In The Tycoon's Bed. Maureen Child
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got Abigail Langley riding me like a bull in the rodeo? That woman’s about to drive me out of my mind and I’m damned if I’m going to take it from you, too.”
She hissed in a breath. “You are the most hardheaded, ornery …”
“I’m going to be in charge around here, little sister,” he told her. “And you’d best remember that.”
Here being the Texas Cattleman’s Club, of course. Brad was planning on running for club president and if he won, Sadie knew darn well that the TCC would stay in the dark ages.
Sadie bit down on her bottom lip to keep the furious words that wanted to spill from her locked inside. Honestly, the TCC had been the bulwark of stubborn men for more than a hundred years.
Even the decor in the place reeked of testosterone. Paneled walls, dark brown leather furniture, hunting prints on the walls and a big-screen TV, the better to watch every single Texas sporting event. Until recently, women had only been allowed in the dining room or on the tennis courts. But now, thanks to Abby Langley being an honorary member—with full club privileges—due to her late husband Richard’s name and history with the club, all of that was changing. And the women in Royal were counting on the fact that now that Pandora’s box had been opened, the men in town wouldn’t be able to close it again.
But if dealing with her brother was a sign of how difficult change was going to be, Sadie knew she and the other females in town were in for a whale of a fight.
“Look,” she said, trying for her most reasonable tone—which wasn’t easy when faced with a head as hard as her brother’s—”the club is looking to build a new headquarters. I’m a landscape designer. I can help. I’ve got the name of a great architect. And I did some sketches for the new grounds that—”
“Sadie …” Brad sighed and shook his head. “Nothing’s been decided. We don’t need an architect. Or a landscape designer. Or a damn interior decorator.”
“You could at least listen to me,” she argued.
“I may have to put up with Abby Langley giving me grief, but I don’t have to listen to my baby sister,” Brad said. “Now go on home, Sadie.”
He walked away.
Just turned his back and walked off as if she didn’t matter at all. Fuming silently, Sadie thought briefly about chasing him down and giving him another piece of her mind. But that would only give the old coots like Buck Johnson and Henry Tate even more to gossip about.
Her gaze shifted to those two men, still hiding behind their newspapers as if they were completely oblivious to what was going on. Well, Sadie knew better. Those two had heard every word of her argument with her brother and by tonight, she expected that they would have repeated it dozens of times. And men said women were gossips.
Grumbling under her breath, she tucked her cream-colored leather bag beneath her arm, got a hard grip on the folder of sketches she’d brought along with her and stormed for the front door. The sound of her needle-thin heels clicked against the wood floor like a frantic heartbeat.
Disappointment and anger warred inside her. She’d really hoped that she would be able to at least count on her brother’s support. But she should have known better. Brad was like a throwback to an earlier generation. He liked his women to be pretty pieces of arm candy and he liked the club just as it was—a male bastion against the ever-encroaching idea of equality of the sexes.
“He’s a caveman,” Sadie muttered, rushing out of the dark interior of the club into the bright sunlight of a July morning in Texas.
She was still running on pure temper and her eyes were so dazzled by the brilliant light, she didn’t see the man until she crashed right into him.
One day back in his hometown and Rick Pruitt ran smack into a tornado. A tall, sleek, blond tornado with eyes as blue as the Texas sky and legs that went on forever. He’d been thinking about her only a minute or two before and now here she was. She stormed out of the Texas Cattleman’s Club in such a fury, she’d run right into him only to bounce off like a pebble skipping across the surface of a lake.
He reached out to grab her shoulders and steady her. Then she lifted those big blue eyes up to him and the look on her face said clearly that he was the last person on earth she had expected to see.
“Mornin’, Sadie,” he said softly, letting his gaze sweep over the patrician features he remembered so well. “If you’re really looking to run me over, you should maybe try it in a car. You’re not nearly big enough to do it on foot.”
She blinked at him. Her face paled and her eyes were wide and shining with shock. “Rick? What are you doing here?”
A long, humming second or two passed between them and that was all it took to get Rick’s blood rushing and his body tightening. But Sadie swayed unsteadily.
“Hey,” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she murmured, though she didn’t look it. “I’m just surprised to see you, that’s all. I didn’t know you were home.”
“Only arrived yesterday,” he told her. “Guess the town gossip chain needs a little time to get up and running.”
“I suppose so.”
Her cheeks got even paler and she looked uneasy. Rick wondered why.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry about running into you. Coming out of the gloom of that man-cave into the bright daylight, I couldn’t see and I was just so darn mad at Brad….”
Good to know, he told himself. He’d much rather she be furious with her brother than him. The one night they’d spent together had been haunting him for three long years. He’d spent a lot of time in the desert, remembering her taste, her touch. She was the kind of woman who slipped up on a man. Got under his defenses. Which was why he’d been glad to be leaving for his tour of duty right after their night together. He hadn’t been looking for permanent back then, and Sadie Price was not the kind of woman to settle for a one-night stand.
He took a breath, inhaling her scent—that soft swirl of summer rain and flowers that always seemed to cling to her skin. That scent had stayed with him while he was deployed. And it didn’t seem to matter where he was stationed or the misery that surrounded him … if he closed his eyes, she was there.
Thoughts of her had pulled him through some dark times. Looking down into her blue eyes, he could only think, Damn, it’s good to be home.
“How about you?” he asked. “Last I heard you were living in Houston.” Which was why he’d planned to drive into the city to look her up in a day or two. Much handier this way—having her right here in Royal.
“I was,” she said and chewed at her bottom lip. Her gaze shifted from him. “I, um, moved back a few weeks ago.”
“You okay?” he asked, noticing just how nervous she really was. Shaken, really, and he didn’t like how pale she was, either. In fact, she looked small and fragile and every protective instinct he had rose to the surface, temporarily, at least burying his physical reaction to her.
“You know what? Let’s just go back inside and sit in the cool for a minute. You don’t look too steady on your feet.”
She shook her head and said, “Oh, I’m fine, really. I just …”
“You’re not fine. You look like you’re going to pass out. This heat’ll kill you if you’re not careful. Come on.” He took her elbow in a firm grip and steered her right back into the clubhouse.
“Really, Rick. I don’t need to rest, I just need to go home.”
“And you can, as soon as you’ve cooled off a little.” He drew her to the bench seat beneath the legendary plaque that read Leadership, Justice and Peace.
She took a breath and Rick watched her gather herself. Her fingers clutched at her purse until her knuckles whitened