have our big announcement in just a little while.” She hooked arms with Veronica, ignoring Tracy and the cameraman as she walked the reporter into the house. “In the meantime, help yourself to the buffet out by the pool, and a glass of champagne. Big J and I ordered cases of the best bubbly from France for the occasion!”
As the cameraman trailed after Abra and Veronica like an obedient puppy, Tracy lingered awkwardly in the entry hall. She glanced around at the high ceilings, marble floors and triple arches leading into the formal living room, and her pulse picked up speed.
How had Laura walked away from all this grandeur and wealth? Seth clearly had a better life here than what she could have offered, but leaving her son behind had been harder on Laura than she pretended to the Coltons. She’d done what she had because she’d wanted the security and opportunity that a life with his father could afford Seth.
“A little less ogling and a little more giddy-up if you don’t want to get separated from the rest of your crew.”
Tracy gasped and spun to face the man who’d spoken. She found herself staring up into the bright green eyes of a cowboy with broad shoulders, shaggy chestnut hair and a somewhat surly expression.
Her mouth dried as she held his level stare. He had the rugged good looks Laura had said the Colton men all shared, and a commanding presence that made Tracy’s toes curl in feminine appreciation, despite his less than welcoming greeting.
“I’m, um...not with the news crew.”
Tall, Dark and Sullen grunted. “In that case, the food is out by the pool. Eat up, ’cause your hostess spent as much on that buffet as two pure-blood, registered breeding bulls would cost at auction.” With that, he strode away, his gait brisk and confident, and disappeared into the crowd of guests.
When the doorbell sounded a few seconds later, Tracy was still standing in the foyer, gaping at the spot in the mingling crowd where the devilishly handsome but curt cowboy had joined the soirée. A woman wearing a housekeeper’s uniform and her silver hair twisted up in a bun scurried out from a side door and balked when she saw Tracy.
“For Pete’s sake, don’t just stand there, girl!” The older woman flapped her thin hands as if to shoo her out of the entry hall. “There are guests to serve and drinks to be poured. Get busy! Don’t make me report you to the catering company.”
Tracy gave a self-conscious chuckle. “I’m not with the caterers. I’m looking for—”
The woman jostled her out of the way to open the front door. Tracy’s opportunity to ask for directions was lost as the housekeeper greeted the arriving guests with enthusiastic smiles and hospitality.
Rather than continue to stand at the door like a bump on a log, Tracy sidled into the living room. She clutched her messenger bag close to her body to avoid jostling anyone or knocking over one of the numerous champagne flutes resting on trays in the exquisitely furnished room. Dressed in basic khakis and a simple print blouse the same caramel color as her hair, she noted that she was underdressed for whatever event the Coltons were celebrating. Feeling all the more out of place, and hoping to camouflage herself against the French-vanilla walls, she began inching her way through the clusters of guests.
Maybe she should just leave. Clearly, now was not the time to approach Jack. She was an uninvited interloper at a high-society event. She didn’t belong. Story of her life.
Sighing with resignation, she’d started weaving her way back toward the front door when a large, boisterous man with a thick shock of silver hair caught her arm. “Hey, little darlin’. Whatcha doin’?”
Busted.
“I—I’m sorry. I was just leaving...”
“Leaving? Hell, darlin’, the party’s just getting started good.”
She recognized the green eyes that flashed at her with mirth. Tall, Dark and Surly’s eyes had mesmerized her with the same bright emerald shade, and the gruff cowboy could be this flirtatious gentleman in thirty years...if he added this man’s playful smile.
“Why is your hand empty? You should have a glass of bubbly. This is a celebration, darlin’!” He snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray and shoved it at her. “Bottoms up!”
“Oh, I’m not—” She stopped short as she realized who this animated man was. She’d seen his picture when she’d researched the Lucky C on Google before coming to Oklahoma. “You’re Big J! I mean...J-John Colton.”
Though John laughed and nodded amiably, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Great. She’d just called one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the ranching industry—heck, in all of the United States’ agribusiness—by his nickname. Way to make a good first impression...
“Yes, I am, darlin’. Yes, I am.” He took a step back and gave her a slow once-over that brought the stinging flush back to her cheeks. “And who might you be? I believe I’d remember meeting you, if I’d ever had the pleasure.”
“Tracy McCain. I’m actually here to speak to Jack. Can you point me toward him?”
“I could, but...I’m still enjoying your company.” The older man winked. “Besides, Jack is probably hiding somewhere until time for the announcement.”
“Announcement?”
Big J gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “Greta’s engagement. That’s why we’re all here lifting a glass.”
“Oh.” Tracy fumbled for anything Laura might have told her about Greta.
But Big J seemed oblivious to her mental catch-up and helped her out by adding, “It’s not every day a daddy gets to toast his only daughter getting hitched, so we went all out for my Greta.”
Only daughter...of course. Greta was Jack’s sister. The youngest of the Colton children. Tracy smiled and raised the glass John had foisted on her. “Well, here’s to Greta.”
“To Greta!” Big J clinked his glass with hers, so hard the contents of both drinks sloshed out.
Without warning, he gave a shrill whistle, startling Tracy so much that a shot of adrenaline raced through her, tripping her pulse.
“Brett! C’mere, son.” Big J waved someone over, and a tall, athletic-looking man with short brown hair separated himself from a circle of cloying women and strutted across the room.
Tracy goggled as he approached. Dear God, did the Coltons have an account at hunkycowboys.com? She had yet to meet one who didn’t look as if he’d walked off the pages of a hot-ranch-hands catalog.
Big J put his hand on Brett’s shoulder when he reached them, and jerked his glass toward Tracy. “Brett, my boy. This lovely filly is Tracy McCann.”
“Um...McCain.”
“I am going to leave her in your good hands,” Big J continued, as if he hadn’t heard her correction. “She’s looking for Jack. But before she talks to your brother, I think she needs something to eat.”
“No, really, I’m not here to eat. I just need to speak to Jack.” Tracy’s stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl. Thankfully, the din of the party conversation and background
