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Fortune's Hero
“I came here to thank you for saving my life.”
“You told me three months ago.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You kissed me. Pretty much said it all. Can’t say it was the best kiss I’ve ever had planted on me, but I got what you were meaning by it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kiss you in a memorable way, I would’ve, but I guarantee you I put more emotion into that one kiss than any other I’ve given.”
“Well, isn’t that a sorry state of affairs.”
“I’m a good kisser!”
“If you say so, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a safe drive back to town.” He walked away from her.
Dear Reader,
Anniversary celebrations aren’t just for marriages. And as I write this, I’m marking the anniversary of being offered my first book contract, eighteen years ago. Since then I’ve written thirty-six books. It still amazes me, every single day. The pleasure and privilege of creating a piece of work for others to read never fades.
Creating this particular book has been especially gratifying. Taking an independent Texas cowboy who’s much happier among stray dogs and horses, and pairing him with a society-born much younger woman was fun and challenging. I love that Garrett Stone is clear about what he wants and doesn’t want in life. Even more, I love how Victoria Fortune makes him change his very set mind.
I hope you enjoy taking their journey with them.
Susan Crosby
About the Author
SUSAN CROSBY believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes, which often do come true—as long as she works hard enough. Along life’s journey she’s done a lot of the usual things—married, had children, attended college a little later than the average co-ed and earned a BA in English. Then she dove off the deep end into a full-time writing career, a wish come true.
Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines, and she will always believe in happily-ever-after.
More can be learned about her at www.susancrosby.com.
Fortune’s Hero
Susan Crosby
For Bobbie and Ernie, The Cowgirl and Her Prince.
You wrote your own romance,
and you did it so well! With love to you both.
Chapter One
“Keep away from those cowboys, they’re ramblin’ men…”
The lyrics to the country song popped into her head the moment she saw the tall, blue-eyed man striding past her in the terminal of the small and private, but busy, Red Rock, Texas, airport.
He caught her staring, hesitated a second, then winked. Definitely the rambling type and one to stay away from. He touched a finger to his black Stetson and just like that he was gone, the moment over.
Then the tornado hit. That black hat was the last thing she saw before the roof was ripped from above her, the roar of air sucking everything within, including her, pulling her, dragging her. Around her, wood and metal flew and crashed, ricocheted and bounced.
Pain hit first, then panic. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t fill her lungs enough to scream. Noise. So much noise. Then suddenly no sound at all.
The quiet was almost as frightening. Gradually she heard crying, someone screaming, others calling out.
Her face was pressed against the cold concrete floor. She tried to move but couldn’t. The sound of someone running toward her crept into her awareness. A man flattened himself next to her, his face in shadows—her hero, whoever he was.
“You okay?” he asked.
“My legs hurt,” she managed to say, wiggling her toes and feeling them move inside her high-heeled boots, the rubble preventing leg movement.
He sprang up.
She grabbed for him, caught thin air. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t—”
But he didn’t leave. Weight was lifted from her, twisted metal, lumber and laminate.
“Can you drag yourself out?” he asked, this giant of a man who’d single-handedly raised the wreckage. “Hurry. There’s not much time. You can do it, sweetheart. Try.”
There was nothing to grab. Her useless polished fingernails dug but found no traction. She caught her breath against the unexpected pain of moving and exerted herself a little more, tried to belly crawl like a solider. Just when she thought she was going to be stuck there forever, he gripped her arm and yanked her from under the debris. Her feet cleared the mess a second before it came tumbling down. He scooped her into his strong arms and rushed away as the whole building creaked and moaned.
Panic set in. “My family…?” she asked.
He angled his head. “Over there.”
She’d just started identifying relatives when part of the building they’d left crumbled with a final whoomph. If he’d been a minute later, she’d have been buried alive. She clenched him tighter, too shocked to say anything.
“I’ve got you,” the stranger said. “You’re safe.”
The cowboy, she realized finally. The man who’d winked at her. She hadn’t recognized him without his hat.
