Читать книгу The Last Real Cowboy - DONNA ALWARD, Donna Alward - Страница 7

ANGELA Beck tapped her fingers against the boardroom table and frowned. The seat across from her was noticeably empty and she grew more irritated by the moment. They’d held things up long enough, though why Molly Diamond was running so very late was a mystery. Molly was usually right on time.

“Angela, we really can’t hold off any longer.” Charles Spring, the President of the Butterfly Foundation board, folded his hands and looked down the table at her, his gray eyes stern over the rims of his glasses. “We need to get started.”

Charles had graciously agreed to let the foundation meet in the boardroom of his oil and gas company’s headquarters. It meant a drive into Edmonton, but Angela knew it was easier for her to commute than for the entire volunteer board to drive to Cadence Creek for a meeting. As a result she’d put together a list of things she needed for the renovations, determined to make the most of the trip. She didn’t have any time to waste if she wanted to make her projected opening date.

“I know.” Angela forced a smile and made herself remember that every person in the room was volunteering their time. She was the only one drawing a salary from the foundation. The reminder was enough to ensure her patience. The shelter was her dream, but success relied on a lot of people—people who didn’t have this project as their top priority the way she did. She couldn’t afford to alienate any of them—she’d come too far and invested too much.

“I’ll call the meeting to order, then, at 2:18.”

For an hour the board members discussed the latest fund-raising campaign; Angela outlined the latest PR push and upcoming open house, adding her input to the proposed operating budget and counseling services she’d organized for residents of Butterfly House. She’d thought she’d worked long hours before as a social worker for the province, but that was nothing compared to her days lately, especially as she was a staff of exactly one.

“And now,” she said, “I wanted to bring up the suggestion that we hire some short-term help for the minor renovations still needed to the house.”

Charles tapped his lip and looked over at the board treasurer, a graying woman with glasses and a stern demeanor. “Iris?”

“Leave it with me,” she suggested. “But don’t get your hopes up. The budget is already stretched. What’s allocated is barely going to cover the cost of materials. Start adding in labor costs and I start seeing red ink.”

“Perhaps if we can get more donations …” Soliciting sponsors was definitely not Angela’s favorite part of the job; she hated feeling like the center of attention and preferred to be behind the scenes. But it had to be done and so she did it—with a smile and an eye on the big picture.

The talk then turned to drafting up letters requesting sponsorship. Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. The place needed paint and window coverings and the floor in the living room was in dire need of replacement. Who would come good for all of that?

She straightened her back. She would do it, somehow. She was thrilled that her vision was becoming a reality and it was worth the long hours, the elbow grease and the worry. It would be better when the house was actually ready for residents. In its present state it looked the way she felt—tired and droopy. She’d make it right if she had to do it all herself.

They were down to the last item on the meeting agenda when the door opened and he sauntered in. Sam Diamond needed no introduction, Angela thought with disdain. Everyone knew who he was. She resolved to keep her expression bland as she looked up, wondering why on earth Sam had shown up instead of his mother, Molly, the Diamond family representative to the board.

Sam turned a slow smile on the group and Angela clenched her teeth. He was going to be trouble—with a capital T. She’d known it from the first moment he’d sidled up to her at the Butterfly House fundraiser and had asked in his smooth, deep voice, “Have we met?” Her tongue had tangled in her throat and she’d hesitated, feeling stupid and predictable as a purely feminine reaction warred with her usual timidity when it came to dealing with members of the opposite sex—especially in social situations. Well, maybe he’d had her at a disadvantage during their first meeting, but she’d kept the upper hand in the end and she would today, too. She was far more comfortable in a meeting room than at a cocktail party.

But she’d have to do it delicately. His family had made Butterfly House possible, and it wouldn’t do to bite the hand that was feeding her project.

“Mr. Diamond.” Charles lifted his head and offered a wide smile. “I’m afraid we started without you.”

Started without him? Angela silently fumed. He was over an hour late and had just walked in as though he had all the time in the world! And Charles Spring … she felt her muscles tense. Old boys’ club, indeed. Spring might frown at her over his glasses, but to Diamond he was as sweet as her mother’s chocolate silk pie!

“I got held up.” Sam gave the board a wide, charming smile and removed his hat. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience anyone.”

