Fortune's Hero Page 2

  “I’ve stopped asking her that question. I figure she knows what she’s doing. She’s been a huge help since we brought MaryAnne home. She was so tiny, you know, as premature as she was, but so perfect. Emily’s a natural mom. She steadied me.” Wendy looked around. “Honestly, though, I think Marcos is looking forward to the three of us becoming a family on our own.”

  Victoria sat up straight. “Of course he wants that. You must, too.” Just like all she wanted was to talk to the stranger who’d saved her. “I’ll encourage Em to go home, and I’ll move to the hotel. We’re being so—”

  “Stop. Please, Vicki, I didn’t mean right this second. Marcos is glad I’ve had company since he works such long hours at the restaurant. I just meant that I think we’re both ready to establish our own routine. But not this week. Not yet.”

  “Well, I only plan to stay a few days. I’ll get Em to leave with me, too.”

  “It’s not necessary, Vicki. Really. I think she’s hiding out here, but I’m not sure why. And then there’s Jordana—”

  “Who is the biggest mystery of all,” Emily said, coming into the room. She was tall, blonde and green-eyed, yet she also had the Fortune look about her. “Hey, Vicki.” She bent to give her cousin a hug while eyeing Wendy. “I’m not hiding out here, sister mine. I’ve been helping. I’ve also been working from here. You look like crap, Vicki.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Emily shrugged. “Is MaryAnne still sleeping?”

  “Like a baby,” Wendy said with a grin.

  The women settled into conversation, as they had all their lives. Their fathers were brothers, highly successful, self-made financial geniuses in Atlanta, each owning separate companies that weren’t in competition with each other. It was amazing, actually, that the cousins got along so well, considering that their fathers did not. At family events, the brothers ignored each other. Only the two men knew what was behind their estrangement.

  “So, Vicki,” Emily said, “why did you come today instead of in time for the party last night?”

  Because my sanity depended on it. “Jordana and I talked last night, and it just seemed like the right time.”

  “Did she tell you what’s going on with her?”

  “Going on?” Victoria asked innocently.

  Wendy and Emily exchanged glances. “She doesn’t look well,” Emily said. “In fact, she looks worse than you. We’re really worried.”

  “I think she’s fine,” Victoria answered. “She’s dealing with some stuff. No, don’t ask. She’s not sick. Wendy,” she said, changing the subject. She couldn’t wait a second longer. “Did Marcos ever figure out who got me out from under the debris? I would like to talk to him.”

  “He’s pretty sure it must have been Garrett Stone.”

  Garrett Stone. Her heart skipped a beat or two. She finally had a name to put to him, a strong name, solid. Heroic. “Where does he live?”

  “He’s got a ranch—although I’m using the term loosely—outside town called Pete’s Retreat. He’s born-and-bred Red Rock, but he’s left town a couple of times, for several years at a time. There’ve been rumors about him, apparently.”

  “Like what?”

  “For one thing, he was involved in some kind of scandal years ago with a young woman. That forced him to leave town the first time. For another, no one knows how he makes a living. Plus he’s a loner. He’s got dogs and a few horses. Strays gravitate to him.”

  Victoria remembered he was a man of few words, and also how his hands had been gentle on her.

  Now that she was here, she wanted to get it over with. To see him. To thank him. To take back her life. “Could you give me directions to his place? I’d like to go there now.”

  “I can call Marcos and ask,” Wendy said. “But I think it would be better if one of us went with you.”

  “Why?”

  “In case he’s rude or something.”

  “Standing-on-the-porch-holding-a-shotgun rude or just brusque? He can’t be totally without civility. He saved my life, after all. And besides, I’m not without charm, you know,” she added, fluttering her eyelashes.

  “I doubt anything in your past has prepared you for Garrett Stone,” Wendy said. “Face it, Vicki, the easy appeal you have comes from having led a charmed life. We all have. If you’re expecting him to welcome you with open arms and listen to you shower him with gratitude, you’re deluded. I gather people don’t venture out to his ranch. There must be a reason for that. I’m not sure he’ll be nice to you.”

  “I’m not a princess,” Victoria said, crossing her arms. “If he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, so be it. At least I will have done what I need to.”

  “Wow. You’ve really gotten snippy.”

  Victoria dug for patience. “I’m sorry for my attitude. It’s just been weighing on me.”

  “I see that. What I think is that you’ve got a big ol’ case of hero worship, some big fantasy you’ve worked up in your head about him without knowing the whole truth,” Emily said. “And although we may not wear crowns, we Fortune daughters have been protected and pampered since birth. You can’t deny that. But the men of Red Rock are different from the men in our social circle back home.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Have you ever been rejected, Vicki?”

  “Of course I have. But it’s not like this is a love connection, you know. I just have a few things to say.” Except that she’d been fantasizing about him, too, that he’d carried her far away, her hero.

  Emily raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, then. At least you’ll know what to expect if you go there.”

