Have Cowboy, Need Cupid (2 page)

Chapter One

Six Weeks Later

“Will you marry me, Suzanne?”

Suzanne gasped as her boss, James Horton, placed a dark-blue velvet box on top of the white satin tablecloth. They were seated at a table overlooking the lush gardens of the Cove at Chattahoochee, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Atlanta, and had just finished their gourmet meal of prime rib and salmon. Although romantic couples were plentiful in every corner, Suzanne and James had met to celebrate the closing of another megamillion-dollar deal completed by Horton Developers, not for a romantic tryst. At least that had been the plan.

Moonlight filtered through the picture windows, mingling with shades of greenery and the pinks and whites of the azaleas just starting to bloom. Red roses adorned all the tables, and a violin player strummed a classical tune softly in the background. Outside, the sound of the Chattahoochee River drifted through the sultry breeze, the pounding of water against rocks mimicking Suzanne’s rapidly beating heart.

“I…I don’t know what to say, James.” Suzanne glanced into James’s pale-green eyes which were twinkling mischievously, searching for some hint that he might be joking. Had some connection bubbled up between them while she wasn’t looking? Granted, the atmosphere was romantic, the food and wine exquisite, and during the past few weeks, James had been extra solicitous of her when they’d wined and dined their clients, but marriage? She had never guessed he had the big
M
on his mind.

Sex, yes, although they hadn’t yet consummated their relationship. But a long-lasting, loving relationship with mortgages and shared bank accounts? No, she definitely had not been prepared for a proposal.

James gestured toward the ring box, the deep laugh lines around his mouth twitching as he gauged her reaction. He had known she would be surprised, had counted on it. “Go ahead, open it. I think you’ll like my selection.”

Drawing in a calming breath, Suzanne tiptoed shaky fingers across the white linen and snagged the box, the soft velvet caressing her fingers. Tiffany’s?

The moment she opened the box, her eyes widened with shock. A stunning sapphire flanked by diamond baguettes winked at her in the dim light. It was the exact ring she would have chosen for herself.

“Well, what do you think?”

Suzanne hadn’t expected sentiment, but his pragmatic voice surprised her. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

“You had me nervous for a minute.” He pointed to the sapphire with a manicured finger. “There was a lovely emerald, but I thought this one suited you. It’s your birthstone, right?”

“Yes. It’s…perfect.” She finally dragged her eyes from the shimmering stone to his face again. Softly chiseled features created a boy-next-door look, but a cutthroat businessman, not a tender heart, lay beneath. James was handsome, his suits tailored, his shoes imported Italian leather, his drive for success impressive. He was worldly, sophisticated, well-bred, well-mannered and well-off.

Everything a woman could want.

And there were lots of women in Atlanta who wanted him.

So, why was she even hesitating?

He took the ring and slipped it on the ring finger of her hand. “We have so much in common. We enjoy our work and we make a fabulous team, you have to admit that, and we like the same kinds of music and art and opera, and…” He hesitated, shrugging. “All in all, I think together we can take Horton Developers to the very top.”

Suzanne frowned. All the things he’d said were true, but… Had she expected skyrockets to explode when a man proposed? A proclamation of undying passionate love to glide from his lips? She and James had never had that kind of relationship. Her father’s words echoed in her ears—
Some of us don’t ever find that hot romance, but that doesn’t have to keep you from having a good partnership. Find someone who’ll help you achieve your goals.

“You don’t have to answer me right now,” he said. “In fact, as in any deal, you should take a few days to think it over.”

She stared at the ring, then back at him, then back at the stunning sapphire. Did he really want to marry her or was he worried about losing her as a business partner?

He snapped the box lid closed and shifted deftly back to business. “Now, let’s talk about how we can persuade Rafe McAllister to sell his ranch.”

“M
OTHER, THERE’S NO WAY
I’m going to sell the Lazy M.” Rafe McAllister winced at the worried expression on his sixty-year-old mother’s wrinkled face. Her hand felt so frail in his, her pallor like buttermilk, her voice as weak as a child’s.

“I know you don’t want it to happen, son, but I also know we’re in trouble here.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from showing his reaction. “It’s true, but we’ve had rough times before, Mom. We made it then and we’ll make it now.”

