Project code name: Befriend the Brit!

She’d get to know him so well that she’d be poised to strike before he could derail her plans.

Or worse, hurt her family.

She used the house phone to ring Barrett’s suite.

“It’s Casey. I didn’t want you going to bed hungry, so I brought fish and chips.” She dangled the bait.

“A bit of fish sounds spot-on. I’ll be waiting at the door of the Laredo Suite to tip the porter. And, Casey, thank you for such a thoughtful gesture.”

“No thanks required, Barrett. As we say at Hearth and Home, it’s my pleasure to serve you.”

She picked up the sack of food and headed for the elevators.

“And as they say in Texas, You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, pardner!”

MAE NUNN

grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, she hung up her Texas spurs to become a Georgia Southern belle. Mae has been with a major air express company for over twenty-eight years, currently serving as a director of key accounts. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill family, Mae summed her response up with one word, “Yeeeeeha!”

Lone Star Courtship
Mae Nunn

Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.

—Proverbs 16:3

Lone Star Courtship is for you, Michael.

You are my best friend, the love of my life, the

head of our home and the other half of my heart.

Watching you grow as you walk daily with Jesus

Christ is a treasure to behold and a blessing to

witness. You make it all worthwhile, my darlin’.

In loving memory of

Frasier Thomas Nunn

Our precious little buddy.

We miss you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Reader

Questions For Discussion

Chapter One

Casey Hardy was bored, a dangerous state for a self-proclaimed workaholic. Growing up the last of six children, there had always been a sibling to challenge her. Being the youngest executive in the family business, there had always been a battle for recognition. Being a female in the male-oriented home improvement industry had always forced her to be one up on all the men in her professional life in order to win their respect. And now that the challenges, battles and one-upping had paid off in the form of the job she’d had in her sights for as long as she could remember, she was bored stiff.

Her brother had handed her a project positioned for success, and following his proven plan for the construction and opening of a home improvement supercenter was a no-brainer. It was also no fun. So, Casey had an additional goal in mind when she’d headed to Galveston, Texas. She’d take advantage of their U.K. potential investor’s upcoming review of the new store’s progress to prove her ability to manage an international partnership. Finally, the perfect vehicle to prove to her father once and for all that she had the stuff to be the CEO of Hearth and Home when he retired.

She stood in the bed of an old truck, her palm raised to block the midday rays of Monday’s sun. Even with her thick curls caught up in a clip and a soft red bandana twisted around her forehead, sweat still prickled in her scalp and drizzled down her neck. She pulled off worn leather work gloves, stuffed them into the hip pocket of her dirty jeans and focused her attention on the arrival of a newcomer.

“Who’s the suit talking with Cooper?” she asked her best friend who doubled as an assistant.

Savannah glanced up from her clipboard and looked in the direction of the foreman.

“Don’t know.” She squinted. “He seems familiar but I don’t think it’s from seeing him around here. Even as nearsighted as I am I can tell he’s hot stuff and I’d remember a looker like him.”

The looker was expensively dressed in a dark jacket and slacks, overdone for the Gulf Coast humidity. He’d be overdone, literally, if he didn’t loosen the tie and shed that blazer. Either that or fold his tall frame back into the enormous Cadillac parked beside Cooper’s Wrangler.

Casey leaned from the waist, placed a hand on the truck fender and hopped to the ground. Her steel-toed work boot slipped on the powdery shale, sending her sprawling to the seat of her pants.

“And the boss lady executes another graceful dismount.” Savannah snickered, extended a hand and hauled Casey upright. “When are you gonna get a pair of sneakers with some tread on the bottoms?”

“I’m not.” She brushed the dust from her jeans, grateful at least for the thick pair of gloves that had cushioned her landing. “I just need to get used to these heavy boots. Cooper says I should wear them for safety but I think it builds credibility with our crew.”

“Oh, yeah, those clunkers leave no doubt that you’re a construction babe. Add an orange vest and you could infiltrate a highway chain gang.”

“I’m going for safe and serious, not fashionable,” she defended her grubby but functional work attire.

“Thanks for the news flash.” Savannah’s gaze swept Casey from top to toe. “I do have to admit it’s an interesting contrast to your usual uniform.” She referred to Casey’s closet full of dark suits.

“Hey, I didn’t import you all the way from Iowa so you could insult me. That’s what my family is for.”

“Just keeping you grounded in the facts like your sweet daddy suggested.”

“I can arrange for you to be back in the corporate office conspiring with him in person, if you’d like.”

“No thanks.” Savannah ignored the threat. “I’m not going home till I catch myself a Texas cowboy.” She rubbed her hands together, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes.

“I hate to disappoint you but my guess is you’re more likely to rope a surfer than a bull rider in Galveston.”

“If he’s as hot as that guy over there with Cooper, he can ride a bike on a paper route and I won’t mind a bit.” She raised her eyebrows and pretended to hold a cigar, Groucho-style. “Especially if he wears one of those cute little Tour de France outfits.”

“Savannah Jean, you are incorrigible.”

“And you have way too much starch in your drawers, which is why we’ve always been good for each other.”

She’s right, Casey admitted to herself. If she hadn’t kept me from taking myself too seriously the past fifteen years, I’d probably be in a padded cell by now.

Some action between the men caught Casey’s eye. Cooper was pointing in her direction. He waved her over, smiling in that way he did when people first found out she was managing the project instead of her brother, Guy.

“Showtime,” she muttered, then headed toward her foreman. As she closed the thirty yards that separated them she began to pick up bits of conversation. The visitor had a prominent English accent.

Her pulse quickened and she slowed her pace, needing a moment to think. He had to be the U.K. investor.

Please, God, not today. Not the way I look right now, she pleaded.

It was way too early in the project. This could only mean trouble. As in the days when she and Savannah had been summoned to the principal’s office in high school, she felt the hot surge of nervous sweat. She shook off the moment of trepidation and stepped up to the men’s conversation.

“Mr. Cooper, see here. There must be some mistake.” The Brit pointed to the papers in his hand as if that would clarify everything. “I am specifically directed to seek out Guy Hardy, not his spokesperson. There was no correction to these instructions, no mention of an alternative contact.”

“Well, son, this pretty filly right here’s a bona fide alternative, not a spokesperson. And I guarantee you that’s no mistake. Mark my words, everything this lady does is intentional.” Cooper winked at Casey and discreetly spit a dark stream into his paper cup.

“Casey Hardy, Hearth and Home.” She ran her palm down the front thigh of her jeans before she extended it. “How can I help you?”

“Mrs. Hardy, please forgive me if I decline your handshake.” He held both palms aloft for inspection.

