The Texan's Bride. Linda Warren
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Roscoe’s shares in the oil company were split twenty-five percent to Cadde and twenty-six percent to Jessie.
Roscoe omitted mentioning that little tidbit, which gave Jessie the upper hand. She used it every time she could—like today. Roscoe’s cronies, who owned the remaining percentage of shares and sat on the board, always voted her way.
He never understood why Roscoe had done that. Jessie didn’t know anything about the oil business, yet she was the one calling the shots—not him. That irritated the hell out of him on a good day. On a bad day he cursed a lot. If Shilah Oil was going to succeed, he had to find a way to reach Jessie.
Cadde sped down the paved road leading to the Murdock estate. Climbing Mount Olympus might be easier than reaching Jessie. And definitely less painful. But today he was angry and he was having his say. She wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder and walking out of the room as she usually did. If he had to tie her to a chair, they were discussing their farce of a marriage, and most definitely her sabotage of Shilah Oil.
He drove up to the double wrought-iron gates leading to the house. As he touched a button on his windshield visor, the gates swung open. An eight-foot steel fence surrounded the entire property and was held in place with brick cornerstones every twelve feet. Razor wire curled across the top. The entire structure was linked to a state-of-the-art security system. To say Roscoe was paranoid about Jessie’s safety was putting it mildly. But Cadde knew he had good reasons.
Roscoe’s brother, Al, who had started Shilah Oil with Roscoe back in the forties, had a six-year-old daughter who’d been kidnapped. The child had fought so vigorously that the kidnapper had broken her neck. The man had been a roustabout who Al had fired.
Al’s wife couldn’t handle the grief and died six months later. Al followed her the next year. After the tragedy, Roscoe made sure nothing would happen to Jessie. He had her guarded twenty-four hours a day, even when she went away to college. That couldn’t have been easy for her.
Usually, a guard was at the gate, but today no one was there. Jessie had dismissed them a week after the funeral. It was their first marital argument, if you could call it that. He told her he didn’t think it was wise and she told him to mind his own business. They went back and forth until she stormed out of the room, leaving him in no doubt what she thought of his opinions.
She never rehired the guards and neither did he. Somehow he felt he had failed Roscoe, but he knew if he hired new security, she’d fire them. So maybe for once in Kid’s life he was right. Jessie wanted her freedom.
The house loomed in front of him, and he had the same thought he did every time he visited—the structure resembled a fortress or a castle in England with its turrets, tower and mullioned windows with bars. It was impressive, but seemed out of place in Texas. That was Roscoe, though. He never did anything the normal way.
Cadde parked at the garages and got out. Two Dobermans ran to greet him, sniffed at his boots and trotted back to their spot at the door. At his first visit he almost had a heart attack when the dogs lunged at him, intending to take him down as if he was no more than a poodle. Roscoe had shouted, “Stay,” and they’d immediately backed off. He had the dogs sniff him so they’d know his scent. From then on the Dobermans never gave him a problem.
For the first time Cadde realized that Jessie virtually lived in a prison of Roscoe’s making. Why wouldn’t she want to spread her wings?
The stifling August breeze almost took his Stetson. Anchoring it with his hand, he headed for the house. The heat was almost suffocating, but soon the temperatures would drop as fall arrived.
It certainly was a time for a new direction.
JESSIE WENT THROUGH THE document once again. Hal, her lawyer, had drawn it up just like she’d asked. She paused for a moment, thinking over what she was about to do. A small shiver ran through her.
The small mixed Jack Russell terrier at her feet whined for attention. “What’s the matter, Mirry?” she cooed. She’d named her Miracle but she always called her Mirry. The dog sat on her foot as if all she needed was to know that someone cared. The poor thing looked pathetic with no tail or ears.
Jessie had found her on the side of the road and had taken her home and nourished her back to health. She couldn’t believe that some people could be so cruel, but no one was going to hurt Mirry again. She’d make sure of that.
The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. It was time. Cadde would be here any minute. She’d bet money on it.
She straightened the dark suit and white silk blouse she’d worn to the board meeting this morning. Her hands went to her hair to check for loose strands that had worked their way out of her knot. She didn’t want to appear vulnerable.
Rosa, the housekeeper, walked in. “Can I get you anything, Miss Jessie?”
“No, thank you. If I need anything I’ll get it myself,” she chided softly. “Besides, I have iced tea.” She held up the glass. “That’s all I need.” A shot of vodka wouldn’t hurt, she mused to herself. Rosa would faint at the mention of such a thing. But if courage came in a bottle, she could definitely use it.
Round and barely five feet tall, Rosa was like her mother. She’d raised Jessie since she was seven years old. Sometimes she felt suffocated by all the sheltering. Her father never saw her as anyone but his baby girl who needed protection, as did Rosa. Jessie was thirty now and she was determined to have the life and freedom that she wanted.
“You’ve been so sad since Mr. Roscoe’s passing.”
“I’m okay,” she said, and smiled at the woman who would do anything for her. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m really fine. When Cadde arrives, tell him I’m in the sunroom.”
Rosa frowned. “What’s Mr. Cadde doing here this time of day?”
“Now, Rosa, don’t pry,” she teased.
Rosa shook a finger at her. “You’re up to something, Miss Jessie, I know that look.” Rosa had called her “Miss Jessie” ever since she could remember. She’d often asked Rosa to just call her Jessie, but Rosa never heeded her wishes.
They heard the back door open and close.
Rosa clicked her tongue as she went to confront their visitor. Jessie held her breath as she listened to the stomp-stomp of his boots against the hardwood floor. In a few seconds he was standing in the doorway, fury etched across his strong features. His jacket and tie from the morning were gone, but the jeans, white shirt, Stetson and boots were the same. The shirt was opened at the neck, revealing tiny swirls of dark chest hair. Her stomach tightened.
The first time she’d met him she’d thought how handsome he was: strong, powerful and everything a woman could want. There was just one problem. He treated her like a piece of the furniture. Today she was going to change that. She was going to rock Cadde Hardin’s world.
Without speaking to her, he walked into the room and carefully placed his hat on the table, as if he was gauging his next words.
“Okay, Jessie, we need to talk.” His deep voice demanded her attention.
She looked up, trying to appear as innocent as possible. “About what?”
“You know damn well about what. We talked last night and you seemed in agreement that Shilah should explore drilling outside of Texas, especially the Louisiana leases that Roscoe kept up-to-date. But once again you did a flip-flop. Why?”
“I didn’t promise you my vote.”
“Oh, no, you’re way too smart for that.” Anger now edged his voice and she could see that he was keeping a tight rein on his temper. His muscles were taut and his brown eyes intense. She refused to squirm. “Do you get some kind of perverse pleasure out of blocking my every move?”
“Actually, no.”
“Then what the hell is it?” He waved a hand around the green-and-white room. “This is paid for by Shilah. If the oil company goes under,