Lone Star Courtship (5 page)

B
arrett faced a wall-mounted bulletin board and studied the listing of sailboat rentals as he waited for Casey to join him. The woman was sticking to him like warm currant jam. He pressed his lips together to suppress a satisfied smile. Everything her wily old foreman had said about her was true. What had he called her? A cap pistol? A strange term but now that she'd popped off a couple of times the comparison was understandable and oddly appealing.

There were physical attributes that appealed, as well. The thick ringlets begged to be untangled, the flashing blue eyes were lethal and her lips appeared dangerously kissable.

Get a grip, Westbrook. This is business and your future is at stake. Handle this with care and keep your baser instincts in check.

Caroline's deceptive acts had befuddled him. He'd been an idiot to take her at face value. And for his trouble he'd been made to look a fool when the woman he'd believed in, even if not loved, had betrayed his trust.

Now, he had reason to suspect this Casey. Her erratic behavior was certainly an indication she was up to something. Expressing her distaste for his profession over lunch, then hours later availing herself of his company for dinner and outings. It was unlikely she was simply being a good hostess. In fact, all signs indicated she was keeping an eye on him. In any case, he'd return the
courtesies
if she ever showed back up.

Whatever did women find so intriguing in the lavatory?

“Sorry to make such an abrupt exit.” Her voice was soft, almost weak, but grew louder as she approached from behind.

“No regrets are necessary. Have you sailed before?” he questioned casually, not making visual contact as they stood facing the wall. A six-meter cutter had caught his attention. The same model his youngest brother Colby raced, Barrett was experienced with the small craft. The water truly was a bit rough this morning, but a brief dunk in this warm gulf would be soothing compared to the race when he'd capsized off the coast of Edinburgh in the frigid North Atlantic. When she made no response, he turned his attention away from the rentals.

Her entire countenance had changed. The color had left her cheeks. A fine perspiration shimmered above her upper lip. Her mouth had become a flat line, the flesh around it pale in the artificial light. The bill from her cap cast a dark shield over her eyes.

“Casey, are you feeling poorly? We're not even on the dock and you already appear seasick.” Maybe teasing her into agreement hadn't been such a good idea. The last thing he wanted in his boat was a nauseous female.

“I'm fine.”

He stooped to peer beneath her orange cap, to see her eyes. Small lines of anxiety radiated from the outside corners. She squinted as if blinded by the soft, incandescent lighting.

“You seem in pain,” he assessed, feeling a stab of guilt for contributing to a woman's discomfort. Exactly why he'd been an abysmal failure at prosecution.

“Just nerves. It happens occasionally. Maybe if you tie me to the mast I'll feel secure.”

He tipped his face to the ceiling to enjoy the laughter that rang out in the quiet room.

“You find that amusing?”

“On many levels. I doubt you realize it but being
tied to the mast
is a term used in settlement contracts.”

She shook her head slowly, miserably, her face downcast. “I meant like the story of Ulysses.”

He put a knuckle beneath her chin and gently raised her face so their eyes met.

“Yes, I know. But
Calypso
was many times over the size of the boat we'll be on today. The mast on the cutter is only about this big.” He made a circle with his thumb and middle finger. “It would be no match for your weight even though you're a skinny little thing.”

Her eyes brightened a tad.

“You think I'm a
skinny little thing?
”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” Her mouth relaxed, color began to seep back into her lips. “I haven't been called that since I was a kid.”

“Well, you're not much more than a kid today.”

She opened her mouth as if preparing to protest. Her illness seemed to be passing quickly.

He held up a palm. “At least compared to me. I'll be forty in September. Ancient.” He stooped over, pretended to hobble with a cane.

It was her time to laugh, though with half a heart. “If fifty is the new thirty as they say, that makes you a college student.”

He straightened. “If only that were true.”

“You enjoyed that time of your life?”

“Ah, it was the best,” he admitted. “And I dragged it out as long as possible. If it wouldn't have been shameful to let Stanton and Colby enter the practice before me, I'd still be at university.”

“Stanton and Colby? Your brothers?”

An ornamental ship's bell chimed the hour.

“See here, miss. You're stalling to distract me, aren't you?”

She hung her head, nodded.

“Would it be such a horrid thing to go out on the water with me this morning?” Something made him hope that was not the case.

“Could we just wait a day or two till the waves settle down?”

“Frightened of the water, then? Sink like a rock, do you?”

“Not at all. In fact I'm a strong swimmer. But sailing's an area where I have zero experience and I prefer some advance notice and prep time for a new activity.”

“Ah, a control freak, as Americans say.”

“My family calls me the Warden. I run a tight prison.”

Hmm, a new piece of the puzzle fell into place. He'd dropped in unannounced on a lady executive who insisted on calling all the shots and did so from first light to lights out. If he didn't give her back some of her own control, he might never get his job done.

“Very well then, Warden. What do you fancy at five-thirty in the morning that won't require too much warning or preparation?”

“A strong cup of coffee.”

“Done.”

Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes filled with…gratitude.

Where the front office had been quiet, the dining room was lit with activity. Fishermen who'd chosen a cozy breakfast over a beating at the hands of the elements sipped from thick white mugs and ate from matching platters laden with beefsteaks and eggs.

