Thunderbolt over Texas (2 page)

He leaned over the plaid couch and watched the little sports car bump to a halt beneath his oak tree.

He didn't recognize the car. But then a trim ankle and a shapely calf stretched out the driver's door and he no longer cared.

He moved onto the porch as a telltale hiss of steam shot out from under the hood and a spurt of water dribbled down the grill. The engine gurgled a couple of times, then sighed to silence.

Another shapely leg followed the first. And a sexy pair of cream heels planted themselves in the dust.

The slim woman rose to about five-foot-five. She wore a narrow, ivory-colored skirt and a matching jacket. Thick, auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders in shimmering waves. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin was flawless. She hadn't even been in the valley long enough to get dusty.

She smiled as she turned, flashing straight white teeth and propping her sunglasses in her hair. Cole sucked in an involuntary breath.

“Hello.” She waved, stumbled on the uneven ground, then quickly righted herself as she started toward him.

He trotted down the three steps to offer his arm.

“Thank you,” she breathed as her slim fingers tightened against his bare forearm.

A jolt of lightning flashed all the way to his shoulder and he quickly cleared his throat. “Car trouble?” he asked.

She turned to look at the vehicle, frowning. “I don't think so.”

He raised a brow. “You don't?”

She blinked up at him with jewel-green eyes. “Why would I? It seemed fine on the way in.”

He stared into those eyes, trying to decide if she was wearing colored contacts. No. He didn't think so. The eyes were all hers. As was that luscious hair and those full, dark lips.

“I think you've overheated,” he said, breathing heavily. He knew he sure had.

She gazed up at him in silence and her manicured nails pressed against him for a split second. “You, uh, know about cars?”

He pulled himself up a fraction of an inch. “Some.”

“That's good,” she said, her gaze never leaving his, the tip of her tongue flicking over her bottom lip for the barest of moments. “I mostly use taxis.”

“I take it you're not from around here?” Stupid question. If she lived anywhere near Blue Earth Valley, Cole would have spotted her before now.

“New York,” she said.

“The city?”

She laughed lightly and Cole's heart rate notched up. “Yes. The city.”

They reached the porch and a loud spattering hiss came through the open door. The coffee. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Hang on.” He took the stairs in two bounds, strode across the kitchen and grabbed the handle of the coffeepot, moving it back on the stove as he shut it down.

“You burned the coffee?” she asked from behind him.

“Afraid so.” He wiped up the spilled coffee then rinsed and dried his hands. Then he held one out to her. “Cole Erickson.”

Her smile grew to dazzling. “Sydney Wainsbrook.”

She shook his hand and the jolt of electricity doubled.

“You want me to take a look at your car?” he asked, reluctantly letting her go.

“I'd rather you offered me a cup of that coffee.”

“It's ruined,” he warned.

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I'm tough.”

He took in her elegant frame and choked out a short laugh. “Right.”

“Hey, I'm from New York.”

“This is Texas.”

“Try me.”

Cole bit down on his lip. Nope. Not going there.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she shook her head. “Walked right into that one, didn't I?”

He quickly neutralized his expression. “Walked right into what?”

She brushed past him and retrieved two stoneware mugs from the open shelf. “Don't you worry about my delicate sensibilities.” She held them both out. “Pour me some coffee.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

Sydney ran her fingertip around the rim of the ivory coffee cup. Even by New York standards, the brew was terrible. But she was drinking every last drop. Black.

She needed Cole to know she meant business, because he looked like the kind of guy who'd walk right over her if she so much as blinked.

She contemplated him from across the table. He was a big man, all muscle and sinew beneath a worn, plaid shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tight, corded forearms. He had thick hair, a square chin, a slightly bumped nose and expressive cobalt eyes that turned sensual and made her catch her breath.

He was going to be a challenge. But then, anything to do with the Thunderbolt of the North had to be a challenge. She'd have been disappointed if it had gone any other way.

“So what brings you to Blue Earth Valley, Sydney Wainsbrook?” he drawled into the silence.

She smiled, liking her audacious plan better by the second. She'd worried he might be obnoxious or objectionable, but he was a midnight fantasy come to life. Why some other woman hadn't snapped him up before now was a mystery to her.

“You do,” she said.

“Me?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, you.”

“Have we met?”

“Not until now.”

He sat back, blue eyes narrowing. Then a flash of comprehension crossed his face and he held up his palms. “Whoa. Wait a minute.”

“What?” Surely he couldn't have figured out her plan that quickly.

