A Change of Fortune
Autore
Crystal Green
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Chapter One
Sawyer Fortune had come to the opening of Mendoza’s nightclub to have the time of his life.
But if he was honest, every night had pretty much been like that for him from the day he was born.
Money? The Fortunes had more than they knew what to do with.
Opportunity? Right at his fingertips.
Glamour and good times? Check that and that, too.
As he took a seat at the long, old-style cowboy bar under the cursive, neon-pink Wet Your Whistle sign, Sawyer shouldn’t have had a care in the world, thanks to his lot in life. Yet somehow he’d ended up with more than a few worries.
Even so, after some beers and conversation with a beautiful woman or two, he expected that all his concerns would fade to the background. That’s how it always worked for him. That’s how it would work tonight, too.
He took stock of the place: a raised hardwood dance floor crowded with people moving to a loud Kenny Chesney song while its music video played on oversized screens around the room, neon boot signs lighting the dark corners.
Miguel had done well with this club, reinventing himself, going from being a sales executive at a record company in New York to a nightclub owner here in Red Rock, Texas.
As Sawyer put in his drink order to the bartender, he felt someone slap him on the back. When he turned around, it was Miguel Mendoza himself, beaming in the flush of his club’s obvious opening-night success.
“So what do you think?” he asked over the music, his dark eyes glinting. He looked the part of the owner, all right, his black hair trimmed, his midnight shirt and pants a complement to the badass boots that he must’ve gotten from his wife’s company, Castleton Boots.
“What I think,” Sawyer said, “is that you’re on top of the world. Congratulations. This is really something.”
“That’s high praise coming from a man who’s visited a lot of nightclubs in his day.” Miguel took a seat on a rawhide stool next to Sawyer. “This place is more than Red Rock has ever seen, though.”
It was the only nightclub in Red Rock, Sawyer thought. The town was growing, but it wasn’t exactly New York or even Atlanta.
“No club I’ve ever been to has charm like this,” he said. “And charm is hard to come by.”
Miguel cocked a brow at Sawyer. “Not for some.”
He was talking about all the stories Sawyer had earned with his reputation, which had followed him from Atlanta.
The Fortune playboy. The last of his extended family to have survived the love bug that’d been biting their clan for years now. His own branch of the family had been victims of the Plague, as he called it, ever since his sister, Victoria, had succumbed to Garrett Stone, then his brothers had struck out on their own here in Red Rock, finding their own soul mates.
But Sawyer wasn’t a carbon copy of his brothers. Sure, like them he’d defected from JMF Financial in Atlanta after a fight with their father, where he was still the de facto director of publicity and marketing, and he’d relocated to Red Rock, too. Yet he was damned if he’d ever get hitched. He also was out to reinvent himself, just as the rest of his family had done since defecting, but he was avoiding the love plague. He’d never met a woman who wasn’t so into the Fortunes’ money that she wanted him for what he had to offer otherwise.
Ranching and day trading, Sawyer thought, lifting the beer that the bartender had just slid in front of him in a toast to Miguel and his success with the club. This was his new life, and he’d definitely drink to that kind of reinvention.
The bartender had brought Miguel a beer, too, and they drank in silence for a moment as the fast song wore away and the DJ wrangled together the folks on the dance floor for a trivia contest and a giveaway featuring Mendoza’s T-shirts.
Miguel couldn’t stop grinning, watching everything play out. “So this is what it’s like to see your dreams come true. Since I was old enough to think about a future, all I wanted to do was open a place like this. It wouldn’t mean as much without Nicole, but...”
Sawyer chuckled, and Miguel did, too.
“I know, I know,” he said. “You’re going to razz me now for becoming one of the love-struck masses.”
“Wasn’t it just over a year ago at your brother’s wedding that we snuck out of that lovey-dovey reception, met each other in the bar where we watched highlights on ESPN from the football games we’d missed that day and you said—”
“That I was never going to get married? Yeah, that was me. You, too. The both of us dyed-in-the-wool bachelors who’d escaped all the wedding silliness, swearing off matrimony.”
Sawyer didn’t get on Miguel’s case too much. After all, Miguel had told Sawyer at that wedding that if he ever did get married, he’d sure as hell invite him to the ceremony, and he’d made good on that promise.
“So,” Sawyer said, taking pity on the newlywed because there’d no doubt be a lot of tough times ahead for him. “Where is Nicole?”
“Finishing up some work. You know how it is for those CEO types.”