“Help will come soon,” he said, his voice comforting.
She looked up as he set her down. An eerily calm sky replaced portions of the roof of the two-story structure. She’d been sitting on the other side of the room. How far had she been pulled—or thrown?
“You think you can stand on your own?” he asked.
“I think so.” Her eyes were level with his chest. She focused hypnotically on the bolo tie he wore, silver and onyx, before looking up at him.
“You’ll be okay,” he said, releasing her, understanding in his eyes.
Before he could abandon her, she grabbed him by his bolo and tugged him down for a quick, hard, thank-you-for-saving-me kiss, over as soon as it started. Her heart lodged in her throat, damming up the words trapped inside. She couldn’t even ask his name—or tell him hers.
He cupped her shoulders and moved back. For an instant his eyes met hers, then he was running away from her. Paralyzed, she didn’t budge for a minute, then she finally focused on her surroundings. It looked like a war zone. Some of her family were sitting in shock; some were running around. Suitcases were scattered everywhere. What had once been a small plane lay nose-down not twenty feet from where she’d been sitting before the tornado hit.
When she turned back to the terminal she saw no sign of the cowboy. Transfixed, she moved toward the luggage, thinking to stack it all together, needing something to do. Then she heard sirens approach and she staggered toward the sound, waving—
Victoria Fortune jerked awake, sweating, her sheets tangled, her long, dark hair stuck to her skin. She’d had the dream again, the same vivid but increasingly detailed dream. The tornado had struck on December 30 in Red Rock, Texas. She’d been headed home after being a bridesmaid in her cousin Wendy’s wedding. Now, three months later, Victoria was safe in her own bed, in her own condo, in her hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Three months, and she was still dreaming about it.
And him. She didn’t even know his name, never even thanked him, the man who could’ve died with her that day but who’d rescued her without regard to his own safety.
She was sick of it, physically ill from the constant nightmares and loss of sleep. Even during the day she was assaulted by visions of the destruction and the surreal feel of the tornado sweeping her across the floor.
Maybe it’d been even worse this time because she’d talked to her cousin Jordana last night, who’d suffered her own traumas, and they’d agreed Victoria should go to Red Rock so they could deal with their problems together. Support each other. Be there for each other.
Victoria glanced at the clock then threw off the covers, realizing she needed to start packing for her late-morning flight. She was going to face the past and deal with her near-death experience. She also needed to thank her hero, which was long overdue.
But first she called her parents to tell them she wouldn’t be attending the requisite family Sunday brunch.
“The pew was mostly empty this morning,” her father, James Marshall Fortune, said when he answered the phone.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I overslept.”
“You party too much,” he said gruffly but softly. As the youngest child and only daughter, Victoria got away with more than her four brothers could. Occasionally she used that to her advantage.
“What constitutes ‘too much’?” Victoria asked sweetly, making an effort with her beloved father. Even he had been openly worried about her.
“Ha! We’ll wait for you. Your brothers aren’t all here yet, either. Only Shane.”
Victoria wandered onto the balcony off her bedroom. She was on the fifteenth floor. “I’m not coming at all, Daddy. I’m heading to Red Rock in a couple of hours.”
“I thought you’d decided to skip that party.”
“I did skip it. The party was last night, but Jordana and Emily are still at Wendy’s house. We’re going to have a little girl time, just us four cousins. Well, plus Wendy’s new husband and baby. Please tell Shane I’m taking a few days of vacation, all right?”
“Your brother is your boss. If you need time off, you need to square it with him yourself. And I’m sure your mother will have something to say.”
“Yes, sir.” Her father made it sound like she was a sixteen-year-old kid instead of a twenty-four-year-old college graduate who lived alone and held down a good job—if she could hold on to it. She hadn’t been pulling her own weight for a while now.
“Shane overheard and says that’s good news,” her mother said, coming onto the line. “What’s going on, honey?”
Victoria repeated what she’d said to her father.