“Did my grandmother put you up to this?”

Sydney shook her head, relieved. “No, she didn't.”

“You sure? Because—”

“I'm sure.” The only person who had put Sydney up to this was Sydney. Well, Sydney and a thousand hours of research in museum basements across Europe.

She moved her cup to one side and leaned forward, her interest piqued. “But tell me why your grandmother might have sent me.”

He tightened his jaw and sat back in purposeful silence.

Sydney wriggled a little in her seat. “Hoo-ha. I can tell this is going to be good.”

He didn't answer, just stared her down.

“Dish,” she insisted, refusing to be intimidated. She had a feeling people normally gave him a wide berth. And she had no intention of behaving like normal people. Surprise was one of her best weapons.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. It's because she's an incorrigible matchmaker.”

Sydney bit down on a laugh. “Your grandmother is setting you up?”

He grimaced. “That sounded pathetic, didn't it?”

“A little.”

“She's a meddler. And…well…” He seemed to catch himself, and he quickly shook his head. “Nah. Not going there. You tell me what you're doing in Blue Earth Valley.”

Sydney wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. Right. Stalling wasn't going to change a thing. She'd plunge right in and hope to catch him off guard. “I'm a curator from the Laurent Museum.”

He didn't react. Didn't show any signs of panic. That was good.

“I've just finished three months' research in Europe.”

He waited. Still no reaction.

“It supplemented three years of previous research. My thesis, actually.”

“You wrote a thesis?”

“Yes, I did. On the Thunderbolt of the North.”

Okay. That got a reaction from him. His eyes chilled to sea ice and his jaw clamped tight.

“I understand you're the current owner.”

His palms came down hard on the table. “You understand wrong.”

“Let me rephrase—”

“Good idea.”

She leaned in again. “I know how it works.”

“You know how
what
works?”

“The inheritance. I know it goes to your wife. And I'm here to offer to marry you.”

E
verything inside Cole stilled.

He opened his mouth, then he snapped it shut again.

He stared at the perfectly gorgeous creature in front of him and tried to make sense out the situation. Was this a joke?

“Did Kyle put you up to this?” he asked.

“Who's Kyle?”

“My brother.”

She shook her head and all that auburn hair fanned out around her perfectly made-up face. “It wasn't your brother, and it wasn't your grandmother.”

“Then who?”

“Me.”

He paused again. “You seriously expect me to believe you came all the way from New York—”

“Yes, I do.” She reached into her clutch purse and pulled out a business card.

He read it. Sure enough, Laurent Museum. Okay, now he was just getting annoyed. The Thunderbolt wasn't a commodity to be bartered. It was a trust, a duty. “So was that breakdown nothing but a setup?”

“What breakdown?”

“Your car.”

“My car is fine.”

“Your car is fried.”

“You know, I just proposed to you.”

He stood up. “And you thought I'd say yes?”

“I'd hoped—”

“In what universe?” His voice rose, bouncing off the cabin walls. He was offended, offended on behalf of his grandmother, his ancestors and his heirs. “In what
universe
would I agree to marry a complete stranger and give away a family heirloom?”

She stood, too. “Oh, no. I didn't mean—”

“I have horses to shoe.” He was done listening. She could fix her own car for all he cared, or call a taxi or hoof it up to the main road.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Right now.” He scooped a battered Stetson from a hook on the wall and stuffed it on his head.

 

Sydney watched Cole march out of the small log cabin. Okay, that hadn't gone quite as well as she'd hoped. But then again, he hadn't really given her a chance to explain. She wasn't trying to
steal
the Thunderbolt. She merely wanted to display it for a few months.

She was pulling together a Viking show exceptional enough for front gallery space at the Laurent. With the Thunderbolt as the centerpiece, she would thwart Bradley
Slander and save her career. All she needed was the cooperation of one cowboy.

She moved to the cabin door and watched him head up a rise while she contemplated her next move.

The man had the broadest shoulders she'd ever seen. Solid as an oak tree, he had a confident stride and a butt that could stop traffic. She watched for a few more steps, then she forced her gaze away. His butt was irrelevant. The marriage would be in name only.

Her focus had to be on the brooch, not on the man. It wasn't as if she could put Cole on display in the front gallery. Although…

She squelched a grin and glanced at the rental car.

A breakdown, huh? Car trouble could be her ticket to more time with him. Swallowing the dregs of her coffee, she made up her mind. If that baby wasn't broken down now, it soon would be.

She waited until Cole disappeared over the hill. Then she popped the hood, yanked out some random wires and closed it up again, hoping she'd done some serious damage.

