His by Christmas
highlight_author
Teresa Southwick
highlight_reads
15.9K
highlight_chapters
15
Chapter One
“I’ve had sex recently.” Calhoun Hart hoped there was enough self-righteous indignation in his retort to make the lie believable.
“You are so lying.”
“You don’t know that.”
Sam Hart, his older brother, stared at him for several moments, gave him a pitying look, then laughed. “I’d put money on the fact that I’m right.”
“I don’t need money.” Cal was the president of Hart Energy and had plenty. “What I want is that classic car Granddad left you.”
“The Duchess? That’s never going to happen. And it wasn’t personal. He said it needs tender loving care and that takes time. Which you don’t have because you’re always working.” Sam shrugged. “And I’m the oldest. Get over it.”
Cal knew he meant get over second-son syndrome. He would never be first. In the line of succession he was the spare to his older brother’s heir. For as long as he could remember, if Sam was going somewhere, doing something, Cal wanted to do it, too.
Although not marriage, which is why family and friends were gathered in a banquet room at Blackwater Lake’s newest hotel—Holden House. Sam had just gotten married and promised to love and honor Faith Connelly, the town florist. The invitation had said Reception Immediately Following and apparently the groom believed it was open season on Cal’s sex life since his own was in pretty good shape. And he’d never seen his older brother look happier. For once the thought didn’t crank up his acute competitive streak. The truth was, Cal envied him.
“I’m over the whole car thing,” he declared. It was another lie, but he was hoping the groom would be distracted and quit ribbing him about his missing-in-action personal life.
“You’ll never be over it, little brother.”
“You’re only nine months older,” Cal reminded him.
Sam straightened his black bow tie, the one he wore with his traditional black tuxedo. “And an inch taller.”
Cal couldn’t do anything about that, either. He blamed the combination of chromosomes, DNA or whatever it was that had resulted in his own light brown hair and blue eyes and being six foot one instead of six foot two or more. But the reminder was just as annoying now as it had been for his whole life.
“Sam, you’re an ass,” he said. “Tell me again how you talked Faith into marrying you.”
His brother glanced around the crowded room until he found the beautiful bride dressed in a lacy, long-sleeved, floor-length white gown. She met his gaze as if somehow knowing he’d been searching for her and blew him a kiss. “I had a little help from a miniature matchmaker named Phoebe.”
The bride’s little girl. Cal couldn’t deny she was a cute, precocious child. “What did she see in you?”
“Good question. Maybe she knew I needed her and her mom more than they needed me.” Sam was dead serious. “I’m adopting her.”
“Even more reason to congratulate you,” Cal said just as sincerely. “You really do have it all.”
“And you don’t,” his brother needled him. “In fact, you’re not getting any, either.”
So much for having a moment. “How can you possibly know that? Are you stalking me?”
“Don’t have to. I always know where you are. Working.”
“So you’re studying surveillance footage?”
“Don’t have to do that, either, now that you’ve set up an office for Hart Energy here in Blackwater Lake.” Sam slid his hands into the pockets of his tux trousers. “And, in spite of that, there was still some question at the last minute about you being here for the wedding.”
Cal felt a little guilty about that, but negotiations regarding a parcel of land for a wind farm were going south and he needed to be involved. “I made it, didn’t I? I should get points for that. I haven’t missed a Hart wedding yet. Except the one ten years ago Linc didn’t tell anyone about.”
“True. And you’re the last Hart bachelor. Here alone, I notice. Evidence that you work too much to have a life and a plus-one.”
There was more truth in that statement than Cal would admit. “Who retired and promoted you to relationship monitor?”
Just then Katherine Hart, their mother, joined the conversation. “Calhoun, this is your brother’s day. Be nice.”
And so, Cal thought, just like in football, it was the retaliatory hit the official penalized, not the inciting one. “He started it.”
“Sam—” The older woman stood between them, linking arms with them. She was ageless and still beautiful, even after raising four children. “What did you do?”
“I simply pointed out that Cal is a workaholic.”
“Not exactly how you phrased it.” Cal didn’t miss the gleam in his brother’s eyes, the one that dared him to tell her the disagreement was all about him not having sex in a long time. That would happen when pigs went airborne.
“You do work too hard,” Katherine said. “I was seriously thinking about staging a family intervention.”
“Isn’t that a bit dramatic, Mother?”
“No.” Her expression said she wasn’t kidding. Not only that, she’d left no room for rebuttal.