“I had a minor mishap over the weekend.” The pads of his fingers and creases of his knuckles bore some angry gashes and purple bruises.

“Yeow, that must have stung.” She winced at the sight.

“Believe me, it could have been much worse. Now, allow me to introduce myself—Barrett Westbrook of Westbrook Partners, Esquire. I apologize for the intrusion. However, I’m here to meet with your husband. This gentleman says Mr. Hardy is in…” The man’s brow furrowed.

“Guy’s up in the hill country, near Austin,” Cooper reminded the visitor.

“Yes, thank you. Tell me, madam, will your husband be down from the hills in the next day or two so we can conduct business?”

Casey risked a glance at Cooper, who was hiding his grin about as successfully as a naughty boy hid a croaking bullfrog. It was obvious he was enjoying this fellow’s confusion. It was also evident Cooper had done little to clear it up and possibly even added to it. While the seasoned construction manager had been a godsend, he had way too much fun messing with her at every turn. She was enjoying the smart old codger, but this situation needed damage control. She’d start by getting the visitor out of the heat before he had a stroke.

“Would you like to walk over to the lunch trailer with me? We can get a cold drink and sit in the shade while I explain.” She pointed toward the mobile unit affectionately known as the roach coach.

“Thank you for the kind offer, however I must begin conducting my investigation right away, Mrs. Hardy.” He studied the papers he held as if they were critical to his very survival.

“I’m a miss.”

“Excuse me, madam?” He glanced up. His brows lifted, the crease between them deepened. She’d never seen confusion look so good on a man.

“I’m a miss. A miss!”

The brows relaxed. Gray eyes the color of thick evening smoke glinted with amusement and grazed her from head to heel. “Well, I’m sure you’ll clean up quite nicely after a good scrubbing.”

“Yeah, she is a mess all right, but what she’s trying to tell you is she’s a single gal.”

“Oh, quite sorry,” Barrett apologized, his face a mask of poorly feigned innocence.

If this beguiling Brit was to be her potential partner, closing this deal would not only be a cinch, it would be a pleasure.

“Please do accept my apology.”

She fished into her pants pockets for change.

“As long as you let me buy you a Coke.” Without waiting for his response she turned toward the lunch trailer.

“Better make tracks, son. That one’s not likely to slow down and give you a chance to catch up.”

Cooper’s advice reached her ears and she picked up the pace to drive home his point.

Barrett watched the slender young woman who, despite their joke, truly was a mess as she strode across the dusty construction lot, confidence displayed in every step. Her destination appeared to be a motor coach with its awning propped open to reveal two men selling something rolled in tinfoil. As he reached her side, an aroma unlike anything he’d ever experienced tantalized his senses. His stomach made an inappropriate rumbling sound.

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No, I haven’t had anything since breakfast on the flight this morning.”

“So, you just arrived?” She deposited several bills on the counter, scooped up a sackful of the lovely smelling rolls and motioned for him to carry the cold drinks.

The chilled cans were comforting against the painful gashes on his palms and the pads of his fingers. Barrett realized he was lucky it was not his throat that was left slashed and bleeding after his insane balancing act on the edge of Traitor’s Gate. His out-of-character behavior only one night earlier was proof that family pressure and fickle women could send any man to the brink of disaster.

“Get away from that ledge, Westbrook, you fool!” Sigmond cried out. “You’ll slip and break your aristocratic neck!”

Captivated by the Atlantic crashing on ancient rocks three hundred meters below, Barrett ignored the needless warning of his old chum. To voluntarily leap from this site known for brutal executions, a man would have to be a fool. And on a rational day, he would never qualify. But just as the ruined remains of King Arthur’s Tintagel lay in heaps of rubble around him, the life Barrett had carefully crafted was also reduced to a wasteland.

Nine generations of Westbrook men had succeeded in every facet of the legal profession and, according to his mum, Barrett’s inability to find his fit was becoming “something of an embarrassment” to the family.

“And what would it matter if I broke my neck? I am on the brink of forty with absolutely nothing to show for myself,” Barrett called above the stinging wind, repeating the words his brother had passed on courtesy of their father.

“Nothing, indeed!” Sig made no effort to hide his sarcasm. “Let’s examine the facts together, shall we, my friend? First, the Westbrooks’ share of wealth and respect is second only to the royal family in this country. Next, you bear the dreadful misfortune of being a ringer for that rascal Hugh Grant. How you manage to bear up under the female notice is a source of amazement.” He laughed, amusing only himself.

“Then there is the lovely Caroline at your side on the rare occasion when you venture forth from your Chelsea apartment for a social affair.”

Barrett clenched his eyes against the stinging wind and the biting remark.

Unbeknownst to Sig, the woman had ended their relationship two days prior. Dumped Barrett via text message for a Frenchman a half-dozen years her junior. And simply because the young scoundrel had declared himself to be in love with her. A step Barrett was not even the least bit inclined to take.

“Westbrook! Are you listening to me? Step away from that cliff or I shall drag you back by the collar and put you on the plane to America myself. In fact, some time out of your comfy chair is just what you need.”

Barrett spun about-face and took several unsteady strides toward Sig to see if he was joking. The squint of the man’s eyes was kind, calm, but quite serious.

“A change of scenery might do you good.”

“A change of scenery is a drive up to the Lake District, not hard time in the Colonies,” Barrett complained.

Sig tipped his head back, his loud laughter angled at the dark clouds. “Oh, do get over your prejudice of the Yanks. It’s actually called the United States now—there are fifty of them at last count and most have paved roads and indoor plumbing. You may even enjoy yourself.”

“I might agree if this assignment were in New York or California. But at the lowest point in my life my family is packing me off to Texas, of all uncivilized places!”

Again Sigmund’s laughter rang out. He was enjoying this far too much. “Mate, Texas is hardly the Wild West anymore. The Indians are no longer hostile and the best-known cowboys are a football team in Dallas. And you’re going to investigate an investment opportunity, not negotiate a peace settlement.”

His old friend was correct, as always. Barrett had failed to identify his calling within the multifaceted practice, and now he was down to his last chance with their financial division. His test would be to review an international opportunity for one of the firm’s most valued clients. His report would determine the future of the partnership. To protect his own future he had no option but to make a trek to the States.

Scratch States. Make that Texas.

“Come along before the rain starts chucking it down. We’ll get curry takeaway and have a talk while you pack.”

Barrett’s shoulders sagged as he accepted the finality of the situation.

“Give me a minute, Sig?”

“Of course.”

Barrett lifted his face to the dark, heavy clouds that hung low, blocking Tintagel from the midday sun and the splendor of the heavens. He stood in the increasing drizzle, waiting on a sign. He began to pray aloud, without a care for Sigmund, who’d discreetly turned aside.