Dusting off her hands, she tucked her clutch purse under her arm and headed up the hill.

Three-inch heels were definitely not the best choice for the Erickson Ranch. Neither was a straight skirt and loose hair. By the time she closed in on Cole, she was disheveled and out of breath. She'd scratched her hand ducking through a barbed-wire fence, got a cactus stuck to the toe of her shoe and attracted a pair of horseflies that were now moving in for the kill.

Cole looked completely unfazed by the climb. He stood a hundred yards away, on the crest of the hill, with a coiled rope in one hand. He raised his thumb and index finger to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that she was willing
to bet would get the attention of every cab driver on Fifth Avenue.

The ground rumbled beneath her feet and she took an involuntary step backward. Then she forced herself to hold still and sucked in a bracing breath. If it was a stampede, it was a stampede.

The Thunderbolt had the power to launch her career to the stratosphere. And she'd studied too long and too hard to quit now. Better to be trampled to death trying to get her hands on it than give up and become a tour guide.

A herd of some twenty horses appeared on the ridge, their manes and tails flowing in a wave of black, brown and silver. In the face of their onslaught, Cole stood his ground. He lifted his battered cowboy hat and waved it in the air. The herd slowed, parted around him, then shuffled to a stop.

Okay. Now
that
was sexy.

And she wasn't dead.

The day was looking up.

Cole captured a big gray horse and led it through a gate. Sydney quickly followed. She was intimidated by the big animal, but she was more frightened of the two dozen of his friends they were leaving behind.

Cole tied up the horse then ran his hands soothingly along its neck. “Was there something about my
no
that was ambiguous?” he asked Sydney.

She found a log to perch on and gingerly plucked at the little round cactus on her shoe. Her skirt would probably be ruined, but that couldn't be helped. She played dumb. “You said no?”

He turned to stare at her for a moment. “Just in case you missed it the first time, no.”

“You haven't heard me out.”

“You're trying to steal my family heirloom. What's to
hear out?” With a firm pat on the horse's neck, he headed for a nearby shack.

She scrambled to her feet and followed. “I wasn't going to keep the brooch.”

He opened the door. “Ah. Well, in that case…”

Her spirits rose. “Yes?”

“No.” His answer was flat as he retrieved a wooden box and a battered metal stand.

Once again, he hadn't let her give enough information for a logical decision. “Are you always this unreasonable?”

“Yes.”

“You are not.”

He pulled the door shut. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Will you at least listen to my offer?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Have
you
ever listened to the wedding vows?”

“Of course.”

He started back to the horse. “There's a little thing in there about loving and honoring and till death do us part. And there's generally a preacher standing in front of you, along with your family and friends when you make those promises.”

Sydney hesitated. She hadn't actually thought through the details of the ceremony. She'd pictured something in a courthouse, a minimum number of words, mail-order wedding bands and a chaste kiss at the end.

“I could honor you,” she offered.

He stopped and turned, leaning slightly forward to pin her with a midnight-blue stare. “Could you love me?”

Sydney stilled. What kind of a question was that?

His gaze bore into hers, searching deep, as if sifting through her hopes and fears.

She knew how to love. She'd loved her foster parents. She loved her mother. But those loves turned bittersweet when her parents died in the house fire and her aging foster parents passed away five years ago.

“Hey there, Cole,” came a laughing feminine voice.

Sydney quickly pulled back, shaking off the unsettling memories.

Cole focused his attention over her shoulder.

“Hey, Katie.” He nodded.

“You been holding out on us?” asked the voice.

Sydney turned to see a woman on horseback come to a stop in front of the little shed. She had shoulder-length brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A cowboy hat dangled between her shoulder blades, and her burgundy shirt and crisp blue jeans made her look as if she had ridden out of a Western movie.

Her saddle leather creaked as she dismounted.

“What?” asked Cole. “You wanted to shoe the horses?”

The woman smirked as she led her chestnut horse forward. Then her smile turned friendly and she stretched her hand out to Sydney. “Katie Erickson. Cole's sister-in-law.”

Sydney reached out to shake the woman's surprisingly strong hand. “Sydney Wainsbrook.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Katie. She glanced speculatively at Cole for a split second before returning her attention to Sydney. “And what brings you to Blue Earth Valley?”

Sydney took in Cole's determined expression and decided she had little to lose. “I'm here to marry Cole.”

He sputtered an inarticulate sound.

But Katie shrieked in delight and her horse startled. “So you
were
holding out on us.”

