?”

“Nope.” He shifted and hitched one boot on top of his knee. They were brand-new Castletons, and as fine as the custom boots were, he preferred the ones he tramped around in at the ranch in Paseo where he and his brothers had grown up. They were Castletons, too. Bought nearly twenty years ago out of his first big win and just getting real comfortable now.

He and his Grayson Gear manager, Jessica Monroe, had been working on establishing a line of Castletons specifically for the company. But progress was slow. Castleton was an old family business and getting in the door was difficult. Considering his numerous endorsement deals, the challenge with Castleton had only made Grayson more determined. He’d even enlisted his mother’s help. Though she’d been managing his rodeo career since the get-go, she generally left Grayson Gear business to him. Always said she had enough keeping her busy without adding that to her plate. But since she happened to think Castleton was the best bootmaker around, he’d talked her around to it.

“Haven’t worked with any other Realtor?”

His eyes drifted past his boots to land on the curve of Billie’s hip where she sat. The chair was black, making the white of her skirt seem even whiter. Below the hem, her smooth thighs were golden. “No, ma’am. You’re my first.”

He caught a wisp of blush rise in her cheeks and saw her moisten her lips again. He couldn’t help smiling a little. Women often blushed around him, but none quite as charmingly as she.

Blushing or not, she stayed on course. “You’re probably anxious to get on with properties to view, so we can finish up the rest of the details along the way.” She tapped her glass-driven mouse and tiny images filled the screen. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? You want your forever home? Or something more short-term?”

Until Gerald Robinson came calling, he’d considered Paseo to be his home. “Forever.”

Her smile deepened, as if his answer pleased her. “What kind of home? Single family? Condo? Any particular square footage in mind? Number of bedrooms? Lot size?”

“No condos. Only bedroom I care about is mine.” But logic made him consider. He’d need more bedrooms if his brothers came to visit. Jayden and Ariana didn’t have kids yet, but considering they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, it was only a matter of time before they did. And Nathan and Bianca already had her little boy, EJ. Then there was his mom. He’d need a room for her, or even a guest house that she could call her own. One appealing enough to keep her safely away from Robinson.

“I guess six bedrooms ought to do. A guest house would be a plus.” He banished Gerald Robinson from his thoughts. He was enjoying Billie’s company too much to ruin it thinking about the bastard.

“Any deal breakers? Something that would rule out a property right from the start?”

“No property. I need acreage for my horses and stock. I can always build my own barn, but I’ll need the land first.”

“Would you consider undeveloped land? Build your own house, too?”

“I’m hoping for something that won’t take that long. I’d like this wrapped up before summer’s done.”

She nodded. “Any particular features in the house that you require?”

“Like what?” He saw the same ripe blonde who’d already passed Billie’s office several times make yet another round. Bolder than most, she gave him a direct smile and pressed her hands together over her heart. He automatically grinned a response and she stopped dead in her tracks. At least until an older man with a frown passed her, and she scurried away.

“If you prefer single-story, or must have a wine cellar, fireplace, pool,” Billie was saying. “Things like that.”

“I’m more beer than wine.” He shrugged. “No particular preference. Just want a place I can put away the bedroll.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Bedroll?”

“Figure of speech,” he said dismissively. Though it wasn’t. He still traveled between rodeos with a bedroll in his truck. He could afford hotels now, but sometimes it was easier to bed down with the horses in the trailer, or under the stars. “I’m on the road a lot. Just need a place to land. And not too close to the city.” He would never be able to replicate the ranch in Paseo, but he could try. “I like my space and my privacy. As for the house, I guess a fireplace for cold days. AC on hot.” He grinned. “Running water and electricity.”

Her smile edged toward impish again. “I’ve always thought they were convenient.”

“’Course, that’s when the fireplace comes in handy...good place to keep warm. ’Specially with the right company.”

Her cheeks pinkened again. “And your budget?”

Did he have one? He supposed he should. He kept his eye on the broad levels, but Deborah kept her finger on all of the finer points. He knew he could walk away from rodeoing tomorrow and all of his resulting endorsements without personally missing the money a speck. Grayson Gear had become far more profitable in the last decade than anything else he did. But he had rodeoing in his blood. It kept Grayson Gear’s name prominent, and as a result, he was able to keep his charitable efforts funded.

Which meant as long as he was physically able to rodeo, he would. Even if the rest of the rodeo world was starting to consider him ancient.

Billie was still looking at him inquiringly. Her hair had slipped free of her enticing ear and she tucked it there once more as she waited.

He felt thirsty all over again.

He tapped the toe of his boot. “Darlin’, when I find the right one, no price’ll be too high.”

Her eyes did flicker at that. Still the model of decorum, though, she looked back at her screen and glided her fingers on her glass pad again.

“Does it get to you, working in a fishbowl like this?” He gestured at the clear, short walls, and the middle-aged redhead who’d been passing Billie’s office with the speed of a snail suddenly picked up her pace.

Billie looked wry. “Everything here takes some getting used to. Particularly knowing the boss is always watching. He has a very strict code of ethics that I guess he wants to ensure we’re all following.”

“What does he expect to catch y’all doing? Stealing cucumbers and water?”

She smiled. “One of these days, I’m sure I won’t even notice all this glass at all. But it is very disconcerting when you first experience it.”

“No kidding.” His working life was fishbowl-ish, too, though it sure hadn’t started out that way. Like a lot of the guys and gals competing in rodeo day in and day out, he’d done so in obscurity until a championship buckle was on his belt, and suddenly he had endorsement offers landing at his feet. “Probably not easy to get used to.”

“No, but it’s like what you’ve done in rodeo. You have a job to do and you get on with it.”

His toe stopped tapping. “You do know who I am.”

“It’s hard not to know who you are. You’ve been on the news a few times this week. And then there are the Grayson Gear billboards around town.” She smiled slightly. “Despite the impression of our local lookey-loos, you’re not the first celebrity who’s chosen to work with Austin Elite. All I care about is finding a perfect property for you, Mr. Smith.” She waited a beat. “But if you prefer a more experienced agent—perhaps Elena. She’s the blonde who has traipsed by a dozen times and she’d be entirely—”

“God, no. You, uh, you just surprised me for a bit.” Bemused him, more like. “And it’s not really Smith. It’s Fortune.”

She looked only mildly curious and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. Grayson Smith was simply the name he used on his professional bio. But at least his real last name hadn’t raised any obvious flags for her.

