Worth the Risk

Her shower was quick and efficient. If circumstances were different, she would have luxuriated in the giant-sized marble enclosure with three directional faucets and lingered under the waterfall-like spray. She would have lathered herself with smooth-as-silk body wash and then treated her limbs to a citrus lotion massage. But Jackson was waiting and they had some serious talking to do.

She dressed in the clothes she’d worn to the convention yesterday, a little rumpled now from their night on the floor. With fingers gingerly moving through her hair, the thick, short layers fell back into place without much fuss. There was something to be said about good-hair days even when all else seemed to be going downhill.

She padded out of the bathroom in bare feet and noted Jackson was still standing by the window, but this time with a coffee cup in his hand. Sometime during her shower, room service had arrived. It always amazed her how magic seemed to happen to wealthy people and how much they took it for granted. With a snap of fingers, their every wish was granted.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Jackson was wealthy though, because he, unlike so many others that had refused her, had entered into a business arrangement with her. They were partners now, and Sammie had no illusions about his reasons. Normally, a cattle baron with investments in major real estate developments and the stock market wouldn’t give a small-time boot seller the time of day, but Jackson was doing Callie a favor by backing Sammie’s boutique. It made Sammie even more determined to make her business a success. She didn’t want to disappoint Callie or have the Worth family look upon her as a charity case.

The dining table was set for two with white linens and a cheery vase of flowers. A vast assortment of breakfast foods covered the surface from end to end. Her appetite had waned the second she’d woken up next to Jackson, but now, after a good cleansing had given her a slightly better outlook on life, she heeded her stomach’s grumble for nourishment. Those white-chocolate raspberry muffins were calling to her.

Jackson turned from the window to meet her eyes. His gaze slid up and down her body, then his lips came together in a smile he couldn’t hide. He quickly took a sip of his coffee.

“What?” she asked.

He gave his head a quick shake. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do,” she blurted.

His eyes raked over her one more time, then he shrugged, as if giving her the answer wouldn’t be the end of the world. “You look cute.”

“Cute?” She glanced down at the cream-and-brown plaid pleated skirt and narrow tailored ivory blouse she’d tucked into it. The whole ensemble was designed to be worn with a solid cream blazer and her classic brown zippered knee-high boots, which tied the entire outfit together. She’d dressed for the convention to show how an entire look can be created and changed simply by wearing the right boots. It all came down to the power of the boot.

She wiggled her bare toes. Her boots were on Jackson’s side of the bed. Her blazer was slung across a wing chair in the far corner of the room. No boots, no power. What was left was cute?

“You hungry?” he asked, glancing away from her toward the dining area.

“Yes. I could eat.”

He gestured for her to go first. She moved across the room and took a seat at one end of the table. Jackson, still in his plush robe, sat down adjacent to her. He poured her coffee and waited for her to sip it. Once. Twice. The French roast was pure heaven, warming her throat and giving her the fortification she needed to get through this conversation.

His eyes stayed on her with interest and a surge of uneasiness gripped her. “What’s up?” she said.

Jackson smiled again, that killer I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile. “You really don’t want to know.”

She swallowed coffee so fast it burned her throat. Her traitorous eyes dipped below his waist, not that she’d see anything beyond the table’s edge, but the intent was there and Jackson noticed.

“Oh.”

“Listen,” he began, shifting in his seat to face her fully. “I’m not the kind of guy to kiss and tell, but especially now, because of my relationship with Callie—and yours—I think it’s best if we put last night behind us. It was a mistake and I take full responsibility.”

Sammie winced inwardly. She knew what he was getting at, but for a man to say sleeping with her was a mistake was hard to hear, regardless of the man. But to hear it coming from Jackson Worth was really a slam to her ego. “It’s not entirely your fault, Jackson. I played a part in it. Not that I remember … too much.”

Jackson pulled a deep breath into his lungs as his eyes gleamed with private knowledge. “That’s probably a good thing.”

Why? Was it that good between them? Or that bad? She didn’t have the nerve to ask.

She bet few if any of his women had forgotten what it was like to make love with Jackson. And if his ego was bruised, he wasn’t letting on. Sammie wished she’d had a memory to take with her of a night she’d often fantasized about, but that wasn’t the most important thing now.

“I really want a fresh start in Arizona. Callie’s friendship is important to me. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other and I would rather not lie to her, but not telling isn’t exactly the same as lying, is it?”

“No, it’s not. It’ll be our little secret. No one has to know what happened and we’ll move on from here, Sammie.”