As Miguel smiled, he had no idea of realizing that he’d nicked Sawyer a little with his comment. Sawyer had always known that, as the youngest son of James Marshall Fortune, he didn’t have a shot at being a CEO or even a VP. As a matter of fact, he was the only son who didn’t hold a high office at JMF Financial, probably because his dad had never trusted his “go with the flow” attitude. It just didn’t fit in with the great James Marshall Fortune’s steely work ethic.
So what had Sawyer done over the years? Well, he’d been even more easygoing than ever—the opposite of his driven older brothers, that was for sure. He’d become the afterthought that Dad had always expected Sawyer to be, a so-called “reckless” or “careless” man who’d never sought the glory of a corner office.
But that was neither here nor there right now, in a place where he’d left JMF Financial behind—a town where he could wear jeans and boots and Western shirts instead of the suits he’d never been comfortable in.
Still, sitting here, seeing how all Miguel’s hard work had paid off sent a pang through Sawyer, as if he should’ve been more ambitious in life.
“You know I’m not so much of a man with a plan, Miguel.” He gestured around the club with his bottle. “I’m not sure I ever had any long-term goals like this...or any, in general.”
“What’re you talking about? You’re a Fortune—you were born with goals.”
Sawyer laughed. “Fortune, schmortune. People put too much stock in the name, no pun intended. If you ask me, I’d rather we all change it to Smith and be done.”
The name had never meant much to him, even though he loved his family more than anything. It was just that being a Fortune had caused its share of problems, with a lot of women who sought things that came with the name, with expectations that Sawyer didn’t want any part of. Hell, it’d almost happened with his brother Shane recently, when they’d suspected that his fiancée, Lia, was a gold digger. Sawyer hadn’t been so easygoing then. Truthfully, he’d put her at a wary distance, although he’d tried to make it up to her after they’d found out she was on the up-and-up and was truly in love with Shane.
Whatever “love” was.
“As a Fortune,” he said to Miguel, “I probably could’ve indulged in whatever I wanted throughout the years, but if I was born with anything, it was a predestined life. A career path. I was never expected to dream about opening a nightclub or doing what I wanted. I didn’t have much choice but to join the family business.”
“Having money and a guaranteed job is not exactly a bad thing, my friend.”
Miguel was right. And it wasn’t that Sawyer was ungrateful for what he’d been born with, it was just that...
Well, what did it mean to be a Fortune, exactly?
He wasn’t sure, had never been sure, and as the years passed, the picture never became any clearer.
Miguel dangled his bottle between his fingers. “What would you do if you could start over from scratch, then? If the mighty Fortunes could buy that kind of do-over?”
Sawyer was surprised his family hadn’t found a way to accomplish that very thing, what with their track record of success—something he’d never felt much a part of deep inside, where no one could see what he was really feeling.
He turned Miguel’s question over in his mind. Turned it over again. And he’d be damned if he could come up with an answer.
Finally, he said, “You know—if I ever pursued that idea seriously, I don’t have the foggiest idea what I’d do.”
It came off as a joke—people were used to Sawyer joking—and Miguel laughed once more.
Sawyer played off the moment. He guessed it was sort of funny—a twenty-seven-year-old Fortune as aimless and dissatisfied as he was.
“At any rate,” he said, “I’m young and I’ve got plenty of time to figure everything out.”
Miguel, who was about the same age, nodded, and they toasted to that, too.
But this time, Sawyer put his bottle on the bar instead of drinking. Hadn’t he already started a do-over by leaving JMF behind and coming out here, setting down stakes on New Fortunes Ranch and going in a different life direction?
Yet did that matter when the biggest reason he’d left Atlanta behind was because he and his siblings had suffered a falling-out with Dad?
So many secrets... That was what had pushed Sawyer and his brothers, Shane, Asher and Wyatt, from JMF in the first place. They’d found out that their father had left half his shares in the business to a mysterious woman named Jeanne Marie and, at first, they’d suspected that he was a bigamist. There’d been a major blowup with Dad about that. But why shouldn’t their minds be reeling with suspicion when her last name had been Fortune, too? And just why would Dad have left all those assets to her?
Then, after they’d made the decision to distance themselves from their father and JMF Financial...then they’d met Jeanne Marie and discovered that she was actually Dad’s twin sister, and it’d thrown the family into a real tizzy. More questions had blown around them: Why hadn’t Dad just told them the truth? And why hadn’t he come to Red Rock yet to come clean with all of them?
James was scheduled to arrive next week to finally explain everything. Sawyer, more than anyone else, had been trying to keep an open mind about his intentions, which was ironic, considering Sawyer had always felt like Dad’s least favorite.
