Gambling on a Secret (10 page)

“My mother died in a car accident when I was fifteen. I want to help others the way I was helped.”

His curiosity was more piqued than before; however, she obviously didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m sorry I brought it up. But if what I think matters, you’ve got it pretty much together.”

“Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if this whole ranching thing is a huge mistake. I’m not worried about the money. Hank left me a rich woman, but sometimes I hope I’m not getting in way over my head.”

He slowed as he entered the outskirts of Colton. “Hey.” When she looked at him, he went on, “That’s why you have me. I won’t deny I have my own problems. But I promise you I won’t let you down.”

Earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunamis had nothing on the smile she gave him.

Shit, he was in big trouble.

* * * *

Charli refilled her cup of coffee and headed for the kitchen table. Her psychology book lay open, but she ignored the fifty pages of reading she had to do. Personality disorders just didn’t hold much interest for her tonight.

Before coming back to the ranch, she and Dylan had stopped at a local home center, bought most of the tools he’d need, and put in the order for the building supplies, which were to be delivered tomorrow morning. Was spending the amount equaling the gross national product of a small country in one day still considered just plain old shopping?

She groaned. Leon had been right about the ranch being a big investment.

Sipping her coffee, she remembered the day. Damn, she liked the ex-soldier and his dry sense of humor. While Dylan didn’t mince words, as the drive to had Fort Worth proven, he treated her with genuine politeness. A true officer and gentleman wrapped up in a cowboy’s packaging.

Had she actually opened up with him? She never told anyone that much about her experiences. How had someone found out about her living in Vegas? The court documents outlining her criminal life while she worked at the strip joint were closed, and Ricardo Rodriguez, the man she’d thought had loved her, would be in prison for a long time.

As a horrible hiss-buzzing sound echoed from the front of the house, she sloshed coffee over the front of her favorite Ralph Lauren top.

“Damn.” She grabbed the dishtowel from the sink to dab at the dark stain on the front ruffle of the white silk.

The terrible sound repeated down the hall. Giving up hope the towel could save her shirt, she rushed up the entrance hall before the doorbell rang again, flipped on the light, and pulled the sheer curtain back to look out the leaded glass of the door window.

What was he doing here at this time? She opened the door. “Leon, hi.”

He tipped his hat. “I’m sorry if I’m calling at a bad time.”

“Oh, not at all.” She stepped out of the opening to allow him entry.

“These are for you.” He held out a large bouquet of yellow jonquils and bluebonnets.

Tentatively taking them, she looked up at him. He brought her flowers? Why?

Leon chuckled and removed his white Stetson. “The other day, you fell into a bed of daffodils and bluebonnets.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes, I did.” He stepped closer and his expensive cologne enveloped her. “I’m glad I stopped by when I did. Sometimes I wonder if Dylan is mentally stable.”

“I tripped.”

“From my perspective, I thought he’d frightened you.”

She stepped away. With his dark hair and eyes and the way his expensive suit fit him, Leon was a handsome man. But she wasn’t attracted to him the way she was to Dylan’s brooding good looks. “His pulling that snake out of the lake surprised me, but I’m not afraid of Dylan.” She held up the flowers and smiled. “What are these for?”

“A housewarming gift.” Leon pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon from under his arm and held it out. “I thought we’d celebrate.”

She stared at the bottle of champagne and the too-hot peppery feeling of anxiety rushed over her tongue, making it hard to speak. “Celebrate?”

“Your ranch is ready, and you’ve formally moved in. That’s reason enough for me.”

“Oh.” For the first time in months, she wanted a drink.

Leon frowned. “I’m sorry if champagne isn’t to your liking.”

She forced her eyes to meet his and curled her lips into a slippery smile she hoped wouldn’t fall away. “I’m flattered, honestly I am, but I don’t drink alcohol.”

Sheepishly, Leon held up the bottle to inspect it. “I guess I should’ve considered that.”

“How could you know? Come on into the kitchen. We can celebrate over a cup of coffee.”

Leon grinned at her, showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth. “Sounds good.”

As she led him down the hallway to the kitchen, she caught him looking around the cluttered foyer. “Sorry, about the mess. I haven’t finished unpacking.”

“Completely understandable.” When she motioned for him to have a seat at the kitchen table, he remained standing. “I’m surprised you have so many things. Didn’t you live at Aida Mae Pratt’s boarding house?”

“Yes.” She laughed and twisted the large bouquet of flowers in her hands. “I originally was going to sell most of this stuff, but just never got around to it. Most of it belonged to my grandparents and my mother.” She looked down at the flowers in her hands. “Right now I’m glad I have it. I think I know exactly what to put these in.” She laid the flowers on the table. “Excuse me.”

After rummaging through a box in the formal dining room of her grandmother’s crystal earmarked for auction, she returned to the kitchen. She took care of the flowers and served coffee, then she and Leon sat at the table.

A warm and secret glow burned deep inside her chest. She reached out and touched the satiny bright yellow petal. “I don’t recall ever getting flowers from a guy before.”

“I’m glad to have the privilege of being the first, then.”

Her eyes widened at the horror of muttering the words aloud. Blood rushed to the surface and scalded her cheeks. “I–I didn’t mean to...”

He chuckled and lifted his mug in a toast. “To neighbors.”

At least, he had the decency to change the subject. With a shaky hand, she tapped her mug to his. “To neighbors.”

Leon sipped his coffee, and she was aware of his intense gaze. “I was startled when your name crossed my desk last week.”

Oh God! He knew she was an ex-con. When she’d applied to the college, she was bound by law to admit to her police record. He was on the board of directors of the college. They’d discovered her police record involved something more nefarious than shoplifting.