“That was before your daddy passed on, God rest his soul….”

Amen to that.

“Now…” She let the word trail off, fidgeting with the handmade quilt tucked over her shoulders. Another bout with her rheumatoid arthritis had sent her to bed three days ago.

Her implication stung him. Now what? She thought he was incompetent? That he could never live up to Frank McAllister’s name?

If only his mother knew the truth….

But he didn’t want to hurt her. And she would be hurt if she knew about her husband’s betrayal. Frank McAllister had gambled away most of their life savings in a damn poker game. The rest had been used for the numerous women he chose to entertain when he was away. And then there was Rafe’s mother’s medical bills, which their insurance had not covered due to the fact that Frank hadn’t made the last few monthly payments. Frank’s indiscretions had forced Rafe to hang on to the family legacy as if it had been sewn with brittle thread.

The Lazy M meant everything to Rafe, and he’d go down fighting for it or die trying.

“I have to meet with Slim Wallace in Sugar Hill today to discuss refinancing the loan,” Rafe said, interjecting a confidence into his voice he didn’t feel. “Get some rest, Mom, I’ll be back later.”

She nodded, her gnarled hands tracing over the log-cabin pattern of the quilt. He kissed her cheek, then strode from the room, the problems mounting in his mind. He needed a new tractor, the fences had to be mended and he had to buy more cattle to expand the operation. Better feed would help his stock, too.

But everything took money.

The one thing he was plenty short of.

He jumped into the ugly purple pickup truck he’d won from Wiley Hartwell at his New Year’s Eve bash, dusted off his jeans with one hand while he started the engine and slid it into gear. Maybe he’d find some help in Sugar Hill. Maybe he could sell this embarrassing grape-colored monstrosity for enough to spot a second mortgage. After all, small towns were supposed to embrace its own and help one another.

Hopefully the old-time values still held true, and he could avoid that heartless shark of a land developer who wanted to steal his property and turn his ranch into a damn shopping mall.

S
UZANNE’S CONVERSATION
with James played over and over in her head as she drove to Sugar Hill.
Do whatever it takes to get that land,
James had told Suzanne.
And when you do, there’ll be a big bonus waiting for you. And a promotion.

Suzanne had salivated at his promises. She had been working as an assistant for so long that she’d almost given up hope of moving up the chain of command. But today James had not only talked of a wifely partnership, but he’d mentioned a vice president position. As VP, her financial future would be secure, and she would have the respect of everyone at the company.

Especially since she had steered James toward the development opportunities near Sugar Hill.

Perhaps the mention of the promotion was one reason she had hesitated at James’s proposal. She did not want to marry into the position; she wanted to earn it. To say she deserved it, not that she’d landed the position by sleeping with the boss.

The busy crowded streets of Atlanta faded behind her as she left the expressway and steered her sports car toward Sugar Hill. The suburbs flanking the city and mini shopping centers finally gave way to farmland and more sparsely populated areas, turning green with the approaching spring. The quiet melody of cows mooing and crickets chirping replaced city traffic noises, the sun setting in a rainbow of colors.

James had laid out his plans for the gigantic multistore shopping mall with its neighboring strip shopping centers and businesses, and of course, homes and apartments which would undoubtedly crop up once people discovered jobs in the area. The development would boost the economy of Sugar Hill, as well, the reason Suzanne had suggested looking at the area. James had narrowed the choices for the project down to three parcels of land, but Rafe McAllister’s ranch was the largest and offered easiest access to the main highway. Basically the Lazy M was the property James really wanted.

And James always got what he wanted.

She wouldn’t let him down this time, either.

Although she had joked with Rebecca about approaching Rafe McAllister, Rebecca had warned her that she’d heard he’d been a troublemaker in school. He was also stubborn and had staunchly refused James’s previous generous offers.

The rancher had fallen on hard times, though, and was in big trouble financially. As always, James had done his homework. He had full financial reports on the man as well as personal information that would tip the scales and convince Rafe to sell. Something about Rafe’s father’s shady past.

