Fortune's Homecoming

“I’m not retiring until I’ve got one more world championship to my name.” The National Finals Rodeo would be held in Las Vegas in December. He was already tied for the most world championship wins ever. One more would set a new record. And then he’d retire from bulldogging.

Ego? Yeah. He knew he had more than his fair share of ego. But it was also calculated. Record-winning names faded from memory a little more slowly than also-rans. And the longer he could make money on his name, the longer he could put that money to good use.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re already number three in the money,” his mother said. “Between rodeoing, Grayson Gear and your charity appearances, you’ve worked nearly every day for the past year. One of these days, it’s going to take its toll on you.”

He wasn’t worried about the toll. Aches and pains went hand in hand with rodeoing. “I’d be second in the standings if I hadn’t bought it in Silver City and lost out to Max Vargas.”

The entire season of pro rodeo was about the money rankings. Earnings were the only common ground on which to judge their success as they competed in rodeos throughout the country under every condition that could be had. If the Finals were the goal—and admittedly, for the majority of cowboys who competed it was not—then nearly every dollar earned paved the way there.

“Vargas can really run a steer,” his mother pointed out mildly.

“And at the rate he’s going, he’ll be at the Nationals. But he’s still a punk and I don’t like losing to a punk.”

Deborah looked amused. “There was a day when Joe-Don Gainer called you a punk.”

“Yeah, and Joe-Don was right then. Same as I’m right, now. I’m not the saint that Joe-Don was, though. Hazing for me like he did even though he was a Hall of Famer?” Grayson shook his head. “Won’t catch me hazing for Max Vargas. If his usual guy, Travis, isn’t hazing for him, he treats the one who is like dirt.”

A wrestler who didn’t appreciate the contribution of his hazer—who rode on the opposite side of the steer, keeping him more or less straight and close to the bulldogger—was just damn stupid. Luck of the draw chose the steer. The hazer and the wrestler’s skill together determined what they did with that luck.

“Don’t go off on a tangent dissecting details of Silver City again,” his mother warned. “The hour you subjected me to the other day was enough.” She finally opened her juice and wandered to look out the windows. “I wonder if I should just show up at Castleton’s doorway. Might be harder for them to ignore me in person. Red Rock’s only a couple hours from here. I could rent a car and drive over and be back before we need to leave for Coleman. What do you think?”

“I think once the event tomorrow is finished, you could go to Red Rock, and from there head straight to Coleman.” He gave her a look. “I can manage to get myself and the trailer and the horses there without you.”

“I realize you’re capable.” Her tone turned dry again. “Whether you manage to do it all in time to not miss your event altogether is the question.”

“Last time I did that was fifteen years ago.”

“Because of a girl—”

“And I haven’t been late once since,” he said, cutting her off. “Even though you still harp on it often enough. Focus on Red Rock and let me worry about getting to Coleman.” He lifted his pen. “We don’t need five thousand of these things for tomorrow, do we?” The remaining unsigned stack was still a foot high.

“I think they’re hoping for about a thousand to show.”

He capped the pen and tossed it on the cocktail table, stretching his fingers. “What time’s the deal supposed to start?”

“Two o’clock. I’ve personally taped up copies of your schedule this week in this suite. I told you that you didn’t have to make the appearance tomorrow. If you hadn’t, you would have had time with Billie to see more.” She smiled knowingly. “More than just a couple properties, I mean.”

He let that pass.

The library appearance had been added to his already busy schedule there in Austin at the last minute, and his personal appearance fee would go to local literacy. “It’s a good cause.” He hadn’t taken the military route that Nathan and Jayden had. They’d been literally out saving the world. Instead, all Grayson could offer was his name and his money to support charitable efforts where he could. And he knew Deborah understood his motivations completely.

“I’ll be finished with Billie in plenty of time to meet you here before the dedication.” He pushed to his feet and stretched. “I’m going to hit the gym this afternoon and then see if I can scare up a massage somewhere.”

