One Night with the Wealthy Rancher Read online

  His frown deepened as he sat down at the kitchen table, thinking that today had certainly not gone like he’d planned. He was convinced that the incident at the shelter was the prime reason his protective instincts toward Summer had kicked in. He had been ready to do bodily harm to anyone who even thought of hurting her. And he could admit that the reason he had driven her to police headquarters and then later to lunch was because he hadn’t wanted her out of his sight. He was becoming attached again, and that wasn’t good.

  He rubbed a hand down his face. Maybe he needed to rethink the notion of exacting some sort of revenge on her and instead, just put distance between them and let it go at that, treating her the way he would other groupies or gold diggers whenever they crossed his path.

  But he wasn’t able to do that. If anything, today proved that when it came to Summer, he didn’t think straight or logically. Right now, the only thing he should be thinking about was hurting her the way she had hurt him. Therefore, regardless of any protective instincts he might have, he would continue with his plan to make her think something special was going on between them. Then, at the right time, he’d drop the bomb that she meant nothing to him, and she’d discover she had gotten played, just like he had.

  When his cell phone went off, he stood and pulled it off his belt. “What’s up, Lance?” After his meeting with Chief Ingle, he had stopped by the TCC Café and had dinner with Kevin and Justin. Lance and his wife had driven to Houston to attend some sort of function there.

  “I got your message. So Ingle thinks the fire was started with some sort of petroleum-based product?” Lance asked.

  “He’s pretty sure of it. But it wasn’t one that could easily be detected, which is the reason the investigation took so long. They’re trying to narrow the components down. However, he believes it’s the same kind found in lubricating oils used for ranch equipment,” Darius responded.

  “Something that Montoya could easily get his hands on, since he owns that cattle ranch,” Lance was quick to point out.

  Darius shook his head. “His men are the ones working his ranch the majority of the time, Lance. Montoya’s heavily involved in his import/export business.”

  “For crying out loud, Darius, you just don’t want to believe he’s responsible for that fire, do you?” Lance asked with frustration in his voice.

  “What I don’t want is for you to be so convinced Montoya is behind the fire that you start overlooking any other possible suspects.”

  “There aren’t any other possible suspects, Darius. Montoya is the only one who hates me and Mitch bad enough to do such a thing. At the end of your investigation, you’ll see that all the evidence points in Montoya’s direction.”

  A few hours later, the fire investigation was the last thing on Darius’s mind when he finally eased into bed, determined to get a good night’s sleep. Moments later, after a number of tosses and turns, he discovered doing so wouldn’t be easy when thoughts of Summer filled his mind. When he thought of what could have possibly happened had he not been there today. Even now he was worried that she was still at the center working, and he was tempted to go check for himself to make sure she was all right. But then he quickly recalled he had spoken with security to make sure someone escorted her to her car whenever she did work late.

  He breathed in deeply, getting angry with himself that his concern for her, this feeling stirring deep within him, was making him weak. He refused to let that happen. But each time he closed his eyes, he saw her, remembered a better time between them, a time when she had been his whole world.

  He stared up at the ceiling, determined to remember that she was not his whole world any longer, would never be it again. It was something he couldn’t lose sight of. He would keep up his guard with her, no matter what.

  “Thank you for walking me to my car, Barney, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

  “No problem, ma’am. Besides, it was Mr. Franklin’s orders.”

  Summer raised a brow at the uniformed guard. “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  Summer pondered that. How could Darius give an order to a guard who didn’t work for him? Evidently, Barney had no problem following an order from someone who wasn’t his boss.

  “Well, good night,” she said, opening her car door and getting inside.

  “Just a minute, Ms. Martindale. This was pinned to your windshield beneath the wipers,” he said, handing the piece of paper to her.

  Summer tossed the flyer onto the seat beside her. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Summer drove off, noticing Barney was still standing there, watching her pull out of the parking lot. No doubt he was still following Darius’s orders. After what happened today, she could understand his concern and appreciated him wanting to make sure she was all right. Just like she had appreciated him taking her to lunch.

  There had been something strange about sitting across from a man who had once undressed her, rubbed his hands all over her naked body and made love to her in a way that thinking about it took her breath away. A man who’d shown her that foreplay was an art form that could be taken to many levels, and that a person’s mouth was just as lethal as his hands when making love.

  When her car came to a stop at a traffic light, she turned on the radio, hoping the sound of music would drown out her thoughts of Darius. That wasn’t going to happen, she thought, when she recalled how long after she’d left Houston she would lie in bed and think of him.

  Her stomach growled and she remembered she’d missed dinner. When she got home she would make a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. It was one of those hot August nights.