“Lord, You’ve blessed me with every advantage, yet I’m a failure at all I’ve attempted. I’m prepared to do anything necessary to make my parents proud while I find Your will for me, but must I leave the land I love to discover those things?”

The declaration was sucked from his mouth and flung into the ocean before him. A gale-force wind roared across the black currents, scooped up icy sea-water by the bucketful and swept up the steep cliff. A torrent of stinging ocean spray splashed Barrett hard, soaking him to the marrow and dissolving the last of his doubt.

The drizzle turned to a drenching rain. A fresh blast of wind hit him full in the chest, knocking him off balance. He struggled to keep to his feet, the leather soles of his shoes slipping on the wet ground. He pitched backward, his arms thrown out in a useless effort as he tumbled hard to the seat of his trousers.

An uncontrollable slide toward the sheer cliffs caused Barrett to cast about with his hands, grasping for jutting chunks of stone that slashed his palms as he inched toward Traitor’s Gate. He dug his heels into the earth, pushing with all his might. A gush of water coursed beneath him in its rush to blend with the sea. It picked up speed, swept down the slope, whooshed over Barrett and pulled at his sodden clothes, sucking him toward the ledge. Having spent countless days sailing the always-freezing water, there was no terror in Barrett at the thought of falling, of drowning. There was no fear of death, only wry irony that life could end on the cliffs of this magical place, never having found his own Camelot.

Barrett shuddered at yesterday’s memory. The Heavenly Father had never taken His eyes away and neither had his friend, Sig. If ever a man had wanted a sign, that was most surely it.

The humid air of Galveston, Texas, was a warm and welcome change.

“Let’s sit over here in the shade while you answer my question.” Casey lifted first one heavy boot and then the other across a wooden bench, sat and motioned for him to do the same.

Having lost the thread of the conversation, he simply followed her example. “I’m sorry, what question was that?”

“I asked if you just arrived this morning.” She busied herself with the contents of the sack, laying out napkins and plastic ware.

“Oh, yes. My flight from Gatwick landed in Houston just after daybreak. I rented a car and drove straight down, Miss Hardy.” They exchanged smiles. He fancied hers. It was a lovely distraction from the memory he planned to bury forever once the telltale signs were gone from his hands. “It was my intention to introduce myself to your…” He paused, expecting her to fill in the blank.

“Brother. Guy is my big brother. He recently married and settled in Austin, and I’ve taken over his position as the executive of corporate expansion.”

“That presents quite a different situation than I’d been led to expect.” He couldn’t help wondering if his father had known about this all along. “It was my intention to make your brother’s acquaintance and agree together on a brief timeline to review all necessary materials.”

She stopped her work of laying out their meal and narrowed unforgettable eyes that reminded him of the bluebells in his mother’s garden.

“Who did you say you were with again, Barrett?”

“Forgive me for not presenting my identification when we made introductions.” He drew a slim leather case from his breast pocket and positioned a business card on the table before her.

“Westbrook Partners, Esquire. My family has provided legal representation for nine generations.”

“And your family is diversifying by investing in the U.S. home improvement market?”

“Good heaven’s, no,” he insisted, possibly louder than necessary.

The rag the woman had twisted around her head must be too tight. He would never suggest such a thing to his family and wasn’t at all sure he’d recommend the client do so, either. This mission was critical and he had no intention of failing. Again.

“Well, you don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing.” The tilt of her brows indicated he’d offended her.

“Please, allow me to explain. I represent the U.K. group interested in Hearth and Home. I’m here to review and report on the legal implications of moving forward.”

“So, you’re a financial adviser?”

“More accurately, I provide legal guidance on financial matters.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

She used the word as if it were synonymous with ax murderer.

“I’m a barrister, that’s correct.”

She dipped her chin, looked at the items she’d put on the table and muttered something under her breath that clearly included the phrase, “An ambulance chaser with an accent.” She began to unroll one of the tinfoil objects.

He mirrored her actions with the mystery food, having no idea what to expect inside. Hopefully a hearty serving of pork pie or Cornish pasty.

“I see you have high regard for my profession,” he observed, not at all offended. It seemed to be a common opinion the world over.

She raised her face, met his gaze.

“My family lost a small fortune and spent months in court thanks to money-hungry lawyers. Even so, that doesn’t give me the right to be rude.” A charming pout puckered her lips. “The simple truth is I’m disappointed. I was expecting your client in person.”

“I’m sorry to let you down. I’ll do my best to make amends.” He offered up a smile, removed his suit coat and loosened the Windsor knot in his tie.

Her grin was sheepish. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. I’ve reacted like a petulant child and that is not the first impression I usually give.”

“Nonsense, you cast a lovely image, and perfectly suitable for the surroundings.” He angled his head, indicating the catering coach. Her eyes widened with exaggerated offense.

He raised a sore palm to shield him from the expression. “You must admit, we’ve both had a bit of a shock in the past half hour. What do you say we start over?” He lifted his soft drink and offered a salute. “To new beginnings?”

The blue eyes narrowed while she considered the proposal, as though it were possible she’d refuse his toast. Then a sly smile curved what might be the most perfect mouth he’d ever seen. She raised her soda.

“To new beginnings,” she agreed.

The two cans made contact with a clunk.

As they flipped the tabs of their drinks and took first sips he considered his interesting change of circumstances. The hard-driving American businessman he’d expected to find had turned out to be an attractive young woman. If her footwear was any indicator she was more concerned with work conditions than appearance. Quite a nice change from most females in his life and nothing at all like Caroline. Maybe his luck was turning about. Maybe this woman would be so involved with the nuts and bolts of construction that she’d leave him to his work.

He felt a burden lift from his heart. Yes, things were looking up. In no time at all, his task would be complete. This trial by Texas would be a thing of the past and he’d be heading home.

He remembered the quote for the day on the calendar in his office. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

He didn’t yet know which she was, but either way during his stay in Galveston he’d stick close to Miss Casey Hardy.

Chapter Two

Casey watched with fascination as Barrett studied his tamale. His grim confusion was priceless, reminding her of the first time she’d encountered a plateful of boiled crawfish.

“What is this part?” He poked at his food with the tines of a plastic fork.

“A corn husk.”

“So, swine food is to be my first meal in Texas.”

“You don’t eat that stuff. It’s used to roll the tamale and then hold it together while it’s cooking.” She took pity on the guy, something she never thought she’d do with a lawyer. “Here, like this.”

With practiced fingers she peeled away the moist husk to reveal the steamy contents.

“So that’s how it’s done.” He smiled as he followed her example, but resumed his look of concern when he raised a forkful to his face and studied it.

