The Cowboy’s Socialite Page 7

  Sure, she’d visited him often in L.A. and called every day, but wasn’t that what any respectable daughter would do? Why couldn’t she have moved in with him, made him listen, tried harder? Commit to making him get better. Commit. The word hammered guilt inside her heart one harsh staccato beat at a time.

  Jack ran his fingers through his hair, and turned his face the other way as if struggling to find the right thing to say. She took another family album from the box and placed it on the table, realizing it might be too much to unlock all those memories in one night.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You loved him and he knew it.” Closing the gap between them, he let his hand fall on her shoulder, and offered a rough rub on the place where her arm met her shoulder. A clumsy touch, without second intentions. “Trust me on this.”

  Closing her eyes, she soaked in the caress. The knots in her brain slowly dissipated and turned into thin air by the time she opened her eyes to face him.

  “He wouldn’t have let you change his lifestyle. Milton was stubborn.”

  “Yes.”

  She continued to empty the box, taking all contents out. “I’ll go through these tomorrow.”

  “That’s better.”

  She reached the last item at the end of the box, a single picture with rough edges. Coated by dust and with a few spots and scratches, the black and white photo showed a woman with a warm smile and black background behind her. Smooth black hair cascaded down her delicate face, but her chestnut eyes captured the attention.

  Lola’s heart skipped a beat. The way she arched her eyebrow was painfully familiar.

  “What is it?” Jack asked behind her.

  “Look at this picture.” She blew the rest of the dust off and handed it to him.

  “An old family member?”

  “No. I never met this woman.” Or had she? When she was so young she couldn’t remember? She shuddered, overwhelmed by the strange sensation drilling a hole in her and refused to leave. “She looks too much like me not to be family.”

  He held the picture against the lamp hanging over the table, and squinted his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Can’t you notice her coloring and her eyes? We look a lot alike.”

  “Lola…” With a slight shake of his head, he gave her the picture.

  “She could be my mom, Jack.”

  He shot her an apologetic smile, concern flashing in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t think about it anymore.”

  “I was always curious, but something always held me back from wanting to know more. I guess it never mattered before.”

  “You should cling to that.”

  “After Daddy died, and with Margo being so far away… I’ve started to wonder about my birth parents. Why they had to let me go. If putting me up for adoption was a sacrifice or their best choice.”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, his voice as gentle as a lullaby. Of course, there was a chance all he wanted was to get her home so Pepper would shut up and let him sleep.

  Didn’t matter. Nothing would quiet her racing thoughts. “Maybe I just wanted someone to blame because I’m not always able to finish things. Maybe it’s genetic.” The lightness in her tone didn’t hide the question she’d asked herself far too often. Daddy had failed at the end, when he’d been irresponsible. But he’d managed to get married, adopt a baby, and build a successful life in Los Angeles for a long time. He’d committed to things, with passion, giving his all despite how some of them turned out. What about me? The familiar beat of fear vibrated within her.

  “Some things are best left unknown.” He offered her a light pat on her hand, the clumsy touch searing her skin.

  Not the right time. The mental message she conveyed to her body parts failed, which only left her one alternative—dig deep, and ditch any opportunity for more. “Didn’t you ever get curious to know about what your mom might have been up to—where she’d gone after she left?”

  Withdrawing his hand from her, he hesitated. The neutral expression faded from his face. A deep frown marked his forehead.

  Can’t go back now. “I know she’s not dead,” she said. “Consuelo accidentally let it slip. I’m sorry.”

  The main vein on his neck pulsed, his eyes turned into two dark blue beads of hate. “She’s dead to me.”

  “Yes but didn’t you ever wonder—”

  He knocked on the table, making the photo frame shake. “Of course I wondered. What do you think? I grew up with an old man, who had his own health problems to worry about. But the bottom line is she left me. She walked away when I was a toddler.” No amount of loathing hid the pain in his voice. “I had to be a lunatic to fantasize about her.”

  She curled her fingers into a ball. Should she reach out to him? “And she never contacted you again?”

