Lone Star Courtship (3 page)

“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.

C
asey 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.