“You’re still having bad dreams,” her mother said.
“Yes, ma’am. They’re not going away on their own.”
“What about that man—that cowboy who rescued you? Are you going to see him?”
“I need to thank him. It’s been haunting me that I haven’t. I think that’s part of my problem.”
“I can see where it could help. Are you taking the company jet?”
Victoria closed her eyes. “I’d have to land at Red Rock Airport, and I’m not ready for that. I’ll fly into San Antonio and rent a car.”
“Call me if you need me. I think it’s good you’re doing this, sugar. Important. You’ve looked so tired.”
“Thanks, Mom.” But it was more than good, Victoria thought. It was necessary. She hadn’t been able to deal with molehills lately, much less mountains.
Hours later she drove into downtown Red Rock, then pulled up in front of Marcos and Wendy Mendoza’s pretty three-bedroom house. Wendy had been working her magic on the place, transforming it from bachelor pad to family home, a fun mix of contemporary and cottage styles. She’d been gardening, too, Victoria could tell. What had been barren at the time of the wedding in December now bloomed with welcoming spring beauty.
Wendy burst onto the front porch. At twenty-two, she was two years younger than Victoria, and she sported the same long brown hair and eyes. She was more openly bubbly than Victoria, but as first cousins, they’d been as close as sisters. So were Jordana and Emily, Wendy’s sisters.
“Where’s the star of this show?” Victoria asked, hugging Wendy.
“Sleeping. Finally,” Wendy answered. “Marcos is working.”
“And your sisters?” Victoria asked as they stepped into the house.
“Emily went for a walk. Jordana left.”
Victoria stopped. “She left? When? Why? I talked to her just last night. She said she would wait for me.”
“I don’t know what happened. She took off right after lunch. Honestly, Vicki, Jordana was acting weird the whole time she was here. Em noticed it, too. We’re worried about her. Did she tell you what’s going on?”
She had, but Victoria couldn’t tell Jordana’s secrets. Victoria made a noncommittal sound as she checked her cell phone for messages, finding none from Jordana.
“You can bunk with Em instead of at the hotel now that Jordana’s gone. Would you like some tea?” Wendy asked. “We could sit on the sunporch for a while.”
“Yes, fine,” Victoria said, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for Wendy’s sake.
“Meet you on the porch in a minute.” She laid a hand on Victoria’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just fine. Why is everyone asking me that?” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I really am. I don’t know if I’m all right. I know I haven’t been myself. I’m hoping this trip will be the vacation I need.”
Victoria carried her suitcase into the guest room. How could Jordana leave without a word to her? They needed each other.
And she needed the name of her rescuer. Needed to see him, thank him. She wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat, but she knew good manners indicated she should spend time with her hostess first.
Victoria peeked into the baby’s room, caught a glimpse of a tiny pink bundle in the bassinet, then tiptoed out, afraid of waking six-week-old MaryAnne.
“I’m surprised that Emily is still here,” Victoria said to Wendy as they sat in the glassed-in sunporch. “She’s been staying with you for weeks. How long can she stay away from work?”
“I’ve stopped asking her that question. I figure she knows what she’s doing. She’s been a huge help since we brought MaryAnne home. She was so tiny, you know, as premature as she was, but so perfect. Emily’s a natural mom. She steadied me.” Wendy looked around. “Honestly, though, I think Marcos is looking forward to the three of us becoming a family on our own.”
Victoria sat up straight. “Of course he wants that. You must, too.” Just like all she wanted was to talk to the stranger who’d saved her. “I’ll encourage Em to go home, and I’ll move to the hotel. We’re being so—”
“Stop. Please, Vicki, I didn’t mean right this second. Marcos is glad I’ve had company since he works such long hours at the restaurant. I just meant that I think we’re both ready to establish our own routine. But not this week. Not yet.”
“Well, I only plan to stay a few days. I’ll get Em to leave with me, too.”