“The meat on the inside is roasted pork and the stuff on the outside is made from Mexican cornmeal.” She lifted the food with her fingers and put away the tasty Mexican staple in two unladylike bites. Her mother would raise her eyes heavenward and wonder where she’d failed, but with her kids there always seemed to be a connection between clothing and table manners. When they were casually dressed, proper behavior seemed to fly out the window.

To atone, Casey dabbed her lips daintily, wiped her fingers with a paper napkin and then motioned for her company to eat up. Barrett disposed of the initial suspicious bite then forked the rest and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes while he chewed as if giving all his concentration to the flavor.

“Jolly good,” was his simple declaration as he motioned toward the sack. “May I have another? I’m famished.”

“That’s why I bought a dozen.”

He reached into the brown paper bag. “I’d like to hear the details of your expansion plan. Would you mind telling me something about that while I eat?”

She glanced at the time. Cooper had arranged for their primary contractors to join her in the construction trailer at three o’clock sharp and she still had plenty to do before their meeting. Savannah was nothing if not efficient, so Casey was certain every thing would be pulled together and ready when she took her place at the head of the conference table.

Still, there were things she had to handle herself.

“I’ve caught you at a bad time, haven’t I?”

The worried crinkle around his eyes gave away his anxiety over her response. She waved away his concern while she fished a cell phone from the pocket of her grubby shirt.

“No, but I do need to juggle some stuff. You enjoy your lunch, I’ll step away for a few minutes to make some calls and we’ll wing it from there.”

In response he expertly shucked his second tamale, ate it in two bites and then mimicked the way she’d dabbed at her lips with a napkin.

No doubt his way of saying he wasn’t missing a thing.

Just like a lawyer.

She glanced over her shoulder at the visitor and tried to ignore the tingling in her fingers as she rounded the flatbed trailer piled six feet high with tons of Sheetrock. Guy answered her call on the second ring.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

She ducked into the truck’s shadow for cover and privacy.

“What’s up is there’s a lawyer here to see you and it seems he came all the way from London,” she snapped at her brother.

“Oh, he must be the rep from Westbrook Partners.”

“You knew this guy was coming? Why didn’t you warn me?” With the first question her temples began to throb. With the second her voice crescendoed to a squeak.

“Easy, girl! You’ll shatter a windshield.” His chuckle buzzed in her ear.

“Don’t you dare make jokes. Just answer my questions.” She squeezed her cell phone, wishing she could do the same to his neck. It was so like him to test her with a surprise.

“Of course I knew he would be coming eventually but not for another month at least, so I hadn’t thought to warn you about him. What does he want?” His calm and lack of excitement was the right medicine to slow her heart from the racing that had begun.

“He says he’s supposed to go over our expansion plan.”

“Well, cooperate with him. Let the man have what he needs and then he’ll leave.”

“Guy, he’s a lawyer. We can’t trust him with that kind of information.”

“Casey, you can’t let our experience in court make you bitter for the rest of your life.”

“But that Nashville lowlife faked his injuries in our store and those lawyers not only went along with the deception, they fought tooth and nail to get that huge settlement.”

“Hon, lawyers are supposed to trust their clients and they don’t get paid if they don’t win.”

How her brother could be so forgiving was a mystery. He’d suffered the most during the dragged out proceedings of the personal injury claim. But he’d given his anger to God and forgiven the people who’d made false claims. Today, he was happily married and about to adopt his wife’s precious little son.

“So you’ve told me a hundred times,” she continued, “but I’m not ready to offer wholesale absolution. In my book the entire legal community is guilty of being money hungry until proven otherwise.”

“Well, reserve judgment and give this fellow the benefit of the doubt, Warden. Westbrook Partners is the most respected law firm in England. Their influence on the investor could make or break our deal.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you. I won’t let the family down.”

“Hey, Casey?”

“Yes, Guy?”

“The last thing any of us worries about is you letting the family down. Dad hired you to replace me because you’ve trained for the opportunity and everybody knows you’ve earned it, because you keep reminding us. Call me tomorrow.”

“I will. Thanks, bro.”

“Now go leave your mark on Hearth and Home.”

She closed her cell phone and smiled. Guy’s reminder of her number-one personal goal was just the thought to get her through the afternoon.

“Yeah, I hear you and I’ll do my best to follow your advice, but I’m keeping a close eye on this limey legal eagle, just in case.”

Barrett’s clothes were sticking to his skin. Even though he’d shed his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, he’d still perspired through his undershirt. His trousers were streaked with whitish dust and his button-down looked and smelled as though he’d worn it to shear sheep.

He was hot, he was uncomfortable and he was beginning to feel the effects of two sleepless nights and jet lag. Add the unaccustomed seasoning of his gluttonous lunch and he was closing in on a sensory meltdown. Still, as much as he wanted to check into the famed Galvez Hotel, take a cool shower and fall across a king-size mattress, he wanted to make progress on this assignment more. Once he had details and a starting point, he could begin organizing his thoughts. He would treat the exercise like the writing of a graduate school research paper. The kind of work he loved. And the reward would be returning to London with a mission successfully accomplished.

Finally.

But right now he had to take his sticky, rumpled self to, of all unappealing places, a construction trailer to observe a woman in dirty work boots giving orders to her hired help. Two hours earlier she’d excused herself and left him in the company of her man Cooper for a tour of the site. While it had been an enlightening use of his time, Barrett’s gut told him the gangly old guy was a decoy. In fact, he had the distinct feeling the aging foreman was stalling for his employer. As he aimed disgusting spittle into a paper cup, Cooper was forthcoming enough on matters related to construction but questions beyond that were deflected with shrugs and feigned ignorance. The old boy was about as ignorant as a Scotland Yard detective. Years of Oxford-trained cross-examination skills were essentially wasted on this Cooper fellow.

At the end of the tour Barrett was given directions to the meeting place. He parked his luxury sedan alongside several ostentatious pickup trucks and entered a building that was nicely, if temporarily, constructed.

A blast of cool, dry air greeted him as he stepped inside. Barrett noted the professional decor of the interior, dimly and comfortably lit in contrast to the glaring afternoon sun. For a moment he battled the desire to locate and stand beneath the air-conditioning vent directing the chilly breeze down the neck of his unbuttoned dress shirt.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Westbrook.”

A smiling creature crossed the room.

“I’m Casey’s personal assistant, Savannah, and I’ve been warned about your injuries so I won’t offer to shake hands. May I at least get you some tea?”

“That would be lovely. Yes, please. And do call me Barrett.”

“I’ll just be a moment, Barrett. There’s a powder room through there if you’d like to freshen up.”

