It’s more precious than gold…

The discovery of gold on Drake land significantly increases middle son Warren’s already overflowing coffers. His ranch is the talk of exclusive Paradise Cove. But it’s his gorgeous neighbor who’s arousing the California cowboy’s fantasies. Charli Reed sits a horse like no woman Warren’s ever seen. Instead of pushing him away, her blatant lack of interest only increases his desire to execute the ultimate seduction.

Just because Warren’s as rich as Midas doesn’t make the entrepreneur turned rancher a hero in Charli’s eyes. And how can she trust a Drake—her family’s most hated enemy? But Warren’s sensual passion is slowly melting her resistance. Working together to catch the thieves who could turn their dreams to dust, Charli has to choose: hold on to the past or risk her heart for a love that’s the most priceless treasure of all….

“I’m just sorry about the circumstances that put us here,” Warren said. “My family has used that helicopter company for several years and nothing has ever happened like this. I’m really sorry.”

“Drake, quit apologizing.” She walked over and stood directly in front of him. “It’s okay.”

He tried not to react to the look in her eyes, to that mixture of wonder, gratitude and…absolute trust? It made his heart flip-flop and caused stirrings below. In this moment, he realized the impossibility and danger of this situation: one very soft, very big bed; no luggage, meaning no night clothes; a romantic setting; and one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. In that moment Warren knew that if this scenario didn’t end with his making slow, sweet love to her…it was going to be a very long night.

He took a step. “May I kiss you again?”

She nodded.

It began with just their lips touching: soft, tender, reserved. But when Warren reached out and pulled her flush against him, and Charli gasped, the experience quickly turned hot.

ZURI DAY

snuck her first Mills & Boon romance at the age of twelve from her older sister’s off-limits collection and was hooked from page one. Knights in shining armor and happily-ever-afters filled her teen years and spurred a lifelong love of reading. That she now creates these stories as a full-time, award-winning author is a dream come true! Splitting her time between the stunning Caribbean islands and Southern California, she’s always busy writing her next novel, but Zuri makes time to connect with readers and meet with book clubs. Contact her via Facebook, www.facebook.com/haveazuriday, or at zuri@zuriday.com.

Solid Gold Seduction

Zuri Day

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I met the Drakes of Northern California! Like their vineyard-owning cousins, this successful family also hails from New Orleans. They’ve got specific ideas about how their lives will unfold, but as many of us know…life is what happens while we’re busy making plans! Such is the case with Warren Drake.

Since January 24, 1848, when the first nugget was stumbled upon at Sutter’s Mill in Coloma, California, optimistic wanderers have dreamed of finding their own pile of prosperity, their personal pot of gold. This resulted in the gold rush, when more than thirty-five thousand people from America and beyond converged on the northern tip of this western state and changed the way we looked at the land lying west of the Mississippi. Much like that nugget, finding love is also often unexpected. If we’re lucky, however, this experience is life’s most cherished discovery!

Zuri Day

I would like to thank all of my beautiful readers,

who’ve embraced the Drakes of California and treated them like family. I appreciate you!!!

There is such a thing as sudden wealth,

Often coming after one has worked to learn their self,

For those ride-or-die dreamers living life so bold,

At the end of the rainbow is a pot of gold!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 1

“You’re going to give up all this...and go country?”

“Yes.” Warren Drake calmly palmed a paperweight, eyeing Richard Cunningham—his childhood friend—and wondered about the wisdom of his mother’s request. Even more, he was second-guessing the sanity of his agreeing to do what she wanted.

The fact was, in leaving his plush condo located in the tony town of Paradise Cove and “going country,” as Richard put it, Warren wasn’t giving up anything. By moving twenty miles east of where he’d grown up to the sprawling countryside, he was gaining a front-row view to the business he’d cultivated for the past five years—almost seven hundred acres of top-quality grapes. This was one of the most lucrative crops one could grow in California, and taking his cousin Donovan Drake’s advice to do so was one of the best business decisions he’d ever made. But Richard didn’t need to know this. Because of his mother’s kindness, this New Orleans native whom Warren had known since childhood was deep enough in the Drake pockets already.

“If you’re having second thoughts about working with me and thinking about going back south, I understand.” And I’d be grateful.

“No, man, your mother was kind enough to give me a chance, helping me to get back on my feet after all this time spent away, to get a new start in life. I’m going to try and do her proud, War. And honor the memory of my mom.”

Warren nodded. Maybe he was being too hard on Richard, too judgmental. Unlike Warren, who’d grown up in a comfortable, loving two-parent family, Richard had grown up in a single-parent family, on the bad side of town, barely knowing his father and basically being the man of the house by the time he was ten. He’d met Warren’s grandfather Walter during a mentor program sponsored by the Boys & Girls Club and became a fixture in the elder man’s household. During Warren’s summers spent in New Orleans and frequent visits in between, the two became as close as brothers. They’d even chosen to attend the same college and roomed together for a time. Then came senior year and Richard’s bad choices. Errant focus. Wrong crowd. He dropped out of college and began dabbling in illegal activities. Warren flourished in the family business. Richard floundered in jail. They hadn’t seen each other in eight or nine years.

“So are you sure you can handle it, Rich? Working construction? I don’t remember you ever working with your hands.”

“I’m a quick learner. But I still think you should make me a supervisor. I’m a born leader, man. And I’m used to managing a crew. The product I was pushing may have been illegal, but while it lasted my ship was tight!”

Warren shook his head as he answered his ringing phone. “Hey, Jackson. What’s up?” He paused to listen, and watched as Richard picked up and examined the paperweight. “All right, then. I’ll see you in about fifteen.” He ended the call and stood. “That was my brother-in-law. He’s at the site. You want to roll out with me?”

“Sure.” Richard palmed the paperweight. “Is this solid gold, man?”

“Yes. Mined right in this part of the country.”

“Word?”

Warren said nothing further, and silently berated himself for that slip of the tongue. He’d known Richard his whole life, but they were no longer close. People changed. He reminded himself that the less this former best friend knew about what had once been found on his family’s land—and anything else about the family businesses—the better.

Picture-perfect scenery flew by them as Warren’s sporty Maserati ate up the short distance between his condo located in the gated community of Golden Gates and the property located in what would one day be zoned as Paradise Valley. The weather had turned hot on this August afternoon, lazy clouds floated across an azure-blue sky and sunflowers dotted the landscape before row after row of grapevines, encased by a newly built wrought-iron fence, signaled the beginning of Drake land. He turned onto a plot that had been cleared for building, noting Jackson’s rented pickup and another car belonging to the local subcontractor. The two men exited the car, careful of the jutting rocks and clods of soil.

“Mr. Wright!”

“Mr. Drake!”

They gave each other a fist pound.

“Boss, this is an old friend of mine, Richard Cunningham. Richard, this is my brother-in-law, Jackson ‘Boss’ Wright, owner of one of the best construction companies this side of the Mississippi.”

Richard stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Boss, huh? A pleasure.”

Jackson shook it. “Yes, but I had the nickname before owning a company. My mother gave it to me when I was about two years old and owned nothing, not even the wet diaper on my behind.”

The men laughed. Warren nodded at the roll of paper that Jackson was holding. “So what have we here?”

