The Cowboy’s Socialite Page 8

  “There’s only one way to find out,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  Jack flew down the flight of stairs, the nonstop hammering from Cody remodeling the bathroom reverberating through his body. The noise had also kicked him out of bed, after he’d finally fallen asleep, following a night of tossing and turning like a catfish in a fryer. Somehow, the so-called friendship, the clean break, the truce they’d promised each other did nothing to dampen his inner turmoil. His desire for her. His conflicting emotions.

  The emotions lurking just below the surface of basic cordiality he’d struggled to maintain. Deep down, he still wanted her gone. Out of his life, where she couldn’t do more damage. He wanted a new lease on life, and the legal end of his marriage would bring him a fresh beginning.

  Jack tipped his hat at Consuelo, grabbed a cup for coffee and poured the steamy liquid from the sleek machine.

  “Morning to you too.” Consuelo wiped her hands on the apron and placed an exquisite coffee cake on the table, next to a selection of fruits, juices, and toasts. Even after the two years of working for him, the lady insisted and prepared breakfast, though he’d consistently told her he didn’t eat much in the morning. Like his dad.

  Every time he started to make comparisons with his own flesh and blood, his heart took a sharp twist. He had enough in common with his father to worry. But the fear he’d let a volatile, inconsistent woman turn his life around and run away whenever it suited her, made his stomach churn.

  Jack lifted the cup to his lips, gulping down the hot, strong liquid. Anxiety crept under his skin. “Where’s Lola?”

  Consuelo placed both hands on her waist, with a snicker. “I’m doing great, mijo, thank you.”

  He placed the cup on the sink and grabbed a piece of coffee cake. “Sorry.”

  Consuelo waved him off. “She’s outside. Poor chica has been trying to start the hot mess she calls a truck for a while.”

  “She shouldn’t have bought that piece of crap,” he said, taking a bite of the cake. She shouldn’t have come back. She should have sold me her half. Wasn’t it obvious? He understood she’d begun some sort of existential journey after losing her father, but not at the cost of the ranch.

  Consuelo tilted her head to the side, and a challenge sparked in her dark eyes. “You should help her.”

  “I can’t make things easier for her.”

  “What happened to you, Jack? You are the most generous person I know. You’re always helping those in need, but whenever Lola is around, you change. Why?”

  He wiped his mouth on the napkin and kicked his chair back, surging to his feet. Consuelo had a valid point. He couldn’t give Lola the satisfaction of knowing how much she affected him. “Fine,” he said under his breath.

  He left the kitchen, but a few moments later, he realized he wasn’t ready for the sight in front of him. Lola St. James, her delectable ass up in the air as she leaned over the engine.

  Libido stirred strong and hard inside him, and he had to evoke all kinds of cockblocking images to wipe the very real one just before his eyes. Time to think about Dad, politicians, and buckets of icy water. Anything to yank the blood pounding thoughts invading his brain, and corrupting his soul. But no descriptions surpassed the cold truth, no matter how much he’d tried to fool himself. We aren’t done. Not yet.

  Straightening his nearly sagging shoulders, like he’d just been punched in the gut, he crunched the dry leaves under his boots, and walked over to her.

  Perhaps sensing his nearness, she arched back, easing the kinks out of her back.

  A hot pink shirt outlined her voluptuous breasts and indented the sensual curve of her stomach—the same shorts he’d seen her wearing on the horseback ride showcased her sinful long legs. The thread of sweat on her face and glistening between her breasts assured him she’d been under the sun for a while.

  He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

  She jammed both hands in her pockets, a pang of frustration in her eyes. “Trying to get this sucker to work.”

  He gave a sideways glance to the bare engine. “What’s the problem?”

  “It won’t start. I popped the hood and hoped to see some smoke or something to clue me in as to why this is happening.”

  Turning his attention to her, he placed his hand over his eyes to fight the blinding sun. Bad idea. Rays hit her head and shone around, producing a halo effect, outlining the curly ends of her hair—that would look glorious, spread on his pillow. With a shudder, he curled his fists into balls. “And what would you do if it smoked?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Besides praying my skin wouldn’t get oily? I hoped to find an open lid I could close. It seems easy enough in the movies.”

  Smothering a chuckle, he leaned onto the engine. After a quick survey, he shook his hands. “You need a new alternator. It won’t start like this.”

  She slapped her forehead and sighed. “Of course.”

  He closed the hood and tapped the metal. “I can ask Earl to sort this out, but it’ll take at least a few hours to get it done,” he said, describing the best case scenario. Earl would have to stop his work and go into town to buy a new alternator and hire a mechanic to change it.

  “How much will it cost?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

  “No. No. I’ll do it.” She stepped closer to him, and her face sobered. “Not right away, obviously, because I’m broke, but can I pay you back in the future?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She touched his wrist, demanding his full attention. Heat coiled in his stomach. “Please?”

  “Okay.” He choked out the word, and took a step back, taking his tingling wrist away from her. What to say next? He wouldn’t, couldn’t let her see his control slipped from him. “But weren’t you supposed to go see your dad’s cousin today?”

