A Fortune's Texas Reunion. Allison Leigh
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Georgia shivered as she stared at Pax, wondering where his gentle demeanor had disappeared to. The man who’d pulled her from the wreckage had made her feel safe. When he’d wrapped his arms around her, the blinding terror she’d felt had slid away.
A reaction to the situation? Undoubtedly. But she’d never ever forget that incalculable sense of pure and utter safety.
“Full name, ma’am,” he repeated brusquely.
Her rescuer still looked exactly the same. Except his eyes were no longer a soft, mossy sort of green filled with warmth and kindness. They were more like hard chips of emerald. Had turned that way the second she’d said the name Fortune.
He was the sheriff. He’d told her so, even though it said the word plainly enough on the gold badge pinned to the front of his torn khaki shirt.
“Georgia Mae Fortune,” she recited slowly.
“You’re one of those Fortunes, then.” The sheriff’s tone was even, but there was no question that he didn’t think very highly of “those Fortunes.”
Her nerves were too raw and she couldn’t help bristling. “I don’t know which Fortunes you’ve got a beef with, but my family comes from New Orleans. We just learned this year that we have a tie with the folks from around here. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“From what I’ve heard, your family has more branches on its tree than Carter’s got pills, and a scandal for every single one.”
“What bothers you more? The branches or the scandals?”
“The money you toss around like confetti. Date of birth?” His voice was clipped, too.
“January 1. And I don’t toss around money.”
“You bought that fancy car, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Year?” He arched an absurdly handsome eyebrow, considering how much dirt was caked on it. His hair had clumps on it, too, obscuring the dark strands. If he had any gray, she couldn’t tell. Not that it would detract from his looks. Men were always lucky that way.
She, on the other hand, had discovered a gray hair earlier that year. She’d promptly visited her hairstylist, who’d laughed it off and masterfully hid the culprit in a subtle weave of lighter shades of blond among her brown.
“Still waiting, ma’am,” the sheriff prompted.
She wanted to bare her teeth at him. She grudgingly supplied her birth year.
“Thirty’s not the end of the world.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the car, which was now being dragged up the hill by the heavy metal cable that the tow-truck driver had fastened to it. “Be glad that you’re going to be alive to see it when the day actually rolls around in a year and a half,” he reminded her flatly.
She shivered again, harder this time, and water spurted from the top of the bottle, splashing on her knee.
She felt his gaze follow and shivered even more.
Whether he disapproved of the Fortunes or not, she recognized interest in a man’s eyes when she saw it.
He didn’t wear a wedding ring. But then she knew plenty of men who didn’t. She’d even dated one for a few weeks before discovering he had a wife and a newborn baby waiting devotedly back home.
When Georgia had found out, she’d given the guy a blistering earful, along with the boot. And been glad that she hadn’t shared anything more intimate with him than crème brûlée. She certainly wasn’t looking for a husband, but she still had her standards when it came to the occasional fling.
It just had been a while since she’d been...flung.
“Address?”
She rattled off the address of her town house in New Orleans.
How was she going to explain this to her parents? Neither Miles nor Sarah was a fan of her visit to Paseo. It was bad enough that her siblings were attending, too, but Georgia had traveled alone, and these days, her dad was feeling hypersensitive about things.
“You are here for this wedding business, I take it. Deb Fortune and Gerald Robinson?”
Her chin came up again at the sheriff’s disapproving tone. She wondered what he’d think if she told him that Gerald was her newfound uncle. “What if I am? The wedding festivities run for the next two weeks. Instead of turning up your nose at the confetti, I’d think the people of Paseo would be grateful for all of the business being brought to the area!”
His lips twisted. “Area’s done fine for years without all the hassle you beautiful people bring with you.”
“I won’t mistake that as a compliment.”
“Smart. Not smart enough to keep that expensive car of yours on the road, though. Assuming you weren’t trying to kill yourself, what had you so preoccupied? Looking at your phone? Taking a selfie to post on some social-media thing?”
Her jaw loosened. She wasn’t ordinarily stuck for words, but she was now. Instead of telling him exactly what she thought of his judgmental attitude, all she could do was stare at him.
And he didn’t even bat an emerald eye.
“Well? I’ll know eventually what you were doing with your cell phone, honey, so it’d be better to tell me up front than try to lie.”
“I wasn’t doing anything with my cell phone,” she said through her teeth.
“Not checking directions, or calling your boyfriend—”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Not that that’s any of your business, either.”
“It’s my business to understand why you went off the road in my county.”
He glanced over as the tow truck’s winch whined loudly and the cable went taut. Then he turned back and focused on his form.
She wasn’t sure what grated on her nerves more—the squeal of her car being dragged up the hill, or the way the sheriff tapped the point of his pen against the metal clipboard.
“So you were distracted and looking for a turnoff—”
“I never said I was distracted,” she snapped, which just made her head pound even more. “You did. But yes, I was keeping an eye out for a turnoff. Mile post twelve, as a matter of fact. It must be near here.”
Those emerald chips drifted over her face. “About half a mile up the road. The highway curves here a little, but not sharply. It’s easy to see approaching vehicles if you’re paying attention.”
“There weren’t any other vehicles.”
“Are you sure you were paying attention?”
“Yes! I have a perfect driving record.”
His lips twisted. “Something that can easily be bought, particularly by those who can afford to trash a car like yours.”
“I didn’t intentionally trash it,” she said through her teeth, “and I have never needed to buy my way out of anything!”
He wasn’t moved. “No signs of skidding. You said you were singing with the radio?”
“Don’t try and tell me that’s against the law.”
“If you were speeding—”
“I wasn’t.”
“—that might explain the distance the car seemed to travel aloft before it impacted the ground.”
She felt her stomach suddenly lurch and she jumped down from the SUV, running through the weeds on the shoulder