“The final blueprints for your house.” He pointed to various sticks with twine around them. “We’ve got everything marked out, rooms, deck, swimming pool, guest houses and the expansion for your stables. Just wanted to walk you through everything one final time before we get started. If everything meets your approval, we’ll start excavating for the foundation right away. Brandon, the foreman, will keep things flowing smoothly during the days that I’m gone.”

“I’m ready to get started,” Warren said, rubbing his hands in excitement. “Let’s...” The sentence died on his tongue as the sound of hard-hitting hoofbeats caught his ear. As one, the three men turned toward the sound. A lone rider, looking strong and sure in the saddle, was approaching. He wore jeans, an oversize button-down shirt, a cowboy hat and a red bandanna over his mouth and nose. The rider jumped a small bush in the horse’s path effortlessly, standing in the stirrups as the horse landed, then continued to what was his clear destination—them.

“Good rider,” Warren mumbled, clearly impressed.

“A real-life cowboy,” Richard drawled. “You’re going country for real.”

The rider reached them and pulled up on the reins. From his superior position, he peered in silence, eyes shielded with a pair of dark shades. After a few seconds he dismounted, pulled down the kerchief and took off his hat.

The three men stepped back in unison, brows raised, dumbstruck.

Long curly hair tumbled around the rider’s shoulders and lips that at least one man guessed were soft and quite attractive were fixed in a firm line. A slender hand pushed the dark glasses up on her head and the hair from her face. Chocolate orbs framed by curly black lashes seared them with their intensity.

A subtle look of incredulity passed between the men.

He was a she?

Indeed. And a sexy she at that.

But Ms. Sexy did not look happy.

“Charli Reed,” she announced, her eyes narrowed, her stance defensive. “Is one of you the owner of this place?”

Warren stepped forward. “I am. Warren Drake.” He held out his hand, noting a flash of something—recognition, maybe—in her eyes. “Are you my neighbor?”

“I am,” she replied, ignoring his outstretched hand and crossing her arms instead. “And we’ve got a problem.”

Chapter 2

“You’ve got a problem?” Richard, pretty boy and eternal ladies’ man, took a step toward Charli, eyeing her much like a hungry dog would a biscuit. “Well, baby girl...I’m a problem solver.”

If looks could kill, for Richard it would have been time for ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Her eyes slid from him to Jackson and back before returning to Warren.

Richard backed up, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I’ve got a problem with your fence. You’ve enclosed the stream that my cows have used for the last ten years. The next water source is two miles away.”

Warren’s first thought was wondering how her cows were his problem. He didn’t have long to wait for clarification.

“That stream is on Reed land.”

Warren looked at Jackson, who gave a slight nod and walked to a large black pickup. “My people had the land surveyed five years ago, when the first vines were planted. The fence was erected based on those specs.”

“I don’t care what the paper says. That stream is for my cows. We need access. You need to move your fence.”

Warren scowled. Who did this gorgeous cup of cocoa think she was? “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken.”

Jackson returned from his truck with survey in hand. He unrolled it, giving one end to Warren to hold while he held the other and pointed to property lines. “Here is the lake, Ms. Reed,” he said, pointing to the paper. “And here is the Drake property line.”

Charli glanced at the paper and said nothing.

“We had everything double-checked before we erected the fence,” Warren said as Jackson rolled up the proof and placed it under his arm. “Not only against the original paperwork filed at the courthouse, but with another top-rate surveyor.” He crossed his arms, matching her stance. “All of the property within the fence is mine.”

“How many acres is this—” she spread her arms “—property of yours?”

“I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe not. But it’s a shame that with all that you own we’re standing here squabbling about a half acre or less that you probably won’t even see, let alone that you’ll need.”

“Be that as it may, it’s my land and my fence.”

A stare-off ensued, during which time Warren took note of a few things: the color of her eyes, her kissable long neck and how even with an oversize shirt he could tell that she was wearing the hell out of that pair of jeans.

“My contractor and I need to get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes.” Charli spun on her heel, placed a well-worn boot into the stirrup and swung up onto the chestnut-colored stallion in one fluid motion. “You can go to hell.”

Warren watched the trail of dust that followed his feisty neighbor down the winding drive. “You know,” he drawled to Jackson and Richard as she rounded the bend and galloped out of sight. “I think Miss Charli needs to learn how to say how she really feels.”

* * *

Charli used long, strong brushstrokes on the horse’s coat, thankful to have something to do. She was still ticked off—okay, livid—after her encounter with her jerk of a neighbor, Warren Drake. Even after riding hard all the way home, going past her house and giving the horse his head for a good five minutes. After helping the ranch hands round up a herd of cattle, and tossing up heavy bales of hay for the next day’s feeding, there was still enough pent-up frustration for her to go fifteen rounds with a punching bag. Or a neighbor.

For the past two years, ever since she’d returned to the land she loved and regained the reins of her grandfather Charles Reed’s dream to stave off a foreclosure, Charli had been exhausted but content. She’d finally found the peace that had eluded her for the past few years, peace that had first been shattered when her grandfather—her rock—died, and then had further been obliterated by the dissolution of an engagement that never should have occurred. Coming back to the ranch had been like coming home. Most of the old hands still worked there, and treated her with the respect they’d given Charles Reed. The house manager, whom she called her play uncle, Griff, was now the closest thing she had to family and treated her like his own. It hadn’t hurt that all of them had known her since she was knee-high to a gnat, or that she could ride and rope with the best of them—a country girl through and through.

“I can’t believe the audacity of that man,” she grumbled in time with the brushstroke. Or how tall and handsome he is, or how his muscles flexed when he crossed his arms. “Arrogant jerk.” Blessed with a cleft and dimples? How unfair! Her grandfather had talked about the Drakes, how they’d swept into town decades ago, buying up acres of land. What had once been miles and miles of empty fields eventually became Paradise Cove, incorporated by Walter’s son, Ike Drake Sr., and his highbrow friends.

“They’re a bunch of self-absorbed, bourgie possums, Gramps, just like you said.” But what he hadn’t told her was how handsome a Drake man could be, or what to do when just five minutes in his presence had made her heart go boom.

Chapter 3

“Son! This is a surprise.” Jennifer Drake stood back from the door so that Warren could enter the oversize foyer.

“Hello, Mom.”

She reached up to give him a hug. “Where are Richard and Jackson?”

“Dropped Richard back off at his apartment. As we were wrapping up, Boss got a phone call that forced him to cancel his plans to join us.”

“From whom?”

“Diamond. She flew up to surprise him with a romantic weekend in San Francisco.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely thing for his wife to do.”

Warren’s father, Ike, came around the corner, a predinner tumbler of scotch in hand. “Hey there, Warren. How’d it go today?”

“It was interesting.”

“Son, can I fix you a drink?”

“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

“Will you be staying for dinner? The twins are coming over.”

“Don’t they always?” They could consume a whole pig between the two of them, but it was no secret that neither Terrell nor Teresa, Warren’s younger siblings by two years, liked to cook. “What about Niko?”

“Out on a date.” Jennifer didn’t try and hide her chagrin for Warren’s older brother’s choice.

“He must be with Ashley.”

“I don’t know why he can’t see what’s painfully obvious. That girl is chasing dollar signs.”