His mom rolled her eyes. “Read your schedule!” She headed toward the connecting door that separated Grayson’s suite from her own. “I’ve arranged a massage for you right here at four o’clock. Don’t forget to tip your masseuse and don’t forget to meet me at seven. We’re having drinks with the Deckers at Twine.”

He groaned. Claudia and Myron Decker had more money than Midas and could always be counted on to support his foundation, Grayson Good. But in the process, they definitely liked to trot him out as if he were their prized bull. Ergo the appearance the next day at the new library. “It’s never just drinks with the Deckers.”

“And whose fault is that?” She gave him one more pointed look. “They’re bankrolling the event tomorrow, so wear a clean shirt and don’t be late.”

Chapter Three

Billie was wearing another short skirt complete with the intriguing zipper running right up over her backside.

Only difference today was that her skirt was black and the silky tank top that exposed her tanned shoulders was white. The high-heeled shoes were red, and the legs they showed off were still flat-out stunning.

She had her hair pulled back into a thick ponytail at the back of her head. The hairstyle not only exposed the trio of earrings on the upper curve of her ear, but the long, long line of her throat.

“Talk about perfect timing,” she called to him as he jaywalked across the street toward the real estate office. She gestured at the dark gray luxury sedan parked at the curb next to her. “I just got here, myself.” She waited until he reached her side of the street. “Where did you park?”

“I walked from my hotel.”

Her bright smile turned stricken as she scurried to the passenger door and opened it. “I’m so sorry. I should have offered to pick you up. It didn’t even occur to me to—”

“No apologies, darlin’,” he interrupted, looking at her over the top rims of his sunglasses. “I liked the walk.” It was a good way to work out his muscle kinks and some of his hangover from the night before. “And it gave me a chance to get this.” He lifted his oversize takeout coffee.

Her smile widened once more. She reached inside the vehicle, giving him an eye-popping view of her inner knee and thigh. Then she straightened and he belatedly noticed the identical cup she’d retrieved.

“If you tell me that’s straight-up black coffee, I may have to marry you right now.”

Her cheeks turned red, but she laughed. “Fortunately, all the hopeful women of the world can rest easy this morning. It’s iced chai tea.”

He made a face. “That’s almost as bad as cucumber-laced water.”

She laughed again and stepped out of the way. “Maybe I can redeem myself by offering plenty of legroom. Your chariot, Mr. Fortune.”

“Told you. Just Grayson.” He ducked his head and climbed into the passenger seat of the spacious car.

It was the kind of vehicle a wealthy grandmother might drive. Definitely not what he’d expect of a young woman like Billie.

He waited until she’d climbed behind the wheel and strapped herself in with the seat belt. “Company car?”

She laughed yet again, but wryly this time. “Don’t I wish. I’d much prefer the payment to be on Austin Elite’s bank account than on mine. But no.” She patted the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “She’s all mine. Or will be after six more payments to the bank. It’s not the newest model, but it’s comfortable and gets me where my clients and I need to go.”

“Sort of how I feel about my truck.” He’d had many over the years, but could easily remember when his truck had been his largest investment. “Not the newest but it gets me where my horses and I need to go.”

“Wasn’t a new truck one of the prizes last year at the Cowboy Country rodeo?”

Surprised, he gave her a look. Rather than settle her cup of nasty-ass tea next to his coffee in the console, she’d tucked it between her knees and was starting the engine. He had won the new truck, but had turned around and auctioned it off through Grayson Good for a children’s charity. “You actually follow rodeo?”

“I come from a large family,” she said. “They’re into everything from baseball to zebra racing.” Her cheeks still looked a little red as she pulled on a pair of gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses and checked the traffic before zipping out into it.

Given the sudden speed, he was glad he’d already fastened his seat belt. And also glad they were essentially driving around in a small tank.

“So...” She reached behind her seat and retrieved a fancy folder that she handed to him. “I’ve printed all the listings we reviewed yesterday, plus a few more that I think might be of interest, too. There’s also a map if you’re inclined to follow along.” She nipped the big car between two semitrucks with about six inches to spare.

