Fortune's Heirs: Reunion: Her Good Fortune / A Tycoon in Texas / In a Texas Minute. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ looking at her critically.

      It was her shaky self-esteem that had been the culprit for her sliding down the slippery slope that had ultimately led to rehab in the first place.

      “Look, it’s very evident that you’d rather be running barefoot over hot coals, on your way to get a root canal, than helping me, so why don’t we just call it a day? You can tell your father everything’s all right and I’ll just go about my business the way I did when I first got started in Denver.”

      Most people vied for the Fortune’s backing. What was her angle? “Just like that?”

      She faced forward and stared straight ahead, aware that he was looking at her. “Pretty much.”

      It made no sense. “I thought you asked for my father’s help.”

      She wanted the record set straight. “No, my mother asked for your father’s help.” She knew that her mother had had only good intentions. She also knew it was futile to tell her mother to back off and stop worrying. Worrying, Maria Mendoza had told her time and again, was part of a mother’s job description. “I guess she still worries about me. According to my mother, I am going to be her ‘little girl’ even when I blow out eighty-nine candles on my birthday cake.”

      He laughed dryly, doing his damnedest not to pay attention to the way her mouth curved fondly as she spoke of her mother. “I know how that is. Although my father does pretty much stay out of my business.”

      Was he talking about private or professional? “I thought it was his business—”

      “It is, but lately I’ve been running the New York office according to my guidelines. In a way, that makes it mine.” He stopped himself, realizing that he’d just admitted something to a woman he knew next to nothing about. A veritable stranger. That wasn’t a habit with him.

      “And you’re dying to get back.” It wasn’t a guess, she could tell by the look in his eyes despite the restraint he was attempting to exercise. The New York office was his baby.

      “‘Dying’ might be a tad dramatic,” he informed her. “But I don’t mind saying that I’m a city kid, born and bred.”

      He said that as if San Antonio wasn’t worth his time. Texas pride prompted her next words. “San Antonio isn’t exactly the sticks.”

      Maybe not, he allowed, but it certainly wasn’t like New York City. “No, but New York has this energy, this verve—”

      She found herself resenting his attitude. “Probably because everyone’s so tense, waiting for someone to make a move on them.”

      Chauvinism made him take her words as a personal affront. If there was anything he hated, it was the way people insisted on running down New Yorkers. “You’re stereotyping—”

      “Aren’t you?” she countered. “You make us sound like hicks.”

      “‘Us’?” Hadn’t she told him that she’d just moved here from Denver?

      “I was born and raised in Red Rock.”

      He knew that. He also knew something else. “But you left.”

      The reasons for that were complex and plentiful. She wasn’t about to go into it with a pompous know-it-all no matter who his father was.

      “That’s a story for another day. Besides—” her tone underscored the word “—I’m back.” They were coming up to a busy intersection. She knew a shortcut that would circumvent what looked like a jam in the making. “Take a left here.” And then she changed her mind. Not about the direction they were going, but about the direction of the day. “No, wait.”

      “Wait?” he echoed in disbelief. Did she think he could stop moving in the middle of all this? If he did, in two seconds they’d be surrounded with a cacophony of horns, all blasting at them.

      “You can let me out on the corner.” She pointed toward it. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

      He made no attempt to pull over. “Are you kicking me off this assignment?”

      “No, I’m opening the door and letting you run away from this assignment, no disrespect intended,” she added when he raised one dark eyebrow at the word “run.”

      Much as the idea tempted him, he had no intentions of backing out. He’d given his father his word and he was going to see this through. The woman was exhibiting about as much sense as an opossum in the middle of a busy five-lane road.

      “Since we’re almost there, I might as well take a look at the location you’ve picked.”

      Nope, she definitely didn’t like his attitude. The sooner she was rid of this man, the better she was going to feel. On several levels.

      “You make it sound like I’m a kid with a whim. I did a lot of scouting around before I decided on this mall. I also took overhead into account,” she added. “The ideal location for my shop is at the San Antonio Mall, but the leases there are a little pricey. I thought I’d get a foothold here first, then work my way over in about a year or three.”

      She had actually thought it out, he realized. “I’m impressed.”

      Did he really think that mattered to her? “Oh, good. I can die happy.”

      The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. And his patience was wearing thin. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a smart mouth?”

      Was that his best comeback? The man might as well hang up his gloves now, she’d won the match. “Not lately. It goes with the rest of me.”

      Making a right at the corner, Jack snorted. “Well, your ego’s alive and well.”

      “No thanks to you.” The words had come out before she could stop herself.

      He looked at her, surprised. “What do I have to do with it?”

      “You’ve done nothing but talk down to me since the elevator encounter.”

      “I asked you to press the thirtieth floor.” How could she possibly see that as talking down to her? Was she paranoid?

      “No,” she pointed out, her voice steely, “you snapped out the number.”

      “Oh, for pity’s sake—” He got hold of his temper. Even so, he snapped the next words out. “I was fighting jet lag.”

      It had obviously not been much of a fight from what she’d seen. “Sounds like the jet lag won.” Turning her face forward again, her eyes widened as she saw a maroon Chevy coming from the right, running the light. She braced her feet hard against the floor. “Watch out!”

      But it was already too late.

      A half second after the warning was out of her mouth, the front of Jack’s silver Jaguar made contact with the side of the car that had flown out of nowhere. The Chevy, at least fifteen years old, dented and its paint peeling in half a dozen places, was the heavier of the two vehicles. The impact sent the silver Jaguar spinning in a full circle, winding up exactly at the original point of contact.

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