Considering the way the Fortune name had been in the news since the revelation that Austin icon and bazillionaire Gerald Robinson was actually Jerome Fortune—an heir to even more millions who’d supposedly died a lifetime ago—it was a relief.

It was time to leave the subject of his name well enough alone. “Mind if I pull my chair a little closer so I can see better?”

“Please do.” She rolled her own chair a few inches over so he could edge nearer to the desk.

Nearer to her.

“I apologize again for the close quarters. I’m still the smallest fish in the pond here, so I don’t get the pick of offices just yet. Or the pick of clients, so I have to thank you again for requesting me specifically, Mr. Fortune.”

His mother had requested Billie, but who was he to correct her now?

“Just Grayson,” he replied. He hadn’t set out to be known only by his given name any more than he’d set out to be a celebrity. Over the years, it had sort of cemented itself in the public eye. But ever since his mother had admitted that she hadn’t simply decided to use the last name Fortune because of her good fortune when she gave birth to healthy triplets, but had actually given them their father’s name, he’d been increasingly happy not to use it.

Which was a line of thinking certain to put him in a bad mood.

And Billie—young or not—was too much of an unexpected pleasure for him to be in a bad mood thinking about the bastard who’d sired him and his brothers.

He maneuvered his chair almost next to her. It meant he had to stretch one leg out her office door, where someone might trip over it as they dawdled and gawked, but he didn’t much care. “And I’m not complaining about the tight space.” He nodded toward her computer screen. “All right, darlin’. Show me what you’ve got.”

Chapter Two

Thirty minutes later, Billie watched Grayson stride out the Austin Elite front door. She held her breath and turned to face the receptionist.

Amberleigh Gardner was fanning herself. “That man makes even an old woman like me feel faint. And you’re the lucky girl who gets to work with him.” She winked. “You know he’s not married.”

Hoping that she was hiding the shakiness she’d felt since realizing that her prospective client Mr. Smith was The Grayson—famous rodeo rider, local business owner, endorser of everything from beer to saddles—Billie calmly started back to her office. “He’s a client, Amberleigh. No more or less important than any other client. His marital status isn’t relevant.”

Right.

Which was why she’d darn near tripped over her own feet in shock when she’d come out to greet her new client and recognized him. “Besides, you know the rules.” No romantic involvement with clients. It was DeForest Allen’s sacrosanct rule after having seen too many deals go south because of it.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, hon. Some girls would think losing a job over a guy like that to be well worth it.” Amberleigh smiled knowingly as Billie passed her.

Once in the office that she’d been assigned three weeks ago when she began working with Austin Elite, she moved the chair Grayson had used back to its usual position before sitting down in her own chair.

Then it felt like all the strength in her body left her and she dropped her head onto her desk. Not caring if anyone did see.

From the top of his wavy, caramel-brown hair to the bottom of his expensive boots, Grayson was six-plus feet of drop-dead gorgeous.

Her skin felt flushed and her heart was racing.

She definitely needed to get herself under control before she met him the next day.

“How’d it go with the reigning King of Rodeo, Belinda?”

She sat bolt upright, assuming a confident smile for her boss. She didn’t believe for one second that DeForest Allen had known who her prospective client was before Grayson arrived, any more than Billie had. “It went very well, Mr. Allen. I’m setting up a tour of six properties for tomorrow morning.”

He nodded his silver head. “Close the deal quickly, Belinda. We don’t want another Dickinson situation.”

“No, we don’t, sir.” But inwardly, she’d tensed. She’d hoped by moving from Houston and back home to Austin, she’d have left the Dickinson situation behind her. She reminded herself that she’d been here only a few weeks, though. And trust took time.

Plus the proof of signed sales contracts. Dickinson aside, Billie had had plenty of those since getting her license years earlier. Reminding her boss of them, though, was probably not very politic. Despite her track record, she was still surprised he’d hired her. Austin Elite was the premiere agency in town. She’d never actually expected to be offered a position there.

He cupped the steel door frame of her cubicle, oblivious to the clear fingerprints he left on the glass. He was the firm’s owner and broker, so they were his glass walls to smear up however he wanted. “Don’t wait for the weekly status meeting to keep me posted.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

She waited until he’d entered his own office before letting out another breath.

Did he think she wanted another Dickinson situation? Rhonda Dickinson, reeking of Texas oil money, had been a nightmare of a client, pulling out at the last minute on three different sales because she’d happened to find something that looked “just a teensy bit better” each time.

Of course, they hadn’t been better in the end, either.

Ultimately, she’d blamed Billie—and subsequently the Houston-based agency she’d worked for—for her own inability to commit, and took her business to their chief competitor.

Last Billie had heard, Rhonda still hadn’t signed her name on the bottom of a purchase contract. It was some small comfort, she supposed. If Billie would have been able to get the woman to commit, it would have been her largest sale to date. But now Billie had Grayson Smith—make that Grayson Fortune—as a client.

The Fortune name was a big one around Texas. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was connected to it.

Her phone chimed musically and she automatically reached out to answer it. “Billie Pemberton.”

“You goin’ to Selena’s birthday party this week?”

At the sound of her cousin Max’s voice, Billie glanced at the photos sitting on top of her filing cabinet and plucked one from the collection, of Max taking down a steer. She’d used the excuse of putting Grayson’s water glass there earlier to turn the shot of her cousin away from her new client’s view. “I’m bringing the cupcakes and Mom’s hosting, so yes. You?” Selena was the daughter of a mutual cousin.

Max laughed. “You know I’d skip it if my ma wouldn’t make my life miserable for it. Too bad I’m not on the road somewhere.”

“When are you heading out again?” Even though they each had four older siblings of their own, she and Max had been close as thieves their entire lives. Didn’t hurt that their mothers were sisters, so they’d been raised more like brother and sister than cousins. Now, when Max wasn’t out at some rodeo, he stayed with his folks, Mae and Larry. Billie had a one-bedroom apartment in downtown Austin, into which she was still moving her stuff from Houston.

She opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet and tucked the picture of Max inside. She’d leave it there, where there would be no chance of her newest client spotting it.

It was pretty unlikely the rodeo star would care that she had a photo of the young man who’d bested him in El Paso, but she wasn’t going to take chances.

Nor was she going to take chances that Max would learn the identity of her new high-profile client. After what had happened earlier that year, he’d consider it treason.

“Coleman starts the day after Selena’s deal, so we’ll drive over once it looks like I can git along without Mama getting ticked.”

