A Little Texas

So how did this guy know her?

She looked at him. He rested a forearm on the top of the silver rental and pierced her with his dark eyes. She eased into the depths of the VW, not sure what to do next.

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled. White teeth flashed in the brightness of the afternoon. “There’s much I know about you, Miss Newman. But the most important thing I know is that if you want to carry through with your threat against Justus Mitchell, you’ll have to get through me first.”

Not much shook Kate, but his words made her shiver in the temperate Vegas air. “Wh-what?”

“I read the letter. I know what you want.”

“Who are you?” Her legs quaked as adrenaline surged through her. Time to decide—fight or flight?

“Let’s just say I’m a good friend of Mr. Mitchell.”

Jeez, Louise. Who did her father employ? Henchmen? She looked around. A security officer sat in his little clown car about thirty yards away. She climbed from the car, slamming the door behind her. She knew how to stand up to men like this.

“Well, good friend of Mr. Mitchell, I guess you already know my father is a low-down, no-good bastard who spreads his seed all over Texas and leaves it to sprout with no help. He never acknowledged me or helped my family. I figure he owes me.”

She advanced on the man. She could tell he hadn’t expected much of a fight from her. What did he think she’d do? Squeak like a mouse, hop in her car and speed away? She’d sent the letter. She wanted the money. The bastard owed her that much. Likely more, but she wouldn’t be greedy.

He watched her as she stalked around his car.

She stopped in front of him and planted her fists on her hips. “So, does that get the attention of his majesty? Or do I have to write Mrs. Vera a little note signed ‘Kate Mitchell, your husband’s illegitimate daughter’? Or maybe I can take out an ad in the Houston Chronicle? Bet that’d get the governor’s attention.”

The man blinked. Then he smiled. “You are his daughter.”

She narrowed her eyes and waited.

“Justus wants you to come to Texas.”

“No. I don’t take orders from him. I’ll go to a lab and have blood drawn. I know he’s my biological father. I’ve known it for years. My mother and grandmother were not liars.”

The man crossed his arms and released a sigh. Though he was slightly under six feet, he towered over her. His shoulders were sinewy and tight, his body trim and coiled. He reminded her of a soldier. Perhaps he was one. “Mr. Mitchell’s instructions were firm. You want the money. You come to him.”

There was no way she could go to Texas. She needed to be at the salon raking in all she could, and if she canceled her appointments, she’d likely lose her clients. That was something she couldn’t do. She needed steady customers—her future depended on it. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t gone to Texas in the first place. That and the killer airfare.

“I can’t. I have responsibilities.”

“The salon?”

A thread of unease snaked up her spine. Did her father know about her financial troubles? Surely not. “Yes, if you must know. I can’t pack up a suitcase and head to Texas to satisfy some old man’s whim. I—”

“But you expect him to satisfy yours? Meet your demands with no proof? It’s more than reasonable to expect to meet you face-to-face. That was his offer. Take it or leave him be.”

Kate chewed on his words. “If he wanted to meet me face-to-face, why send you? Why not come himself?”

The man swallowed what she assumed to be aggravation. “You evidently didn’t do your research well. Mr. Mitchell is ill and confined to a wheelchair.”

Now, that was something she’d never expected. The powerful Justus Mitchell confined to a chair, crippled and sick? Something stabbed her insides. She was certain it was guilt. After all, she stood there ready to blackmail an ailing man and his reputed angel of a wife with dirty laundry from years past.

But Justus Mitchell wasn’t a victim.

Kate didn’t consider herself a victim, either. But she’d also grown up without the necessities of life while her father and his wife ate Chateaubriand and drank Perrier. She’d lived in castoffs from the Oak Stand Pentecostal Church while their precious Ryan had galloped upon a pristine lawn in a smocked John-John suit. She’d crawled into a used single-wide trailer each night praying it wouldn’t storm while the Mitchells tucked into plush beds in one of the seven bedrooms at the family estate, Cottonwood. And worse still was that everyone knew she was his daughter…and felt sorry for her.

Kate deserved the money.

But she’d rather face a firing squad than go to Texas.

“Here’s a plane ticket for tomorrow morning. Either you get on the plane or Mr. Mitchell will fix it so you never see a dime from him. Your choice.” He shoved an envelope into her hand.

“You’re threatening me?” Kate felt her toes sweat in her boots. They always did when she felt scared. Damn it.

“Turnabout is fair play, Kate.”

With those words, the man opened his car door and climbed inside. Kate barely had time to step back before he pulled out of the narrow parking space. She couldn’t tell if he watched her in his rearview mirror, standing bereft in the parking lot holding the envelope. He’d put on dark sunglasses that made him look even more menacing.

“I didn’t even get your name,” Kate muttered to the taillights of the car. “Rude ass.”

There was nothing left to do but climb into the comfort of the VW. She blinked back desperate tears. Justus played hardball.

But what had she expected? The man hadn’t risen to the top of Texas by letting people run roughshod over him. Of course he’d be as tough as the West Texas landscape that held his oil wells.

So now she had no choice. She’d have to go to him if she wanted to get the money for Fantabulous. She only hoped she could pull it off. Everything depended on her playing the game well.

CHAPTER THREE

RICK DROVE OUT OF THE PARKING lot as his cell phone jittered beside him. He glanced at Kate in the rearview mirror. She stared after him looking not the least bit happy, her lips forming words he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine the curses being shot his way.

Who could blame her? The tables had been turned on her little blackmail game. And strangely enough, it hadn’t amused him to get beneath her skin. He knew how it felt to be jacked around. But she’d brought it on herself.

The phone vibrated again. And again. He glanced down at the persistent humming. Justus’s number flashed on the BlackBerry’s screen.

He didn’t want to talk to the old man right now. He needed to process Kate Newman.

She was a smart-mouthed, sexy piece of work. He liked her style—the edgy look she wore like an attitude. She’d responded to him. He hadn’t missed that. And she didn’t seem afraid of him like other women were. There was little doubt she was Justus’s biological daughter—not because her manner was as brash as his, but because she had his eyes. Ryan’s eyes.

Justus had stamped his mark on his two children.

Kate’s eyes were like an exotic sea glittering at sunset. They dominated her delicate face, even overshadowed her tempting lips. He imagined men tripped over each other for a shot at her. She had a daring vibe, an appeal that would make people draw near to see what she’d do or say next.

Something stirred inside him. He wanted to tell Kate to stay in Vegas and not worry about Justus. There was a pall hanging over Cottonwood. It would suck her in and suffocate her.

Mind your own business, he told himself.

But logic couldn’t stop the feelings rising inside him. The one that said “protect her” and the other he didn’t even want to acknowledge. The one that whispered “bed her.” Those responses were asinine. Kate didn’t need protecting—he hadn’t seen so much as a hint of fear or regret in those Mitchell-blue eyes. And as to the other, well, he wasn’t that man anymore.

The phone sounded again.