He grabbed his cup and wished there was something stronger inside it than just French roast.

She raced through a light more yellow than green, braked slightly around a curve and sped up a freeway on-ramp. “Is it too windy for you?” His window was halfway down and hers was all the way down, making her long ponytail fly around her head.

“Wind’s good.” Aside from the fact that she looked young and beautiful and vibrant, he was hoping he wouldn’t have to hang his head out the window.

It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with her fast—make that maniacal, he decided when she shot across two lanes of traffic—driving.

It was more the combination of her obvious lead foot and the evening-into-night of drinks with the Deckers the night before. Then everything had gotten out of control, and the cops had been called, and a news crew showed up...

He planted his ball cap more firmly on his head and sucked on the coffee. He’d warned his mom that drinks with the Deckers was never a simple thing. Even when they were trying to do something good like sponsor the library deal. “Which place are we heading to first?”

Billie held the steering wheel and her tea in one hand and reached over to the folder she’d dropped on his lap, and he damn near choked on his coffee. But all she did was flip open the folder to reveal a colorful printed map.

“Property number one.” She lightly tapped the page, then returned her hand to the steering wheel. Evidently, only to maneuver the car right back across the same two lanes of traffic.

He closed his eyes. Give him six hundred pounds of ornery steer any day.

“The properties are numbered in the order we’ll see them,” she said above the wind. “I know it’s easy for the properties to blur together, which is why I’ve prepared the folio. You can make notes as you like.”

She reached behind her seat again and produced a slender gold pen tastefully monogrammed with “Austin Elite” on the side. She handed it to him. “Three of the properties this morning are vacant, including this first one. I find my clients usually prefer visiting vacant properties. Makes it easier to imagine living there.” She zipped around another semitruck. “Weather is supposed to be hotter than usual today. I have several bottles of chilled water if—”

He lifted his hand just in case she intended to reach behind her seat again. “I’m good for now. Thanks.”

She sent him another smile. “Great. I love a morning drive.” She changed lanes again. “Just gets the blood flowing, you know?”

He managed a smile. The only thing getting his blood flowing that morning was the vivid smile on her pretty face. That, and the knowledge that his life insurance was up-to-date.

Fortunately, the farther outside of town they traveled, the thinner the traffic grew. Then, at least, he didn’t worry so much about colliding with other vehicles as much as flying off the highway curves. After about thirty minutes more, she pulled off the freeway and began working her way through the mercifully empty countryside to the first property.

Even though this whole thing was his idea, it still felt strange when she pulled to a stop in front of the first house.

“Here we are at last.”

It was a brick two-story with two wings and not another house in sight. But imagining himself living there was beyond him.

“The property is on city water.” She pushed her glasses up onto her head before gathering up the Magic Bag hiding behind her seat, then climbed out of the car. “As you can see from the printout, there is a little over five acres.” She looked down at the ground beneath them, waving one arm. “The entire drive is covered in pavers—antique terra-cotta color, I believe. Very attractive.” She looked up at him over the top of the car and he gave what he hoped was a suitable response.

Her sales litany didn’t lose any steam, so he supposed it must have sufficed.

“The iron entrance gate was left open now for us, but it’s electronically controlled. So you wouldn’t have to worry about any Grayson groupies coming out to bother you.”

He gave her a quick look. He hadn’t used that particular term with her. “I don’t have groupies.” It was blatantly untrue, even though he wished otherwise.

“Sorry.” She looked contrite. “I saw the news this morning about what happened at Twine last night. The term was just in my head.”

He sighed. “Overeager fans who’d had way too much to drink. Unfortunately, it happens occasionally.” Particularly when he was out in public with people like the Deckers, who felt compelled to make a big deal about their “celebrity” friend.

“Did that one woman actually punch the news cameraman?”

