Authors: Violetta Rand
As Joshua turns off County Road 2110 East, a few miles outside of Kingsville, I get nervous. I gaze at him and he squeezes my hand. The long driveway we’re on is paved and seems to go on forever. When we finally reach the end, he stops. There’s an immense ornamental wrought-iron fence and double gates.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod and he pulls his visor down, then presses a button on a remote control clipped to it. The gates slowly open. Something tells me this ranch is going to be something out of a movie. As soon as we cross the threshold, the driveway curves left, cutting through a stand of oak trees. Gradually they thin out, replaced by expansive raised gardens and hedges. Although it’s the middle of winter, some of the bushes are still blooming. I smile, always fond of flowers and greenery. Within a quarter-mile, the main house comes into view.
It’s incredible, an old Spanish Colonial–style hacienda with whitewashed walls and a red tile roof. At the ridge, there’s a tiny bell tower.
“There’s a circular staircase that grants access to the tower,” he says, knowing what I’m thinking. “I’ll let you ring the bell for dinner.”
We park and he climbs out, rounding the back of his car to open my door for me. I slide out, pushing my purse straps higher up on my shoulder. I cup my eyes to block the sunshine so I can see the rest of the house. It appears to have two wings. I’m so excited to get inside and take the tour. I love architecture, especially historic homes like this.
“When was this built?”
“In the 1920s,” he answers, opening the trunk. He grabs our suitcases and slams it shut. “My great-grandfather purchased our land and built this house.”
“Amazing.”
“Ten thousand acres,” he says before I have a chance to ask.
“Do you have a monologue memorized or something?” I play. “How many women have you brought home for the weekend?”
“Just you.”
He didn’t bat an eyelash. Just me? “Didn’t Julia visit?”
“Many times,” he states. “But she never spent the night.”
Well, that’s something to appreciate. I straighten, happy to be his first something. Then the large, carved wood front doors swing open. A man steps outside, followed by a slim middle-aged woman dressed in a classic Chanel skirt suit. I’m all over
that—practically
salivating. Where did she find it?
“Joshua.” She descends from the porch. She opens her arms. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
She’s lovely.
“Mother.” They embrace. Then he turns to me. “This is Macey Taylor.”
Her gaze drifts over me. “Welcome to
El Aliento de Dios,
” she says. “My son has told me so much about you.”
I expected to be overwhelmed, but instead, her easy, warm smile helps me relax. I offer her my hands and she takes them, pulling me closer, then kisses my right cheek.
“Shall we get out of the sun?” she asks. “Joshua will show you to your room.”
We follow the butler inside and then separate from his mother. Joshua leads me down a long hallway off to the left and stops in front of an arched doorway. He sets the suitcases down on the floor, then opens the door. “Your suite.” He gestures with his hand, inviting me to go in first.
I do. It’s whimsical, reminiscent of a European farmhouse bedroom. From the upholstered headboard and footboard to the bachelor’s chest, everything is stark white with a sprinkle of sky blue. I glance over my shoulder at Joshua. “How did you know?”
“What?” He grins.
“That I’d be happy here.”
“All those trips to France.”
“Can I see the rest of the house?”
He stashes the suitcases in the walk-in closet. “Follow me.”
I stay on his heels as he opens door after door. There are four bedrooms and five bathrooms in this wing alone. We return to the foyer and he shows me the most charming feature of the house: a centralized courtyard with a small garden and lounge. The kitchen, formal dining room, master suite, great room, and den all face the courtyard. There are two more bedrooms, a game room, a library, and two bathrooms off the second wing. He drags me through the gourmet kitchen, then outside. It’s an extensive covered patio, fully screened, and runs the length of the back of the house. Beyond the glass doors there’s an in-ground pool shaded by an assortment of fruit trees and palm trees.
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you voluntarily live in a condo when you could stay here.”
“I like my own space,” he says. “But the ranch is mine on paper.”
“Yours?”
“Primogeniture,”
he says on a shrug.
“Thought that practice went out with the Dark Ages.”
“It’s still around. Especially in Texas.”
I laugh. It’s probably true—Texas can be so ass-backward sometimes.