The youngest, the afterthought. The son least like the grand tycoon.
But maybe that’s exactly why Sawyer was slow to hop on the doubt-ridden bandwagon—because this was the one time he could matter to Dad.
And maybe not.
As Miguel chatted briefly with the bartender, Sawyer’s gaze skimmed the club again. A band was setting up on a stage and the DJ was ending the giveaway by whipping the crowd into a hooting rise of enthusiasm for the last prize—a hundred-dollar gift certificate to Red, the most popular restaurant in town.
But Sawyer didn’t dwell on the entertainment too much—he hadn’t come here for the band or the DJ. Miguel had done quite a job getting women into his club—gorgeous ones, too. Texas belles with tiny waists, tight T-shirts, short skirts and fancy boots.
When his gaze came back to the bar, traveling over the women sitting on stools, it stopped on one in particular.
And...damn. She was willowy, with long, straight blond hair that streamed down her back. From where he was sitting, he could tell that she wasn’t gussied up for a night out. It was the opposite, actually, because she was dressed in a plain white T-shirt that clung to her curves, plus faded jeans that had been worn in just enough to shape a perfect derriere. When he saw her red boots, it was a bit of a surprise, seeing as he’d taken her for the type who was trying not to stand out, despite her good looks.
Was she waiting for someone while she leaned her elbows on the bar and nursed a bottle of soda?
Miguel had stopped talking with the bartender.
“You might want to think twice about that one,” he said.
“Why?” For the first time tonight, Sawyer had been in a much better mood, just from looking at her. “Weren’t we talking about having some goals? She seems like a pretty good one for now.”
“You dive-bomb her with that attitude and you’re going to get shot down. Laurel Redmond isn’t what you’d call an easy pickup, Sawyer.”
Not easy, huh? Maybe he was tired of easy. Something different sounded just fine to him, seeing as he’d gotten tired of the gold diggers, gotten tired of always being so instinctively cautious with all the “easy” women.
Miguel added, “I have no idea why she even came here. From what I know, she’s not exactly a barfly or... Well, just watch. You’ll see.”
A cowboy had sauntered up to the bar, cozying right next to Laurel Redmond. She didn’t even glance over at him. Uh-uh. She just sat there, cool and reserved, even as he pushed back the brim of his hat to blatantly check her out.
“Keep watching,” Miguel said, clearly entertained.
When the cowboy leaned over to say something, all she did was utter one short sentence. He drew back from her and was gone in a flash.
“That’s what I’ve heard about Laurel Redmond,” Miguel said. “I don’t know the woman myself—she’s been in Red Rock for nearly a year, I think, and I’ve mostly been in New York—but she’s got a reputation as big as yours.”
“She’s the girl about town?”
“The opposite. She’s as independent as they come. Enjoys her own company. Ambitious as hell. They say she’s got a real chip on her shoulder from her time as a pilot in the Air Force—she always wanted to prove herself as a woman there and rise above the standards they set. Cream of the crop, you know?”
“In short, she’s not just a pretty face.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t ever mention those last two words to her. My God, she might throw you across the room.”
Sawyer took another gander. Even if he wasn’t the most ambitious man around, a challenge sounded like just the thing.
“She doesn’t look like that much of a bully,” he said.
When another man—a silk-shirt-wearing, hair-slicked-back guy—approached her, all she did was mutter one sentence to him again, and he was off and away.
What was she saying that was so effective?
Sawyer couldn’t help himself. He took his beer in hand, hooking a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans. “Don’t mind if I do, Miguel. Thanks for the warnings, though.”
Miguel shook his head. “It’s your ego. But one last thing to remember—she’s Tanner Redmond’s little sister.”
Sawyer definitely knew Tanner—he was married to Sawyer’s cousin Jordana and was an ex-Air Force pilot, just like his little sis.
It hit Sawyer then. He’d actually seen Laurel at Jordana’s wedding, but she’d had her hair pulled into an upswept style that made her look more polished than she did tonight, and she’d seemed uncomfortable in her fancy dress. She’d also stayed far from the dance floor, and she might’ve even left early. Sawyer had been pretty distracted that night, so he wasn’t sure.
Tonight, though, she was relaxed, obviously not out to impress anyone, and Sawyer couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Miguel sighed. “If you know Tanner, then you realize he’s going to be on your case if you—”
“I’m not out to make trouble with her.” Family was everything to Sawyer. Even when James had told his sons that he felt betrayed by their defection, Sawyer had still felt a certain loyalty, defending him during the whole Jeanne Marie scandal.