The curvy brunette in jeans and sneakers gave him a cheeky smile, made a tick mark on the clipboard she carried and turned to leave.

He seized the opportunity to duck into the small room where he washed his battered hands and splashed cool water on his face. As he stood before a large decorative mirror, he reviewed the day’s damage. Dark smudges beneath his eyes, hair askew, clothes limp and wrinkled. He looked as disheveled as he felt. A strong cup of Earl Grey with lemon would help him endure the afternoon. He considered going out to the car for his jacket and tie, but hadn’t the energy.

“When in Rome,” he reminded himself of his best friend Sig’s advice to blend in rather than stand out. So far everybody he’d encountered was in laborer’s attire so there was no need to drag back on the wool jacket that had been so appropriate twenty-four hours ago in fog-dampened London.

Back in the reception area he stepped close to a wall of framed photos that seemed to chronicle the growth of the company. Interspersed with aerial shots of the huge stores were smiling faces of employees at various gatherings. Casey’s eyes flashed at him from several of the pictures as she stood arm in arm with people who resembled her too much to be anything but family members. They appeared to be a large and cheerful lot.

“Barrett, if you’d like to join them, the other men are waiting for Casey in the conference room.” The assistant motioned toward the double doors at the end of the reception area.

“Super,” he agreed.

She went before him and pulled one of the doors wide. It was immediately clear his lack of more professional attire was a blunder. Three men were grouped together at the far side of the room, impeccably dressed in summer-weight suits and gleaming leather cowboy boots. Three wide-brimmed straw hats hung behind them on a rack made of some deceased animal’s antlers.

“Gentlemen, this is Barrett Westbrook of Westbrook Partners, Esquire.” Savannah made the introductions. “Barrett, may I present Doc Mosley, George Duncan and Manny Fernandez. Keep an eye on your wallet around these three. They’re known as the Cowboy Cartel and they’ll make a partner out of you quicker than you can sing ‘The Eyes of Texas.’”

“Well done, little lady.” The man identified as George winked at Savannah, a woman less than half his age. “Nice to meet ya, Westbrook. Put ’er there.” He thrust out a tanned and weathered hand.

Barrett extended his palm upward but before he could explain his injuries George had him locked in a grip that nearly induced tears. Doc stepped forward next and clasped with equal fervor. By the time Manny ended his bone-crushing assault, Barrett’s hand was numb. He gently flexed his fingers and slipped his right hand into his trouser pocket, determined not to check for bleeding.

“Would you like lemon in your tea, Barrett?” Savannah stood at a sideboard with her back to the men.

“Yes, please. And milk if you have it.”

Her dark head turned as she lifted a glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “It’s cold tea and it’s already sweet. I hope that’s okay since it’s the only way to drink it here in Texas.”

“Yes, of course. Even better after such a warm day.”

“Yeah, doggie.” Doc slapped a beefy hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “You can’t ask for nicer weather than this. Bet the water’s eighty in the bay today.”

Barrett’s concern for his hand abated. “Eighty degrees Fahrenheit?” That was a Roman bath compared to the ocean temperature back home. He had to find a marina where he could rent a sailboat. Suddenly a short stay in Texas held some appeal.

“Marine report said eighty-one.” Manny nodded.

“Perfect for specks. You fish, Westbrook?”

“Not since I was a youngster on holiday with the family. My grandpa fancied a bit of wading with a surf rod. I myself am partial to a sail over an outboard motor.”

“How ’bout joining us anyway?” Manny extended the invitation. “We’re making a run out to Trinity Bay. I’ll put you on a mess of trout. What do ya say?”

Barrett glanced toward Casey’s assistant who waved away his question before he voiced it.

“Casey’s booked solid in the morning. She can’t possibly see you before lunch anyway. Go enjoy yourself.”

Barrett would much rather skim over the waves than dangle a hook beneath them but it would be inhospitable to reject the kind invitation. Besides, he might discover something of value from these chaps.

“If you’re sure it’s not an imposition, I accept.” Barrett nodded. “It’s very generous of you to offer.”

Doc began to make a sound that Barrett could only surmise was laughter. The man displayed all of his teeth and tossed his head, not unlike a braying donkey. The odd sound was infectious and Barrett felt a smile pulling at his mouth though he had no earthly idea why.

“What does your friend find so amusing?” he had to ask.

George spoke up. “The idea of Moneybags Manny being generous is something to laugh about all right.”

“Hey, wait a minute now.” Manny pretended to be offended.

“Save it for the company, dubs.” George waved away Manny’s objection. “There’s not a charitable bone in your body, and you know it. You still have ninety cents of the first dollar you ever made and I’ve watched you pinch a penny hard enough to make Lincoln yelp.”

“Westbrook, this old cuss is just inviting you along so he’ll have a chance to outfish somebody for a change.” Doc elbowed Manny in the ribs.

“Well, there may be some truth to that.” Manny’s eyes glinted. “At the very least you’re in for a nice boat ride in the morning.”

Barrett nodded, sensing that more was in store for him than a boat ride.

“I see you gentlemen have been introduced.”

All heads turned toward the soft voice. The lovely creature gliding toward them in a chic navy suit, crisp ivory blouse and snakeskin pumps was a stranger.

Or was she?

“That’s a fact, Miss Casey,” George answered for the group. “And you left us alone just long enough for Manny to scare up a fishin’ trip.”

“Imagine my surprise.” When the dark-haired beauty smiled, turning azure-blue eyes on Barrett, he was no longer uncertain of the newcomer’s identity. Casey Hardy definitely responded well to a good scrubbing. She was stunning.

“Barrett, we’re pleased you could join us today. Shall we get right to work?”

She took her seat at the head of the small conference table. The men flanked her on both sides and Savannah sat at her right, tapping on a laptop keyboard.

While Casey and her contractors conducted business, Barrett listened and sipped tea sweet enough to make his teeth ache. To Casey’s credit, the meeting was to the point and efficient. She was clearly in charge, insisting on corrective action when a quality concern was brought to her attention. The men showed the young woman sincere respect and when the meeting adjourned each packed his attaché case with a list of directives from Casey Hardy.

“Where you stayin’, Westbrook?” Manny was organizing the next morning’s trip and it now seemed Doc and George would accompany them. “We’ll pick you up. Four a.m. okay?”

Barrett did the math. His body clock was set seven hours ahead and he had no intention of being around long enough for that to change.

“I shall be ready and waiting at the front door of the Galvez.”

“Nice old place.” Doc nodded his approval. “But if you’re going to be here more than a few days we need to break you out of there and set you up in one of our condo units on Tiki Island.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Barrett was adamant.

