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“So, you just arrived?” She deposited several bills on the counter, scooped up a sackful of the lovely smelling rolls and motioned for him to carry the cold drinks.
The chilled cans were comforting against the painful gashes on his palms and the pads of his fingers. Barrett realized he was lucky it was not his throat that was left slashed and bleeding after his insane balancing act on the edge of Traitor’s Gate. His out-of-character behavior only one night earlier was proof that family pressure and fickle women could send any man to the brink of disaster.
“Get away from that ledge, Westbrook, you fool!” Sigmond cried out. “You’ll slip and break your aristocratic neck!”
Captivated by the Atlantic crashing on ancient rocks three hundred meters below, Barrett ignored the needless warning of his old chum. To voluntarily leap from this site known for brutal executions, a man would have to be a fool. And on a rational day, he would never qualify. But just as the ruined remains of King Arthur’s Tintagel lay in heaps of rubble around him, the life Barrett had carefully crafted was also reduced to a wasteland.
Nine generations of Westbrook men had succeeded in every facet of the legal profession and, according to his mum, Barrett’s inability to find his fit was becoming “something of an embarrassment” to the family.
“And what would it matter if I broke my neck? I am on the brink of forty with absolutely nothing to show for myself,” Barrett called above the stinging wind, repeating the words his brother had passed on courtesy of their father.
“Nothing, indeed!” Sig made no effort to hide his sarcasm. “Let’s examine the facts together, shall we, my friend? First, the Westbrooks’ share of wealth and respect is second only to the royal family in this country. Next, you bear the dreadful misfortune of being a ringer for that rascal Hugh Grant. How you manage to bear up under the female notice is a source of amazement.” He laughed, amusing only himself.
“Then there is the lovely Caroline at your side on the rare occasion when you venture forth from your Chelsea apartment for a social affair.”
Barrett clenched his eyes against the stinging wind and the biting remark.
Unbeknownst to Sig, the woman had ended their relationship two days prior. Dumped Barrett via text message for a Frenchman a half-dozen years her junior. And simply because the young scoundrel had declared himself to be in love with her. A step Barrett was not even the least bit inclined to take.
“Westbrook! Are you listening to me? Step away from that cliff or I shall drag you back by the collar and put you on the plane to America myself. In fact, some time out of your comfy chair is just what you need.”
Barrett spun about-face and took several unsteady strides toward Sig to see if he was joking. The squint of the man’s eyes was kind, calm, but quite serious.
“A change of scenery might do you good.”
“A change of scenery is a drive up to the Lake District, not hard time in the Colonies,” Barrett complained.
Sig tipped his head back, his loud laughter angled at the dark clouds. “Oh, do get over your prejudice of the Yanks. It’s actually called the United States now—there are fifty of them at last count and most have paved roads and indoor plumbing. You may even enjoy yourself.”
“I might agree if this assignment were in New York or California. But at the lowest point in my life my family is packing me off to Texas, of all uncivilized places!”
Again Sigmund’s laughter rang out. He was enjoying this far too much. “Mate, Texas is hardly the Wild West anymore. The Indians are no longer hostile and the best-known cowboys are a football team in Dallas. And you’re going to investigate an investment opportunity, not negotiate a peace settlement.”
His old friend was correct, as always. Barrett had failed to identify his calling within the multifaceted practice, and now he was down to his last chance with their financial division. His test would be to review an international opportunity for one of the firm’s most valued clients. His report would determine the future of the partnership. To protect his own future he had no option but to make a trek to the States.
Scratch States. Make that Texas.
“Come along before the rain starts chucking it down. We’ll get curry takeaway and have a talk while you pack.”
Barrett’s shoulders sagged as he accepted the finality of the situation.
“Give me a minute, Sig?”
“Of course.”
Barrett lifted his face to the dark, heavy clouds that hung low, blocking Tintagel from the midday sun and the splendor of the heavens. He stood in the increasing drizzle, waiting on a sign. He began to pray aloud, without a care for Sigmund, who’d discreetly turned aside.
“Lord, You’ve blessed me with every advantage, yet I’m a failure at all I’ve attempted. I’m prepared to do anything necessary to make my parents proud while I find Your will for me, but must I leave the land I love to discover those things?”
The declaration was sucked from his mouth and flung into the ocean before him. A gale-force wind roared across the black currents, scooped up icy sea-water by the bucketful and swept up the steep cliff. A torrent of stinging ocean spray splashed Barrett hard, soaking him to the marrow and dissolving the last of his doubt.
