Lone Star Courtship (8 page)

Was he serious?

“Absolutely,” she fibbed, just in case.

“But I'm actually the fourth.”

“Huh?”

“Barrett Wesby Westbrook the Fourth.”

She sucked her lips against her teeth to hold back a smile. It was a wasted effort as a grin broke free.

“I know, it's dreadful, isn't it?” he admitted.

“Almost as bad as Rebecca Thelma Casey Hardy.”

“Great gobs of mushy peas!”

The mock horror on his face punctuated the silly expression. He would be a hit with her nieces and nephews.

“That name
is
a mouthful,” he agreed.

“Tell me about it.”

“Shall we?” He swept his hand toward the boardwalk.

She nodded agreement and waited while he rounded the front bumper to open her door. When he popped the trunk, and signaled that he needed a moment, she leaned against the fender and lifted her hair to expose her neck to the hot sunshine.

“I always travel with a pair of trainers, and I brought them today just in case,” he explained while he exchanged his leather dress shoes for sneakers.

“Just in case a Native American encampment shut down my job site?” She was still in shock over the discovery.

“No, but as long as that's the case we may as well take advantage of the afternoon break.”

“What about your work?”

“I can do that in the hotel tonight. That is
if
a certain young lady will go home and get some rest and allow me to be productive.”

She looked around, pretending to search for this person he mentioned.

“Yes, you.” He finished tying his shoelace and slammed the trunk shut. “Unless, of course, your plan is to keep me so busy I can't accomplish enough to make an educated recommendation.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Was it so obvious?

“Uh-huh, so that is your strategy. Clever girl.”

Evidently so.

“Can't pull the wool over your eyes, can I, Counselor?” she recovered as best she could.

She turned toward the boardwalk, not yet sure where to head other than away from his piercing glance. He fell into step beside her. “And so far the plan's not working out too well,” she admitted. “I try to stick by your side every minute to make sure you don't find anything negative to report, and bad stuff is all you come into contact with.”

“Other than my body's response to tamales and belly burners I'd say all observations have been quite interesting, even if not entirely positive.”

“Yeah, I'm quite interested myself to see what Cooper finds out about those artifacts.”

“Did you contact your corporate attorney?”

“Dad's taking care of that. If we can't resolve this locally in a day or two, they'll send representation.”

“It appears you have the right persons working the situation. So try to give this burden to them and trust our Lord to work it out for the best.”

She stopped short, tipping her head back to see into his face. His eyes were covered, giving no clue to his earnestness. But neither were there lines of emotion in his face to indicate he was poking fun or testing her.

“You're a believer?”

“All my life. Raised in the Church of England from the time I was a lad, but only came to know Christ personally during my early years at Oxford. I actually considered the seminary for a brief time.”

“You're not serious.”

“Indeed I am. As I said earlier, not staying the family course has never been an option.”

“So you decided against it?”

“Only after a good deal of prayer. I came to realize the secular world was in desperate need of a Christian legal advocate.”

“So, the family convinced you to continue with your law degree?”

“Actually, I never discussed it with anyone other than our parish minister. This is the first time I've spoken about it since.”

“Wow, that's quite a revelation. I'm honored you'd share it with me.”

“You seem trustworthy enough. I don't think you'll give away my secret.”

“Are you making all this up so I'll drop my guard?”

He stopped walking, reached into his pants pocket and pulled something out for her inspection. A smooth silver disk the size of a nickel glinted in the sunlight. He turned the piece over as he placed it in her palm. The simple outline of a fish was etched into the metal.

“Take it, it's yours.”

“Oh, Barrett, I couldn't.”

“I insist. It's a physical symbol that we agree to trust one another.”

As she opened her mouth to object, the wind whipped her H & H hat from her head and sent it tumbling end over end down the dock, into the water's edge.

“I'd say He concurs.” Barrett pointed skyward. Then he sprinted to the spot where the orange glow was drifting beneath the surface. He used a nearby dip net to retrieve the sodden cap, then positioned it atop a piling.

“Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”

“My pleasure, Lady Guinevere.” He bent from the waist, took her fingers gently and brushed the back of her hand with his lips.

She giggled like a silly girl but the alternative was to shiver like a love-starved old maid. She pulled her hand free and stuffed it into her hip pocket.

“While we wait on my cap to drip-dry, where's this pandemonium you mentioned?”

