The Last Man In Texas

And maybe you shouldn’t kibitz in their relationship when your own marriage is no rose garden, Rachel Rosenfeld.

The beloved voice had delivered countless tender scoldings and unsolicited advice throughout Rachel’s life. Her heart squeezed.

“Mama?” she whispered.

A jangle from her telephone answered. Blushing, she glanced quickly at both hallway entrances to the lobby before picking up on the third ring. She connected a freelance photographer to the art department, dealt with a subsequent incoming call, then sank back in her chair, still embarrassed by her earlier delusion. Mama had died of a stroke three years ago.

Funny, Rachel mused, how her mother’s “meddling” used to make her crazy. Now she’d give anything to soak up all that love and wisdom. She was a schlemiel, all right. Only a fool would fail to treasure loved ones until after they were gone.

She ripped off her glasses, gathered a pinch of the broomstick silk draping her thigh and briskly rubbed the lenses. If only she hadn’t focused all her energy and attention on Ben’s schoolwork, his baseball and swimming, his upcoming Bar Mitzvah celebration—his needs and wants. They’d left her little time for Steven. And in her diligence to be a good mother, she’d neglected to be a good wife. So easy to see in retrospect.

But three months ago, when Steven had moved abruptly out of the house, needing “time and space to think,” she’d been as shocked as their sweet little boy.

She’d told no one of their separation. Not even Elizabeth.

Rachel’s vigorous rubbing slowed. And now her sweet little boy bristled with hostility. He wasn’t so little anymore, either. The last time he’d let her hug him, right after his father moved out, she’d been able to prop her chin on the crown of his shorn black hair. This morning, she’d rushed out of the kitchen as he rushed in, and they’d collided nose-to-nose.

She blinked rapidly and shoved on her glasses. Enough self-pity!

Rising, she put the phones on forward, then grabbed a bulging folder from her desktop. The agency vendor invoices wouldn’t file themselves.

The instant she entered the left hallway, her gaze jumped ahead to Elizabeth’s office. Pete and Mitch stood eavesdropping shamelessly outside her closed door. At Rachel’s sudden appearance, the men snapped to military attention, saw who she was, then resumed their straining cocked-ear poses.

Squelching a powerful desire to join them, she ducked into a large room filled with file cabinets, office supplies and two photocopy machines. What were her co-workers hearing? she wondered. Probably he was talking himself back into Elizabeth’s favor. Cameron could charm the coat off a freezing person.

But he was more likely to offer that person the coat off his own back.

Four years ago Steven, a victim of downsizing, had lost his job and insurance coverage for the whole family. Soon afterward Cameron had walked in on Rachel crying because she’d forgotten to reorder nondairy creamer for the coffee room.

Next thing she knew, he’d added not only her, but also Steven and Ben to Malloy Marketing’s group insurance policy. It had taken Steven nine demoralizing months to land a comparable management position in the oil industry, and two more for his new insurance coverage to kick in. In the meantime, his emergency appendectomy and Ben’s bout with influenza drained Rachel’s emotions, but not her family’s savings account.

There was much more to Cameron than charisma and a face to die for. He was a mensch. A good man. Though sometimes, like today, he was as big a schlemiel as she’d ever been.

Rachel moved to a long worktable against one wall and laid her folder next to the humming network laser printer. The output tray was full. A paper jam waiting to happen. She snatched up the offending sheets and began slipping each one into wall folders bearing the appropriate employee’s name.

Halfway through the stack, she scanned the top page and froze.

So much for her instincts. So much for Cameron’s legendary charisma and powers of persuasion. So much for a buffer between his temper and everyone’s tochus.

Oy!

CHAPTER THREE

CAMERON STARED ACROSS Lizzy’s desk, his mind struggling to process her stunning revelation.

Did not compute.

He must, indeed, be going deaf. “You’re what?”

A fiery blush belied her frosty glare. “Is my getting married so impossible to fathom?”

Damnation, the woman had a talent for twisting his words! “Did I say that? No, I did not say that.”

“Then why are you so shocked? Because my social life is obviously more ‘active’ than you thought?”

Yes! “No. Will you stop answering your own questions and let me finish?”

She pursed her mouth and examined a short unpolished fingernail.

