Hot Quit Read online

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2013 Kathryn M. Roberts

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612186894

  ISBN-10: 1612186890

  This book is for my mother, Rose Marie Earhart, who never gave up on my writing.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  The midday heat rippled the air, distorting the painted circle denoting the landing zone, giving it life as it waved and undulated at the top of a black and green glass skyscraper. From above, Alexandria Payne watched her perfectly proper personal secretary lose part of her composure as she fought her skirt swirling around her legs. The helicopter settled on the rooftop like a huge bird on its nest, and the moment the skids touched down, Alexandria sat back, gathered her briefcase, and systematically ordered her thoughts as she did every time she returned from a business trip.

  As the rotor blades slowed, the copilot jumped from the cockpit and opened the passenger door. He was quick to offer his hand to Alexandria as she emerged and even quicker to reach inside for her bags as she stepped away.

  “Please wait here until I call,” she said with the air of a person accustomed to giving orders. “I’m sure that once I speak with Mr. Maitland, we’ll want to dine…somewhere.” She smoothed the side of her blonde hair, the Los Angeles heat already forcing a hint of perspiration on her brow as she turned to the older woman. “Hesperia. Did Mr. Maitland confirm the meeting with the COMJET people for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she answered as she took the garment bag from the copilot. The helicopter engine stilled, leaving only the whoosh of the blades as they decelerated. “He has also arranged for you to dine with the Phelpses.”

  “No,” Alexandria said as she strode toward the elevator. “He’ll have to cancel. I don’t have time to socialize now that we’re so close to getting the upper hand with COMJET. He has to realize how important this is—well, never mind, I’ll speak to him”—she strode ahead—“…did he check into…” The pair stepped into the elevator and the sound of her voice disappeared as the door slid shut. The helicopter blades stalled, and it was quiet except for the distant sound of ordinary life twenty stories below.

  Minutes later, Alexandria sat behind her own desk—glad to be inside with air conditioning—and tried to concentrate on the figures before her. Some things just fell into place, and then there were others that were trouble from start to finish. The COMJET deal was one of the latter, but those were the ones that Alexandria lived for—they were the challenge; they were the sparks she needed to keep her sanity, to make life interesting. When she and Paul Maitland had entered into their partnership, she’d been the one to take risks, the daring one who plotted and schemed, and he’d been the solid fact-finder, the reliable one who found ways for her schemes to become reality.

  That had been ten years ago, and today their APM Corporation was known worldwide as a player, as a formidable bidder in the high-dollar game of buying, selling, and reorganizing businesses and corporations.

  COMJET was Alexandria’s brainchild, and her latest conquest. Each piece of the puzzle was almost ready to fall into place, but there was one hitch. In order to market COMJET’s innovative aeronautical product, it had to be shipped from a small mid-western town to a major transportation center. The only existing shipping line large enough to handle the job and located close enough to be cost effective was owned by a Texan who never sold anything cheap and who had already told Paul he wasn’t interested in selling at any price.

  Alexandria taxed her brain and tapped her manicured nails in momentary frustration, barely giving notice to Paul as he burst in through the private entrance to her office.

  “I need to talk to you about this dinner with the Phelpses.” He stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, destroying the clean lines of his Armani suit. He strolled to a leather side chair and sat. Alexandria smiled, appreciative of his confidence, but waiting, like a cat playing with a mouse, for him to wage his argument.

  She ceased the drumroll on the desktop. “My trip was fine, thank you.”

  “Alexandria, come on, you’ve never been one to enjoy polite chitchat.”

  She sat quietly, but resumed clicking her nails, keeping a primitive kind of time against the polished wooden slab. “You think you know me pretty well, don’t you?”

  He rose, came to her side, tipped her chin up, and leaned over to caress her cheek with his lips. “Yes, Alexandria, I do know you, and I know you’ll agree that we have to dine with the Phelpses tonight.”

  “Something going on?” She caught the sparkle in his eye and realized it wasn’t going to be strictly a social affair. “What?” She rose and ran her palms over his lapels and lapped her fingers together around his neck. “Tell me. You know I detest secrets.”

  He smiled, his perfect teeth matching his perfectly barbered blond hair. “It’s not secrets you dislike, Alexandria; it’s secrets that you aren’t privy to. But consider this. I think Howard is going to pop the question tonight, and if we were there to celebrate…”

  “Say no more.” Her hands dropped from his neck. “I see what you’re getting at. Both ends of this budding marriage have wonderfully world-class banking connections.”

  Paul nodded. “Never turn your back on a friend. We might even be best man and maid of honor.”

  Alexandria sighed. “All right. But first sit down and tell me everything you’ve learned about our Texan friend. We have to figure out what to do about him before we go celebrate, or I won’t enjoy my food at all.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Now…” He slid her chair up behind her, seating her. He sat down on the corner of her desk. “This man doesn’t have any weak spots. He’s financially as sound as anything I’ve ever seen, and I can’t find anything he wants that he hasn’t got. This company is his baby because it was the original. It was where he got his start.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing he wants? We only have sixty days to pull this together.”