“Travis going?” When Max’s buddy Travis Conrad wasn’t competing in tie-down roping, he hazed for Max.

“Yeah. Hopefully, we’ll still have enough time to catch some z’s before slack.”

“Slack,” she knew, was the time scheduled for overflow contestants to compete, because they couldn’t all be scheduled into the regular nightly performances. It was generally free to get into, whereas the performances were not. Fortunately for the competitors, a slack event counted just as much as a performance event. Like Max said, the paycheck was the same whether there were paying crowds in the grandstand or not.

Of course, a lot of times that paycheck was a big fat zero. Considering the entrance fees, as well as the cost of getting themselves, their gear and their horse, if they even had one there in the first place, rodeoing often meant cowboys headed on down the road already in the hole. Max loved it, though.

Personally, Billie liked having a bank account that wasn’t always in need of life support.

She turned back to face her desk. “And after Coleman?” She tapped her glass keyboard, systematically printing off the listings Grayson had liked, as well as a few more to recommend if needed.

The Fourth of July was less than a month away and she knew Max would be particularly busy. “How many rodeos are you packing in this year?”

The few weeks in and around the Independence Day holiday were affectionately known as Cowboy Christmas because of the sheer number of opportunities a person had to enter the most rodeos for the most money.

“Long as my truck, trailer and gear hold out, seven, including Reno. Got three saddle bronc riders plus Trav hitching rides with me. Helps a lot on expenses and the driving when we’ll be covering some four thousand miles.”

She grimaced, just thinking about five men packed into such close confines. She remembered one year after he’d returned from Cowboy Christmas. Ripe didn’t even begin to describe the state of his truck. She wondered if Grayson would be caught up in the frenzied schedule, too. If he were, it would definitely put a crimp in his availability to see listings. “Going to Calgary?”

“The earnings don’t count toward the standings. Cowboy Country’s will. So that’s where I’m planning to be. You gonna make it over for the rodeo?”

Her fingers paused on the glass. Cowboy Country USA was a popular Western-theme amusement park in Horseback Hollow, where their mothers had grown up. It was a good five to six hour drive. “Depends on work.”

Max made a sound. “Everything depends on your work. You’re gonna get old and dull, Bill. You need to get out and have more fun. And by fun, I mean sex.”

Her fingers paused. “And the last time you had some fun?”

He snorted, laughing. “About a week ago. A chick I met at Twine.”

“Obviously, you’re not still brokenhearted from Bethany.” Bethany Belmont was the barrel racer Grayson supposedly stole from Max back in March. Max claimed Bethany had been the love of his life until Grayson lured her away. It was then that Max had made it his goal to unseat the reigning rodeo champion.

“Being brokenhearted ain’t got diddly to do with sex.” Max’s voice had gone flat.

She rolled her eyes and started typing again. If Grayson were still involved with the woman, he’d given no indication of it that morning. And she found it difficult to believe that her cousin had been as gung ho over the barrel racer as he claimed, since Max fell in love more often than Billie bought shoes. “I can’t believe that of the two of us, you are the romantic.”

“Yeah, well, you ought t’ try it sometime. At least go out and drink a little. Dance a little. Never know where it might lead.”

“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about that,” she returned calmly. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in love. Her parents had been inseparable since being childhood sweethearts. Billie just wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything she wanted out of life because of it. She wanted her high-rise apartment that she could barely afford. She wanted her nice clothes and her interesting career and—one day—a bank account that allowed for more things than just the minimum daily requirements. So far, any relationships she’d had of the romantic variety had been decided letdowns in comparison.

“Look, Max, I’ve got stuff to do. Don’t forget to bring Selena an appropriate gift. A bottle of hooch for a thirteen-year-old won’t cut it.”

“You give me no credit. Last time I did that was for Audie’s eighteenth.”

“Eighteen was still underage, Max,” she reminded him before hanging up and turning her attention fully to the property listings once more.

When she met with Grayson in the morning, she wanted to be completely prepared. She’d been told to close the deal quickly, and that’s exactly what she intended to do.

When the phone rang a few seconds later, she grabbed it up again. “If you’re calling to ask me to buy Selena’s gift for you, the answer is still no.”

A feminine laugh answered her. “Actually, I was calling to see if you were going to be in Houston this Friday.”

Billie’s fingers relaxed on her glass keypad again. “Well, if it isn’t the soon-to-be Mrs. Zach McCarter.” She grinned. “Or after enduring Schuyler’s wedding last month, are you calling to tell me you and Zach decided to forgo all the hoopla and elope to Vegas?”

Maddie Fortunado laughed in her ear again. “We’re still planning a wedding,” she assured her. “So don’t think you’re getting out of attending. But I guarantee it won’t be quite as over-the-top as my sister’s come-one, come-all grand affair. So, are you going to be in Houston on Friday? We’re trying out a new restaurant and I wanted to let you know in case you’re able to join the gang.”

Maddie was the newly crowned president at Fortunado Real Estate in Houston along with her fiancé, Zach, where Billie had gotten her start. She’d also been the one to invite her to join the “gang”—a group of young real estate professionals who met routinely to talk business and socialize.

“I hope to be,” Billie told her. “I’ve still got a couple loads of stuff to move from my old apartment.”

“Some people would just hire a moving company,” Maddie pointed out.

Some people didn’t have the extra money to do that. Billie kept the fact to herself. “I’m still helping the Montanegros navigate their home purchase in Houston,” she said, which was true. “So I still have to be there occasionally, anyway.”

“Oh, right. Your old neighbors. The ones you’re forgoing your sales commission for.”

“The ones who are storing my stuff in their garage,” Billie added humorously. “It’s the least I could do. So where’s the meeting place?” She made a note when Maddie told her.

“How is business going at Austin Elite? Any new listings?”

It was all too easy to conjure Grayson’s face in her mind. “No new listings. But a new client looking to buy came in today specifically asking for me.”

“That’s great, Billie! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you were right back in the swing of things. Word gets around when you’re a good agent. So what size fishy cracker are we talking?”

Billie chuckled. “He’s a big one, if I haven’t just jinxed everything by admitting it.”

“He?” Maddie’s voice piqued with interest. “Is he single?”

“Maddie! I don’t know who is worse—my cousin with sex on his brain, or you with romance on yours.”

“May I just say that those two elements can work quite well together? I’ll take your nonanswer as the affirmative, though. So is the male big fish eligible? Do tell.”