That didn’t stop him from trying to make an argument. “It takes time and effort to run a successful company.”
“No one understands that better than me. But some things are more important.”
Not when he was competing with Sam for the best bottom line of all the companies that encompassed Hart Industries. “Look, Mom—”
“No.” There was that rebuttal stopper again. “Working too hard is a flaw of the Hart men. It’s a trait that nearly destroyed my marriage to your father, as you both well know.”
Cal was aware that his parents legally separated when he and Sam were hardly more than babies. Because they were so close in age, she’d always called them twins the hard way. His dad worked all the time and she’d felt isolated and alone. Katherine’s one-night stand during the separation had resulted in her getting pregnant and his brother Lincoln was born. Against the odds, Katherine and Hastings Hart had reconciled and their union became even stronger.
“I’m not married,” Cal reminded her.
“You were once, but you never will be again if you don’t make changes in your life.”
Cal had left himself wide-open for that one. “Look, I just wasn’t very good at marriage.”
“That’s no reason to give up. It’s like vegetables. One taste doesn’t get you a pass from them. Your body needs them and they’re good for you.”
Kind of like sex, Cal thought.
“You’ll wither and die if you don’t get any.” Sam’s remark was a clue that he was thinking along the same lines.
“Seriously,” Katherine said, “there are studies that prove married men live longer. I want you around for a very long time, not working yourself into an early grave.”
“Come on, Mom. You’re exaggerating.” When her eyes flashed with maternal intensity, he knew that was the wrong thing to say.
“When was the last time you took a vacation?” she demanded.
He thought for a moment and drew a blank. “I’d have to check my calendar. Can I get back to you on that?”
“I already checked with Shanna and she told me you haven’t taken time off since she’s been with the company, so that’s at least four years.”
“You went over my head to my assistant about this?”
“You have a problem with that?” There was a warning expression in his mother’s eyes.
“No. Just wondering.” He couldn’t believe she’d done research on him. “She’s probably right. Excellent at her job.”
“She’s so good you never give her time off, either. She’s tired.”
“I have an idea,” Sam said. “Give her a vacation and you take one, too.”
“I don’t need a break—”
“Recharging your batteries would be good for you,” his mother interrupted. “Your father and I recently took a trip to an all-inclusive island. There were so many activities available, or you could just veg out on the beach, sit in a lounge chair by the pool.”
“Doing nothing would drive me nuts.” Cal could feel his stubborn streak kicking in. That was never good.
“You can do as much or as little as you want,” she insisted.
“I’ll check it out.” Again, when pigs took flight. Hopefully that response would get her off his back.
But Katherine’s eyes narrowed as if she was onto him. “You think I don’t know you just threw me a bone and have no intention of doing any research on a vacation?”
“Mom, can we talk about this later? Sam just got married and I’m sure he has stuff to do at this shindig.”
“He’s right. Faith just threw her bouquet, so it’s almost time for me to do the garter thing.” Sam’s eyes took on a calculating look. “But I think I know how to resolve Cal’s vacation issue right now.”
“I bet you don’t,” Cal said.
“It’s like you’re channeling me.” His brother looked way too self-satisfied. “I think you should take a week off for every year of avoided vacation. So, I’ll bet you that you can’t go to that island and stay for a month.”
“Of course I can. If I wanted to.”
“Ah,” Sam said. “Wiggle room. I knew you couldn’t do it.”
The tone and the words hit a nerve and started Cal’s competitive juices flowing. “Why would I want to?”
“For the Duchess.” There was a dare in his brother’s voice.
“But you love that car,” Cal protested.
“I do. But you’re not going to stay on the island for a month, so there’s no chance I’ll lose the car.”
It was like they were kids again, and Cal felt that honor challenge clear to his core. A double dog dare if he’d ever heard one. Plus, he really did love that car. It was a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow and something that belonged to his grandfather, which made it priceless.
He stuck out his hand. “You’re on.”
“Excellent,” Sam said, shaking on the terms of the wager. “Mom, you’re a witness.”
“I am.” She pointed to the activity on the other side of the room. “Look, all the single men are gathering. Sam, I think you’re being paged. And, Cal, go catch the garter.”
“No way.”
“I’ve been looking forward to this.” Sam rubbed his hands together. “I’ll throw it right to you.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
A few minutes later Sam removed the garter from his bride’s leg and threw it over his shoulder into the crowd of single guys. Unfortunately, Cal caught the blasted thing. The satin-and-lace symbol of the next guy to walk down ball-and-chain lane sailed just close enough that he couldn’t resist the challenge of snagging it. Damn his competitive streak. And he was pretty sure Sam had done it on purpose, to prove relaxing was too big a challenge for Cal, that he was going to lose the bet.