  “Positive. He doesn’t even care about operating his little empire; he’s hired people to do it for him, and he just oversees the profits and losses and collects the earnings. He stays on his ranch, and from what I understand, you can’t get him off a horse long enough to talk to him.”

  “Horses? He likes horses, then.” Alexandria raised a perfectly formed brow.

  “Cutting horses to be exact,” he said.

  “Well then,” she agreed, “we’ll find the best cutting horse in the world and use it to draw him in. Just what is a cutting horse?”

  “Some foolishness about a rider separating one single cow from a whole herd of cows, and this guy already owns the best horses.”

  “Well then,” Alexandria said, clenching her teeth behind a very insincere smile. “You’ll ride into this old coot’s backyard and let him find out you love cutting horses as much as he does. No contest. He’ll give in.”

  “No.” Paul stood up shaking hi
s head. “Not me. I’m allergic to horses. I hate horses. You used to ride. You’re better suited to this than I am.”

  “You’re a Texan,” Alexandria stated firmly.

  “I left because I didn’t like it.”

  “Well then, how old is this Texan?”

  “Old enough to be your father, but he’s single and looking,” Paul smiled.

  Alexandria sighed and moved toward the glass wall overlooking Los Angeles. “You sound like you’d agree to my getting friendlier with him.”

  Paul came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you didn’t want to, but we do really need his help to pull COMJET off. He won’t even answer phone calls or e-mails, so once you get close enough to talk to him face-to-face, I’m sure you will be able to persuade him to sell.” He nuzzled her ear and pulled her closer. “You’re so very good at everything you do.”

  Alexandria wondered. If she was so good at everything she did, how come it was never enough? How come she always wanted something more than she had? Right now, she wanted more from Paul. She could handle his wanting her to befriend an old geezer, but beyond that, she wanted him to hold her with no purpose in mind other than passion. She wanted real enthusiasm. They had been engaged for two years, but still, Alexandria couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she sat on the outside of his heart and was never going to be really close to his soul—or was it he that never really got to her heart and soul?

  “Well,” Paul jumped into her thoughts, “I think Hesperia needs to find a cutting horse trainer so you can ride right into this guy’s mind and ownership of his trucking firm.”

  She pulled away but looked straight into his clear, beautiful blue eyes. How hard could it be? A few lessons to get the hang of it and she could ride into the Texan’s life and get what she wanted. It was no different from any other acquisition. In fact, this would be more of a vacation than anything else, since she had been certifiably horse crazy at one time.

  “All right. You owe me, though.” She buzzed Hesperia. “I need you to find the best cutting horse trainer in the country. Make arrangements with him to give me lessons and teach me everything he knows.”

  Except for the chicken scratching and pecking in the dirt and the idiot dog that ran barking at her car and tried to chew her tires as she drove in, there wasn’t a soul around. The trainer’s place was simple, but neat. A small wooden barn with paddocks faced an arena and a larger building Alexandria assumed to be another barn. A mobile home sat on top of a small hill at the end of the drive, surrounded by a cedar post and rail fence with manicured grass inside. It overlooked the arena and barns, and, as a whole, there was nothing out of place; every board, every rail fairly sparkled with homespun simplicity.

  The dog continued to bark, the chicken continued to peck, and, if the stifling July heat weren’t enough, Alexandria began to fume.

  She was paying a small fortune to this trainer, and Hesperia had been quite clear about the time she was to arrive. Not only was there no one to meet her at Sacramento “International” Airport, but after waiting for hours, she gave in and rented a car. It was the only vehicle available, and the cheap little compact was a very loose interpretation of the word car. She’d driven more than an hour to get to Ione, the town closest to the ranch, and then another half hour to the ranch, over potholes, ruts, and gravel. Now having finally arrived, the only living thing that acknowledged her presence was an obsessed dog.

  Exasperated, she slammed the heel of her palm against the horn, hoping the blast would outdo the dog and bring someone to her rescue.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was sweltering, the dog had ceased barking, and a man in a straw hat ambled from the barn.

  “Hel-loo!” Alexandria shouted and waved from the car. “Tell Jackson Morgan that Alexandria Payne is here.”

  The man returned a blank stare until he heard the name. “Señor Morgan—riding.” He pointed toward the larger of the two barns.

  “Well, go get him, please.”

  He shook his head slowly as if she were the one that didn’t understand. “Señor Morgan—riding.”

  Alexandria smiled her best “go do it for me” smile, but the man just smiled back. It was obvious she was either going to have to go find Morgan herself or sit in this sauna of a car forever. She looked out the window. The dog was quietly staring at her like she was going to be his next meal. It was miserably hot, and she was in no mood to be intimidated by a dog.