She could imagine Maddie’s reaction if she knew just how eligible. “There’s nothing to tell!” Particularly when DeForest Allen walked past her office again, giving her a close look. “I’ll tell you as much as I can on Friday if I can make it. Right now, my boss is giving me the stink eye. And I’ve told you what he’s like.”

“That’s what you get for defecting back to Austin,” Maddie said humorously. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it, my friend. So be prepared with details the next time I see you!”

* * *

Grayson slid the key card over the lock on his hotel suite on the top floor of the Kimpton and pushed open the door. His mother, seated on a couch positioned to take in the lake view, looked up at him. She had her usual calendar spread in front of her, along with her phone and a foot-high stack of glossy Grayson publicity stills that she was signing.

“How’d it go?”

He dropped his hat on the table next to the stack. “Did you know that Billy with a y is actually Billie with an i and an e?”

“Don’t let your sexism show, son.” The fact that Deborah followed his statement at all was proof enough that she had known. She signed another photo with a flourish. “I can’t help what you assumed.”

“Then did you know how young she is?”

Deborah leaned back against the couch. As usual, her long brown hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she had another pen tucked behind her ear, almost hiding the few sprinkles of gray she possessed. “Everything I’ve heard about Billie Pemberton when she was in Houston is that she is an excellent agent. Astute. Hardworking, and most importantly—according to your specifications—very discreet. Why would you care whether she’s twenty-one or ninety-one?” The fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Or was she attractive, too?”

There was a price to be paid for having his mother act as his manager. When most men were off on their own, catching grief for not calling home often enough, Deborah Fortune handled almost every detail in Grayson’s life. With finesse and grace when necessary, but more often than not with plain speaking and a no-bull attitude. It’s how she’d raised him and his brothers when they were kids, and it was how things were now.

“Yeah, she was attractive.” He sounded grouchy and didn’t care. He flung himself down on the other couch and started to stretch out his legs.

“Don’t get comfortable. You need to sign some of these, too.” She pushed a stack of stills toward him. She waited until he’d sat forward and grabbed a pen. “So you liked her.”

After so many years traveling on the road together, they usually both knew how to give each other privacy and space. Evidently, this was not going to be one of those times.

He slid his gaze across the table toward her as he signed his name. Autographing the photographs they gave away during his appearances had gotten so mundane, he could do it in his sleep. “Like you said. She seems competent so far.” And beautiful. Intelligent.

And sexy as all hell, the way the bridge of her nose wrinkled when she really concentrated.

He turned back to the stack of photos, but the image in his head was all Billie. “I’m meeting her tomorrow morning to look at a couple properties.”

“Tomorrow.” Deborah sounded surprised. “That’s nice, but that’s not what I was asking.”

How well he knew it. “I’m looking for a new ranch, Ma. Not a wife.”

Deborah clucked her tongue. “Don’t be so reactionary. I’m not suggesting you get married tomorrow. I’m merely suggesting you don’t have many opportunities to meet nice young women, and when you do, you should pay attention.”

“I meet nice young women all the time. I don’t need to be dating my real estate agent.”

“So you’ve already thought about it.”

His glare at her had no effect. So he gave up and grabbed more photos from the stack. “How many of these did we print?”

“Five thousand. And usually, the women you meet are reporters and sales reps and buckle bunnies.”

“Ariana’s a reporter.” Or a novelist. He wasn’t exactly sure what Jayden’s new wife was working on at the moment. “She wasn’t a nice young woman?”

Deborah sighed noisily. “You know I already love Ariana and Bianca like daughters. And don’t get me started on how EJ’s already wrapping his hands around my heart.”

“He is a cute little dickens.” Grayson’s brother Nathan would be a heck of a stepfather for the four-year-old now that he’d married Bianca. “I took out that rep from Change Sportswear I met a couple weeks ago. Dinner at a place with tablecloths and everything.” Followed by a very entertaining evening in her bed. Like him, Livian Reed wanted nothing more out of their very brief acquaintance than that.

Good food. Good sex. Goodbye.

Just the way he liked it. No promises, no strings.

Too-young-for-him Billie Pemberton might be perfect in every way. But she wasn’t a no-strings type. He hadn’t even needed to see all the family photographs crammed on her filing cabinet to know it.

“Livian Reed’s a buckle bunny, too. She’s just dressed in Ann Taylor.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “And Livian would eviscerate you for the comparison if she ever knew.”

His mother’s expression turned dry. “Well, you’re not going to see her again, I know that for certain, so I’m not going to lose sleep worrying that she’ll find out.”

“I oughta call Livian and take her out again just to make you sweat a little.”

“Two dates with the same girl? The last time that happened, you were eighteen and hot after Bethany Belmont.” Deborah laughed knowingly and pushed off the couch. “You’ve got me shaking in my Castletons, kiddo.”

“Speaking of.” He was glad to change the subject. “Any progress on that front?”

She opened the suite’s minibar and studied the contents. “I’m still waiting for a call back from them. I’m not sure how much I can do, son, if the lure of The Grayson hasn’t already impressed them.”

He grunted. “Thanks.”

“Want me to start pandering to your ego now? If this is a midlife crisis starting, just tell me now.” She pulled out a bottle of fruit juice and eyed him with amusement as she shook it. “I’ll head on back to Paseo most happily and leave you to your buckle bunnies, who will coo and awe your ego right up to its fullest—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, cutting her off. She’d head back to Paseo and the ranch. Gerald Robinson might find out—God knew the tech giant had means that seemed to defy all imagination—and come sniffing around her and...no thank you, ma’am. From what Jayden had told Grayson about his last encounter with Gerald, there’d been real emotion on the man’s face when he’d spoken of Deborah. Didn’t matter that the man—whatever the hell name he was using—was married. Robinson’s infidelities were the world’s worst-kept secret. Grayson didn’t believe for a second that their life would have been different if Gerald had known Deborah gave birth to his three sons. And Grayson intended to do whatever he needed to do to keep the man from ever hurting his mom again.

Fortunately unaware of his dark thoughts, his mother deepened her smile. “You know I’ll always help you if you ask. But one of these days, son, you won’t need me along to manage your rodeo career. Or you won’t want me along. Or you’ll realize it’s finally time to give your body a break and retire from bulldogging. Neither one of us could have guessed how your teenage hobby would change our lives. But it can’t last forever. And that’s okay. Life moves on. As it should.”