  He snorted. “In my adult life, when she found out I made the big bucks. To ask for money.”

  “Didn’t you ever talk to her?”

  “What about? She packed up and left like I was some sort of inconvenience.”

  Just like I did. Guilt knotted her throat. Maybe she broke his heart twice as bad because she hadn’t been the first woman to reject him. She curled and uncurled her fingers, unsure if she should offer him a hug. She took one step toward him, but he shook his head, and stretched to his full height. He didn’t need soothing, and if she tried, she’d probably drive him away.

  She plopped on the chair. Her gaze strayed to the picture again, and she couldn’t shake her aching curiosity. An intuition she never trusted before shone a light upon her, and suddenly, she realized the lady from the picture might be able to give her the answers she needed. Someway somehow, she had to find her.

  Chapter 6

  “What do you mean, a special license?” A pang of despair touched Lola’s voice. “I’ve brought signature from both co-owners.” She opened the manila folder and carefully removed the pages she’d asked Jack to sign earlier that morning.

  The city employee, a man in his sixties, glanced at the pages, fixing his square, oversized reading glasses. “You need the mayor’s approval to place the signs leading to your motel.”

  “Bed and Breakfast,” Lola rushed to say right after the man gave her a sheet of documents she needed. Documents she thought she already had.

  “Yes ma’am.” He shrugged, unmoved. “Because you’re new in town and don’t have the best credit history, you’ll need to talk to the mayor’s office and schedule an appointment.”

  “When can I do that?”

  The man, with a tag that read Gary, turned his head to a computer monitor for a couple of seconds, and typed in a few things. “Next month.”

  “Next month? But I need this now. I have a friend in L.A. who’s doing the logo and we need to know how many different sizes and formats we’ll need,” she said, omitting the part London would be doing it for free. Thankfully he was the best graphic designer she knew, even though he’d send the files and she would still need to print the signs. Ordering the wrong ones was out of the question. She didn’t need any unnecessary spending.

  With a dismissive shrug, the man simply sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said with a voice that wasn’t sorry at all.

  “I bet.” She matched his cynical smile with one of her own, grabbed her bag from the empty chair next to her and sauntered out of the city hall.

  She tried to absorb the tranquil atmosphere in the streets, with people sitting on the wrought iron benches on every other corner, as they entered and exited the brick buildings surrounding the plaza. Tried, but failed.

  Since the previous night, she’d dealt with frustration, questioning, and now, pure anger at herself, because she knew how it’d go down if Daddy was alive. She’d make a little scene and he’d call people, persuasive as only he could be, and find a way to get her to see the mayor. Good Gucci, I’m pathetic. Best not to think about Daddy, especially after her intuition nagged at her that something about her adoption process had been off.

  Do I really
want to find out? The growing concerns blinded her from the hydrant in her way as she was about to cross the street. She hit her sky-high shoe on the hard metal. “Crap.” A sharp pain shot into her toes, more due to their cramped state inside the shoes than the hitting itself.

  “Are you okay?” A woman walking in the opposite direction asked.

  Lola assessed her. Brown skin and black eyes. She couldn’t be the woman from the picture, could she? Damn it. Was she going to stare at every Mexican lady she met in the streets?

  A wrinkle formed on the woman’s forehead. “Is everything all right?” she asked, pronouncing the words evenly.

  “Yes.” Lola shook her head and moved her toes in her shoes. “Everything’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  The woman’s lips shifted into a relaxed smile. “Be careful next time. Have a nice day.”

  Lola crossed the street, and strode in the direction of her parked Ford. Nice day, no way.

  “Lola. Hey,” a male voice called her, and she swung on her heels.

  Hoyt, the guy from the bar, the cocky brawler, tipped off his Stetson. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk with a half-smile on his handsome face, his height competing with the height of the leaves on a Maple tree. He didn’t look as threatening as when he had wanted to beat the crap out of her husband.

