Free Texas Heat by Fern Michaels Page B

beautiful woman, she saw a Disney version of an old hag crooning in a cracked and wicked voice, “Mirror, mirror on the wall . . .”
    Upon reentering the bedroom after her shower, Amelia found Cary struggling with the string tie he was attempting to thread through a silver clasp. “Damn it, I’m going to look as stupid in this getup as that kid did this afternoon. What’s his name, Cole?”
    After Amelia came to his rescue and fastened the tie, he stepped back and struck a pose by shoving his thumbs into his belt. “What d’you think? Will I pass muster?” His Western-cut pants fit him like a glove, hugging his thighs and falling to exactly the correct spot over his boots.
    Amelia pretended to ponder. Would he pass muster! Every female with a hormone left in her body would be after him tonight, and some of these Texan ladies were like barracuda in open water. “You’ll do,” she said offhandedly. “I only hope I won’t have to defend your honor later on tonight.”
    Cary’s brows rose slightly. There was an angry, feral glitter in his dark eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? You make me sound like a fox in a chicken coop!” It annoyed him when Amelia said things like this. Christ, didn’t she know he loved her? She was everything he wanted in a woman: smart, classy, affectionate, and open-hearted. Women were strange. Why couldn’t they just accept things, accept the truth and go on from there? Why did they always have to look for problems? He knew exactly what he wanted and that’s why he’d married her.
    It hadn’t been easy kicking and clawing his way to where he was now. Growing up in an orphanage, barely making it through high school and having no way of going on to college. He’d been street-bred and street-raised. Life had been tough, but he’d never forgotten his debts. He’d started out driving rich people’s cars cross-country, making contacts and eventually going into the limousine and rental car business. By the age of twenty-nine he’d made his first million in real estate, but long before that he’d been sending monthly checks to St. Anthony’s Orphanage in downtown Chicago. He was a hustler and didn’t have a lot of class or polish like these Colemans, but he could hold his head up. Self-made. From what Amelia had told him, her old man had been self-made. That said a lot for a man and his character. Class could be bought and the polish would come later.
    Having a seven-figure bank balance and another ten million on paper didn’t make Cary feel rich, compared to these Colemans. He couldn’t imagine, considering his humble beginnings, what it would be like to live like this, to be so damned important that a governor would drop everything to attend a Fourth of July picnic. Strange, this life of the Texas rich—but something he could take to like a duck to water. Cary’s financial success had come from making the right deals, being in the right place at the right time. Luck. Relationships and friendships had never entered into it. Cold, impersonal phone calls, listening to the advice of brokers, and having a nose for money had been the extent of his involvement. Now Cary found himself wanting to belong in Texas, and that feeling was strong. Amelia could guide him, introduce him, set him on the right course. He’d mingle with people who weren’t overwhelmed by his wealth, play a friendly game of golf, and be welcomed for himself, not just because someone wanted to talk a deal.
    â€œYou’re deep in thought.” Amelia glanced at her husband’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “I didn’t mean to offend you, really I didn’t. You’re a city boy; you’ve no idea how little chance a fox actually has if there are enough chickens in the coop. And there’ll be enough chickens here tonight. I can’t blame you because you’re so