Mike unwrapped the brown paper to find a stack of bills. He stared at them a moment in shock. He picked up one and looked at it closely. It was a one-thousand dollar bill. He’d never even seen one before. He thumbed through the stack of twenty-five. He read Thane’s note again and shook his head. He didn’t know why Thane had given him the gift. It was no secret that Thane came from a wealthy family. Along with his two brothers and sister, he was a multimillionaire, and his wife a billionaire heiress, so Thane would never have needed the money if he had lived, but it still was an odd gift. Mike shook his head again, wondering if Thane thought he was poverty-stricken since he was the only one of their group of four friends who wasn’t a millionaire. No, he knew that wasn’t the case because Thane was practical and Mike had never known him to throw money away. That day, and every day since, each time he looked at the bills, he thought of Thane and wanted his friend with him instead of the money.
Now with Thane gone, the foreman job didn’t appeal to Mike, but a promise was a promise. Mike wasn’t going back on his word.
From scuttlebutt and by piecing together things Thane had said, Mike knew Thane’s artist wife was the daughter of a billionaire Dallas hotel magnate, plus now she had inherited Thane’s millions from his ranch and oil interests. Vivian and Thane had only been married a few months when he’d left for Afghanistan. She knew nothing about ranching and Thane had constantly worried about her. Also, he hated to think that if something happened to him, she would sell the ranch and return home to Dallas where she had lived when she was single.
As he stepped out of the car, he pulled on his western-cut navy jacket. His gaze ran over the sprawling gray stone mansion that looked as if it should be in an exclusive Dallas suburb instead of sitting on a mesquite-covered prairie. The mansion was surrounded by beds of spring flowers. Beyond the beds was lush green grass that had to be watered constantly in the dry Texas heat. A tall black wrought iron fence with open gates circled the mansion yard.
After running his fingers through his wavy ebony hair, Mike put on his broad-brimmed black Stetson. As he strode to the front door, he realized he had felt less reluctance walking through minefields in Afghanistan. He crossed the wide porch that held steel and glass furniture with colorful cushions, pots of greenery and fresh flowers. He listened to the door chimes and in seconds, the ten-foot intricately carved wooden door swung open. He faced an actual butler.
“I’m Mike Moretti. I have an appointment with Mrs. Warner.”
“Ah, yes, we’re expecting you. Come in. I’m Henry, sir.”
Mike stepped into a wide entryway with a huge crystal chandelier centered overhead above a small pond where a fountain splashed and deep purple and bright pink water lilies added to the ambiance. It was hard to picture the down-to-earth, tough US Army Ranger, Thane Warner as the owner of this elegant mansion.
“If you’ll wait here, sir, I’ll tell Mrs. Warner you’ve arrived.”
“Thank you,” Mike replied, nodding at the butler who turned and disappeared into a room off the hall. With neatly trimmed brown hair, Henry wore a white shirt and a matching black tie and trousers. Mike noticed he also wore boots and when he had shown Mike in, his hands looked rough. His shoulders were thick and broad. Mike suspected Henry might not spend all his time working inside the mansion.
He reappeared. “If you’ll come with me, sir, Mrs. Warner is in the study.” Mike followed him until Henry stopped at an open door. “Mrs. Warner, this is Mike Moretti.”
“Come in, Mr. Moretti,” she said, smiling as she walked toward him.
He entered a room filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound books. After the first glance, he forgot his surroundings and focused solely on the woman approaching him.
Mike had seen Thane’s pictures of his wife—one in his billfold, one he carried in his duffel bag. Mike knew from those pictures that she was pretty. But those pictures hadn’t done her justice, because in real life, Vivian Warner was a downright beauty. She had big blue eyes, shoulder-length blond hair, flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and full rosy lips. The bulky, conservative tan sweater and slacks she wore couldn’t fully hide her womanly curves and long legs.
What had he gotten himself into? For a moment he was tempted to go back on his promise. But as always, he would remember those last hours with Thane’s blood running over his hands, recall too easily Thane dying in a foreign land after fighting for his country, and Mike knew he had to keep his promise. His only hope was that Thane’s widow wouldn’t want him to work for her.
“Mr. Moretti, I’m glad to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Thane,” she said, offering her hand.
“It’s Mike,” he said, smiling as he took her soft hand in his. The moment he did, he felt a tingling up his arm that shocked him.
“And I’m Vivian,” she said, her eyes widening when his hand wrapped around hers. Her words came out breathlessly, making Mike feel he had walked into a major disaster. Their gazes locked and he couldn’t get his breath, either. For a moment he felt a hot, intense awareness of her as a woman. A very desirable woman. And judging by her startled expression and the quick intake of her breath, he had a feeling she felt a similar reaction.
His focus shifted to her lips, a rosy temptation. Realizing they were staring at each other and standing too close, he released her hand. When he did, she stepped back, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Perhaps she labeled the attraction as unwanted as he did.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mike said. “Your husband was a friend I’ll miss,” he added, trying to get his mind back to Thane instead of on his widow.
“Thank you. Thane was special. Please have a seat,” she said softly. She walked toward an arrangement of chairs and as he followed, he couldn’t take his eyes off the curve of her hips.
Mike did not want this scalding awareness of his late buddy’s wife. And he damn well didn’t want to work for Vivian Warner.
Perhaps... He couldn’t help the thought that overtook his mind. Perhaps, because she knew so little about ranching, if he took the job, she would turn running the ranch over to him and he would seldom see or talk to her. Maybe, but... Common sense told him to thank her for the job and decline the offer. But each time he thought about backing off, he knew he had to keep his promise. Thane had fought and died not only for rights, freedom and home, but for promises kept and for trusted friends. He had fought for this ranch he loved and the wife he loved. Mike also thought about that fat packet of money Thane had given him, money he’d already squirreled away and invested.
Mike would do what he felt was right, but he hoped with all his being that he rarely ever saw his new boss. This was not the woman for him and there were more than a billion reasons—each and every one of the billions she was worth. Vivian Warner was an heiress, his friend’s wife, the woman Thane had entrusted to him to take care of. He couldn’t give in to the fiery attraction and seduce her—and betray that trust. For all those reasons, she was off-limits, not the least of which was the fact that he could never move in her circle.
Vivian motioned him to a brown leather wingback chair, then sat farther away than was necessary. He realized that she may have felt as trapped by this situation as he did. Thane had offered him the job and had wanted him as the foreman. Like Mike, she obviously was also following Thane’s wishes now.
“Thank you for taking this job,” she said, her voice lilting, soft-spoken. “Thane wrote a glowing letter about you and said I could count on you to run this place the way he would want. I appreciate that. I know you accepted the job when you were still in the military. Now that you’re here, I assume that means you want the job. Is that correct?”
Her question hung in the air but he couldn’t say yes. “I promised Thane I would take the job for three months to see if I fit and vice versa,” he reluctantly answered.
“So