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Red Rock Cinderella
Judy Duarte
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After a week of roughing it in the wilds, Clay Baldwin drove back to Red Rock, looking as if he’d misplaced his razor days ago and had been bathing in a cold mountain spring.
But then again, that’s exactly what had happened.
He probably should have gone home so he could shower and shave before going out in public, but tonight he was too tired and too hungry to care.
For the past few days, he’d been surviving on the fish he could catch—as well as the canned food he’d taken with him—so he was more than ready for a hearty dinner. And what better place to find the Mexican food he’d been craving than at Red, one of the most popular restaurants in town.
He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror of his car, seeing little trace of the corporate executive who usually peered back at him. Two months ago, he would never have considered going out in public resembling a down-on-his-luck drifter. But the scruffy, laidback look fit the new Clay Baldwin. The time he’d spent alone these past few days had changed his view on a lot of things.
Or maybe the harsh realities of life had begun to alter his perspective long before he’d loaded up his brand-new camping gear into his new Mercedes.
Clay made his way through the crowded parking lot and into the busy restaurant that had once been an old hacienda. He would have been completely unaware that it was the holiday season if it weren’t for all the lush poinsettia plants, little twinkly lights and a huge Christmas tree with Southwestern ornaments adorning Red.
The hostess, a woman in her mid-fifties, offered him a friendly smile. “I’m sorry, sir. It’ll be a bit of a wait. Our manager is having his wedding rehearsal dinner here tonight, and we’re shorthanded.”
Clay had known that Marcos Mendoza was marrying Wendy Fortune. He’d been invited to the wedding, but he’d instructed his executive secretary to tell them he couldn’t attend the ceremony—a happy occasion for some, but one that would only drag him down. He’d asked his assistant to send an appropriate gift instead.
“I don’t plan to eat here,” Clay told the hostess. “I’d just like to place an order to go.”
“No problem.” The woman reached for a notepad.
After Clay ordered the hearty carne asada plate, the hostess left him to wait in one of several seats in the entry.
He hoped he wouldn’t see anyone he knew tonight since he looked more like a vagrant than a corporate executive. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about how he was feeling and where he would go from here. In truth, he was still coming to grips with the loss of his best friend and business partner, Connor Reynolds.
Two months ago, Connor had died of a massive coronary at the gym where they both worked out. Connor had only been in his late-thirties, so his death had been a total shock to Clay. It had also forced him to reevaluate his own life, since he and Connor had shared the same work ethic, rarely taking any time off.
Ironically, it was that work ethic that had enabled Clay and Connor to build a successful corporation and to become multimillionaires. But even though Clay had amassed a fortune, he now realized it was worthless if he had no one to share it with, no one to leave it to someday.
Connor, on the other hand, had left his estate to his gold-digging wife, who’d not only been cheating on Connor—causing him additional stress that had probably contributed to his heart attack—but who also thought she would step in and become Clay’s new business partner. What a nightmare that would have been. She would have bankrupted the company once she got her hands on the company credit card.
Clay knew that for a fact because just after she and Connor were married she’d nearly forced Connor into the poorhouse before he canceled all his cards and had threatened to divorce her if she didn’t stop her spending.
Fortunately, both Clay and Connor had enough foresight to include a buy-out clause when they’d first created their corporation. So before she could bankrupt his company, Clay had offered the poor widow a sizable amount for her shares, which she’d pounced on. Now Clay owned a hundred percent of the stock shares.
When the main door to the restaurant opened, an older man in a sport jacket entered and approached the hostess. “I’m here for the Mendoza rehearsal dinner.”
“It’s on the patio,” the woman told him.
The well-dressed man nodded, then took off to find his party.
Clay sighed. It seemed that everyone he knew was getting married or having babies these days. And after Connor’s death, Clay was forced to realize that his once-charmed life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But now that he was back in Red Rock, he was determined to settle down and create a family—if he could just find a woman who was honest and true, someone who was interested in him for more than the things he could buy or the fancy places he could take her.
When the door opened again, a petite redhead entered the restaurant, her cheeks flushed from the crisp, wintry air. She wore dark denim jeans that hugged her hips nicely and a white, long-sleeve T-shirt under a green Christmas vest.
Her pretty hair was a remarkable shade of Irish red and windblown as if she’d been walking on the moors. Yet he was even more drawn to the color of her eyes, a vivid shade of emerald green, highlighted by lush, black lashes.
She wasn’t what you’d call beautiful, but she was certainly appealing.
