That Night In Texas

“That night... Why did you leave?”

Her child’s father is back...and wants answers.

Nearly dying in the aftermath of a storm is shock enough for Vivi Donner. Waking to find her sexy one-night stand—and the father of her secret child—standing by her hospital bed? Heart-stopping. Now Camden McNeal is determined to know his daughter and the woman he never forgot. Will their explosive passion last more than one night this time?

JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.

Also by Joss Wood

His Ex’s Well-Kept Secret

One Night to Forever

The CEO’s Nanny Affair

Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant

Friendship on Fire

Hot Christmas Kisses

The Rival’s Heir

Lone Star Reunion

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

That Night in Texas

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09229-6

THAT NIGHT IN TEXAS

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Rebecca Crowley—amazing writer and Jozi survivor—

thanks for sharing Houston with me.

And for introducing me to Mexican beer,

Colombian food and pumping your own gas.

It’ll be a trip I’ll always remember.

Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

About the Publisher

One

Vivi Donner gripped her steering wheel and leaned forward, hoping that the extra couple of inches would help her see better through the gray, dense fog. It was another awful day after a string of terrible days, and like the rest of the residents of Houston, Texas, she felt both battered and shattered. After the storm that had led to devastating flooding, a blast of sunshine would help. But a clear day would also force Houston to face the destruction that had been caused and to take stock of the extensive damage to homes and buildings. Vivi jerked her eyes off to the side and the fog cleared just enough for her to see the piles of debris, broken branches and ruined furniture on the sidewalks.

Thank God her house, and that of Clem’s sitter, Charlie, was undamaged. The same couldn’t be said for The Rollin’ Smoke, the famed barbecue restaurant where she worked as head chef.

According to Joe, the owner and her mentor, her beautiful, newly updated kitchen was ruined. The renovations to the restaurant had been finished just six weeks ago, and the new floor, booths, tables and chairs were all wrecked, as well. Garbage and debris still covered the floor, and all hands, including hers, were needed on deck.

As the head chef who answered only to Joe, she could wait until her staff did the heavy lifting and cleaning before she returned, but she wasn’t a prima donna. How could she be? She’d worked her way up the ladder at the restaurant—albeit in record time—from dishwasher to head chef, but she still knew how to get her hands dirty.

Joe’s name might be on the deeds to the eatery but The Rollin’ Smoke was hers, dammit, and Vivi wanted to be there to pick it up and dry it off.

Seeing that the road ahead was closed, Vivi turned down a side road. The fog was thicker here, and her visibility was rapidly decreasing. If it got much worse, she’d have to stop and wait it out, but that could take hours. Where was that damn sun? She lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed her hand on her soft denims, trying to wipe away the perspiration. God, this was scary.

The ringing of her phone had her butt lifting two inches off her seat. Fumbling, she hit the screen to answer the call. “God, Joe, you scared me!”

“Are you in the car? Please tell me you’re not driving!” Joe’s voice rose in panic.

“Actually, I’m crawling along.” That way, nothing bad could happen.

“Turn around, go back home.”

Vivi fought the urge to do exactly that. She wanted to pick up Clem and take her back to their house, climb into bed and pull the covers over their heads and hide out from the world. But she’d done that for the first quarter century of her life and she refused to live like that again. Life was for living, dammit, and part of that living was accepting the good with the bad.

Having Clem and being her mom was not just good but stupendously awesome. On the flip side, a devastating storm and the resulting flood was bad—terrible—but it had happened, and she had to deal with it.

“I have a job to do and a restaurant to clean up so that our lives can return to normal as soon as possible. A little destruction won’t stop the ravenous appetites of Houston meat eaters,” Vivi told Joe, ignoring the sense that she was standing on a precipice. She had a feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

Vivi shivered as a cold chill ran up and down her spine. Her mom would’ve said that a devil was dancing on her spine, but Vivi shook that thought away. Her mom’s superstitions and beliefs, a curious mix of religion and craziness, no longer had a place in her life.

She was just freaked out by the fog, the lack of streetlights, the whistling wind and the piles of debris she occasionally caught a glimpse of in her weak headlights. They all contributed to the spooky atmosphere.