“Suit yourself.” The men left their contact cards, donned the matching cowboy hats and stepped out into the humidity.

Casey stood and gathered her notes.

“I realize it’s been a long day for you, Barrett, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear your objectives for this visit.”

Before he could answer, a phone began to ring in the next room.

“I’ll get that, Savannah.” Casey tucked pages into a leather binder. “Will you join me in my office, please?” The phone rang again and she dashed from the conference room, evidently certain he would comply.

“Better hurry, she won’t wait on you to catch up.”

“That’s the second time I’ve been told that today.”

Savannah grinned. “Welcome to the orbit of Casey Hardy. She spins fast and you’re either pulled in by her gravity or slung out into space. Either way, it’s a wild ride.”

Barrett stepped into the office with Casey’s name-plate on the door. She was already on her cell phone, a small pair of tortoiseshell glasses low on her nose as she referred to a spreadsheet before her. She gave him an apologetic smile and held up her index finger, indicating she’d only be a minute.

Unlike the well-appointed and spacious conference room, this work area was small. The desk and credenza were piled high with files. A desktop as well as a laptop were booted up within arm’s reach, appointment reminders flashing on both monitors.

“Organized clutter,” he noted, and couldn’t help wondering if that was the way her mind operated.

A whiteboard covered with brightly colored Post-it notes hung at eye level to the left of the desk. He was delighted to find the handwritten words were quotes. Being a fan of a well-turned phrase, he’d always had an appreciation for words of wisdom that stood the test of time. Right in the middle of the board was a phrase that caught his attention and almost took his breath.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Chapter Three

Casey replaced the handset without a sound and returned her attention to the strikingly handsome man in her office. Rumpled and wrinkled and with a lock of hair drooping over his forehead, he was dangerously appealing. His shirt gaped open at the throat, revealing a flash of tanned chest that matched the sun on his face. An outdoorsman.

Probably a golfer. She’d always wondered at the intelligence of those who wasted their time and money chasing a dimpled ball with a metal club and called it sport. Yep, she’d bet he was a golfer.

He stared at her Post-its.

“My moments of Zen,” she explained.

“Zen?”

“You know, contemplation and meditation.”

He grinned at something he read, his profile alight with humor, deep with character. Her insides squirmed in the most delightful way.

“Is that why you collect them?”

“Not really, but it’s one of the nice benefits of the effort.”

He read out loud. “‘A mountain lion roared with pride after he’d eaten a longhorn steer. He made so much noise that a hunter shot him. Moral—when you’re full of bull, keep your mouth shut.’” He turned puzzled eyes to her. “I don’t quite get that one.”

“Hang around Texas for a while and you will.”

“In that case you’d better explain it to me now, as I have no intention of being here long enough to decipher colloquialisms.”

He won’t be around long. Hot dog!

Her heart thumped with relief. Then, just as quickly, it wilted with regret.

He won’t be around long. What a shame.

“So, your visit will be a short one?”

“That depends upon you, actually.”

He dropped into one of the visitor’s chairs, propped his leather case on his knees, ran his thumb across the combination lock several times and popped the lid open.

“I have a list of queries.” He lifted a handful of documents. “Until all are addressed satisfactorily, I will be underfoot, but not a moment longer.”

She leaned toward him, held out her hand and offered just the smallest smile.

“May I?” She used her most persuasive voice.

Seemingly unaffected, he shoved the pages beneath the lid, closed it and spun the lock.

“I’m afraid I cannot release those documents without written authority from my client.”

“And Savannah says I have starch in my shorts,” she muttered.

“Hmm…” He narrowed gray eyes and pretended to think. “If I’m interpreting correctly, you are saying my stiff demeanor may be induced by my undergarments. An interesting if uncomfortable visualization.”

She struggled to hold back a grin. He caught on quick.

“I meant no offense,” she apologized. Sort of.

“None taken. But I must observe company policy.”

She imitated his accent.

“Come now, Barrett. Surely it won’t break rule number one to share the subject of your queries?” Her pitiful effort probably resembled a chimney sweep more than the Queen Mum.

His eyes flashed and a wry smile curved very inviting lips. She couldn’t wait to share the news of this unexpected hottie with the four older sisters who constantly worried about Casey’s complete lack of a personal life.

“Jolly good cockney you’ve got there.”

“Thanks, that’s just what I was going for,” she lied.

One dark eye blinked so quickly it was impossible to tell if it was intentional.

Was he flirting? Her heart thumped.

Casey Hardy, get a grip. You are thirty, not exactly desperate. Yet. And this guy is a lawyer, for crying out loud. A wolf in sheep’s clothing however sharply dressed.

She gave herself a mental shake, uncrossed smooth bare legs beneath the desk and sat taller in her chair.

“All joking aside, tell me how I can cooperate. And I’ll make it my personal mission to get you on the next flight back to Merry Old England.”

Barrett flinched as if a stab of pain accompanied her comment. This woman was obviously anxious to be rid of him. Was this becoming a pattern in his life?

Casey leaned closer, her dazzling blue eyes filled with concern.

“Are you okay?” She’d noticed his discomfort.

“Yes, of course.” He looked down at his wounded palms, seized them as an excuse. “It’s just these scrapes. They’re fairly fresh and a bit painful still.”

“Here, let me get my first-aid kit.” She tugged a knob on her desk and began riffling through what was inside the deep drawer.

“That’s not necessary, really,” he tried to assure her.

“Oh, don’t be a martyr. A couple of those cuts look pretty deep. The least you can do is put some ointment and a Band-Aid on them. I’m sure I’ve got some in here somewhere.”

As she continued to poke through the jumbled contents, Barrett stole a close look at Miss Casey Hardy. She was a vision in cream and navy. Her springy dark curls fell across clear skin colored by the sun and a sprinkling of freckles. She wore only enough makeup to darken her lashes and add an inviting hue to the lips she puckered in concentration.

“Ah-hah!” She held a small tube and several wrapped plasters aloft. “Now, let’s see those hands.”

Before he could object she rounded the desk and stooped to get a good look at his injuries.

“My siblings don’t call me the Warden for nothing. Now, do as you’re told and you might get time off for good behavior.”

He let go a sigh of resignation and offered first one palm then the other. Her fingers were cool and gentle as she dabbed salve on the jagged lacerations, covering several with small strips decorated by brightly colored fishes.

As she applied the third plaster her incredible gaze met his. A spark of mischief lit her eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind Nemo and Dory. I keep these cute Band-Aids handy for my eleven nieces and nephews. There always seems to be a little one bouncing off the sidewalk.”

“Sounds like you have a large family.” Her touch was kind. It was easy to imagine her ministering to children.

