Seduction Of The Reluctant Bride. Barbara McCauley

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      “Elijah Jane Corporation,” he read aloud. “Boston, Massachusetts. Faith Alexis Courtland, Vice President.” He glanced back up at her. “So the Stone brothers didn’t hire you to snooker me?”

      Snooker? Faith wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it one little bit. “A man’s funeral is hardly the time to ‘snooker’ anyone, Mr. McCants. Elijah Jane Corporation is devastated over Mr. Montgomery’s tragic accident.”

      She was serious, Sam realized, taking in the firm set of her upturned lips and the fixed look in her pretty eyes. Completely serious. This woman really believed what she was saying.

      There was a mistake here, of course, Sam knew. Some bizarre twist of fate had mysteriously mixed up Digger Jones of Cactus Flat with some other fellow, who just happened, by some weird coincidence, to have the same name: Francis Elijah Montgomery.

      But bizarre or not, who was he to question fate? She’d find out soon enough she had the wrong man. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. This time of the year was slow at the ranch. A little diversion—especially one with bottomless blue eyes and enticing curves—would be more than welcome.

      Faith snapped her purse shut and tossed back her neatly trimmed, shoulder-length blond hair. “In case you haven’t heard of us, we have fifty restaurants across the country, plus an extensive frozen food line carried by most grocery stores. We’re famous for our steaks and ribs,” she said proudly.

      Sam might have mentioned to Faith that he had a freezer full of Elijah Jane’s Hearty Homestyle Meals for the nights that Gazella, his housekeeper, had off, but that clipped, cool tone had crept back into her voice and he wouldn’t give Miss Faith Courtland, Vice President, the satisfaction. And he wondered what she might say if he told her that he supplied the beef, through a distributor, for those steaks Elijah Jane was so famous for.

      He pocketed her business card, then settled his arms over the back of the pew as he looked up at her. Damn, but this woman was easy on the eyes...and hard on the hormones. “I believe I’ve heard the name before, once or twice.”

      He was making fun of her, Faith was certain of it. But in spite of herself, and as hard as she wanted to be offended, she found the glint of humor in his eyes fascinating, and much to her distress, extremely appealing.

      “Mr. McCants—” she began, clearing her throat “—Mr. Montgomery, Digger, has always been reclusive. A mystery owner who preferred to stay in the shadows and let his carefully selected employees run his company. His only demands were the highest quality food, absolute best service, and detailed weekly reports.”

      He watched her for a long moment, his arms draped casually over the pew, a mixture of interest and disbelief in his eyes. She resisted the urge to look away from his penetrating gaze.

      “So you’re telling me,” he said finally, “that you’ve never even met this guy, your boss. Never even seen him.”

      She glanced at the front of the church, at the empty coffin, her chest tightening at the realization she never would. “That’s right.”

      “How did you communicate?”

      “There was a post office box in Midland, but the majority of communication was by computer and fax.”

      “Computer? Fax?” Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Digger didn’t even own a cash register at the café. Said they were too much trouble. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’ve got the wrong man. You should have called and saved yourself a trip.”

      She blew out her irritation, then drew in a slow, calming breath. “Mr. Montgomery left your name and address only, with instructions to contact you at the Circle B if anything happened to him. It wasn’t uncommon not to hear from him for a few weeks, but after a month, we contacted the local authorities here and found out that Francis Elijah Montgomery, alias Digger Jones, had been lost in the mountains after a flood. As vice president of Elijah Jane, it’s my responsibility to meet with you and Mr. Montgomery’s attorney to go over the details of his will and estate.”

      Sam snorted. “An attorney? Digger? I wouldn’t even repeat his opinion of lawyers to a lady. ’Course, I wouldn’t repeat most of Digger’s opinions to a lady.”

      “No lawyer?” She frowned. “But that’s impossible. He must have had a lawyer draw up a will.”

      Sam shook his head. “’Fraid not. Digger drew up his own a few months back, sealed it and gave it to me to handle for him when the time came. The bank’s closed on Saturday, but we can check it out Monday morning. Until then, it’s safe and sound in my safe deposit vault.”

      Jaw slack, all she could do was stare at him. “He drew up his own will and just handed it over to you, without any legal advice or representation?”

      Annoyance flashed quickly in his eyes, the humor gone now. “This isn’t Boston, Ms. Courtland. Folks trust each other here.”

      She hadn’t meant to insult him, it was just so ..so preposterous. “Twenty-million dollars is a lot of trust by anyone’s standards, in any city. A man doesn’t just scribble away that kind of money in a hand-written will.”

      “You didn’t know Digger very well, did you?” Sam said, his tone mocking.

      “I told you, I never met the man.” She let the burn of his words pass, then lifted her chin. “But then, it appears that you didn’t know him so well yourself.”

      “Perhaps.” He stood, regarded her carefully. “I’d say, Ms. Courtland, under the circumstances, that we both have a lot to learn.”

      

      The reception for Digger was held in the banquet room of the Cactus Flat Hotel. Tables stretched from one end of the Spanish-style hall to the other; baskets and plates and pots filled with food had been supplied by the local ladies. The smell of fried chicken, barbecued ribs and Hattie Lamotts’s honeyed ham filled the air. Chocolate cakes, warm cookies and frosted brownies enticed even those with the strongest willpower to give in. Food was a means of bringing people together, whether sharing conversation, joy or tragedy. It fed the stomach, and the soul as well.

      Sam watched Faith nibble on one of Savannah Stone’s Georgia-spiced chicken wings and decided it also fed another equally important aspect of the human species.

      Lust.

      Her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth nipped delicately at the seasoned meat, then she daintily licked her passion-pink lips with the tip of her tongue. Sam might have groaned out loud if Jared, Jake and Dylan hadn’t been standing next to him, watching him like proverbial hawks since he’d walked into the hall with the glamorous Faith Courtland at his side. Annie, Savannah and Jessica had Faith surrounded at the moment, talking as if they’d known each other for years.

      Sam had warned Faith that it might be better not to discuss exactly who she was with anyone else, or why she’d come to Cactus Flat. He’d also suggested that when she was asked, as she most certainly would be, she simply explain she was the niece of one of Digger’s old friends who’d been unable to attend. Faith had stiffened at his suggestion, in that prim little manner of hers, but had relented, agreeing that it might be best not to discuss Digger’s financial situation, or the reason for her visit, just yet.

      Sam still didn’t believe it, of course. Digger Jones, owner of a multimillion-dollar company? Sure. Next СКАЧАТЬ