“I’m not retiring until I’ve got one more world championship to my name.” The National Finals Rodeo would be held in Las Vegas in December. He was already tied for the most world championship wins ever. One more would set a new record. And then he’d retire from bulldogging.

Ego? Yeah. He knew he had more than his fair share of ego. But it was also calculated. Record-winning names faded from memory a little more slowly than also-rans. And the longer he could make money on his name, the longer he could put that money to good use.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re already number three in the money,” his mother said. “Between rodeoing, Grayson Gear and your charity appearances, you’ve worked nearly every day for the past year. One of these days, it’s going to take its toll on you.”

He wasn’t worried about the toll. Aches and pains went hand in hand with rodeoing. “I’d be second in the standings if I hadn’t bought it in Silver City and lost out to Max Vargas.”

The entire season of pro rodeo was about the money rankings. Earnings were the only common ground on which to judge their success as they competed in rodeos throughout the country under every condition that could be had. If the Finals were the goal—and admittedly, for the majority of cowboys who competed it was not—then nearly every dollar earned paved the way there.

“Vargas can really run a steer,” his mother pointed out mildly.

“And at the rate he’s going, he’ll be at the Nationals. But he’s still a punk and I don’t like losing to a punk.”

Deborah looked amused. “There was a day when Joe-Don Gainer called you a punk.”

“Yeah, and Joe-Don was right then. Same as I’m right, now. I’m not the saint that Joe-Don was, though. Hazing for me like he did even though he was a Hall of Famer?” Grayson shook his head. “Won’t catch me hazing for Max Vargas. If his usual guy, Travis, isn’t hazing for him, he treats the one who is like dirt.”

A wrestler who didn’t appreciate the contribution of his hazer—who rode on the opposite side of the steer, keeping him more or less straight and close to the bulldogger—was just damn stupid. Luck of the draw chose the steer. The hazer and the wrestler’s skill together determined what they did with that luck.

“Don’t go off on a tangent dissecting details of Silver City again,” his mother warned. “The hour you subjected me to the other day was enough.” She finally opened her juice and wandered to look out the windows. “I wonder if I should just show up at Castleton’s doorway. Might be harder for them to ignore me in person. Red Rock’s only a couple hours from here. I could rent a car and drive over and be back before we need to leave for Coleman. What do you think?”

“I think once the event tomorrow is finished, you could go to Red Rock, and from there head straight to Coleman.” He gave her a look. “I can manage to get myself and the trailer and the horses there without you.”

“I realize you’re capable.” Her tone turned dry again. “Whether you manage to do it all in time to not miss your event altogether is the question.”

“Last time I did that was fifteen years ago.”

“Because of a girl—”

“And I haven’t been late once since,” he said, cutting her off. “Even though you still harp on it often enough. Focus on Red Rock and let me worry about getting to Coleman.” He lifted his pen. “We don’t need five thousand of these things for tomorrow, do we?” The remaining unsigned stack was still a foot high.

“I think they’re hoping for about a thousand to show.”

He capped the pen and tossed it on the cocktail table, stretching his fingers. “What time’s the deal supposed to start?”

“Two o’clock. I’ve personally taped up copies of your schedule this week in this suite. I told you that you didn’t have to make the appearance tomorrow. If you hadn’t, you would have had time with Billie to see more.” She smiled knowingly. “More than just a couple properties, I mean.”

He let that pass.

The library appearance had been added to his already busy schedule there in Austin at the last minute, and his personal appearance fee would go to local literacy. “It’s a good cause.” He hadn’t taken the military route that Nathan and Jayden had. They’d been literally out saving the world. Instead, all Grayson could offer was his name and his money to support charitable efforts where he could. And he knew Deborah understood his motivations completely.

“I’ll be finished with Billie in plenty of time to meet you here before the dedication.” He pushed to his feet and stretched. “I’m going to hit the gym this afternoon and then see if I can scare up a massage somewhere.”

His mom rolled her eyes. “Read your schedule!” She headed toward the connecting door that separated Grayson’s suite from her own. “I’ve arranged a massage for you right here at four o’clock. Don’t forget to tip your masseuse and don’t forget to meet me at seven. We’re having drinks with the Deckers at Twine.”

He groaned. Claudia and Myron Decker had more money than Midas and could always be counted on to support his foundation, Grayson Good. But in the process, they definitely liked to trot him out as if he were their prized bull. Ergo the appearance the next day at the new library. “It’s never just drinks with the Deckers.”

“And whose fault is that?” She gave him one more pointed look. “They’re bankrolling the event tomorrow, so wear a clean shirt and don’t be late.”

Chapter Three

Billie was wearing another short skirt complete with the intriguing zipper running right up over her backside.

Only difference today was that her skirt was black and the silky tank top that exposed her tanned shoulders was white. The high-heeled shoes were red, and the legs they showed off were still flat-out stunning.

She had her hair pulled back into a thick ponytail at the back of her head. The hairstyle not only exposed the trio of earrings on the upper curve of her ear, but the long, long line of her throat.

“Talk about perfect timing,” she called to him as he jaywalked across the street toward the real estate office. She gestured at the dark gray luxury sedan parked at the curb next to her. “I just got here, myself.” She waited until he reached her side of the street. “Where did you park?”

“I walked from my hotel.”

Her bright smile turned stricken as she scurried to the passenger door and opened it. “I’m so sorry. I should have offered to pick you up. It didn’t even occur to me to—”

“No apologies, darlin’,” he interrupted, looking at her over the top rims of his sunglasses. “I liked the walk.” It was a good way to work out his muscle kinks and some of his hangover from the night before. “And it gave me a chance to get this.” He lifted his oversize takeout coffee.

Her smile widened once more. She reached inside the vehicle, giving him an eye-popping view of her inner knee and thigh. Then she straightened and he belatedly noticed the identical cup she’d retrieved.

“If you tell me that’s straight-up black coffee, I may have to marry you right now.”

Her cheeks turned red, but she laughed. “Fortunately, all the hopeful women of the world can rest easy this morning. It’s iced chai tea.”

He made a face. “That’s almost as bad as cucumber-laced water.”

She laughed again and stepped out of the way. “Maybe I can redeem myself by offering plenty of legroom. Your chariot, Mr. Fortune.”

“Told you. Just Grayson.” He ducked his head and climbed into the passenger seat of the spacious car.

It was the kind of vehicle a wealthy grandmother might drive. Definitely not what he’d expect of a young woman like Billie.