“Just be careful, please,” Joe begged her before disconnecting the call.

Another shiver raised the hair on her arms and Vivi swore. Dropping her eyes, she looked down and located the temperature controls. She punched the button to warm the interior of the car. It was hot and humid outside, but her body had other ideas.

Grateful for the blast of warm air, Vivi checked her rearview mirror and saw a cop car on her tail, blue lights flashing. Vivi scanned the road ahead of her, cursing when she realized there was nowhere to pull over. He was close to her tail and she saw, in her rearview mirror, big hands fly up in obvious frustration. He needed to be somewhere else and she was in his way. Her only option was to speed up and hope a spot would soon appear where she could pull over.

Vivi flexed her fingers and took a deep breath. And as soon as she accelerated she saw the spooky outline of a tree in her path. She slammed the brakes, felt her car slide, then fishtail. She spun her wheel and tapped her accelerator to pull her out of the slide.

Her engine roared and her lungs constricted as the car scrambled for purchase on the slick surface. She heard the ping of gravel hitting her paint. Gravel was better than slick asphalt, she decided. She’d be out of this mess in a minute. Then she’d stop, restart her heart and go home and cuddle Clem.

She might even pull those blankets up around her head, just for a little while.

But those thoughts were short-lived when she felt the car bounce over some uneven ground right before she felt the nose of the car dipping. Her vehicle slid down an embankment, its underside scraping over rocks and debris, and she looked out her window onto a gully containing swiftly running, black water. Her veins iced up and panic closed her throat. She was heading for that cold, foul water. God, there had to be something she could do to save herself, but her brain refused to engage.

Clem’s beautiful face, those bright blue eyes and impish smile, swam across her vision as water covered her feet and soaked her jeans. As it crawled up her thighs, she felt Clem’s arms around her neck, her gentle breath on her face.

Open the damn window, woman.

The voice in her head was from the past, but his tone was hard and demanding. Vivi slapped her hand on the button and the window slid down. A hard wave of water rocked her sideways, but she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and a comforting presence.

You can do this. Just keep calm.

Why was she hearing Camden McNeal’s voice in her head? She looked to the passenger seat, almost expecting to see the sexy ex–oil rigger there, tall and broad and so damn sexy. Clem’s eyes in a masculine, tough face.

Take a deep breath...and another...

The water hit her chin and drops of dirt smacked her lips. Vivi took in another deep breath as water covered her head.

Hold on to the wheel and release your seat belt...

She pushed the lever and felt the seat belt drift away. Without it anchoring her to her seat, she felt buffeted by the water. Panic clawed at her stomach, twisting her brain. A twig scraped over her eyebrow and Vivi closed her eyes. What was the point of keeping them open? She couldn’t see a damn thing as it was.

Survival instinct kicked in and she banged the frame of the open window, fighting the urge to haul in a breath.

She had to live. She had a little girl to raise. Grabbing the frame, she fought the water, scrabbling as she placed her feet against the console and tried to push herself through the open window. But she felt like she was trying to push through a concrete wall.

Wait five seconds and try again...

I don’t have five damn seconds, Vivi mentally screamed.

Sure you do.

Vivi cursed him, her hands gripping the door frame. Five thousand one, five thousand two—God, she needed air—five thousand—

She couldn’t wait any longer. Completely convinced that she was about to die, Vivi pushed against the console, pulled against the window frame and shot out of the car. It was dark and cold and scary, but there was light above her. She’d head for that. Light was good, light was safety...

Light meant Clem.

She was so close—her fingers were an inch from the surface—but her lungs were about to burst. Another kick, another pull...

Vivi’s head broke the surface and she pulled in one life-affirming breath before darkness hauled her away.

* * *

Camden McNeal placed his palm on the window of his home office and looked out at the disappearing fog. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders and his back. He’d swallowed some painkillers a half hour ago, but the vise squeezing his brain had yet to release its claws. He felt like he was about to jump out of his skin.

Lifting his coffee mug to his lips, he took a large sip, enjoying the smooth taste of the expensive imported roast. He waited for the warmth to hit his stomach, but when it did, it burned rather than comforted. What the hell was wrong with him?

