The Texan's Forbidden Fiancée. Sara Orwig

breath left him.

      Looking sophisticated and breathtakingly beautiful, the woman he faced was stunning. Momentarily, another twinge of guilt stabbed him, but he shoved it aside. Recalling dealing with Pete Milan, the ever-smoldering anger threatened to make him lose his relaxed demeanor. With an effort Jake pushed aside any thoughts about her dad.

      “You look beautiful,” he said.

      “Thank you,” she replied quietly, but she didn’t look happy about his compliment.

      “Shall we go?” he asked.

      “This better be good.”

      “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to,” he said softly as she turned away to pick up a jacket. She scowled at him, so he knew she’d heard him. She punched in an alarm code and stepped outside, closing and locking the door behind her.

      The driver stepped out of the black limo to hold the door for her. She climbed into the seat and watched as Jake sat beside her with space between them. He caught another drift of her perfume. It was not a scent he recognized, but it was enticing, filled with the smell of flowers and spice, and a hint of something more.

      Jake had been amazed at how much he had thought about Madison all week. He had the detective’s information about her, but it had meant little until he was in her presence. He flicked a quick glance over her. She still had the best-looking legs of any woman he knew.

      “So where do we get the plane?” she asked as the limo drove away from her house.

      “At the Verity airport,” he said.

      “Your plane or a charter?”

      “It’s my private jet. We keep company jets in Dallas,” he answered as he shifted so he could face her. Her green eyes were on him, steady, veiled, hiding what she felt, but he could imagine her thoughts were as turbulent as his. “Your art career is going well, I’ve heard.”

      “I’ve been happy with it.”

      “I’m sure you have since that’s what you always really wanted,” he said, failing to keep a bitter note out of his voice. “I wouldn’t think you’d bury yourself out here on the ranch if you have a gallery in Dallas and one in Santa Fe.” He kept up conversation but all he wanted to do was look at her. Her green eyes had always captivated him, but now he noticed so much more—her flawless skin, her full lips that he wanted to kiss. He almost groaned as he made an effort to look away. “I’m surprised you like it out here.”

      “I grew up here. I’m used to it,” she remarked, giving him a glance. She seemed more poised, controlled than she had before. “This way I can live in more than one place. I come out here to paint so I won’t be disturbed. In town there is something constantly going on or people dropping by. Mom and Dad gave the ranch to me three years ago. My brothers have their own places. I’m here in the fall until Christmas and I come back in May. The rest of the time I’m in New Mexico or sometimes in a condo in Dallas. Where are you most of the time—here on the ranch?”

      “No. I’d prefer the ranch, but I’m based in Dallas, where the home office for the energy company is. I’m seldom here because of taking care of business. By the time I’m forty, I hope to retire and be a full-time rancher because that’s what I love.”

      She nodded and became silent, looking out the limo windows. The airport was on the east side of Verity and they drove through the wide main street that had once been a dusty cattle trail before the town sprang up. They left the shops and stores, passing the oldest homes in the town, two blocks of wooden Victorian-style homes, some single story, some two or three stories tall, still occupied and taken care of with flowers and the oldest trees in Verity in the yards. Then they reached a tall Victorian house in a block by itself, the last before leaving Verity. She looked at the familiar sight, a wooden three-story surrounded by a three-foot wrought-iron fence and a front gate hanging on one hinge. Windows had been broken out. Weeds and high grass filled the yard, while the two tall oaks by the house were overgrown with vines. Without thinking she glanced at Jake.

      “There’s the Wrenville house. Remember when you and Wyatt and two other football players went out at night to search through the house?” Madison asked.

      “Like everyone else, we didn’t find anything and got chased out by the sheriff. I don’t think anyone today has much interest in the place.”

      “You and I have ancestors that were killed there—both in love with Lavita Wrenville according to the legend. Her father drew his weapon and all three men were shot and killed, but it was never clear who shot the other,” she said. “Before she died, Lavita said that one of them lived long enough to tell her who shot who. According to legend, she wrote it down and hid it before she died. I wonder if we’ll find anything when 2015 occurs.”

      “Your brother will know before anyone else. By 2015, there may not be many who care. According to the legend, the city can do what it wants with the house and property in 2015. I heard that’s why your brother is sheriff. So many people wanted him to run because he’s so honest and everyone trusts Wyatt. He’ll be sheriff when they can finally tear down the house and look for the letter,” Jake stated.

      “I think the reason they wanted an honest man is more because of the part of the legend that says Lavita died a very wealthy woman and her money is hidden somewhere in the house,” Madison remarked. “If Wyatt finds anything, he’ll turn it over to the city and make public which man shot the others.

      “I’d like to hear what happened. Did the Milan shoot the other two? Did the Calhoun? Or did her father shoot both of the men who wanted to marry his daughter?” she said.

      “Or,” Jake said, “they all could have fired their weapons at the same time and then fired again. It never was made public how many times each man was shot.”

      “I’m surprised the townspeople didn’t insist,” Madison said.

      “The Milans and the Calhouns were even more influential and powerful in those days than now,” Jake said. “If they didn’t want the killings made public, they wouldn’t have been. And Lavita could have been the one who kept it all secret. We’ll know someday. Twenty-fifteen approaches.”

      She shivered. “I don’t know why you and Wyatt decided you wanted to search for an old letter about killings in another century or even for a mythical fortune.”

      “We were kids,” he said. He smiled. “Your brother doesn’t scare easily. We were just curious and we both wanted new, fancy cars.”

      She became silent again, not mentioning that she had been scared for both Jake and Wyatt that night. Looking at the house now, she wouldn’t want to hunt for an old letter or even a fortune in there.

      “Jake, we’ll have a quick flight to Dallas. Why not talk about what you want on the plane? There’s no possible interruption there.”

      “That sounds agreeable. The weather’s good and it should be a smooth flight.” The sun had reached the horizon when the plane lifted off the runway, but once they were airborne and headed east there was more light as they chased the sinking sun.

      “Might as well enjoy happy hour while we fly. What would you like to drink? We stock a full bar.”

      “Any chance of conjuring up a raspberry tea?” she asked.

      He told the flight attendant what they wanted to drink and shortly, the man reappeared with a tall, chilled glass, which he offered to Madison, and a beer for Jake. When they were again alone, she sipped her drink and smiled. “You have the formula—this is delicious.”

      “Glad you like it.”

      Madison leaned back in her chair. “Let’s cut to the chase, Jake. There’s no need for polite chitchat—why do you want my land? For what possible reason would you expect me to invite you onto the ranch?”

      Her eyes were wide, green and thickly lashed, and he was mesmerized. A streak of sunlight streamed through the window, bathing her cheek in golden