Calhoun, IV, would be about work. No matter how good-looking, no matter how seemingly perfect, she would not be swayed from her ultimate goal. Cracking his apparently impervious veneer and revealing the fraud behind it would certainly test her ability. Would show once and for all that she was agent material. Amy had faith in herself. She’d wanted this opportunity for far too long to allow anything to stop her. Not for love nor money would she be deterred.
Mr. Calhoun had better be on his toes because Amy Wells was onto him.
JOHN JERKED his string tie loose once more and muttered a curse. Why the hell did it matter what he looked like? This weekend wasn’t about what he looked like or even what he wanted in life, it was about closing the deal his father had worked half a lifetime to bring to fruition.
He should just greet the woman naked and let her see all there was to see. She was, if the powers that be had their way, going to be his wife. Why bother with a courtship ritual? It wasn’t like any of it mattered?
This was a business merger. One he wasn’t fool enough to not see the benefits of, but one he didn’t have to like.
John had dated extensively, had had his share of physical relationships. But he’d always assumed that when he settled down for the long haul it would be with a woman who would love him for the man he was, not for the oil business he operated.
That wasn’t going to happen. Love, trust, neither of those ingredients would enter into the negotiations. He tugged the tie into a bow once more. Hell, why bother with any of these pretenses? Why not just call over the justice of the peace and have the ceremony performed this very weekend? No point in dragging out the inevitable. All that would do was prolong the agony.
John had never been a glutton for punishment. But he would have more than a wife in name only. That was the one thing he had to make clear this weekend. Infidelity was not his style and he refused to be forced down to that level for sexual gratification. If they were to be married, he would have her in his bed…willingly.
Though he had never met Regina Winterborne, the one photograph he’d seen when his father shoved it in front of his face promised an attractive woman. Her dark hair had been up in a ponytail and equally dark glasses had shielded her eyes, but she’d looked appealing otherwise even if the photograph had appeared to have caught her off guard. He had to ask himself, however, why a woman like that would allow herself to be manipulated into a loveless marriage?
For the same reasons he allowed it, John supposed.
He was the only heir, as she was. Their fathers obviously had their futures plotted out to the best interest of their respective companies. John wasn’t oblivious to the long-term benefits. But, dammit, this was the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Offspring didn’t go to these kinds of extremes anymore to please their parents.
Well, he admitted, most didn’t, anyhow.
But here he was, primping to meet the woman he was supposed to marry in order to facilitate a business merger.
“You’ve lost your mind,” he said to his reflection in the full-length mirror.
He wouldn’t go back on his word. That was a given. John never broke a promise. He would see this weekend through and, if possible, he would come to an agreement with the woman. But he would have to know that there was hope for something more. That was the one promise he made to himself.
He would spend this weekend getting to know Regina Winterborne and, when it was over, if there was even a hint of hope, he would take the next step. But first he had to know that falling in love was at least a possibility. It wouldn’t take long to make that determination. He had three days and three nights. She would leave on Monday afternoon. The fact that her father probably wouldn’t be able to join them until around noon on Sunday was all the better. He needed time with the woman alone. Without interference from anyone else, including Nate. John intended to send him on his way as well. This had to be between John Calhoun and Regina Winterborne.
By the time their seventy-two hours together were up, he would know if she was the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life…to whom he could give his heart.
As sentimental as it sounded, that was the bottom line for John. Though his mother had been dead for more than a decade now, he still remembered the way his father had looked at her. The way she had looked at his father. That was what he wanted. Admittedly, under the circumstances, he might have to wait for it. But he had to have some promise that it could be forthcoming.
Anything less was unacceptable.
A light knock on his bedroom door dragged John from his troubling musings.
“It’s open.”
The door eased away from the frame and Liam stuck his head inside the room. “They’re here,” he said in his usual annoyed tone. Liam had worked on the Wild Horse for as long as John could remember and he hated when his normal routine was disrupted. “Nate called in and said they’d just turned onto Stampede Lane.”
“Thanks, Liam,” John said, mustering a smile for the old man.
He grumbled something resembling a “you’re welcome” and shut the door.
John took a last look at himself. His jeans were clean and freshly starched, as was his white shirt. The black string tie and freshly polished boots finished off the getup. Good enough for church, good enough for this, he decided. Anything more than that would have been too much. He had no intention of going out of his way until he saw further. Until he knew she was worth the extra exertion.
That was callous, he railed silently. But this was enough to make any man callous.
Settling his Stetson into place, John descended the stairs and opted to wait in the long entry hall that welcomed visitors to his family home. Stampede Lane was actually the driveway to the property, but it extended three miles so he had another moment or two.
He glanced around the room and wondered what a city dweller would think of his home. Not that he really cared. He’d loved this home his whole life. His mother had designed it and, as far as John was concerned, the southwestern villa was the most beautiful place in north Texas. If Miss Regina Winterborne didn’t like it, well that was her problem because this was where they would live.
His father had moved into a retirement community nearly three years ago. Not because John wanted him to, by God. He’d tried everything to talk his father into staying. But the stubborn old man had insisted that moving was what he wanted. Shortly after settling into the small but luxurious apartment community, John had realized why. J. R. Calhoun, as he was known to his friends, was in hog heaven. There were at least ten retired widows living in the community to every one retired widower. J.R. spent five nights out of seven having dinner with one available female or the other.
He did reserve Sunday nights for his one and only son. And Friday nights were for poker and catching his breath, he laughingly told John.
John really couldn’t blame him. His father had been incredibly lonesome since his wife of nearly forty years had died. John had the ranch as well as the business under control. What was there for him to do, J.R. had insisted? And he’d been right. He might as well enjoy his final days on this earth in whatever fashion he chose.
But John had a feeling that rugged old bucks like his father lived forever. Or, at the very least, long enough to see that his only son’s life was charted
