Blackhawk's Sweet Revenge. Barbara McCauley
He’d imagined it a thousand times: what he’d feel, what he’d think, what he’d say. What Hadley would do.
At the sound of a car door slam from the driveway outside, Lucas realized he was about to find out.
Julianna Hadley had heard all about the stranger who had come into town. All there was to hear, anyway, which hadn’t been much more than a whisper in the dark. At the drugstore she’d been standing in line behind Roberta Brown, who was arguing with the clerk, Millie Woods, about whether the car the man drove was a Porsche or a Ferrari. The one thing the two women had agreed on was that the car was black and had roared down Main Street and into the parking lot of the Four Winds Inn like a shiny bat out of hell.
Noses had been pressed up to every window within sight of the town’s newest and biggest hotel—a whopping twelve stories high with a fancy restaurant and bar inside. But other than hair as black as his car, no one could make out the man’s features as he unfolded his long body out of the sleek foreign frame, whistled, then handed the keys to Bobby John Gibson, a teenage bellboy whose status amongst his peers was about to rise substantially. After all, no teenager in Wolf River had ever stood within spitting distance of a Porsche or Ferrari, let alone driven one. This was horse and cattle country. Trucks and four-wheeldrives were the vehicles of choice, and of necessity, in Wolf River.
But a black Porsche. Now that was something to set tongues wagging faster than a thirsty dog. Lord knew, a little excitement in Wolf River was just what the town needed.
“What the hell—?”
At the sound of her father’s sudden growl, Julianna pulled herself out of her musing and glanced up.
In their driveway, its chrome gleaming brightly in the late-afternoon sun, its long, sleek body black as polished onyx, sat a brand-new sports car.
A Ferrari.
Her breath hitched, then slowly slid over her parted lips. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s damned foreign,” her father snapped and slammed out of the truck to head for the house.
That makes it no less beautiful, she thought, but knew better than to argue the issue with him. Anything different, anything Mason Hadley didn’t understand, was useless to him.
Packages in hand, Julianna followed her father into the house. Heather stood in the entryway, arms laden with a silver coffee server. The cups rattled from her nervous shaking as Mason hotly berated her for letting a stranger into the house.
“He’s your three-thirty, sir. Said Mr. Cantrell was called out of town.” Eyes downcast, the young woman struggled to steady her hands. “I was bringing him some coffee while he waited.”
“Damn it all to hell,” Mason hissed through his teeth. “That Cantrell fella might have been an idiot when it came to business, but at least I had his number. Smooth brandy and a Cuban cigar and that boy was eating out of my hand. Makes no difference now, I suppose. It’s a done deal. This must be some errand boy, delivering the papers I signed last week.”
An errand boy in a Ferrari? Julianna glanced at the closed office door. Highly unlikely.
“What the hell you standing around for, girl?” Mason shrugged out of his denim jacket. “Go take the boy some coffee.”
“Let me have that, Heather.” Julianna set her packages down and took the tray. “Why don’t you take my things and put them away?”
Thankful for the opportunity to be anywhere but around her employer in a foul mood, Heather smiled at Julianna. “Thank you, ma‘am.”
Julianna sighed at Heather’s formal address. At twenty-nine, Julianna didn’t want to be a ma‘am. It made her feel so old. But then, a lot of things were making her feel old these days. A couple walking hand in hand, pictures of brides and babies, the sound of cheers from the Little League field at the edge of town.
All the things she would never have.
Shrugging off the thought, she followed her father to his office. He’d been negotiating with First Mutual Financial for the past two months and had been gloating ever since he’d finally signed the papers, puffed up with self-admiration that he’d finagled such a low interest rate. What First Mutual hadn’t known was that he’d been so anxious for the deal to go through he would have signed anything. After the drop in value of some stocks, and the rise in price of grain and the fall in beef, he’d desperately needed the loan to cover losses and raise operating capital. She knew that he’d also been quite full of himself at his successful manipulation of figures and falsified statements, had even laughed that Adam Cantrell, the loan representative, was too stupid to find his way out of a corral, let alone find a discrepancy in a profit-andloss.
Which was strange, because she hadn’t thought the man stupid at all, even though she’d only spoken with him a few minutes once or twice. If anything, he’d seemed extremely sharp.
It made no difference to her either way. The only thing that mattered, that had ever mattered, was her own five acres of land and house on the south edge of the Double H property. That was the one thing, the only thing, her mother had left to her when she’d died that her father hadn’t gotten his hands on. It had been almost a year since the funeral, and he’d managed to stonewall her from repairing and moving into the old house, but he hadn’t gained title. And she would do anything to ensure he never would.
Mason turned sharply at the door of his office and looked at Julianna. “Just serve the damn coffee, then leave us alone. Last thing I need is a woman underfoot when I’m trying to do business.”
Jaw tightly clenched, Julianna followed her father into his office. A man stood in front of the double French doors that led to the redwood deck stretching across the back of the house. He was tall, very tall, with broad shoulders. His black neatly trimmed hair touched the collar of his expensive tailored suit.
This was no errand boy.
She had no idea why she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She felt an energy in the room; so strong it nearly hummed. Frozen, she simply stared at the man, but she couldn’t see his face.
“Julianna.” Her father’s voice was low and sharp. Shaken, she turned away, moved to the bar in the far corner of the office to set down the tray... to remind herself to breathe.
She forced her attention to the coffee as her father boomed a cheerful, good-old-boy greeting and strode heavily across the shiny hardwood floor to shake the man’s hand.
“Sit, sit.” Mason gestured across the massive oak desk to a smaller version of his own burgundy leather chair, and the man settled across from him.
“So what can I do for you, young man?” With a creak of leather, Mason leaned back. “By the way, that fool maid of mine didn’t get your name.”
“Actually, Mr. Hadley, it’s what I’m going to do for you.”
His voice. Julianna’s hand tightened on the coffeepot. Once again, she couldn’t breathe. Not because she’d forgotten, but because she couldn’t That voice. Deep, rough, edged with deadly calm. Familiar, so familiar. The hum in the room increased with the tension.
“How’s that, son?” Mason, delighted at the prospect of a new offer, grinned.
“You have forty-eight hours to repay your loan to First Financial or vacate the property.”
Julianna, with the coffeepot still in her hand and the cup in midair, turned abruptly. The man sat comfortably, one elbow resting casually over the arm of the chair. To look at him, she’d have thought he’d been discussing a football game.
Had he actually said what she thought he’d said? First Financial was calling the loan?
Her father’s grin froze. His gray eyes narrowed in his coarsely lined face. “What the hell kind of a joke is this?”
“No joke at all. The loan is being called. The land, the house and contents,