Reece Remington needs some fun in his life, and Sara Kaufman is just the woman for the job. While he's helping her temporarily run the local B and B, she plans to show him a side of the Texas coastal town the tourists never see. Until the sexy, straitlaced CPA shows Sara a side of him she never expected to see! Reece came to Port Clara to set his uncle's charter business back on course, then hop the next plane back east.But Sara's tempting him to rethink his priorities. And when a night of passion leaves them both yearning for more, he wonders how he can ever leave. Especially with the big surprise that's awaiting them both…
Sara had to admit Reece didn’t strike her as the least bit adventurous. He was ultraserious, a buttoned-down CPA who loved to talk about risk management and long-term projections.
Her projections usually didn’t extend past what she planned to have for lunch that day.
And yet…he was so delicious. Not only that, but he was a good guy. Delicious men came and went, but ones with character—they were a bit more rare.
Maybe she ought to decide what she wanted from Reece before she did something crazy.
Dear Reader,
Alpha heroes—those arrogant, I’m-in-control-here males—certainly have their appeal. Or those dark, brooding, wounded heroes…I love ’em! But give me a man with brains over brawn and I completely melt.
Reece Remington is just such a man. Unlike his take-charge cousin Cooper (from Reluctant Partners, the first in the SECOND SONS series) or his devil-may-care ladies’ man cousin Max (whom you’ll meet in the third book of the trilogy, The Good Father), Reece is a man more comfortable with a computer spreadsheet than a woman. He’s handsome as sin, but hides behind his glasses. He always plays it safe. He needs a woman to wake him up and teach him to enjoy life, but he doesn’t know that, either! What fun I had matching up Reece with happy-go-lucky Sara.
My editor said, “I love all the Remington men, but I have a soft spot for Reece.” That’s how I feel, too. If I were going to marry any of the Remingtons in real life, Reece would be my choice. I hope you love him as much as I do. (And maybe I’m like Sara more than I’d care to admit!)
All best,
Kara Lennox
Kara Lennox
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Texas native Kara Lennox has earned her living at various times as an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. She’s been an antiques dealer and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels. She has written more than fifty books.
When not writing, Kara indulges in an ever-changing array of hobbies. Her latest passions are bird-watching and long-distance bicycling. She loves to hear from readers; you can visit her Web page at www.karalennox.com.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
The crash from the kitchen was so loud, it sounded like a car coming through the wall.
Sara Kaufman’s heart hammered inside her chest as she dropped her dust cloth and ran toward the noise.
“Help! Sara, are you there?”
It was Miss Greer. The thready voice calling for help confirmed Sara’s worst fears. Her elderly employer was hurt.
Sara reached the kitchen door at the same time as Reece Remington, one of the guests at the Sunsetter Bed-and-Breakfast where Sara lived and worked. They bumped each other trying to fit through the door side by side.
Reece stepped back and let Sara enter first. “Was that Miss Greer?” Concern etched his handsome face.
Sara was about to answer, but Miss Greer called again. “Sara?” The voice came from the open pantry. “Is that you?”
“I’m coming, Miss Greer!” Sara and Reece rushed to the pantry. Through the doorway they could see their white-haired landlady lying amidst an avalanche of boxes and canned goods. Flour covered her face—it looked as if an open bag of the stuff had fallen on her head.
“Oh, my God, what happened?” Sara’s first instinct was to reach for Miss Greer and get her back on her feet, but Reece stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.
“Don’t move her,” he said. “If she’s injured, that might make things worse.”
“What happened?” Sara asked again.
“I’m not sure.” The elderly lady sounded less panicked now that help had arrived. “Maybe I slipped on something. When I started to fall, I grabbed the shelf and pulled half the pantry down on top of me and now I’m stuck. Thank goodness it was the flour that hit me in the head, rather than the economy-size can of cling peaches.”
“Are you injured, Miss Greer?” Reece asked. “Does anything hurt?”
“Now, don’t fuss over me,” she groused, moving her head around so they could see she at least hadn’t broken her neck. “I think I can stand up if you two help.”
Sara and Reece both squeezed into the pantry. It was a tight fit, with all three of them in there, and under other circumstances Sara would have enjoyed the proximity. Reece was a thoroughly delicious man, tall and rangy with broad shoulders showcased perfectly by the starched, button-down shirts he wore. If only he would relax a little…
Reece took one of Miss Greer’s arms and Sara took the other, and they tried to pull her up. But they’d moved her only a few inches when she howled in pain and they were forced to gently set her back down.
“Where does it hurt?” Sara asked.
“My hip.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Reece exited the pantry, which at least made it easier for Sara to breathe in there. All that maleness crammed into such a small space was a little distracting.
“I’m sure it’s not serious,” Sara said, though she wasn’t sure at all.