  Victoria frowned, thinking it over. She had been rejected. Maybe not by anyone who mattered, but then she’d never been in love, either. Perhaps because she’d never developed any long-term relationships, something that had irked her parents to no end. As old-fashioned as the notion was, she’d been expected to find a future husband while she was in college. Her parents were old-school, with traditional expectations, and she hadn’t lived up to them. It was different for her four older brothers, who were still single, their martial status not even an issue.

  Armed with directions from Marcos, Victoria headed out twenty minutes later. She’d brought a bottle of eighteen-year-old single-malt, award-winning Scotch whiskey. She’d never tasted it herself, preferring sweet, fruity drinks, but the whiskey was praised by most men she knew.

  It wasn’t a long drive, but an increasingly desolate one. Why anyone would want to live so far from civilization puzzled her. She liked her creature comforts, which meant shops and restaurants within walking distance and the theater and opera close enough to attend frequently. It was the reason why she lived in a condo in downtown Atlanta. She loved the action.

  Finally she saw the mailbox Marcos had told her to watch for. She turned into the property. There was no sign announcing she’d arrived at Pete’s Retreat, no welcoming fence-lined driveway, just a long dirt path. After a minute, she spotted a corral with three horses, then some dogs began to bark, several rushing up to her car. She slowed way down, afraid of accidentally hitting one. Garrett Stone may take in strays, but he sure didn’t train them well. Or maybe he wasn’t home to call them off—

  No. There he was, coming from a barn. Strolling, actually. Or maybe moseying, that slim-hipped stride she associated with cowboys, no-nonsense and no-hurry at the same time. He was as tall as she remembered, a foot taller than she, and she was five-four.

  She stopped the car in front of his house, an old but well-maintained, single-story ranch style. He came to a halt in front of her vehicle and stared at her through the windshield, apparently not recognizing her. He still hadn’t called off the dogs, who barked and jumped. She felt imprisoned in her car.

  Finally he made a motion with
his hand and the dogs dropped to all fours and stopped barking. They sidled closer to him. With another hand motion, all but two dogs headed toward a barn.

  Victoria opened the window and called out, “Hi! You probably don’t remember me. I’m Victoria Fortune. From the airport? The tornado?”

  “I remember.” His face was shadowed by his hat, so she couldn’t judge his reaction, except she thought he was frowning.

  “Will your dogs attack me if I get out of the car?”

  “Probably not.”

  She expected him to wink, as he had at the airport, but his expression never changed, no sign to indicate whether or not he was joking. Even though she felt unsure of her welcome, she grabbed her gift and opened the door. When the dogs didn’t growl, she climbed out, grateful she’d changed into jeans and boots so that she fit in better. Still he didn’t move.

  “I was in the neighborhood…” she began. Nervous now, she brushed at some dust on her jeans, giving herself something to do, wishing he would pick up the conversation.

  His mouth quirked, but whether it was a sign of annoyance or humor, she didn’t know.

  She thrust the whiskey at him, apparently a little too hard. It hit him in the stomach and bounced off obviously strong abs. He grabbed for the container. The bottle fell—

  He caught it at his knees.

  “Whew!” she said, grinning. “Good catch.”

  He eyed the container. If he knew how expensive it was, he didn’t indicate it; he just waited for her to speak. Or leave, she guessed.

  “Maybe we could go inside?” she asked.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I—I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Here’s as good a place as any. You’re interrupting my work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “This ’n that.”

  She crossed her arms. He might look exactly like the man from the airport, but he no longer seemed like the winking type. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Being the taciturn cowboy. Keeping the myth alive.”

  “Taciturn. That’s a mighty big word, ma’am.”

  Aha! There was a glimmer in his gorgeous blue eyes. He was just playing with her. He’d probably decided she was just another pretty face. “Something tells me you know its definition, but okay. You win. I came here to thank you for saving my life.”

  “You told me three months ago.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You kissed me. Pretty much said it all. Can’t say it was the best kiss I’ve ever had planted on me, but I got what you were meaning by it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kiss you in a memorable way, I would’ve, but I guarantee you I put more emotion into that one kiss than any other I’ve given.”

  “Well, isn’t that a sorry state of affairs.”

  “I’m a good kisser!”

  “If you say so, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a safe drive back to town.” He walked away from her.

  She called out, “You know, cowboy, where I come from, it’s rude to walk out on a visitor.”

  “Where I come from, princess,” he said over his shoulder, “it’s rude to drop in uninvited.”

  Chapter Two

  Garrett didn’t slow his stride. His old hound Pete trotted beside him and kept looking back at the woman who’d audibly gasped her indignation at his abrupt dismissal. Truth was, she tempted him mightily, and he was afraid if he invited her in, even for just a second, he would fall under her spell. It was obvious that she was trouble with a capital T.

