Lone Star Baby Scandal (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 7)

He had given considerable thought to the possibility that his attraction to her was because for him, she’d become a nurse, a psychiatrist, a trainer, a cook and sometimes a shoulder to cry on. All wrapped in one beautiful package. But it wasn’t because of anything she’d said or done. It wasn’t just because she was hands down one of the most beautiful and intelligent women he’d ever met—and yet it was all of those things and more. Clay wanted her. In his house. In his bed. Twenty-four-seven. And he’d tried. But for reasons he didn’t understand, Sophie refused. Nor would she let him touch her again. Damned frustrating. If this was some kind of misguided ploy to get him to notice her—to want her—it was working. But when was it going to end?

Instead of returning to the house, she joined him on the bleachers without a word, resting her arms on her knees and fiddling with a wild flower she’d found somewhere.

“So what’s on the schedule for today, boss?”

She knew the answer: nothing. But she asked anyway. She always did.

When he didn’t answer, she proceeded to give him a few choices. “You’ve left your cloud-computing business in the hands of others far too long. It’s past time you picked up the reins.” He sniffed at the pun and watched her grin before she continued. “The cows are calving. You have six new foals on the ground. Jonesy said they all looked top-notch. After lunch, why don’t we head to the foaling barn and check them out? I love seeing the new foals.” And you used to, she didn’t say. After two years, he’d learned what Sophie didn’t say held as much weight as what she did say.

“Okay.” He shrugged, knowing full well she would badger him all day if he didn’t agree. He hadn’t been down to the foaling barn since the accident. It had been a place where he’d grown up. A place to plan his future, to dream about all the things he wanted to do in his life. But no more. That life, as he knew it, was over.

“I’ll go and check on lunch and give you a ring when it’s ready. Can you make it down the stairs by yourself?”

The glare he gave her produced the full grin he loved to see on her face.

“Oh, you poor old soul,” she teased, hopping down from the bleachers. “I’ll have Nathan come and carry you to the house.”

“Not unless you want Nathan hurt.”

She giggled and turned toward the house. Nathan was the ranch hand she had called when, just after returning home from the extended stay at the hospital, Clay fell and couldn’t drag himself back onto his feet. At six-foot-four and two hundred and eighty-five pounds, Nathan was a close match to Clay in physical size and stamina. He had Clay up and on his way in a fast minute. Since then it had become an inside joke between them. If Clay got stubborn and refused to get out of his chair or dismissed a call to dinner, she threatened him with Nathan. She was playing on his ego. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he let her get away with it most of the time. He was not a damned invalid. He might not be able to swing his leg over a saddle—yet—but he could damn well make it up the stairs by himself.

He recognized that Sophie was well-intentioned. He was almost back to 100 percent except for the limp that would take years to overcome, but she knew that implying he was an invalid pushed his buttons. Few things stuck in his craw like that one did. He had come to accept her methods and her teasing without flinging some nasty remark back in her direction, but many times he’d had to bite his tongue to achieve that end. Her nature was that of a mother hen and one of her chicks had fallen out of the nest. Well, peep, peep. He swung his legs over the edge of the stairs and followed her to the main house, cane in hand.

* * *

“You received an email from someone named Conrad Drexler,” she told Clay as Rose set a beautifully seared steak in front of him. “It sounded important. He wants you to call him at your first opportunity.”

“Yeah, I’ll call him after lunch.”

“Clay, what’s going on? You’ve been closed up in your office for over a week. Is there something I should be doing? Has something happened?”

“Nope. Not a thing. All’s good.”

He wasn’t telling the truth. She’d learned to look for a slight pulsating under his left eye if he was upset, angry or concerned about something. It never failed. And right now the tiny vein was pulsing for all it was worth.

“Well, everything appears to be going as it should. Everest stock is soaring and the people I’ve spoken with seem genuinely happy with the quality of service they are getting.” She smiled at him. “Word has spread and it’s growing unbelievably fast. But I guess you know that?” The business’s success had propelled him to the rank of billionaire. After putting his days as the world’s top cowboy behind him, he’d also started several other companies and all were doing well, although not as well as Everest.

“Yeah,” he answered as he began to cut into the perfectly grilled steak. “So far Everest is doing all right.”

When a company stopped gaining and growing at a rate Clay thought was acceptable, he did as he had always done in the rodeo arena: he studied. And studied some more. He’d compiled statistics on every working bull in the circuit and its method of removing a rider from its back. Was the bull a spinner, a kicker, did it rotate its shoulders and if yes, in what direction and to what degree? What were its weaknesses and its merits? He took into account age and lineage and any other factor he could find on any one cow and by the time he pulled up to the rodeo arena, he knew every bull in the lineup inside and out. It didn’t matter which one he drew, he knew more about it than the owner did. The same went for the industries where he did business.

But knowledge was only a part of the puzzle. Where it ended, Clay’s tenacity took over. When he set his mind on something, accomplishment was usually just around the corner. He had a knack for business, was a genius with numbers and statistics, and developing and running a company came as naturally to him as breathing was for everyone else.

But something was going on. If she couldn’t figure it out, she would have to wait on Clay to tell her. Oftentimes that wasn’t until he had managed to solve the problem. She wasn’t usually called in unless things were nearly out of control and he needed her help. She supposed all she could do at this time was watch his body language and be prepared for anything.

“Aren’t you going to finish your lunch?” Clay asked as she stood and walked toward the door.

“Not really hungry. See you later.”

“You pulled me all the way back to the house with a lecture on

eating right—then you don’t eat?”

She shrugged. “I’ll get something later.”

With a sigh of frustration Clay picked up his full plate, a napkin, cutlery and his drink and disappeared inside of his office, closing the connecting door between their offices. Drexler was one of the men who’d helped Clay develop Everest. What the exact purpose of his call was, Clay hadn’t said. He played his cards pretty close to his chest until his idea took root or problem was solved.

If anyone called him an entrepreneur to his face, he would laugh it off and respond by saying he was just an old cowhand who had run into some luck. In truth he was a shrewd and intelligent businessman who seemed to have a natural ability to turn dust into gold.