Now what? “Look, you can’t blame me for being surprised. You’ve never talked much about your personal life. But I figured if you ever got involved with someone, you’d at least tell me.”

Her gaze sliced up. “I figured if you ever got interested in my personal life, you’d at least ask questions once in a while.”

They exchanged a righteous wounded look.

Cameron rallied first. “I respected your privacy. Besides, I thought you were completely committed to your career at Malloy Marketing.”

“You know I was. But I also want more from life than a satisfying career. Most people do. At some point in their lives, they want to meet their soul mate, settle down and raise a family. And that includes men people, no matter what they say or others think.”

She’d found her soul mate?

“Your brother Travis is a perfect example,” she continued, warming to the subject. “He’s so excited about Kara’s pregnancy he’s like a little kid waiting to open a present. But when he was single, you told me he never wanted to remarry, much less have children.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And look how great your dad is doing? Not so long ago, you worried about him being lonely. You were convinced he would never marry again. Then he fell in love with both Nancy and her son, and now they’re a happy family.”

“True, but—”

“What about Rachel and Steven? Fifteen years, and they’re more in love than ever. You can’t deny that marriage has changed the lives of a lot of people who are close to you for the better.”

“No, but—”

“A husband and wife can form the greatest team of all, Cameron. Haven’t you ever wanted, even for a moment, to experience that kind of love and commitment yourself?”

He opened and closed his mouth.

She looked so hopeful, so wistful and innocent, her luminous brown gaze like a child’s wishing upon a star. Of course, she hadn’t witnessed Travis’s bitter divorce, long estrangement from Kara and bruising, bumpy road to remarriage. Or, for that matter, John Malloy’s twenty-year mourning period after Cameron’s mother lost her long battle with cancer. Their pain had been devastating. And devastatingly painful to watch.

But did he want the kind of blissful marriage his brother and father enjoyed now? Sure he did. He’d be a fool not to.

And a bigger fool not to wait until the odds on having one were stacked high in his favor.

He managed a credibly careless shrug. “I’m a realist, not an idealist.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that at my age, it’s hard enough to meet attractive and interesting single women. The chances of meeting my one perfect soul mate aren’t very good.”

Lizzy’s eyes dimmed.

He smoothed his tie, struck with the sense that he’d somehow failed her, or himself—or them both. Before he could analyze his reaction, her eyes rekindled with a mocking gleam.

“Poor Cameron. Having one foot in the grave must be a tough handicap to meeting women. Then, too, being one of Austin’s ten most eligible bachelors is such a turnoff.”

Jeez. “All I’m saying is that I don’t bet on long shots. It’s a documented fact that half of all marriages in this country end in divorce.”

“Documented?”

Uh-oh. She’d taken on the look of Seth’s bird dog sifting through multiple scents in the air.

Cameron saw the exact instant she pinpointed her covey of information, and braced himself for a flurry of facts.

“Actually, the fifty percent divorce rate quoted by the media is wrong. The Census Bureau calculated the marriages and divorces in one year without including the fifty-four million marriages already in existence, and—presto! A totally inaccurate, but highly quotable, divorce rate appeared in the hat like magic. Lazy journalists all over the country yanked it out with regularity. But when divorces are tracked by the year in which a couple married, the correct rate is closer to between eighteen and twenty-two percent. Not too terrible, really…and I can see that you’re fascinated.”

He blinked the glaze from his eyes and found hers narrowed. “What? I’m listening.”

“Good. Because you need to hear this. The chance of you finding your ideal soul mate would improve considerably if you took more time getting to know a woman. More than six dates’ worth of time, that is.”

Indignation prodded him fully alert. “I’ve dated women more than six times.”

“Cameron, you’ve dated women more times in the past year alone than the average man does in his entire bachelorhood. I was referring to spending time with one woman, not sharing your charms with a harem.”

Jeez. “You sound like my brothers.”

“Thank you, but flattery won’t change the fact that you’ve never made it to a seventh date with the same woman.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Dead sure,” he stated, ignoring the red flag waving madly in his brain. “I’ve been seeing Carol for at least three months.”

“Seeing her exclusively?”

Frowning, he backpedaled mentally through a succession of forgettable evenings, only five of which included a giggling blonde.