He waited until she’d climbed behind the wheel and strapped herself in with the seat belt. “Company car?”

She laughed yet again, but wryly this time. “Don’t I wish. I’d much prefer the payment to be on Austin Elite’s bank account than on mine. But no.” She patted the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “She’s all mine. Or will be after six more payments to the bank. It’s not the newest model, but it’s comfortable and gets me where my clients and I need to go.”

“Sort of how I feel about my truck.” He’d had many over the years, but could easily remember when his truck had been his largest investment. “Not the newest but it gets me where my horses and I need to go.”

“Wasn’t a new truck one of the prizes last year at the Cowboy Country rodeo?”

Surprised, he gave her a look. Rather than settle her cup of nasty-ass tea next to his coffee in the console, she’d tucked it between her knees and was starting the engine. He had won the new truck, but had turned around and auctioned it off through Grayson Good for a children’s charity. “You actually follow rodeo?”

“I come from a large family,” she said. “They’re into everything from baseball to zebra racing.” Her cheeks still looked a little red as she pulled on a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses and checked the traffic before zipping out into it.

Given the sudden speed, he was glad he’d already fastened his seat belt. And also glad they were essentially driving around in a small tank.

“So...” She reached behind her seat and retrieved a fancy folder that she handed to him. “I’ve printed all the listings we reviewed yesterday, plus a few more that I think might be of interest, too. There’s also a map if you’re inclined to follow along.” She nipped the big car between two semitrucks with about six inches to spare.

He grabbed his cup and wished there was something stronger inside it than just French roast.

She raced through a light more yellow than green, braked slightly around a curve and sped up a freeway on-ramp. “Is it too windy for you?” His window was halfway down and hers was all the way down, making her long ponytail fly around her head.

“Wind’s good.” Aside from the fact that she looked young and beautiful and vibrant, he was hoping he wouldn’t have to hang his head out the window.

It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with her fast—make that maniacal, he decided when she shot across two lanes of traffic—driving.

It was more the combination of her obvious lead foot and the evening-into-night of drinks with the Deckers the night before. Then everything had gotten out of control, and the cops had been called, and a news crew showed up...

He planted his ball cap more firmly on his head and sucked on the coffee. He’d warned his mom that drinks with the Deckers was never a simple thing. Even when they were trying to do something good like sponsor the library deal. “Which place are we heading to first?”

Billie held the steering wheel and her tea in one hand and reached over to the folder she’d dropped on his lap, and he damn near choked on his coffee. But all she did was flip open the folder to reveal a colorful printed map.

“Property number one.” She lightly tapped the page, then returned her hand to the steering wheel. Evidently, only to maneuver the car right back across the same two lanes of traffic.

He closed his eyes. Give him six hundred pounds of ornery steer any day.

“The properties are numbered in the order we’ll see them,” she said above the wind. “I know it’s easy for the properties to blur together, which is why I’ve prepared the folio. You can make notes as you like.”

She reached behind her seat again and produced a slender gold pen tastefully monogrammed with “Austin Elite” on the side. She handed it to him. “Three of the properties this morning are vacant, including this first one. I find my clients usually prefer visiting vacant properties. Makes it easier to imagine living there.” She zipped around another semitruck. “Weather is supposed to be hotter than usual today. I have several bottles of chilled water if—”

He lifted his hand just in case she intended to reach behind her seat again. “I’m good for now. Thanks.”

She sent him another smile. “Great. I love a morning drive.” She changed lanes again. “Just gets the blood flowing, you know?”

He managed a smile. The only thing getting his blood flowing that morning was the vivid smile on her pretty face. That, and the knowledge that his life insurance was up-to-date.

Fortunately, the farther outside of town they traveled, the thinner the traffic grew. Then, at least, he didn’t worry so much about colliding with other vehicles as much as flying off the highway curves. After about thirty minutes more, she pulled off the freeway and began working her way through the mercifully empty countryside to the first property.

Even though this whole thing was his idea, it still felt strange when she pulled to a stop in front of the first house.

“Here we are at last.”

It was a brick two-story with two wings and not another house in sight. But imagining himself living there was beyond him.

“The property is on city water.” She pushed her glasses up onto her head before gathering up the Magic Bag hiding behind her seat, then climbed out of the car. “As you can see from the printout, there is a little over five acres.” She looked down at the ground beneath them, waving one arm. “The entire drive is covered in pavers—antique terra-cotta color, I believe. Very attractive.” She looked up at him over the top of the car and he gave what he hoped was a suitable response.

Her sales litany didn’t lose any steam, so he supposed it must have sufficed.

“The iron entrance gate was left open now for us, but it’s electronically controlled. So you wouldn’t have to worry about any Grayson groupies coming out to bother you.”

He gave her a quick look. He hadn’t used that particular term with her. “I don’t have groupies.” It was blatantly untrue, even though he wished otherwise.

“Sorry.” She looked contrite. “I saw the news this morning about what happened at Twine last night. The term was just in my head.”

He sighed. “Overeager fans who’d had way too much to drink. Unfortunately, it happens occasionally.” Particularly when he was out in public with people like the Deckers, who felt compelled to make a big deal about their “celebrity” friend.

“Did that one woman actually punch the news cameraman?”

He grimaced. Two women from the bar, bolstered by booze and who knew what else, had been intent on joining their party. “Only after he told her he wasn’t putting her on camera unless she put her shirt back on. It pretty much turned into a free-for-all after that.”

“Did you really pay her jail fine?”

“It seemed the right thing to do at the time.” He stared at the house. “Maybe an electronic gate would be a good thing, after all.”

“Or maybe avoid places like Twine,” she said humorously.

He grunted. “Ever been there?”

“A time or twenty. It’s the best place for martinis and tapas.” She gestured toward the house. “Would you like to see inside?”

He shrugged and closed the car door. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She gave him a winning smile again. “Don’t forget your folio if you want to make notes.”

He reached back in for the fancy folder of information she’d prepared, and followed her toward the front door of the house.

“I haven’t been here before, but I know it’s on a lockbox.” Her high heels clicked on the paver stones as she searched for the box holding the house key. “In addition to the three garages off to your left, there’s a structure in the rear of the house that could also be used as a garage or for some other type of storage. Ah. There it is.” She knelt down behind a tastefully positioned bush, and straightened a moment later, doing a little shimmy to push the hem of her narrow skirt back down toward her knees. She glanced his way as she unlocked the enormous front door. “The position on this hill gives a nice view. And I’ve heard that the adjacent land may be available for the right price. It’s totally undeveloped and would mean an additional ten acres. Have any initial thoughts?”

