Texas Bad Boys Read online

  “Not yet.” She grinned.

  “What the hell do you mean?” Damn, she had him swearing now.

  “Listen,” she said, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward, “you were promised the Rooster if you put in money and effort, right?” Okay, that was already established. “Then, out of the blue, I get offered money and property. From, I might add, a man who’d only seen me once in my life for about twenty minutes. A man who lied every bit as well as his rotten son.”

  She was a bit tough on old Pete but…

  “Why do it?” she went on. “If not to cause some sort of trouble, discord, or unpleasantness? You spoke to Mr. Rankin about it, right?”

  “Yup.” For what good it did.

  “What did he say?”

  He told her.

  Didn’t make her any happier. “A lying double-crossing old bastard!”

  For a nice British lady, she sure had a potty mouth. “But he wasn’t! Pete was always straight as a die.” She gave a disgusted snort. “Ask anyone. He bought and sold property around town for years. Traded livestock. Made loans. Everything was done on a handshake and I don’t remember anyone ever saying he broke his word.”

  “Maybe not in Silver Gulch.”

  “Where then? Don’t know if he ever left the state.” She exhaled twice. Slowly. Seeming hesitant to go on. “You know something otherwise about him?”

  She nodded. “Maybe his reputation here, in Silver Gulch, mattered to him but”—she gave another slow exhale, the crease reappearing between her eyes—“I met him once. I was ten, maybe eleven. It was in Dallas.” She paused and he waited. “My mother was an opera singer. On tour. I usually traveled with her. Pete Maddock came after the show one night, said he was my grandfather, gave me a big doll—it was quite beautiful but I was getting a bit past dolls—and took us out to dinner. I fell asleep in the booth, I remember, but later Mum said he’d promised to make sure Dad paid money for me.

  “Dad never had despite Mum writing several times. We weren’t starving or anything, but only the big stars in opera are really well paid and she had the cost of taking me everywhere. After my so-called grandfather promised money, Mum said it meant she’d be able to pay for me to go to boarding school. Didn’t fancy the idea much, and between us, I was glad the money never arrived. Mum and I managed fine. I liked moving around and going to school on a very sketchy basis.”

  Maybe, but it seemed an odd way to bring up a kid. “What about getting through high school? Going to college?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But how did you get a job?” Okay, this was getting far too personal, but frankly, she had him fascinated.

  “I was nineteen when Mum died and I knew I had to get a job somewhere. A friend, Max Goldberg, offered me a lowly job as a dogsbody in his art gallery. It was pretty menial, unpacking exhibits and making coffee and running things back and forth to the printers, but I knew the business. I’d spent hours since I was quite small wandering through just about every major and most of the minor art galleries in Europe and both Americas. I studied a lot on the side and soon got an assistant’s job in another gallery. Three years later, Max wooed me back as manager and there I stayed until I came here.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

  “Because I asked?”

  “Yes, you did. So now you know my life history and I know nothing about you other than my grandfather did you wrong.”

  He laughed. “My life history fills about three sentences. I was born here in Silver Gulch. Joined the army after high school. Came back. Couldn’t find a job until Pete Maddock offered me the chance to take on the Rooster.”

  “That’s four sentences.”

  Before he could tell her she was too picky to be real, Mary-Beth put her head around the door. “Boss, the soft-drink delivery is here. Want to sign for it?”

  “Coming.” He stood. “I’ll be back,” he told Juliet.

  She watched the door swing shut behind him. Why the hell had she spilled her guts like that? Because he’d asked and he’d listened. Right! No doubt to use it against her some day. Or maybe not. He’d been cheated, yes, but there was no way knowing that her father and grandfather had neglected her could help him get his investment back.

  Something inside her burned at the thought of the harm this darn family perpetuated. She half toyed with the idea of handing over the bar to Rod, taking the money and running. But to get all the money and keep it, she had to stay three years, and what could she do here for three years? Open a gallery?

