Solid Gold Seduction (The Drakes of California) (7 page)

Chapter 15

C
harli swore that the only reason she’d changed into her nice jeans and pink ruffled top was because of the shift in the weather, and that she wore gloss because her lips were dry. Her hair, well, a girl had to wash it sometimes, right? It hung wild and loose, the curls swinging around her face as she bounced down the road in her trusty pickup, and after much argument and cajoling, one of Griff’s freshly made apple pies sat in the passenger seat.

She turned into the Drake driveway and saw a flurry of activity happening up ahead. Her stomach fluttered.
Maybe I should have called.
But at the exact moment she thought to turn around, Warren looked up. And waved. No way to back out now. She parked next to a shiny new SUV, reached for the pie and jumped down from the cab before nonstop thoughts made her lose her nerve. Before she cleared her truck bed, Warren had broken away from the group of men and was walking her way.

“Hello.”

It was just a word, but the way he delivered it made her want to see the eyes hidden behind dark shades. He looked manly and rugged, adapting to the countryside in his beat-up jeans and cowboy boots. Who was this buckaroo, and what happened to the tux-wearing, diamond stud-sporting Fred Astaire she’d danced with two weeks ago?

“Thank you.”

Warren removed his glasses, looked down at the box she held and then back at her. “You’re welcome.”

“This is for you.” Charli held out the pie box and cursed herself for the breathy way she was talking, the way her hands were shaking, and the way her heart was getting ready to beat right out of her chest.

He took the box. Their fingers touched. Sparks flew. Muscles clenched in hidden places.

“Did you make this?” he asked, raising the lid and sniffing the contents.

“No. Griff is the main cook in the house. But I can hold my own,” she added, lest he think that she couldn’t boil an egg.

“It smells delicious.”

“It is.” A brief, awkward silence and then, “Why’d you do it?”

“Buy the cows?” He shrugged. “You lost one. I saw the sign.” She frowned. “It’s Thursday and I’m in a good mood. Heck, I don’t know! I didn’t think about it. I just did it.”

“I can’t accept them as a gift, you know.”

Warren’s expression changed from one of relaxed camaraderie to mild frustration. “No, I don’t know.”

Charli swallowed, trying to find courage in the face of his stare. “If you’ll just tell me how much you paid for them, I can set up a plan to pay you back.”

Warren’s eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with the beef—no pun intended—that supposedly happened between our grandfathers? Because I can’t think of any other reason that you’d act this ungrateful.”

No, he didn’t just talk to me like I was twelve.
Anger flashed, hot and immediate. Charli was thankful. Anger was good. Anger would put her back in a place that was familiar and take her out of the murky emotional waters that she was now treading.

“How dare you! I am
not
ungrateful! I came over here to thank you, to show my appreciation, the expression of which you are now holding in your hands!”

“What I’m holding is a pie that somebody else made. So it would seem that Griff is thankful. Am I to assume that he speaks for you?”

How in the world was what she thought could be a potentially flirtatious occasion now going to hell in a handbasket?

She crossed her arms. “Griff warned me not to take them. He said that your motives would not be pure.”

Warren took a step toward her. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Charli willed herself not to shrink back. Instead, she lifted her chin a notch. “Yes. He did.”

Without another word, Warren spun around and stalked to the SUV that was parked beside her truck. He got in it, started it up and spewed gravel as he backed out and headed down the driveway.

It all happened so quickly that it took a moment for Charli’s brain to communicate the obvious.
He’s headed to my house!

She ran to her pickup, jumped in the cab and started it up before her door was shut. Gravel flew again as she raced to catch up with the shiny new SUV, probably pulling with eight cylinders compared to her six. “Oh my God,” she mumbled, shifting into fifth gear and willing her pickup to, well, pick up speed. “Please let Griff be gone to get groceries!”

Because she had a feeling if the two men met up before she reached them, it wouldn’t be nice.

She turned off the end of the driveway, and the truck sputtered and died. She pressed on the gas pedal. Nothing.

“No!” She pumped the pedal and turned the key. Still, the truck refused to speak. The battery had been giving her hints, nudges, warnings that it needed to be replaced. Warnings that she should have heeded because now her truck battery was dead.

Hopefully, no human she knew would share this fate.