He watched her withdraw an elastic band from behind her back, capture her hair and expertly fold it close to her head in a thick braid. Even so, fat cork-screws sprang free and danced about her face.

“Come with me.”

She fell into step beside him, the soles of their shoes thumping the wooden planks that lined the perimeter of the marina. High overhead the sun beamed hot, glinting off surface ripples that slapped against pilings. Uprights were secured with old tires serving as bumpers between the dock and the hundreds of water-craft that would navigate the bay during the summer. Everything from wakeboarders to luxury yachts floated in the slips.

Awnings on tall posts shielded some craft from the heat and blocked their view of the activity across the cove. They rounded the dock and he watched with interest for Casey's reaction. As he'd hoped, her mouth popped open, a silent “Oh” on her lips. She removed hot-pink shades and squinted into the distance, confirming that the vessel before them was real and not an illusion. Flying a flag of thick white, blue and red stripes was a three-masted tall ship. Her crew swarmed the deck in a frenzy of activity as they checked and replaced hundreds of meters of rigging.

“Oh, my! I didn't know this ship was here!”

“I saw her posted on the notice board this morning. She's Russian, owned by the St. Petersburg Marine Science College. The engineering school uses her for sail training.”

“And I see why.” Casey drifted forward as if in a trance, drawn to the carefully orchestrated activity on the masts high above the deck.

Barrett smiled at her face alight with interest and joy. She would likely take to the sight of sailing vessels in Plymouth like an English lad to Christmas pudding.

“What's she called?”

“The
Mir.
It's Russian for
peace.
”

“Ah, like the space station.” Casey never looked away. Her gaze was transfixed on the ship before them.

“Exactly.”

“I'd love to go aboard a craft like that one day.”

“Then we shall.” And as he said it he knew in his heart of hearts that somehow the casual statement would become a reality.

He waited for her reaction but none came. Had she heard him? Was she not even curious why he'd said such a thing?

“They work so fast and with so little communication, like they're on auto pilot,” Casey praised the sailors.

“As they should. Climbing thirty meters above the deck to haul and set sails, you'd best be confident in your team. Life literally depends on it at sea.”

She turned to face him, admiration evident in eyes the same azure-blue as the water behind her. Finally he'd managed to get her attention.

“How come you know so much about this stuff?”

“The English are a sea-faring lot. I suppose we're naturally predisposed to be curious about it. But for my brothers and me sailing and racing have been almost obsessive since we were in short trousers.”

“In that case, the next time you invite me out on the water with you I will accept without reservation.”

“Then how about a sunset cruise this evening?”

A
pile of castaway clothes lay rejected on the bed. He'd said
dress for dinner
and nothing even remotely suitable remained in Casey's closet. She glanced at the clock on the night table. Three hours. Barrett would pick her up in three hours and all she'd settled on so far was shoes. And while Jimmy Choo peek-a-boo pumps made a lovely statement, they wouldn't have quite the desired impact if she coupled them with a World Cup commemorative T-shirt and threadbare camo pants.

Savannah leaned against the door facing her, arms folded in disapproval of the options. She surveyed the mess with a sad shake of her head.

“Girl, I've been telling you for weeks that the few men you don't scare off with the Warden's uniform you run off with the steel-toed boots and hard hat.”

“I can't help it if that's all I own.”

“Yes, Casey, you can. You make an obscene amount of money and there are stores that will gladly take it from you and give you haute couture in exchange.”

“I don't have time to shop.”

“You make time to shoe shop.”

“That's different.” She hugged the pair of five-hundred-dollar silver sling-backs to her chest.

“Well, if you want a second date with this cutie-pie you'll need something appropriate for the first one.”

“This is
not
a date,” Casey protested. “I'm just making sure he's a happy camper so he'll turn in a positive review.”

“If that's entirely true, put on Brooks Brothers and sensible shoes and just focus on the work.”

Casey's shoulders slumped. She hadn't had anything even remotely resembling a date in ages. The idea of a dinner cruise with a movie-star-looking hunk of a man made her weak in the knees. But all foolishness aside, this evening really was about business. So much was at stake and everything seemed to have taken a downward turn since Barrett's arrival. There was no denying that from the moment he'd shown up she'd had one problem after another.

The last thing she needed tonight was trouble.

“I'd loan you something of mine but there's not enough meat on that scrawny body of yours to do my clothes justice.”

Casey had to agree that she was a stick figure while Savannah was a figure eight.