His brother was wrong, Cal thought.
The problem was going to be finding ways to fill his time for a month on an island. Or die trying. Really, what could go wrong?
* * *
Calhoun Hart broke his leg on the first day of vacation, so now he was going to work on the island. Justine Walker believed she’d drawn the short straw in agreeing to fill in for his vacationing secretary. But that was before she stepped off the plane and saw sun, sand, sea. And palm trees swaying in the gentle trade winds. That’s when it hit her. Working in a tropical paradise wasn’t like being the one who had to stay behind to manually blow a nuclear device and prevent an asteroid from wiping out Earth.
Technically she hadn’t drawn the short straw anyway. No one else in the clerical pool at Hart Energy wanted to work with Cal Hart. In desperation, Human Resources made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Putting up with the infamous workaholic who signed her paycheck meant she was that much closer to being her own boss.
Pulling a carry-on bag behind her, she limped up the flower-and shrub-lined path to Mr. Hart’s private villa at the resort. Her leg was as good as it would ever be, but long stretches of sitting still made it ache. In spite of the discomfort, she was grateful the doctors had saved it after the accident. She’d come a long way from wishing she’d died, too.
In front of the impressive double-door entry, she stopped and took several deep, cleansing breaths, counting each one to slow down her racing pulse and heart rate. It took more effort than usual, but she didn’t usually go to work in a villa with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the ocean. The crystal clear varying shades of turquoise water defied words. It was one of those sights one simply had to see. The stunning beauty almost made her forget about the discomfort in her leg.
She inhaled one last deep breath, counted, slowly released it, then knocked on the door. While there was no expectation of a speedy response since her boss was an invalid, the wait dragged on long enough that she debated going for help. But finally it opened and the man standing there, propped up on crutches, looked the picture of masculinity, in spite of the white, no-nonsense cast on his lower left leg. For the second time since his private plane had landed, she found herself without words. He was very sexy and that was more than a little distracting.
She’d heard about him, none of it flattering, but had only actually seen him from a distance at work. He was very good-looking with his light brown hair and deeply intense blue eyes. The white cotton shirt he wore framed his shoulders and probably made them look broader. Only a hands-on examination would confirm, but the odds of that happening were lower than zero.
“Good. You’re finally here.” He backed up awkwardly and negotiated a turn. “Would you mind getting the door...um—”
She realized he was hesitating because he either couldn’t remember or didn’t know her name. “Justine Walker. And I don’t mind at all, Mr. Hart.”
“Cal.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Cal. Short for Calhoun, and it will save time if you use it.”
“Of course.”
She shut the door and limped after him into a spacious living area. The plush white sofas had throw pillows in tropical ocean shades, and a light-colored wood floor seemed to stretch on forever to the sand and sea beyond, merging inside and outside. Overhead was a high-pitched wooden ceiling and several fans with blades that resembled palm fronds circulated the refreshing breeze coming through the open French doors. Beneath her low-heeled pumps was the thickest, cushiest area rug she’d ever felt.
“Something wrong?”
Justine dragged her gaze from the floor and looked up at her boss. She might as well be honest. “I think I’m on luxury overload.”
“Oh?” He looked amused.
“I’ve never been on a private plane before or anyplace like this.” She glanced around, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t in awe. “And a villa with that ocean view—the sand and palm trees. It’s amazing.”
With a sigh he lowered himself to the sofa that looked big enough to hold an extended family reunion and elevated his injured leg. “Feel free to look around. Your room is over there.” He lifted one of his crutches and used it to point to a recessed doorway on the other side of the enormous area. “The valet has instructions to bring the rest of your luggage, and he’ll use the patio door so you won’t see him.”
The Human Resources director at Hart Energy had explained the accommodations—the fact that this villa was over five thousand square feet and contained two very large, very private suites. Mr. Hart’s injury limited his mobility and he preferred his assistant nearby to facilitate the work environment.
The subtext was that she didn’t need to worry about any hanky-panky. After meeting him that was oddly disappointing. But the compensation for this assignment was so generous, she would have slept on a lounge chair under a tree if he wanted. Before she could check out her room, there was a knock at the door.
“That should be room service,” Cal said. “Would you mind letting them in?”
