Kimberly Raye – Texas Fever (страница 2)

Excitement rushed through her and her heart pounded faster. A real home. A first for Holly who’d been on the run with her mother for the first eight years of her life, and in and out of the foster care system thereafter until she’d turned eighteen. She’d been on her own ever since. She’d worked her way through college and struggled to make something of herself.

It had taken her eight years and a lot of hard work, but she’d finally graduated from the University of Houston with a business degree. She’d spent the next two years working as a pastry chef and trying to save enough money to start her own business. She’d come up short, but with the help of a grant—she’d applied for so many loans and grants that she still couldn’t remember the source—she’d been able to buy her equipment and bank six months of living expenses. She’d quit her job and launched Sweet & Sinful. She’d started with five basic aphrodisiac desserts—Ultimate Milk Chocolate Orgasm, Warm Fudge Foreplay, Strawberry Sinsation, Cherry Body Bon Bons and Ooey Gooey Ecstasy—a simple, but tasteful Web site, and a desperate prayer for success. One that had been answered. In three years, she’d managed to add to her dessert list, expand her Web site and actually net a very substantial profit.

While Holly had made something of herself and come a long way from the days when she’d been cold and hungry and penniless, one thing hadn’t changed. The isolation she’d felt since her mother—her last living relative, or so she’d thought—had died. The loneliness. The strange feeling that something was still missing from her life.

Until now.

She’d spent the past five years building her business and now it was time to build herself a real home. She wanted to settle down, plant her roots and make some real friends for once in her life.

And so she hadn’t even considered the offer made by a nearby neighbor to purchase her grandmother’s place. Instead, she’d signed all of the appropriate papers just that afternoon and was now the official owner of the Farraday Inn, an ancient farmhouse that stood just outside of town on fifty acres of rich, green pastureland.

She’d learned from the lawyer that the house had sat empty for the past ten years—since her grandmother had checked herself into a nursing home because of the heart condition that had eventually claimed her life. But no amount of dust or cobwebs could dissuade Holly from taking up residence. She might be a big-city girl with an addiction to shopping, but she could forego easy access to Neiman Marcus and Saks in the name of home and hearth. She’d watched The Simple Life. Country living had its own charm and so she’d mapped out a viable plan for relocating her business and her life.

She intended to use the second story as her personal living quarters. She would operate her business from the first level, using the downstairs bedrooms for storage, packaging and shipping rooms. The cooking itself would be done in the monstrous kitchen that would be more than big enough to accommodate the extra commercial oven Holly intended to purchase just as soon as she set up shop.

A real home.

Definitely cause for celebration.

She’d meant to have herself a big piece of chocolate cake or maybe an extremely fattening hot-fudge sundae to celebrate. But the local diner had already closed and the only thing open in Romeo on a Friday night was The Buckin’Bronco Dance Hall, a crowded honky-tonk just this side of the railroad tracks, and the Dusty Saddle Saloon—a tin barn with a hay-strewn floor, a dozen mismatched tables and chairs, a big-screen television, a pool table, a juke box and an ancient-looking bar. She’d opted for the smaller, more intimate setting of the saloon and a soda.

She hadn’t counted on the cowboy or the need that blindsided her and turned her upside down and inside out.

She wanted him.

Twenty-four hours ago she would have acted on the feeling. Before Holly had washed her hands of temporary relationships. She’d had too many people come and go in her lifetime and she wasn’t about to add one more to the list.

But man-o-man… He was hot.

“Now there’s a hottie if I ever saw one,” a voice echoed as if reading Holly’s thoughts.

Holly’s hand stalled an inch shy of her Dr. Pepper as a six-foot-plus woman with mousy brown hair pulled back in a much too-tight ponytail bumped shoulders with her before settling on the next stool.

The woman wore a red T-shirt and blue jean overalls. Her face was devoid of makeup except for the faint smudge of mascara beneath her eyes, as if she’d cried off the little bit she’d worn. She shimmied on the bar stool and tried to find a comfortable position. Not an easy mission for someone who’d obviously had a little too much to drink.