  She shuffled her weight from foot to foot, and lifted her hand over her eyes to look at him. “That’s where I was going.”

  “I’ll take you,” he said, and when he heard himself, the spontaneous offer echoed in his ears. He stretched to his full height. She couldn’t drive that piece of junk, and if she found a ride to get there and then needed to return at the end of the day... who would she call? Him. So. He might as well bite the bullet. That’s all this was—a way to avoid more inconvenience later on.

  Lola settled for a closed lip smiling, her shift changing from one leg to another. “Your driving me is too much. I’ve been trying to do things on my own.”

  “You have, Lola. I’ll just be doing this as… a friend. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” The sweetness in her voice, lacking any sexual connotation, cut into his heart.

  Friends helped each other. However, how could he be her friend when dirty images and thoughts filled his mind at every turn? The words pounded in his ears, in staccato.

  Not. Done. With. Her.

  “So I’ve wondered if you know who this woman is,” Lola explained to her cousin Joe, as she gave him the picture she’d been holding for the past thirty minutes. Joe had offered them coffee, showed them the renovations of his estate, and finally had them sit for a chat. Jack sat across from her, and even when he talked to him, Jack assessed her with his wondering eyes. An unfamiliar comfort swept over her, hinting this friend idea worked out after all—if she continued to keep her slutty hormones in check, and focus on building the only type of relationship she could have with her soon to be ex-husband.

  Joe glanced at the picture with a spark of interest. Certainly didn’t look as if the woman had been a complete stranger. At first, the flush from his face faded, leaving his plump cheeks pale. Then, his features softened, as though a good memory surfaced.

  Lola slid to the edge of the sofa, a thrill of anxiety coursing through her, and chilling her every cell. Good or bad, she yearned to know the truth.

  “I’ve never seen this woman before.” Without looking her in the eye, he placed th
e picture on the low coffee table.

  Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Are you sure?”

  Joe nodded quickly, refusing to look her in the eye. “Lola, darling, your father wouldn’t have wanted you to worry over a picture. As far as I’m concerned, this might be a picture that belongs to someone he himself doesn’t know.”

  She looked at Jack, who remained seated with a blank stare on his face. “The edges of the pictures are roughened. Not only has he had it for a long time, but he kept it. The way her hair is styled, this was taken in the eighties. Before I was born.” She’d always known her two semesters at UCLA learning about fashion history would pay off one day.

  “I’m sorry.” Her uncle shrugged, the apologetic look in his eyes hinted that there was more he apologized for. But damn the man, she doubted he’d share it with her.

  The following awkward small talk filled her mind like white noise. During the entire time, disillusion hammered, and the need to find the woman who could lead her to her birth parents grew.

  She went through the motions, talked to her uncle until they left. Then she embraced the solitude, tucked in her corner of the passenger seat of Jack’s Land Rover and closed her eyes. Though she doubted sleep would come. Not with racing thoughts and lost hope bombarding her brain. But at least she’d save face and keep Jack from feeling sorry for her.

  “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” His voice sliced through the silence.

  “Besides materializing into a case of chocolate and the latest Star Magazine?” She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. A smile broke his lips and he focused on the windy road ahead. “How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

  “Your eyelashes fluttered, and you moved your head from side to side.”

  Too late to save face. Besides, who else could she talk to? “Can my intuition always be wrong?”

  He shot her the warning look a doctor would give a terminal patient. “It’s better this way. Your father loved you, and your mother… she’s an acquired taste, but I’m sure she’d be here for you in a heartbeat if you needed her.”

  She folded her arms, unable to let go of the throbbing in her heart. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling Joe hid the truth from her, even though she had no idea how to discover it. “Is it wrong I want to know more about my biological parents?” she asked, her voice above a whisper. “That I’m not letting the past be in the past?” Not when it could be a big part of her DNA.

  “No. I just don’t understand why finding them has become your priority.”

  She faced the window, the amount of luxurious estates and ranches they drove by barely catching her attention. “I love my dad and Margo. I guess, silly me, I just hoped if I knew who my birth parents were, I’d find a reasonable explanation as to why I’m so flaky.” Relief poured inside her, like she was finally released from a hostage situation. Although their marriage was over by nearly all counts, she owed him to at least unveil one of her fears. “When I lost the baby, a part of me was so sad and broken… but then I realized I’d probably have been a crappy mom.”

  Shifting on her seat to lean closer to the door and window, she pressed her lips together and waited for his comeback. The compassionate, friendly version of Jack was probably about to expire.

  Jack passed a light and turned the SUV back, made a sharp turn and parked it in a gas station. She bit back a snarky comment and didn’t even wonder why he didn’t put any gas in and just walked into the store. Whatever.

  She’d shared something painfully personal, and he ignored her.

  A few minutes later, the sound of the door announced his return. Arms folded and legs crossed, she continued staring at the sign in front of her, not reading but determined not to bother with Jack. With the cost of her broken car and the lack of help from Joe, her day wasn’t the best. She hoped the Mayor’s ball proved a tad more productive to turn her luck around.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted them to.” The sincerity of his voice broke the silence.