“Not at all! There’s always time for the foundation’s biggest supporter.” Heads around the table nodded. Sam shook Charles’s hand and then put his thumbs in his pockets.

“I didn’t realize I’d be in the company of such lovely ladies,” he drawled, popping just the hint of a dimple. Angela swore that she could hear the sighs from three of the board members old enough to be Sam’s mother. “I would have made a better effort to be here earlier.”

Angela thought she might be sick from all the flattery stuffing up the room. Where was Molly? Why had Sam come in her stead?

“I do hope your mother’s okay,” Angela said clearly. She took off her reading glasses and put them down on the table. Sam pulled out his chair and met her gaze as he took a seat. Recognition flared in his eyes for a moment, then cleared as if they were perfectly polite strangers.

“She’s fine, why do you ask?”

There was an edge to his voice and Angela didn’t like it. Maybe he was still nursing a bit of hurt pride where she was concerned. She blinked. Men like Sam Diamond weren’t used to being refused. Especially when they bought a lady a drink and told her she was a pretty little thing.

She’d simply said, “No, thank you.” It was only afterward that she’d realized that she’d given a Diamond—a pillar of the community—his walking papers. It put her in an awkward position. She needed his family’s support.

She ignored the uneasy glances from the board members and pasted on a cool smile. “Molly hasn’t missed a meeting yet. She’s been so supportive of the foundation. So I’m a bit surprised to see you here today, Mr. Diamond.”

Dark eyes met hers, challenging. “And you are?”

Oh, the nerve! He knew exactly who she was. She could see by the gleam in his eye that it was a deliberate cut, intended to throw her off her stride. She lifted her chin and rose to the challenge. “Executive Director of Butterfly House, Angela Beck.”

“You obviously didn’t receive my message. I called this morning.”

And this morning she’d been outside chasing Morris around, trying to get the infernal creature indoors before she had to race into Edmonton. She hadn’t stopped to check messages. She resisted the urge to bite down on her lip. She wasn’t feeling quite as in charge as she’d like. She was well aware that the Diamond family had a place on the board; after all, they’d donated the building and land for Butterfly House and promised an annual donation toward maintaining the facility. Which was all down to Molly’s generosity, she knew. The younger Diamond had a reputation that preceded him and it wasn’t all favorable. The fact that he’d tried his charms on her only made it more awkward. Maybe the deed was already signed, but without the continuing support the program would die a quick death unless she could find another sponsor with deep pockets.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t receive it. I’ve been in the city for several hours already.”

Angela was aware that every pair of eyes were on the two of them and that everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Everyone knew Sam. He was a big man, with big money and a big ego. Most of the residents spoke of him as if he were a god. Men respected him and women wanted him—until he trampled on their affections. She’d had her ears filled about that already.

But Angela could see the appeal. He was over six feet in his boots, sexy as sin and looking scrumptious in jeans and a shirt with a sport jacket thrown over top as a concession to business attire. Paired with his unassailable confidence, he made quite the package.

Just because she could understand the attraction did not mean she was interested, though. He was too … Well, he was too everything. She’d known it from the moment he’d tipped his hat and looked down at her with his bedroom eyes. And after she’d refused his overtures, he’d gotten this little half smile. “Do you know who I am?” he’d asked. Clearly she hadn’t. But she did now. They both knew exactly who had the upper hand—and he was enjoying it.

How kind, gentle Molly Diamond had spawned such an egomaniac was beyond her. Did he really think his transparent charm would work on her now when it hadn’t the first time?

“My mother won’t be attending any board meetings for the foreseeable future. My father suffered a stroke last week and she’ll be looking after him for the time being. She requested I sit on the board in her place.”

Oh, brother. Sympathy for the lovely Molly and her husband Virgil warred with annoyance at the turn of events. Angela and Molly had hit it off from the start, and she’d so looked forward to talking things over with the older, friendly woman. Molly had insisted that she’d love to be involved with turning the house into a real home and had even helped plan the upcoming open house. Angela couldn’t imagine Sam helping with those sorts of things. Undoubtedly his impression of “service to the community” was throwing money at it, then smiling and shaking a few hands and feeling proud of himself.

“I hadn’t heard.” Angela forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m very sorry about your dad, Mr. Diamond. Please tell Molly that if she needs anything to give me a shout.”

“Thank you.”