It scared Sara to see Miss Greer like this.
Sara had worked at the Port Clara, Texas, B and B for more than ten years. The older woman wasn’t just her boss; she was family.
“What am I going to do?” Miss Greer asked. “What if I’ve broken something? You hear about old people breaking their hips and never coming home again.”
Sara wished she had an answer, or even some believably reassuring words, but she’d never been much good in an emergency. All she could think to do was hold Miss Greer’s hand and squeeze it.
Reece was already on the phone. He was calm, no sign of panic, and Sara took several deep breaths, trying to follow suit. The paramedics would come, and maybe they would determine it wasn’t a serious injury.
Then they could all laugh over the mishap, and Sara could clean up the pantry, fix the broken shelf and make soup and sandwiches for everyone.
She was glad Reece was here. He obviously knew how to handle a crisis.
She squeezed Miss Greer’s hand again. “How bad does it hurt?”
“It’s not too bad if I lie still,” the old lady said, but her brow was creased with tension.
Sara nibbled at her lower lip. Maybe Miss Greer’s hip wasn’t broken. Maybe she’d just…sprained it or something.
Reece returned and got down on his knees beside Sara. “The ambulance is on its way, Miss Greer. Can we do anything to make you more comfortable while we wait?”
“I suppose I should get ready for a hospital stay,” Miss Greer grumbled. “Sara, you go pack me a bag. I want my own nightgown so I don’t have to wear one of those things that’s open down the back so everyone can ogle your hindquarters. Reece, you go find my pocketbook. I’ll need my Medicare card.”
The woman gave orders like a general.
“One of us should stay with you,” Sara said.
“Why? I’m not going anywhere.”
Sara exchanged a look with Reece as she pushed to her feet, and tried not to smile. Miss Greer must not be in too bad a shape if she could still be ornery.
Sara had only been in Miss Greer’s bedroom a couple of times in all the years she had worked there. Her landlady was intensely private. The room was as neat and clean as a monk’s cell. Sara hunted around until she found an overnight case on the top shelf of the closet.
She reached for it, but it was a few inches too high.
“Let me get that.” Reece came up behind her and stretched his arms over her head, easily reaching the case. She felt the heat of his body almost, but not quite, touching her back, and her skin tingled with awareness.
Whether he meant to or not, he’d tempted her since he and his two cousins had moved into the B and B a few weeks ago to deal with an inheritance from their uncle.
Reece handed her the small, cloth-covered case. “Here you go. Do you know where her purse is?”
Sara looked around. “Ah. Hanging on the hook on the back of the door.”
She opened the dresser and haphazardly filled the suitcase with nightgowns, underwear and socks, because Miss Greer’s feet were always cold, even in summer. Reece, the fake alligator purse clutched between his large hands, watched her.
“What?” she said. “You think I’m doing it wrong?”
“She might like her clothes folded.”
“You think I should fold Miss Greer’s underwear?”
“She obviously likes things neat. Maybe you should pack a robe, too. And a toothbrush.”
“You want to do this?” she asked Reece, who seemed not entirely comfortable amid all the accoutrements of an old lady. He looked excruciatingly out of place surrounded by cabbage roses, lace doilies and the faint scent of violet water.
“No, no. I guess you’re doing fine.”
Apparently not, given his suggestions. “Why don’t you check on Miss Greer? I’ll be done in a minute.”
She did not need help packing—she did it all the time. Her best friend, Allie, teased Sara that she could live for six months in the Amazon with only what she could stuff into her backpack.
When Sara finished cramming the overnight case with everything she thought might come in handy, she returned to the kitchen, but she paused in the doorway to watch Reece and Miss Greer. He brushed flour off the elderly woman’s face using a handkerchief and a gentle touch. Sara couldn’t hear what he said to her, but his voice was low and soothing.
Miss Greer watched him with obvious adoration on her face. She reached up to pat his cheek, and he squeezed her bony hand, sandwiching it between his and holding it there, looking comfortable with the display of affection.
The slight irritation she’d felt toward Reece vanished. Any man who could show kindness and affection to an old lady who wasn’t even a blood relative—and look at ease doing so—was okay in her book.
Miss Greer treated him like a favorite grandson, and Reece sometimes even made the gruff old woman smile.
Sara strode into the kitchen. “Here’s your overnight bag. Can I do anything else? Do you want something to eat?” Nothing was hopeless if you had a big bowl of spicy tortilla soup in front of you, along with a thick slice of homemade bread and real butter.
“Thank you, dear,” Miss Greer said, “but I can’t eat right now. What am I going to do? A broken hip is serious business. I’ll be out of commission for weeks, and who’s going to run the B and B, I ask you, if I’m in the hospital? I have guests arriving today—six people!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sara said. “I can handle things until you’re back on your feet.”