The drizzle turned to a drenching rain. A fresh blast of wind hit him full in the chest, knocking him off balance. He struggled to keep to his feet, the leather soles of his shoes slipping on the wet ground. He pitched backward, his arms thrown out in a useless effort as he tumbled hard to the seat of his trousers.
An uncontrollable slide toward the sheer cliffs caused Barrett to cast about with his hands, grasping for jutting chunks of stone that slashed his palms as he inched toward Traitor’s Gate. He dug his heels into the earth, pushing with all his might. A gush of water coursed beneath him in its rush to blend with the sea. It picked up speed, swept down the slope, whooshed over Barrett and pulled at his sodden clothes, sucking him toward the ledge. Having spent countless days sailing the always-freezing water, there was no terror in Barrett at the thought of falling, of drowning. There was no fear of death, only wry irony that life could end on the cliffs of this magical place, never having found his own Camelot.
Barrett shuddered at yesterday’s memory. The Heavenly Father had never taken His eyes away and neither had his friend, Sig. If ever a man had wanted a sign, that was most surely it.
The humid air of Galveston, Texas, was a warm and welcome change.
“Let’s sit over here in the shade while you answer my question.” Casey lifted first one heavy boot and then the other across a wooden bench, sat and motioned for him to do the same.
Having lost the thread of the conversation, he simply followed her example. “I’m sorry, what question was that?”
“I asked if you just arrived this morning.” She busied herself with the contents of the sack, laying out napkins and plastic ware.
“Oh, yes. My flight from Gatwick landed in Houston just after daybreak. I rented a car and drove straight down, Miss Hardy.” They exchanged smiles. He fancied hers. It was a lovely distraction from the memory he planned to bury forever once the telltale signs were gone from his hands. “It was my intention to introduce myself to your…” He paused, expecting her to fill in the blank.
“Brother. Guy is my big brother. He recently married and settled in Austin, and I’ve taken over his position as the executive of corporate expansion.”
“That presents quite a different situation than I’d been led to expect.” He couldn’t help wondering if his father had known about this all along. “It was my intention to make your brother’s acquaintance and agree together on a brief timeline to review all necessary materials.”
She stopped her work of laying out their meal and narrowed unforgettable eyes that reminded him of the bluebells in his mother’s garden.
“Who did you say you were with again, Barrett?”
“Forgive me for not presenting my identification when we made introductions.” He drew a slim leather case from his breast pocket and positioned a business card on the table before her.
“Westbrook Partners, Esquire. My family has provided legal representation for nine generations.”
“And your family is diversifying by investing in the U.S. home improvement market?”
“Good heaven’s, no,” he insisted, possibly louder than necessary.
The rag the woman had twisted around her head must be too tight. He would never suggest such a thing to his family and wasn’t at all sure he’d recommend the client do so, either. This mission was critical and he had no intention of failing. Again.
“Well, you don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing.” The tilt of her brows indicated he’d offended her.
“Please, allow me to explain. I represent the U.K. group interested in Hearth and Home. I’m here to review and report on the legal implications of moving forward.”
“So, you’re a financial adviser?”
“More accurately, I provide legal guidance on financial matters.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
She used the word as if it were synonymous with ax murderer.
“I’m a barrister, that’s correct.”
She dipped her chin, looked at the items she’d put on the table and muttered something under her breath that clearly included the phrase, “An ambulance chaser with an accent.” She began to unroll one of the tinfoil objects.
He mirrored her actions with the mystery food, having no idea what to expect inside. Hopefully a hearty serving of pork pie or Cornish pasty.
“I see you have high regard for my profession,” he observed, not at all offended. It seemed to be a common opinion the world over.
She raised her face, met his gaze.
“My family lost a small fortune and spent months in court thanks to money-hungry lawyers. Even so, that doesn’t give me the right to be rude.” A charming pout puckered her lips. “The simple truth is I’m disappointed. I was expecting your client in person.”
“I’m sorry to let you down. I’ll do my best to make amends.” He offered up a smile, removed his suit coat and loosened the Windsor knot in his tie.
Her grin was sheepish. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. I’ve reacted like a petulant child and that is not the first impression I usually give.”
“Nonsense, you cast a lovely image, and perfectly suitable for the surroundings.” He angled his head, indicating the catering coach. Her eyes widened with exaggerated offense.
He raised a sore palm to shield him from the expression. “You must admit, we’ve both had a bit of a shock in the past half hour. What do you say we start over?” He lifted his soft drink and offered a salute. “To new beginnings?”
The blue eyes narrowed while she considered the proposal, as though it were possible she’d refuse his toast. Then a sly smile curved what might be the most perfect mouth he’d ever seen. She raised her soda.