But the words came out coolly, without the warm flirtatious charm he’d used on the other board members. Great. It seemed his pride was still smarting from her response that night. His question—Do you know who I am?—had struck a nerve and made her so defensive that goose bumps had popped up over her arms. “Should I?” she’d answered, looking over her shoulder as she walked away. Her insides had been trembling, but she’d covered it well. She was done letting domineering men run roughshod over her.

She’d utterly alienated Sam and she’d done it in front of the board. He turned his head away now, effectively ending the conversation. And why wouldn’t he? She’d been prickly as a cactus. Both times they’d met.

Charles wrapped up the meeting, but before he adjourned he smiled at Sam.

“I’m sure Angela would be happy to fill in the gaps, Sam. She knows more about the project than anyone.”

Angela felt the blood rush to her face as Sam’s gaze settled on her again. “Of course,” she murmured. She would just have to suck it up. What was important was getting Butterfly House off the ground no matter how often she had to smile. Maybe Sam wouldn’t even be interested in the details and this would be short and relatively painless.

She could afford a few minutes as long as she could make it to the hardware store in time to pick up her supplies. By the time she finished running her errands, it would be evening before she returned to Cadence Creek. Her whole day would be gone with little accomplished.

The meeting adjourned and the board members filtered out of the room. Sam pushed back his chair just far enough that he could cross an ankle over his knee. Angela organized her papers, avoiding Sam’s penetrating gaze as long as possible. Finally she put her pen atop the stack and folded her hands. She looked up and into his stupidly handsome face. “Shall I bring you up to speed, then? Or will you be on your way?”

Sam forced himself to stay relaxed. Lordy, this Ms. Beck was a piece of work. She looked as though she had a perennial stick up her posterior and she clearly didn’t approve of him any more now than she had two weeks ago when he’d offered to buy her a drink and she’d flatly refused, looking at him like he was dirt beneath her heel. Which was of no great importance. He didn’t need her to like him. In fact, he didn’t need anything from her. She needed him, especially now that his mother was otherwise occupied.

He ignored the shaft of fear and concern that weighed him down when he thought of his father and focused instead on the budget in front of him. He was only here because his mother had asked and he couldn’t say no to her. Especially not now. In his mind, today’s meeting was supposed to be a token appearance and then he could be on his way attending to more important matters.

Instead he found himself sticking around. Aggravating Miss Prim and Proper was a side benefit he hadn’t anticipated, and it took his mind off the troubles at home.

“By all means,” he said slowly, letting a grin crawl up his cheek purely to irritate her. “Educate me.”

Damned if she didn’t blush, he thought with some satisfaction. He tilted his head, studying her. Pretty, he decided, or she could be if she let her hair down a little. Now, as it had been at the fundraiser, it was pulled back into a somewhat severe twist, with only a few nearly black strands rebelling by her ears. Her eyes were a stunning color, too, a sort of greeny-aqua that he’d never seen before and he wondered if she wore tinted contacts. As he watched, she put her glasses back on—armor. He recognized the gesture. He was the same way with his hat.

“Is your father going to be all right?” she asked quietly, surprising him. He’d expected facts and figures from Miss Neat and Tidy.

“I think so,” he replied honestly. “He’s home from the hospital and Mom insists on nursing him herself. Since he requires round-the-clock care, something had to give in her schedule. Your foundation was it.”

“Of course. Please give her my best and tell her not to worry about a thing.”

Sam uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Let me be honest, Ms. Beck. I don’t want to be here. With my dad sick, the running of Diamondback Ranch falls solely to me. I don’t have time to sit on charity boards and shake hands, okay? All I’m concerned about is the responsible management of the foundation so my mother’s donation is held to a … certain standard.”

She looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “The Diamonds won’t be associated with anything substandard,” she replied sharply. “I get it, Mr. Diamond.”

She made it sound as though it was a bad thing. Four generations had gone into making Diamondback what it was—the biggest and best ranch in the county. The standards set by his ancestors were a lot to live up to. And it wasn’t just the responsibility of taking the ranch into the future that he carried on his back. Lord knew he loved his mother, but at age thirty-seven he was getting tired of the question of when he was going to provide a fifth generation. When the hell did he have time? His father was seventy-two, his mother in her late sixties. The ranch was bigger than ever and facing new challenges every day. His latest idea—making Diamondback more environmentally friendly—was taking up the rest of his waking hours. And now, with his father being so ill, it made him think about what would happen to Diamondback. To the family. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. Good Lord. Now he was starting to think like his mother. Men weren’t supposed to have biological clocks, were they? So why did he suddenly hear ticking?