“Second-best-looking man in Romeo,” the woman went on, her voice slightly slurred. She took a swig from a half-empty bottle of Lonestar beer before motioning across the room to the hot, hunky cowboy near the pool table.

The player controlling the table aimed for a difficult shot. Balls clicked and the eight ball hit the corner pocket with a loud thunk. A round of cheers went up. The cowboy grinned, took the pile of cash sitting on the edge of the table and stuffed it into his pocket. He clapped the winning player on the back and exchanged a few words before turning to the loser and shaking the man’s hand, as well.

“Second-best?” Holly took another sip of Dr. Pepper and prayed for the ice-cold liquid to cool her hot body. “Who’s the first?”

“That would be the most wonderful man in the world. My husband, Bert Wayne.” The name ended on a sob. Tears brightened her eyes and spilled over.

“Are you okay?” Holly set her soda on the bar and touched the woman’s arm.

“I’m f-fine.” The woman tried for a smile that failed miserably. “Better than fine. I’m free—or I will be once Bert Wayne goes through with the divorce proceedings. That’s why I’m out living it up on a Saturday night.” She motioned around her. “Bert Wayne ain’t the only one who knows how to have himself a good time. It’s my turn.”

“You’re entitled.”

“That’s right. I deserve some fun. I am fun.” She sniffled again. “Even if Bert Wayne doesn’t think so.” She caught another sob before shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it.” Her watery gaze met Holly’s. “He said I was boring. That’s why he left me for Trana Lee Jenkins—she’s the new French manicure technician down at Miss Kim’s Nail Salon. He said I just didn’t excite him anymore and that he had to move on to greener pastures because mine had dried up and withered away.” More tears spilled over and she slapped at them with the back of one hand. “I’m so sorry. You probably don’t want to hear any of this.”

“It’s okay.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“I know what it’s like to be alone.” She’d spent most of her life alone. Lonely.

Holly shook away the last thought and smiled. It was a new day. A new life. She’d finally come home. “My name is Holly Farraday.”

“I’m Sue Jack—did you say Farraday?” At Holly’s nod, she added, “As in Red Rose Farraday?”

Holly nodded. “She’s my grandmother. Well, she was my grandmother before she passed away. She left me her place. First thing tomorrow, I’m packing up my business and moving everything here.”

“You’re setting up shop out at Rose’s place?”

Holly nodded. “I’ve been operating from Houston, but the city is so crowded and my place is too small to accommodate all of my customers.” When the woman’s eyes widened, Holly realized what she must be thinking. After all, Red Rose Farraday hadn’t just been Holly’s grandmother. She’d also been one of the most notorious madams in Texas history who’d plied her trade at none other than the Farraday Inn.

Oddly enough, her grandmother’s notoriety hadn’t come as near a shock as the news that she’d had a grandmother in the first place.

“I make desserts for a living,” Holly explained. “I sell through a mail-order catalog and on the Internet. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.”

Sue teared up again. “I always thought I knew how to satisfy Bert Wayne, but then he up and left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not really.” She sniffled. “I mean, it is terrible, but I don’t blame him. He’s right. I am dried up. I’ve been sitting here for three hours and not one man has tried to pick me up. I’m a total loser. I’m a jawbreaker in a candy store full of mouthwatering chocolate. No one in their right mind picks a jawbreaker when they’ve got wall-to-wall Hershey’s Kisses.”

“You’re not a jawbreaker.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a big, fat, round blue jawbreaker.” She hiccupped. “On top of that, I’m drunk and I can’t drive home.”

“You don’t have to,” Holly said as she climbed from her bar stool. “Let’s go.”

Sue shook her head. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have to leave and ruin your Saturday night just ’cause of me. I’ll just walk. It’s not far. Just a few miles up the—whoa,” she said as she tried to slide off the bar stool. She teetered and would have fallen flat on her face if Holly hadn’t caught her by the arm.

“I think walking is out of the question.”

“That’s funny,” Sue said as she leaned against Holly. “My legs were working just a few minutes ago. It’s probably arthritis.” She sniffled and sobbed. “That happens when you get old and dried up.”