Robyn Grady - At The Playboy's Command

“Do you have time to sit down now?” she asked.

Tremain eyed Daniel again before extending his arm for Elizabeth. But she either didn’t see the gesture or ignored it.

Daniel grinned to himself. Suck on that, Tremain.

Before moving off, she offered her hand to Daniel. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Let’s say, seven?”

As their hands met and squeezed, a smile twinkled in her eyes. “Seven sounds just fine.”

Daniel was tempted to watch as she moved off, but to be on his way was probably wiser. He’d riled Tremain enough for one day. He asked the doorman to have his rental brought up and soon he arrived at the Texas Cattleman’s Club.

Alighting from the vehicle, he surveyed the club’s grounds. Manicured gardens and lawn were set amid majestic sprawling plains dotted with small trees, which were bowed by prevailing southern winds. His attention veered toward the club building, grand, solid and appropriate … but also, to his taste, due for at least a good brushup.

Because of the sheer size of the state, its variations in weather and scattered patterns of settlement, Texas architecture enjoyed a diversity of styles. The clubhouse was a mixture of Victorian—red granite and timber exterior, sandstone and elaborate carved woodwork interior—and Spanish Colonial, an ancestor of the ranch-style house—thick stuccoed walls and small windows that invited in the breeze and kept out the heat. The structure conveyed a sense of strength. Endurance. And that was key.

So how to keep the heart of this club while promoting the new twenty-first-century feel Abigail and her supporters were after?

Daniel was wandering around a far corner of the building when he heard a hushed but intense conversation in progress. Male voices … the words “baby” and “blackmail.” Three men came into view, huddled together beneath a giant oak. Not wanting to intrude, he was pivoting away when one of the men glanced over then all three stopped to glare.

The nearest, a tall man with brown hair and hawkish hazel eyes, edged around to face him. “Can I help you?”

Daniel held up a friendly hand. “Just taking a stroll of the grounds. Admiring the club.” When their stares intensified, he added, “The name’s Daniel Warren.”

That same man’s eyes flashed. “Abigail’s star-chitect.”

And then it clicked and Daniel straightened his spine. “And you must be Bradford Price.”

This was the man who was running for presidency of the club and Abigail Langley’s nemesis. No wonder he was looking at Daniel as if he wanted to grab him by the collar and personally escort him off the grounds. And what was that about blackmail? Such murmurings didn’t bode well for a club whose motto was Leadership, Justice and Peace.

“I’m Abigail’s guest here, yes.” Daniel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be on my way. Let you all get back to your conversation.”

As he rotated away, Daniel saw in Brad Price’s eyes that he wondered how much of the conversation the outsider had heard. Enough to be suspicious, that’s how much. But not enough to want to dig any further. Seemed there was a whole lot more going on in Royal than an unprecedented election.

As she and Chad took a seat in a private corner of the hotel, Elizabeth got straight to business and mentioned the amount she was more than comfortable with donating to the Helping Hands Shelter in exchange for having the flamingos removed.

Sitting back, Chad slowly shook his head. “You don’t need to donate that much.”

She frowned. “It’s a wonderful cause.” One of the best, to Elizabeth’s mind. Although she kept it quiet, she’d been helping out individual families for a while now. “That women’s shelter has helped a lot of people in need, children included. It offers a wonderful service for the community.”

“No doubt. And it’s great to have such a generous spirit. You never tire of giving. But, Elizabeth, you don’t need to go overboard.”

She eyed the man who had been directing her finances—her life—since her parents’ deaths, and a sick, empty feeling caved in around her. She’d told Daniel she wasn’t a child, but the truth was Chadwick Tremain made her feel like a minor. A mere girl with no rights. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman with a sharp mind. A mind of her own.

Chad didn’t think she needed to “go overboard.”

She clasped her hands on the table before her. “Kindly have your office transfer the amount I’ve stipulated into the shelter’s account today.”

“Elizabeth, I’m telling you in my professional opinion—”

“And I’m telling you that you are my advisor, not my keeper.”

“Your father wanted your affairs looked after.”

“I can look after my own affairs.”

“In the will—”

Her fist thumped on the wood. “I’m sick of hearing about that will!”

Chad’s head snapped back. For a moment, Elizabeth thought he might raise his voice at her. But then he skipped a glance around the room and saw that no one was near enough to notice her outburst. He smoothed the line of his royal-blue tie, the one with which he always wore his diamond pin.

She’d never liked that tie.

“I should be on my way.” She stood.

So did Chad. “I wish you wouldn’t leave like this.”

She stopped, remembered how fond her father had been of this man and pulled in a leveling breath.

“I’m not ungrateful for your help—”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“But I don’t need your help.” When his face fell like a boy who’d been told his dog had run away, she softened the blow. “Or not as much as I may have in the past.” She thought of eighteen-year-old Daniel standing up to his parents and cutting his ties, and she lifted her chin.

“Make that transfer, please, Chad.”

As she walked out and onto Main, Elizabeth clasped her hands at her chest. Still she couldn’t stop them shaking. She’d never felt so energized. So on edge. She’d accepted her lot with regard to the ranch. Had embraced it. Why had Daniel Warren come along and turned everything upside down?

“We ‘re having a guest again tonight,” Elizabeth announced to Nita as she entered the Milton Ranch kitchen on the way through to her room.

Nita set down her chopping knife and followed Elizabeth down the main hall and up the stairs. “Anyone I know?”

Grinning, Elizabeth shrugged out of her jacket. “Yes, Nita. It’s Daniel Warren.”

“I’m glad to hear you sorted out your differences.”

In her bedroom, Elizabeth reached behind and unzipped her dress, remembering this morning when she’d arrived at his hotel suite door and found the courage to let him know how she’d felt. Now that time spent in Daniel’s arms, in his bed, seemed like some wild fantasy. A dream. She could easily believe she’d imagined the whole amazing interlude except for the tingling afterglow still warming her skin and the fact they were seeing each other again tonight. She wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She had every intention of repeating the experience.

As far as having sorted out their differences …

“Let’s say,” Elizabeth said, slipping off her shoes, “we’ve come to an understanding.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll let my mother know I’ll be over tomorrow instead.”

An earlier conversation flashed to mind and Elizabeth wheeled around from her set of drawers. “Nita, I completely forgot.”

Mrs. Ramirez lived in the next town. The following day was the anniversary of her husband’s death, Nita’s father. Nita liked to keep her mother company and stay overnight.

But Nita was shaking it off. “I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll be there early.”