“What about your trip to California?” Miss Greer asked. “Anyway, the B and B is a full-time job and I can’t afford to pay you a salary. You do more than your fair share, given that I’m only paying you room and board.”
Sara did need money to live on, which meant she had to work other jobs sometimes, like the temporary gig providing meals at an independent movie shoot in California.
“That job has been postponed,” she said breezily.
“But what about the business end?” Miss Greer asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “Sure, you can clean, and the customers seem to like the breakfasts you’ve cooked, but you’re a disaster with finances.”
Sara tried not to take offense at the blunt comment. She knew this wasn’t an indictment of her trustworthiness, but confirmation of the fact that she was dreadful when it came to managing money. Everybody knew that. If there was such a thing as numbers dyslexia, she had it.
“Please try not to worry,” Sara said. “We’ll work something out. Hey, I know. Reece could handle the money side.”
“Excuse me?” Reece said, giving her a panicked look.
“He’s here anyway,” Sara continued as if he hadn’t objected, “and he’s a CPA, so you can be sure he’s competent. He’s doing all the bookkeeping for Remington Charters, and you know Allie wouldn’t allow that if he wasn’t good with money.”
“Oh, would you, Reece?” Miss Greer asked. “You’re such a good guest, and I hate to impose when you and your cousins have been so nice, but I would rest easy knowing…knowing Sara doesn’t have to handle everything.”
Reece removed his glasses and rubbed one eye before answering. “Well…sure, I can do that for you. But I’ll be going back to New York next week. If I don’t return soon, I’ll lose my job.”
Next week?
“I thought your family owned the company,” Sara said. “Isn’t your boss your father? He wouldn’t fire you.”
“You obviously don’t know my father.”
“Don’t you still have lots of vacation left?” she asked him. Cooper, Reece’s cousin, had said this was Reece’s first vacation in eight years. Eight years! How did he stand it, the same job, crunching numbers day after day after day?
“I hadn’t planned to use it all,” he said. “But don’t worry, Miss Greer. I’ll stay for at least a few more days, and if you need to be in the hospital longer than that, we’ll work something out.”
The doorbell rang.
“That must be the paramedics,” Sara said as she went to answer it.
Reece tried not to feel annoyed that Sara had volunteered him for a job before consulting him, knowing he couldn’t refuse in front of a woman lying on the floor with a broken hip.
“Just promise me you won’t leave the finances to Sara,” Miss Greer whispered. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely girl, sweet and generous to a fault and a hard worker. But she doesn’t have a head for business. Have you ever seen her checkbook? It’s the stuff of my nightmares.”
Reece couldn’t help it, he actually shuddered. He’d caught a glimpse of Sara’s checkbook when she’d brought it out to pay one of her hippie-artist friends for a handmade ceramic teapot—an entirely useless item in his opinion, but Sara had been in raptures about it. The checkbook register was written in five different colors of ink and had more cross-outs than a third-grader’s book report.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Reece whispered back.
“You can’t let her touch the B and B’s checkbook—or the calendar. She’ll write down the wrong dates.”
“I’ll handle it, promise,” Reece said. “You focus on getting well.”
Miss Greer pinched his cheek. He hadn’t let anyone get away with pinching his cheek since he was eight years old. “You’re a good boy, and so handsome, too. How is it no woman has caught you?”
A few had tried, especially after a radio station had named him one of the top-twenty bachelors in Manhattan. But he suspected most of them had been more entranced with the cachet of the Remington family name than with Reece himself.
The truth was, he liked living alone. He liked having everything just so, and the one time he’d gotten close enough to a woman that she’d halfway moved in with him, it had driven him crazy.
“She’s in here.” Sara directed the paramedics into the kitchen, where they had Miss Greer on a stretcher in no time. The older woman didn’t complain, but Reece could tell by the tension in her face that she was in pain.
“We’ll follow in Reece’s car,” Sara said, patting Miss Greer’s arm as the stretcher passed by her.
Reece waited until the stretcher had cleared the kitchen door. “We will?” he said to Sara.
“Of course we will.”
“Shouldn’t we call someone from Miss Greer’s family?”
“She doesn’t have any family. She’s never married or had children. And we can’t let her go to the hospital by herself.”
“I thought I would stay here and clean up the mess in the pantry,” Reece said, “and fix the shelf. Shouldn’t one of us be here to take care of the guests?”
“The guests know where we hide the key. They’ve all stayed with us before, so it’s no big deal. But if you want to stay here I guess that’s okay.”
“Isn’t it kind of unsettling, just letting strangers into your house to roam about?”