Suzanne sincerely hoped none of that information had to be used to persuade McAllister. She understood big business but she hated the dirty side of it. Still, selling the Lazy M to Horton Developers would not only benefit Rafe, but the development would help Sugar Hill’s economy. Once people discovered the charm the small town offered, coupled with its proximity to a major shopping mecca, they would flock to live there. Uncle Wiley’s business, Alison’s bridal shop and Mimi’s and Rebecca’s bookstore/café would all benefit.

Excitement bloomed in her chest at the possibilities. No matter how stubborn Rafe McAllister was, she had to win him over to her way of thinking.

R
AFE’S MOTHER ALWAYS SAID
that when it rained it poured. Well, it was hailing cats and dogs as far as Rafe was concerned. Before he’d left for the bank, two of his best steers had escaped. Finally he’d received a call from the sheriff’s department that his most prized animal was standing in the middle of a six-lane highway creating a ten-mile traffic jam. Before long he and his hired hand had lured the stubborn animal back to the pasture. It had taken two hours and two hundred dollars of fencing material to repair the damage. Not to mention what it had cost his leg. His old injury throbbed like the devil.

Then, when he’d finally arrived at the bank three hours late for the meeting, an already-ticked-off Slim Wallace had turned down his loan and given him thirty days to catch up on his payments—or else. Rafe had gone straight to the newspaper and placed an ad to sell the purple truck, but Georgiana Hamilton had laughed, knowing that selling the sissified vehicle was a long shot. Then he’d run into Old Man Perkinson who owned the drugstore and learned his credit had expired. No more of his mother’s medication without cash.

What else could go wrong today?

Deciding to nurse his troubles with a beer, he strode into the Dusty Pub. Country music blared from the jukebox, peanut shells discarded on the floor crunched beneath his boots, and the clatter of beer mugs and laughter rang above the hum of voices. All in all, it was a usual Saturday night. Old cowpokes hovered over the scarred wooden bar, three or four younger ranch hands shot pool in the back corner, cracking jokes and eyeing the women, and cigarette smoke mingled with the scent of perfume from the handful of females who graced the joint.

Johnny Wakefield, the thirty-something bartender, slid a cold mug overflowing with beer onto the counter. Rafe nodded his thanks, his gaze catching sight of a tall female in tight, crisp new jeans and platform shoes sauntering from the ladies’ room toward the bar. She slid onto a stool at a small round table in the corner, her sexy butt hugging the vinyl just the way a man would want to hug her. Her too-tight lacy shirt spelled sex appeal, her designer jeans and shoes spelled money, and the slight tilt to her dainty nose spelled sophistication.

What the hell was she doing in the Dusty Pub?

“Her name’s Suzanne Hartwell,” Johnny offered before he could even ask. “Her daddy’s some highfalutin doctor in Atlanta.”

And she probably lived off Daddy’s money. That explained the attitude. He’d seen it before.

“Every man in the place has been drooling over her since she strutted in.”

“I’ll bet.” Like she would give any of them the time of day. “What’s she doing here anyway? Come slumming in the country?”

“Her sister Rebecca lives in Sugar Hill. Wiley Hartwell’s her uncle.”

Somehow this woman didn’t look related to that outlandish uncle of hers, though. And he’d met her sister, Rebecca, in that bookstore. She was pretty but quiet, sort of shy.

Not like a siren waiting to be noticed. And Rafe had noticed. Any red-blooded male would.

Especially a bad-boy bachelor at heart. In fact, he liked slow country music, fast women and wild horses—not necessarily in that order.

She pivoted on the stool, and his gut clenched as if one of his horses had kicked him. Following on cue, his leg throbbed, a reminder of just how dangerous their kick could be, too.

A heart-shaped slender face with dark exotic eyes stared back at him, her small, pink lips curling into a sexy smile. Raven hair hung past her shoulders like a thick, silky mane, adding to the sultry enchantment of her almond-shaped eyes. She was trouble with a capital
T,
the kind of woman he’d normally avoid.

The kind who had burned him in the past.

“What’s the lady drinking?” his traitorous mouth asked.

“White wine.” Johnny chuckled. “’Course, first she asked for one of them fancy drinks, a Cosmopolitan or something. When I told her we didn’t have that, she wanted something called Sex on the Beach. Imagine her asking for something like that in Sugar Hill.”