Why? Well, he’d just have to see if Dad had been worth the effort when he got to Red Rock.
He brushed off his worries and shook Miguel’s hand, congratulating him again.
But down the bar, another man was already making his move on Laurel.
“Good luck,” Miguel said, staying on his stool at the bar.
A front-row seat?
Great. But Sawyer wasn’t planning on crashing and burning, as Miguel had predicted he would.
When it came to meeting women, Sawyer Fortune always flew pretty high.
* * *
Laurel could feel yet another guy sidling up to her, eyeing her.
This again.
She didn’t look at him as she said, “Not to be rude, but I’m not on the meat market, understand?”
The brush-off was milder than most, but just as to-the-point as always. Thank God the guy split. Good thing, too, because she wasn’t into preppy stuff like red-and-black checkered shirts and khakis—two elements of his wardrobe she’d seen from her peripheral vision.
Honestly, she wasn’t into cowboy hats or disco duds or...heck, just about everything she’d seen in this club tonight.
She’d had a long day at work, flying a businessman connected with one of the Fortune companies to Houston, then Dallas, then back here. But that’s what she did for a living now—charter flights, flying lessons—and she usually loved it.
Except when the client made what he thought were funny, subtle innuendos the entire day about her landing the plane and stopping at a hotel with him.
She’d held her tongue, but when she’d come back from the airport to the Redmond’s Flight School office, she’d told Tanner to strike this client from their customer list. No jerks allowed.
She was still the new girl at work, but she had no problem speaking up.
As she sipped her soda, she mellowed. She’d only come out here tonight to see what the fuss was about, not to find out how many guys she could shoot down. And maybe, just maybe, she’d wanted to get out of her apartment since it was the beginning of summer, and she’d always loved summers in the south with their long days and lazy sounds. And when you compared the heat to some of the places she’d been the past years, where the desert fried you through to the bone, summers here were to be treasured.
She looked up and watched the TV, which was playing a soccer match, totally drowned out by the start of a Tim McGraw song.
And that’s when she felt another guy coming in for a flyby.
Maybe her back wouldn’t have stiffened if she hadn’t spent her entire life fighting off the advances of men who thought she was just nice to look at and that’s it. Maybe it had something to do with a dad who’d taught her early and well that guys didn’t stay. Or maybe she was remembering how that lesson had been emphasized during the one and only time she’d fallen in love, only to be robbed of her heart as well as her bank account.
Her tongue itched to say something preemptive to this pickup artist, too, but as she felt him coming close to her, she smelled leather—an expensive kind of scent—and she wasn’t sure if it was from a fancy saddle or an office chair.
Something about the scent of him piqued her curiosity, and she slyly glanced over.
As an unidentified feeling violently jumped in her chest, she almost looked away before he could read the sudden attraction on her face.
Almost. Because, damn, he had the bluest eyes. And thick, dark, sand-brown hair. Tall. Solid with muscle, dressed in his jeans and an untucked white Western shirt with faint embroidery.
The capper was a smile that melted the iceberg in her—just the tip, but there was a heat that she couldn’t deny, tossing and turning in her. It was the sexy smile that told her this one was too confident to be chased off.
“You look bored,” he said in a voice that reminded her of thick, rich cream. “You should be out there dancing.”
She was a creature of habit, and no matter how hot he was, her defenses were already up. “I don’t dance.”
He didn’t seem taken aback. It was actually the opposite—the guy was amused.
“We’re in a dance club,” he said over the music. “I don’t think it’s out of line to ask you to dance, especially when you’ve been tapping your boot since this song started.”
She hadn’t realized it, but he was right, and she stopped tapping, pronto.
But she felt like starting up again, out of a jumpy sort of adrenaline rush this time, because those baby blues were locking with her gaze so...
Um, hotly?
She blinked, then made sure she was still in the leave-me-to-my-drink posture she’d adapted since sitting down.
“Dancing’s really not my thing,” she said, hoping that would do it.
He laughed, low and nice. Nice for flipping her traitor belly upside down, that is.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.
She allowed herself to take a long look at him—even longer than she had before—and then shook her head. “Afraid I don’t.”
“We’re almost family.”
She kept shaking her head.
“Then here’s a hint,” he said. “Your brother’s wedding last year...?”
