and for just a moment, before she’d straightened her shoulders and lifted that cute little chin, he’d seen something in those wide eyes that belied her outer image of cool sophistication. A distress that went deeper than a spilled purse.
He bent to help her, but they moved at the same time and only managed to bump into each other. The contact, though only a fraction of a second, brought forth an image of heated flesh. The sudden flush on her high cheeks charmed him. He caught her scent. Expensive. Exotic.
She stepped back, the windows in her eyes closed now. “Excuse me.”
Her formality amused him as much as it intrigued him. He watched her bend demurely and scoop up a slim black wallet, palm-size brush and set of keys with a rental car insignia. He enjoyed the extra inches of exposed leg as she reached for a gold-toned ballpoint pen.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
He thought he’d been caught sneaking a peek, but she was gesturing to the silver-cased lipstick that had rolled between his feet. He bent to pick it up, glancing at the label as he handed it to her. “Passion’s Blush,” he read aloud. “Very nice.”
She dropped the silver tube into her purse, snapped the purse shut and adjusted the gold chain over her shoulder as she stood. “Faith Courtland, Mr. McCants.”
He looked down at the hand she extended to him. Her tone was as stiff as the starched collars his mother had made him wear to Sunday school when he was a boy. “We’re laid back here in Cactus Flat, Faith. Why don’t you just call me Sam?”
She nodded, then smiled hesitantly. “Sam.”
Her fingers were long and smooth Warm. And no rings. He held her hand longer than he should have. “I’ve never seen you before, Faith.” He would definitely have remembered. “Are you a friend of Digger’s?”
“Digger?” she repeated. She cleared her throat, then tugged her hand from his. “Oh, yes, of course. Mr. Montgomery. No, I’m not a friend. Actually, Mr. McCants, I mean Sam, I’m here to see you”
It took a moment for her words to sink in, another longer moment for them to register. Of all the things he might have expected her to say, that was the last. “You’re here to see me?”
“You are the man that Mr. Montgomery appointed as executor of his estate, aren’t you? Owner of the Circle B ranch in Stone Creek County?”
How would she know that? And why did she keep referring to Mr. Montgamery? Digger had a tendency to punch anyone who called him by his real name.
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “Digger did appoint me executor. But I doubt that you’re interested in a stuffed grizzly bear or set of frying pans.”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. I have a reception to go to over at the hotel. You’re welcome to join me, but why don’t we just get whatever it is you came here to say out of the way first.”
“Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. McCants—Sam—I’d like to inform you that I—we—at Elijah Jane Corporation are most anxious to work with you toward settling the matter of Mr. Mont—Digger’s—holdings.”
“Elijah Jane Corporation? As in the restaurant chain?” Sam frowned. “Why would they be interested in Digger? And what holdings are you talking about? Digger ran a small diner here in town, in a rented space, and lived in a tiny apartment at the hotel. He had an old truck, at least he had one until six months ago when Andy over at the gas station gave it last rites. That, other than the grizzly bear and frying pans I already mentioned, are the extent of Digger’s holdings.”
Her incredible blue eyes widened. “You mean, you don’t know?”
Her startled question, sort of a throaty whisper, skimmed over him like silky fingers. “Know what?”
Her composure was back now, her face controlled and voice steady. “Mr. McCants, Francis Elijah Montgomery, known to you as Digger Jones, was the sole owner of Elijah Jane Corporation, a company with gross sales of over twohundred-million dollars and a net worth of approximately twenty-million dollars.”
Two
Faith watched Sam’s face go blank as he stared at her. His eyes, filled with impatience only a moment ago, were empty now, void of any emotion.
Then he began to laugh.
It started off as a low rumble in his broad chest, then spread to a rolling wave of hilarity. He sat in the pew, shaking his head, and the sound of his laughter echoed in the now empty church.
Faith had no idea how to respond to Sam’s display of amusement. She’d negotiated million-dollar deals with the toughest clients in Boston and Colorado, calmed an entire room of excited stockholders, settled disputes between employees and management. Those things were all in a day’s work. She thrived on it, flourished in the order and control she executed. And still, at this moment, she couldn’t seem to manage one discomposed cowboy.
Why was this one man throwing off her equilibrium so badly?
Certainly not because he was handsome. She met handsome men all the time. Faith Courtland was not the type to be influenced by a pretty face. Sam McCants might have the darkest, most extraordinary eyes she’d ever seen, and maybe there was an aura of blatant sexuality she’d never encountered before. That cute shock of black hair falling over his forehead might even tempt a weaker woman. But not her. No way.
“Twenty...million...dollars,” he managed between guffaws. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s ripe. You’re good, I gotta tell you. Real good. You almost had me there.”
Almost had him? He still didn’t believe her? Exasperated, she tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened. “Mr. McCants, let me assure you—”
Faith let out a small squeak as Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her down beside him. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you do anything you like to me. Just tell me, was it Jared or Jake? Both, right? I don’t know where they found you, but you’re one sweet filly. Damn, those boys are good.”
This was going all wrong. Every rehearsed statement, every carefully developed stage of her agenda here was being shot to hell. She had no idea what this man was talking about, and with his chest suddenly pressed up against her, pushing her back against the pew, she suddenly found it difficult to think at all.
She felt the heat of his body seep through her silk jacket and slide over her skin. His mouth hovered mere inches from hers, those sexy eyes of his half closed, barely revealing a mixture of amusement and desire.
“Mr. McCants, Sam, please.”
His breath fanned her earlobe, then her cheek. “I love the way you say please,” he murmured huskily. “Say it again.”
She almost did, then stopped herself, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. Heart pounding, she stood on shaky knees and tugged at her jacket.
“I don’t know anyone named Jared or Jake,” she said, embarrassed that her voice cracked. “And no one ‘found me,’ as you so crudely put it. I’m here as vice president of Elijah Jane Corporation, and whether you believe it or not, Digger Jones does—did—indeed own the company.”
