A Case for Calamity
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
A
Case for Calamity
by
Mackenzie Crowne
Twelve Brides of Christmas Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
A Case for Calamity
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Mackenzie Crowne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-603-3
Twelve Brides of Christmas Series
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Mackenzie Crowne
A SONG FOR SOPHIE
“Kudos Ms. Crowne, this saucy little country number is a toe tapping good time that is sure to put smiles on faces!”
~RONE Winner, InDTale Magazine
~*~
“A big satisfying, feel good HEA ending. A must read.”
~Long and Short Reviews Best Book.
~*~
THAT DATING THING
“A sweet and sexy contemporary romance that will leave your face frozen with a smile and your stomach churning with happiness by the time you are through with it”
~Sizzling Hot Book Reviews
~*~
“Any romance lover would enjoy this story. It's fun and sweet and all around enjoyable.”
~Books Etc.
~*~
THE BILLIONAIRE'S CON
“Light, sweet, and satisfying.”
~Books, Books, and More Books
~*~
“An enjoyable and fun romance.”
~Coffee Time Romance
Dedication
For my fabulous critique partners,
AJ Nuest and Vonnie Davis;
Two incredibly talented authors
who’ve talked me down from the ledge
on numerous occasions,
guiding me through my various writing calamities
with their own special brand of charm, wit and talent. Love you, chickies.
Chapter One
Google lied. Gabe Sutton wasn’t that guy the senior girls sighed over back in high school, he was the one smoking cigarettes behind the gym and pinstriping the parking lot with burnt rubber in a souped-up muscle car. The six-foot-four, cowboy phenom rising to his feet in the exclusive Parisian restaurant was the guy the senior girls’ mothers insisted their daughters avoid.
Jane Whitmore cleared her throat, squelching the helpless sigh of appreciation rising up from the very core of her femininity.
Oh, Shae. Remind me later to thank you for sending me in your place to thwart your father’s latest matchmaking attempt
.
Unlike Gabe Sutton’s bio photo, no sharp smile rode his crisply cut lips. The thick, slightly shaggy, jet black hair was the same. The lowered brows, not so much. Broody interest, Jane’s mother would name the sober inspection in his mossy green, long-lashed gaze. Or suspicion.
Jane fought the urge to bite her lip. Did he suspect she wasn’t the woman he was expecting to meet? Though she and her best friend, Shae, were both blue-eyed blondes and of a similar height, their features were very different. If he’d googled Shae Austin—the way Jane had him—the jig was up.
She swallowed back nerves as her mother’s condemning voice echoed in her head. “
You’re
a Whitmore, Jane. As such, more is expected of you than daydreams and flighty larks with your friends. It’s time to grow up. Either claim your grandmother’s bequest by marrying Todd, or you’re cut off!”
Ha! Cut off from what? She hadn’t seen a dime from her disapproving parents since graduating from college and refusing to join the family business. For three years, she’d been blissfully free of the Whitmore financial noose, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Tonight’s
lark
would no doubt validate her parents’ opinion of her as a screw-up,
if
they found out, but in Jane’s mind, pretending to be Shae for a few hours in order to help her friend out of yet another of her father’s marriage manipulations was no less screwy than Jane marrying a man she didn’t love.
Shoving back thoughts of her own marriage disaster awaiting her at home, she welcomed the fingers of anticipation tingling up her spine. Tonight was her last night in Paris, and she planned to enjoy it. A nice meal with a handsome man, followed by a stroll through the city on a lovely fall night, would fit the bill nicely.
She eyed the tall cowboy Shae had pleaded she meet in her stead. According to his bio, Gabe Sutton built his charter air service from a single plane into a national competitor in less than five years. He’d come to Paris with plans to go international. Confidence rode his shoulders as faithfully as his thousand-dollar suit. An overachiever, and a hot one at that.
Mother would swoon…with good reason.
Sucking in a bracing breath, Jane lifted her chin. She’d done nothing wrong—yet. If the cowboy phenom questioned her identity, she didn’t have to cop to her part in Shae’s wacky plan to best her father. Gabe needed an interpreter. Jane spoke fluent French. End of story.
“Thank you for meeting me, Miss Austin.”
The deep drawl of her friend’s name on his lips released her pent-up breath. She smiled. “My pleasure, Mr. Sutton.”
“Gabe, please.”
The maître d’ melted away at Gabe’s subtle nod. Stepping around the table, he offered his hand. Despite the three-inch heels bringing her height to a respectable five-foot-nine, he towered over her. She placed her hand in his, suppressing a shiver at its callused warmth, and was relieved when he released her after a single shake and guided her into her chair.
He sat across from her. “May I call you Shae?”
Like the low tenor of a weeping cello, the bass rumble of his Texas drawl drifted over her. The fine hair on her arms and other, more sensitive, places lifted as if chilled. She blinked. “Shae?”
His dark brows snapped together.