“I’d never take this place from my mother.”
“Another honorable trait.” I’d better start a list—there are too many things to remember that make this man so undeniably perfect.
“Glad you like
something
about me.”
Really?
I beam. “What next?”
“Ready to see the rest of the property?”
“All ten thousand acres?”
“No.” He squeezes my hand. “How about a few horses and cattle?”
We head out front to a Chevy Silverado. We get in and he reaches underneath the seat and produces a set of keys. “Pick a direction.”
“North.”
He starts the engine and we drive away.
By three in the afternoon we’re back at the house and Macey is in her room, getting ready for an early dinner with my family. I’m out back with my mother, drinking lemonade.
“There’s a cold front moving in tonight,” I comment. “Temperatures are expected to drop into the low forties.”
She smiles. “Joshua.” She assesses me head to toe. “You’re terribly edgy—do you really want to talk about the weather? Or are you seeking my approval to date that lovely girl?”
She may not say much, but when she does, it’s usually worth hearing. “I know how strongly you rely on first impressions.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “Your father taught me that. And after all these years, I can finally say the old fool was right. There’s something to be said about the way a man shakes your hand or how a young lady smiles.”
I cast her a sidelong look, waiting. “She’s an extraordinary woman,” I add.
“I do hope this is more than a chemical reaction.”
My mother is blessed with the talent to choose the most innocuous ways to discuss sexuality. Even with cattle. I’d hoped she’d launch into a long list of things she liked about Macey. “It is.”
“Good,” she says. “Considering her profession
and
yours.”
I know how controversial the subject is. A dancer sharing a table with my family—with my mother—five years ago, it just wouldn’t have been permitted. But I didn’t want to lie to her. She’s already expressed her disappointment in me for accepting the job at the Devil’s Den. “And you’re still determined to give her a chance, despite that tragic detail?”
She taps her fingers on the table. “I was married to your father for thirty years, Joshua. We’ve employed hundreds of men on this ranch. I don’t know how many nights we received calls from numerous establishments requesting someone to pick up our inebriated cowboys. I do believe the Devil’s Den is on the list of frequented places.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or just nod my head in
acknowledgment.
That’s her segue into telling me everything is okay. “Thank you.”
She lifts her glass in turn. “If Ms. Taylor is going to be a regular fixture in your life, Joshua, I expect you to use some of that natural charm you were fortunate enough to inherit from me and convince the young lady that there’s a better way to live her life.”
I couldn’t agree more. I don’t want to change Macey. But I’m starting to get a clearer picture of why she does what she does. She carries a lot of sadness. And if I can help rid her of some of that pain, I will.
Halfway through the main course of our meal, the doorbell rings. Seconds later, Julia enters the dining room. I nearly choke on my wine, but I manage to swallow, set my glass aside, and wipe my mouth before I stand up.
“Julia?” I’m pissed. “What are you doing here?” I rest my hand on Macey’s shoulder, praying she’ll remain composed. She gazes up at me. I nod, acknowledging her obvious discomfort, then glare at my ex. “We’re in the middle of dinner.”
“Joshua,” my mother says in her best chastising tone. “Ask her to join us.”
I clench my hands at my sides. “Perhaps Ms. Henderson needs a moment alone with me,” I say, walking around the table. “The library is the perfect place.” I brush past Julia.
She follows me and I practically kick the door open. “Inside,” I command. She sits on one of the armchairs. “Why are you here?” Not that I give a shit, but Macey deserves an explanation.
“Aunt Fergie invited me for the weekend.”
Her great-aunt is a beloved member of our community. But I’m sure my ex only accepted the invitation so she could be closer to me. She knows I spend weekends here. “How is she?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Wonderful. She’ll be eighty next week.”
“I know,” I say. “Mother and I plan on visiting her next weekend.”
“I’m glad.”
That’s the only connection Julia Henderson and I will ever share again. “I don’t want you showing up here on the weekends. If you want to maintain a relationship with my mother, I understand. Make arrangements to see her during my workweek. I’m moving on, Julia.”
“Yes.” She folds her hands on her lap. “I was surprised to see your little stripper whore at the table.”