“Of course.” She walked to the door and felt Cal watching her. When she was tired, like she was now, the limp was more pronounced, but she tried very hard to minimize it. Because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of this man.
She opened the door to several hotel employees who waited with wheeled carts containing covered dishes. Stepping back, she let them move past her and set everything up on the coffee table, where it was easily accessible to Cal. He signed for it and the servers discreetly left.
“Can I get a plate for you?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
She lifted silver domes from the serving dishes and saw there were multiple entrées to choose from, as well as potatoes, rice, pasta, green salad and fruit. And a sampling of chocolate desserts made her mouth water.
She filled a plate and brought it to him, then arranged eating utensils where he could reach them. “You ordered a lot of food.”
“I didn’t know what you like and thought you might be hungry.”
“I am.” How considerate was that? He worked hard and expected his employees to match his pace, but no one had ever said he didn’t treat the people around him well. Still, she’d pictured a heartless beast, and this unexpected thoughtfulness was a nice surprise. After fixing herself a plate, she sat on the plush chair to his right. “How did you break your leg?”
“Skydiving.” He met her gaze. “What happened to yours?”
“You noticed the limp.” She’d heard about his attention to detail and the demand for it from anyone he worked with. So he wouldn’t miss much. Still, she hadn’t anticipated his blunt question. She should have. There was no reason not to tell him, but he didn’t need to know she’d lost more than her runway-model strut. “Car accident.”
“Ah.”
She took a bite of fish and nearly groaned out loud, it was so good. They ate in silence for several moments, long enough that the need to fill it became necessary. “So, skydiving. You’re one of those sanity-challenged, adrenaline junkie thrill seekers who jump out of perfectly good airplanes on purpose.”
“Yes.”
Thank goodness she wasn’t drinking anything when he smiled, because it rocked her like a 9.5 earthquake. He was a handsome man even with a serious expression on his face. But the smile made a girl want to raise her hand and shout, Over here. Fortunately she didn’t choke, spit or utter a sound to embarrass herself, but it took several moments to gain solid mental footing again.
“Apparently the parachute opened,” she observed. “Or the damage would have been much worse.”
“I landed wrong.” He shrugged. “It was a clean break and the doctor assured me it will heal quickly.”
“Good. Are you in pain now?”
“It’s been several days, so not much.”
Justine knew a thing or two about pain, but didn’t push him. Everyone handled it in their own way, and she was curious about something else. This assignment was supposed to last for a month so it begged the question, “Did you have any other activities planned besides skydiving?”
“Scuba diving. Parasailing. Rock climbing. For starters,” he said.
“Bummer. So why not just cancel the vacay? You’ve obviously changed your plans and are going to work. Wouldn’t it be easier to go home and schedule more time here when you’re healed?”
Something that looked a lot like stubborn determination hardened his eyes and tightened his jaw. “The view is a lot better here.”
“I can’t argue with that.” She looked through the patio doors to the luxurious, private, crystal clear pool, the pristine white sand and the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see. “It’s something special. But so is the scenery at home. The lake and mountains take my breath away.”
He stared at her for several moments, then seemed to realize he was doing it. “So, you’re part of the advance team from Dallas setting up the new office in Blackwater Lake.”
“Yes.”
She’d found the charming, rapidly growing town a good place to open her business. She’d been saving and moved to Montana with the idea of working there until she had enough start-up money. It never occurred to her that an opportunity like this would come along to speed up her timetable. Now that she thought about it, the offer had escalated because Cal Hart had a reputation for being difficult and demanding, and no one else who was clerically qualified had wanted it. So far he had not lived up to his advance billing.
Justine finished eating and set her plate on the table. “That was delicious. Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.
“No.” She toyed with the cloth napkin still in her lap. “It was nice of you to think of this. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it.”
“What were you expecting?” He didn’t sound defensive, just curious.
“Everyone said you’re a difficult boss who works twelve-to fourteen-hour days and requires your employees to do the same.”
“You’ve been talking to Shanna.”
“She’s a friend. And having a lovely cruise, by the way.” At his quizzical look she added, “Ships have internet. She emails. There was even one warning me not to take this job with you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“So why did you?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea what you’re paying me?”
“A lot, apparently.” He shrugged. “I can afford it.”
She had no doubt about that. The question was, could she? He had her for a month. It hadn’t occurred to her that four weeks in paradise with a man who wasn’t a bastard and looked like a movie star could be a very long time.