“She's only after the Thunderbolt,” said Cole, planting the metal stand with disgust.

But Katie's attention was all on Sydney. “How long have you known him? Where did you meet?” Her gaze strayed to Sydney's bare fingers. “Did he propose yet?”

“I proposed to him.”

“She's after the Thunderbolt,” Cole repeated. “She's a con artist.”

“I'm a museum curator. I want to display the Thunderbolt. But I really am willing to marry him.”

“She's—” Cole threw up his hands, turning to pace back to the horse. “Forget it.”

Katie called after him. “Don't be so hasty, Cole. It sounds like a good offer. And you're not getting any younger, you know.”

He muttered something unintelligible.

Katie laughed, turning back to Sydney. “From a museum, you say?”

“The Laurent.”

“In New York?”

“Yes.”

Katie's reaction to the proposition wasn't nearly as negative as Cole's. Maybe she would listen to reason. Maybe she would even have some influence over her brother-in-law.

“I was planning to display the Thunderbolt temporarily,” said Sydney, keeping her voice loud enough to be sure Cole would hear. “It would only be a loan.”

“How did you know it went to his wife?” asked Katie.

“Research.”

“And how did you know he wasn't already married?”

“More research.” Sydney raised her voice again. “I was thinking of something simple and temporary. At the courthouse.”

“A marriage of convenience,” Katie nodded.

“Right.”

“And how would that be convenient for me?” Cole's hammer came down on a metal horseshoe and the rhythmic clanks echoed through the pasture.

“You could think of it as a public service,” said Sydney.

“I'm not altruistic.”

“You'd bring an important antiquity to the attention of the world.”

“It's a private possession.”

“It would only be a loan.”

“Why don't you give up?”

While Sydney formulated a response, Katie spoke up. “Why don't you come for dinner instead?”

“Katie,”
Cole stressed, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“We can talk about it, Cole,” said Katie. “No harm in talking about it.”

Sydney felt a surge of hope. She definitely had an ally in Katie.

“You two can do whatever you want,” said Cole, going back to hammering. “But I'm not coming to dinner.”

“Of course you are,” said Katie.

“Nope.”

“I'll send Kyle after you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Katie put her hands on her hips and arched one eyebrow.

 

“You really need to do something about your wife,” said Cole as he leaned on the rail next to the barbecue where his brother was grilling steaks.

Kyle closed the cast-iron lid and joined Cole. “It's not my fault you can't say no to her.”

“Can
you
say no to her?”

“Why would I want to say no to her?”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

Cole folded his arms over his chest. “Don't you ever need to just put your foot down and lay out the logic?”

Kyle laughed. “You're joking, right?”

“How can a man live with somebody orchestrating his every move?”

“Are we talking about Katie or Sydney?”

“Katie's helping Sydney. And we're talking about women in general.”

“And your fear of them.”

“Don't be absurd.”

“Then why are you freaking out over Sydney's idea?”

Cole peered at his brother, squinting in the dying light of the sunset. “Are you seriously suggesting I marry a stranger and give her the Thunderbolt?”

“She's from a museum, not some crime family. I'm only suggesting you hear her out.”

Katie appeared in the doorway, a big wooden salad bowl clasped in her hands. “Hear who out?”

“Sydney,” said Kyle.

“Oh, good,” said Katie. “We're just in time.”

Sydney appeared behind her with a basket of rolls, and Cole did an involuntary double take. She'd removed her jacket and her silk, butter-yellow blouse highlighted the halo of her rich, auburn hair. Her rounded breasts pressed against the thin fabric, and a small flash of her stomach peeked out between the hem of her blouse and the waistband of her skirt.

“Can you open the wine?” Katie asked Cole.

“Uh, sure,” said Cole, with a mental shake, telling himself to quit acting like a teenager. He reached for the corkscrew.

“I was the high bid on Night-Dreams,” he said to his
brother, not so subtly changing the direction of the conversation.

Kyle shot him a knowing grin but played along. “Planning to use Sylvester as a sire?”

Cole popped the cork on the bottle of merlot. “Come next spring, it's the start of a whole new bloodline.”

After Sydney set the rolls down on the table, Cole automatically pulled out her chair. She accepted with a smile of thanks, and the scent of her perfume wafted under his nose.

“That reminds me,” said Kyle from the other side of the table. “I need your signature on a contract with Everwood.” He transferred the sizzling steaks from the grill to a wooden platter. “Gave me my price. He'll take all the beef we can supply.”