The Billionaire's Colton Threat. Geri Krotow
She didn’t say it but she’d never bother them while they were on vacation, unless it was life or death.
“And by the way, Halle? Your guest’s name is Alastair Buchanan. Adeline says to tell you he’s safe.” Jeremy ended the call.
Halle shoved the phone into her rear pocket, heat hitting her cheeks as she realized she hadn’t asked the client’s name. Jeremy knew her, so he didn’t think she was careless, but she’d come off exactly how she never wanted to. Desperate. But if Adeline Kincaid said he was safe, he was. The Kincaids were a family of their word. And Adeline knew more than anyone the importance of personal security, after all she’d been through with the son she’d carried for Jeremy and his first wife, Tess, now deceased.
The sad memory of Tess’s death, and the initial suspicion that Livia Colton had been involved, threatened to sabotage the good news Jeremy had just given her. Bluewood had a new client.
Halle grabbed her mug and rolled her shoulders back as she headed toward the ranch house. The best way for her to stop obsessing over her own tragic loss was work, and she had a three-day trail ride to prepare for. She’d be grateful for this, no matter her grief.
* * *
The next morning Halle sprang out of bed an hour before dawn, unable to sleep with the anticipation of a full four-day trail ride galloping through her mind all night. She took her time with her shower and watched the sky start to lighten as her coffee brewed. With a full, hot mug, she headed for the paddock fence to greet the day.
Leaning against it, she wondered if her father had done this, too, after her mother had died when she was a toddler. Soothed his broken heart with the beauty of a Texas sunrise.
“Good morning.”
“Whoa!” Halle startled, spilling some of her coffee on her bare hand. She spun around from her morning meditation spot on the fence.
“Mr. Buchanan!” Her sole guest stood in front of her, dressed to ride in a combination of what she considered very high-end outdoor clothing and more practical items, like blue jeans. His height was impressive, as was his physical bearing. This wasn’t a man tied to a desk all day, not with those broad shoulders that filled out his Western snap-front shirt and olive pullover. His tapered waist was that of a man with abs of steel, and a vision of her fingers touching said stomach made them tingle. He was the full package, but that wasn’t what drew her, pulled her to look up into his eyes, brilliant flashes of the North Sea reflecting back at her. It was his essence. Alastair Buchanan had a spirit about him that intrigued her. It wasn’t anything she could chalk up to his ability to afford the top-end cowboy boots or hat he wore with the ease of the financially sound.
The expensive accessories were nothing she’d afford for a long while. She’d donated all but two of her business suits to the battered women’s shelter in Austin, so determined was she to make a go of the ranch and leave her old life behind. Because the property was so deep in debt she’d only been able to put together her newer clothing from the big box superstore nearest to Shadow Creek, on the way to Austin. Would someone like Alastair Buchanan know from how she was dressed that she was barely keeping her business afloat?
More important, why did she care?
“I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.” She struggled to shove down her self-consciousness.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” His Scottish accent was at odds with their surroundings and yet he looked comfortable as he watched her, one side of his mouth lifted as if he was holding back a smile. As if he belonged in Shadow Creek, fancy clothes excused. Her quick internet search hadn’t told her a lot, except that Alastair was one of the most eligible bachelors in the UK. He owned a whiskey business that had been in his family for generations, and invested all over the globe in other ventures. Clyde Whiskey remained its core, but Clyde Whiskey had morphed into a global conglomerate, including tech. “I can sit on the porch until you’re ready to start the tour.”
“We’ll start in a bit.” She sized him up but hoped she came off as a caring hostess. Ready? Alastair Buchanan would find out soon enough how “ready” she, and Bluewood, were. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Buchanan?”
“No, thanks, but I’d appreciate a cup of tea if you have it.”
“Sure thing. Follow me.” She held her breath until he fell in next to her. “I’m not used to my trail guests being ready to go so early.”
“I’ve always been up with the sun.” The words rolled from his mouth like music and she had to force herself to stop staring at his lips. Well-formed, sensual, male lips. And that voice—she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed hearing that brogue until now. As a junior in college, she’d spent a year abroad in Scotland and loved every minute of it. But she hadn’t met men like Alastair when she was at university.
What the heck was going on with her? Clearly she’d been holed up at Bluewood for too long, not seeing the usual bevy of attractive men she’d gotten used to at her job in Austin. She couldn’t help her primal physical response to him or any man, but clients were out of bounds. She didn’t go there. But if she could, Alastair would be a temptation.
“Getting up early will serve you well. We’ll get to cover more land the sooner we’re on the trail each day. And other than tonight, it’s supposed to stay clear and dry.”
“Rain isn’t an issue for me. I’m from a land of rain.” Alastair’s lilt made her want to sit down and listen to him tell his life story. But this wasn’t a pub in Edinburgh and he wasn’t Robert Burns. He was her client; this trail ride was her job.
Get it together, girl.
“We’ll get going as soon as we have our teatime.” She opened the door to the ranch house and motioned for him to enter, shushing the barking Australian shepherd dogs. “Guests first. Don’t worry about the pups—they think it’s their job to herd ranch guests, but they don’t bite.” He looked a little put off at going in before her, underscoring his so far impeccable manners. He walked across the threshold and she caught a whiff of his soap. The sexy combination of sheets dried in the sun with Buchanan musk had to be some super expensive cologne, because no scent had ever made her skin tingle. She held back a groan as she watched his impeccably shaped ass in his jeans. This was going to be one heck of a ride.
* * *
Alastair shrugged out of his thin over-layer as he followed Halle Ford to her house. He appreciated the brief respite from her penetrating gaze and obvious appraisal of him. Normally he enjoyed the sexual tension of a female’s assessment, but his blood had rushed so quickly to his dick he’d gotten flustered.
He, Alastair, the family rock who kept their business afloat and globe-trotted with the best of them, felt like an adolescent at Eton who’d snuck his first glance at a naked woman.
“Once I have the ranch fully up and operational, we’ll have a full guest building with at least four or six rooms and a total of twelve bunks. For now, the guest room is the house. While you won’t be staying here as we’re heading out today, feel free to leave any luggage or extras you don’t want to bother with on the trail.” She glanced up at him and he was jolted by her no-holds-barred beauty. Unlike the women he was used to in Glasgow and even here since his arrival in Texas, Halle showed no signs of wearing makeup. She didn’t need it, not with that peachy cream skin and blinding smile. Her dimples projected an innocence her body and expression were in direct conflict with. And her lips... Hell.
He fought to keep his erection at bay but it was futile. His body was reacting to something beyond him, something intangible. The Halle effect.
“I didn’t realize your business was new.” He took off his cowboy hat and removed his boots, shadowing her movements as they entered the small house. Three herding dogs swarmed around them and he smiled.
“Sorry about the doggies.” She offered a half grin.
“Are you kidding? I adore dogs.” He crouched down and held his hands