Yeah, the past few days hadn’t been fun. Houston had been slapped senseless by a devastating storm and there were many people out there who were in dire straits, although he wasn’t one of them. Not this time.

Count your blessings, McNeal...

Punching a number on his phone, he waited impatiently for Ryder to answer his call. “Cam, everything okay with you?”

His old boss and mentor had a way of making Cam feel steadier. Ryder was rock solid, as a colleague and a friend, and it never hurt to have someone like him standing in your corner. “My office is still under water and mud. All my computers are fried.”

“Nasty. Hope you backed up,” Ryder said.

All the time. “Yep, to a cloud server, so no information has been lost. But two of my guys have lost their houses and possessions.” He already had plans in place to get them back on their feet.

“I’ve closed the office and told my people to care for their homes and families,” Cam added.

“Yeah, I think that’s standard procedure at the moment. Money and business can wait. There’s more important work to do,” Ryder agreed. “I spent yesterday working at a shelter. Did you go out last night?”

“Yeah, I was in one of the worst affected areas of the city—and one of the poorest. It was a community search effort to find some missing children. Two of them were found, but the third, a teenage boy, is still missing,” Cam told Ryder.

Was that why he was so tense, so worried? He knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to be scared. Sure, he’d never been swept away in a flood, but he did have an idea how it felt to be poor, to live within a world that didn’t seem to give a damn about people at the bottom of the pile.

He understood what it felt like to have poverty as your constant companion and hope an emotion you no longer believed in.

Cam’s thoughts were pulled up short when Ryder spoke.

“Did you hear that a body was found at the construction site?”

Cam pushed his shoulders back, intrigued by Ryder’s statement. “Are you talking about the TCC construction site? Sterling Perry’s land?”

“Yes.”

The establishment of a Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club and control of it was Ryder and Sterling Perry’s latest battle in a decades-old war. Both Stirling and Ryder believed that they were best suited to be the inaugural president of the new club, both wanted to be the first to create the vision of the first TCC in Houston. Neither suffered from a lack of self-confidence.

Cam knew that he’d be one of the first to be invited to join the exclusive club and the opportunity to do business with the other members, both in Houston and in Royal would be worth putting up with the politics and drama. And there seemed to be a lot of drama.

“What caused the accident?” Cam asked.

“A couple of bullets to the chest and a crushed skull.”

So, not an accident then.

After discussing the murder and more TCC business, Cam disconnected the call. Walking away from the window and the view of his foggy gardens, he slumped into his butter-soft leather office chair. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, the photograph of the missing kid flashing on the big screen behind his eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sullen smile. Yeah, he recognized the look of despair in Rick Gaines’s eyes, the belief that life was constantly looking for a way to slap him sideways.

It was possible that within a year or two, without help or intervention, Rick would be breaking into cars, dealing, or perhaps even be in a gang. He’d be another lost boy, flirting with jail or addiction. Cam recognized him instantly. After all, wasn’t that exactly who he’d been?

Lost, lonely, confused. And Cam couldn’t help wondering if Rick was even missing. Nobody had seen him fall into the water; he was simply unaccounted for. There was always the possibility that he’d used the flood as an opportunity to run away from his crappy life. Cam understood. When you were struggling to survive, you used the breaks you received...

Your childhood is behind you. That isn’t your life anymore. You are now, and have been for a while, the master of your own destiny.

Cam swallowed the rest of his coffee, annoyed with himself. He didn’t have time to wallow around in the cesspool of his past. He still had a massive company to run. Pulling his keyboard toward him, Cam opened his email program and grimaced at the flood of messages. Yep, as he’d expected, the financial world hadn’t stopped turning. A couple of clients of his venture capital firm expressed their sympathy about the situation in Houston, but most didn’t bother. It didn’t affect them, so why waste the energy?

Cam was midway through typing a response to a Singaporean client when his ringing phone broke his concentration. He glanced at the display, didn’t recognize the number and considered ignoring the call. Then he remembered that he’d asked the search coordinator to inform him if they located Rick. This could be an update, so he needed to take the call. He hit the speaker button with an impatient finger. “McNeal.”

