His Best Friend's Sister. Sarah M. Anderson
under his hands as he’d wiped that tear away.
Renee needed him. Chloe needed to prove herself with the rodeo. And maybe it was wrong or selfish, but Oliver would rather help Renee than negotiate a TV distribution deal. Besides, all he needed to do for Renee was get her settled and see what he could do to help her out. How hard could that be?
He’d keep Renee’s presence here a secret just a little bit longer. He told Chloe, “Keep an eye out for Pete Wellington. Dad’s concerned he’s going to pull something.”
“Oh, wonderful. There’s nothing I love more than unspecified threats from disgruntled cowboys.” Oliver heard something in her tone beyond annoyance. But before he could figure out what that was, Chloe went on, “Fine. Anything else?”
“And keep Flash out of trouble,” he added, because that was what he always asked her to do. Not that it ever worked. No one could keep that man on the straight and narrow.
“You’re up to something,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “And when I find out what it is, you’re gonna pay.” With that parting shot, she hung up.
He looked at the clock on the wall. It was already three thirty. He had no idea how long Renee was going to rest but there was no shot in hell of him making it back to the office during the workday at this point.
She needs a friend. Oddly, the little voice that whispered this in his mind wasn’t his own or even Chloe’s—it was his mother’s.
Renee was not family. She wasn’t grandfathered under the long-ago deathbed promise Oliver had made. He didn’t have to take care of her.
And yet...
She needs a friend.
Had Trixie Lawrence said that once upon a time, perhaps when Oliver had complained about how much Renee and Chloe were bugging him and Clint?
He didn’t know. But one thing was clear. If he didn’t do his level best to help Renee out of this situation, his mother would be disappointed in him. Or she would’ve been anyway.
He stared at nothing in particular and then made up his mind. If he was going to get to the truth of the matter, he had to go straight to the source. He hit his lawyer’s number. “Miles? It’s Oliver. I need—”
“No, no—let me guess. Did you finally strangle your father? Or your brother? I’ve got twenty bucks riding on the answer,” Miles Hall replied with a laugh.
“Neither.” Oliver shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be doing any of this. Funny how that wasn’t stopping him. “I need to talk to Clinton Preston. He’s in jail in New York City on fraud charges for—”
“The Preston Pyramid guy?”
He scowled. Did everyone know about the scam but him? Sheesh. He’d have to have Bailey add “major scandals involving people I used to know” to his morning news briefs. “Yeah. Well, the son anyway. I need to talk to him on the phone. Can you make it happen?”
Miles was quiet for a moment. “Give me thirty.”
“Thanks.”
Clint had a hell of a lot to answer for. Starting with why he’d helped his father steal that much money and ending with why he’d asked Oliver to look after Renee.
Then, once Oliver had his answers and made sure Renee was comfortable and safe, he could get back to work.
But the thought of making Renee comfortable, of carrying her back to bed and this time, staying with her...
Hell. He definitely had to get back to Dallas tonight.
Renee came awake slowly. It was so quiet here. New York was never quiet. There was always someone shouting, horns honking, sirens blaring. A person could barely think in New York City.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply. Usually, it was because terrible nightmares woke her up every few hours, panting and crying. Right now, she felt surprisingly calm. She wouldn’t go so far as to say peaceful, but she was thrilled with calm.
A thunk from somewhere below her finally got her eyes open. She started when she focused her eyes on the clock. Was it four thirty already? She had been asleep for hours. She needed to get up and...do something. What, she had no idea.
But it wasn’t like her to laze the day away. Even back when she’d been little more than a trophy wife, she’d still kept busy. She’d been on the boards of several charities, including her favorite, One Child, One World. She liked helping kids but...since the Preston Pyramid collapsed, she’d resigned from all those boards rather than taint their good works with her family’s scandals.
Which left her at loose ends. But it was fine. No one was missing her in New York, that was for sure. This was part of her plan to hide in Texas. If she wanted to nap, she would nap, by God.
She tossed back a blanket and forced herself from bed. It was tempting to go right back to sleep, but...
Oliver had said he would wait for her to wake up.
She was hungry and she had to pee. She stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her shoulders. Over a dresser there was a large mirror and she recoiled in horror when she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair was lopsided and her makeup had not survived the nap. Plus, her dress was wrinkled horribly, and besides, it really wasn’t very comfortable.
But her lawyer had recommended that, if she went out in public, she maintain a somber, mourning appearance. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if she were seen looking frivolous or, God forbid, happy. Not that there was a lot of risk of that, but Renee understood the point.
Her entire life had been about keeping up appearances. The bereft widow, the horrified daughter—they were all just another role to slip into.
She tore the dress off and kicked it under the bed. She couldn’t wear it for another moment, couldn’t maintain the fiction that she mourned her husband.
She looked around the room. Had she fainted? She didn’t remember coming into this room. She only remembered...Oliver’s arms around her, holding her close. His deep voice rumbling in her ear, although she couldn’t remember the words. A light touch on her forehead, then her cheek. The smell of his cologne.
She remembered feeling safe and cared for. That was all she needed.
But this was a nice room. There was a small sitting area with a low coffee table—her bag was on it. The love seat ran along one wall and a fancy desk that looked like it belonged in the parlor instead of a guest room was on the other side. The walls were a pale green and the bedding was pristine white. It was calm and peaceful and reminded her of a garden in the early-morning sun.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could breathe here.
She dug into her bag. Along with her wedding ring, she had left most of her couture and designer clothing for the feds. Her wardrobe had been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—but it had been just another prop in her never-ending role as the adoring wife, the picture-perfect daughter. She was tired of living that lie.
She dug out leggings and a slouchy tunic. This was her normal outfit for yoga classes—but it was forgiving enough that she could still wear it comfortably. She might even get several more months out of the top. She’d love to take her bra off because the damned thing barely fitted anymore and sleeping in it had not been a good idea. But the thin, creamy cotton of her shirt wouldn’t hide anything from anyone. Especially Oliver.
A chill raced over her and her nipples tightened, which was exactly why she had to keep the bra on. She really hoped Oliver wasn’t involved with someone else. But the moment that thought crossed her mind, she scowled at herself in the mirror. Okay, he was amazingly hot. And yes, he was being really sweet to her. That