Chapter Two
Carly sat behind the metal desk in Grandpa Joe’s office, a plain twelve-by-fourteen-foot room off an open area out front where the scheduling, record-keeping, and customer service took place.
Attached to the building in a big metal warehouse, there was a truck service department that held replacement and repair parts: tires, batteries, oil, fluids, and anything else a big eighteen-wheeler might need, as well as a maintenance bay where the mechanics did the actual work on the rigs. A huge asphalt yard, surrounded by a chain-link fence, faced the road out in front.
Carly studied the computer screen on her desk, going over account records, scrolling down one column after another, trying to find enough money to pay the employees their two-week checks.
When she’d arrived in Texas, she’d had no idea the terrible financial straits Drake Trucking was in. Joe had been a successful businessman all his life. He’d run the company with a firm hand and an eye on every dollar.
But apparently his bad health had taken its toll. He’d been so busy with doctor visits and trips in and out of the hospital that the business had gone downhill. And though he had been on Medicare, there were still outstanding medical bills that had to be paid.
Having only been in Texas a week when Joe died, Carly hadn’t had nearly enough time to figure out what was going on and start trying to solve the problem. Not enough time to save Drake Trucking or her grandfather.
A familiar deep pang reminded her of the loss of the man who had raised her. She should have come back sooner. If she had been there, she could have relieved some of Joe’s stress. She could have made sure he was taking his meds, that he kept his medical appointments. Maybe he would have lived a few more years.
Carly shoved the guilt away. She didn’t have time for that now. She had responsibilities, people to worry about, a company to run.
Late in the afternoon, by holding off on some of the utility bills, some of the suppliers’ invoices, a bill from Joe’s attorney, Willard Speers, for settling Joe’s estate, and a lot of miscellaneous debts she didn’t yet understand, she managed to round up enough to make payroll and had all the checks written.
Tomorrow she would get on the phone and start making cold calls, see if she could stir up some business. She’d do whatever it took to make the company profitable again.
She had failed her grandfather before.
No matter how hard she had to work, Carly wasn’t going to fail him again.
A quick knock sounded and the door swung open. It was Donna Melendez, a Latina who had been Joe’s office manager for years. Donna was in her fifties, with long black hair turning silver and the kind of work ethic money alone couldn’t buy.
“I just got a call from Texas American. Lincoln Cain’s secretary wants to make an appointment.”
Carly thought of their meeting at the cemetery. Cain’s tall, broad-shouldered build and amazing face popped into her head, and a trickle of warmth spread through her.
Recognizing that warmth as attraction, she firmly tamped it down. She wasn’t interested in Cain or any other man. At least not now or anytime in the near future. “I saw him at the funeral. He said he wanted to talk to me.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time.”
“He didn’t look like a man who wastes time.”
Donna chuckled. “I put him down for two P.M. I told his secretary I’d call her back if that was a problem.”
“Two is fine.” That would give her all morning to make calls and spend a little more time going over the books. There was a lot she didn’t understand about running this business—way too much she needed to learn.
As a teenager, she’d spent hours after school and on weekends with Joe at the yard and she had picked up a lot. The summer of her eighteenth birthday, he had taught her to drive a big rig, which had been a thrill, though she had never left the field they pretended was a road.
Back then Joe had wanted her to work with him, maybe take over the business after he was gone. At the time she hadn’t been interested in staying in Iron Springs. But years had passed; things had changed.
The phone rang. Joe’s direct line. When she pressed the receiver against her ear, the voice of Emmett Howler, Sheriff of Howler County, came through the earpiece.
“Sheriff Howler, I appreciate your returning my call,” Carly said.
“No problem, little lady. I know you’re worried about catching the men who killed your employee. We all are.”
Little lady. The words grated on her feminist nerves. She didn’t mind the ma’am, a respectful term used by half the South, but little lady was pushing it, as far as Carly was concerned.
“So there’s still no sign of the men who murdered Miguel Hernandez?” she asked.
“No, missy, there sure ain’t. But the department’s on top of it. We’ll find ’em sooner or later.”