“What do you mean?” She worked to keep her voice from shaking.

“Oh, nothing ominous, I promise.” He sipped more coffee, taking his good time to explain himself. “I’m impressed, actually. Your grades are exceptional.” He chuckled and toyed with his mug, turned it this way and that. “What did you think I was going to say?”

She pulled her hands under the table and threaded her fingers together into a tight knot. “You...just caught me off guard.” Swallowing hard, she forced calmness back into her voice. “Why would you see my grades? I doubt that’s standard board policy.”

“Your transcript was submitted for consideration for a scholarship presented to the student who shows the greatest academic excellence. Despite you not meeting the income requirement, the board had to officially reject your nomination.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned over them. “We don’t see grades like yours that often. A solid four-oh. Impressive, especially for someone who didn’t graduate from high school.”

Leon Ferguson knew too much about her from a source she’d never even considered. “I have my GED.”

“I didn’t mean to offend. You have something to be very proud of.” His grin was Texas cowboy handsome with billion-dollar charm, and it swept her fear away, putting her at ease. “I realize you took care of your grandfather’s ranch, I assume that’s probably why you quit traditional high school and got a GED instead.”

She nodded, agreeing with his reasoning, even though she would’ve graduated by the time she’d taken over the ranch if she’d stayed in school. She’d earned the graduation equivalent while in prison.

He took another drink of his coffee. “I think you could do better than a degree in social work. Have you considered business?”

“Not really.” She’d already had it out with her grandfather once she started taking college classes online after leaving rehab for her bout of alcoholism. She wasn’t discussing her reasons with Leon. “I have no interest in getting a business degree.”

“Ah, but you do own one.” Leon looked around the drab kitchen with a hint of disgust he didn’t quite mask fast enough before she noticed. He looked completely out-of-place in his designer suit. Did he consider the scuffed linoleum and outdated appliances beneath him? Shame for her home was instant and painful. Someday her house would be as gorgeous as his, though for now, it wasn’t more than a supersized hovel.

Despite her own wealth and designer clothes, the shabby house was her home. A memory of Dylan sitting at the same table came to her. He’d looked right at home, too.

Leon met her gaze and leaned over his arms again. “Ranching is very complex, especially the cattle business. You want to breed horses, as well.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve hired someone capable of helping me run the business end of things.”

“Of course. Dylan. I’m sure, if he can get himself straightened out, he’ll do well. However, one should never rely on others.” His brown gaze held her captive. “Relying on others only sets you up to be dependent on them. I wouldn’t want that to be the case for you.”

She leaned back in the chair and peered at the open psychology book before her. How did he know one of her greatest flaws? She always relied on the wrong kind of person, usually some dirt-bag man who used her and then threw her away.

Or as with the case of loving Ricardo Rodriguez, she’d landed in prison when she’d fallen for his lies and threats, and led him to the men he’d murdered.

She curled her sweaty hands around her mug and forced her eyes to meet his. “I’ve wanted to be a social worker for a long time. I want to help others. I’ll probably take some business courses along the way, but right now, I’m at the college because of its social work program.”

Leon smiled, reached over the table and squeezed her wrist. He chaffed his thumb over the back of her hand. His touch wasn’t uncomfortable; however, it inspired none of the sensations Dylan’s had. “Whatever you do, I know you’ll succeed.”

When Leon let go, she clasped her hands in her lap again. She had to stop fidgeting or he’d figure out she hid something.

“It’s late and you look like you were busy before I popped in.” Leon stood and she followed, unsure of the swirling emotion he left behind, glad he was soon leaving.

She pulled her arms around her middle.

“Before I let you get back to your…” He glanced at the opened book on the table. “Psychology reading, I was wondering if you hired any hands besides my nephew?”

She forced her arms to her sides. “No. I have a few applicants, but I’d like Dylan to help with the interview process.”

“Of course, but if you need anyone until then, I can spare a ranch hand or two.”

“Thanks, but I think we can get someone hired before my cattle arrive.”

“If you change your mind, let me know. Thanks for the coffee.” Leon retrieved his hat from the peg by the door, and turned, twisting the white Stetson in his hands. “May I make a recommendation for the job, then?”

“Sure.”

“I recently had to turn down someone who was looking for work on Oak Springs because I can’t hire on anyone else. Kyle McPherson. He’s a cousin of mine and Dylan’s, and he comes from a prominent family here in Colton. He’s a good worker and had been a hand on his grandfather’s ranch before he sold it.”

“I think he called me yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to call anyone back. Thanks for the reference. I’ll definitely call him first now.”

Leon donned the Stetson and opened the kitchen door. “Remember, we’re neighbors. Here in Forest County, Texas, neighbors take care of each other. Goodnight, Charli.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, Leon.”

Okay, Leon. What the hell are you about?
She wasn’t afraid of him. After all, if he knew about her past, he’d be all over it like crap on a pig. But was he really her friend? After a few moments of staring at the closed door, she shook her head and glanced at the table. Her gaze snagged on the bottle of champagne. She grabbed it and ran out the door.

“Wait! You forgot...”

At the edge of the porch, she stopped. The taillights of his Porsche bounced over the bridge in the distance.

With shaky hands, she raised the bottle in front of her face. The light of the floodlight in the porch ceiling played harshly over the elaborate script on the label. She hadn’t had a drink in over three years and hadn’t been high for nearly six.

What she would do for a drink.

One bottle. No one will ever know.

Once inside, she ripped the seal open and headed for the sink. “I won’t give in. I’m better than this. I’m not that person anymore. I’ll never be her again!”

She found a knife, and after three tries, got the cork out in pieces.