The flag lowered to half-mast.

“I didn’t think so,” Lizzy said.

He reached up and yanked the knot of his necktie looser. “How’d we get so off track, anyway? We were talking about your love life, not mine.”

“You were talking. Whatever happened to respecting my privacy?”

He’d found out she had a love life, that’s what happened! She wasn’t bluffing about quitting. He was actually going to lose his second in command to some bozo he’d never met!

Shaken, he reached for an acceptable emotion and clung to outrage. “You’re a fine one to lecture me about keeping financial secrets, Lizzy. When were you planning to tell me you’re engaged, huh? After the wedding invitations were mailed?”

“Please lower your voice.”

“Or maybe you planned to wait and send me a birth announcement after Junior was born? You know, kill two birds with one postage stamp. Yeah, that sounds more like the Miss Cost-Efficiency I know.”

“If you can’t discuss this in a civil manner, kindly leave my office.”

“It’s not your office anymore, is it?”

Her nostrils pinched. She looked away, obviously seeking patience.

Following suit, Cameron focused on the large canvas dominating one wall. He’d paid the artist’s hefty asking price, not only to help out a talented student strapped for cash, but also because the garden scene reminded him of Lizzy. Her calming presence, that is. She was the eye of the storm in a swirl of agency activity that, more often than not, reached hurricane force. Not once had the painting’s vivid roses ever reminded him of Lizzy’s flushed complexion.

Until today.

“You’re right,” she said, drawing his attention to her icy dignity. “It’s not my office, anymore. Goodbye, Cameron. Have a nice life.”

“Wait!” he ordered, halting the backward roll of her chair. “Answer my question, first. Why would a woman who’s never peeped a single word about having a steady boyfriend suddenly announce she’s getting married?”

“Shh!” She flicked an embarrassed glance at the closed door.

But he couldn’t seem to control either his volume, or the territorial possessiveness goading him on, preventing him from letting her go with grace. “Why all the secrecy about your soul mate, Lizzy? What are you hiding? Tell me. And while you’re at it, explain how you can abandon the company that’s built your career just when it needs you most!”

She paled, but thrust out her chin. “How dare you try and make me feel guilty.”

“Pardon the hell out of me for thinking loyalty should still count for something these days.”

“You’re not being fair.”

“You think it’s fair to drop your little bombshell and leave me to rebuild the SkyHawk marketing plan from scratch? You could at least stay until the presentation. You owe me that much, damn it!”

Lush roses bloomed in her cheeks. “I don’t enjoy being manipulated, Cameron.”

“And I don’t enjoy being betrayed.”

“Oh, please. Who’s overreacting now? If anything, you betrayed me. I gave one hundred and ten percent of myself to you and this company for very little return on my investment. I needed…” Trailing off, she shook her head, rose from her chair and raised her palms. “Forget it. I don’t owe you a thing. Even an explanation.”

“Wait!” Desperation harshened his voice. “If this is about owning a piece of the company, let’s talk options. I’m willing to negotiate an agreement—”

The smack of her palms on the desk made him jump.

She braced her weight and leaned forward, her eyes spitting bullets. “I meant an emotional return on my investment. Don’t insult me with an equity offer at this late date. You can’t buy back my loyalty. You wouldn’t even want it back if you weren’t so obsessively competitive. No, don’t roll your eyes. Admit it. You can’t stand to lose, whether it’s a game of tennis, or a client’s account, or a vice president whose title is mere window dressing. You’ve fired plenty of employees over the past ten years, but I’m the first one who’s ever quit, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. You like to answer your own questions.”

The roses darkened a shade. “At least I ask questions! I’m not so self-centered I think the world revolves around my problems and needs. I don’t think everyone owes me their help. I don’t charm or manipulate or throw a tantrum to get it. I’ve worked damn hard for everything I’ve ever gotten.” Unlike you, her silent thought rang loud and clear, an echo of her earlier sentiment.

You aren’t the man you pretend to be. In other words, Cameron, you’re a fraud.

Grimacing, Cameron closed his eyes and massaged his temples. There was enough truth in her accusations to bring his headache back full force. She’d never pulled any punches with him, but he hadn’t realized she thought this poorly of him. The wonder was that she hadn’t resigned sooner.