“Hey, how about that hot little sundress you wore for your brother's wedding rehearsal?”

Casey perked up at the thought, then immediately wilted, realizing the silky scarlet strapless and matching bolero jacket were in the bottom of her closet. Weeks ago she'd tossed the pieces there, too tired to hang them up after dinner with the Cartel and their wives. Wardrobe maintenance had never been her strength, hence the proliferation of navy suits, the target of so much teasing.

“I already wore that dress. It needs to go to the cleaner's.”

“Did you get anything on it?”

“No, but it's more wrinkled than a paper napkin after a Happy Meal.”

“Where is it?” Savannah slid hangers inside the closet crowded with work attire. Casey stepped around her friend and squatted to retrieve the horribly creased pieces off the carpeted floor.

“See?” She held them for her friend's inspection.

Savannah took the slivers of expensive red fabric and pressed them to her nose for a sniff test.

“Oh, this is nothing a little steam and five minutes in the dryer won't fix. Come with me.”

Thirty minutes later the ensemble had been softened by exposure to a steamy shower, tumbled in a warm dryer and pressed to perfection by a hot iron.

“Good as new.” Savannah draped the outfit across the bed and smoothed it carefully.

“You're a lifesaver.” Casey praised her friend and opened her arms. The two hugged and rocked side to side, celebrating one less obstacle in their lives. “Thank you so much for agreeing to come down here with me.” The words caught in Casey's throat. Her four sisters were a part of her, inseparable in their own way. Even so, there was an age difference between Casey and her siblings sufficient to leave her feeling misunderstood from time to time. Finding her dearest friend in fifth grade had been like discovering her other half. They communicated volumes with few words, physically experienced one another's joy and sorrow, and picked up on vibes that even family might miss.

“And where else would I spend the summer after you dangled cowboys under my nose?” Savannah grabbed her oversize shoulder bag and began to search the contents as she commented casually, “You have plenty of time and you really need to catch a catnap.”

“I've got it from here, mom.” Casey made light of the instruction.

The riffling stopped as Savannah raised eyes filled with compassion. “Honey, Barrett said you had the heebies this morning, and I saw for myself how your hands were shaking. No brave face is necessary with me. If they're back, and my gut says they're not, we'll deal with it just like before. Together.”

Casey could only nod, her throat too tight for words.

“I remember they seemed more frequent when you were worn-out. So while I take care of things around here, you go lie down,” Savannah insisted, never needing a signal to give a few instructions of her own.

Casey nodded, knowing the comment was accurate. She trusted her friend's instincts and prayed they were on target as usual. She had to be at the top of her game and the game seemed to be changing by the hour.

The woman gliding toward him was a stunning vision in clingy scarlet that revealed sculpted arms and shoulders. Glittery open-toed shoes accented a red pedicure as she strode beneath the darkened portico into the late-afternoon light. Barrett's lungs expanded as he sucked in a fast breath.

“Wow,” he whispered. He stood ramrod-straight beside the Cadillac, then whisked off dark shades for a better view.

Casey in jeans and work boots was adorable. All-business Casey dressed in her power suit struck an authoritative pose. But this very feminine creature in evening wear, carrying a tiny jacket, was spectacular. Casey in red was a sight to behold. His palms itched to slide up sun-kissed arms and rest on her shapely shoulders.

“Good evening, Barrett.”

As she moved within arm's length he took her hand and twirled her in classic ballroom fashion for a slow look at all sides of this vision.

“Good evening, my beauty.” His voice quivered with an odd yearning quality he hoped she couldn't identify. He leaned from the waist to place a soft kiss on the back of her fingers as before, allowing his eyes to feast again.

His chest ached. He wanted desperately to fold her in his arms.

“Breathtaking,” he added simply.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she ducked her chin as if unaccustomed to compliments. The action was exquisitely genuine, neither coy nor calculated.

“Thank you.” Her response was brief as she allowed him to assist her into the big sedan.

“Thank heavens I brought a jacket. I should have worn a tie, as well.” He was woefully underdressed to accompany her. “I trust I won't embarrass you.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“Was I wrong to assume dinner is somewhat formal?”

“Well, her majesty won't be making an appearance this evening, but the brochure said it would be a memorable occasion. Maybe we'll be the couple who makes it so.”

Couple. Saying the word felt right.

But how could that be? Why was he having these intense thoughts after such a brief time when he'd never had them in months of a previous relationship?

