Yvonne Lindsay – Lone Star Holiday Proposal (страница 1)
“And what about you, Raina?
Don’t you need somebody as well?” Nolan asked. Raina blushed and looked down for a moment.
“I have JJ,” she said, her voice staunch. “He’s all I need.” Nolan nodded and then stepped a little closer. “I’d really like to see you again.”
Raina’s breath caught in her throat.
“Nolan, I’m flattered. B-but I don’t date anymore. I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” Nolan said, his brown eyes gleaming under the street lamp. “But if you ever change your mind, make sure you let me know, okay?”
She was well-advised to steer completely clear of Nolan Dane. She’d only met him four days ago and he was already heating her blood. She couldn’t—no, shouldn’t—entertain the idea. And yet, she still found herself wishing she could say yes.
“How long are you prepared to wait?” Raina joked on a nervous laugh.
Nolan smiled and gave her a look that sent curls of delight all the way to her extremities.
“As long as it takes.”
* * *
Lone Star Holiday Proposal is part of The Texas Cattleman’s Club: Lies and Lullabies series—Baby secrets and a scheming sheikh rock Royal, Texas
Lone Star Holiday Proposal
Yvonne Lindsay
A typical Piscean,
As always, I’m strengthened by the support of my fellow authors when working on a project like this, whether they are directly involved in the continuity or not. In particular I would like to dedicate this book to Soraya Lane to thank her for her constant cheerleading and encouragement, and for challenging me to bigger, better word counts than I ever dreamed I could achieve in a single day.
Deadlines become so much easier when you’re haranguing me from the sideline! Thank you.
Contents
Nolan rolled to a stop in the parking area at the Courtyard and looked around. The four-mile drive out of Royal had been pleasant, quite a difference from the Southern California freeway traffic that was a part of his daily grind back home.
Home. He grunted. Royal, Texas, was really his home, not the sparsely furnished luxury apartment he slept and occasionally ate in back in LA. But he hadn’t lived here in Royal, or even been back, in coming up on seven years. Even now he’d chosen to check into a hotel rather than stay with his parents. The reminders of his old life and old hopes were still too fresh, too raw. He gave his head a slight shake, as if to jog his mind back on track, and pushed open the door to the brand-new SUV he’d hired for his visit. He alighted from the vehicle, grabbed his suit jacket from the backseat and pulled it on before taking a moment to adjust pristine white shirt cuffs.
The wind cut right through the finely woven wool of his suit. It seemed even Armani couldn’t protect you from a frigid Texan winter breeze. Nor were highly polished handmade shoes immune to the dust of the unsealed parking lot, he noted with a slight grimace of distaste. But when had he gotten so prissy? There’d been a time when even baby spit hadn’t bothered him.
A shaft of pain lanced through him. It still hurt as if it was yesterday. Nolan buttoned his jacket and straightened his shoulders. He’d known coming back would be hard, that it might rip the scabs off wounds he’d thought already healed. But what he hadn’t expected were these blindsiding moments when those old hurts threatened to drive him back down on his knees.
As private attorney for Rafiq Bin Saleed, Nolan was here to do a job for one of Rafiq’s companies, Samson Oil. He loved his work—particularly loved the cut and parry of entering into property negotiations on behalf of his boss and friend. The fact that doing so now brought him back to the scene of his deepest sorrow was tempered only by the fact that he also got to spend some time with his parents on their home turf. They weren’t getting any younger and his dad was already making noises about retiring. From personal experience working there, Nolan knew that his dad’s family law practice was demanding, but he couldn’t quite reconcile himself to the fact that his dad was getting ready to scale down, or even walk away, from the practice he’d started only a few years out of law school.
Again Nolan reminded himself to get back on track. Obviously he’d have to work harder. Being back home after a long absence had a way of derailing a man when he least expected it—but that wouldn’t earn him any bonuses when it came to crunch time with his boss. He looked around the area that had been christened the Courtyard. The name fit, he decided as he took in the assembly of renovated ranch buildings that housed a variety of stores and craftsmen. His research had already told him that the tenants specialized in arts and crafts with artisanal breads and cheeses also on sale, while the central area was converted into a farmer’s market most Saturday mornings.
To Nolan’s way of thinking, it was an innovative way to use an old run-down and unprofitable piece of land. So what the hell did Rafiq want with it? He knew for a fact that there was no oil to be found in the surrounding area. Hell, everyone who grew up in and around Royal knew that—which kind of raised questions as to what Samson Oil wanted the land for. So far, Rafiq’s quest to buy up property in Royal failed to make economic sense to Nolan.
Sure, he was giving owners who were still battered and struggling to pull their lives together after the tornado a chance to get away and start a new life, but what did Rafe plan to do with all the land he’d acquired?
Nolan reminded himself it wasn’t his place to ask questions but merely to carry out the brief, no matter how much of a waste of money it looked like to him. Rafiq had his reasons but he wasn’t sharing them, and it had been made clear to Nolan that it was his place to see to the acquisition of specific parcels of land—whether they were for sale or not. And that’s exactly what he was going to do.
Regrettably, however, it appeared that Winslow Properties, despite their shaky financial footing, were not open to selling this particular parcel of land. It was up to him to persuade them otherwise. He’d hoped some of the tenants would be more forthcoming about their landlord but so far, on his visits to the stores, he’d found them to be a closemouthed bunch. Maybe they were all just scared, he thought. Royal had been through a lot. No one wanted to rock the boat now.
There was one tenant he’d yet to have the opportunity to talk to. He recalled her name from his memory—Raina Patterson. From what he understood she might be closer to Mellie Winslow than some of the other tenants. Maybe Ms. Patterson could give him the angle he needed to pry this property from the Winslow family’s grip.
He began to walk toward a large red barn at the bottom of the U-shape created by the buildings. The iron roof had been proudly painted with the Texas flag. The sight of that flag never failed to tug at him; as much as he’d assimilated to his California lifestyle, he’d always be Texan.
Looking around, Nolan understood why the Winslow family had, after initial interest in Samson Oil’s offer, grown cagey at the idea of selling this little community and the land it was on. For a town that was still rebuilding, this was an area of optimism and growth. Selling out from underneath everyone was bound to create unrest and instability all over again. Not everyone here could just pick up and create a new life in a new town or state like he had.
Damn, and there he was again. Thinking of the past and of what he’d lost. His wife, his son. He should probably have sent someone else on the legal team to do this job but Rafiq had been adamant he handle it himself. He mentally shrugged. It was the price he paid for the obscenely high salary he earned—he could live with that as long as he didn’t ever have to live here again, with his memories.
* * *
Raina made a final tweak of the pine boughs and tartan ribbons she’d used to decorate the antique mantelpiece and looked around her store with a sense of pride and wonder.