  “Yeah?” She threw her shoulders back, then placed both hands on her waist. If he and Jack hated each other and he thought he could intimidate her, he had another one coming.

  He threw his hands in the air and offered her an apologetic look, and shrugged. “I’m sorry about how things went down the other day.”

  “You mean when you hit my . . .” she cleared her throat, “Jack, even though he didn’t hit you back?”

  His gaze strayed from hers, then returned. “Whenever my sisters are involved, I can be very protective.”

  “Sisters?” She let her car key slide into her opened bag and moved one step closer to him.

  “I have four of them.”

  She brought her hand up to stifle her giggles. Four sisters. No wonder he was stressed out. “You’re forgiven. The universe has already taken care of you.”

  A smile touched his lips. “It has. I just didn’t want you to think I’m this country bumpkin jerk.”

  She waved him off. “Trust me, jerks are my specialty.”

  His smile widened. “You seem to be having a good day.”

  Tossing her hair to the side, she plopped on the bench in front of them, arms folded. “I wish. Just found out it’s easier to schedule an appointment with Madonna’s hairstylist than the mayor.” She had to promise one of her kidneys for an appointment with the fantabulous Andre, and luck had been on her side. Andre had seen her and hadn’t cashed in on her promise.

  Sitting next to her, Hoyt scratched his chin. “What do you need?”

  “To convince him to forgo the red tape and expedite my permit.”

  “I can talk to him if you want.”

  A spark of excitement started in her, but she cooled it to avoid the fire. In silence, she stared at Hoyt, and recognized in him the kindness and compassion she’d used her whole life as sturdy emotional crutches. She chewed on her lower lip until it hurt. “Thanks, but I’d rather talk to him myself. The man is so freaking busy.”

  “Why don’t you persuade him at his annual ball?”

  “Annual ball?”

  Hoyt rose to his feet and produced his car key from his pocket, starting to play with it. “It’s tomorrow. I RSVPed yes, but I need to head out of town tonight and doubt I can make it back in time.”

  A sense of empowerment sprinted within her, the excitement making her stand. “I’d be glad to take the ticket off your hands.”

  He gave her a bump on her arm. “Aren’t you a good doer?”

  She pouted her lips. “It’s my mission.”

  “Okay. I’ll have my assistant deliver them to your house,” he said, striding away.

  “Thanks. And Hoyt… I’m sorry too, I didn’t tell you about me and Jack. And the marriage.” She raised her voice slightly.

  “It’s okay. I talked to my sister, turns out he never lied to her even though that doesn’t make him a saint.”

  Her heart contracted. She had some explaining to do to Mel too, even though technically she held the wife title and Mel, the so-called other woman. Christ. Her life had turned into a telenovela. A crappy one. “Does she really like him?” she asked, her voice clipped. A woman like Mel seemed exactly like what Jack needed—they probably enjoyed the same things, shared similar values, the whole shebang. Plus, Mel could give Jack the family he wanted.

  He waved her off. “She’ll find a guy who deserves her.”

  No kidding. We all want that guy, she thought, but decided on nodding. She didn’t want to give Hoyt the wrong idea. Her life was too messy for any man to be in it.

  “Hey, Mr. Canyon.” The handyman waved as Jack crossed the upstairs hallway. The tall, slanky blond wiped the sweat from his forehead. Jack doubted that clown was older than twenty. Twenty-one, tops. “Have you seen the first bedroom down the hall? Starting to look good.”

  “No, not yet.”

  Cody was about to open his mouth again for another trivial comment, when Jack nodded at him and headed downstairs. Where the hell was Lola? Wasn’t she supposed to manage the handyman’s work on the first day? With a long, deep sigh he glanced at his cell. One p.m. She’d left a few hours ago, but he fought the urge to call her. What she did was none of his business.

  Business. Already, her presence at his house made him less productive. He should be in Houston, going to meetings, or foreseeing the farms he owned in Texas, and California. Not babysitting the woman he’d been stupid enough to agree to be friends with.

  The front door creaked open, and his eyes followed the direction to find Lola sauntering in, cheeks blushed as if she’d been running.