He put the vehicle into gear and reminded himself of the purpose for this visit to Galveston.

Visit?

That sounded so cheery. When had he started thinking of it as anything other than an imposition? He shook his head at the absurd change in his attitude. He needed to redouble efforts in line with his goals and stop this romantic nonsense regarding the woman beside him. There was work to do for the firm, credibility to build with the family, a unique niche to carve out where he would be valued and respected. This was no time for personal foolishness.

“If you've changed your mind, it's okay.”

His head snapped to the right. “Beg pardon?”

“You have a scowl on your face and you haven't said a word since we left my place. If you'd rather not spend the evening with me, I won't be offended.”

The worry in her soft voice said otherwise. The heart he'd just determined to harden softened even more. By her own admission she'd had a sleepless night. In the predawn hours he'd witnessed a nervous episode of some sort. Then he'd seen firsthand the shutdown of construction and the unwanted attention of the media. He'd taken her back to the marina for a breather and suggested dinner to distract her from her worries, and here he was making her feel badly.

His mum would be very disappointed in her eldest son. Caroline would say it was typical.

He had to make it up to Casey. Atone for his rudeness.

“Sorry. Just concentrating on keeping to the right of the motorway.” He reached across the leather seat to touch her arm, to physically reassure her. And himself. Tomorrow would be soon enough for business.

“It really is all right. I know you're bound to be feeling the effects of jet lag by now.”

“Nonsense. The second wind has filled my sails and I fancy sunset on the water with a charming dinner companion.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile.

“Thank you for such kind words, Barrett. I'll try to live up to your expectations.”

“Casey, I have no expectations,” he insisted. “Let's just have a nice evening, shall we?”

“I'd like that.”

She turned her face away, presumably to enjoy the array of pleasure crafts in the bayou as they crossed the 61st Street bridge.

The self-confidence she possessed in spades at some moments was elusive in others. He made a mental note to add this instability to his list of items for consideration.

“Oh, check out the riverboat!” Casey pointed toward the triple-deck paddle wheeler. Her enthusiasm was back, and her skin absolutely radiated as if lit from within. When the woman was feeling good it was impossible not to be swept along in her wake. “I haven't been on one of those tourist traps since I was a kid and our family used to take us sightseeing on the Mississippi.”

Barrett reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew the brochure he'd obtained from the hotel concierge. What had seemed like a good idea hours earlier was suddenly childish.

“The paddleboat tour of Offatts Bayou seemed a nice alternative since it's still a trifle windy for an open-water dinner cruise. I should have thought to ask you first. Would you prefer to dine elsewhere?”

“Goodness, no!” Large round eyes and a big smile told him she was sincere. “I haven't had a chance to experience any of the local attractions since moving to Galveston. My only downtime has been spent flying home to present progress reports to the board. I could see Moody Gardens from the bridge but it was always just a tease because I never had time to get any closer.”

“So you don't mind spending the evening as a tourist?”

“Not as long as you're trapped with me.”

“I can't think of a nicer place to be.” And he meant it from the depths of his soul.

The private dining area on the top deck was well appointed for very special occasions. However, the fresh flowers, white linen service, attentive staff and sumptuous meal were secondary to his extraordinary companion. After two hours of being regaled by stories of the Hardy clan, Barrett was certain his destiny was somehow tied to this place. This woman. The question was whether that certainty was good or bad. It could be either in equal measure.

He put a huge spoonful of sweet potato pie into his mouth.

“Heavenly choice,” he mumbled over the spicy dessert served with a generous dollop of heavy cream.

“I figured you could have cheesecake back home.”

“Very true. All your choices were spot-on.” He hardly knew how to pronounce things called
jambalaya
and
étouffée,
let alone whether they would appeal to his palate. So, he'd asked her to make the selections once they'd been presented with menus.

She waited while the waiter presented their after-dinner coffee. When they were once again alone she pulled out the chair next to her and began to shift his cup and saucer to the unoccupied place at her side. Since it seemed she expected him to change seats, he made the move without question. As soon as he was settled the reason for her actions was obvious.

“Ahhhhhhh…” he breathed.

“I thought you'd want to see that.”

A spectacular sunset was about to take place. An orange glow blazed on the horizon with fingers of fire shooting into the deep blue of the darkening sky.

“To me, the only vision more incredible is daybreak,” she shared. “I believe the message of the sunrise is the promise of a new beginning with new mercy.”