“What about the truck and trailer?” It was insured, of course, but there was a steep deductible, which at the moment she couldn’t afford to pay. There’d be one less big rig in the fleet for a while.
“No sign of it. Like I said, we’re on it. I’ll be sure to let you know if anything new turns up.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” Carly hung up the phone. If anything new turns up. So far the cops didn’t have squat, just a plausible theory based on a .45 caliber bullet wound at the back of Miguel’s head and the disappearance of the truck and semi-trailer it was hauling.
The door swung open again and Donna stuck her head in, her stick-straight, silver-streaked black hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. “So what did the sheriff have to say?”
It wasn’t really Donna’s business. Carly definitely needed to set some rules—or what the hell, maybe not. Before he’d gotten sick, Joe had been extremely successful. He treated the company like one big family. She’d stick with his tried-and-true methods for awhile.
“So far, Howler has come up with a big fat zero. There’s not a lot of crime out here. I think he’s in over his head.”
“Too bad the murder happened in the county.” Which was the sheriff’s jurisdiction. “Oh, Gordy asked if he could have tomorrow off to take care of some personal business. What do you think?”
Her shop foreman had worked for Joe for twenty years; he was the man who helped her keep things moving along.
“He’s been a real trooper. A day off shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay, then.” Donna swung the door closed and went back to work.
Carly returned to scanning the computer screen. How had her grandfather lost track of his finances so badly? She began scrolling through old accounting files. She needed to go through every month of the past year. If she still didn’t have an answer, she’d keep going back month by month until she did.
With a sigh, she went back to work.
* * *
The pilot landed one of two Tex/Am Bell helicopters on the pad outside the main house at Blackland Ranch, Linc’s property north and east of Iron Springs. The rotors slowed, but didn’t completely stop spinning.
“Have a good weekend, Mr. C,” the pilot said.
Linc slid open the heavy door. “You, too, Dillon. I’ll see you next week.” Jumping out of the chopper onto the asphalt, Linc kept his head low as he ran toward the palatial mansion.
Fifteen thousand square feet constructed entirely of stone, the house stood more than two stories tall, with arched, paned windows and formally landscaped grounds broken only by the long ribbon of driveway leading up from the road.
Linc hated the place.
A monument to extravagant bad taste, the mansion had been designed by his ex-wife, the former Holly Springer, a Miss America beauty pageant finalist. Linc loved the ranch, had hoped that building Holly a house would convince her to spend more time at the 2,500-acre property that was his personal retreat.
The house had taken two and a half years to finish—just six months shy of their three-year, completely unsuccessful marriage.
Linc didn’t bother to go inside, just skirted the house to the seven-car garage, passing one of the gardeners in a floppy-brimmed straw hat along the way. Linc waved and Pedro waved back.
Standing in front of the gray stone garage that matched the house, he punched in the code to bay number three and waited for the door to slide up. A black, fully loaded, extended-cab Sierra Denali 2500 GMC pickup gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open garage door.
Linc tossed his briefcase into the backseat, opened the driver’s door, slid in behind the wheel, and fired up the big diesel V-8 engine. He didn’t want to be late for his two o’clock meeting with Carly Drake.
It was Friday. After the meeting, he planned to work the weekend from the ranch, which he did as often as he could.
Linc hit the gas and headed for the Drake Trucking yard at the edge of town, not too far away. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, only that he’d let Carly know her problems were solved.
Linc was sure she would be grateful.
* * *
Sitting behind the desk, Carly pressed the phone against her ear.
“You’ve always been a loyal customer, Mr. Jensen. But I’ve been going over the freight contracts for the last few months and I don’t find any recent deliveries for Jensen Manufacturing. If there’s been some sort of problem, I’d certainly like to get to the bottom of it.”
“The freight hauling business is highly competitive,” Mr. Jensen said. “I found cheaper prices somewhere else, that’s all.”
“Was the service as good? Because you know you can count on Drake to get your products delivered on time and in excellent condition.”