Then again, she wasn’t a quitter by nature, like he was.

“I have some aspirin in my purse,” she said brusquely, unable to disguise the worry in her voice. “Why don’t you take two more?”

Ah, Lizzy. Sweet, tough Lizzy.

“Thanks,” he said without opening his eyes. “But I’ve already taken about six.”

She made a small sound of displeasure. “Last night it was champagne, today it’s aspirin…hey, I know. There’s some spray adhesive in the art supply closet. Wanna sniff that next?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up.

He opened his eyes. “Nah. I spotted a pan of Rachel’s to-die-for blintzes in the coffee room. Figured I’d try to OD on five or six of those rich suckers in a little while.” Why French fries would clog his arteries, according to Rachel, but rolled crepes filled with cream cheese wouldn’t, only she knew. “Wanna join me?”

Lizzy pressed a hand to her stomach. “Just the thought of two makes me feel queasy. But you go right ahead. I wouldn’t want to spoil your food hangover.”

Despite the encouraging hint of her smile, she did look a little green at the gills. For the first time, he noticed how physically exhausted she seemed. Those bruised half-moons under her eyes hadn’t developed overnight. She’d either been losing sleep consistently, or she’d been ill, or…

A disturbing possibility jarred him.

“Are you pregnant?” he blurted.

Her eyes widened.

A half-dozen emotions bombarded him. His usual glibness fled. “If you are, well…that’s great, honey.” The careless bozo should be horsewhipped “I mean, there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You’re getting married, right?”

A choked sputter escaped her throat.

He scowled. “You are getting married?”

Her yelp of laughter turned into a string of violent coughs, punctuated by a final chuckle. “Relax, Pa, I’m not pregnant. You can put away your shotgun now.”

Wiping a thumb over water-spiked lashes, she met his gaze. Whatever she saw in his expression killed the last trace of merriment in hers. “I’m sorry for laughing at your concern, Cameron. I’m a little punchy. I haven’t been getting much sleep, lately. I’ve been staying with Mom off and on the past couple of weeks. She has insomnia. The divorce has been pretty rough on her.”

“Sounds like it’s been no picnic for you, either.”

Lizzy shrugged, as if it went without saying any daughter would sacrifice her own sleep in order to comfort her mother.

Humbled, he studied her a long moment. “You’re something else. I’m way too late in offering, but is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Yes. Please don’t make it harder for me to leave the company than it already is. I care about what happens to Malloy Marketing. You can’t possibly doubt that. And I’ll complete as much of the SkyHawk marketing plan as possible in the next two weeks. But my priorities have shifted. I want to have a baby. Several babies, if I’m lucky.”

Warmth stirred in his heart and groin simultaneously. Jeez. She wasn’t the only one who was punchy.

“I always envied other children who had siblings,” she confessed. “Being an only child is a drag.”

He made a face. “Being one of four brothers can be a real pain in the ass, too.”

“Maybe. But most of the time it’s fun. No, I want a big family. And I am thirty-one years old. The sooner I get started trying, the better. So…do we have a deal?”

God, he would miss her.

“Deal. I hope your fiancé knows how lucky he is. When do I get to meet him?”

Her gaze veered off to land somewhere over his shoulder. “Um…soon, I hope. You know, if I’m going to cram four weeks of work into two, I’d better get cracking.”

The red flag in his brain slowly rose. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. What’s his name?”

“Whose name?”

The flag fluttered. “The man who’ll father all those babies you want. The one who offered you ‘the most exciting and challenging career any woman with no previous experience can have.’ That man’s name.”

“Oh, you mean Larry.” She grabbed the ceramic mug sitting next to a folded newspaper, then drew it to her breast like a waif begging for coins. “I need more coffee.”

“Larry,” he repeated.

“That’s right. Larry. Have you tried to OD on caffeine, yet? Beats aspirin, hands down. Want me to bring you a cup?”

“Does he have a last name? Or is he just Larry? Like Fabio, or Sting?”

She stood. “I’m headed that way. It’s really no trouble—”

“Goddamn it, Lizzy! Do I have to buy a vowel to fill in the blanks about this guy?” Her cheeks matched the red flag flapping like hell in Cameron’s brain.