“Now, Jennifer,” Ike said, his voice somber and a tad chiding. “He’s a grown man. We’ve done our job in raising him. He has to make his own way.”

Jennifer prepared to say something, thought better of it and left the room to get Warren’s scotch.

“Come on, son.” Ike headed into the great room. Warren followed behind, noting the vases of colorful and fresh flowers they passed on the way, evidence of his mother’s artistic hand. When he married, Warren wanted someone like her: beautiful, strong, intelligent, classy.

His father took a seat in one of two leather wingback chairs. Warren took the other one. “So you say your day was interesting. How so?”

“I met my neighbor.” Ike took a sip as he nodded, listened. “She wasn’t too happy to see me.”

“She?”

“That was my reaction.” He paused as Jennifer brought in his tumbler of scotch. He took a taste as his mother sat on the nearby couch. “Her name is Charli Reed.”

“Reed?” his parents said at once.

He looked from one to the other and didn’t miss their raised-brow exchange. “What’s up with that reaction?”

“Just surprised, son, that’s all. We thought the Reeds had sold that place a few years ago, after Charles died.”

“Who’s Charles?”

“He used to be in business with your grandfather,” Jennifer offered, placing her crystal flute of sherry on the table.

“It was after he was honorably discharged from the service.”

“After his injury?”

Ike nodded. “They had another buddy who told him about the property, which at that time went for pennies on the dollar. They bought up all one thousand acres and at one time had a modestly profitable dairy farm.”

“Then on a trip back home to New Orleans he met your grandmother and moved back home.” Jennifer sat back on the couch and wiped a nonexistent wrinkle from her slacks. “But you’ve heard this story, Warren. I’ve heard Grandpa sharing it with you boys.”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What happened when you met the woman?” Ike asked.

“She came galloping up on this impressive-looking horse, dismounted and demanded I move my fence. Said her cattle needed access to the stream on our land.”

“Ike, do you think that’s his granddaughter?”

He nodded at Jennifer. “Sounds like it. You said her name is Charli?”

“Yes,” Warren replied.

“Then that’s her.”

“So our grandfathers owned a business together once. That still doesn’t explain her nasty attitude.”

Ike leaned back, stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Their parting, which started out amicably, soured over the years.”

“What happened?” Both parents were slow to respond. “Wait, this doesn’t have anything to do with the gold, does it?”

“Not really,” Jennifer said. “They found what little bit of gold there was when the property was owned jointly and split it fifty-fifty.”

“So what was it then?”

“When Daddy decided to move back to New Orleans, the dairy was doing fairly well but the cash flow wasn’t exceptional. He helped Charles by buying up the acres that weren’t being used—”

“Six hundred acres, right?” That’s how many acres there had been before Warren had purchased several hundred more.

“Seven hundred initially,” Ike continued. “Daddy bought the land, Charles kept the business. They shook hands and all was well.”

Jennifer continued the story. “Several years later, Charles came to your grandfather and asked to buy back some land. Daddy Walter wasn’t keen on it but Charles was persistent, saying that he needed more land for the cows. Finally, Daddy Walter agreed to sell him one hundred acres—at a price well below market value I might add—but that was it. Later, when the dairy farm experienced an exceptionally good year financially, he asked to buy back more of the land. Charles knew how well your grandfather had done in real estate and didn’t see why he was interested in holding on to property he didn’t even visit. He asked more than once. Each time Daddy Walter refused, finally letting him know in no uncertain terms that what he’d purchased would remain Drake property. Their relationship was never the same after that.”

“Daddy thought that Charles might have heard rumors about more gold on the land and was resentful over that, though Charles denied it,” Ike said.

“Could that be possible? Is there more gold on the land?”

“I don’t think so, Warren. We all know the history and Daddy and Charles had surely heard the rumors. They spent a good deal of time and money searching when they first moved here, but aside from that one small vein that was found and mined, they had no luck. I think if there was any grand buried treasure, they would have found it.”

The doorbell rang, followed by the sounds of several people entering the house.

“That would be your brother and sister,” Jennifer said. “In here, children!” She left the room to greet them.

“So do you think I should move the fence, Dad?”

“That’s going to have to be your call, son. But just remember, if you give some people an inch...they’ll take a mile.”

Warren and Ike joined Jennifer and his siblings at the table. Talk of land and fences was replaced with that of plans for the town’s annual Days of Paradise Gala, a three-day event celebrating the town’s beginning. Fairgrounds would be set up on the north end of town. There would be a parade, various contests and the pinnacle of the festivities: the Paradise Ball. The women conversed about what family favorite Jennifer should bake for the pie contest, and what designer original they’d wear to the dance. The men talked about how Drake Realty Plus would be showcased in the parade. Niko had secured a fully restored 1975 Caprice convertible—metallic gold with wide, white rims. The car, built in the year that Paradise Cove had been incorporated, would tow a thirty-foot billboard specially designed for the day, covered with a mural of old and modern-day Paradise Cove and containing the words Drake Realty: Homes with a Heart for 30 Years...and Counting! Throughout the appetizer, entrée and dessert they talked, laughed and strategized. Warren answered questions when asked and commented as needed. But his mind wasn’t on the upcoming festivities. It was on a feisty woman with an attitude and a body that made his blood boil.

Give some people an inch...they’ll take a mile. That’s what his father had said. Well, Daddy, Warren thought as he watched his mother pour cups of tea. I might just have to take that chance.

Chapter 4

Warren thought about riding over. Jumping on Coal, the Thoroughbred stallion he’d purchased several years ago when he was still a pony. Thought about kicking up dust and laying down grass, much like Charli had done when arriving at his place. He’d been impressed with her horsemanship and a part of him wanted to show her that she wasn’t the only one who could sit in a saddle and handle business.

Warren had been riding horses since he could walk and of all of his brothers was the one most connected to the land. But he bypassed the stables and headed to the makeshift parking lot that when finished would be a circular design that could comfortably hold a dozen vehicles or more. He’d drive over, like most people would in the twenty-first century. I’m not trying to impress her; no reason to. This thought entered his mind as he opened the door to his cherry-red Maserati and slid inside.

After discussing it with his brother and Jackson, he’d come up with an answer to his neighbor’s problem. Not that he needed to, mind you. What happened on her land with her property was not his responsibility. No sirree, as his grandfather would say. And even though he’d be sure and keep mindful of the mile his father warned some would take for an inch of kindness, Warren also heeded his mother’s words to “play nice” and his own desire to take a chance.

* * *

She sensed him first. Before seeing the dust, before hearing the car, Charli felt a squiggle go from her core to a place that had seen little action in the past two years. Rising from her kneeling position where she’d been pulling the weeds trying to get friendly with her kales and collards, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun and squinted. Rare for a car to be coming down this road and she wouldn’t know who it was. But she did know. Could sense that it was him. One of them. One of the bourgie possums. Who else would drive such a swanky car in the middle of dirt roads, jackrabbits and tumbleweed?

“What does he want?” she mumbled, angrily pulling off her gardening gloves and trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. “He’s the last person I want to see.” Liar! She began walking to the road on slightly shaky legs, anger rising at the way her body reacted. He was just a man. Her farm was full of them. She’d grown up with them all around her. And now of all times she was growing moist between her legs? Ridiculous.

