Solid Gold Seduction
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Zuri Day
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Harlequin🏰 Historical
HarlequinChapter 1
“You’re going to give up all this...and go country?”
“Yes.” Warren Drake calmly palmed a paperweight, eyeing Richard Cunningham—his childhood friend—and wondered about the wisdom of his mother’s request. Even more, he was second-guessing the sanity of his agreeing to do what she wanted.
The fact was, in leaving his plush condo located in the tony town of Paradise Cove and “going country,” as Richard put it, Warren wasn’t giving up anything. By moving twenty miles east of where he’d grown up to the sprawling countryside, he was gaining a front-row view to the business he’d cultivated for the past five years—almost seven hundred acres of top-quality grapes. This was one of the most lucrative crops one could grow in California, and taking his cousin Donovan Drake’s advice to do so was one of the best business decisions he’d ever made. But Richard didn’t need to know this. Because of his mother’s kindness, this New Orleans native whom Warren had known since childhood was deep enough in the Drake pockets already.
“If you’re having second thoughts about working with me and thinking about going back south, I understand.” And I’d be grateful.
“No, man, your mother was kind enough to give me a chance, helping me to get back on my feet after all this time spent away, to get a new start in life. I’m going to try and do her proud, War. And honor the memory of my mom.”
Warren nodded. Maybe he was being too hard on Richard, too judgmental. Unlike Warren, who’d grown up in a comfortable, loving two-parent family, Richard had grown up in a single-parent family, on the bad side of town, barely knowing his father and basically being the man of the house by the time he was ten. He’d met Warren’s grandfather Walter during a mentor program sponsored by the Boys & Girls Club and became a fixture in the elder man’s household. During Warren’s summers spent in New Orleans and frequent visits in between, the two became as close as brothers. They’d even chosen to attend the same college and roomed together for a time. Then came senior year and Richard’s bad choices. Errant focus. Wrong crowd. He dropped out of college and began dabbling in illegal activities. Warren flourished in the family business. Richard floundered in jail. They hadn’t seen each other in eight or nine years.
“So are you sure you can handle it, Rich? Working construction? I don’t remember you ever working with your hands.”
“I’m a quick learner. But I still think you should make me a supervisor. I’m a born leader, man. And I’m used to managing a crew. The product I was pushing may have been illegal, but while it lasted my ship was tight!”
Warren shook his head as he answered his ringing phone. “Hey, Jackson. What’s up?” He paused to listen, and watched as Richard picked up and examined the paperweight. “All right, then. I’ll see you in about fifteen.” He ended the call and stood. “That was my brother-in-law. He’s at the site. You want to roll out with me?”
“Sure.” Richard palmed the paperweight. “Is this solid gold, man?”
“Yes. Mined right in this part of the country.”
“Word?”
Warren said nothing further, and silently berated himself for that slip of the tongue. He’d known Richard his whole life, but they were no longer close. People changed. He reminded himself that the less this former best friend knew about what had once been found on his family’s land—and anything else about the family businesses—the better.
Picture-perfect scenery flew by them as Warren’s sporty Maserati ate up the short distance between his condo located in the gated community of Golden Gates and the property located in what would one day be zoned as Paradise Valley. The weather had turned hot on this August afternoon, lazy clouds floated across an azure-blue sky and sunflowers dotted the landscape before row after row of grapevines, encased by a newly built wrought-iron fence, signaled the beginning of Drake land. He turned onto a plot that had been cleared for building, noting Jackson’s rented pickup and another car belonging to the local subcontractor. The two men exited the car, careful of the jutting rocks and clods of soil.
“Mr. Wright!”
“Mr. Drake!”
They gave each other a fist pound.
“Boss, this is an old friend of mine, Richard Cunningham. Richard, this is my brother-in-law, Jackson ‘Boss’ Wright, owner of one of the best construction companies this side of the Mississippi.”
Richard stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Boss, huh? A pleasure.”
Jackson shook it. “Yes, but I had the nickname before owning a company. My mother gave it to me when I was about two years old and owned nothing, not even the wet diaper on my behind.”
The men laughed. Warren nodded at the roll of paper that Jackson was holding. “So what have we here?”
“The final blueprints for your house.” He pointed to various sticks with twine around them. “We’ve got everything marked out, rooms, deck, swimming pool, guest houses and the expansion for your stables. Just wanted to walk you through everything one final time before we get started. If everything meets your approval, we’ll start excavating for the foundation right away. Brandon, the foreman, will keep things flowing smoothly during the days that I’m gone.”
“I’m ready to get started,” Warren said, rubbing his hands in excitement. “Let’s...” The sentence died on his tongue as the sound of hard-hitting hoofbeats caught his ear. As one, the three men turned toward the sound. A lone rider, looking strong and sure in the saddle, was approaching. He wore jeans, an oversize button-down shirt, a cowboy hat and a red bandanna over his mouth and nose. The rider jumped a small bush in the horse’s path effortlessly, standing in the stirrups as the horse landed, then continued to what was his clear destination—them.
“Good rider,” Warren mumbled, clearly impressed.
“A real-life cowboy,” Richard drawled. “You’re going country for real.”
The rider reached them and pulled up on the reins. From his superior position, he peered in silence, eyes shielded with a pair of dark shades. After a few seconds he dismounted, pulled down the kerchief and took off his hat.
The three men stepped back in unison, brows raised, dumbstruck.
Long curly hair tumbled around the rider’s shoulders and lips that at least one man guessed were soft and quite attractive were fixed in a firm line. A slender hand pushed the dark glasses up on her head and the hair from her face. Chocolate orbs framed by curly black lashes seared them with their intensity.
A subtle look of incredulity passed between the men.
He was a she?
Indeed. And a sexy she at that.
But Ms. Sexy did not look happy.
“Charli Reed,” she announced, her eyes narrowed, her stance defensive. “Is one of you the owner of this place?”
Warren stepped forward. “I am. Warren Drake.” He held out his hand, noting a flash of something—recognition, maybe—in her eyes. “Are you my neighbor?”
“I am,” she replied, ignoring his outstretched hand and crossing her arms instead. “And we’ve got a problem.”