“Times are tough, Ms. Drake—”
“Carly, please.”
“Like I said, Carly, times are tough. I had to make a decision and I couldn’t get hold of Joe.”
“Well, I’m here now and available whenever you need me. And we’ll match whatever terms you got on your last contract.”
Silence fell. Carly closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.
“I feel bad about Joe. He was a really good guy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ve got a couple of loads coming up the first of the month. We’ll see if Drake can do as good a job without Joe as it used to do when he was there.”
Carly grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Jensen. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” The line went dead and Carly leaned back in her chair. Her hands were shaking and she was perspiring. The ceiling fan rotated above her. She lifted her hair up off the back of her neck to catch the breeze, took a deep breath, and slowly released it.
She had made calls all morning and again after lunch. Jensen Manufacturing was her first real success.
She glanced at the clock. Crap, it was almost time for her two o’clock appointment. She’d hoped to have a chance to run back to the house and change into something more professional than jeans. No time now.
Instead, she hit Google Chrome, typed in Cain’s name, clicked up one of the many links that mentioned him, and began to read, starting with Wikipedia.
Lincoln Cain, no middle name. Entrepreneur, developer, investor, philanthropist. Born in Pleasant Hill, Texas, on July 4. He was thirty-five years old, six years older than Carly.
Co-owner of Texas American Enterprises. His partner’s name was Beaumont Reese. She’d heard of Beau Reese, son of a wealthy Texas family, famous for his flashy lifestyle and his expensive hobby—driving Formula One race cars, kind of a Texas Paul Newman. Though apparently he just drove for fun these days. When she had a little more time, she’d Google Reese, too.
Carly glanced down the page. There was a ton of stuff about Cain. One sentence caught her eye: net worth estimated at over five hundred million. Oh. My. God.
Mother deceased. No mention of his father. She went back to the Web links, spotted the word prison, and clicked on the link. It was an article in People magazine.
She didn’t have time to read it all so she skimmed the page, paused halfway down the article. An entire section was devoted to Cain’s teenage years, which mentioned a stint in juvenile detention when he was a junior in high school and another stay as a senior.
At age eighteen, he’d been arrested for the attempted armed robbery of a convenience store along with two other youths, all three were apprehended at the scene. Having just turned eighteen, Cain was sentenced to two years in prison while the other two kids, still seventeen, received lesser sentences and their juvenile records were sealed. Cain had never revealed their identities.
According to the article, after prison Cain had turned his life around and set himself on a course that had made him the multimillionaire he was today.
A knock at the door ended her reading. Instead of bursting in as she usually did, Donna waited for permission, which meant Lincoln Cain had arrived.
She shut down the computer and answered the knock. “Come on in.”
Donna opened the door, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, the same effect the man had had on Brittany. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Drake, but Mr. Cain is here to see you.”
Cain walked past Donna, wearing a charcoal suit today, Armani or Gucci, or some equally posh designer. At Delta, she had worked the first-class section. She knew high-dollar clothes. The briefcase he carried was expensive belted leather.
Carly stood up behind the desk in her jeans and T-shirt. Suddenly remembering what was printed on the front, she froze. Cain’s gold-flecked green eyes ran over the words BAD MOTHER TRUCKER, and his mouth edged up.
Carly hadn’t expected the jolt of heat that faint smile created. She hadn’t expected to notice his lips at all, the slight tilt, the sexy way they curved. She wished to God she hadn’t.
She looked down at the bold white letters. “I . . . umm . . . spilled coffee on my blouse and one of the guys loaned me this. I thought I’d have time to change, but . . .” She shrugged. She was babbling. It was ridiculous. She didn’t owe Cain an explanation.
“No need to apologize,” he said. “I don’t always wear a suit and tie.”
One of her eyebrows went up. “Just most of the time?”
“Only when I have to.”
“Which is most of the time?”
His faint smile broadened. Those faint grooves appeared and her stomach lifted. For God’s sake, he was only a man. Good-looking, but so what? He was also rich and powerful, undoubtedly controlling. She’d dated men like Cain. She had no interest in doing it again.