I stalk forward, then remind myself she’s a woman. “Goddamnit, Julia. You’re really starting to piss me off. Everything is a competition to you.”
“Actually,” she says in that matter-of-fact tone that makes me want to chew on glass, “I stopped by to ask for your blessing to go out with Bishop Singletary.”
For a moment I stare at her
disbelievingly,
wondering which one of them decided to ask the other out. But then I realize maybe there is some justice in the world after all. I can’t think of two people who deserve each other more. “You don’t need my permission.”
“No?”
“Fuck whoever you want.”
Her face twists into an ugly scowl. “You never used to speak that way.”
“I did,” I correct. “I stopped after we started dating—didn’t want to offend you.”
“See?” she points out. “You
do
care.”
“No,” I laugh. “Living with you strangled the life out of me. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. With Macey—”
“You love her?”
“I do.” It feels so natural saying it. Hell, it rejuvenates me.
She gasps, holding her hand to her mouth as if I just told her some dark secret.
“I have to ask you to leave now.”
She slowly rises, visibly shaken. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when your good upbringing and family name would be disgraced because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
“Really wanna go there?” I shoot back. “I keep a pretty detailed naughty-or-nice list.”
She mumbles something, approaches me, then raises her hand. I catch it midair. “Slap me and I’ll smack back this time.” I release her hand. “Leave.”
She practically runs out the front door. I heave a sigh of relief and head back to the dining room. Macey is gone. “Where is she?”
Mother looks embarrassed. “In her room.”
I rush down the hallway; I can hear her crying. Those tears pierce my heart. I open the door to find her curled on the bed. She doesn’t look up when I kneel beside her. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She sniffs. “Why? You’ve been a perfect gentleman. And your mother, brother, and sister are as sweet as a daydream. It’s me, Joshua. I don’t fit in your world.”
“What world is that? My father was a cowboy. He married my mother when she was fifteen and they had fifty dollars in the bank. We’re not blue bloods, Macey, just a regular family that knows how to breed cattle and horses.”
She rolls over and looks at me. Her mascara-streaked eyes are red. “Julia,” she says, “has all the right connections, a family, and a great education. She’s everything I can never be.”
“What?” I ask. “A bitch?” Because that’s all Julia is at this point—a spoiled, selfish little girl who wants what she can’t have.
That makes her laugh. “I have my moments, too.”
I slip onto the bed, gathering her in my arms. “I look forward to it.” I smooth her hair out of her face, marveling at this softer, more vulnerable side of the woman I’ve come to admire. “Let’s go dancing after dinner.”
“Striptease?”
“No,” I say. “I’m thinking more along the lines of a Texas two-step.” Though I can arrange for her to give me a table dance after my family goes to bed.
“You want me to get my cowgirl on?”
The thought is appealing. “Have any boots in that suitcase?”
“As a matter of fact,” she says, rolling off the bed, “I do.”
After I wash my face and fix my hair, Joshua escorts me back to the dining room, where his mother is waiting for us. She looks me over, a soft smile on her lips.
“Please,” she says, gesturing to the chair on her left. “Join me.”
I do, once again comforted by this woman’s gentle demeanor. “I’m sorry for leaving the table so abruptly.”
“You’re sorry?” Mrs. Camden looks shocked. “Julia Henderson is a physically attractive girl, but her beauty is only skin deep.” She picks up her wineglass and takes a sip. “It takes so much more to nurture a close relationship.” Then she looks at Joshua, who is now seated to her right.
He grabs his mother’s hand and kisses it. “My thought exactly.”
“Have you shown Macey the greenhouse?” she asks.
I perk up. Joshua knows how much I love plants. “You have a greenhouse?”
“Three, to be exact,” she answers. “Do you like roses?”
“Adore them.”
“I believe we should take a stroll after we eat this excellent pecan pie the cook made.”
Did I miss something? I stare at the spot on the table in front of me, and sure enough, there’s a slice of pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream waiting for me. I reluctantly pick up my spoon and sample the decadent dessert.
Oh. My. God.
I can feel the fat depositing in my body as I swallow. I take another bite, closing my eyes in complete ecstasy. “I can’t remember tasting better.”