  Carefully she opened the door. The dog sat, like a guardian, in his spot near the front tire. Even more cautiously, Alexandria put one foot out, then the other. The dog tilted his head as if he were trying to understand her tedious progress. Finally she got out. The dog stood, turned, and walked away; she was no longer his concern.

  Frustration raged in every muscle of her body, and despite a clear impression that she was losing her mind, she felt rejected by a mongrel dog. Slamming the car door, Alexandria headed toward the barn where she suspected Jackson Morgan could be found.

  As soon as she entered the door, the cool smell of tanbark, shavings, and cows hit her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows, but slowly a single rider came into focus. At the far end there was a small herd of about ten cows. The rider loped quietly in circles. His mount moved so fluidly that Alexandria could hear the horse’s rhythmic breathing. A sudden and overwhelming sense of comfort and ease struck; slowly, she was mesmerized by the sight, the sound, and the feel of seclusion as the lone rider worked in a huge covered arena as if there were no one and nothing else on earth.

  Alexandria had no clue how long she watched him ride. She saw him rein a thousand pounds of horseflesh into tighter and tighter circles as if he were a conductor guiding a symphony orchestra. In her mind she could hear and feel the ride growing to a crescendo like an emotional piece of music. She wanted to close her eyes and feel the power, but she was afraid she’d miss something.

  The rider drew the horse into a tight spin, round and round, like a whirlwind gathering speed, like a Minotaur gone wild.

  As suddenly and as smoothly as it had spun, the horse stopped. Alexandria realized she’d held her breath during the last moments of the show, and as the horse hung his head and blew, so did she. The rider patted the magnificent animal’s neck almost lovingly. He grabbed hold of the thick, silky mane and pulled it playfully before moving the gelding forward.

  The horse walked several steps toward Alexandria before the rider looked up and saw her. The spell was broken. There was no visible sign of recognition on his face as he drew closer. She fought the notion that her anger was no longer uppermost in her mind, and it irritated her. Without trying at all, he’d manipulated her so completely and so instantly into a passive, accepting state that was definitely not part of the Alexandria Payne she loved.

  Narrowing her eyes, she stepped to the arena and rested her forearms on the top rail.

  “Can I help you with something?” Jackson’s voice was a deep, impatient, rather gravelly whisper that should have been irritating, but surprisingly was not. He stepped off the horse and stood before her.

  Alexandria sized him up, something she’d learned to do quickly and automatically. He was tall—probably an inch or two over six feet, but it was hard to tell with boots. His shoulders were broad, hips deliciously narrow. He wore a baseball cap pulled down squarely across his forehead so that it was difficult to tell much about his eyes or his hair. That very fact made Alexandria more curious than she wanted to be.

  “I’m Alexandria Payne,” she announced.

  “I’m Jackson Morgan,” he returned after a long, pregnant pause. “Nice to meet you face-to-face, instead of through…”

  Alexandria felt a comfortable kind of irritation build. “Hesperia, my private secretary. I thought she made arrangements for you to meet me at the airport.”

  “Private…secretary…” He nodded between words and his mouth twisted into a sly grin as if he were privy to a joke. “Well, i
f I had realized you wanted a chauffeur, I would have had Juan stop by on his way to pick up feed.”

  He dismounted, took one split rein, and led the horse toward the gate, leaving Alexandria. Instantly she made an uncomplimentary comparison between Morgan and his dog. She watched him exit the arena, halter the horse, and hand it to the man in the straw hat before he walked leisurely back to her.

  “I expected—well, never mind, I want to know where to put my bags,” she said as he passed.

  He stood tall, facing her, the well-worn bridle hanging from his shoulder. “The bunkhouse.”

  “The bunkhouse?” All sorts of unwelcome images came to mind, including thin mattresses, metal-framed bunk beds, communal bathrooms, and the man she suspected was Juan. “I’m paying you seven thousand five hundred dollars for a month of training.”

  “Hesperia said you’d probably be staying in town.”

  “Yes, I’ll have to talk to her about that. There is no suitable place in this small town, and although I haven’t seen it yet, I’m reasonably certain that the bunkhouse won’t do either.”

  He slapped his thigh with the end of the rein, then very slowly turned a devastatingly handsome smile on her. “Well, I have a small house; there’s only one bed, but”—his smile deepened, revealing a dimple in one cheek and laugh lines around his dancing brown eyes—“I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

  “I do mind. You must have another room,” Alexandria shot back quickly, used to bantering with sexual innuendoes.

  “Yeah. There’s another bedroom, but”—his smile grew wider—“it’s an office, nothing but a couch.”

  “Very well, you can have the couch. Please show me where to put my bags.” Alexandria spun on her heel and tried to get to her car before he had anything else to say. But she wasn’t fast enough.

  “No. ’Fraid that won’t be the way it is.” His voice became louder and some of the gravelly quality disappeared, leaving the sound of deep determination.

  A battle of wills, is it? Alexandria turned back. “Fine. I’ll find another trainer.”