made the best Texas pecan fudge pie in the state. Before he saw his father, Sterling Perry, again for the first time in years he needed both.
He got in line behind two women; one of them was a very pretty tomboy with a long brown braid over one shoulder. The other was a gorgeous biracial woman with high cheekbones, dark almond-shaped eyes and miles of smooth creamy skin. She wore cutoff jean shorts, a flouncy off-the-shoulder Bohemian blouse and her long legs were capped by a pair of broken-in brown-and-black cowboy boots. Her dark hair fell down her back in waves.
There was something about her voice and the sound of her laugh that captivated him.
The woman ordered a slice of lemon icebox pie and her friend ordered cherry. When she turned to leave, she nearly collided with him, but he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, halting her.
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“No worries. The important thing is we saved the pie.” He winked at her.
Her dark eyes twinkled as they studied his.
Something about her almost seemed familiar. The way she stared at him made him wonder if she didn’t feel the same. But he wasn’t about to trot out that old, tired line. Especially since the woman was sporting a sizable engagement ring on her slim finger.
It was just as well. His reasons for returning to Houston were anything but social. And in just a few days, he’d be returning to Dallas. His home since college.
“Well, thank you for saving my pie.” She lifted the small dessert plate. “My apologies again.”
He tipped an imaginary Stetson and nodded as she and her friend made their way to a booth near the back of the coffee shop.
The gorgeous woman’s fiancé was a very lucky guy.
* * *
Roarke owned a luxury condominium in town in the same building where his older twin sisters, Angela and Melinda, owned condos. But the executive he’d leased it to wouldn’t be vacating the space for a few more days. So he got into the SUV and headed toward Perry Ranch—his family’s opulent, sprawling estate just outside Houston.
The Perry family’s lifestyle was financed by Perry Holdings, a billion-dollar operation that consisted of finance, construction, real estate and property management entities.
Sterling Perry’s name carried a lot of clout in Houston, a city where his father wielded much power. Though apparently not enough to prevent him from being accused of running a Ponzi scheme that caused clients to lose millions of dollars. Nor had it prevented him from being tossed into jail. Much to Sterling’s surprise, to be sure.
Roarke was an attorney. Though, much to his father’s chagrin, he’d chosen not to work for Perry Holdings. Instead, his Dallas-based civil law practice represented underserved clients who typically couldn’t afford to pay a retainer up front. Still, from his office in Dallas, he’d taken an active role in helping to clear his father of the charges that had been leveled against him.
Sterling Perry had the ethics of a rattlesnake. It sickened Roarke that he’d spent countless hours trying to defend the man when he had clients whose cases required his full attention.
Most sons would defend their fathers against such accusations with their last breaths. Even if their fathers weren’t bastions of decency, the familial bond made them want to believe the best of their fathers.
Roarke and Sterling Perry shared no such bond.
He was the youngest of the Roarke brood and Sterling’s only son. But he was by no means the apple of his father’s eye. A reality that had pained him throughout his childhood.
No matter what he did, or how hard he tried, his father never gushed with pride, the way he had over even the smallest accomplishments of his three older sisters. As a young boy, he’d been starved for his father’s approval. As a teenager, he’d resolved himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do to earn the man’s affections.
Roarke could believe a host of horrible things about Sterling Perry. That he was running a Ponzi scheme simply wasn’t one of them.
His father had considered Bernie Madoff and his ilk delusional rubes for thinking they could pull off such a scheme. Besides, Perry Holdings Inc. was flush with cash. There was no earthly reason his father would’ve been enticed to take such a risk.
Those were the reasons he firmly believed in his father’s innocence. Not because they shared a surname.
But even his father’s arrest hadn’t been reason enough for him to come home. He’d worked on the case and consulted with his father’s lawyers from his office in Dallas.
He’d come home for one reason. At his sister Angela’s request, he was here to prove, once and for all, he was not the son of Ryder Currin—the sworn enemy of their father and the man his sister had been seeing for the past several months.
Angela had called him in Dallas, panicked after she’d met with an old family friend. Lavinia Cardwell was a wealthy local philanthropist, a major contributor to the Texas Cattleman’s Club, and a notorious gossip.
Lavinia had informed his sister about the rumor that he was really Ryder Currin’s son. A rumor Roarke was well aware that his own father believed, though he’d never, ever mentioned it to any of them. His sister had asked Ryder to prove that it wasn’t true by agreeing to a paternity test.
To Ryder’s credit, he had.
Roarke didn’t believe the rumors, but if it would save his sister’s sanity and finally put those old rumors to bed, it would be worth it.
He pulled the SUV up to the guard post on his family’s vast estate and greeted the older man who’d been the head security guard since Roarke was a teen.
“Good to see you, Mr. Perry.” A slow smile spread across Ben Mattison’s face as he reached out to shake his hand. “Your family is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
“You mean my sisters are eagerly awaiting my arrival.” Roarke stared at the house, his jaw tense. When he looked back at Ben, there was a slight downturn of the man’s mouth. An all too familiar look of pity dimmed his eyes.
“If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I’m quite sure the old man misses you, too.” Ben forced a smile as he tipped his hat and pushed the button to open the gate.
Roarke acknowledged the man’s words with a nod, but time and experience had taught him the folly of allowing himself to believe them.
He entered the slowly opening iron gate and drove toward the sprawling stone mansion that had always reminded him of a castle out of place amid the pastures and elegant barns. By the time he arrived at the house and parked in the drive, Roarke’s three sisters were already assembled on the large porch.
“Baby brother!” Esme, six years his senior, squealed, hugging him as soon as he exited the vehicle.
“You realize I’m almost thirty, right?” he asked as he released her.
“You realize I’ll be calling you that when you’re seventy, right?” she shot back, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Roarke!”
