The Texan's Tiny Secret

Just Suzy.

A smile tugged at his lips as he envisioned her again, standing at the side of her van, dressed in those ridiculous-looking pink platform sneakers and leopardprint pants, brandishing her keys at him as if they were a weapon. She probably would have used them, too, if he hadn’t spoken, thus revealing his identity. A hellcat, he thought, silently admiring her spunk.

“Gil? Are you listening to me?”

Startled, he glanced over at his secretary, then offered her a rueful smile. “Sorry, Mary. I guess my mind wandered.”

She closed her day planner with a snap and rose, her lips pursed in disapproval. “And no wonder. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends since the day you took office. You need a vacation. Why don’t you go to the ranch for a couple of days and relax?”

Though a trip to his ranch was appealing, he shook his head. “No rest for the weary. Not right now, at any rate.”

“Well, there’s nothing here that won’t keep until tomorrow.” She headed for the door. “At least go upstairs and put your feet up before you have to go to that meeting tonight.”

“Mary?”

Her hand on the knob, she paused, a brow arched in question. “Yes?”

“Do you know who catered that party last weekend?”

She frowned slightly. “No. Why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “No particular reason.” He dropped a hand to his desktop and shuffled a few papers. “Do you think you could find out for me?”

“Well, yes,” she replied hesitantly, clearly puzzled by the request. “I’m sure I could.”

He lifted his head and gave her a grateful smile. “Do that for me, would you? And give me a call if you’re successful.”

Suzy hadn’t read a newspaper in years, avoided television newscasts like the plague and turned the dial if a news bulletin happened to interrupt the music playing on her favorite radio station. She despised the news, no matter what the format, and considered those who reported it lower than scum.

But her aversion to news and the news media hadn’t prevented her from recognizing the governor of Texas when he’d slipped into the kitchen at the party she’d catered over the weekend. From the moment Gil Riley had tossed his cowboy hat into the ring and announced his intent to run for governor, he had become the most-talked-about man in the state of Texas. Within days of his announcement, his name and picture had appeared on billboards scattered along Texas roadways and on the rear bumpers of every make and model of vehicle, from the beat-up farm truck to the luxury sports car.

A nonpolitician—and a rancher, at that—running for governor was enough of an oddity to grab the attention of the entire populace. He quickly won the hearts of his fellow Texans by promising to represent the common man, especially those in rural areas, and put an end to big business and government taking over the Lone Star State and forcing families from their homes and off the land their ancestors had fought for and labored on for years.

But his platform wasn’t all that caught the voters’ attention. His youth, his Marlboro Man rugged looks and his bachelor status appealed to the masses as much as did his stand on the issues.

Especially to the women.

Throughout the months preceding the election, he was gossiped about and fantasized about in beauty salons, during coffee breaks and at the checkout lines in grocery stores. By the time November rolled around and his landslide victory announced, there wasn’t a single woman in Texas who hadn’t woven a secret dream or two of becoming his first lady.

Even Suzy.

And why not? Suzy asked herself with a defensive sniff. With his slow Texas drawl, his hard, lean body and that you-can-trust-me killer smile of his, the man was a natural woman-magnet. And if the stories told about him were true—which she seriously doubted, since he was, after all, a politician—he had more going for him than just a handsome face and a to-die-for body. He was intelligent and possessed an almost uncanny business sense, with a degree from Texas A&M and a successful cattle operation to substantiate both. And he was a philanthropist, to boot, she remembered hearing somewhere, donating both his time and his money to causes that focused on abused children and troubled teens.

Handsome and with a tender and generous heart. What more could a woman ask for in a man? she asked herself.

Scowling, she rammed her wide-brimmed hat farther down on her head. “One who doesn’t live in a fishbowl,” she reminded herself.

With her knees buried in rich brown dirt, she kept her head down and her gaze focused on the weeds sprouting in her garden, telling herself that she wouldn’t think about Gil Riley anymore. He was a walking, talking nightmare she didn’t need in her life or her head right now or at any time in the future, no matter how attractive she found him.

But in spite of her determination to do otherwise, thoughts and images of the governor continued to drift through her mind as she worked in her garden, just as they had from the moment he’d waltzed into the kitchen at the party she’d catered, catching her unawares with his suggestion that she should’ve tapped a keg, instead of serving flutes of champagne.

Tapped a keg.

A smile twitched at her lips at the memory. But the smile slowly melted when a pair of cowboy boots moved into her line of vision only inches from her hand.

It can’t be, she told herself, staring in horror at the tips of the custom-made boots.

“You’re hard as hell to track down, you know it?”

It not only could be, she realized, recognizing the governor’s distinctive drawl, it was. She forced a swallow, then was careful to fix a frown on her face before looking up. “What are you doing here? Hiding out again?”

“No. I came to see you.”

His smile was as warm and guileless as the sunshine that beamed down on her face. But it was wasted on Suzy. She’d learned long ago not to trust a man’s smile or be fooled by one’s charm. She sank back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “No reason. Was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

She rocked forward, planted a gloved hand against the ground and started pulling weeds again. “Okay. You’ve said it. Now beat it, before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.”

Instead of leaving, as she’d hoped, he hunkered down opposite her, braced an arm on his thigh and dipped his head down to look at her. “Have I done something to offend you?”

She crawled to the next plant, refusing to look at him. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and obviously that doesn’t please you.” He duck-walked to keep pace with her. “But what I want to know is why?”

With a frustrated huff, she fell back on her heels. “Is there a law that says every woman in the state has to drop at your feet and pant when you say heel?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “No. But if that’s what it takes to get you to agree to go out with me, I’ll see what I can do to push a bill through Congress to that effect.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned to snatch at a weed. “Don’t waste your time.” He closed a hand over hers, stilling her movements, and she jerked up her head to glare at him.

“Look,” he said patiently. “All I’m asking for is a little of your time. A chance to get to know you, and for you to get to know me. Now, that’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Suzy? Is that you, dear?”

She groaned at the sound of her neighbor’s warbling voice coming from the other side of the privacy fence. “Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Woodley!”

“Are you all right, dear? I thought I heard a man’s voice.”

She snatched her hand from beneath Gil’s. “Nosy busybody,” she muttered, then raised her voice, “Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Woodley. Just visiting with a—” she glanced at Gil and curled her lip in a snarl “—friend.”

“Who, dear?”

Hissing a breath through her teeth, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed Gil’s hand, tugging him to his feet, as well. “No one you know, Mrs. Woodley!” Dragging Gil behind her, she ran for the house. “I’m going inside now, Mrs. Woodley,” she yelled. “Talk to you later.”

Before the woman could respond, Suzy yanked Gil inside the house and slammed and locked the door behind them. Ripping off her hat and gloves, she tossed them onto the table as she raced to the window that faced her neighbor’s house.

Gil chuckled as he watched her jerk down the shade. “I take it Mrs. Woodley is a bit like Gladys Kravitz.”