She reached the drive just as Warren turned off the engine. She stood there, arms crossed, face properly scowled to show the working of one’s nerves. The nonchalant mask threatened to slip a bit as after a brief moment the man got out—translation: uncoiled—his long, lean frame from a car that looked too small to hold him. She’d refused to consider it yesterday but now allowed herself to guess. Around six-four. Or five. Around two hundred pounds. Probably five percent body fat. She tried to digest these thoughts with the disinterest of one examining cattle flesh. In that vein, this was a very nice bull.

* * *

When he first turned off the engine, Warren didn’t move. He sat there fairly entranced at the vision before him. Backlit by the sun, she looked like an angel: a halo of long, unruly hair, skin bronzed and glowing, fitted white tee that unlike the oversize one she’d worn yesterday clung to her ample breasts and let him know that she was all woman. Her jeans were worn and tattered, clinging to curvy thighs, toned, no doubt, by the way she rode a horse. She can probably clench them tight enough to crack a walnut. Blood rushed to another nut, followed by thoughts of what else she could clench, causing Warren to shift his body and his thoughts while reaching for the door handle and finding a smile.

“Good afternoon.” A curt nod was her greeting. “Nice-looking place you’ve got here.” She cocked her head to the other side. Okay, so she wouldn’t win the trophy for Miss Congeniality. Warren decided to bypass the small talk and get right to the point. “I, uh, think I might have an answer to the problem you mentioned yesterday.”

She uncrossed her arms. “I’m listening.”

With her arms now at her side, Warren found himself drawn once again to that rack of a body: full, round breasts, narrow waist, wide hips...damn. Is it possible for her to look even better than she did yesterday? She placed her hands in her back pockets and fixed him with a look that suggested she was long on agitation and short on patience.

“We can put a gate on that part of the fence, the part that’s by the stream.”

“Will it be locked?”

“Most likely. It’s too far away for my men to oversee and while it’s a good distance away from the vineyard, I don’t want to have to wonder who or what might be sneaking through.”

“So how is this giving access to my cattle?”

“Just tell me what time you need it open and I can make sure that happens.”

“I don’t appreciate having to give you a schedule.”

“And I don’t appreciate your funky attitude. Has anybody ever pointed it out to you?”

“A time or two.”

It was a brief instant, a nanosecond really, but Warren could have sworn that the merest of smiles accompanied this statement. And he would be damned if he didn’t kind of like it.

“We can install a gate and work out a time frame each day that it will be open and available to your livestock. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“I guess I’ll take it, though it would be much easier if the gate remained unlocked. Other than coyote and deer there’s not much to worry about around these parts. We had an issue with cow rustlers awhile back, but we fixed that problem.”

“How’d you do that?”

“With a twenty-two.”

“Ha!”

There it was again, that almost smile. He was sure he’d seen it this time.

“How soon can you get that gate in?”

“We’ll order it today. As soon as it arrives, shouldn’t take more than a day to have it installed.”

Another nod.

“Well, I guess that’s it.”

He hesitated, having nothing more to say but not wanting to go. He’d had his share of women, even had one chomping at the bit to marry him. But there was something about this one, something about her feistiness and her don’t-give-a-damn attitude that moved him, intrigued him, made him want to know about her and maybe break down that wall. It made him wonder about the man responsible for her building it in the first place. But none of this was his business. She was his neighbor, nothing more, and probably one he wouldn’t see much past this meeting.

“All right then. Goodbye.” He turned and headed back to his car, his long strides quickly widening the distance between them.

“Drake.”

He turned back around. “The name’s Warren.” He said this even though he liked the way his surname rolled off her tongue. He liked the sound of her voice, too, low and raspy, could imagine it moaning in the throes of pleasure.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He smiled, got into his car and drove away, feeling as proud as a Boy Scout who’d just earned a new badge. He had a feeling there was a lot more to Charli Reed than met the eye. And in this moment, he silently admitted that he wanted to know it all.

Chapter 5

Warren parked his car next to Jackson’s truck. There were also a few cars he didn’t recognize.

Jackson looked up as he approached. “Must not have gone too bad.”

“It went all right.”

“No battle scars, head still intact, proof that she didn’t bite it off.”

Warren grinned. “She wanted to.”

Richard walked up, having heard the last exchange. “A hellion, that one. I sure would like to tame her.”

“You won’t have time for that,” Warren retorted, harsher than he’d intended. “I want this house finished as soon as possible, eight weeks tops. That includes the guest houses.” He turned to Jackson. “Still think we can meet that deadline?”

“For the right price, anything is possible. Especially in this economy. There are plenty of men looking for work and workers love nothing better than overtime pay.”

“I want you to get the size of crew you need to deliver within that time frame. Life will be easier if I’m living here during at least part of the harvesting of the first crop. Just run the numbers by me.”

Jackson nodded. “Will do.” He looked at Richard. “I left the roll of blueprints down by where the pool is going to be. Do you think you can go and bring it up for me?”

“Sure, man,” Richard responded. He gave Warren a quick, unreadable look, then turned and left.

Jackson watched after him, his eyes narrowed in thought. “What’s his story?”

“Richard is an old friend from New Orleans. Made some bad choices that landed him in prison. Our families are close—he became almost like a brother after my grandfather became his mentor. Practically lived at his home, became real close to my grandmother and later my mom. She talked me into helping him get a fresh start. Hard to land a job with a felony on your résumé.”

“What’d he do?”

“Sold drugs. Made a lot of money, too. I think the feds took most of it.”

“Easy come, easy go.”

“Exactly.”

“You trust him?”

Warren’s head shot up. “Yes. Why?”

“I don’t know. Something about his eyes.”

“Richard is always running game, but he’s cool overall.”

Jackson’s look showed he was not convinced. “You remember where I grew up, right? South Central L.A., where our playground was the streets. Brothers like him, who thought they were smarter, shrewder and more clever than the rest, were a dime a dozen and easy to spot. If I were you, I’d keep an eye out.”

Warren nodded. “Think you’ll have enough work to keep him busy?”

“I’ll have enough work to keep his mind off of that fine filly who’s got your nose wide open.”

“Charli’s easy on the eyes, I’ll give her that. Not my type, though. Too mannish, too much attitude. I like women who enjoy being women, know what I’m saying?”

“Sure, War. If you say so.”

“I say so,” Warren said firmly, then quickly changed the subject. “Where’s Diamond?”

“Probably buying up half of San Francisco. But I’d better get busy. She wants me to try out some swanky restaurant tonight. Our reservations are at eight and she threatened to hold out on the nooky if I’m late.”

“Then by all means...let me leave you to your work.”

Warren began walking toward the stables, noting that as Richard brought up the blueprints that Jackson wanted, he kept looking in the direction of Charli’s place.

You trust him? Something about his eyes.

He’d given Jackson ready answers but in hindsight the question gave him pause. True, he’d known Richard for years, but people could change. He’d heard of more than one man who’d come back from prison a different man. So far, Richard acted like his old self. Warren would be paying close attention to make sure he stayed that way.

Chapter 6

“Miss Alice, I know you mean well, but—”

“No, no ifs, ands or buts, Charlene. I promised your grandfather that I’d watch over you, make sure you don’t get swallowed up by that ranch. You’re going to the dance.”