He said, “Too damned much of the time—that’s for sure.”
She relaxed a little. Maybe he actually had a sense of humor. “Why don’t we sit down?” Carly walked over to the round Formica table and metal folding chairs in the corner, and both of them sat down.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Cain?”
“Linc would suit me better. If I can call you Carly. I feel as if I’ve known you for a while. Your grandfather talked a lot about you.”
She wished Joe had talked about Lincoln Cain. Why hadn’t he? But then they never seemed to have enough time to really talk at all.
“All right, Linc, what can I do for you?”
“As I said before, your grandfather and I were friends. He helped me when I needed it. In return, I’m here to help you.”
She studied the strong, masculine lines of his face, noticed the beginnings of a beard shadow along his jaw. She wondered if she could trust him. “Help me how?”
Cain opened his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers, set the thick stack of pages down on the table. “This is an offer to buy Drake Trucking. I expect you to take it to your financial advisor as well as your attorney, but you’ll find the offer is extremely generous and the transaction will hold you harmless from any problems from the day we close the deal.”
She couldn’t believe it. Lincoln Cain was there to buy the company. Damn, she wished she’d had time to read more about him.
“What makes you think I’m interested in selling?”
One of his dark eyebrows went up. “I assumed that would be your first priority now that Joe’s gone. You’re telling me you don’t want to sell?”
She didn’t have to think about it. She had known almost from the day Joe died. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. My grandfather’s health issues left Drake in less than perfect financial condition, but with a little hard work—”
“Why go to all the trouble? If you take my offer, you can do whatever you want. You moved back here from San Francisco, I understand. As a flight attendant, you traveled all over the world. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay here in Iron Springs.”
He was beginning to annoy her. “Then you’re a man of little imagination, Mr. Cain. Because that is exactly my plan. I’ve traveled. I’ve done the things I wanted to do. Now I’m ready for a change. I need a new challenge and I’ve found it right here. I’m going to rebuild Drake Trucking, make it the successful company it was before.”
“It’s just Linc, and that’s a fine ambition, but how much experience have you had running a trucking firm?”
Not enough, but that was beside the point. “I learned a lot from Joe. I’ve forgotten some of it, but it’s beginning to come back to me. I’m a fast learner and a hard worker. I’ll figure things out.”
Cain shoved the paperwork across the table. “At least take a look, see what I’m offering.”
Her irritation mounted. Carly stood up from her chair. “I’ll be blunt, Mr. Cain. Drake Trucking is edging toward bankruptcy. It isn’t worth whatever you’re offering—which you would find out as soon as you looked at the books. So I’m saving you a lot of grief by simply saying no.”
Cain stood up, too, his towering height putting her at a disadvantage. “Buying companies in trouble and turning them around is what I do. I’ll cut you a deal that will cover your debts and let you walk away with half a million dollars.”
Half a million dollars! And all her worries over. For one crazy instant, she actually considered it. Carly shook her head. “Thank you, but no.” She had a debt to repay. And she needed a purpose in life. She had found it here in Iron Springs.
His deep voice softened, rolled over her like a caress. “This deal isn’t just about money, Carly. It’s about friendship. Mine and Joe’s. Look at the paperwork, give yourself some time to think it over, then call me. My card is in the envelope.”
Carly slid the paperwork back to him. “I’m not interested. I appreciate whatever it is you think you’re doing, but I’m not selling. Drake Trucking is not for sale.”
He studied her for several long moments. “You’re not what I expected,” he said softly, making a little curl of heat slip into her stomach. Picking up the papers, he put them back in his briefcase and closed the lid.
He pulled a card out of his inside coat pocket and set it down on the table. “If you need anything, call me. It’s what your grandfather would want.” Grabbing the handle of the briefcase, he turned and walked out of the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Carly sagged down in the chair. Her hands were trembling. A shaky breath whispered out. Just being in the same room with Cain made her nervous.
She hoped he wouldn’t come back again.