“Camden McNeal?”

“That’s me.”

“Excellent. You have been listed as the emergency contact number of a Vivianne Donner. I regret to inform you that Ms. Donner was admitted into the ER this morning after a car accident. When can we expect you?”

Cam pushed a hand through his hair, confused. “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“I have your cell number, sir. You are Camden McNeal, owner of McNeal, Inc., and you live in River Oaks?”

“Yeah, that’s correct—”

“You might not know her, but she sure knows you. So, my question remains, how soon can we expect you?”

* * *

Cam paced into the lobby of the hospital, his long stride eating up the distance between the doors and the nurses station. He dodged a nurse pushing a pregnant woman in a wheelchair and noticed that the dad-to-be was on the verge of panic. Rather him than me, Cam thought. He was the product of two of the most dysfunctional people in the world and what he knew about parenting would fit on a pinhead.

His father had taught him how to steal, to hustle, to slip and slide through life, but mostly his parents had taught him that he could only ever rely on, and take care of, himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to put someone else’s needs and wants above his own. It wasn’t something he’d been shown how to do.

And the one time he’d tried, the only time he’d laid his heart at someone’s feet, ring in his hand, Emma had stomped all over it with her three-inch stilettos, her expression a mixture of genuine disbelief and pity.

Darling, you’re great in bed, but you’re not exactly someone to take into a ballroom. Or into a boardroom, or home to Daddy. You’re someone to screw, to keep in the shadows. Marry you? You’re ambitious, Cam, I’ll give you that, but I’m out of your league.

It had been ten years ago, but, despite her recently making it clear that she’d made a mistake by walking out on him, her little speech was imprinted on his brain, possibly because it closely resembled his father’s words of non-encouragement. “You’re a McNeal, you’ll never amount to much. None of us ever have and you won’t be the first.”

His bank statement and long lists of assets refuted that statement. But Cam was a realist: he might be good at business, but he’d make a lousy father and husband. Hell, judging by how fast that nameless girl in Tarrin left his bed three years ago, he wasn’t even that great at one-night stands. Sex, he was good at that, but not so much at the touchy feely stuff woman liked.

Cam slapped his hands on the counter and met the weary eyes of the nurse behind it. “I got a call about a woman who put my name down as an emergency contact. I’m Camden McNeal.”

“Patient name?”

Cam tried to recall his earlier conversation. “Dunbar? Dun...something?”

“Donner? Vivianne Donner?”

Cam shrugged. The name didn’t mean any more to him now than it had earlier. The nurse tapped her keyboard and nodded. “Room 302. She has severe concussion and she needs a ride home, and someone to take care of her when she gets there. Down the hall, turn right and she’ll be on your left.”

Cam looked at the long hallway and sighed. Well, it looked like he was about to meet Ms. Donner and maybe he’d find out why he was listed as her emergency contact. Come to think of it, who was listed as his emergency contact? Had he ever listed anyone? Not that he could recall.

Reaching the closed door to room 302, Cam knocked gently. And when he received no reply, he eased open the door. He glanced toward the bed and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

His first impressions were of a long, slim body topped by a cloud of curls the color of lightly toasted caramel. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, as it had been a busy, physically draining twenty-four hours. He needed to talk to the woman, get her to take his name off her papers and get some food. Maybe then his headache would finally start to dissipate.

Cam flipped on the overhead light and it took a minute, maybe more, to realize that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that his imagination wasn’t running riot. He rested his hands on the bed next to her thigh and ordered his racing heart to slow down, his lungs to pull in air. He closed his eyes, re-centered himself and then forced them open again.

Yep, she was still there.

Cam stared down at that stunning face, his heart pounding against his chest in a fight-or-flight reaction. It had been three years, give or take, since he’d seen her last, and damn, she looked, well, amazing. Sure, she had three stitches holding a cut together on a finely arched eyebrow, a bruise on her cheek and a scrape across her jaw, and a deep cut on her bottom lip, but her injuries didn’t take away from her drop-him-to-his-knees beauty. She’d lost weight and looked like a puff of wind would blow her away.