  She laughed aloud at the idea before looking at the wall that separated the office from the closed-up part of the building. Why not? The space was unused and would be rent free. Okay, the market would be different from London. Very different, come to that. Maybe there were local craftspeople and artists. She’d ask Mary-Beth. She knew just about everything that went on in the town.

  First she needed to check on taxes. Presumably her grandfather kept records.

  Rod was back in fifteen minutes and she asked him.

  “The old man’s papers? Records for the Rooster he kept in his office across the hall.”

  She followed him across the dark corridor to another, even dingier, office. A glass-doored bookcase looked packed with papers and a rolltop desk stood against one wall. “He kept everything in here,” Rod said.

  He’d also left everything locked.

  “I’ll call Rudy Johnson. He’s the local locksmith,” Rod said. “Seems a shame to force the lock. It’s an antique.”

  “No need to,” she replied, nipping back into Rod’s office. She rummaged in the desk drawer until she found a heavy-duty paper clip. It was rusty but it would serve.

  She straightened it out as she walked back into her grandfather’s office.

  “What are you doing?” Rod asked.

  She couldn’t resist grinning. It never hurt to surprise a man. “Opening the desk.” It took her a couple of minutes. The lock was old and didn’t want to budge, but soon she felt the tumblers shift and rolled up the top.

  Four

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Rod looked, and sounded, shocked.

  She didn’t try to hold back the smile. “A porter at the Grand Hotel in Montreux showed me. It’s really quite easy when you know how.”

  “I hope, for your sake, we don’t have a spate of house break-ins anytime soon. Might look suspicious.”

  “Door locks are much harder. I can open only the really cheap ones. Drawer locks and suitcases are easy peasy.” Enough of teasing him. Even though it was fun. “I’m in here now. Might as well go through things.”

  “Need any help?”

  She looked up from working on the top drawer. They were all locked and she bet the bookcase was too. “I’m assuming you can’t pick locks.”

  He shook his head. “Hot-wiring a car was as far as I went with potential crime.”

  Rod might almost be worth the trouble, at least when he relaxed and stopped looking at her as if she were something the cat brought in. The next lock gave and she pulled the drawer open to find stacks of yellowing papers. “If you have a spare dustbin I could use…”

  “Dustbin?”

  “Yes. I think most of this needs tossing.”

  “Oh! A trash can. Okay.” He was out the door and came back with a big plastic one from the kitchen, just as she clicked the next lock in the desk. “Here you are. Want some help sorting it out?”

  She looked down at the papers spilling out of the pigeonholes and drawers. It would take her days to get through it all but…“Maybe later on. Let me see how long it takes.” Right now she didn’t want Rod breathing over her shoulder, giving her some really bad ideas. “I’ll tidy up the papers in the other room so you can have your desk back. Then I’ll start in here.”

  She was still sorting well into the early evening, when she heard Rod clomp upstairs. The Rooster was still busy but he deserved an evening off once in a while. She now had two empty drawers;
a small stack of pertinent papers, mostly bank statements, insurance policies, and tax documents; and a half-filled rubbish bin. She hadn’t even started on the stuffed-tight cubbyholes, the deep bottom drawer, or the stacked shelves behind the locked glass doors.

  The old man had filed by rubber bands, most of which had perished over the years, so stacks of papers ended up shuffled together in the drawers. Would take days, if not weeks, to sort it all out. Might be a good move to toss the lot and be done with it.

  Except she was driven by a need to find out exactly why the old man had cheated Rod. Why she was bothered, she had no idea. The man irritated her, but if his tale was true, he’d been skewered royally. Given the Maddock family propensity for lies and broken promises, she really had no difficulty believing Rod.

  Tired and sore, she stood and stretched and saw a face peering in the window. A face that disappeared as she crossed the room to peer out in the darkened alley. Drat! Who could it be? Curious, she ran out of the room, down the corridor, and out the back, through the kitchen.

  The alley was deserted.