The nice view he was looking at had more to do with her than the location of the house. Which wasn’t exciting him in the least. The vegetation dotting the hillside was more cactus and scrub than grassland. “Let’s just see what we’ve got inside.”

She swept open the door and waited for him to enter.

He walked inside. The house might be vacant of occupants, but it wasn’t vacant of furnishings. Beneath the vaulted entry, an ornate neon-green chandelier hung over a bright purple statue of a rearing horse.

For a minute, he wished he was back home in Paseo, where the only times you used the front entrance of the house—versus the back door—was if company was coming over for Christmas dinner. Where everyone in town knew who he was and didn’t give two figs about his supposed “celebrity” status. And where anyone with two licks of common sense knew better than to hang a butt-ugly green chandelier over an even uglier purple horse.

“That’s a bold design choice,” Billie said faintly.

“It’s ugly as hell,” he said bluntly. “And I like horses.”

“Just keep in mind that the furnishings aren’t permanent fixtures. They’ll all be leaving along with the owners. Do you want to see more, or shall we move on?”

Despite the hideous horse, the high ceilings and the view outside, the inside of the house felt like a cave to him. “Move on, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. You’re the buyer, after all. Walking in the door should feel like home to you.” She juggled the materials in her arm and came up with a business card. “I just need to leave my card. I’ll meet you at the car.”

He gave the hideous statue a wide berth and went back outside. He thought again about the ranch in Paseo. There, the house wasn’t even a third of the size of this one, but it was surrounded by a whole lot more prime grazing land. Would he ever find a place that felt like home when he walked in the door, besides the house in which he’d grown up?

He headed back to the car and his now-cool coffee. He drank it anyway.

Within minutes, Billie had locked up the house again and they were off to property number two.

It excited him no more than property number one.

The land was decent enough, though still too little of it. There were two barns, and five bedrooms in the house.

Knowing that he’d given short shrift to property number one, this time he forced himself to traipse through every room of the streamlined home.

“No?” Billie gave him a questioning look as he paused in the state-of-the-art kitchen. It was all stainless steel, which he didn’t mind here, but it matched the stainless steel and glass that dominated the rest of the house, too. Which he did mind.

Frankly, the place had the antiseptic air of a hospital. And having spent his entire adult life wrestling with horned beasts, he’d had more than his share of hospitals.

“Afraid not.” He remembered his mom’s admonishments to be polite when he’d set out that morning. “Sorry.”

* * *

Billie waved away Grayson’s apology. Seeing two houses without a spark of excitement wasn’t anything to get worried about.

Yet.

“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “Each time we see something, it helps me narrow down what you’re really looking for.” At least that was her theory.

She stepped around him to leave her card among the collection already sitting on the steel counter and led the way back out of the austere house.

Unlike the day before, when he’d walked through the door of the real estate office looking like the poster boy for professional rodeo, today Grayson wore slouchy beige cargo shorts, leather flip-flops and a Dallas Cowboys ball cap. The calves showing below the long shorts were just as tanned and muscular as the arms showing below the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt. His ridiculously handsome jaw was blurred by unshaved whiskers, and his dark eyes—visible in the few minutes when he pulled off his sunglasses—were clearly bloodshot.

He looked like he belonged on the beach sleeping off a bender. And he was still so mouthwateringly handsome that she couldn’t keep herself from blathering on about every detail of the properties she was showing him, as if he couldn’t see for himself the very things she was pointing out.

It was embarrassing. She was supposed to know the value of keeping quiet when she needed to.

They drove to property number three, only a few minutes later than the time she’d arranged with the owners the day before.

She expected them to be gone from the house by the time they got there, but the sight of the van still sitting in front warned her otherwise.

She hated showing properties when the current occupants were present. It never boded well. Nobody relaxed enough to properly give the house fair consideration. And she had high hopes for this particular listing.

She parked behind the van and looked at Grayson.

He was slouched in the passenger seat, cradling the coffee cup that she suspected was empty, the bill of his cap pulled low over his forehead.

“Why don’t I check inside first? I think the owners are still here, and it’s probably better if they don’t realize who is looking at their house. More than once, I’ve had an owner try to drive up the price just because they think they’ve got a big fish on the hook.”

He sent her a faint smile. “You’re the expert.”

That’s what her business cards implied. But driving around “The Grayson” all morning—particularly after his name had been bandied about every fifteen minutes on the local morning news—was leaving her feeling more shaky than confident.

She grabbed her business cards and darted up the front steps to ring the doorbell.

The door opened so immediately, she suspected the owner had been waiting right behind it. “Good morning, Mr. Orchess.” She stuck out her business card. “I’m Billie Pemberton with Austin Elite Real Estate. We spoke on the phone yesterday?”

The gray-haired owner smiled. “Come on in, little lady. Can’t wait to show off my place here to you and your client.” He made no secret that he was trying to see who was in her car parked behind the van, and she was glad for the tinted windows that gave no hint whether anyone was inside the vehicle or not.

“Actually, Mr. Orchess, my schedule has gotten out of hand this morning.” It hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Is there another time I can bring my client back to see your lovely home?”

The man wrinkled his nose in thought. “Well, the missus and I have to be outta town for the next week or so, so that’s out.”

Drat, drat, drat. Mr. Orchess was clearly of the mind that he needed to be present, even though she knew very well he had a listing agent representing his multimillion-dollar property. “I don’t mind showing your place to my client in your absence if you don’t.”

“But if I’m not here, I can’t tell you all about the special details I’ve put in myself.”

She nodded. “I understand your concern. What if I went through your home now with you and took careful notes? Then I could bring my client back another time and do my best to share all of the special details.”

“I s’pose that’d be okay,” he said, after giving it some thought.

It took twenty minutes before Billie was able to gracefully leave Mr. Orchess.

Inside, the house was a masterpiece. It also sat on a beautiful piece of property that she thought would be perfect for Grayson.

When she returned to the car Grayson was slouched in the front seat.

Snoring softly.

She almost wished, then, that she hadn’t rushed Mr. Orchess quite so much.

She hovered outside the car for a few minutes, sighing. Grayson wasn’t the first client to fall asleep on her. Rhonda Dickinson used to fall asleep regularly.

She sincerely hoped that was the only similarity between her new client and Rhonda.