“Okay, we’ll keep it a secret. I’m not one to go bragging either. I mean, it was just sex, right?”

Jackson began to nod and then stopped himself. His lips pursed. “I’m taking the fifth. Any man in his right mind wouldn’t answer that question.”

Sammie smiled for the first time since she’d opened her eyes this morning. “You’re a wise man.”

“Am I?” His gaze swept over her again and Sammie felt the heat down to her bones.

“You think I’m cute.”

He grinned. “Cute can be sexy.”

“Obviously.”

He laughed.

She grabbed a muffin and took a big bite. She was feeling a little better now that they’d cleared the air. Neither one of them had any expectations, which was half the battle. The other half was to remember that Jackson Worth was her business partner and strictly off-limits. She could do that. She had to—there was no other option.

After breakfast, Jackson came out of the bathroom dressed in dark slacks and a western shirt. He’d offered to drive her to the motor hotel to pack her belongings and then take her to the airport to catch her flight to Boston. He plopped his Stetson on his head, looking like a Worth through and through as he stood by the bed, arms folded, watching her slip on her brown leather boots.

“There,” she said, closing up the long zipper and straightening to full height, adjusting her feet in the boots. She met his eyes as she put on her blazer and gave her hair a toss. “I’m ready to go.”

He glanced at her boots and then lifted his gaze to follow the contour of her legs. He had the oddest expression on his face but quickly shook it off. He took her hand and led her out the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

They’d made a pact and the old cliché held true. What happens in Vegas …

Sharing a secret with Jackson Worth could be thrilling. If only it wasn’t so darn necessary.

Two

It was early fall back in Boston, just when the leaves were starting to turn and the entire city was awash with burnt-orange and gold foliage. It was by far Sammie’s favorite time of year, when cooler air replaced summer humidity and fresh breezes rustled the trees. But there was no rustling of trees in Arizona. Not today anyway. The air was still and the land desolate but for the vegetation and shrubbery that had been transplanted to the desert from more tropical climes.

She would miss her hometown, but her life was no longer there and as soon as she’d landed at Sky Harbor Airport yesterday and stepped foot on Arizona soil, new excitement, a thrill she hadn’t felt for a long time, surged through her system. This was it—her chance to make a fresh start. Her life would be here now and she had every intention of looking toward the future.

She stood in the middle of the large empty storefront, her eyes darting from the shiny hardwood flooring covering the expanse of the room, to the clean, unadorned walls. She took in the subtle scent of fresh paint. Lifting her head, she viewed thick beams of wood crisscrossing the ceiling, giving it a rustic charm. The place was perfect and in that perfection, she also saw Jackson Worth’s handiwork. He’d picked a great Scottsdale location for the boutique, right smack in the heart of prime shopping for the middle to upper class of Phoenix society.

The sound of her boots clicking against the floors echoed her movements as she walked toward the front door. It was a lonely sound, one that reminded her of all she’d lost, of the emptiness she’d fought for months, but Sammie wouldn’t allow her mind to go there today. She had too much to be thankful for and heaven knew, she’d cried enough for two lifetimes already.

Poking her head outside, she noted a trendy Southwestern restaurant a few steps down the street, a smoke shop, a fancy children’s boutique and a little café with tables set for two outside the entrance. Warmth filled her chest and she whispered, “This is home now.”

Yesterday, Tagg and Callie had insisted on picking her up from the airport and had driven her to her new apartment. Callie must have offered a dozen times for Sammie to stay with them at Worth Ranch, but Sammie would never impose on them. Callie was eight months pregnant and the expectant couple deserved to enjoy this very special time in their lives without a houseguest.

Upon Jackson’s recommendation, Sammie had used an online service to find a furnished rental in a Spanish-style building with adobe archways and a red stone tiled garden patio. She’d sold everything she’d owned in Boston in a symbolic act meant to add closure to her old life. Only a few special pieces were salvaged from her father’s meager estate. She’d placed in storage her father’s favorite lounge chair, an antique grandfather clock that cuckooed on the hour and a few other items she couldn’t bear to part with belonging to her parents.

“Welcome to Arizona, neighbor.” She jumped at the sound and turned to find a man wearing a chef’s apron approaching from the café. His broad smile creased the perfect planes of his olive-toned face. His voice held the slightest hint of a Spanish accent as each word was enunciated with emphasis when he spoke.

He came to stand before her and stretched out his hand in greeting. “I’m Sonny Estes. I own Sonny Side Up Café.”