“I’m the youngest of six. Since my brother and four sisters all have kids, I try to keep candy and first-aid supplies at hand.” She smoothed on the last dab, replaced the cap, tossed the tube on her desk and reached for a tissue.

“All done,” she announced as she cleaned her hands. “How about a lollipop while you tell me what you need and when you plan to be on your way.”

He resisted the urge to cringe again. Having a beautiful woman barely masking her desire to be rid of him really was a shot to the ego, especially given his recent romantic dismissal.

“If we could begin with the financials tomorrow and work through your business plan over the next day or so, I can easily make my flight on Friday.”

“Outstanding.”

She slapped her hands together and rubbed them as if his departure was a source of great anticipation. Then she stood and moved toward the door, signaling his company was no longer desired. If he didn’t make an exit soon, his self-confidence would be as battered as his palms. A cool shower, a cup of steaming chamomile and a few mindless minutes of public telly would wash away the day’s events so he could sleep.

“Yes, indeed.” He pushed to his feet and lifted his attaché, pausing for her to proceed first.

As she placed one very high heel before the other, it was impossible not to admire the woman. Though she was a vision of corporate life in dark navy, the expertly tailored suit was all female. The fashionably flared hem of her narrow skirt whisked the backs of her bare knees, drawing his eyes to firm calves and slender ankles.

“Oh!” Her head turned with a sharp snap, too quick for him to pretend he hadn’t been admiring her legs. Her lips curved at the corners. “Would you like company for dinner?”

Barrett warmed at the touch of her smile but knew it was nothing personal. Women naturally enjoyed male attention, didn’t they? Caroline certainly had. In fact she’d regularly reminded him it was her mission to catch the eye of every man in the room during social evenings. She relished the events while he attended the dreadful dinners only out of obligation and her insistence.

Another aggravation he wouldn’t miss. Sigmund had pointed out the breakup was probably a blessing in disguise. Maybe he’d been on to something.

“Barrett?”

He dismissed the train of thought and focused on the vision before him.

“Dinner, yes, of course.”

“What time would you like to eat?”

“I mean, no!” he blurted.

Her eyes widened.

“My apologies. What I meant to say was yes, thank you, but no, thank you. My unusual lunch will be with me for hours yet, so you don’t need to go to any trouble or change your plans for me.”

Her eyes glinted then narrowed as if amused. She lowered her chin to look at him over the rim of her glasses. She graced him with a fetching flash of blue through thick sable lashes.

“Actually, Cooper offered to carry you out for a steak. I can’t afford to take the evening off myself.”

“Well, there you have it then.” He backed toward the exit, feeling a fool for his assumption. “Makes sense you wouldn’t want to be caught dining with the likes of a barrister.”

“On the contrary, I eat with tax collectors and lepers regularly.” Her lips parted, flashing a white smile.

He grasped an imaginary dagger, pulled it from his chest with a soft “Ugh!” and offered it to her. “You should keep this for yourself. You’ll need it to carve your budget figures after we review the finances tomorrow. Cheers, Miss Hardy.” He turned toward the door, feeling fortunate to be leaving with the last word said.

“Oh, Mr. Westbrook?”

“Yes?”

“When you’re full of bull it’s best to keep your mouth shut.”

“Ahhhhhhhh…” He tapped his index finger to his temple and nodded. “Now I get it.”

Casey stood in the lobby of the Galvez Hotel and marveled over the turn-of-the-century opulence while she waited for Captain Jack’s delivery vehicle. She checked her wristwatch: 9:00 p.m. She should have called first, but it was on the way home and Captain Jack’s made the best fish and chips south of Keokuk, Iowa. Bringing Barrett something to eat was simply spur-of-the-moment Southern hospitality. At least, she hoped he’d believe that story.

From the moment she’d peeked through her window shade to watch his huge Cadillac cross the dusty construction site, the seed of a plan had begun to germinate. Her background in corporate quality told her it was too quickly conceived. But Father Time was like the girl in high school who’d tried to convince Casey a perm would actually straighten her hair.

The enemy!

She didn’t have the luxury of plotting carefully and applying Six Sigma analysis to find the defects in her plans. Instead she’d keep copious notes and review her progress each day as she moved aggressively toward her goal.

Project code name: Befriend the Brit!

Okay, so it was about as firm as a soup sandwich, but she’d made worse conceived notions work before. This would be a snap.

She’d drive him nuts with questions and develop a fascination for all things English that made her mistrust of the legal profession no longer seem relevant. She’d get to know him so well that she’d be poised to strike before he could derail her plans.

Or worse, hurt her family.

And then there was the side benefit of spending a few days with a man who was very easy on the eye. That would help turn this bitter pill into a jelly bean.

“Ma’am, is that the delivery you were expecting?” The bellman gestured toward the hotel’s circular drive. A mustard-yellow van bearing the likeness of a pirate waited with emergency lights flashing.

She paid the driver, carried the warm bag to the front counter and used the house phone to ring Barrett’s suite.

“Yes, h’lo?” His voice was raspy.

“Were you asleep, Barrett?”

“It’s…” There was a brief pause. “Four a.m. Of course I was asleep. Who is this?”

“It’s Casey. I’m so sorry to wake you. I didn’t consider the time difference.”

In truth, she knew his body was on London time, seven hours ahead. Step one of her plan was to catch him unprepared, get a glimpse of his true nature.

“I’ve come bearing gifts.”

“Gifts? At this unearthly hour?”

She smiled at the crescendo of disbelief in his voice.

“This unearthly hour is only 9:00 p.m. I didn’t want you going to bed hungry so I brought fish and chips.” She dangled the bait.

“Ale-battered?” The Brit nibbled.

“Probably.” She had no idea.

“With malt vinegar?”

“Of course!” Picky, picky.

“Cod or haddock?”

“I don’t knooooooow! If you’re not interested I’ll leave it for the security guard.”

“No! I’m fully recovered from the tamales and a bit of fish sounds spot-on. I’ll be waiting at the door of the Laredo Suite to tip the porter. And, Casey, thank you for such a thoughtful gesture. Quite civilized under the circumstances. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Civilized? Circumstances?

Did that refer to her feelings about his profession? Or something worse? Her curly roots prickled at the thought.

“No thanks required, Barrett. As we say at Hearth and Home, it’s my pleasure to serve you.”

She picked up the sack of food and headed for the elevators.

“And as they say in Texas, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, pardner!”

In his custom-made pajamas and favorite leather slippers Barrett made a groggy shuffle into the sitting room and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. As he drank deeply his eye caught the flash of color from the grinning fishes stuck to his hand.

Casey Hardy.