“It’s not necessary, Vicki. Really. I think she’s hiding out here, but I’m not sure why. And then there’s Jordana—”
“Who is the biggest mystery of all,” Emily said, coming into the room. She was tall, blonde and green-eyed, yet she also had the Fortune look about her. “Hey, Vicki.” She bent to give her cousin a hug while eyeing Wendy. “I’m not hiding out here, sister mine. I’ve been helping. I’ve also been working from here. You look like crap, Vicki.”
“Thank you so much.”
Emily shrugged. “Is MaryAnne still sleeping?”
“Like a baby,” Wendy said with a grin.
The women settled into conversation, as they had all their lives. Their fathers were brothers, highly successful, self-made financial geniuses in Atlanta, each owning separate companies that weren’t in competition with each other. It was amazing, actually, that the cousins got along so well, considering that their fathers did not. At family events, the brothers ignored each other. Only the two men knew what was behind their estrangement.
“So, Vicki,” Emily said, “why did you come today instead of in time for the party last night?”
Because my sanity depended on it. “Jordana and I talked last night, and it just seemed like the right time.”
“Did she tell you what’s going on with her?”
“Going on?” Victoria asked innocently.
Wendy and Emily exchanged glances. “She doesn’t look well,” Emily said. “In fact, she looks worse than you. We’re really worried.”
“I think she’s fine,” Victoria answered. “She’s dealing with some stuff. No, don’t ask. She’s not sick. Wendy,” she said, changing the subject. She couldn’t wait a second longer. “Did Marcos ever figure out who got me out from under the debris? I would like to talk to him.”
“He’s pretty sure it must have been Garrett Stone.”
Garrett Stone. Her heart skipped a beat or two. She finally had a name to put to him, a strong name, solid. Heroic. “Where does he live?”
“He’s got a ranch—although I’m using the term loosely—outside town called Pete’s Retreat. He’s born-and-bred Red Rock, but he’s left town a couple of times, for several years at a time. There’ve been rumors about him, apparently.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, he was involved in some kind of scandal years ago with a young woman. That forced him to leave town the first time. For another, no one knows how he makes a living. Plus he’s a loner. He’s got dogs and a few horses. Strays gravitate to him.”
Victoria remembered he was a man of few words, and also how his hands had been gentle on her.
Now that she was here, she wanted to get it over with. To see him. To thank him. To take back her life. “Could you give me directions to his place? I’d like to go there now.”
“I can call Marcos and ask,” Wendy said. “But I think it would be better if one of us went with you.”
“Why?”
“In case he’s rude or something.”
“Standing-on-the-porch-holding-a-shotgun rude or just brusque? He can’t be totally without civility. He saved my life, after all. And besides, I’m not without charm, you know,” she added, fluttering her eyelashes.
“I doubt anything in your past has prepared you for Garrett Stone,” Wendy said. “Face it, Vicki, the easy appeal you have comes from having led a charmed life. We all have. If you’re expecting him to welcome you with open arms and listen to you shower him with gratitude, you’re deluded. I gather people don’t venture out to his ranch. There must be a reason for that. I’m not sure he’ll be nice to you.”
“I’m not a princess,” Victoria said, crossing her arms. “If he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, so be it. At least I will have done what I need to.”
“Wow. You’ve really gotten snippy.”
Victoria dug for patience. “I’m sorry for my attitude. It’s just been weighing on me.”
“I see that. What I think is that you’ve got a big ol’ case of hero worship, some big fantasy you’ve worked up in your head about him without knowing the whole truth,” Emily said. “And although we may not wear crowns, we Fortune daughters have been protected and pampered since birth. You can’t deny that. But the men of Red Rock are different from the men in our social circle back home.”
“Meaning what?”
“Have you ever been rejected, Vicki?”
“Of course I have. But it’s not like this is a love connection, you know. I just have a few things to say.” Except that she’d been fantasizing about him, too, that he’d carried her far away, her hero.
Emily raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, then. At least you’ll know what to expect if you go there.”