  She turned to face him. With his lips quirked up, he held a copy of Star Magazine and The National Enquirer in one hand and three Ghirardelli chocolate bars in the other.

  “It was the best I could do.” He sucked his breath, awaiting her response.

  She should smother the smile forming. Altered pictures of celebrities with cellulite and questionable swimwear shouldn’t have the effect to release a swirl of warmth within her, providing her temporary release for a terminal situation. She bit back a smile.

  “I guess it’ll do.” A part of her melted shamelessly, her heart throbbing in her throat. She wanted to launch herself at him, to catch a whiff of his manly scent, to rest her head on the safety of his broad chest.

  But if she did any of that, they would end up screwing. Behave. She grabbed the magazines from his hand and a chocolate bar, and then, another. Gosh if she didn’t stop emotional eating, her ass would need its own parking space.

  “Lola. I’m sorry about the baby,” he said. “And for the record, you’d have made a kick-ass mom.”

  Her pulse skittered. Maybe it was just one of those things people said to make others feel better. The gleam in his eyes told her otherwise, and her stomach curled. God. She hoped he didn’t offer her a comforting hug, because if he linked his arms around her, she’d never let go of him. Never had her throat felt so tight. “Thank you, Jack.”

  He nodded, turned on the SUV, and drove off.

  The apparent restored peace with Jack, however, didn’t change her questioning. She needed to know more about where she’d come from, and if that had anything to do with her pathological lack of commitment to people and things. To get the money to investigate her past, she’d see her plan through to make her B&B a huge success. Tonight at the ball, she’d use all her persuasion skills to get the mayor to agree with her. Tonight, she’d secure her future to afford to learn about her past.

  Chapter 8

  “Mr. Mayor.” Lola nudged his arm. “May I please have a word?” She forced a smile, hoping the mix of businesswoman and femme fatale that her long black gown suggested would help her get into his good graces. Or at least grab his attention so she could pitch her idea and ask for him to expedite the business license.

  Arnold Wright, the sixty something man, a tad shorter than her and with a burgeoning belly, mumbled something to the small group he talked to and turned to her, the bona fide politician’s smile forming on his lips. “Yes?”

  Handing her old Ford to the valet had been embarrassing, when most of the other guests had driven up in sleek sports cars or limited edition, top-of-the-line trucks. Arriving alone at the lavish party where she didn’t recognize a soul had been intimidating, given most of them looked like they came from traditional old money families.

  “I visited your office to get a license, but they told me I had to schedule an appointment with you.”

  “And?” He nodded, his smile narrowing.

  “Well, I’m on a time crunch, and hoped you could make an exception. I’d really appreciate your help.”

  “The thing is…” he started, and looked over her shoulder to greet a passerby. With a wave, he continued, eyes following everyone in the huge salon but her. “It’s hard to make exceptions. There’s a procedure for a reason.”

  Red tape. “I know, but I’ll be so grateful if you just hear me out.”

  He tapped her bare shoulder. “Sure. Call my assistant Sue, she’ll schedule something.”

  Lola’s hands curled and uncurled. Assistant? The man blatantly brushed her off, and without a shadow of interest in her plea. Crap. If only Daddy…

  Enough. A bolt of determination traveled through her. She blinked. In slow motion, she watched him walk around her. No freaking way. She gave herself a mental slap, and grasped his elbow, causing him to turn to her with a frown on his face.

  “Mr. Mayor, I’m Lola St. James. I’m turning my ranch property into a bed and breakfast. I hear you’re up for re-elec
tion, and I’m sure the voters will appreciate more jobs injected in town, especially in this economy,” she said with enough confidence to remove her hand from his arm. He raised his eyebrow, and she knew she had his attention.

  “I hear you sweetheart, but how will a bed and breakfast influence my voters?”

  “It’s a luxury bed and breakfast. It’ll bring guests with money, who’ll be going to your restaurants, souvenir shops, and I also have plans for expansion to create daytime activities which will require more local staff.”

  A sigh. “And what do you need from me again?”

  Hope filled her. This is going to work. And I’m doing this on my own. “I need you to sign the license and grant me permission to start working on adding the signs to the main highways leading to my B&B,” she said, injecting energy in her voice.

  He leaned back, sizing her up as if figuring out if she was worth his time. “Where is it located?”

  “Red Oak Ranch.”

  His brows furrowed, and he shook his head, skeptical. “Hhhm. That’s where Jack Canyon lives.”

  Was their marriage such an embarrassment for Jack he didn’t even mention it to his current acquaintances? They had wedded in California—where Jack had been living at the time while he ensured his properties there took off. “Yes. We’re... married. Sort of complicated. Anyway. He’s on board, so that’s all you need to know.” Did she lie? Maybe a little white lie. He didn’t want her to open the B&B per se, but they were now friends, and friends supported one another. She swallowed.

  “Okay.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit and withdrew a business card, then handed it to her. “My cell phone number is on there. Call me on Monday and we’ll sort this out.”