Hot Holiday Rancher. Catherine Mann

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Two

      Toying with her seat belt and not in any hurry to leave the truck just yet, Esme waited for Jesse’s answer, more curious than she would have liked to admit about what mystery woman he was expecting. Even knowing that cowboys weren’t her type, she couldn’t deny the appeal of those piercing green eyes.

      He cocked an eyebrow as he reached for his Stetson. “I certainly didn’t think you were one of the infamous Perry family.”

      She bristled at the censure in his voice. “Infamous?” she repeated, the bubble of romance officially burst. She unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”

      “I didn’t mean to offend,” he said as his boots hit the pristine cement floor of his six-car garage with a solid thud. “Your father was investigated on fraud charges and the murder of a Perry Holdings assistant not too long ago.”

      Vincent Hamm had gone missing, the assistant presumed to have quit and moved to the British Virgin Islands to spend his life surfing, based on a text he’d sent his boss. But then his body had been discovered with a bullet wound to the chest, his skull bashed, making identification difficult. But DNA tests had confirmed the man’s identity.

      Esme slammed the door, the sound reverberating in the dimly lit space. Her damp and muddy feet slipped ever so slightly as she charged forward alongside a speedboat, her toes still so icy cold, her mangled shoes dangling from her hand. An SUV, a motorcycle and a pair of four-wheelers filled the rest of the space. The man sure liked his toys.

      Or maybe his family did?

      She glanced at his left hand as he tapped the security code at the door leading into the house. No ring. But then, there was still the mystery woman.

      Esme pulled her focus back to her reason for being here. To clean up her father’s image among the Texas Cattleman’s Club members here in Royal.

      “My father was cleared of fraud and the murder of Vincent Hamm.” All hell had broken loose when the body was found at the site of the new Texas Cattleman’s Club, where her father’s construction company was doing the renovations. The murderer still hadn’t been found. “As I recall, you were under suspicion, too, after leaving an angry message on Hamm’s voice mail.”

      “Valid point.” He waved her inside with a broad hand, his square jaw flexing. “Lucky for me, I have an airtight alibi.”

      While he turned on the lights, she flung her damp hair over her shoulders and unbuttoned her trench coat. “Clearly there’s something more you want to say?”

      Texas landscapes lined the walls of the corridor, one end leading to a washroom and the other leading into the house. He eyed her for a moment, sizing her up before nodding tightly. “Your father has led a cutthroat life in the business world. Sterling Perry may not be guilty of this, but the man he has been made it easier to believe it could be him.”

      She couldn’t deny the truth in that. But that was still her daddy Jesse was talking about. “You certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”

      Sighing, he swept off his hat. “Ma’am, you’re clearly tired. I’ll make you something to drink—decaf coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

      She was exhausted. But she had a narrow window of time. If she kept bristling this way, she would lose the chance to plead her father’s case to be the president of the Houston branch of the club. It was tough enough already with all the politics back home, given the other contender for the position was his longtime rival, Ryder Currin, who her father felt had unjustly gotten an oil-rich piece of land that should have stayed in the family. It didn’t seem to matter to Sterling that he already had more money than royalty and that Ryder had made the bulk of his fortune through savvy investments.

      Although they had to get along these days since Ryder was seeing her sister Angela, that didn’t change the fact that her dad wanted the position. And Angela would have to live with that, because Esme intended to make this happen for her father.

      “Hot chocolate, please, if it’s not too much trouble.” It sounded like something that would take longer to make. Give her more time to collect herself. Mold herself into the perfect influencer. “And no worries. I’m thick-skinned like my father.”

      A fib. She actually was the most sensitive of her siblings, but that would smooth things over for now.

      As the sensitive sibling, she’d learned early how to play family peacekeeper. To de-escalate tension and defuse situations—even though her heart often thudded loudly in her chest and panic rose in her blood.

      With footfalls uncharacteristically silent for such a tall, broad-chested man, he moved into the laundry room. Light flickered on, and Esme peered inside the well-kept pale yellow room with green plant accents. He pulled clothes out of a basket on top of the dryer, then strode with cowboy swagger back to her. He motioned down the hallway. Sconces on the wall provided a warm light as they made their way to the massive kitchen. He placed the neatly folded clothes on the island.

      With a surveying glance, she took in the open, sprawling layout. White granite countertops provided a sleek contrast to the dark wood cabinets. Open shelves displayed simple white dishes and mugs. A countertop overlooked a large bay window that, despite the night storm raging outside, offered an enviable view of the large barn and fence. Unlike the interior of the house, the barn and fence sported twinkling Christmas lights.

      A thick but unfinished sandwich took up the majority of a white plate on the countertop. He must have been eating there when he’d spotted her car outside.

      Jesse’s rough-cut smile lit up his green eyes. “Good, I’m glad to hear you’re tough. If we’re going to be trapped here together until the road’s cleared, it will be easier if we get along.”

      Trapped? Now, that sounded promising.

      “True enough.” She slid off her trench coat.

      The room went silent as his eyes flickered with awareness, taking in her damp blouse and slacks. Her chilled skin warmed at his gaze.

      Then he looked away, clearing his throat as he picked up a remote control off the island and thumbed on the sound system. Holiday tunes played softly, jazz renditions. That surprised her. She would have expected him to pick country music.

      Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked over to the double wooden doors of his pantry. Intricately carved, the wood depicted a rearing horse on a landscape. It was a touch of personality in this state-of-the-art kitchen that was otherwise pretty much devoid of personality. He removed a bag of marshmallows and a mason jar filled with hot chocolate mix and set them on the counter. He pulled out milk from the fridge.

      “Well, then, Esme, let’s agree not to talk about your father.” He spun a pan in his hand, setting it down on the front right burner.

      Not discussing her dad was rather counterproductive СКАЧАТЬ