Was this interesting woman simply being kind or was she up to something? Caring for his cuts was one thing, but delivering dinner was another entirely. While the former act had been spontaneous, the latter was deliberate and required at least some planning. Within fifteen minutes of introduction, the lady had made her feelings about his mission quite clear. She didn’t like it. And she had given signals that she didn’t much like him, either. So what was driving her late-night concern for his nutritional needs?

A light tap, tap, tap signaled the arrival of the bellman. As Barrett pulled the door open he caught an enchanting scent, not at all the fish he was expecting. And the reason for that stood before him, beguiling eyes gleaming as a small smile twisted her lips.

“Good evening, Barrett.” Her gaze swept his buttoned-up appearance. He self-consciously stepped behind the door so that only his head was visible.

“Forgive me, I’m not dressed for company,” he explained.

She waved away his concern, clearly amused by his modesty.

“It’s my fault for showing up at this unearthly hour.” She held a brown sack aloft. “But I think you’ll be glad I did.”

A mouthwatering aroma wafted across the short distance.

Mmm…English fish and chips! He imagined it…deep-fried, crispy batter drizzled with tart malt vinegar, dipped in creamy tartar sauce. The enticing thought made his spirit ache for the home eight thousand kilometers away. His stomach grumbled for food.

“Now that I think of it, I am a bit peckish. Why don’t you let yourself into the sitting room and I’ll be right out?”

He left the door standing open and slipped into the bedroom. When he returned with the hotel’s signature pink robe belted securely, she was sitting at the small table. The large paper sack had been torn open at the seams and flattened as if a table topper to protect the polished surface.

The woman was thoughtful. Something he’d become unaccustomed to.

As he settled into a chair with the table separating them, she filled two paper plates and chatted as though her appearance at his door was most natural.

“Thanks for letting me come up and share my dinner with you.”

“It’s not as if you gave me a choice.”

She cast her eyes downward in a look of contrition he didn’t buy for a moment.

“Would you have turned me down if I’d called to ask?”

“Probably…” He smiled when her head popped up at the answer she clearly was not expecting. “…not,” he finished.

Satisfied with the caveat, she continued.

“Late-night comfort food is meant to be shared. It’s a Hardy family tradition. Actually, it’s more of a weakness. Anyway, my condo is on the other side of the causeway, too far for Captain Jack’s to deliver. But the Galvez is smack in the middle of their zone, so here I am.” She halved a still-steaming filet and dragged it through the puddle of ketchup on her plate.

She closed her eyes to appreciate the taste, giving him the perfect opportunity to admire her smooth complexion and dancing curls. Where he’d ended the day as limp and wrinkled as an empty sausage casing, she was every bit as appealing as she’d been during their meeting in her office hours before. Then he recalled her attire at their introduction and realized this vision of perfection before him was only one perspective on Miss Hardy.

How many more were there?

“Ah, so this isn’t concern for my well-being, after all,” he observed.

Her gaze met his. He popped a vinegar-soaked chunk of cod in his mouth and waited.

“Sure it is. Partly,” she admitted, and then busied herself arranging a pile of chips. “I could have gone the other way and picked up fried chicken but eating alone is no fun. For either of us. And as long as you’re here anyway, I thought you could tell me all about London. I may have business to conduct there soon and I could use some expert guidance.”

“You’re asking a barrister for free advice?”

He couldn’t hold back the smile. She responded with innocent, wide eyes.

“Not entirely free. I paid for lunch and dinner, didn’t I?”

“True. Very true. And all selections have been enjoyable, so I suppose I do owe you. Why don’t you e-mail your questions to me and I will answer in a day or two when I have some quiet time.”

“Quiet time?” She cocked one brow. “Between me and the Cowboy Cartel you’re gonna experience America Texas-style for a few days and there’s nothing quiet about that. With luck you can have quiet when you’re back home this time next week.” She nodded and popped a fat chip into her mouth. The set of her chin said she expected no further argument.

So, she intends to have me under surveillance until she can get me out of town, does she?

Keeping her enemies close seemed to be more than a Zen Post-it for Casey. Well, two could embrace that philosophy.

And it didn’t hurt that this woman was the prettiest assignment he’d had for a long time.

Chapter Four

At 4:00 a.m. the lobby of the hotel was hushed. Only the squeaking of Barrett’s rubber soles against the granite floor broke the silence.

“Good morning, sir.” The concierge spoke softly.

“May I offer you some coffee?”

“Thank you, no. I consumed an entire pot in my suite hours ago.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Actually, I slept quite comfortably even considering the amount of fried food I ingested yesterday. My body clock is still adjusting to the time difference so I’ve been wide-awake and working for hours.”

“There you are, Westbrook!” a male voice boomed. Doc Moseley stood in the hotel’s grand entrance, sporting a Cowboy Cartel cap, his boots planted wide as he waved Barrett over.

“Let’s get a move on before the wind kicks up any more. The marina’s gassin’ up the Albemarle right now and the bay’s gonna be rougher than a cob pretty soon.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to reschedule?”

“Mercy, no! As long as the good Lord provides a new sunrise I’ll always pick the worst weather for fishin’ over the best weather for workin’!”

Barrett stepped into the predawn darkness and basked in the ocean breeze that whipped his hair. Although fishing would never be his first choice, he had to agree with Doc’s assessment. The majesty of the open sea had never failed to produce an intimate connection with the Heavenly Father. Childhood holidays at the seaside with teeth chattering and a body prickled with gooseflesh were the fondest of all his memories.

Just as he reached the cab of the enormous red truck with the interlocking “C” logo on the door, the darkened window slid down to reveal the passengers in the backseat.

“Good morning, Counselor,” Casey chirped, more cheerfully than she felt.

Barrett’s dark brows drew together a bit. The rest of his face remained impassive, seemingly not surprised to see her.

“Ah, so it is.”

“Casey, scoot over toward George to make room for our boy here,” Doc instructed before climbing into the cab and slamming the door, giving them no choice aside from compliance.

Manny twisted from his position behind the wheel. “G’mornin’, son,” he offered.

George followed suit with a similar greeting and handed Barrett the custom headgear they all wore. “It’s nice to have you young folks join us.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Barrett answered as he took the cap and tugged it on. “It was kind of you to include me.”

“Yes, thanks for letting me tag along, too,” Casey added.

“Little lady, you know you’re always welcome to join us. But I gotta admit you coulda knocked me off my feet with a dried cow chip when you asked us to swing by for you.” Manny leveled his gaze, telegraphing that he knew she was up to something. “I’m glad you finally decided to take a day off. I don’t reckon you’ve missed a morning roundup with the crew in the ten weeks since we broke ground.”

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