Chapter One

      “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve checked the directory three times. There’s nobody by that name listed.”

      Strains of the new receptionist’s voice carried in through Christopher Fortune’s partially open door. He looked up from his in-office putting green.

      What was her name again? He couldn’t remember. It was only the start of her second week. Jeez, but she was shrill. He’d have to talk to her about her tone. Not good for community relations. But first...

      He realigned his stance as the golf pro had taught him, making sure that his toes were parallel to the pin at the end of the fourteen-foot portable green. He set the putter in the hollow part of his left hand and placed the right hand so that his right thumb rested on the left side of the shaft. He pulled back to take his shot—

      “Sir, I don’t know what else to tell you.” Now her voice was teetering on exasperation. He couldn’t hear what the other person was saying, but she was giving him a headache. “We have a Christopher Fortune, but nobody by the name of Chris Jones works here. Could he be the one you’re looking for?”

      The words made Christopher hit the ball a little too hard. It rolled off the end of the green and under the coffee table that was part of the furniture grouping at the end of the room.

      Who was asking for Chris Jones?

      * * *

      Two months ago, Chris Jones had adopted his mother’s Fortune family name and moved to Red Rock from Horseback Hollow, Texas. He’d dropped the Jones portion of his name when he’d accepted the new job. Now, he was Christopher Fortune, vice president in charge of community relations for the Fortune Foundation.

      Christopher set down his putter, walked over and fully opened his office door to see what the ruckus was about.

      What the hell—

      “Toby?” Christopher said flatly when he saw his brother and his new sister-in-law, Angie, standing there. “What are you doing here, man?”

      The receptionist, a slight woman with close-cropped black hair, looked so young that she could’ve easily been mistaken for a sixteen-year-old. She turned and froze, all wide dark eyes and pale skin, when she saw Christopher.

      “Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. Fortune. I didn’t understand that they were looking for you. They asked for Chris Jones.”

      Now she was blushing.

      Christopher glanced at the name plate that was front and center on the reception desk.

      “Don’t worry about it, Beverly. It’s fine.”

      “Hey, little brother,” Toby said, extending a hand. “Good to see you.”

      Christopher shook Toby’s hand. His brother immediately pulled him into an awkward hold that their sister, Stacey, was fond of calling a man hug: a greeting that started as a handshake and ended with the guys leaning in and stiffly slapping each other on the back a couple of times.

      When they broke apart, Christopher stepped back, reclaiming his dignity just in time to see both elevator doors open and Kinsley Aaron, the Foundation’s outreach coordinator, step into the reception area.

      Her long, straight blond hair hung loose around her shoulders, framing her pretty face. God, she was gorgeous, even if she was a little too uptight for his taste. He straightened his tie and raked his fingers through his hair, trying to right what Toby’s enthusiastic bear hug had mussed.

      Kinsley