  “Hi.” She offered him a neutral smile, like the one she had in the morning when she’d dashed out of the house.

  “There is a handyman here. Cody something.”

  “I know, I already talked to Cody on the phone and told him to get started.” She wriggled out of the light pink jacket and placed it on one of the recliners in the living area. The silky white blouse underneath strained for a moment, and his cock stirred. A need hit him hard to open each pearl button and touch her soft skin. Kiss her perky breasts.

  “Jack?” she called.

  He blinked. “Yeah?”

  “I asked you if you’re going to the mayor’s ball tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed the desire lodged in his throat, hoping it’d dissipate somewhere in his body. And never return. Not for her, anyway. The woman who planned to turn the place he loved into an attraction, a circus for tourists then leave and hire a manager, a stranger, to take care of what should have been theirs. As if he’d allow it. “Yes.” The confident smile on her ripe lips hinted she expected him to invite her. He opened his lips, but clamped them closed. Taking her to the coveted ball didn’t count as friendship. And the last thing he needed was the entire town to think of them as a couple. Dodging the questions Consuelo and Earl threw his way proved enough of a nuisance.

  “Nice.”

  Did she expect him to take her? He scratched his head, restless. He’d already dropped his guard and signed those damn papers so she could get the paperwork going. “It’s just business, you know. I go to network and see familiar faces.”

  “Wonderful. I think I’ll enjoy it.”

  Enough. “I’d love to take you, but . . .”

  She threw back her head, her hearty laughter filling the room. “Is that why you look so pale? You thought I was coaxing you into taking me?”

  A sense of idiocy swept over him.

  She flashed him a triumphant smile. “I have a ticket.”

  He narrowed his eyes, trying too damn hard not to focus his attention on her parted lips or the tear forming at the corner of her eye, the result from laughing at his e
xpense. She had a ticket for a two thousand dollar plate event? How, in God’s name, would her broke ass be able to afford it? Unless she wasn’t as strapped for cash as she said.

  “Interesting.” He bit back the bitterness clinging to his voice. Friends. They were friends. “I thought you were on a budget, saving for the costs of opening your B&B.”

  “I am.” She slid a rubber band from her hand, threaded her fingers into her hair, and put it on a ponytail. “I ran into Hoyt, and since he isn’t going to make it, he offered me his ticket.”

  “Hoyt.” He choked up the name. His gut clenched like the receiving end of a punch. A punch stronger and longer lasting than the one he’d gotten from Hoyt. “Lola, you be careful now. He’s using you just to get back at me.”

  Jack clenched his fists into a ball. I wish I could punch him right about now.

  Hoyt was a stupid bastard if he entertained the idea of seducing Lola as some kind of payback for Mel. His blood thrummed in his veins, and he had to flex his fingers and try to calm down.

  She tossed her hair to the side. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’m learning how to take care of myself.”

  “Sure you are.” He produced the best smile he could, going out of his way not to show the irritation still crawling under his skin. If Hoyt tried to touch Lola, he’d knock all of his teeth out. Jack wouldn’t be disrespected under his own roof. “I guess it’s the people you know.”

  “The people I know.” Her voice trailed off, and she looked past him, her eyes remote. “The people I know.” She repeated, then her eyes shot to her hairline. “That’s right.”

  He leaned forward. “Care to explain?”

  She slapped her palms together. “I just had an idea. Maybe someone my dad knew will recognize the woman in the picture.”

  Why did she obsess over an old photo? He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to alleviate some of the kinks. “But your uncle passed.”

  “Daddy has a cousin who lives somewhere in Texas. Around his age. He didn’t make it to the funeral because he hates flying. Maybe he knows.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t.” What good could come from digging into the past? Didn’t she have enough on her plate? He shook his head, more to himself than to her. Bringing out those valid points was useless. He knew the woman he had married and separated from. When she wanted something, she’d pursue it… until she didn’t want it anymore. Currently, she was in the first stage.