A Little Texas Read online

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

  “I am.”

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

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

  “Kate—”

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

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

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

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

  War really was hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Did you bring her back?”

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

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

  “Don’t get involved in this, Vera.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “So you’re just pretending not to?”

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

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

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

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

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

  Vera disappeared before he could say goodbye.

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

  CHAPTER FIVE

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

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

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

  Rick had not forgotten. Damn.

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

  The doorbell sounded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But she would take Justus’s hush money.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Blindfold?”

  “For the firing squad.”

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

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

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

  “So you are into kinky stuff. Nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Rick glanced at her.

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

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

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

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

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

  Which was stupid.

  He touched her on the shoulder. “Hey.”

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

  “You’re strong.”

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

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

  Not a peck, like she was thanking him.

  But a full-fledged kiss.

  At first he drew back, surprised her mouth was on his. But then he leaned in and allowed his lips to soften beneath hers. She opened slightly, tasting him. He tasted like spearmint gum and warm male, so she tilted her head and opened her mouth a bit more. He took advantage, deepening the kiss, sliding his hand to her jawline.

  His hands were big and calloused. Something dangerous slithered inside Kate, a flash of desire.

  She broke the kiss. “I am strong.”

  Then she threw open the door, grabbed her purse and climbed from the car. She didn’t need Rick to walk her inside. She’d deal with whatever waited behind the back door. No sexy Hispanic crutch need apply.

  As she lifted her hand to knock, she paused. The Mustang roared to life. She glanced over to where it idled. Rick watched her in the rearview mirror. She wondered what he thought about the kiss, but before she could search for his gaze again, the car pulled away.

  She knocked on the door.

  An older Hispanic woman answered. A smile curved her broad face, wrinkling the skin around her dark eyes as she said, “Adelante. You use the back door? My grandson leaves you here?”

  “Oh, hello.” Kate pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and tried to discern if the woman fussed at her or Rick. “Um, Rick went to Phoenix. He said you would call him when I’m ready to return to my friend’s house.”

  The woman stood aside so Kate could enter, tsking all the whil
e. “What manners he shows. Dropping you at the back door like a laborer. A man should walk a lady inside.”

  The phrase “I’m no lady” popped into Kate’s mind, but she wisely held the snappy comeback inside. “No, it’s fine. I’m a big girl.”

  “I fuss at him, but I am rude, too. I’m Rosa Mendez. And you are not such a big girl. A chiquitita. Very, very tiny. And so lovely.”

  Kate never blushed, but she felt heat suffuse her face. “Thank you, Rosa.”

  “It’s true.” Rosa bustled into the kitchen. Kate followed behind like a puppy on a leash, ogling the cavernous kitchen. Modern appliances gleamed and houseplants overgrew their planters. The smell of herbs and bread permeated the air. Spanish tiles flashed blue and russet upon the counters and a small television sat in the corner playing a Spanish soap opera.

  Rosa picked up a handheld radio. “Mr. Justus, Miss Kate is here.”

  The radio crackled, but she heard his words. “Send her up.”

  Just like a job interview. Yes, Ms. Mendez, please send the applicant up.

  Rosa smiled, showing a large gap between her teeth. “Si, Mr. Justus wants you to go up.”

  “I heard,” Kate said, looking about the kitchen trying to buy some time.

  Rosa wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you.”

  “Don’t bother, Rosa. I’ll do the honors.”

  The voice came from the opposite doorway.

  Kate turned as an older woman—presumably Vera Mitchell—stepped into the room. For a moment, Kate felt as though she’d been dropped onto a remote island with no food or water. Survivor. Trust no one.

  Vera looked like what she was—a rich Texan’s wife with an expensive haircut, manicured nails and clothes from Neiman Marcus. Her expression was measured, as if she were prepared to serve tea to a bastard daughter and not even break a sweat. Kate watched her as she approached.

  “I’m Vera Mitchell. Justus’s wife. Welcome to Cottonwood.” Kate took the extended hand. It was as cool as she’d expected.

  “I’m Kate Newman. I have a—” what was it exactly? “—meeting with Mr. Mitchell.”