He grimaced. Two women from the bar, bolstered by booze and who knew what else, had been intent on joining their party. “Only after he told her he wasn’t putting her on camera unless she put her shirt back on. It pretty much turned into a free-for-all after that.”

“Did you really pay her jail fine?”

“It seemed the right thing to do at the time.” He stared at the house. “Maybe an electronic gate would be a good thing, after all.”

“Or maybe avoid places like Twine,” she said humorously.

He grunted. “Ever been there?”

“A time or twenty. It’s the best place for martinis and tapas.” She gestured toward the house. “Would you like to see inside?”

He shrugged and closed the car door. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She gave him a winning smile again. “Don’t forget your folio if you want to make notes.”

He reached back in for the fancy folder of information she’d prepared, and followed her toward the front door of the house.

“I haven’t been here before, but I know it’s on a lockbox.” Her high heels clicked on the paver stones as she searched for the box holding the house key. “In addition to the three garages off to your left, there’s a structure in the rear of the house that could also be used as a garage or for some other type of storage. Ah. There it is.” She knelt down behind a tastefully positioned bush, and straightened a moment later, doing a little shimmy to push the hem of her narrow skirt back down toward her knees. She glanced his way as she unlocked the enormous front door. “The position on this hill gives a nice view. And I’ve heard that the adjacent land may be available for the right price. It’s totally undeveloped and would mean an additional ten acres. Have any initial thoughts?”

The nice view he was looking at had more to do with her than the location of the house. Which wasn’t exciting him in the least. The vegetation dotting the hillside was more cactus and scrub than grassland. “Let’s just see what we’ve got inside.”

She swept open the door and waited for him to enter.

He walked inside. The house might be vacant of occupants, but it wasn’t vacant of furnishings. Beneath the vaulted entry, an ornate neon-green chandelier hung over a bright purple statue of a rearing horse.

For a minute, he wished he was back home in Paseo, where the only times you used the front entrance of the house—versus the back door—was if company was coming over for Christmas dinner. Where everyone in town knew who he was and didn’t give two figs about his supposed “celebrity” status. And where anyone with two licks of common sense knew better than to hang a butt-ugly green chandelier over an even uglier purple horse.

“That’s a bold design choice,” Billie said faintly.

“It’s ugly as hell,” he said bluntly. “And I like horses.”

“Just keep in mind that the furnishings aren’t permanent fixtures. They’ll all be leaving along with the owners. Do you want to see more, or shall we move on?”

Despite the hideous horse, the high ceilings and the view outside, the inside of the house felt like a cave to him. “Move on, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. You’re the buyer, after all. Walking in the door should feel like home to you.” She juggled the materials in her arm and came up with a business card. “I just need to leave my card. I’ll meet you at the car.”

He gave the hideous statue a wide berth and went back outside. He thought again about the ranch in Paseo. There, the house wasn’t even a third of the size of this one, but it was surrounded by a whole lot more prime grazing land. Would he ever find a place that felt like home when he walked in the door, besides the house in which he’d grown up?

He headed back to the car and his now-cool coffee. He drank it anyway.

Within minutes, Billie had locked up the house again and they were off to property number two.

It excited him no more than property number one.

The land was decent enough, though still too little of it. There were two barns, and five bedrooms in the house.

Knowing that he’d given short shrift to property number one, this time he forced himself to traipse through every room of the streamlined home.

“No?” Billie gave him a questioning look as he paused in the state-of-the-art kitchen. It was all stainless steel, which he didn’t mind here, but it matched the stainless steel and glass that dominated the rest of the house, too. Which he did mind.

Frankly, the place had the antiseptic air of a hospital. And having spent his entire adult life wrestling with horned beasts, he’d had more than his share of hospitals.

“Afraid not.” He remembered his mom’s admonishments to be polite when he’d set out that morning. “Sorry.”

* * *

Billie waved away Grayson’s apology. Seeing two houses without a spark of excitement wasn’t anything to get worried about.

Yet.

“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “Each time we see something, it helps me narrow down what you’re really looking for.” At least that was her theory.