* * *

Warren reached the Reed property and took the turn on two wheels. He hadn’t been this angry since...well...in a long darn time! The nerve of someone to call his character into question. To assume that his random act of kindness had strings attached. To suggest that being kin to Walter Drake was akin to being shady. Walter Drake was a stalwart, upright man. Griff or any other dirt dabbler could only wish he could measure up to the heels on his grandfather’s wing-tipped shoes!

He reached the house and brought his SUV to a screeching halt in the middle of the driveway. He was breathing heavy and his heart raced; he was so angry that he even scared himself.
Man, you’ve got to calm down!
Still, he flexed his hands and balled them into fists, taking a moment to relish the idea of one of them connecting to the mouth that talked trash against him.

“No, you’re not going to get physical,” he mumbled aloud, working to calm his irate nerves. “You’re better than that. You’re a man. And you’re getting ready to show this old-school fool what one looks like.”

He opened the car door, calmly walked up on the Reed porch, crossed to the heavy wooden front door and knocked.

Once.

Twice.

No answer.

He looked around and noted several cars about, including an old Ford pickup that looked a lot like Griff, whether it belonged to the old geezer or not.

He turned back to the door. And knocked harder.
Bang!

The door opened with a jerk.

Griff was chewing his ever-present toothpick. His face was set. His eyes were narrowed. “What the hell you want?”

Warren took a breath. “My grandfather, Walter Drake, taught me to respect my elders. So,
Mr
. Griff, I want to know what I ever did to you to cause you to take my name and drag it through the Reed land mud?”

Chapter 16

G
riff eyed the young upstart trying to hold onto his temper. He looked beyond him for Charli’s truck. Didn’t see it. But something told him that the fact that Warren was standing before him had everything to do with Charli’s visit to his ranch. And something told him it wasn’t about whether there’d been too much cinnamon in the pie.

“Where’s Charli?”

Warren looked behind him and then turned back to Griff. “I don’t know. But she’s not who I’ve come to visit. I’ve come to see you, Mr. Griff. To talk man to man. Because somewhere along the way you’ve gotten the mistaken notion that you know me. I’m here to clear up some areas where you’ve clearly gotten it wrong.”

After what seemed like a pause long enough to drive an omnibus through, Griff stepped out onto the porch. “I’m listening.”

“First of all, I’m not a shady person, nor do I execute business deals in an underhanded way. If I were looking for something, payment of some kind, for the cows I purchased, I would have negotiated the fee up front.

“Secondly, there was absolutely no forethought put into my buying the cows for Charli.
Charli,
Mr. Griff, not you. It happened on the spur of the moment, after my company had experienced a relatively good week. I was in a good mood and wanted to do something nice for someone who I felt deserved it. Period. End of story.

“Thirdly, and finally, I don’t buy women, and I damn sure don’t buy them with cows!”

Warren’s chest heaved with the force of his passion. Griff calmly cleaned his fingernails with the toothpick he’d pulled from his mouth.

“Well?” Warren said at last. “Are you going to deny that you said I had ulterior motives? Do you have anything at all to say to me?”

“Maybe,” Griff drawled, after another moment had passed. “But it might go down better with a taste.” He turned, walked toward the front door and said with his back to Warren’s scowl, “Come on in.”

With only a slight hesitation, Warren followed Griff into the house. He took in the cozy, lived-in atmosphere at once: dark wood floors, a long, leather couch, a well-worn recliner, two rocking chairs, a cowhide rug, afghan throws and a huge, rugged dining room table that looked as though it had been built on site from some of the oak trees out back. The boards were held together with huge iron studs and the top appeared to be at least six inches thick. A few items that signaled a woman’s touch kept the dark room from being too manly: gingham curtains, gilt-framed pictures and a vase of flowers sitting atop the table, hydrangeas that had obviously been picked from the outside bushes.

Griff turned, holding two bottles. “This here weak stuff or my homemade hooch?”

Warren eyed the bottle of store-bought scotch in Griff’s left hand and the unlabeled bottle containing clear liquid in his right. This was a test, he knew. Warren determined that he would pass it if it killed him. He might not have been so gung ho if he’d known it likely could. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

An eyebrow shot up. “You sure about that?”