Victoria frowned, thinking it over. She had been rejected. Maybe not by anyone who mattered, but then she’d never been in love, either. Perhaps because she’d never developed any long-term relationships, something that had irked her parents to no end. As old-fashioned as the notion was, she’d been expected to find a future husband while she was in college. Her parents were old-school, with traditional expectations, and she hadn’t lived up to them. It was different for her four older brothers, who were still single, their martial status not even an issue.
Armed with directions from Marcos, Victoria headed out twenty minutes later. She’d brought a bottle of eighteen-year-old single-malt, award-winning Scotch whiskey. She’d never tasted it herself, preferring sweet, fruity drinks, but the whiskey was praised by most men she knew.
It wasn’t a long drive, but an increasingly desolate one. Why anyone would want to live so far from civilization puzzled her. She liked her creature comforts, which meant shops and restaurants within walking distance and the theater and opera close enough to attend frequently. It was the reason why she lived in a condo in downtown Atlanta. She loved the action.
Finally she saw the mailbox Marcos had told her to watch for. She turned into the property. There was no sign announcing she’d arrived at Pete’s Retreat, no welcoming fence-lined driveway, just a long dirt path. After a minute, she spotted a corral with three horses, then some dogs began to bark, several rushing up to her car. She slowed way down, afraid of accidentally hitting one. Garrett Stone may take in strays, but he sure didn’t train them well. Or maybe he wasn’t home to call them off—
No. There he was, coming from a barn. Strolling, actually. Or maybe moseying, that slim-hipped stride she associated with cowboys, no-nonsense and no-hurry at the same time. He was as tall as she remembered, a foot taller than she, and she was five-four.
She stopped the car in front of his house, an old but well-maintained, single-story ranch style. He came to a halt in front of her vehicle and stared at her through the windshield, apparently not recognizing her. He still hadn’t called off the dogs, who barked and jumped. She felt imprisoned in her car.
Finally he made a motion with his hand and the dogs dropped to all fours and stopped barking. They sidled closer to him. With another hand motion, all but two dogs headed toward a barn.
Victoria opened the window and called out, “Hi! You probably don’t remember me. I’m Victoria Fortune. From the airport? The tornado?”
“I remember.” His face was shadowed by his hat, so she couldn’t judge his reaction, except she thought he was frowning.
“Will your dogs attack me if I get out of the car?”
“Probably not.”
She expected him to wink, as he had at the airport, but his expression never changed, no sign to indicate whether or not he was joking. Even though she felt unsure of her welcome, she grabbed her gift and opened the door. When the dogs didn’t growl, she climbed out, grateful she’d changed into jeans and boots so that she fit in better. Still he didn’t move.
“I was in the neighborhood…” she began. Nervous now, she brushed at some dust on her jeans, giving herself something to do, wishing he would pick up the conversation.
His mouth quirked, but whether it was a sign of annoyance or humor, she didn’t know.
She thrust the whiskey at him, apparently a little too hard. It hit him in the stomach and bounced off obviously strong abs. He grabbed for the container. The bottle fell—
He caught it at his knees.
“Whew!” she said, grinning. “Good catch.”
He eyed the container. If he knew how expensive it was, he didn’t indicate it; he just waited for her to speak. Or leave, she guessed.
“Maybe we could go inside?” she asked.
“Why?” he asked.
“I—I’d like to talk to you.”
“Here’s as good a place as any. You’re interrupting my work.”
“What do you do?”
“This ‘n that.”
She crossed her arms. He might look exactly like the man from the airport, but he no longer seemed like the winking type. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Being the taciturn cowboy. Keeping the myth alive.”
“Taciturn. That’s a mighty big word, ma’am.”
Aha! There was a glimmer in his gorgeous blue eyes. He was just playing with her. He’d probably decided she was just another pretty face. “Something tells me you know its definition, but okay. You win. I came here to thank you for saving my life.”
“You told me three months ago.”
“No, I didn’t.”
