The Bridesmaid and the Billionaire. Shirley Jump
talk. And then on Thursday night we have the reh—”
“Basically, you have a million other things to do,” Susannah finished.
As usual. Jackie’s list was filled with social engagements and outings and very few responsibilities. At twenty-six, Susannah was four years older than Jackie and had always run her life down the opposite track. She bit back a breath of annoyance. Soon Jackie would be married, and she’d have to be responsible. Because Susannah wouldn’t be here anymore to carry the load.
“It’s a wonder I have time to go to work with all that, huh?” Jackie said, laughing. “Believe me, if Paul and I didn’t need the money, I’d be calling in sick every day. Gosh, how on earth am I ever going to find time to do everything for the wedding? It’s like the clock is running out. Jerry said we could set up early at the hotel, because they have nothing else scheduled there this weekend, but I don’t even have time to…”
Her voice trailed off and then that hopeful smile took over her face. The one Susannah knew as well as she knew every square inch of this house. Jackie leaned against the counter and met Susannah’s gaze. “Hey, what are you doing tonight, sis?”
Susannah pulled the drain on the sink. “No way, Jackie. I’ve got—”
“Please, Suzie-Q. Please?” Jackie put her hands together, and gave Susannah a pleading-puppy-dog look. “Just this one more favor, and then, I swear, I’ll never ask for another. I swear.”
And Susannah said yes. Just like always.
CHAPTER TWO
KANE could run a multi-billion-dollar, fourth-generation, international gem import company. Negotiate million-dollar deals. Understand the most complicated of financial reports. Surely he could do something as simple as light a fire. The flame on the match met the log, sputtered briefly, then poof, disappeared.
Apparently not.
He’d rented the cabin on the outskirts of town, ordered a quarter-cord of wood, picked up some matches at the store downtown, and thought the whole process would be as simple as striking a match to a box, then holding it against a stick.
Uh…not exactly.
Kane let out a curse as his sixth attempt fizzled and died, then stalked outside. He drew in several deep breaths of fresh, country air. An hour ago, he’d been loving the whole experience. Now he was ready to call his chauffeur, have him hurry the hell out here with the limo and drive him straight to the private Lennox Gem Corporation jet.
No. He’d do this. He needed to do this.
He stepped back and appraised the situation with logic, thinking back over movies he’d seen and the books about camping he’d skimmed on the plane when he’d taken this impromptu escape from reality. Too many large, thick logs. Not enough skinny sticks. What he needed was more kindling. Not more thinking.
Kane headed outside, blew some warm air on his cold hands, then started picking up sticks from the ground. As he did, his hands brushed against the bare dirt, pushing soil under his nails when he dug into the earth to loosen a stubborn piece. He pulled his hand back and marveled at the sight of the dirt.
Such a simple thing, and yet, he’d never done this. Never had soil beneath his nails. Never cleaned mud from his uncalloused palms. Kane kneeled down and pressed both hands into the soft dark brown earth, squeezing the thick clumps. A burst of rich, earthy scent filled his nostrils. Then the dirt broke apart, slipping through his fingers and hitting the ground again with a soft patter, like fat raindrops.
Kane chuckled. Imagine that. One of the richest men in the world, amused at something so basic as communing with Mother Nature.
Something shivered the bushes beside him. Kane jerked to attention, grabbing his kindling as he did. He thrust his right hand forward, then realized his sapling ammunition made him about as dangerous as a sunflower. “Who’s there?”
Or rather, what was there?
When he’d made the decision two days ago to come here for more than just Paul’s wedding, he’d done a quick research overview of the location, right down to the last lack of amenities, but hadn’t thought to look up “wild indigenous animals.” For God’s sake, the thing rustling around five feet from him could be a bear.
The rustling grew louder, the leaves shaking like can-can dancers. Kane took a step back. Should he head for the cabin? Stand his ground? He could just see the headline now: Idiot CEO Billionaire Dies: Money No Match For Bear In Woods.
The press would have a field day with that one. He’d be the butt of jokes for generations to come.
Then, out of the woods, a bundle of fur came bounding right for him, and Kane started to turn and run back inside, until he realized the bundle was—
A dog.
The mutt, a small barrel of brown-and-white fur and floppy ears, barked at him, then leapt at his legs, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Oh, God, it was on him now. Shedding. Kane had no experience with pets. Not unless he counted the one week his mother thought it would be cute to have a pocket pooch, then changed her mind once she realized live dogs actually peed and pooped—and gave the dog to the maid.
This thing was as friendly as a second-place politician desperate for every last vote. Kane took a step back, hands up, his sticks like finger extensions. “Whoa, there, buddy. Get down. Please.”
Undaunted, the dog kept coming, launching himself at Kane in another greeting. Kane reached out a tentative hand, and gave the dog an awkward pat on the head. “There you go. Now go on home.”
The dog barked, plopped his butt on the ground and swished a semicircle into the ground with his tail.
“Go home.”
The dog’s tail widened the dirt semicircle, creating a tiny cloud of dust. He barked disagreement. Stubborn.
“Well, if you won’t, I will.” Kane pivoted, and headed into the cabin. Before he could shut the door—hands impeded by the load of kindling—the dog was there.
Inside.
With him.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Shoo.” Kane waved out the door. The dog stayed put, staring at him. Expectant. “Go home.”
The dog barked some more. This time it sounded like a feed-me bark. Not that Kane would know, of course, but the way the dog was looking at him, he seemed kind of hungry.
“I don’t have any dog food. In fact—”
He didn’t have any people food, either. For a man who lived his life by a schedule and a plan, he’d done a pretty lousy job of planning this one.
It was that woman. She’d gotten him all turned around this morning. Set him off-kilter. If he hadn’t met her, he wouldn’t have forgotten to buy food. Or thoroughly check out his surroundings. Or gather kindling. And then he wouldn’t have this…this creature staring at him.
A creature he needed to get rid of. Kane opened the door, but the dog stayed put. Clearly, reasoning with the animal wasn’t going to work. The dog wore no collar, so Kane couldn’t call his owner. And he certainly couldn’t keep the thing here. So he did the only other thing he knew to do—delegate.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for the woman who had rented him the cabin. “Mrs. Maxwell, do you own a dog?”
Angela Maxwell, an older woman with gray hair and a friendly smile, and most of all, a tendency not to ask any questions once she had a valid credit-card number in hand, laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, dear, I don’t. But there are lots of stray dogs around the cabins. Sometimes they get separated from their owners who are on vacation. And we don’t have much of a leash law ’round here. People kind of just let their dogs go, it being a small town and all. Most everybody knows most everybody else’s dogs.”
“Do you know this one?