Now his mother had lassoed him into sitting on this silly board because the Diamonds had donated some land and a house for Miss Goody Two-Shoes to turn into a women’s shelter. And he had said yes because Molly had looked very tired and worried and family was important. He didn’t plan on being actively involved. He’d write a damned check and keep his hands off.

“Look, we provided the location. What more do you want?”

He hadn’t thought it was possible that she would sit up any straighter but she did—her spine ramrod-stiff as her nostrils flared. “The spot on the board was your mother’s condition, not mine.”

“I know that,” he answered, his annoyance growing. What had he done that had made her so hostile? Surely offering a smile and a glass of wine wasn’t a crime? And he hadn’t meant to be late today. “What I mean is, what in particular do you want from me?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath and could nearly hear the words spinning in her head: not a thing. Instead she put down her pen, looked him dead in the eye and said, “Your assurance that you won’t withdraw funding and that you’ll stay out of the way.”

“That’s blunt.”

“Would you rather I was less direct?”

There was a glimmer of respect taking hold in the midst of his irritation. “Not at all. Please. Be honest.”

But his invitation was met with silence. He wondered what she wanted to say, what she was holding back.

“Perhaps I should mention the elephant in the room,” he suggested. “The fundraiser.”

“What about it?”

But now he heard it—a tiny wobble, the smallest bit of uncertainty. “You really didn’t know who I was?”

“And that surprises you, doesn’t it? Because everyone knows Sam Diamond.”

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcastic tone. “Frankly, in this area? Yes.”

“You really do have an inflated ego.”

Sam chuckled. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Ms. Beck? Look, you passed up the opportunity for a free drink. I’m not going to cry in my beer over it.” But the truth was he had felt snubbed. Not because he thought he was God’s gift but because she’d been standing alone and he’d taken pity on her. She was too beautiful to be hidden in a corner all night. And all he’d got for his trouble was a cold no, thank you and a chilly breeze as she left his presence in record time.

“Well, that’s settled then.” She ran a hand over the side of her hair, even though he couldn’t see a strand out of place. It probably wouldn’t dare be so impertinent. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

“More important than impressing your main benefactor? Tsk, tsk.”

He didn’t know what made him say that. Sam didn’t usually resort to throwing his weight around. Something about Angela Beck rubbed him the wrong way. It was as though she’d sized him up at first glance and found him wanting. And that grated, especially since he was already in a foul mood. He’d been late when he prided himself on punctuality. His last meeting with the engineers for the biogas facility had gone well over the time expected and had had less than satisfactory results. Sam was used to being ahead of the curve, not behind it.

He was set to apologize when she stood, placing her palms flat on the table. “This is about helping abused women, not stroking your ego. Your mother understands that. Perhaps you can suggest an alternative proxy for the board position as clearly you do not care about the cause.”

Well, well. She had fire, he’d give her that. And it was all wrapped in a package that momentarily took his breath now that he could see her from head to … well, mid thigh, anyway. She had curves under the neat and tidy librarian clothes—straight black skirt and plain buttoned-down blouse. But she had him to rights and he knew it. And they both knew that Molly had stipulated a Diamond family member sit on the board and not the other way around. He was the only other Diamond in Cadence Creek. There was no one else.

He stood slowly, reached for his hat and put it back on his head. “Ma’am.”

He was nearly to the door when he heard her sigh. “Mr. Diamond?”

He paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned his head to look at her and realized she’d taken off her glasses again. Her eyes really were stunning. And he shouldn’t be noticing.

“Your mother didn’t believe in simply throwing money at a problem,” Angela said quietly. “She believed in being part of the solution. I find it strange she’d ask you to take her place if she didn’t think you’d hold up that end of the bargain.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or that Butterfly House wasn’t a good cause. He just had too much on his plate. Angela Beck was being far too smart. She’d worded her last statement in just the right way to flatter and to issue a finely veiled challenge at the same time.

A challenge he wasn’t up to accepting. The foundation had its land, had its house free and clear. That would have to be enough.

“Good day, Ms. Beck,” he replied, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.