'Til the End of Time (23 page)

Oh, no, no, no.
Cole walking her home was
not
a good idea. She was a busy woman. Too busy to mess around with a guy like Cole Grayson, with his sexy-as-sin smile. “No, thanks. I’ll get your jacket back to you tomorrow.” The sooner she got away from him, the better. Julie turned away and started walking through the park.

“Mmmm … no,” Cole said as he fell into step beside her. “You’re just going to have to get used to me.”

Not likely.
He was gorgeous.
Too
gorgeous. And boy, did he know it!

Julie stole a sideways glance at him, then slid her eyes quickly back. Her heart was
beating too rapidly in her chest. She was breathless, dizzy—like seasickness, but without the sick. Whatever it was, it was bad news.

Who was she kidding?
This
was why she’d done her best to ignore him ever since he’d moved back to Star Harbor. Because her body betrayed her whenever he was around, just like it had so long ago when he’d stolen that kiss. At least then, she’d been able to keep her reaction in check. If you called slapping his face “in check.” Now, they were both adults, and of course the stakes were higher. She had a job to do, and she had zero time to worry about getting involved with anyone, let alone a notorious womanizer.

“Actually,” he said, his deep voice sounding slightly hollow in the thick of the woods, “I’m glad I ran into you. I need to ask you for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” she responded warily.

“I’m planning a safety demonstration at the Spring Fair. I was hoping that you’d join us, as Star Harbor’s doctor-in-residence, to give a run-down on some basic medical care. I’ve got the Kingsport EMTs already lined up as your demonstration team. It would mean a lot if you’d agree to participate.”

The man seemed serious. “When is it?”

“The third weekend in April, same as always.”

“Okay. I’ll do it. For Star Harbor.”

“For me,” Cole underscored, softly.

“I’m happy to help out with your project,” Julie informed him. “In fact, I think it’s a great idea. But let me be clear: I am
not
doing this for
you
.” They had reached the front steps of her house. Julie gracefully vaulted up them and removed his jacket. “Here.” She turned around on the stoop, jacket in hand, with Cole right behind her, one step down. Even down five inches, he was still slightly taller, and she was staring right into his piercing eyes.

She was about to tell him to get lost, but he curled one hand around her upper arm as his other hand covered her hand holding the jacket. His hands were hot where they touched her skin.

“Why don’t you want to do this just for me?” She caught a whiff of his scent—all male
and amazingly good. Like sea and spice and musk. Her pulse rate skyrocketed.

“You know why,” she managed to get out.

“Yeah.” His voice was husky. “Yeah, I know.” He slid his hand up her arm to her face and stroked her temple, pushing back a stray strand of hair, his eyes locked on hers. A low, dark shiver started in the base of her spine and jolted upward. “You’re not going to slap me again, are you?”

He remembers.
“I’m thinking about it,” she murmured, unable to tear her gaze away.

Cole didn’t smile. “Then you’d better go inside before I give you a real reason to.”

It took her only a fraction of a second to realize what he meant and when she got his drift, she swallowed. Hard.

Cole stared at her for just a moment more. Then, smoothly, he released her, grabbed his jacket, and walked down the steps. There, he waited patiently while she reached into the tiny pocket of her leggings and took out her house key. It was only when she’d let herself into the welcome comfort of her childhood home and flicked on the hall light that he gave her a nod before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

Scarlet Lady

 
PROLOGUE

The New Mexico mountain hideaway known as Shangri-la to its creator and Angel Central to its grateful clients, had been peaceful for weeks. Lincoln McAllister knew it was too good to last A need would arise and an angel would be asked to return the help given to him or her.

This time the call came from Sterling, secretary and administrative assistant to Mac’s old friend Conner Preston. Because of Mac, Conner had been reunited with the only woman he’d ever loved. Now they were on their honeymoon, leaving the ever-faithful Sterling in charge of Conner’s firm. But this call wasn’t business, it was a personal request for Mac’s help.

Sterling needed an angel.

“It’s Katherine Carithers,” Sterling explained. “Her brother, Carson, came to see me. He’s made some bad business decisions and Katie has come up with a plan to rescue him. Seems Carson’s tried to recoup his losses by
gambling. He lost. Then he put up his share of the family plantation as collateral for his gambling debts.”

“Plantation?” Mac said with a laugh. “As in the Old South? What is this, some kind of antebellum melodrama?”

“Almost. The Caritherses go back that far. Old Carson, one of the first planters along the Mississippi, gambled on cotton and indigo. He won big. He was smart, too, put his money in foreign banks before the War Between the States. The present Carson, his great-great-great-great-grandson, just gambled—not for himself, mind you, but in a foolish effort to save that business.”

“What’s your connection, Sterling?” Mac asked. With every telephone call he received, Mac became more intrigued by the mysterious Sterling, who ran her boss’s business empire but was never seen by the public. Though he and Sterling went back a long way, Mac had never known her to ask for a personal favor—until now.

“Katherine is the daughter of one of my mother’s oldest friends. She and her husband were killed in a plane crash two years ago. The family business has already gone under, but Katherine is determined to protect the plantation and her brother. Mother says she’s a certified genius when it comes to numbers.”

“Okay. She’s a genius with numbers.”