Charli jumped up from the comfy rocker in the living room and began to pace the hardwood floors. “Let’s do something else,” she suggested, switching the phone to her other ear. “Go into the city for shopping or lunch.”

“I’ve suggested that, remember? Two or three times. Hasn’t happened.”

“Next week, promise.”

“The dance. Tonight.” Amid Charli’s continued sulking, Alice continued, “How can you even think about not attending the Days of Paradise Ball? This is the one time of year that all of the residents get together, the one time that we celebrate the founding of our town.”

“I entered cattle in the farm animal contest.”

“All well and good, but the dance is the main event. You’ve got to come.”

“I don’t have anything to wear!” It was Charli’s long shot, banking on a short memory.

“Nonsense, you have that beautiful dress I ordered for you last month.” So much for that hope. Alice’s memory was fine. “You tried it on at my house, remember? It fit you perfectly.”

“Miss Alice, you know how I feel about these types of events, and the people who will be attending.”

“Yes, and it’s high time you change those feelings. You can try and deny it as much as you want to but this is where you belong. Your mother—”

“Is she the one behind all this?” Charli stopped in her tracks. “Will she be there?”

“Charlene, I know you and your mother have had your share of differences.” Charli let out an unladylike snort. “But she really does love you.”

“Oh, really? Is that why she abandoned me for her lover? Is that why I spent so much time with Grandpa Charles growing up?”

“Did you not like spending time with Charles?”

“You know I loved Gramps. That’s not the point.”

“I hope you can resolve these feelings of ill will, child. Pierre is now your stepfather.”

“That man will never be anything to me.”

“Your mother will not be there, Charlene.”

“I wish you’d call me Charli.”

“Charlene is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. It’s that feminine side of you that gets far too little attention. I want you to let her out tonight. With me. At the dance.”

Charli sighed. “You’re just not going to quit bugging me, are you?”

“Sure I will. Just as soon as you get here. Say, around seven?”

“What time does the party start?”

“Nine. But you need time to get ready.”

“How long does it take to put on a dress?”

“We need our girl time. I have someone coming over for our hair and makeup. See you in about two hours?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

* * *

Warren stood in the middle of his walk-in closet, staring at what he called his monkey suits and wishing for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t picked up the phone. He recalled the conversation.

“I had other plans for tonight, Mother.”

That those plans were a delivered pizza and early bedtime need not be shared.

“I reminded you about the table for ten we purchased two weeks ago,” his mother had countered. You promised you’d come.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You were on your way out the door. But you agreed.”

“Great.”

“The money made from the sale of tables is for a good cause. We’re going to build a combination food bank and donation center somewhere in town. Everyone goes to the Days of Paradise gala, Warren. Besides, you’ve been working too hard lately. And there’s a surprise.”

Oh, here we go. “Who is she?”

He grimaced at his mother’s tinkling chuckle, grating because of what was sure to come next.

“Rachel’s home.”

“So now we get to the real reason for all this prodding.”

“Surprised you need it for such a beautiful girl, or rather, young woman. She’s even more stunning than when she left to finish her senior year. You’re almost thirty years old, Warren. Time to think about settling down.”

“Junior’s thirty-two. Go and bug him.”

“Oh, trust me, Ike Jr. gets his share of...encouragement. But right now I’m not talking to him. I’m talking to you.” Silence. “Rachel graduated with dual degrees in psychology and music theory.”

“She’s still playing the piano?”

“Beautifully, even participated in a concert at Carnegie Hall. Any man would be blessed to have her. She’s gorgeous, talented, comes from a great family with morals like ours.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that her father works for the leader of the free world.”

“I’d never want to be considered a social climber, but yes, her father’s prestigious position at the White House is a definite plus.”

“Which tux should I wear, black, navy or gray?”

“The black one, definitely. And it would be a nice touch, sweetheart, if you brought Rachel a little welcome-home gift. Nothing too frilly. A single rose, perhaps? Or a nice box of chocolates?”

“I’d rather not, Mother. I know how women think and to give her anything like that would be giving her the wrong idea.”

“You’re a kind, thoughtful man, no? What’s wrong about that?”

“Absolutely nothing. Which is why I’ll welcome Rachel home with a greeting and a smile.”

“Now, Warren—”

“Goodbye, Mother. See you at the dance.”

He finished dressing, splashed on cologne and headed for the door. A smile spread across his face as a thought occurred. He’d told his mother that he was coming to the dance. But he hadn’t told her how long he planned to stay. Not long. He felt better already.

Chapter 7

Anybody entering the Paradise Cove Country Club would be hard-pressed to imagine it belonged to a community of less than three thousand. Every aspect of the building was magnificent, both inside and out, and everyone who entered the solid brass double doors looked as though they belonged. Limos vied with Maybachs and Bentleys and enough diamonds sparkled to rival the night’s starry sky.

“Warren!”

He turned around and smiled as the twins walked toward him. “Hello, Teresa.” He leaned down to give his sister a hug. “You look amazing.”

She curtsied. “Well, thank you, brother dear. You look dapper as well.”

“Terrell.” Warren and his brother shared a fist bump and a hug.

“Careful,” Terrell said, brushing nonexistent lint off each of his shoulders. “Don’t mess up the threads.”

“Trouble coming toward us,” Teresa mumbled, turning her head and twirling a curl.

Warren resisted looking, but Terrell turned around. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. CEO and the princess.”

Now he didn’t have to turn around. He knew who it was: Ms. Gold Digger, Ms. Social Climber. Ms. Will Do Anything to Marry a Drake. Niko had alluded to bringing someone respectable. Even though her stint as an exotic dancer had been very brief and in another state, Terrell knew that this was not the title his mom would give Ashley. She was going to be furious.

“Hello, family,” Niko said as he approached.

“Hello, Niko,” Warren said with a brother’s handshake. “Ashley,” he said with a nod.

“Hello, everyone,” Ashley responded.

“Where’s the rest of the family?” Niko asked.

“Inside,” Warren said, “and they’re probably wondering about us. Let’s go join them.”

The Drakes entered and the response they received resembled the Red Sea parting. Everyone turned and those in their path stepped back, offering hugs, greetings and compliments as they made their way to the table where their parents and remaining siblings either sat or stood chatting.

There was someone else there, too. Rachel.

“There you are!” Jennifer waved Warren over as soon as she saw him.

His mother was right. Rachel was stunning. She looked like a tanned porcelain doll—perfect and delicate—her hair designed in attractive ringlets, her beaded dress a perfect fit, her jewelry, which he knew cost a mint, elegant and understated. So why in this moment did his mind drift to a surly neighbor with dirty hands and scuffed boots?

“Hello, Rachel.” He leaned in to give her a light hug.

She wrapped her arms around his neck for a longer, more personal squeeze. “Warren,” she said, stepping back but continuing to hold his hand. “It is so great to see you. Now I really feel like I’m home.”

“Rachel has agreed to join the Golden Gates auxiliary and help with the plans to raise money for the center I told you about, and a variety of other charities.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“There are so many unfortunate people in this world,” Rachel stated, long, thick lashes surrounding the doe-like eyes that looked at Warren in a love-starved way. “It’s the least I can do.”

“You’ve always been such a caring soul, Rachel. I think that...” In a rare moment, Jennifer was distracted to the point that she lost her train of thought. “Who is that with Alice?” she asked, as if to herself.

