Barbara Dunlop - Thunderbolt over Texas

He raised a brow. “You don’t?”

She blinked up at him with jewel-green eyes. “Why would I? It seemed fine on the way in.”

He stared into those eyes, trying to decide if she was wearing colored contacts. No. He didn’t think so. The eyes were all hers. As was that luscious hair and those full, dark lips.

“I think you’ve overheated,” he said, breathing heavily. He knew he sure had.

She gazed up at him in silence and her manicured nails pressed against him for a split second. “You, uh, know about cars?”

He pulled himself up a fraction of an inch. “Some.”

“That’s good,” she said, her gaze never leaving his, the tip of her tongue flicking over her bottom lip for the barest of moments. “I mostly use taxis.”

“I take it you’re not from around here?” Stupid question. If she lived anywhere near Blue Earth Valley, Cole would have spotted her before now.

“New York,” she said.

“The city?”

She laughed lightly and Cole’s heart rate notched up. “Yes. The city.”

They reached the porch and a loud spattering hiss came through the open door. The coffee. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Hang on.” He took the stairs in two bounds, strode across the kitchen and grabbed the handle of the coffeepot, moving it back on the stove as he shut it down.

“You burned the coffee?” she asked from behind him.

“Afraid so.” He wiped up the spilled coffee then rinsed and dried his hands. Then he held one out to her. “Cole Erickson.”

Her smile grew to dazzling. “Sydney Wainsbrook.”

She shook his hand and the jolt of electricity doubled.

“You want me to take a look at your car?” he asked, reluctantly letting her go.

“I’d rather you offered me a cup of that coffee.”

“It’s ruined,” he warned.

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m tough.”

He took in her elegant frame and choked out a short laugh. “Right.”

“Hey, I’m from New York.”

“This is Texas.”

“Try me.”

Cole bit down on his lip. Nope. Not going there.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she shook her head. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

He quickly neutralized his expression. “Walked right into what?”

She brushed past him and retrieved two stoneware mugs from the open shelf. “Don’t you worry about my delicate sensibilities.” She held them both out. “Pour me some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sydney ran her fingertip around the rim of the ivory coffee cup. Even by New York standards, the brew was terrible. But she was drinking every last drop. Black.

She needed Cole to know she meant business, because he looked like the kind of guy who’d walk right over her if she so much as blinked.

She contemplated him from across the table. He was a big man, all muscle and sinew beneath a worn, plaid shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tight, corded forearms. He had thick hair, a square chin, a slightly bumped nose and expressive cobalt eyes that turned sensual and made her catch her breath.

He was going to be a challenge. But then, anything to do with the Thunderbolt of the North had to be a challenge. She’d have been disappointed if it had gone any other way.

“So what brings you to Blue Earth Valley, Sydney Wainsbrook?” he drawled into the silence.

She smiled, liking her audacious plan better by the second. She’d worried he might be obnoxious or objectionable, but he was a midnight fantasy come to life. Why some other woman hadn’t snapped him up before now was a mystery to her.

“You do,” she said.

“Me?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, you.”

“Have we met?”

“Not until now.”

He sat back, blue eyes narrowing. Then a flash of comprehension crossed his face and he held up his palms. “Whoa. Wait a minute.”

“What?” Surely he couldn’t have figured out her plan that quickly.

“Did my grandmother put you up to this?”

Sydney shook her head, relieved. “No, she didn’t.”

“You sure? Because-”

“I’m sure.” The only person who had put Sydney up to this was Sydney. Well, Sydney and a thousand hours of research in museum basements across Europe.

She moved her cup to one side and leaned forward, her interest piqued. “But tell me why your grandmother might have sent me.”

He tightened his jaw and sat back in purposeful silence.

Sydney wriggled a little in her seat. “Hoo-ha. I can tell this is going to be good.”

He didn’t answer, just stared her down.

“Dish,” she insisted, refusing to be intimidated. She had a feeling people normally gave him a wide berth. And she had no intention of behaving like normal people. Surprise was one of her best weapons.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. It’s because she’s an incorrigible matchmaker.”

Sydney bit down on a laugh. “Your grandmother is setting you up?”

He grimaced. “That sounded pathetic, didn’t it?”

“A little.”

“She’s a meddler. And…well…” He seemed to catch himself, and he quickly shook his head. “Nah. Not going there. You tell me what you’re doing in Blue Earth Valley.”

Sydney wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. Right. Stalling wasn’t going to change a thing. She’d plunge right in and hope to catch him off guard. “I’m a curator from the Laurent Museum.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t show any signs of panic. That was good.

“I’ve just finished three months’ research in Europe.”

He waited. Still no reaction.

“It supplemented three years of previous research. My thesis, actually.”

“You wrote a thesis?”

“Yes, I did. On the Thunderbolt of the North.”

Okay. That got a reaction from him. His eyes chilled to sea ice and his jaw clamped tight.

“I understand you’re the current owner.”

His palms came down hard on the table. “You understand wrong.”

“Let me rephrase-”

“Good idea.”

She leaned in again. “I know how it works.”

“You know how what works?”

“The inheritance. I know it goes to your wife. And I’m here to offer to marry you.”

Everything inside Cole stilled.

He opened his mouth, then he snapped it shut again.

He stared at the perfectly gorgeous creature in front of him and tried to make sense out the situation. Was this a joke?

“Did Kyle put you up to this?” he asked.

“Who’s Kyle?”

“My brother.”

She shook her head and all that auburn hair fanned out around her perfectly made-up face. “It wasn’t your brother, and it wasn’t your grandmother.”

“Then who?”

“Me.”

He paused again. “You seriously expect me to believe you came all the way from New York-”

“Yes, I do.” She reached into her clutch purse and pulled out a business card.

He read it. Sure enough, Laurent Museum. Okay, now he was just getting annoyed. The Thunderbolt wasn’t a commodity to be bartered. It was a trust, a duty. “So was that breakdown nothing but a setup?”

“What breakdown?”

“Your car.”

“My car is fine.”

“Your car is fried.”

“You know, I just proposed to you.”

He stood up. “And you thought I’d say yes?”

“I’d hoped-”

“In what universe?” His voice rose, bouncing off the cabin walls. He was offended, offended on behalf of his grandmother, his ancestors and his heirs. “In what universe would I agree to marry a complete stranger and give away a family heirloom?”

She stood, too. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean-”

“I have horses to shoe.” He was done listening. She could fix her own car for all he cared, or call a taxi or hoof it up to the main road.