between his lips. With one long pull of breath, the tip blazed to life. Carter McCay closed his eyes as images of the fallen soldiers who’d fought alongside him flashed in his mind. He took one drag…one honorary inhalation. The ritual was agreed upon by those lucky enough to have come home, all those years ago. On the first day of every month, each one of his comrades did the same. Somewhere out there, twenty-three former marines were lighting up and remembering Afghanistan.
The subtle rush of the river pulled him out of those thoughts. He leaned a shoulder against an ancient oak and nestled into the tree’s grooved bark, watching the rhythmic, nearly perfect ripples of Wild River. The water wasn’t as wild as its namesake today, Carter mused. It was quiet and peaceful here, shaded from the hot Texas sun.
The dog plopped down at his feet and whimpered long and loud as the trail of smoke met his upturned wet nose.
Carter pushed his Stetson higher on his forehead and looked into questioning, soulful eyes. He couldn’t blame the dog for being wary of smoke. The dog saw too much, knew too much. “You followed me up here, pal.”
Carter tossed the cigarette and crushed it into the ground with his boot, then lowered to a crouch beside the golden retriever. He gave him a pat on the head. The dog sandwiched his head between his front paws and gave a big sigh.
“Yeah, I know, boy. You’ve had it tough.” Carter ruffled Rocky’s furry neck, damn glad he’d rescued the hound from his father’s place. The home where Carter had grown up wasn’t fit for a dog.
His cell phone pinged. Carter pulled his iPhone from his back pocket and gave a quick look. A text message from Roark Waverly appeared on the front screen. He hadn’t heard from his former marine buddy in months. But he wasn’t surprised that he’d leave a message today of all days. “Probably just lit one up, too,” he muttered, glad to hear from his friend. But as he read on, Roark had something entirely different to say. Something Carter had to read twice.
C. Ran into some trouble. In hiding. Get word to Ann Richardson at Waverly’s. The Gold Heart statue is not stolen. I can’t trust Waverly’s networks. R.B.
Carter frowned. What the hell what that all about?
After his tour of duty, Roark had gotten heavily involved in running around seven continents procuring valuable artifacts to sell at Waverly’s auction house based out of New York. Roark had been in some tough binds through the years, and normally the marine could take care of himself just fine. Carter had been on the receiving end of his friend’s quick thinking when they’d been on street patrol in a small settlement in Afghanistan. Roark had discovered that the car Carter was about to inspect was booby trapped. He’d shoved Carter out of the way before his hand met with the door handle, and Carter knew then that he owed Roark his life.
“C’mon, Rocky,” he said, heading toward his Jeep without a glance back. He knew his father’s dog would follow. He was as loyal as they come. “I’ve got some investigating to do.”
Two hours later, his cousin Brady knocked on his front door and Carter led him into the great room. The room meant for entertaining was one of many improvements he’d made to the house after he’d inherited Wild River Ranch from his uncle Dale. Over the years and after a little luck and a lot of hard work, Carter had turned his uncle’s small working ranch into a stellar operation that competed equally with elite Texas cattle barons.
He handed Brady a shot glass of whiskey. “Here you go, cuz.”
Brady grinned. “I know it’s five o’clock somewhere, but tell me, why are we drinking this early in the afternoon?”
“Because thanks to you, I’m heading to New York tomorrow.”
“Me? What do Brady McCay and New York have in common?”
Carter couldn’t tell him about Roark’s cryptic text message. That message wasn’t meant to be discussed, not even with someone Carter trusted. But he could tell Brady the other reason for his trip. As he’d researched the New York auction house Roark worked for, he’d found that Hollywood screen legend Tina Tarlington’s diamond rings were being auctioned off this weekend. The famed Tarlington diamond had been in the press ever since Tina Tarlington’s first marriage, decades ago. Now, there was even more buzz about all three of her diamonds since the Queen of Cinema had passed away a few months ago. Carter planned to get his hands on one of those diamonds and, at the same time, deliver Roark’s message to the CEO of Waverly’s.
“You’re the one who introduced me to Jocelyn, right?” Carter asked.
“I can’t deny that. I sure did.”
“She’s in New York right now, visiting a friend.”
His cousin’s eyebrows narrowed. “I’m not following.”
“I intend to join her there and ask her to marry me.”
Brady blinked and jerked back in surprise. “You intend to marry Jocelyn Grayson? I didn’t realize things were that serious between you two.”
“Damn straight they are. I’ve been hunting for the right engagement ring for weeks now. If all goes as planned, she’ll be my fiancée very soon.”
“You’re really in love with Jocelyn?” There was a note of disbelief in Brady’s voice.
Carter had to admit he was moving a little fast. But from the day he’d been introduced to the granddaughter of Brady’s neighbor, Carter had been smitten. Now, less than a year later, Carter was ready to make a commitment. Putting a Tarlington ring on Jocelyn’s finger would be impressive, even to an oil heiress who came from old Dallas money. She’d know, without a doubt, how much she meant to him. “She’s the one for me, Brady.”
“Well, then. Congratulations,” Brady offered.
Carter lifted his shot glass. Now that he’d made up his mind, he couldn’t wait to see Jocelyn’s expression when he proposed to her with a Tarlington diamond. “To Jocelyn.”
Brady hesitated for a second and stared into Carter’s eyes before lifting his glass, as well. “To Jocelyn.”
And after they downed the liquor, the smile Carter expected to see on his cousin’s face never really emerged.
One
Macy Tarlington never knew whether her attempt at disguise would work or not. Today, the beige scarf covering her ink-black curls and dark sunglasses hiding her violet-blue eyes seemed to do the trick. She hadn’t been followed. Thank goodness. She looked a little too much like her mother, which wasn’t overall a bad thing. Her mother had been known for her beauty, but resembling Hollywood’s beloved Queen of Cinema had drawn paparazzi to Macy like bees to honey. They believed her DNA alone gave them the right to trample on her privacy, especially during her time of mourning.
Tina Tarlington might have been world famous and her fans might have believed they knew everything about her, from her award-winning movie roles and her three doomed marriages to her celebrity status, but they hadn’t really known her. Not the way Macy had.
Walking into New York’s opulent Madison Avenue auction house made her twitch with anxiety. She bumped shoulders with her good friend, Avery Cullen, as they approached the Waverly salesroom. Avery was the least likely sort of American heiress, very unassuming and certainly not a spoiled cliché. “Sorry if I’m crowding you,” she whispered.