“To new beginnings,” she agreed.
The two cans made contact with a clunk.
As they flipped the tabs of their drinks and took first sips he considered his interesting change of circumstances. The hard-driving American businessman he’d expected to find had turned out to be an attractive young woman. If her footwear was any indicator she was more concerned with work conditions than appearance. Quite a nice change from most females in his life and nothing at all like Caroline. Maybe his luck was turning about. Maybe this woman would be so involved with the nuts and bolts of construction that she’d leave him to his work.
He felt a burden lift from his heart. Yes, things were looking up. In no time at all, his task would be complete. This trial by Texas would be a thing of the past and he’d be heading home.
He remembered the quote for the day on the calendar in his office. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
He didn’t yet know which she was, but either way during his stay in Galveston he’d stick close to Miss Casey Hardy.
Chapter Two
Casey watched with fascination as Barrett studied his tamale. His grim confusion was priceless, reminding her of the first time she’d encountered a plateful of boiled crawfish.
“What is this part?” He poked at his food with the tines of a plastic fork.
“A corn husk.”
“So, swine food is to be my first meal in Texas.”
“You don’t eat that stuff. It’s used to roll the tamale and then hold it together while it’s cooking.” She took pity on the guy, something she never thought she’d do with a lawyer. “Here, like this.”
With practiced fingers she peeled away the moist husk to reveal the steamy contents.
“So that’s how it’s done.” He smiled as he followed her example, but resumed his look of concern when he raised a forkful to his face and studied it.
“The meat on the inside is roasted pork and the stuff on the outside is made from Mexican cornmeal.” She lifted the food with her fingers and put away the tasty Mexican staple in two unladylike bites. Her mother would raise her eyes heavenward and wonder where she’d failed, but with her kids there always seemed to be a connection between clothing and table manners. When they were casually dressed, proper behavior seemed to fly out the window.
To atone, Casey dabbed her lips daintily, wiped her fingers with a paper napkin and then motioned for her company to eat up. Barrett disposed of the initial suspicious bite then forked the rest and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes while he chewed as if giving all his concentration to the flavor.
“Jolly good,” was his simple declaration as he motioned toward the sack. “May I have another? I’m famished.”
“That’s why I bought a dozen.”
He reached into the brown paper bag. “I’d like to hear the details of your expansion plan. Would you mind telling me something about that while I eat?”
She glanced at the time. Cooper had arranged for their primary contractors to join her in the construction trailer at three o’clock sharp and she still had plenty to do before their meeting. Savannah was nothing if not efficient, so Casey was certain every thing would be pulled together and ready when she took her place at the head of the conference table.
Still, there were things she had to handle herself.
“I’ve caught you at a bad time, haven’t I?”
The worried crinkle around his eyes gave away his anxiety over her response. She waved away his concern while she fished a cell phone from the pocket of her grubby shirt.
“No, but I do need to juggle some stuff. You enjoy your lunch, I’ll step away for a few minutes to make some calls and we’ll wing it from there.”
In response he expertly shucked his second tamale, ate it in two bites and then mimicked the way she’d dabbed at her lips with a napkin.
No doubt his way of saying he wasn’t missing a thing.
Just like a lawyer.
She glanced over her shoulder at the visitor and tried to ignore the tingling in her fingers as she rounded the flatbed trailer piled six feet high with tons of Sheetrock. Guy answered her call on the second ring.
“What’s up, kiddo?”
She ducked into the truck’s shadow for cover and privacy.
“What’s up is there’s a lawyer here to see you and it seems he came all the way from London,” she snapped at her brother.
“Oh, he must be the rep from Westbrook Partners.”
“You knew this guy was coming? Why didn’t you warn me?” With the first question her temples began to throb. With the second her voice crescendoed to a squeak.
“Easy, girl! You’ll shatter a windshield.” His chuckle buzzed in her ear.
“Don’t you dare make jokes. Just answer my questions.” She squeezed her cell phone, wishing she could do the same to his neck. It was so like him to test her with a surprise.
“Of course I knew he would be coming eventually but not for another month at least, so I hadn’t thought to warn you about him. What does he want?” His calm and lack of excitement was the right medicine to slow her heart from the racing that had begun.
“He says he’s supposed to go over our expansion plan.”
“Well, cooperate with him. Let the man have what he needs and then he’ll leave.”
“Guy, he’s a lawyer. We can’t trust him with that kind of information.”
“Casey, you can’t let our experience in court make you bitter for the rest of your life.”