“Oh, Mac, I’m explaining this badly. According to Carson, Katie went to a casino tonight to gamble. She expects to win enough money to pay off her brother’s gambling debts and buy his marker back from the man who holds it and the plantation. I’d like to help her, but
she’s so proud she isn’t likely to accept help, and I … can’t leave here.”

“Sounds like foolishness runs in the family.”

“Carson says she’s a poker whiz. But she’s never played with professionals. Mac, she’s convinced she can win.”

“So was her brother.”

Sterling gave a low, throaty laugh. “Mac, the man she’s taking on is a real pro.”

“Oh? Who?”

“He calls himself Montana now, but I managed to find out that his full name is—can you believe this?—Rhett Butler Montana. He owns a Mississippi riverboat casino called the
Scarlet Lady
.”

Mac couldn’t hold back a chuckle of his own. He’d gotten Montana a job on that boat years ago when his family had disowned him. Now he owned the boat. And he’d dropped the famous name his starstruck mother had given him. Montana suited him very well.

“Ah, Sterling. Not a world-shaking dilemma, but interesting. Is Katherine beautiful, smart, and conniving?”

“I don’t know what she looks like, but she’s just as determined to keep her family together and save their land as the original Scarlett. And she thinks Montana is ready to take it Carson is worried. I said I’d see what I could do. If you can help, I’ll owe you.”

“Of course,” Mac said. Finishing their conversation, he dropped the phone into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. “And I think we can keep the lady from knowing she’s being helped.”

Mac had been surprised at the emotion in the
normally unruffled Sterling’s voice. Gamblers who got themselves in trouble weren’t Mac’s idea of people with earth-shattering problems, but he couldn’t ignore her request to bail the girl out, and it
was
time he checked on the man calling himself Montana.

Though if Katherine had already left for the riverboat casino, Mac was too late to stop her. Maybe losing would teach her the lesson her brother hadn’t learned. Of course, she could win. Katie, Rhett Butler, and the
Scarlet Lady.

Intriguing.

If the players were anything like their namesakes, the South could rise again. It was time he called in his marker from Montana. He tried the gambler’s office. Montana was on the river. Mac left a message and sat back to wait.

While he waited he thought about the mysterious Sterling who was never more than a voice on the telephone.

 
ONE

A hush fell over the rowdy Saturday-night crowd of gamblers on the third deck of the Mississippi riverboat known as the
Scarlet Lady.

The dark-eyed man, Rhett Butler Montana—Montana to his customers—glanced up, searching for the reason. The third deck was reserved for the serious gamblers, but this kind of silence meant trouble. It took one look at the woman standing in the doorway to know he’d found the reason.

Her hair was shiny black, pinned up with a swatch of red glitter and feathers. Her dress, held up by thin straps that challenged the law of gravity, had a short skirt barely covering long legs that ought to be illegal.

She simply stood, studying the scene before her with mesmerized concentration—until she spotted Montana. Then, deliberately, it seemed, she parted and moistened her lips.

“Whoa, boss,” Royal Lennox whispered from his
customary position behind the cashier’s booth. “Who’s the lady?”

But Montana didn’t answer. The connection between them was so potent he had no words. She didn’t move, and neither did he. Her gaze wasn’t just a question; it was a come-and-get-me dare. She was deifying him to respond.

Lazily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his signature cheroot, biting off the end and clamping it between his teeth. Then he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment of her challenge.

Two could play whatever game she had in mind. In fact, he was counting on it.

The gamblers soon lost interest and the noise level rose once more. For another long heavy moment she continued staring, then gave a quick nod and started toward him in long graceful steps more like the slinky moves of a jungle cat than those of a woman wearing four-inch heels.

“Look out, boss, she’s giving you the evil eye. A woman like that’ll take your soul before you even know it’s gone.”

But Royal was wrong. Three steps before the woman reached Montana, she tilted her head, put a hint of a pout in her bottom lip, and gave him a nod that said they’d come out even, then moved past him and came to a stop at the change window in front of Royal.

“Yes, ma’am, Ms.?”

“Katie, just Katie,” she said in a low voice. She could feel the man with the dark eyes watching.

The man inside the iron cage seemed spellbound.

“Chips”—Katie’s voice was as smooth as silk, more Ivy League than Southern belle, until she added—“please?” She dipped into the purse swinging from a thin gold chain over her shoulder and pulled out two folded hundred-dollar bills that she handed to the banker.

Royal made a gallant attempt to speak, foiled miserably, managing only a gulp as he slid a small stack of chips across the counter.

She turned, caught sight of Montana, then moved rapidly away. Moments later she was perched on a stool across from Montana’s best blackjack dealer.

As the smoke from his cheroot drifted into the darkness overhead, the riverboat owner groaned. Two hundred dollars’ worth of chips wouldn’t last her long. Not long enough for him to find out more about her, coax her into having a drink with him, and whatever might follow. Reaching a decision, he directed Royal to take the dealer’s place.

“Make sure she wins often enough to stick around,” he told his astonished employee.

“You want me to cheat, boss?” Royal’s voice came back in shocked dismay. “Really?”

Montana nodded. “If you have to.”

Having Royal cheat to lose wasn’t going to happen. He was a bad enough gambler to do it honestly.

As Royal relieved the dealer the puzzled man found Montana and lifted his eyebrows in question before turning over the cards.