“Nope.” She hadn’t exactly been in a social mood at the wedding—imagine that—and she’d kept to herself most of the time. Even years after her breakup she’d still been smarting, especially at an event that was so full of hearts and flowers, which she didn’t believe in anymore. She’d been overjoyed for Tanner, but being totally dumped and worked over by Mr. Crappy Boyfriend had soured her on love for the rest of her life, and she’d just wanted to curl into a ball in her room, not facing anyone. She’d wanted to tell Tanner that even if he was happy now, it wouldn’t work out. Didn’t he remember what’d happened to Mom when their father had left?
No one needed That Girl at a wedding, so she’d gone home early. But she’d been wrong about Tanner’s marriage—he and Jordana were as happy as could be, with a baby who was as sweet as apple pie.
She smiled to herself, thinking of little Jack, and the hot man in front of her picked up on her improved disposition.
“You may not remember me,” he said, “but I remember spotting you at the wedding.”
“Sorry about that.” She took a sip of her drink.
Was he going to go away? Finally leave her in peace?
Fat chance. He’d set his beer on the bar, as if he’d claimed the area next to her.
And why did part of her not mind?
She sneaked another glance at him, and her heart tumbled. Yeah, her heart, doing gymnastics like it was on a balance beam, not quite falling off, but not quite stable, either.
But it felt...refreshing. She hadn’t experienced a reaction like this in such a long time. What if...?
Oh, no. No what-ifs. They’d gotten her into trouble with Steve Lucas, when she’d given him all her trust, all her emotions.
And access to her bank account.
The fast song that’d been playing melded into a slow one. Vintage Willie Nelson. Romantic, lazy—just like the summer days she’d always loved.
Hot Wedding Guy must’ve seen her loosen up, even just for a moment, because he bent a bit closer, warming her ear with his words.
“Last chance to dance.”
Who was he, and what was he doing to her?
She sent a lowered look his way. “You’re going to be on me all night about this, aren’t you?”
“Probably. But if you want me to bug off, all you have to do is say so.”
She thought of a hundred excuses to chase him away: she had a boyfriend. (Ha!) She had to get home to wash her hair. (Clean as a whistle.)
But...those blue eyes. That smile.
My God.
“See?” he said, all lethal charm. “You do want to dance.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you would’ve already zapped me, just like you’ve been doing to every other guy who dared to break through your force field.”
“How—?”
“I couldn’t help seeing you in action.” He jerked his chin toward a spot down the bar, where he’d probably been sitting.
He did it in such an assured, masculine way that another spike of attraction bolted through her, making her shift in her seat.
She melted a little more. Dammit. But she didn’t look where he’d gestured.
“Why were you at that wedding?” she asked instead.
“Jordana’s my cousin.”
He was a Fortune? And he seemed very pleased that she hadn’t noticed that fact right away.
How often did he go undetected by someone when the family was always in the papers? Had he been enjoying that she hadn’t known him from Adam just now?
The slow song was in full play, couples two-stepping around the dance floor.
Still, he stood there, smiling that smile, breaking her down second by second.
Okay. Would one dance do any harm? After all, it was fun to be flirting. She’d almost forgotten how liberating it was. Just because she was doing it didn’t mean they’d have to get engaged or anything.
“All right,” she said. “One song.”
He angled his head in acknowledgment. Teasingly? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but bite back her own smile.
Flirting. Just a little. Just for a short time, then she’d go home.
She left her drink at the bar, and Blue Eyes did the same with his beer. The bartender nodded at them, silently promising he’d save her place.
Then, on the floor, the guy took her in his arms, and it felt...
Good God, it felt better than she’d remembered.
Being held, feeling a man’s strong arms around her, allowing him to guide her.
Hormones skittered through her, and she gave way to them. Why not? What was the harm for five damn minutes?
“Which cousin did you say you were?” she asked as they began to circle the floor.
“Jordana’s.”
“Stop teasing. I’m asking your name.”
He seemed to recognize that she’d given up a smidge of ground, and he grinned at her, twirling her stomach once again.
She held back another smile. Oh, but he was cute.
“I’m Sawyer,” he said.
As in Tom, she thought. Playful, clever Tom Sawyer, and now that she heard his name, she realized that she’d gotten wind of this man before, through reputation only. Her brother had warned her about his tomcat ways prior to the wedding, when Tanner had given her the rundown about their new in-laws.
But this wouldn’t go far enough to merit caution, she thought as Sawyer led her, firmly yet smoothly, in a dance he’d obviously danced many times before with other women.
Even so, when he swooped her into an unexpected spin and smiled that gorgeous smile down at her, her stomach twirled once again.
“See,” he said, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
And, indeed, she couldn’t.