Warren and Rachel followed the direction of Jennifer’s gaze.

“I’m not sure,” Rachel responded.

Warren said nothing. Couldn’t, he was speechless. Because he knew exactly who it was, and he couldn’t believe it.

* * *

Charli had one single goal for the night: get through it without falling flat on her butt. How women walked, even danced, in heels was beyond her. And panty hose? Geez. Now she had an idea how ground pork felt in casing. The makeup was foreign on her face; she had to constantly squelch the urge to rub it off. The only thing about Alice’s forced makeover that felt remotely comfortable was the hairstyle. She liked it up and away from her face. But she’d trade all the sparkly pins for a scrunchie in a New York minute.

“I’d like to think all of the gentlemen are looking this way because of my new ’do,” Alice said, patting her freshly cut silver bob. “But it’s clear who’s caught their eye.”

Charli wished it wasn’t. Being the center of attention wasn’t her forte unless the surrounding crowd came with four legs and a snout. “I wish they’d quit staring. It’s disconcerting.”

“By the look on some of the women’s faces,” Alice said, eyes gleaming, “you aren’t the only one unnerved. I see some of my friends, darling. Come.”

Halfway to their destination it happened again. She felt him. Strongly. Without a shadow of a doubt she knew that Warren Drake was here. Keep walking, Charli. And don’t fall!

* * *

“Warren, are you listening?”

“Sorry, Rachel. What did you say?”

“Never mind. It’s clear your attention is elsewhere.”

“I’ve been following you mostly, and am impressed that you want to use your degree to, you know...”

“Follow weather patterns.”

“Right.”

“Wrong, Warren! You’re not listening at all.” Rachel’s normally placid face was in full pout. “You haven’t heard a word anyone has said since she walked in.”

“Who?”

“Do you know her?”

“Not really.”

“Well, now’s your chance.” She walked off in a huff.

Clearly, she was perturbed. With good reason. He was acting like a love-struck fool. “Rachel!”

She didn’t stop. He started to follow her, and then thought better of that idea. Best to let her cool off was his first thought. Maybe I’ll get those flowers or chocolates after all, his second. And his third? To make his way over to the reason for Rachel’s frustration. He turned to do so, took two steps and watched as Richard strolled up to Charli. He took her hand and raised it for a gentlemanly kiss. Always the suave one, that Richard, what with the flawless, smooth face, soft curly locks and bedroom eyes framed by girlishly long lashes. He’d been turning on the charm since grade school and at the beginning of college could pull any girl he wanted away from Warren’s once-clumsy clutches.

But Warren was no longer clumsy and this was not college. Lips set in a determined line, he once again prepared to cross the room. And stopped. Wait a minute. A scene played in his mind: him driving over to Charli’s house with news about the gate; Charli’s less than amicable response. All right, it had been downright chilly. His question about her snarly attitude. Her answer that she both knew about it and was not apologetic. She would probably rip Richard a new one in less than thirty ticks. Grinning, Warren took a glass of champagne from a floating waiter, became partially hidden as he leaned against the wall next to a large potted plant and prepared to watch the show.

It was not what he expected.

Where was that perpetual scowl she’d exhibited, the crossed arms and narrowed eyes? As Richard took her hand Charli smiled, actually smiled. Was it indeed possible for her to enjoy herself? This Warren would have doubted just one short day ago. But no, there it was: easy, impish and beautiful—straight white teeth and sparkling eyes. Richard said something to her. She tossed back her head in laughter, which brought Warren’s attention to that long, graceful neck, the one that had invaded his thoughts with more frequency than he’d desired, along with the things he wanted to do to said neck before moving on to other equally tantalizing body parts. He drank her much as he did the champagne and imagined she tasted the same: full-bodied, robust with hints of floral notes and spices. Amazing that this mesmerizingly pretty creature wrapped in silk was the same one he’d observed pulling weeds in tattered denim. Among this posh and polished crowd, she looked as though she belonged. Just who are you, Charli Reed?

“Pulling recognizance?” Niko drawled as he sidled up to his preoccupied sib.

Warren forced his eyes away from Charli, actually turned his back on the way-too-cozy scene and answered his brother. “She’s my neighbor. Quite the sourpuss when I met her. I actually thought Richard was getting ready to get dismissed, but old girl surprised me. They’re getting along.”

“I guess Richard still has the juice?”

Warren didn’t mean to scowl, but his face didn’t get the memo.

“You have a problem with that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to break up their little tête-à-tête and grab this next dance.”

Chapter 8

On his way over, Warren watched Richard say something to Charli and then head over to the bar, presumably to get drinks.

Perfect timing, my man.

Warren circled around and purposely came up behind Charli, leaving her no time to don a surly mask. “May I have this dance?”

“Do you want to dance—” Charli looked down at Warren’s hold on her “—or arm wrestle?” The smile was still there but her eyes showed fire. “That’s a pretty tight grip.”

He loosened it, but didn’t release her. “You look to be the type who can handle it.”

“Kindly let me go,” she demanded.

“Kindly let me have this dance.”

Charli was just about to jerk away from him when she saw Alice heading their way, with someone she despised even more than the Drakes.

“Charlene!” Alice stopped, her arm looped around the arm of the man who accompanied her. “Look who I spotted just as he was entering the room.”

The man reached for Charli’s hand. “Hello, beautiful.”

She tucked it behind her and stepped closer to Warren. “Hi, Cedric.”

“It’s been a long time, Charlene. You look good.”

“Miss Alice, if you’ll excuse us. We were just heading to the dance floor.”

Once in the throng of dancers swaying to the smooth, soulful sounds of a song about distant lovers, Warren quickly wrapped his arms around Charli’s waist. He was assaulted by many things at once: the smell of perfume, the softness of silk and the feel of this woman’s body next to his own. She felt so right. With her in heels, her temple brushed his chin. If she turned and tilted her head oh so slightly the kiss would be right there. Hot, he imagined. Long, he’d make sure. There was only word for it: heaven. So much so that he was tempted to ignore the reason this morsel had wound up in his arms. But he didn’t.

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Ex-lover?”

“Can we just dance?”

“Certainly.” With the fluidity of one trained in this art, Warren took Charli’s left hand in his right, even as he gently yet firmly pressed her flush against him. “Just follow my lead,” he whispered in her ear. With that he spun them around, swaying smoothly to the beat. He rubbed his thumb across the small of her back, eased his hand precariously close to Charli’s firm, round booty. Close enough to feel the curve, far enough to still be a gentleman. Barely.

* * *

She tried to focus elsewhere: on the decor, the music (though Marvin Gaye seriously was not helping matters), even the bouffant hairdo on the town’s matriarch, Mrs. Gentry. But nothing was proving distracting. Warren’s presence was all-consuming—from his hard chest to his dance moves, from his cologne to the vibration from his chest as he hummed the song. When he pulled her into his arms, her knees had almost buckled. Even now, only sheer willpower prevented her from melting into his powerful frame, teasing the hair at the nape of his neck and resting her forehead against his strong jaw. It had been a long time since she’d felt safe enough to relax, let her guard down, live without worry. Being with someone like Warren could help her feel that way.

Except being with Warren wasn’t a possibility. Ever.

“Is that guy a problem?”