“What doesn’t kill me will make me stronger, right?”

Griff pulled two shot glasses from off the hutch and filled them with the clear liquid. Warren walked over to where he stood as Griff held up a glass. Warren took it, braced himself and after Griff had lifted his glass in a silent toast, slammed it back.

And like to have died.

To say that the liquid burned going down was an understatement. No, it felt as if someone had taken a lit torch and stuck it down his throat
after
it had been coated with butane. But he took it like a man, refusing to gasp or drop to his knees the way he wanted to do. He felt sweat pop out on his brow and under his arms. Still, he’d swallowed the conflagration masquerading as alcohol and—aside from his eyes watering and a lone tear escaping from the side of his left one, one he surreptitiously swiped away—had shown no outer reaction.

Griff, who’d downed the drink like water, simply licked his lips.

Warren figured that Griff was waiting for him to say something.
Wonder if you can talk without a voice box?
He seriously questioned whether or not he had one left.

The merest upturning of Griff’s mouth before he held up the bottle. “Another?”

Warren gave one single head shake, even as he tested his tongue to see if it could move.

“Sure?”

He swallowed again.
Okay, maybe there’s hope that I can still talk.
“That’s...” He stopped, cleared his throat and tried to bring it back to its normal register instead of the pitch about an octave above it that he’d just heard. “That’s good stuff.”

Griff knocked back the second shot and placed the glass on the table. Warren finished another shot and set down his glass, too. Thankfully.

“Have a seat,” Griff said, walking over to the recliner.

After taking a tentative step to make sure his leg didn’t wobble, Warren followed him into the living room, taking a seat on the well-worn brown couch. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Which might explain why after two shots of Griff’s brew he felt he needed coffee, or sleep.

“What was that?” he asked.

“The drink?”

Warren nodded.

“Corn liquor, my special brew.” Griff smiled, revealing a row of white teeth interrupted by a gold one on the side. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“If that’s the case, I probably could pass for an ape right about now.”

“Ha!” Griff reached for a tobacco pouch on the table beside him, turned it back and forth in his hand. “Most folk can’t handle the first sip. They either spit or gag.” He gave Warren a look that came precariously close to respectful.

Quiet ensued. Warren again looked around the room where Charli spent time, where he imagined she’d grown up. But had she? He wasn’t sure and in this moment realized just how little he knew about his neighbor. Then, remembering Griff’s reaction the last time she was mentioned, he decided on a different line of conversation.

“What happened between Mr. Reed and my grandfather?”

Griff’s mouth set into a hard line. He looked away from Warren, out the plate-glass window into the expansive backyard. “Walter still living?”

“Yes.”

“Ask him.”

“That’s fair.” More silence and then Warren bit the bullet—talking about the person who was really on his mind. “I mean no harm to Charli.”

The pause was so long that Warren wondered whether Griff had heard, or if he’d answer. But he finally did. “Time will tell.”

“Yes, it will. And I hope that when time proves that I’m a gentleman, you’ll be around to see it.”

“Oh, I’ll be here,” Griff said, his eyes narrowing as he fixed an unflinching gaze on Warren. “It was Charles’s dying request for me to look after her. I gave him my word. My word is my bond.”

“So is mine.” Warren’s gaze was unwavering as well.

“Fair enough.” Griff stood. “Another shot?”

Warren reared back against the couch and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. He knew that later he would pay for it, knew that there was a good chance that after today he’d never be able to taste anything for the rest of his life. Not with fried taste buds. But he knew what Griff was doing and was determined to match him round for round. That’s why as much as he still felt his insides rumbling from the last one, he gave a slow smile and answered, “Sure.”

Chapter 17

B
lasted bum battery!
Charli thanked the man who’d helped her push her truck back from the two-lane road before he used his cables to jump it. She barely allowed him time to get the hood closed before she put the jalopy into gear and was flying back down the street. Gravel flew everywhere as she turned onto the paved lane, racing the short distance to Reed Ranch. Various scenarios and images played in her head, none of them good. With two men as proud and stubborn as Griff and Warren, she had no doubt that she’d arrive to spilled blood. The only question in her mind was which one would get the worst of the fight. Warren was younger but when it came to stamina and determination, Griff took that hands down.