Billie finally climbed behind the wheel of the car, closed the door softly and backed away from the house. Hopefully, he would awaken on his own before they reached the fourth property.

He did not.

Determination filled her. “You are not going to be another Rhonda,” she murmured and opened her door. Then pulled it shut again with a loud slam.

Grayson sat up with a start. “What?”

She looked at him innocently. “Property number four is the smallest house we’ll be seeing today, but has the most acreage. What do you think so far?”

He pulled off his sunglasses and blinked blearily at her. “I fell asleep.”

“Did you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I fell asleep with you driving.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that, except to know that it wasn’t meant as a compliment. “Actually, you fell asleep while I was taking notes about the previous house.”

“Thought you didn’t notice.”

She gave him a look that was hopefully far more congenial than she actually felt, before opening her car door again. “Nearly seventeen acres,” she said, as she climbed out. “According to the map, there’s a private lake in the middle of it. Do you like boating?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” He grabbed a water bottle and seemed to stumble a little as he got out of the car. He swore softly.

She pretended not to see. “I’ve never been on a boat, myself.” She headed for the front door of the house. She’d been through it once already with another client, so didn’t have to hunt for the location of the lockbox.

“You’ve never been on a boat?”

“Nope.” She crouched down and entered her access code. The box popped open and she pulled out the house key. “I don’t swim.” She straightened and smoothed down her skirt. “It doesn’t make me a freak.”

“Did I say it did?”

“No, but you’d be one of the few who didn’t.” Max was always riding her about it. She unlocked the door and led the way inside. “Mind the step down when you come in,” she warned.

“I see it.” He sounded grouchy.

Maybe because he’d just woken up.

Maybe because he was obviously still hungover.

Considering the high hopes she’d had for the morning, things felt on a downhill slide.

She crossed the scuffed wooden floor and opened the wooden shutters so that more natural light filled the living area. “The house was built in 1910, and has undergone a few renovations since. The kitchen has been modernized and two bedrooms were added on in the 1980s.”

His expression was unreadable as he wandered around. But at least he didn’t look entirely disinterested, as he had with the last house they’d toured. While he headed down the hall toward the bedrooms, she went to the kitchen to leave her business card on the counter. She gave him some time to explore on his own, then slowly followed.

She found him in the master bedroom.

“This one of the modernizations you mentioned?” He pointed his thumb upward toward the ceiling mirror positioned directly over the enormous bed.

Billie felt her cheeks heat. How she could have forgotten about that detail was beyond her. “Actually, the mirror dates back to the original house.”

His lips twitched. “Interesting design choice.”

“Better or worse than a purple horse?”

He slid his sunglasses down until his brown eyes met hers. “Now, darlin’, do you really want me to answer that?”

She straightened her shoulders and channeled her mom’s sternest expression. “Perhaps not.”

He laughed softly. Which made mincemeat out of all of her channeling and straightening. Didn’t matter in the least that he was a client and completely off-limits. Not to mention completely out of her league. He ruffled her.

She edged her way out of the bedroom. “Would you like to see the outbuildings?”

He seemed to consider it for half a minute. Then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I would.”

It was more than she’d expected. And her enthusiasm for the morning came back brighter than ever. “All right, then. If you’d like to follow me...”

“Nothing I’d rather do, darlin’.”

Chapter Four

“Come on. You can tell Uncle Grayson.”

Billie rolled her eyes. “You’re not my uncle.”

His smile flashed and warmth filled her.

They’d seen two more houses after the one with the mirrored master bedroom and now they were sitting on the grass in a park not far from where she’d grown up.

All because Grayson had seen the circle of food trucks parked there and had decided he was starving.

Which was why she had her legs tucked to one side of her, with a huge paper napkin draped over her thighs to protect herself from the poutine she was eating. Because, evidently, she didn’t know how to say no to him very convincingly.

“Okay, so I’m not your uncle. But you can still tell me.”

She sighed around another bite of gravy-covered french fry. “This stuff ought to be illegal,” she murmured, licking her finger. More to the point, Grayson ought to be illegal. “Why are you even interested?”

He pointed over her shoulder at the school field behind them. “You just told me you went to high school right there. That you ran track on that very field. You got me curious. So why not tell me what kind of student you were?”

“I told you I ran track. That’s not enough?”

“I can imagine it, too. All long legs and big eyes and hair flying in the breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, determined not to let his flirtatious words get to her. How he’d already gotten her to talk about herself was beyond her.

One minute they’d been discussing the merits of the sixth property they’d visited—namely, the accessibility of the acreage where he’d be keeping his livestock. The next thing she knew, he was buying her poutine—overriding her insistence that she pay for her own lunch—and getting her to talk about what it had been like growing up in Austin.

“I was an average student,” she finally said, feeling more than a little exasperated. Mostly at herself. Because whether he was offering ridiculously flirtatious statements or not, the man definitely got to her. “Average in every single way.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He’d polished off his own double serving of poutine—which had come with a heart attack–sized serving of bacon atop the cheese curds and gravy—and was sucking down his chocolate milkshake. “There’s nothing average about you. Tell me the real truth.”

“That is the truth. I graduated smack-dab in the middle of my class from that high school over there.”

“Then you ended up with a degree in economics from Rice and are now working at the most prestigious real estate firm in the city.”

She flushed. “How do you know I graduated from Rice?”

He tipped down his sunglasses and his warm brown eyes glided over her face. “I looked at your profile on the company’s website.”

Of course. Silly of her. She was glad that the newness of her college degree wasn’t available online. The truth was, she’d gotten her real estate license well before she’d managed to finish her college degree. Mostly because she’d seen the kind of money to be made when she’d worked as a receptionist at Fortunado Real Estate in Houston, helping to pay her way through school.

“From what I saw on the site, you’ve got some hefty credentials.”

“And I’m still the new kid on the block where my boss at Austin Elite is concerned.” Then she wanted to kick herself. What good did it do to tell her client that? Why couldn’t she tell Grayson about the deals she had closed? The kind of deals—Rhonda Dickinson aside—that were the reason DeForest Allen had hired her in the first place. “Speaking of my boss, he’s going to ask how today went in terms of finding you the perfect property.”

“Your boss with his strict code of ethics. What does that mean, exactly?”

If Grayson were anyone else, she wouldn’t have even thought to mention Mr. Allen’s rules that first day. But she had, so answering as if it was no big deal was the only course she could think to take.

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