  “Something wrong?” Paul, the night cook, asked.

  “I thought I saw someone peering in the window.” Sounded pretty soppy, said out loud.

  “No one there now,” he replied.

  True. Maybe she had imagined it. She was weary. A day sorting dusty papers wasn’t exactly intellectual stimulation.

  Might as well call it a night. It would still be waiting in the morning.

  Rod flipped the top of the second beer but absently put it aside after tasting it. Things were getting out of hand if he couldn’t be bothered to drink a beer. Who was he kidding? They were already way out of hand.

  Damn!

  What the hell was he supposed to do now? Learn to live and work with Juliet ffrench?—Okay, it was a silly way to spell her name, but somehow it suited her. Seemed fitting to add a little extra to an ordinary name. She was different from anyone he’d ever met: smart, sexy, good-looking, with a wicked smile that promised wildness when the door was closed. If she were anyone else on the planet he’d have hit on her, but no way was he getting involved with the woman here to ruin his life!

  Okay, not deliberately ruin it. Wasn’t her fault old Pete turned out to be a double-crosser. By the sound of things, she’d had more than her share of backhanding from the Maddock family. And her story was true, at least enough of it to convince him of the rest. He’d done a few Google searches after she’d shut herself in Pete’s old office, and sure enough, Margarite ffrench had sung halfway across the world in second- and third-string opera companies, and The Tolliver Gallery in South Kensington (wherever that was exactly) still listed Juliet ffrench as manager. Rod wondered if she still checked e-mail at the address on the Web site.

  She must have left pretty suddenly. Come all that way to claim her inheritance and oust him.

  He picked up the bottle and, this time, tilted it to his lips and drained it.

  He reached for the remote and flicked channels. Nothing caught his interest. He was fixating on Juliet, the bar, Juliet, what the hell to do about everything, and Juliet, pretty much in that order.

  He considered driving into Pebble Creek, finding a bar, and picking up the first willing woman, but the idea held no appeal. Casual sex had never been his thing, and right now he knew an anonymous fuck would do nothing to ease his mind.

  Maybe he should just drive into San Antonio in the morning and reenlist.

  That would solve the immediate problem.

  By running away? No solution whatsoever! Rod caught the end of a movie he’d already seen. Watching justice, fairness, and decency prevail on the screen gave him the opportunity to pretend it just might in real life.

  He watched the credits roll, then stared at an inane commercial suggesting the best beer was produced in a Yankee state way up North. Thinking of beer, he realized that the last one had run right through him. Flicking off the TV, he stood and ambled down to the bathroom. He’d left the light on again. Still thinking hard about what to do about the Juliet question, he was unzipped and aiming straight at the china monster before it registered that the shower was running behind him.

  Not quite believing his ears, he looked over his shoulder, then turned in horror.

  Standing under the shower stream was a very wet, utterly naked Juliet.

  And boy, was she a sight to see! Firm breasts, high and lovely and just the right size to fill his hand. Her skin was all over pink from the warm water. Her hair plastered on her head only made her look sexier. He longed to sit her between his thighs and towel her curls dry, and while he was at it, he’d take good care of the sassy little auburn triangle between her legs.

  “Good evening, Mr. Carter,” she said, her voice so cold it was a wonder the shower didn’t freeze up.

  The atmosphere was frigid enough to bring him to his senses. “Christ almighty, Juliet! I’m sorry!” He shoved himself back in his pants and zipped fast. “Didn’t realize you were here!” he said over his shoulder as he raced out, realizing, as he closed the door, that he hadn’t stopped to flush. Well, damn, he wasn’t going back.

  Juliet stared at the slammed door. If it weren’t for the seat still up, she’d believe she’d imagined the past thirty seconds. First thing in the morning she was buying a shower curtain and a bolt for the door, if she had to drive all the way to San Antonio.

