The Texan's Diamond Bride: The Texan's Diamond Bride / The Texas Tycoon's Christmas Baby

Yes, he’d just run away.

It had to be better than being here with her.

“All right,” she said, like she didn’t want him to leave her.

Damn.

“Just make yourself at home. There’s a library off the den, all kinds of books, a spare computer that Marta uses sometimes hooked up to the Internet by satellite, if it’s working right now. There’s music, a TV, movies…Whatever you want. I’ll see you tonight.”

“You’re going to trust me, here in your house? After you caught me trespassing on your property?” she asked.

“I don’t see that I have a choice. It’s not like I can call the sheriff to come get you. He couldn’t get here anyway, and I’m sure he has more important problems to deal with right now.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And I’m more worried about the cattle and the ranch than anything you might find in this house. There really isn’t anything to find that I think would help your family against mine. Much as you like to think the entire Foley clan is out to get you and your family, always hatching some new plot against you, we’re not always doing that. I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to. I work a cattle ranch, Red. So I’ll see you tonight.”

And then he had to think of a way to get rid of her somehow.

He had to get her back to her vehicle and get her off this ranch, before he did something he couldn’t take back, something they’d both regret in time.

Chapter Seven

Paige stayed in that tub for a long time, letting the heat settle into her from the outside in and studying the room, all cream-colored and dark gleaming wood. Plain, masculine, yet rich and elegant.

She got out and dried herself off with a giant, fluffy towel and dried her hair as best she could considering there didn’t seem to be a blow-dryer anywhere. So she put her hair in a loose braid and went out into the bedroom.

His bedroom.

Again, she found that same color scheme, cream and dark wood, a big comfy leather chair in the corner, that same clean, masculine decor.

She’d planned on trying to simply ignore the bed, not really wanting to know what it looked like, so she couldn’t picture him in it. But it was on the bed that she found the clothes.

Very expensive-looking suitcases, open on the bed, all full of women’s clothes.

That was interesting.

What kind of man had a house stocked with suitcases of women’s clothes?

She looked over the selection in the first big suitcase.

A young woman’s clothes. Young and shapely, she decided from the style and size of the clothing.

He didn’t have a sister. She knew that much about the family. And none of his brothers were married. Three rich bachelors from an old Texas family did not go unnoticed. She’d have heard if one of them was off the market, although now that she thought about it, hadn’t one of them been married briefly? Was it Travis? Was there some brief marriage in his past?

Paige looked through more of the clothes, many of them obviously new, still boasting their price tags. Cowgirl chic? Or someone’s idea of cowgirl chic? She finally found a fairly ordinary pair of jeans she thought would fit and a white blouse, a bit frilly with its expansive, ruffled boatneck, but it would do, she decided.

She found a light pink bra she thought would fit and then wondered, if she asked, if she could have more boxers for underwear. She really didn’t want to wear another woman’s underwear.

But then there it was, a whole overnight case full of undies, including panties of all sorts of bright colors and varying amounts of…material. Okay, not what she would have chosen for herself, but at least they still had the tags on them, too.

She picked a pair in lavender and told herself to be grateful she wouldn’t have to run around his house without panties.

There was even a makeup case.

This woman even left her makeup behind?

Paige opened it and there, indeed, was a plethora of cosmetics, scented soaps, lotions…

Had someone left in a hurry? And not bothered to come back for her things?

Paige decided to be grateful for simple things, like a good lotion to put on her face, a bit of gloss for her dry lips and—yes!—a blow-dryer. She could have dry hair.

Dressing quickly, she dried her hair and, bracing herself, opened his bedroom door and went exploring.

His was the only bedroom in this wing of the house, but there was a locked door—probably his office, she guessed—and the library with the spare computer he’d mentioned. She’d be back there as soon as she found something to eat.

The living room was huge, a massive stone fireplace dominating the space, the furniture again oversize, all buttery-soft leather and polished wood. A glance outside the big windows lining the back of the room told her it was still miserable outside.

In the kitchen, she found a pot of soup simmering, smelling wonderful, and a note. The housekeeper, Marta, said she’d left the soup for Paige and Mr. Travis. It could simmer all day and would be fine. That Paige should feel free to help herself to anything else she wanted from the kitchen and to make herself at home in the house. There was a number to call if she needed anything from Marta, who lived in a cottage near the main house, although phone service had been spotty since the storm hit.

Paige happily ate a bowl of soup, along with some homemade bread she found and a glass of orange juice, then decided she really couldn’t wait any longer to call her brother, who was likely half out of his mind worrying about her. She only hoped he hadn’t done anything foolish, like send someone after her, or decided to come himself.

She eyed the phone in the kitchen, but then thought if she actually got through to Blake, he’d have a million questions, and she really didn’t have any answers for him and really didn’t want him to know she was sitting in Travis Foley’s ranch house, having gotten caught in the mine by Travis.

So she chickened out and sent him a very brief text message from her satellite phone instead.

Safe. Dry. Waiting out storm. Satellite service iffy. Phone battery low. Will call when I can. Paige.

There. She hit the send button and the message seemed to go through.

Her phone rang not five seconds later.

Blake.

Paige felt bad, but she just couldn’t do it yet, couldn’t tell him she’d gotten caught and that she had no idea if she could salvage anything of their plans to find the Santa Magdalena Diamond, and there was no way she wanted to tell him anything about Travis Foley.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and shut off her phone. He’d obviously gotten her message. He knew she was safe. That would have to be enough for now.

She went into the library to the spare computer, happy to find that the Internet connection, while slow and going in and out with the storm, worked well enough that with some patience she could at least see a few things.

The online weather forecast was grim. The remnants of the hurricane, now mostly just a huge blob of rain, was sitting right on top of them, stalled by a weather system moving in from the west. Massive flooding was possible. No one seemed to be sure when the two big weather fronts would end their standoff over the Texas Hill Country and the rain would move on.

Paige tried not to think about being stuck here for days.

She clicked over to the news. Her cousin Gabby’s marriage to her bodyguard was still making the rounds on the gossip sites. The global market for jewelry was still down, gold prices sky high, diamonds and other gems, too. Nothing new there.

Signing into her e-mail account from online, she found multiple messages from Gabby, which she skimmed quickly.