She could feel the strength in his chest as he spoke. God, what that deep voice did to parts of her soul! But it did something else. It took her out of her musings and brought her crashing back down to the reality of where she was and why. Dancing had given her a temporary reprieve from the man she would have been altogether peachy with never seeing again in life. But sooner or later she knew she’d have to deal with Cedric. She told herself there was no fear there, but shivered nonetheless.

The song ended. Warren stepped back, his hands on her arms, his eyes boring into her. “Charli, are you all right?”

“I can take care of myself,” she replied with a defiant lift of her chin.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

For an awkward moment they stood there, something indefinable yet palpable passing between them. Another song started, this one upbeat, and soon more couples swirled around them.

“Thanks for the dance,” he said with one last squeeze of her arm. And then he was gone.

If he’d waited a second more he would have seen that Charli didn’t stay alone for long. She felt a lone finger run down her bare back and wheeled around. “Stop it!” I should have known he’d hound me. “Look, Cedric. I don’t want any trouble out of you. I just want you to leave me alone.”

“Or what?” Cedric looked around. “Is that your boyfriend? He doesn’t scare me.”

“I’m no longer that little girl that you cornered in the barn,” Charli said with a sneer, as rising memories pushed her past the point of worrying about decorum or caring for her safety. “The friend who’ll keep me safe from you isn’t walking on two legs.”

“Oh, you have a guard dog? I’m scared.” He faked a shudder.

“You should be.” Charli’s voice was low, her smile menacing. “Because I believe in the Second Amendment, and if you come near me again my guard dog—” she looked loathingly up and down Cedric’s five-nine frame “—will have no problem relieving you of your family jewels. I’m sure they’re so small that shooting them may be difficult. But I’m a pretty good aim.”

With that, Charli calmly walked away.

Two pairs of eyes followed her over to the table, where she joined the woman who Warren had learned from his mother was named Alice Witherspoon.

Niko looked at his brother. “Looks like your neighbor might be in trouble.”

Warren took a sip of his drink, watching as Cedric exited the building. “I’m not worried about Charli. I think she can hold her own.”

Chapter 9

As it was harvesting season for their first yield of grapes, the week following the town of Paradise Cove’s celebration went by in a blur. Warren had his hands full, his attention going from the crash course on grapes he was getting from his cousin Dexter Drake to checking the progress on his dream home that Jackson was building. There weren’t enough hours in the day. He was exhausted, and at times had to remind himself that this was a madness he’d created.

“Hey, cuz.” Warren walked up to his cousin Dexter, who was standing in one of the vineyard rows, talking to the manager.

Dexter turned to him. “Perfect timing, Warren. I was just suggesting to Eduardo that since all of the table grapes have been gathered these grapes, the chenin blancs, should be harvested next.”

“Whatever you say, Dexter. I’m here to follow your lead and learn all that I can.”

“Eduardo here is highly knowledgeable. For years his father managed a large vineyard just down the road from ours. He’s a wine country son through and through. Instead of milk, they put grape juice in your bottle, huh, Eduardo?”

“No,” Eduardo replied, his dark eyes twinkling. “Wine.”

The Drakes laughed.

“I think you’ve got a stellar crop here,” Dexter continued, picking a grape and examining it closely: skin, pulp, seeds and all. “I know it’s been a long time coming—”

“Five years,” Warren interjected.

“But I think the wait will be well worth it.”

“I couldn’t have done any of this without your expertise, Dex.”

“I’m just glad that you followed my advice and planted grapes instead of marijuana.”

“Hey, don’t knock that hustle! The medical marijuana business is booming. Weed is the number-one California crop!”

“Yes, but can you imagine the money you’d have had to spend on security? There are guys who’d want that crop, and they’d have no interest in turning it over to doctors and dispensaries.”

“What really sealed it for me was all of the regulatory guidelines and bureaucratic red tape I would have had to deal with in getting the product into those authorized distribution channels. It would have been a nightmare. With my grapevines, I just have to pick up the phone, call you down from your throne in Southern California and have you oversee and execute the hard stuff.”

“Ha! I’m afraid that’s not how it works!”

“No?”

“I hope you’re paying attention to these lessons I’m teaching. Because next year it’s all on you.”

“Come on, now, Dex! I—” His phone rang. “Oh, hold on. It’s Jackson.” He tapped the cell phone screen. “Hey, Boss.” He paused, listening. “Oh, okay. Sure, I’ll be right over.” He ended the call. “The gate has come in,” he said to Dexter and Eduardo. “I need to go down to where the men will be installing it.”

“No worries, Warren. Eduardo and I will have a short meeting with the workers and that will pretty much wrap up my visit.”

“I appreciate it, man.” Warren gave Dexter a shoulder-bump hug. “If you’d like, you’re welcome over to Mom’s house for dinner. As always.”

“I’d love to but I’ve already booked a flight back to San Diego. Faye says little David has a bit of a fever. So I’m going to go on back and help her out.”

“The doctor tamed the playboy. Who would have ever imagined Dexter Drake would pass up a Friday night in San Francisco for a night with a wife and a kid’s spittle?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Dexter replied.

“That’s what you did!”

“You’re right. I thought a wife and children were for other people and that my role in life was to be the cool uncle who spoiled nieces and nephews before sending them back home.”

“All kidding aside, I hope your son will be okay.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Okay, Dex. I need to run. Give Faye my love.”

“Will do.”

The two men shared a final handshake before Warren turned and left.

After a short ride in the golf cart—another of Dexter’s suggestions—Warren arrived at the section of the fence in the area described as the “south forty.” There were four crewmen there, one wearing a gray shirt with the logo of the company that had sold Warren the gate. The gate and corresponding hardware had been unloaded and the workers were arranging the pieces on the ground.

Warren walked over to the man sporting the company logo and held out his hand. “Warren Drake.”

“Steve Humphries,” the man replied, his grip firm, his scruffy day-old beard showing wisps of gray that belied his boyishly good looks. “I thought we’d make the opening there,” he said, pointing to where one of the men had a measuring tape, marking off the fence in two places. “Would you prefer that the gate swings inward or out?”

“Which do you suggest?”

Steve looked at the fence and at the land beyond it. “How will the gate be used?”

“The neighbor has cattle that will be coming in to drink at the stream, just over that ridge.”

“In that case, I think swinging inward would be most beneficial. Are there a lot of cattle?”

Warren squinted, recalling past conversations with Charli. Then he looked at Steve. “That’s a good question.” He retrieved his cell phone. “Shoot, I don’t have her phone number. Do you need this information to get started?”

“No. But I do need to explain the automatic lock system and how it can be activated and deactivated, even from a remote location.”

After receiving a crash course on operating the gate, Warren drove the cart to where his car was parked but on second thought, continued past it to the stables. He jumped out and went over to where one of the workers was grooming Coal, his pride and joy.

“Hello, Mr. Warren.”

“Hello, Anthony.”

“Want me to saddle him up, sir?”

“No, I’ll handle it. You can finish feeding the other horses and then clean out their stalls.”

He walked over to the majestic black stallion, who immediately began bowing his head in greeting.

“Hello, Coal,” Warren said, his voice low and soothing as he stroked the lustrous mane of the proud beast. “It’s time to go and visit a pretty lady. Ready to go for a ride?”

