She gripped his elbow with a blue-veined hand. “Just because you’re too lazy to find a bride—”
“Lazy?”
She tipped her chin to stare up at him. “Yes, Cole Nathaniel Walker Erickson. Lazy.”
Cole tried not to smile at the ridiculous accusation. “All the more reason not to trust me with the family treasure.”
“All the more reason to use a cattle prod.”
He pulled back. “Ouch. Grandma, I’m shocked.”
“Shocked? Oh, that you will be. Several thousand volts if you don’t get your hindquarters out there and find another bride.” Then her expression softened and she reached up to pat his cheek. “You’re my grandson, and I love you dearly, but somebody has to make you face up to your weaknesses.”
“I’m a hopeless case, Grandma,” he told her honestly.
“People can change.”
Cole stopped next to his pickup and swung the passenger door open. He stared into her ageless, blue eyes. “Not me.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated. But if he wanted her support, he knew he had to be honest. “I make them cry, Grandma.”
“That’s because you leave them.”
“They leave me.”
She shook her head, giving him a wry half smile. “You leave them emotionally. Then they leave you physically.”
“I can’t change that.”
“Yes you can.”
Cole took a deep breath. “Give Kyle the brooch. It’s the right decision.”
“Find another bride. That’s the right decision. You’ll thank me in the end.”
“Marital bliss?”
“Marital bliss.”
Cole couldn’t help but grin at that one. “This from a woman who once threw her husband’s clothes out a second-story window.”
Grandma turned away quickly, but not before he caught a glimpse of her smile.
“You know perfectly well that story is a shameless exaggeration,” she said.
His grin grew. “But you admit there were men’s suits scattered all over the lawn.”
“I admit no such thing, Cole Nathaniel.” She sniffed. “Impudent.”
“Always.”
“You get that from your mother. May she rest in peace.”
Cole helped Grandma into the cab of the truck. “The Thunderbolt would make a perfect wedding gift.”
“It will,” Grandma agreed, and he felt a glimmer of hope.
Then she adjusted the hem of her dress over her knees. “You just have to find yourself a bride.”
So much for hope. “Not going to happen,” he said.
“You need some help?”
Cole’s brain froze for a split-second, then it sputtered back to life. “Grandma…”
She folded her hands in her lap and her smile turned complacent. “We’re late for the reception.”
“Don’t you dare.”
She turned to him and blinked. “Dare what?”
“Don’t you try to match me up.”
“With whom?”
“Grandma.”
“Close the door, dear. We’re running late.”
Cole opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut again.
His grandmother had inherited the stubbornness and tenacity of her ancestors. He knew all about that, because he’d inherited it, too.
He banged the door shut, cursing under his breath as he rounded the front grill. There was no point in arguing anymore today. But if she started a parade of Wichita Falls’ fairest and finest through the ranch house, he was going bull riding in Canada.
Cultural Properties Curator Sydney Wainsbrook felt her stomach clench and her adrenaline level rise as Bradley Slander sauntered across the foyer of New York’s Laurent Museum. A champagne flute dangled carelessly from his fingers and that scheming smile made his beady brown eyes look even smaller and more rat-like than usual.
“Better luck next time, Wainsbrook,” he drawled, tipping his head back to take an inelegant swig of the ’96 Cristal champagne. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he smacked his lips with exaggerated self-satisfaction.
Yeah, he would feel self-satisfied. He had just outbid her on an antique, gold Korean windbell, earning a hefty commission and making it the possession of a private collector instead of a public museum.
It was the third time this year he’d squatted in the wings like a vulture while she did the legwork. The third time he scrabbled in at the last second to ruin her deal.
Sydney had nothing against competition. And she understood an owner’s right to sell their property to the highest bidder. What galled her was the way Bradley slithered around her contacts, fed them inflated estimates to convince them to consider auction. Then he bid much lower than his estimate, disappointing the owner and keeping important heritage finds from the community forever.
“How do you sleep at night?” she asked.
Bradley leaned his shoulder against a marble pillar and crossed one ankle over the other. “Let’s see. I spend an hour or so in my hot tub, sip a glass of Napoleon brandy, listen to a bit of classical jazz, then crawl into my California king and close my eyes. How about you?”
She pointedly shifted her gaze to the stone wall beside them. “I fantasize about you and that broad ax.”
He smirked. “Happy to be in your fantasy, babe.”
“Yeah? The broad ax wins. You lose.”
“Might be worth it.”
“Gag me.”
His lips curved up into a wider smile. “Whatever turns your crank.”
A shudder ran through Sydney at the unbidden visual. She took a quick drink of her own champagne, wishing it was a good, stiff single malt. It might have been a long dry spell, but she wouldn’t entertain sexual thoughts about Bradley if he was the last man on earth.
Bradley chuckled. “So, tell me. What’s next?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“On your list. What are we going after? I gotta tell you, Wainsbrook, you are my ticket to the big time.”
“Should I just e-mail you my research notes? Save you some trouble?”
“Whatever’s most convenient.”
“What’s most convenient is for you to stick your head in a very dark place for a very long time.”
“Sydney, Sydney, Sydney.” He clucked. “And here I tell all my friends you’re a lady.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I voluntarily give you any information.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he leaned in. “I have to admit. The chase kind of turns me on.”
Fighting the urge to fulfill her broad-ax fantasy, Sydney clenched her jaw. What was she going to do now?
She was on probation at the Laurent Museum due to her lack of productivity this year. If Bradley scooped one more