  The moment he’d caught sight of her at the airport three months ago, he’d felt gut punched. A few seconds later he’d recovered enough to wink at her, but had kept walking because he’d been inclined to start up a conversation, which would’ve been a big mistake. She wasn’t his type at all, which had made it all the more baffling. Two birthdays from now he would turn forty. She looked barely out of college. She was petite and dark-haired, and he was partial to blonde and tall, or at least closer to his own six foot four than she was. She wore designer-chic clothes, even her jeans and boots had probably come from a boutique or something, and she’d already turned up her nose at the good Texas dust that had settled on her jeans as if she’d been contaminated.

  He’d met plenty of high-maintenance women in his life. He’d learned to avoid them, especially after an experience a couple of years back with a woman named Crystal, one he’d like to forget, except for the lesson learned.

  But he also liked women with curves. Give him more than a handful of a woman in his big bed and he was happy, especially if she was just passing through. He didn’t date women looking for long-term, and felt no need for conversation or companionship on a regular basis.

  Sure, the petite Ms. Victoria Fortune of the Atlanta Fortunes was wife material—but not for him. She’d had stars in her eyes when she’d arrived a few minutes ago. He wasn’t sure what had caused them. Glorification of him as her hero, maybe? He’d never been a hero in anyone’s eyes before. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d been blamed for lots he didn’t do, just because people expected it.

  He’d been a rabble-rouser in his youth, prone to bar fights and speeding tickets, but that’d been years ago. And then there was that incident with Jenny Kirkpatrick… .

  It hadn’t mattered that he’d been a teenager at the time—nor had he been the guilty party. Some reputations couldn’t be lived down, however, so he’d stopped trying.

  Pete assumed his usual dog-sentinel post on the porch as Garrett let himself into his house. He decided to wait until Victoria was gone before resuming his work. When he didn’t hear her car start up, he set down the bottle of fine whiskey, peeked out a window and saw her leaning against her car, arms crossed, staring his direction. His collie-mix mutt, Abel, plopped next to her, his tail wagging, dust flying. Idly she petted him, then crouched and gave him a good scratch behind his ears, something Abel loved more than anything except a good belly rub. What male didn’t?

  Picturing her hands sliding over his own body knotted him up good—and how the hell long was she gonna hang around when he’d specifically dismissed her?

  Everyone knew Fortune women liked their luxuries, and they probably always got their way, too. Maybe she wouldn’t leave until he forced her off his property.

  Well, she wouldn’t get her way here. Not with him.

  Choking off a colorful oath, he opened his front door, jammed on his hat and strode across his yard. Abel stood and wagged his tail, looking a little guilty at being caught getting attention from another human.

  And that human was looking at him like he was a rock star or something. Aw, hell.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked.

  “I’m not a princess,” she said calmly. “I came here because I dream about you every night.”

  Gut punched again, he said nothing. He’d had a few dreams himself… .

  “Nightmares, really,” she added.

  So much for hero worship. “You need professional help with that. You’re not gonna find that here.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But I’ve never been that close to death, Mr. Stone. So I decided to come see you, to thank you, with the hope that I can stop thinking about it, obsessing about it really. I would appreciate it if you would acknowledge the fact you saved my life and let me thank you properly for doing so. I’m sure I’ll be able to move on then.”

  “And just how long does it take to say thank you?”

  She cocked her head. “How long does it take to pour a glass of whiskey?”

  She had sass, he gave her that. Sometimes that was a good quality in a woman.

  “Are you of legal drinking age?”
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  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “Are you expected back right away?” he asked.

  “I suppose my family will worry after a little while. Why?”

  “Before we break open that whiskey, we need to go for a drive.”

  “Where?” she asked, a touch of suspicion in her voice.

  He angled closer. “Well, now, if you don’t trust me…”

  Her eyes shimmered, eyes the color of chocolate diamonds and just as deep. “Let’s just say my entire family knows I’m here, so I don’t think trust is an issue,” she said.

  “C’mon, then.” He crossed the yard to where his pickup sat, he could hear her boots crunching against the hard ground. He got into his truck, expecting she would climb in the passenger side on her own, since she wasn’t a princess. He smiled a little at that.

  “Buckle up,” he said when she settled next to him.

  They made the trip in silence, and he could feel her tension rise with every mile. Then when he made the last turn into Red Rock Airport, her fingers dug into the seat. Her eyes were glued on the structures ahead as he paused.

  He sat still, letting her take in the view, letting her adjust to seeing the place where she’d almost been buried alive. Seeing the airport rebuilt should help her rebuild her own life.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said, keeping his voice soft and low, treating her the same as any wounded animal who’d landed on his property.

  She nodded. He admired her for that, for not making him coax her, for facing her demons. He came around the truck as she dropped onto the ground, then he walked toward the terminal. She caught up with him in a couple of seconds and gripped his hand, keeping up with him.

  “The airport’s back to being used all the time,” he said. “They’re close to finishing the rebuilding.”

  “How many people died?” she asked.

  “Three.” He eyed her. “Could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

  “What were you doing here?”

  “Picking up a shipment that’d been airfreighted to me.” He opened the glass door to the terminal and took her inside with him. She squeezed his hand tighter, if that was even possible. “Clear skies, Victoria. Don’t worry.”