“His name is Larry Sanderson. He’s brilliant. He’s kind. And he never yells.” After a pointed look, she marched toward the door in a huff.

Larry Sanderson, Larry Sanderson…Cameron stiffened.

His gaze zeroed in on the folded newspaper, then flew to the furious woman nearing the door.

“Lizzy, wait!”

She grasped the doorknob and sighed. “What now?”

“You can’t marry the dimwit.”

Two heartbeats passed.

The stare she directed over her shoulder could’ve shriveled a grape into a raisin. “Don’t worry. There’s only one dimwit I can claim to know personally. And I wouldn’t marry you, Cameron Malloy, if you were the last man in Texas!” With a toss of her dark curls, she flung open the door.

Mitch, Pete and Rachel staggered forward into the room, their heads twisted in identical awkward positions.

Lizzy growled in disgust, shoved her way through the flame-faced group and disappeared from sight.

Cameron leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He’d been called a lot of things he deserved in his life, but dimwit wasn’t one of them.

Something funny was going on. Something besides the Three Stooges currently backing out the door. If his suspicions were true, then his deal with Lizzy was off.

Which meant he still had a chance not to fail.

CHAPTER FOUR

AT SEVEN-THIRTY the next night, Elizabeth drove into the parking garage of Capitol Tower, the high-rise condominiums where Cameron lived, and willed her jittery stomach to calm.

This was insane. She’d known the man since high school, for heaven’s sake. There was absolutely no reason for her to be this nervous.

Relaxing her white-knuckle grip, she swung into a visitor’s space and cut the engine of her Taurus.

Her heartbeat tripled.

Who was she kidding? She’d known Cameron half her life, true, but she’d never actually socialized with him, never sought to be more than his friend and colleague. In high school, the All-State quarterback and senior class president had been hounded by more popular and beautiful girls. When he’d noticed Elizabeth at all, he’d been nice…but he’d been nice to everyone—that was part of his genuine charm. To him, she’d been a studious girl in his English class, as easily forgotten as her stammering oral reports.

In college, she’d gained Cameron’s first focused attention as a fellow team member in an Advertising Campaigns course. They’d carried the other four students on their backs to an A for the term. The beginning of a beautiful relationship, but one that had never ventured outside of classroom or office walls.

Which was why she’d accepted his invitation to grill her a steak dinner tonight.

She had no illusions about his motive. It wasn’t, as he wanted her to believe, to kick off their truce and cheer them both up after their unprecedented “fight.” And it sure wasn’t to get her alone in his bachelor pad and have his way with her—though, with luck, one day soon that’s exactly what he’d want.

Unfortunately, what he sought now was uninterrupted privacy to question her about Larry. The steak was a decoy. Cameron was a master at hunting for the Achilles’ heel of his opponents, and the instant she’d resigned from Malloy Marketing, she’d joined their ranks.

Elizabeth unbuckled her seat belt shakily. It was his fierce competitiveness, his inability to resist a challenge that had sown the seed of a Valkyrie idea in her mind. For years she’d watched other women try to “snare” the hunter. Of course they’d failed. If she could take a lesson from the master and decide that the means justified their happily-ever-after end, her impulsive marriage announcement might be the smartest dumb mistake she’d ever made.

She grabbed her purse and briefcase, slid out of the car, then locked and slammed the door. Hard.

No guts, no glory. Given the slightest indication tonight that her strategy might work, she would step to the front of the class and, for the first time since joining Malloy Marketing, present her own plan…hopefully without stammering. Head held high, Elizabeth marched across the parking garage toward Capitol Tower and her uncertain fate.

Minutes later, after receiving clearance for takeoff from the security desk, she rocketed twenty-four stories in a mahogany-paneled elevator so smooth and quiet, she was startled by the soft ding! of arrival.

The hushed atmosphere of luxury continued in the small waiting area outside the elevator. Cameron had moved into his condominium about six months ago, but this was her first visit. She consulted a wall plaque and entered one of four hallways.

Underlying the stately quiet, the driving pulse of a bass guitar sounded out of place. The closer she drew to 24C, the louder it got, along with drums, lead guitar and frenzied vocals. Vibrations from the blast of a song she didn’t recognize seeped under the door and literally buzzed her feet.