Barrett studied the daily specials. The odd choices were paper-clipped to the plastic-coated menu that doubled as a place mat.

“What's a belly burner?”

“It's a sausage link so hot you can count on indigestion.”

“Done.” He slapped his menu on the wooden surface, nodded agreeably toward the server and held his empty mug aloft. She winked at the universal signal for coffee and carried a pot to their table.

Dressed from head to toe in shocking-pink, her name tag identified their waitress as Tavia. She nodded approval at Casey's simple order of oatmeal with raisins, then looked to Barrett.

“I didn't notice soft-boiled eggs on the menu,” he mentioned.

“That's because cook only knows one way to boil an egg and that's hard enough to bounce it off the wall. How about fried, over easy?”

“Sounds perfect. I'll have a double order of your belly burners along with fried tomato, baked beans and two eggs prepared as you recommended.”

Tavia scribbled on her pad, cocked a painted-on eyebrow and muttered, “It's your heart attack.”

She turned away with a smart crack of her chewing gum.

“So, tell me about your brothers.” Casey ripped open two yellow packets and dumped the sweetener into her cup.

“Ladies first. Give me the story on these nerves of yours.”

She brought shoulders to her ears in a shrug. “It's not a big deal. I have a lot on my mind and I guess the heebie-jeebies got the best of me.”

“Were you
heebie-jeeby
just now?”

“And part of last night,” she admitted.

“And how do you deal with this?”

“Distraction is the best medicine, so I work till I drop.”

“Don't tell me the warnings I've heard about powerful female Yanks are accurate,” he teased.

“If you've heard we're smart, hardworking and goal-oriented, then the stories are absolutely on target.” A gust of wind buffeted the glass windows beside their table. Her jaw tensed. “So how about a rain check on that sail?”

Her question was hesitant, just shy of a plea.

“If you prefer,” he agreed, deferring to a woman's wishes as his mum had taught. “I shall honor your request. Does forty-eight hours' notice work for you?”

“I'll make it work.”

“Then our first negotiation is settled.”

He leaned his elbows on the oak tabletop and graced her with a smile that almost made her forget the claustrophobia she'd experienced fifteen minutes earlier in the ladies' room. She hadn't had an attack in years, had been certain the disabling episodes were gone forever. Taking to her bed to sleep it off was out of the question with this guy up in her business. She'd just have to focus on one breath at a time and make small talk.

“I appreciate it.” She thanked God for Barrett's acquiescence. She couldn't board the
QEII
right now, much less a jon boat with a broomstick for a mast.

She felt her shoulders relax and some of the tension ease from her spine. If she could make time for a full-body massage that might help, but there weren't hours enough in the day to get her work done, much less get pampered. And here she sat wasting time over breakfast, albeit with a perilously gorgeous man who could make or break her future.

“So, tell me about this family who likens a fetching young woman to a corrections official.” He sipped black coffee, his eyes glinting like gunmetal above the rim of his cup.

“Brutal, huh?” Casey still remembered the vacation when Guy had labeled her the Warden. Even she had to admit her seven-year-old determination to tell everybody where to bunk for the week had earned her the stern moniker.

Barrett nodded, his forehead wrinkled with sympathy. For the first time she saw the resemblance Savannah had mentioned the day before. And while Casey had no particular attraction to the bad-boy actor, at this particular moment she simply wished Barrett was anybody other than who he was. There was something about him she wanted to like. To trust. And on another day in another time she'd happily have climbed into a life raft with him in high seas without warning!

What are you thinking, Rebecca Thelma Casey Hardy? As hot as he is, the man is still from the same school as those opportunist vultures who brought the case against H & H. They're all in it for the money and Barrett has made it clear a couple of times already that the financial bottom line is at the bottom of his concern. Shake it off and do whatever it takes to protect the family and still accomplish your goals. And straighten him out on that “female Yank” comment while you're at it!

“I agree, Casey.”

“Huh?”

“That it's a brutal nickname. Warden, I mean.”

“Actually, it's somewhat flattering no matter the original intent. I take that as a bit of a compliment as the youngest of six kids with thirty-six uncles and aunts and one hundred and twelve cousins.”

“Oh, my!” His jaw dropped, exaggerating his shock. He pressed fingertips to his chin and closed his mouth. “Sorry.” He grinned in the most charming way.

“It's okay. That's the usual response, so we're used to it. Big families like ours are kinda rare these days.”

The waitress arrived and served their orders.

“Are all those relatives invested in Hearth and Home?”

The question was so casual she almost blurted out a response. Instead she drizzled honey into her bowl and swirled it with her spoon. Was he poking into her personal finances or just making friendly conversation? The latter was unlikely, given the purpose of his visit.

She could almost hear her father's soothing voice.

Just shoot straight, kiddo.
So she did.

“At first they were all heavily invested, but once we were in a position to go public, most decreased their holdings. But everyone still supports us, of course.” She nibbled at her oatmeal while he chewed a second link with gusto and no apparent reaction to the sausage laden with cracked red pepper.

He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and took a long swallow of ice water. She'd only had belly burners once since arriving in Texas and that experience had required antacids for a full twenty-four hours afterward.

“How about you, Barrett? You're part of a family business, too.”

“Well, I'm trying to be part of it anyway.”