  As she waited for the light to change, she glanced over at the flyer she’d thrown on the seat and picked it up. Her breath caught in her throat and chills ran up her spine when she read the words, “I take care of my own.”

  The light turned green but she didn’t realize it until the driver behind her blasted his horn. She accelerated, wondering which husband or boyfriend had placed the note on her car. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the abusers of the women at the shelter blamed the staff for keeping his family from him. Mr. Green had taken the same position earlier that day. She wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Mr. Green who had placed the note there, since her car had been parked in one of the spaces reserved for shelter personnel.

  Summer tossed the paper aside, thinking of Mr. Green and the baseball bat, and his terrified wife. She sighed. She had long ago stopped trying to figure out why some men could treat a woman they claimed to love so shabbily.

  The next day, Darius studied the computer screen in front of him and tried not to think about the woman a few doors down. She had been holed up in her office all morning and it was almost noon. He would bet any amount of money she would not be stopping for lunch.

  A part of him knew it was really none of his business whether she ate or not, but another part decided to make it his business. Just as well, since he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn anyway.

  Before arriving at the shelter, he had dropped by the refinery to take a look around the area damaged by the fire, hoping he would find something that had been overlooked previously. He hated admitting it, but Lance was right. All the evidence accumulated so far was pointing at Montoya, especially since the man didn’t have an alibi for that night and he’d been seen in the vicinity of the refinery. However, the evidence was too cut-and-dried to suit Darius—way too pat. As far as he was concerned, if Montoya wasn’t guilty, then someone who knew about the feud between Montoya and the Brodys was certainly making it look that way.

  D
arius stood as he checked his watch, deciding it was time to feed his stomach and satisfy his desire to see Summer again. He had fought the impulse to drop by her office and say hello when he had arrived at the shelter. But he couldn’t fight it anymore.

  Her office door had been closed, which meant she was either counseling someone or buried knee-deep in work. She had mentioned getting ready for that meeting tomorrow with Kev. But still, she had to eat, and he kind of enjoyed that café where they had eaten yesterday. The hamburger had been delicious.

  Walking down the corridor, he went to the secretary’s desk. “Is Ms. Martindale in a meeting with someone?” he asked Marcy.

  Marcy stopped thumbing through a bunch of folders on her desk long enough to look up and smile at him. “No, she’s going over some papers. If you need to talk with her about something, just knock on her door.”

  He returned her smile. “I think I will. Thanks.”

  Strolling back the way he’d come, he came to a stop in front of her door, hesitating a moment before knocking, convincing himself he was only pretending to be a nice guy when in fact, she really didn’t deserve his kindness.

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door and walked into her office, closing it behind him. She didn’t look up. “Ready for lunch?” he asked.

  She lifted her gaze from the document she’d been reading to fix it on him. The moment their eyes met, a slight tremor touched him. And if that weren’t bad enough, he could feel a deep stirring in his gut. He stood there, fully conscious of the effect she was having on him and not liking it, but unable to do anything but stand there and take it like a man who wanted a woman, a woman he should have gotten from under his skin long ago. She broke eye contact with him and looked back down at the document she’d been reading. “I can’t today.”

  You can’t or you won’t? Instead of asking, he said, “Yes, you can. You’ll think better on a full stomach.”

  When she looked back up at him without saying anything, as if giving his words some serious thought, he decided to add, “Besides, that hamburger I ate yesterday was pretty good and—”

  “And you probably don’t need another one today. Too much beef,” she finished for him, pushing her papers aside. “Why don’t you try a salad?”

  He chuckled. “That’s rabbit food.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s healthy.” And then she said. “Okay, I’ll have lunch with you, but only if we walk to the café.”

  He felt the amusement leave his face. “Walk?”

  “Yes. Walk.”

  He noticed she was watching him intently, probably expecting him to back down. He couldn’t help the smile that touched the corners of his lips when he said, “Fine. We’ll walk.”

  “You really didn’t expect me to do it, did you?”

  Summer glanced over at Darius. They had been walking for the past few minutes in silence, which gave her the chance to wonder how, for the third day in a row, she’d been in his presence. He was right. She hadn’t expected him to agree to walk to the café with her. Not that she thought he wasn’t in any kind of shape to do so, but mainly because he didn’t have a pair of walking shoes tucked away in a desk like she had. He was wearing cowboy boots, and they complemented his jeans and chambray shirt. And he had grabbed his Stetson off the rack to put on his head, which, considering the heat of the sun, had been a good idea. He looked good in his Western attire, too good to be walking with her on the dusty sidewalk. Every so often when someone needed to squeeze by them, Darius’s denim-clad thigh would brush up against hers, making her very aware of the strength of his masculinity.

