It wouldn’t surprise me any if he’s still pulling strings from the great beyond.”
Three hard, handsome, successful men drank to that.
CHAPTER ONE
Eight years later
DOWN TO HIS last hundred thousand in ready cash, Rand Taggart boarded a small Alar Airlines jet in Chicago on a pleasant September afternoon. The day was the only thing that was pleasant, unfortunately, for he was bound for San Antonio and a heaping helping of crow. Even a smile from the pretty blond flight attendant didn’t lighten his mood.
Helluva note when a good-lookin’ woman fails to arouse my baser instincts, he thought glumly, stowing his leather flight bag and briefcase in the overhead compartment in the small first-class section. The best he could manage for her was a nod.
The fact was, he’d rather eat a bug than face what awaited him in Texas: telling his parents that he’d spent, given away and been scammed out of millions of dollars—the latter by his old college roommate, of whom they’d never approved anyway. Then, while they were still in shock, the unmarried ne’er-do-well son would try to coax them into helping him break his great-grandfather’s will.
The mind reeled. Nevertheless he had to do it before he could go after his onetime friend. He wanted his money back, but he wanted to get his hands on the perpetrator almost as much.
“Excuse me.”
He turned to find a gray-haired woman standing in the aisle, trying to juggle a large travel bag and a child. She appeared flustered.
“Young man, could you help me get this bag into the overhead bin?” she asked.
“Sure thing.” He rose and hoisted the bag easily next to his in the open bin. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” He managed a grin for the kid. Only two or three years old, he guessed, although he was no expert on children. The little girl looked back at him with unblinking blue eyes, her mouth turned down petulantly.
“Nothing. Thanks for your help.” The woman set the child into the seat in the last row, directly behind Rand’s. “I hope Jessica won’t be a bother on the flight. She’s cross because she didn’t get her nap today. With luck she’ll sleep all the way to San Antonio.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rand said. If he’d been wearing a hat, he’d have tipped it politely. Good manners died hard, even when you were mired in a slough of despond.
Other passengers were trekking down the narrow aisles. Rand seated himself in his usual window seat and ignored them, along with the whole routine of boarding. It wasn’t that he minded flying; God knows he’d done enough of it in the past eight years. Trips to Europe, the Caribbean, back and forth from coast to coast…
He’d hopped a plane and traveled three thousand miles to dine in Pasadena at the mom-’n’-pop café that served up his favorite pizza, the one with cashew nuts mixed in with the meat and veggies. He’d flown to Pamplona for the running of the bulls and to Acapulco for cliff diving, to Japan to buy pearls and to Florida to give them to a woman he hardly knew.
He’d thought the money would last forever.
It hadn’t…but it would have lasted a helluva lot longer if he hadn’t renewed acquaintances with good old Bill Overton. Now Rand either had to get married with lightning speed—God forbid!—or convince his parents, his aunts and his uncles to back his attempt to break the will of Great-grandpa Taggart.
Fat chance, he muttered. They’d want to hear chapter and verse on how he was able to throw away the millions left to him by his other great-grandpa, John Hayslip Randall IV, of the Boston banking Randalls. There’d be richly deserved lectures about responsibility and duty and obligation, and a whole lot of “I told you so’s.”
The worst part of it was, they couldn’t say anything to him that he hadn’t already said to himself, and in much harsher terms than they’d use. He was fairly certain most of them still loved him, which was more than he did at this sorry point.
Nevertheless the Rocking T Ranch had suddenly become his only source of ready cash while he tried to recover his lost fortune—he should live so long. This time he intended to use his head to manage his money—quite a change from the last go-round. At twenty-nine, he knew better than anyone that it was damn well time for him to grow up.
He’d already been thinking along these lines before Bill Overton had revealed himself for the dirty dog he was. Why did Rand always have to learn the hard way?
Time crawled past. Now that he was committed, all he wanted was to get to Texas and get this over with. At last the line of passengers slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether. Maybe he was going to luck out for once, he thought with the faintest flicker of optimism. Maybe he’d have this entire two-seat row to himself. If he did, it would be the first positive thing that had happened to him since—
“I’m sorry?”
At the soft words, he forced his attention away from the window, where he’d been idly watching the usual bustle of the ground crew. A woman stood in the aisle, regarding him coolly from behind the most unattractive pair of eyeglasses he’d ever seen.
The rest of her wasn’t very impressive, either. Her neat brown dress hung around her waist like a sack with a string tied round the middle. The garment buttoned all the way up to her chin, and elbow-length sleeves dangled limply around her arms.
Her features were regular, but bland to the point of invisibility. Eyes of a nondescript brown were magnified by those miserable glasses, and her hair, an equally ordinary brown, was slicked back to her nape and tied with a droopy bow.
She licked colorless lips. “Uh, I’m sorry?” she said again, making a question out of words that would normally be an apology.
“For…?” Rand encouraged her to elaborate, since he had no idea what she was getting at.
“I think you’re in my seat?”
“No way.” Rand fished into his hip pocket and extracted his ticket. “I always get a window seat. See, right here—” He broke off, staring at his ticket: aisle seat. Even his travel agent had it in for him these days.
“If it’s a problem, I don’t mind trading.” The woman sounded anxious about it, though. “Really, it’s no problem at all.” Bending, she hoisted a large garment bag.
“Let me do that,” Rand said quickly, scooting over and out into the aisle. “Go ahead.” He gestured toward the window seat. “It’s all yours.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind…” She gave him an agitated glance and relinquished her bag to his care. “Thank you so much.”
He swung the ungainly piece of luggage into place, surprised that it weighed considerably less than he’d expected. Apparently she believed in traveling light. After sitting down in the detested aisle seat, he squirmed around to locate the safety belt. To his displeasure, she spoke again.
“I’m Maxine Rafferty.” Turning awkwardly against the confines of her seat belt, she offered her hand.
“Rand Taggart.” He barely touched her hand with his. He wasn’t in the mood to get friendly with