She sped up, pushed the old Ford to its limit. When she reached the turn into the Reed Ranch drive, she banged her hand against the wheel as a tractor pulling a thirty-foot bed of steel pipes, going all of thirty-five miles an hour, chose this exact time to pass her driveway. As soon as she could get around it she turned left, half of the truck on pavement and half on grass. Her heart skittered around inside her chest like a Ping-Pong ball.

The front yard came into view. She looked for bodies. No one was sprawled on the grass. To the right was Griff’s pickup and beside it Warren’s SUV. Her brow creased.
Where are they? The house?
Overturned furniture and broken glass immediately came to mind. She threw the truck into Park, stomped on the emergency brake and jumped out almost before the wheels stopped rolling.

Rushing up the steps, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks: laughter.

What?
She turned and looked again. Maybe she’d just imagined that Warren’s SUV was still parked on the property. Nope. It was definitely there. She couldn’t recall hearing Warren laugh but that low, raspy chuckle coming through the screen door was definitely Griff. She took a breath, squared her shoulders and marched inside.

“Charli!” Griff’s voice was animated and his eyes were bright. “Where you been, girl?”

Her eyes narrowed. There was only one thing that made Griff talk loud and act so jubilant: moonshine.

She looked at Warren. “Drake, what’s going on here?”

Warren offered a lopsided smile. “Griff was sharing your Annie Oakley stories. How you killed a snake in the henhouse with one shot, then brought it out hanging over the gun.”

“Remember that, Charli?” Griff asked, his voice filled with affection. “I think you were around ten years old.”

Suddenly shy, Charli shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget.”

“The gun was almost as tall as she was,” Griff said to Warren, leaning toward him and talking in a conspiratorial tone as if they were best buds. “Charles was as proud as a peacock. Called her a chip off the old block.”

She smiled in spite of her trepidation at what other stories Griff had shared. There were one or two things in her childhood past that she wished to stay there. “That’s a monster of a house you’re building,” she said to change the subject. “How many bedrooms is it?”

“Four bed, four and a half bath,” Warren responded.

“Only four bedrooms? It looks bigger.”

“Jackson, that’s my contractor, has added a few bonus rooms—theater, solarium, butler’s pantry—places I’ll probably rarely visit. But he said it would be good for the resale value.” He saw a look pass between Griff and Charli and realized that maybe he’d said too much. It was obvious from the looks of their home that for them money might be an issue. He was the last one who’d want to make them self-conscious about their lack of wealth.

Fortunately he was saved by the bell, otherwise known as the ringer on his cell phone. He reached for it and looked down. “Excuse me,” he said before taking the call. “Hello?” He paused, watching as Charli walked to the hutch and poured a glass of water. Mindful that Griff was also watching, he made sure to keep his eyes above her waist. “No, I’m close. Right down the street.” He stood. “No problem, I’m on my way. Be there in five minutes.”

“That was my brother. He’s down at the property. I need to meet him there.” Walking over with hand outstretched he said, “Mr. Griff, thanks for the hospitality, and the drink.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Charli, I’ll see you later.”

She made no move toward him, but her eyes were soft as she answered, “See you later, Drake.”

The two men were silent as they walked toward Warren’s car. When they reached it, Griff held out his hand. “Thanks for the cattle.”

Warren shook it. “You’re welcome.”

“It’s a big help.”

Warren nodded. “I’m glad we had this time to talk, Mr. Griff.”

“Just Griff is fine.”

“Yes, sir.” He opened his car door.

“Drake?”

“Yes, sir?”

“To answer your question, Griff is my first name.”

Warren smiled. “Yes, sir. Bye, Griff.”

He started his car, continuing to smile as he drove down their drive. He couldn’t help but marvel at how different he felt going than he had coming. On the way there, he’d been madder than a hornet. Now he felt as if he’d made a new friend. He felt the beginning of a headache, too, and hoped someone at the site had aspirin. Griff’s liquor had been lethal, but after drinking water for the last hour at least he was somewhat sober.

So yes, he felt he’d finally melted some of the ice around Griff’s heart, and maybe Charli’s, too. Griff’s hooch, on the other hand, had melted Warren’s insides. Risky move going toe to toe with a man as tough as the old ranch hand. Only time would tell if it had been worth it.