She stepped around him to leave her card among the collection already sitting on the steel counter and led the way back out of the austere house.

Unlike the day before, when he’d walked through the door of the real estate office looking like the poster boy for professional rodeo, today Grayson wore slouchy beige cargo shorts, leather flip-flops and a Dallas Cowboys ball cap. The calves showing below the long shorts were just as tanned and muscular as the arms showing below the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt. His ridiculously handsome jaw was blurred by unshaved whiskers, and his dark eyes—visible in the few minutes when he pulled off his sunglasses—were clearly bloodshot.

He looked like he belonged on the beach sleeping off a bender. And he was still so mouthwateringly handsome that she couldn’t keep herself from blathering on about every detail of the properties she was showing him, as if he couldn’t see for himself the very things she was pointing out.

It was embarrassing. She was supposed to know the value of keeping quiet when she needed to.

They drove to property number three, only a few minutes later than the time she’d arranged with the owners the day before.

She expected them to be gone from the house by the time they got there, but the sight of the van still sitting in front warned her otherwise.

She hated showing properties when the current occupants were present. It never boded well. Nobody relaxed enough to properly give the house fair consideration. And she had high hopes for this particular listing.

She parked behind the van and looked at Grayson.

He was slouched in the passenger seat, cradling the coffee cup that she suspected was empty, the bill of his cap pulled low over his forehead.

“Why don’t I check inside first? I think the owners are still here, and it’s probably better if they don’t realize who is looking at their house. More than once, I’ve had an owner try to drive up the price just because they think they’ve got a big fish on the hook.”

He sent her a faint smile. “You’re the expert.”

That’s what her business cards implied. But driving around “The Grayson” all morning—particularly after his name had been bandied about every fifteen minutes on the local morning news—was leaving her feeling more shaky than confident.

She grabbed her business cards and darted up the front steps to ring the doorbell.

The door opened so immediately, she suspected the owner had been waiting right behind it. “Good morning, Mr. Orchess.” She stuck out her business card. “I’m Billie Pemberton with Austin Elite Real Estate. We spoke on the phone yesterday?”

The gray-haired owner smiled. “Come on in, little lady. Can’t wait to show off my place here to you and your client.” He made no secret that he was trying to see who was in her car parked behind the van, and she was glad for the tinted windows that gave no hint whether anyone was inside the vehicle or not.

“Actually, Mr. Orchess, my schedule has gotten out of hand this morning.” It hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Is there another time I can bring my client back to see your lovely home?”

The man wrinkled his nose in thought. “Well, the missus and I have to be outta town for the next week or so, so that’s out.”

Drat, drat, drat. Mr. Orchess was clearly of the mind that he needed to be present, even though she knew very well he had a listing agent representing his multimillion-dollar property. “I don’t mind showing your place to my client in your absence if you don’t.”

“But if I’m not here, I can’t tell you all about the special details I’ve put in myself.”

She nodded. “I understand your concern. What if I went through your home now with you and took careful notes? Then I could bring my client back another time and do my best to share all of the special details.”

“I s’pose that’d be okay,” he said, after giving it some thought.

It took twenty minutes before Billie was able to gracefully leave Mr. Orchess.

Inside, the house was a masterpiece. It also sat on a beautiful piece of property that she thought would be perfect for Grayson.

When she returned to the car Grayson was slouched in the front seat.

Snoring softly.

She almost wished, then, that she hadn’t rushed Mr. Orchess quite so much.

She hovered outside the car for a few minutes, sighing. Grayson wasn’t the first client to fall asleep on her. Rhonda Dickinson used to fall asleep regularly.

She sincerely hoped that was the only similarity between her new client and Rhonda.

Billie finally climbed behind the wheel of the car, closed the door softly and backed away from the house. Hopefully, he would awaken on his own before they reached the fourth property.

He did not.

Determination filled her. “You are not going to be another Rhonda,” she murmured and opened her door. Then pulled it shut again with a loud slam.