early enough in the day to have you come get me at the airport, but—”
“Can I call you back in a second?” The Voice interrupted.
“Sure.” Emmaline dropped into a chair at baggage claim. “My cell should be on your caller ID.”
“We don’t have caller ID out here unless we use our cell or SAT phones. What’s your number?”
She rattled it off.
Paper tore. “Gimme a minute.” He disconnected before she could respond.
She thumbed her phone off and buried her face in her hands. This wasn’t the vision she’d had when she agreed to fill in for Michael. Not even close.
She’d intended to swoop in, wow her country clients, gain a solid recommendation from a new business she believed would be highly successful and disappear immediately after the inaugural event. The high-profile clients they’d invited to the event would get a chance to see her in action, get to know her just a little. Business would pick up again. Things would turn around. She’d figure out why the firm’s profit and loss statement looked as if it was bleeding out for the first time ever. She’d fix it. She’d hire a forensic accountant to examine her books for fraudulent activity. She’d be able to trust Michael again when the P&L was verified, when her suspicions were proven erroneous. She wouldn’t doubt his professed loyalty or the fact he was now out of the office more than he was in. All of these things would be resolved. She’d be able to breathe again, to reclaim control of the company and buy Michael out if she had to.
All of which meant she had to stay and somehow make things work with the Covingtons. She was swallowing a prescription antacid when the phone rang. Choking, she bumped Accept and the call connected. Eyes watering, she wheezed out something that resembled, “Emma.”
The Voice was there. “You okay, Ms. Graystone?”
“Stellar,” she rasped through the next round of harsh coughing.
He waited her out, then said, “I’m going to drive in and pick you up.”
Her brows winged up. “You? You’re coming to get me yourself?”
He ignored her untempered surprise. “If I leave now, we’ll be at the ranch in time for dinner.” Clothing rustled in the background, and what sounded like first one and then another heavy shoe thumped against the floor. “Where do you want me to pick you up?”
Emma glanced around as she fought to recover her bearings. “The airport has Wi-Fi, so I suppose here’s as easy as anywhere.”
“I’ll call when I’m five minutes out and you can meet me outside with your gear.”
Before she could ask for his cell number in case she changed her mind and sought out a restaurant, he’d disconnected. Again.
“Great,” she answered, anyway. “Can’t wait to meet you.”
Grabbing her bags, she made her way to one of the small cafés and settled into a booth before pulling her laptop out. She had three hours to kill. Might as well make them productive.
CADE HAD BEEN unanimously volunteered for the trip to Amarillo. His protests hadn’t made a bit of difference. Eli had argued as only a lawyer could, defending his ability to manage the contractors and keep them lined out. Reagan’s efforts were split between working with the installers on the placement of the commercial kitchen appliances in the new dining hall and assisting Tyson, whose favorite, and most valuable, mare had gone into labor.
The animal had been in hard labor for about an hour before Cade left, and Ty wasn’t about to let something as mundane a surprise visit from some public relations exec pull him from her side. Reagan might be an entirely capable large animal vet, but the horses were Ty’s life. He was there for every major event, beginning with their birth and ending with either their sale or their death.
Singing along with the radio, cruise set on seventy-five and air conditioner blowing hard to combat the afternoon heat, Cade adjusted his rearview mirror to keep the slowly sinking afternoon sun from blinding him. He crested a slight hill, and Amarillo spread out before him. The city sat ensconced beneath a gritty haze, the dust driven by winds he’d guess were easily thirty miles per hour and gusting higher. While there wasn’t much in the way of a traditional city skyline, the view still left him with the impression of people surrounding him on all sides. Compared to Roy, the tiny town closest to the ranch, he supposed it was more reality, less impression. Harding County, New Mexico, had a total population of less than seven hundred. Last he’d heard, Amarillo was pushing two hundred thousand residents.
He exited the interstate and took Highway 60 north to Airport Road. Despite wearing sunglasses, he still squinted in the bright light as he pulled out his cell and dialed Ms. Graystone’s number.
She answered on the third ring. “Emmaline Graystone.”
Her voice, now more cultivated than irritated, was sultry enough he couldn’t help but take notice. It warmed a body from the inside out, same as a good whiskey sipped on a cold night.
A small, internal voice reminded him that even the smoothest liquors could deliver a vicious bite. Worse, if a man let the drink go to his head, that same warmth could make him do things he’d regret come morning. Still, Cade couldn’t help but wonder how that rich voice would sound in the dark. It wasn’t hard to imagine her whispering against his skin, the whisper of her breath hot and moist over bared skin. To consider how she might—
“Hello?”
Cade shifted in the driver’s seat, irritably adjusting his fly and trying to stop the path his out-of-control imagination had barreled down. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in a fantasy about an unknown woman’s voice—a contractor’s voice, no less. That particular realization did little to cool the inexplicable lust flooding his system, but it was more than sufficient to clear his mind. “Hi.”
“Is...everything okay?” she asked, curiosity unchecked.
“Fine.” He cleared his throat. “This is Cade Covington. We spoke earlier when you called the ranch. The dude ranch. Lassos & Latigos.” He set the phone face down on his thigh and shook his head. Just how many dude ranches do you think she called from the Amarillo airport, idiot? He refocused before replacing the phone to his ear. “I’ll be in front of the airport in about five minutes. You want to meet me curbside, or should I come in and get your bags?”
“I’ll meet you outside.”
“Fair enough. What should I be watching for?”
“I’m about five foot nine, very short dark red hair that’s natural and highlights that aren’t, black sunglasses, sleeveless black dress. Luggage—two pieces—is also black. I have my messenger bag over my shoulder. You can guess the color. I’m a travel cliché and a pretty drab one at that—everything’s black.” Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she began to walk. “My purse is bright red, though. That might help you pick me out of the crush of people.”
Her dry humor made him chuckle. “I take it you’re used to busier airports than our humble little Amarillo hub.”
“I’ve