“Yes! Yes, of course. Shae.” She managed a wan smile and hoped to cover the slip with a weak laugh. “That’s my name.”
Ugh. Pay attention, Jane!
One dark brow rose at her nervous response, but he smiled. “Will you have wine?” He cocked his chin toward the bottle at the center of the table.
She eyed the tumbler in front of him, ignoring her jittery heartbeat and sweating palms.
He lifted the glass in a mild salute. “I prefer scotch.”
“Wine is fine, thank you.”
He sat back, signaling their waiter with a raised hand, and studied her as the man poured. Somehow, she managed not to squirm under his intent regard, but the focus cost her. Her hand shook as she picked up her glass. She sipped and enjoyed the sweet chill on the dry membranes of her tongue and throat.
“Michael said you were lovely. He didn’t do you justice.”
Chaos erupted in her belly as if thousands of butterflies had suddenly taken flight. Setting down her glass, she dismissed the manic fluttering and dragged in a calming breath. The dark-haired devil sitting across from her with intent green eyes and a come-to-me-baby drawl would fluster any woman with a pulse, even one with a natural cynicism for situations like this. She might be a round plug in a family of square holes, but she’d been raised in the world of corporate finance and recognized his words for what they were. Gabe Sutton
thought
he was flattering the daughter of a very powerful business associate. As the only daughter of Thomas Whitmore, CEO of Whitmore Financial Industries, Jane had been on the receiving end of similar praises over the years…for exactly the same purpose.
A wry smile curved her lips. “That’s kind of you, but, about…my father. I’m sorry he roped you into including me tonight. He means well, but he can be pushy.”
A trace of humor flashed in his eyes. “He isn’t exactly subtle, is he?”
“No, he isn’t.” She shrugged. “We’ve met, which is what he was after. Once he learns his plan didn’t work out, he’ll move on to the next…
candidate
.”
He sprawled back, and his thickly lashed eyes narrowed as they roamed her face. “Candidate? This isn’t the first time your father has set you up like this, I take it?”
Todd’s patrician face flashed through her mind. Michael Austin might never have set Jane up with a business associate he considered acceptable husband material, but her own father had. “No, it’s not.” She mimicked Shae’s father’s booming voice, repeating the complaint he’d tossed at Shae numerous times: “You’re twenty-four. When are you going to settle down and give me grandbabies? Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, you know.” She finished with a dramatic sigh.
Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes as a bright, white grin split his tanned face. “He didn’t mention grandbabies, but the tone was similar when he insisted his little girl would be the perfect interpreter. You do speak French, right? Or was Michael convinced I’d look into your bottomless blue eyes and be too lost to notice?”
She ignored the backhanded compliment. A man couldn’t be blamed for ingrained habits, and she imagined Gabe Sutton had been charming women from the time he could speak. The humor in his eyes was contagious, however. She returned his grin while fingering the stem of her wine glass.
“Smooth.” She tilted her lips in a mocking smile. “You injected the perfect balance of annoyance and sincerity. Have you practiced that one in the mirror?”
He dimpled on a chuckle. She battled against the need to roll her eyes. Why was it men without need of them always came with secret weapons?
“You’re pretty smooth yourself, burying a cutting dismissal under the guise of charm.”
She had dimples of her own and knew how to use them. “When a woman gets plopped down on Michael Austin’s chessboard, she’d better understand the game.” Objective met, she relaxed. Curious, however, she cocked her head and studied the strong angles of his face. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re what? Thirty-two? Thirty-three? It happens I’m fluent in French, but matchmaking wouldn’t have been part of Mr.—my father’s agenda if you weren’t single.” She snatched up her glass. Staring into the golden liquid, she prayed he hadn’t caught her slip. “No pressure from anyone to settle down?”
“I’m thirty-three and know all about matchmaking agendas. I’ve been employing defensive strategies on my grandmother’s matrimonial chessboard for more than a decade. So far, I’ve managed to keep her in stalemate.”
“Your grandmother?” A soundless breath of relief shuddered from her lips as she gulped a healthy swallow.
The sharp cut of his mouth softened into a tolerant smile. “To the world, she may look like a sweet little old lady, but she’s always had the heart of a dictator. Her autocratic tendencies haven’t lessened with the passage of time.”
Despite his complaining tone, affection permeated his smile. Jane wished she could dredge up a similar fondness for her own domineering grandparent. Unfortunately, Gladys Whitmore’s sour disposition and vocal disapproval of everything Jane did hadn’t inspired a warm and fuzzy relationship when Gladys was alive. Her posthumous attempt to manipulate Jane’s life only reinforced her negative opinion of the bossy old biddy.
She shrugged off thoughts of her grandmother and smiled. “Yet you’ve managed to stay single.”
“Much to her disappointment and frustration. Her attempts to see me settled with the perfect woman get more inventive, and devious, every year. But she raised me. I’m on to her moves.”
Intrigued, Jane propped her elbows on the table and leaned in. “How devious?”
