Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson

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      “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

      “I’d like a split of champagne, please.”

      “You got it.”

      She really wasn’t a drinker—and the bubbly stuff tickled her nose—but she was determined to find something to celebrate, something positive to look forward to, something that would ease the ache in her heart or at least lighten her mood. And she didn’t want another one of those dang Jose Cuervo–shot margaritas that Elmer and Jensen had always ordered for her.

      She tapped the tips of her fingers against the top of the bar. First of all, there was her agreement to star in the Wild West Show. And since she no longer had to worry about what attention that might draw to the Fortune Chesterfield family, she could announce it from the rooftops.

      Secondly, she’d played hardball with their corporate attorney, Max Dunstan, yesterday and had insisted that they drop the saloon-girl getup if they wanted to use her photograph in the Cowboy Country USA ad campaign, and he’d finally agreed.

      “Well, I’ll be,” a male voice slurred from behind her. “Amber Sue Rogers. I haven’t seen you since high school.”

      She glanced over her shoulder to see Brady Wilkins, the former Horseback Hollow running back who’d gone on to play a season at Oklahoma State University until a knee injury sidelined him for good.

      “Hey,” she said. “How’s it going, Brady?”

      “Not bad.” He held a glass of amber liquid in his hand—no ice.

      Whiskey, she guessed. Maybe bourbon. And from the smell on his too-close breath, it wasn’t his first.

      “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

      “No, thanks. I just ordered.”

      “Want some company?”

      Not really. She’d rather be alone.

      And then do what? Mope and feel sorry for herself?

      Before she could answer either way, he drew up the barstool next to hers and took a seat.

      About that time, Marcos Mendoza walked in. He’d no more than glanced at Brady before speaking quietly to the bartender, who nodded. Then Marcos picked up his cell phone and sent out a text.

      Brady slipped his arm around the back of Amber’s barstool. “So how’s it goin’? I heard you gave up the rodeo to come home after your grandpa passed. That’s gotta be tough. I know what it’s like to give up a dream, especially when you’re good—like you and me were.”

      The bartender brought Amber’s champagne, along with a chilled flute, and opened the split. “You okay, ma’am? Is this guy botherin’ you?”

      “Hell, no, I ain’t botherin’ her, Lester. Me an’ her go way back.”

      The bartender eyed Amber carefully, letting her know all she had to do was say the word and he’d make sure Brady gave her some space. But she could take care of herself. “I’m okay.”

      “See?” Brady’s hand slipped to her shoulder, and he drew her closer, as though she’d agreed to be on more friendly terms when, in truth, they’d hardly said a word when passing each other in the hall during high school because they’d run in different crowds.

      Funny how a drink and shared heartbreak made barroom buddies out of near strangers.

      Footsteps sounded, and a camera flashed. Amber turned to the doorway, wondering who’d entered the bar. Her breath caught, and she nearly fell off her seat when she spotted Jensen stroll in wearing a black suit, a trail of paparazzi following behind him. And he was heading straight for her.

      What the heck?

      The cameras—at least four of them—continued to flash, but Jensen didn’t blink. He bellied right up to the bar as if he was John Wayne himself, and snatched the only other empty seat next to hers.

      Before the reporters could jot down Sir Jensen in a Love Triangle on their notepads, Jensen took her hand in his. “Unless you’re caught up in a conversation with this cowboy, I’d like to have a word with you.”

      She’d been dying to talk to him since he’d flown home to London, but his surprise arrival had thrown her so off step, that she wasn’t sure if she could wrap her mind around the words she’d been wanting to say. Yet she might not have another opportunity, so she’d better take him up on it. “Let’s go into the back room where it’s private.”

      “That won’t be necessary.” He glanced around the room. “Besides, I’m expecting an audience this time.”

      She followed his gaze, her jaw dropping when she spotted the people who’d begun to gather around—Gram and Elmer, their arms linked around each other and grinning from ear to ear. Jeanne Marie and Deke, along with Lady Josephine, her hands clasped together, as though waiting on bated breath for something...

      Even Mrs. Tierney was here, but who was minding the Superette?

      Rachel had wandered into the bar, too, along with Marcos and Wendy.

      “What’s this about?” Amber asked.

      “I needed to talk to you, and I wanted it to be a surprise. So I asked Jeanne Marie to call your house and find out if you were home. She said you were heading to the Superette. I went looking for you there, but arrived too late. Mrs. Tierney said you went home, so I started back to the ranch, then Rachel called Amelia, and she told me you were here.”

      “How did Rachel know you were looking for me?” Amber asked.

      “I suspect Wendy told her since news travels fast in the Fortune family. So I sent Marcos a text and asked him to hold you here, even if he had to hog-tie you.”

      Amber turned to the drunken former football player, then looked back at Jensen. “I don’t suppose you asked Brady to waylay me.”

      “Not on a bet. Your cowboy friend might be harmless when inebriated, but I wouldn’t trust my lady with a man who’s not related to me.”

      “Your lady?”

      “It’s taken me a while to admit it—and a while longer to decide what to do about it. But you’ve become very special to me, Amber. And I want—no, I need you in my life.”

      “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

      “The first thing I did when I arrived home was to spend a little time at the cemetery so I could talk to my father. Just sitting there in the family plot, it became clear to me that I wasn’t sparing myself any pain by walking away from you. I missed you so much in those few days I was gone that I couldn’t stand it. Like I told you before I left, I was confused. And I had some things to think about.”

      “Did you?” she asked. “Get things worked out in your mind?”

      “Almost. There’s just one little bothersome question, but you can settle it for me.” He reached into his lapel pocket, withdrew a small, black velvet box and dropped СКАЧАТЬ