Sara laughed. He loved to hear her laugh, the sound a bell-like tinkling. “You New Yorkers! You think the Silversteins are going to steal us blind when we have their credit-card information?”
Good point. He nodded.
“Anyway, B and B guests are nice people in general. That’s what I’ve found. They never steal anything.”
Personally, Reece thought Sara was far too trusting—of everyone. The way she wandered all over the world, crashing wherever someone offered her a bed, sharing meals at the homes of people she barely knew, anyone could take advantage of her.
But she would never believe him. Something bad would have to happen before she would become suspicious and skeptical like him.
He frowned at the thought. He liked her innocence. It was part of what made Sara, Sara.
“So can I borrow your car?” she asked.
“You don’t have a car?” Come to think of it, he’d never seen her drive. He’d seen her ride off on a battered bicycle, but he hadn’t imagined that was her only transportation.
“Mine broke down when I was driving back from Santa Fe, and I couldn’t afford the repair bill, so I sold it and rode the bus the rest of the way home.”
“How do you survive without one?”
“Port Clara’s not that big. I walk or ride my bike, and now that the streetcar is running again, I ride that. But the hospital is all the way in Corpus Christi. So can I borrow your car?”
The thought pained him. He’d just bought that car—a cream puff of a Mercedes, barely used. He’d been thinking about buying a car anyway, and he’d intended to purchase something conservative and practical. But the little blue Mercedes had caught his eye.
He seldom succumbed to impulse purchases, and the car was unlike anything he’d ever owned, but he hadn’t been able to walk away from it.
He hadn’t even let his cousin Max drive it.
“All right, I’ll go to the hospital with you,” he said to Sara. Miss Greer would probably appreciate someone there to handle the paperwork, he reasoned.
When they were settled into the Mercedes’s leather bucket seats, Reece entered their destination in his satellite navigation system and they were off. The GPS routed them over the causeway that linked their little barrier island with the mainland, which was a relief. He always felt nauseous on the ferry, which was the other way off the island.
“I’ve been dying to ride in this car,” Sara confessed. “Do you like it?”
“So far.” It was the most sinfully decadent car he’d ever bought.
“Why didn’t you hire someone to drive your car down from New York, like Cooper did?”
“I didn’t own a car. With the cost of parking and maintenance in Manhattan, using public transportation or taxis makes more fiscal sense. I’ll probably end up selling this one.”
“But what if you want to take a Sunday drive? Or a road trip?”
“It’s easy to lease a car if you really need one.” But he hadn’t taken a road trip since college, and even back then he hadn’t seen the point in it.
“I miss my car,” she said wistfully. “It had over two hundred thousand miles, and I logged every one of them.”
“Maybe time to get a new one then. Old cars aren’t as safe as the new ones, and not as economical or environmentally friendly, either.”
“Yeah, well, if I could buy a new one I would. I’ll have to settle for a used one, once I save enough money.”
At least she understood the concept of saving money. A lot of people didn’t—they wanted to buy everything on credit.
He wondered how people like Sara made it in the world. She was obviously not stupid. She was pretty—more than pretty, actually—and personable. He knew not everyone had been born with the advantages he had, and maybe her parents hadn’t sent her to college, but there were lots of careers that didn’t require a degree.
She could have gone into sales, or gotten an entry-level job at a company and worked her way up. But instead she’d chosen to drift aimlessly—at least, that was the way it appeared to him. He doubted she had any savings or property. “Have you made any plans for retirement?” he asked suddenly.
She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted an extra nose. “Excuse me? I’m twenty-nine. I haven’t planned for next month.”
“Now is the perfect time to start thinking about it. If you saved just a hundred dollars a month—”
“What is this? You’re not going to try to sell me swampland in Florida, are you?”
Obviously he’d made a conversational gaffe. “I just worry about you.”
“Oh.” She backed down a bit. “Well, that’s sweet, but I don’t worry about me, so why should you?”
“Exactly.”
His answer seemed to flummox her. “You hardly know me.”
“We’ve lived under the same roof for almost three weeks now. I know you better than you think.”
She smiled and cocked her head flirtatiously. “And here I thought you didn’t know I was alive. You hardly ever say anything to me.”
That was because she often made him tongue-tied. It certainly wasn’t because he didn’t notice her. With her swirly, bright-colored skirts and tie-dyed shirts and big, dangly earrings, how could anyone miss her? Not to mention that mountain of curly brown hair and those big, soft hazel eyes.
She was watching him carefully with those incredible eyes, and his mind went blank. Talking about finances, he was in safe territory. Anything else, and it was hit or miss.
“I didn’t mean to shut you down,” she said. “If you really want to tell me about how I should save for retirement, I’ll listen.”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I overstepped. I apologize.”
Neither of them said a word the rest of the way to Corpus Christi.
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