Chapter 10

As he rounded the bend in the road leading up to the Reed ranch house, Warren sat straighter in the saddle, for the first time wishing he’d forgone his favorite Raider ball cap for the Stetson he’d purchased a few years ago but seldom wore. The blazing sun overhead was only partly the reason. There was something about his prickly neighbor that made him want to cowboy up, in more ways than one. Not that he was trying to impress her or anything.

No, never that.

He neared the wooden gate surrounding the property and looked at the garden beyond it. No sign of her. The area around the barn, stables and detached garage was equally quiet. He reached the fence, dismounted and looped the horse’s reins over a post. He removed his cap, wiped the sweat from his brow and knocked on the door.

A wiry man who looked to be anywhere from sixtysomething to as old as God came to the door. Although it was warm he wore heavy denims and a flannel shirt. There was a stained white apron tied around his middle, a kerchief at his throat and a toothpick clenched between his teeth. Warren imagined that the man could have ridden with the great Bill Pickett, perhaps even been related.

The man opened the door, sharp, white eyes peering out of his weathered face. “Afternoon.”

“Afternoon, sir. Is Charli here?”

The eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Warren,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Warren Drake. I own the ranch and vineyard just down the road.” He clasped a hand that felt like steady work and hard living. “And you are?”

“Griff.”

“Griff? Nice to meet you. Is Griff your first name or your last name?”

The toothpick moved from one side of Griff’s mouth to the other. “Yep.”

“Okay.” Clearly you are where Charli learned her good manners. Feeling that voicing this thought was not the best course of action, Warren decided upon another approach. “I have some news for her regarding her cattle, and the stream that’s on my land. She’s been waiting for an update. Is she here?”

Griff removed the toothpick from his mouth, raising his head a notch as he eyed Warren. “You Walter’s kin?”

“I am.” Warren smiled, unconsciously lifting his chin with pride. “He’s my grandfather. Do you know him?”

The toothpick returned to its place of prominence between the teeth. “We’ve met a time or two.”

“Was it during the time that he and Charles Reed were partners?”

Griff stepped out onto the porch, walked past Warren, and shot a perfect stream of tobacco juice into a hydrangea bush. “That’s a fine piece of horseflesh.”

“My pride and joy.” Warren joined Griff at the edge of the porch, standing by his side to admire the animal.

“Thoroughbred?”

“Arabian.”

“Can you ride him bareback?”

“I can ride any horse, saddle or not.”

Griff shot him a skeptical look before turning back toward the house. When he reached the door he placed his hand on the latch, then said without turning back around, “She’s out in the pasture, with the cowhands. Best to state your business and be gone.”

* * *

The sound of horse hooves pounding the earth drew Charli’s attention from the injured cow. She turned her head toward the sound, shielding her eyes to try to make out the rider. Over the years, she’d become so attuned to each horse and the worker who rode it that she usually knew who approached her without having to look. But not this time. The hoofbeats were too heavy and too rapid to belong to Griff and his horse, Danger. They were too authoritative to be that of cowhand Willie and his horse, Shaft. The only other workers here today were the two now with her, which meant one thing. There was a stranger on her land.

She stood, dusting off her jeans as the commanding rider came into view. A familiar feeling danced over her, but she ignored it. No way. The only horsepower he’s used to is under a hood. At once, she recognized both the quality of the horse and the skill of the rider. As they came closer, she noticed something else. The broad, hard shoulders that had occupied way too many of this week’s errant thoughts. The jutting chin and strong neck from which she’d smelled a cologne that matched its wearer—striking and bold.

It’s him.

She swallowed and willed herself to remain detached, demanded her body not to react and her stance not to waver. But not trusting her hands to behave themselves once he got within touching distance, she stooped back down to tend to the injured cow.

Warren reached the small group and climbed off the horse. He joined them. “Hello, Charli.”

“Drake,” she responded without looking up.

“What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside her.

That damnable cologne hit her nostrils at once, bringing back the memories of that night, their dance, into clearer focus. She could almost feel his hands—one clasping her own, the other hovering just above her round assets—could almost feel his breath against her neck.

She stood abruptly, walked over to her horse and pulled a cell phone from her saddlebag. Yes, she needed to make a call, but even more so, she needed to put some distance between herself and that man. “More than likely hit a plug in the dirt at the exact wrong angle,” she finally answered while scrolling through the names showing on the phone’s screen. “Looks like her leg’s broken.” She looked at one of the cowhands. He was a serious-looking young man with a slender build, his high cheekbones, hawk nose and long, silky black hair bound in a ponytail an obvious result of his Native American heritage. “Bobby, I was going to call Jim. Have him bring over the floating tank. Just on the small chance that it’s merely sprained.”

“No,” Bobby said, shaking his head. He knelt and placed a hand on the cow’s heaving side. The animal breathed slowly, steadily, as if resigned to its fate. “There is no hope for this animal.” He looked at Charli. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” Charli said, cutting him off with the soft yet firmly delivered word. “You know how we do it out here, Bobby. My cow, my kill.” Once again she walked over to her horse, this time taking a .22-gauge rifle from out of a saddle holder. She walked back over to the cow. “Bobby?”

The young man, who was still kneeling, leaned forward as if whispering in the cow’s ear. Then he stood and said something in a language that Warren did not understand. Judging from everyone’s silence, and the way the air felt around him, he would have guessed it was a prayer. Charli stepped up, the men moved back and she fired. One clean shot. Between the eyes. The cow was dead.

While the cowhands tended to the animal, Charli walked back over to her horse. Warren followed her. “What do you want, Drake?” she asked, placing the gun back in its holder.

He decided to ignore her attitude for the moment. After all, the woman had just shot a cow. “I came over to let you know that the gate arrived. The men are installing it now. It is electronic, opened by a code that gets entered into a box on a nearby post. In case of a power outage, it can also be opened manually. I wanted to give you both the code and a key.”

She looked down at the big silver key in the palm of his large hand, and back up at him. “You’d trust me with a key inside the Drake domain?”

“You can’t be trusted?”

“Of course I can! We Reeds keep our word.”

“Meaning...”

She shrugged, said, “Nothing,” and reached for the key.

Warren closed his fist. Patience was gone. “Not so fast. I’ve put up with your rude behavior and foul attitude long enough. I go to your house and get more veiled jabs and hidden innuendo from First-and-Last-Name-Griff.” He took a step forward, close enough that their breath mingled and their bodies almost touched. “If you have a problem with me or my family,” he continued, his tone low and angry, “tell me straight out. If you don’t, then you need to start treating me with at least as much respect as you just gave that cow.”

Chapter 11

Bobby’s footsteps had been so light that neither Warren nor Charli had heard him approaching. “Everything all right here, Charli?” The question was directed at his boss but his eyes were on Warren.

“Everything’s fine, Bobby. Thanks for your help. Listen, the cowhide’s yours if you want it.”

“Thank you, Charli. I’ll give it to my uncle. He’ll make something special.”

“I’m sure he will.” She turned to Warren—her gaze unwavering, her eyes sending a message that he couldn’t quite read. “Where are you putting the gate?”

“Close to the southwest corner, where the land is flat and the path is worn from the obvious trips back and forth to the stream over the years. Would you like to come and have a look?”

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