  She turned the water off so hard that the ancient plumbing protested, grabbed a towel, and pulled on pajamas before she was properly dry. Skipping teeth cleaning—gum disease being very low on her list of worries right now—she grabbed her clothes and all but raced down the corridor to her room.

  Shutting the door behind her, she dragged a chair across the room and wedged it under the doorknob, à la all the best adventure stories she’d read as a child. She slumped on the bed, heart racing and breathing fast, and as she looked across at her barricaded door, she burst out laughing. As if Rod was likely to come barging in. He’d made it pretty clear he couldn’t stand her.

  Not that she altogether blamed him after what she’d learned this afternoon. Made her ashamed to have the old man’s blood in her veins.

  With that thought, she crawled under the covers and slept really badly.

  Rod dragged himself out of bed late, after one of the lousiest night’s sleep of his life. He growled at Mary-Beth when she bumped him as he made his way to the coffeepot and snarled at Lucas for no good reason other than he was smiling.

  “Had one too many last night, boss?” Mary-Beth asked, folding her arms on her chest and eyeing him in a way that bordered on insubordination.

  “Hell no! I’m just…” Good question. “Couldn’t sleep last night.” Impossible with a boner but that was definitely information he had no intention of sharing.

  “There was a program on TV the other night about sleep deprivation,” Gabe Rankin said, obviously getting into the spirit of pestering Rod.

  Given Gabe’s role in the current situation, he was lucky all he got in reply was a grunt and a grudging nod.

  “Yeah, right. I got work to do. Can’t stand around gabbing.” He added cream and sugar to his mug and asked as casually as he could, “Juliet anywhere around?”

  “She left early. Gone into Pebble Creek. Said she had some errands to run,” Mary-Beth replied.

  Thanking Providence for that small mercy, Rod shut himself in his office and wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Apologize to her? Why? She’d been in his shower. Shit! No! Her shower since she now owned it. Crap!

  Damn it all! He’d lost sleep dreaming about Juliet’s pale skin and bright red hair in all the right places. He was not wasting the day repeating the torture. Might as well do something productive instead. Filing sales tax returns was a good mind-numbing way to pass a few hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Not that he’d be able to stretch it out quite that long. Sooner or later he’d have to face Mizz ffrench and how the heck was he to handle it? Apologize? Pretend it never happened? Good try, Carter
! Just thinking about her had undone the efforts of the prolonged cold shower he’d indulged in earlier.

  She took her time. He should be thankful for that, but come back she did. He heard her laughing as she called out to Mary-Beth and then ran upstairs, her feet echoing on the uncarpeted boards. As she descended about half an hour later, he held his breath, praying she wouldn’t come near him. Ever. He was convinced he’d never be able to look her in the eye again and he was going to have to, for the next how many years?

  His groan reverberated in the high-ceilinged room and came back to mock him.

  Then the door opened and the object of his agony and lust put her head around it. “Rod, have you been in the other office this morning?”

  What was she getting at? “No! I’ve been here all morning.” When he wasn’t eating lunch or getting a second cold shower so as not to scandalize Maude Wilson and her cronies.

  “You think someone else has?”

  What was she getting at? “Don’t see why. No one’s been back this way.”

  He watched her face as she thought that over. Did she doubt him? Did he care? “Sure?” she asked again.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “If you’re certain, then we have a poltergeist or a peculiar burglar.”

  She sounded perfectly serious and just a tad worried. “What do you mean? Show me.” He stood up. “Certain?”

  She drew her mouth up in a way he guessed she meant to be disapproving but ended up sexy. “Come and see for yourself.”

  He followed her into Pete’s old study.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to the back table. “I had everything in two stacks. Things I wanted to look at right away, and stuff that could keep. The rest I’d been tossing. That stack there”—she indicated a heap of dusty manila files—“was in the bottom drawer last night. It’s all years old and I decided to leave it for much later. I was concentrating on the recent records and skipping the ancient ones.”

  If she was right, and she seemed certain enough, something odd was going on. “Want me to talk to the night staff?”