  “No, I really didn’t,” she said finally. “But you have to admit it’s a beautiful day outside. A perfect day to walk.”

  She couldn’t help remembering the last time they had taken a walk together, late one afternoon when he’d shown up at her place after getting off work. They had strolled to the neighborhood park and on the way back had stopped at a corner store for ice-cream cones. That had been a perfect day to walk, too.

  She breathed in deeply in an attempt to erase the memory from her mind. For three days, she had allowed him to invade her personal space and she wasn’t exactly happy with the fact that he’d done so. She had appreciated his help yesterday, but somehow she needed to get him to understand that being cordial to each other didn’t mean they had to share lunch every day.

  “How is Aunt Joanne?”

  She nearly missed a step and felt his hand on her elbow, reaching out to steady her, keeping her from falling. She stopped walking and glanced up at him. He was standing a scarce few inches in front of her and met her gaze. Darius had met Aunt Joanne when she had come to Houston to give Summer much-needed support during Tyrone’s trial. Her aunt had liked Darius, and Summer wanted to believe that Darius had liked her aunt, as well, that his feelings toward Aunt Jo had been genuine and not fake—like the ones he’d displayed toward her.

  “Summer, what’s wrong?”

  She swallowed and fought back the tears that threatened every time she thought of losing her aunt. “Aunt Jo died two years ago.”

  She saw surprise and then sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry. What happened? Was she ill?” he asked. He moved his hands from her elbow to her hand, and she could feel him wrapping his fingers around hers.

  She shook her head. “No, in fact she’d had a physical the day before and had called to tell me how well it went, and that the doctor had even joked about her being fifty-five and would probably live well past ninety-five because she was in such good shape.”

  Summer paused a moment and then continued. “On her way home from work one night, she stopped at an ATM. A guy came up, demanding her money. She emptied her account and gave him all she had, but he shot and killed her anyway.”

  “Oh, Summer, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, pulling her into his arms. And she went without hesitation, ignoring the fact they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. She was being given the shoulder to cry on that she had needed so badly two years ago. Burying her aunt had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Less than a year after graduating from college, she’d lost the only person who’d been there for her consistently.

  “That’s it, Summer, get it all out,” Darius urged gently in her ear. “Let it go.” She felt the strength of his arms wrap around her shoulders, drawing her close.

  Summer wasn’t sure just how long she stood there, on a public street, being comforted by the only man she had ever loved—and who had done her wrong. She wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive him for breaking her heart.

  Pulling herself together, she eased back out of his arms, breaking all physical contact with him. “Sorry about that,” she said softly.

  “Don’t apologize. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She nudged her hands into the pockets of her slacks and glanced down at the pavement. “It’s still hard for me sometimes.”

  “I imagine that it would be, and I really meant it when I said that I’m sorry, Summer.”

  The sincerity in his voice as well as the warmth of his tone touched her in a way that it should not have. She lifted her head to glance back up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As they continued their walk toward the café, Summer’s head was spinning with confusion over whether she could trust this man who had crushed her heart once before but seemed filled with pure compassion for her. Should she listen to her head, her heart…her body? She suddenly felt like she was nineteen again, and she didn’t like it
at all. Not at all.

  Five

  “You haven’t been listening to a thing I’ve said,” Justin Dupree complained while eyeing Darius curiously. The two men were enjoying a meal at one of the exclusive restaurants in town with plans to drop by the TCC later and play pool with Lance, Mitch and Kevin.

  Darius took another sip of his beer and gave his friend an apologetic smile. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  A smile touched the corners of Justin’s lips. “I said Monica Cooper has been giving you the eye all night.”

  Darius raised a brow. “Who?”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Monica. You know. Sultry lips Monica.”

  Darius couldn’t help but grin as he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his beer. “No, I don’t know her, but I’m sure you do.”

  There weren’t too many single women with sultry lips that Justin didn’t know. He had a reputation of being Somerset’s number one jet-setting playboy. Heir to his family’s multimillion-dollar shipping company, Justin could probably talk a nun out of her clothes. He could also close any business deal he wanted—he had a reputation of being a tough-as-nails, ruthless businessman. Darius was proud to consider him a friend.

  Justin smiled. “Yes, I know her. Her dad owns a nice spread outside of Austin. She comes to Somerset every summer to visit her aunt. She seems taken with you.”

  Darius didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder at the woman. Instead, he said, “That’s nice.” He knew Justin had to be wondering why he wasn’t showing Monica, or any woman for that matter, any interest tonight. Even their waitress had given him a flirty smile. But the only woman he could think about at the moment was the one he’d had lunch with today. The one he couldn’t get out of his mind.