Her Valentine Blind Date. Raye Morgan

of a childhood on the Triple M Ranch outside of Dallas, Texas.

      “I’m sure Celinia Jade will be just what you’re used to,” his mother went on, waving the letter that had come from the daughter of her old friend. “I still keep in touch with enough old Texans to know what’s going on. She’s a clotheshorse with nothing on her mind deeper than the latest hemlines and whether her newest shade of lip gloss makes her mouth more kissable. Sound familiar?”

      “Have you been listening in on my phone conversations again?” he’d teased her.

      And that was when she’d rolled her eyes.

      “Don’t you get it, Mama?” he told her with loving humor. “I don’t date women for their conversation.”

      “Then you’ll probably get along perfectly with the young Miss Kerry.” Paula had frowned, looking at the letter again. “It’s odd to hear from her after all these years. And to have her ask to come visit us.”

      “And just lucky timing that I’m leaving for Dallas in a few days and can check out the situation.” He looked at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She’d been looking more frail lately. Ever since Gino had died. It broke his heart to see her this way.

      “What do you suppose she wants?” he’d asked casually, though he was pretty sure he knew.

      “Money.” His mother sighed, shaking her head of graying curls. “The word is she’s in deep financial trouble. Her parents are both gone now and she’s spent her way through what little they left her. She’s looking at you as one big old ATM machine, I have no doubt.”

      “Interesting,” he’d murmured, a plan developing in his head. “You’re sure she still has the Triple M Ranch?”

      “Oh, yes. She’ll never give that up. Who would?” She winced and he knew she was remembering that her own family had done exactly that—something she could never forgive. “But she probably needs funds to keep it running.”

      “A loan?”

      Paula laughed. “Hardly. She’d never be able to pay it back. My guess?” She smiled at her son. “She asks a lot of questions about you in her letter. I think she’ll try to get you to marry her.”

      “Many have tried,” he noted dryly, only half joking.

      “But no one has come close yet,” she agreed with a sigh.

      He’d grunted noncommittally, thinking it over. “Call her,” he suggested. “Put her off about her coming here, but tell her I’ll be in town and would like to meet her. Set up a rendezvous.”

      She nodded reluctantly. “What are you planning?” she asked.

      He smiled at her. “Mama, you know property acquisition is my specialty. I plan to talk her into selling us that ranch you loved so much.”

      Her eyes sparkled for just a moment, but she shook her head. “She’ll never do it.”

      He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

      “Oh, Max, do be careful. Don’t let her charm you. If she’s anything like her mother was…”

      He’d dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he started for the door. “I’ll give her that old famous Texas sweet talkin’ you taught me all about when I was a whippersnapper. She’ll be begging to turn the ranch over to us in no time.”

      Looking back at her as he reached the door, he could see a sad, faraway look in her eyes and knew she was thinking about Gino, his older brother who had died a few months before. That look on her face brought a catch to his throat. He would do anything to bring the joy back for her. Anything.

      And that was the mission that had brought him to Dallas.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “SO, TELL me, C.J.,” Max said, looking sideways at Cari as they exited the freeway and turned into a dark, spooky-looking industrial area. A quick flash of lightning lit up the horizon, then disappeared as quickly as it came. The air was electric with possibilities. “How’s life out on the ranch these days?”

      She eyed him and shook her head. His conversation was becoming more incomprehensible to her. Her little house could be called ranch-style, but she certainly wasn’t running any cattle in the yard.

      “What ranch?”

      The ranch your family stole from mine, he thought cynically, his mouth twisting. Are you going to pretend that never happened?

      But aloud he said, “The ranch you live on, of course.”

      She shook her head. What in the world had Mara told this man in order to get him to spend an evening with her? She knew her friend was subject to occasional flights of imagination, gilding the lily, so to speak, but this was ridiculous.

      “I don’t live on a ranch,” she told him firmly. He might as well know the truth.

      “Ah. I suppose you’re just a normal, everyday Texas girl.” His voice belied his words. His sarcasm was showing.

      But she nodded vigorously, becoming exasperated. “Yes, I am.”

      He chuckled. “What is it with you Texans? The popular myth is that you’re all such big talkers, but all the Texans I meet are always trying to pretend they’re just average folks, no matter how filthy rich they are or how much land they own.”

      She was at a loss. Surely Mara hadn’t pretended she was from a wealthy family—a wealthy ranching family. Mara knew better.

      “But we are mostly just average folks,” she said defensively.

      “Hah. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.”

      The things he was saying were odd enough, but even odder was the fact that she was beginning to detect what sounded like a faint Italian accent, and that last outburst seemed to seal the deal.

      “You know something?” she said accusingly. “You don’t sound like a Texan.”

      “Grazie,” he replied with a casual shrug. “I’m only half-Texan, after all. I hope you can forgive my mistakes.”

      “Oh.” Half-Texan! And the other half was evidently Italian. How had Mara missed that tiny detail? She bit her lip, wondering if she’d offended him.

      “So what did it mean, what you said a minute ago?”

      He smiled at her. “I said it’s a good story, even if it isn’t true.”

      Before she could express fresh outrage, his phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

      “It’s my mother,” he said, sounding surprised as he pulled over to the side of the road. “She’s calling from Venice.” He flipped his mobile open.

      “Your mother?” Cari gaped at him. She’d heard Italian men were attached to their mothers, but this was ridiculous.

      “Sì, Mama.”

      He said something into the phone in what she assumed was Italian. It sounded like Italian. It even looked like Italian. Cari couldn’t catch anything she recognized, but she watched the whole thing, fascinated. There was a lot of near-shouting and gesticulating, and suddenly he pulled the phone away from his ear and said, “Would you like to speak to my mother?”

      She gazed at him in horror. His mother? Why on earth would she want to speak to his mother? What would she say?

      “Not really,” she said, shaking her head vehemently.

      He said something else in Italian and clicked the phone shut. Turning, he eyed her narrowly.

      “So the old resentments still live, do they?” he noted, his gaze pinning her to the back of the seat with its dark, stormy intensity.

      “What are you talking about?”

      “The