A Fortune in Waiting Page 8

  “Have time for a beer?” Graham asked, holding up two bottles.

  “Always,” Keaton said and dusted his hands off on his jeans before taking one of the bottles. He tipped it back as Graham led him to two wooden rockers on the front porch of the ranch house. The cool liquid felt good on his parched throat. With the temperatures unseasonably warm for the past few days, it was hard to believe that he’d so recently danced with Francesca in the snow.

  The sun was bright in the Texas sky, and he enjoyed the slight breeze that ruffled his hair.

  “You need a hat,” Graham commented as he dropped into one of the painted rocking chairs.

  Keaton chuckled. “I’m British,” he said. “We don’t do cowboy hats.”

  “Give it some time.” Graham pointed at Keaton’s feet. “You’ve got boots. A hat to go with them can’t be too far down the road.”

  Keaton crossed his ankles, glancing at the pointed tips of his new cowboy boots. He’d gotten them at a Western shop near his apartment, mainly because he hadn’t packed anything that would be appropriate to wear riding.

  “Besides,” Graham added after taking a long pull on his beer, “you’re only half-British.”

  Keaton smiled even as guilt stabbed through him. He appreciated how much his half siblings had done to welcome him into their fold, but the fact that he enjoyed being in Texas made him feel disloyal to his mother. She’d done so much for him and supported his decision to get to know the Fortunes, along with his mission to track down Gerald’s other children. But he was all she had in life. After talking to Francesca, he had a clearer understanding of what his mother had sacrificed for him.

  “The half that could kick your butt in a game of football,” he said, saluting Graham with his beer.

  “You’re in Texas now, son.” Graham purposefully made his Texas drawl even more pronounced. “When you say football, you’d better be talking about Friday night lights, pigskin and cheerleaders.”

  “Soccer,” Keaton amended with a smile.

  “One of these days you can coach me on soccer and I’ll show you how to throw a perfect spiral.”

  “Deal.” Keaton took another drink. “Did your dad teach you how to play football?”

  “Not so much,” Graham answered. “He was away a lot. I didn’t understand it then, but now I know why.” He shook his head. “He was a busy man.”

  Keaton felt his gut twist. “I don’t understand how he justified his affairs, even in his own mind. I guess we don’t know for sure about the other illegitimate kids, but there was no question he was aware my mum was pregnant when he broke things off with her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Graham said quietly. Third of the eight Robinson children by birth order, Graham was particularly easygoing. But Keaton could tell how much the news about his father’s true identity and the ensuing fallout had affected him. Each one of Keaton’s half siblings had apologized to him in one form or another since they’d first met.

  “You have nothing to feel sorry for,” he told Graham, echoing the same response he’d given the others. “If anything I should apologize to you. The Robinsons were simply your run-of-the-mill wildly successful, ridiculously wealthy family before all of this started.”

  “Yeah, right.” Graham laughed. “We’ve all learned in the past year that nothing about our father is simple.”

  “I’ve been asked to sit down for an interview and profile story for Weird Life Magazine and their blog.”

  Graham raised a brow. “Ben mentioned that. Are you going to agree to it?”

  “Yes,” Keaton answered. “I talked to the reporter about my search for some of the others—” He broke off, cursing under his breath. “Others,” he repeated after a moment, the word like acid on his tongue. “It sounds like I’m on the hunt for fugitives or alien life forms.”

  “You’re searching for our brothers and sisters,” Graham told him. “There’s no shame for them or for you. All of us are at Dad’s mercy in this. He won’t talk about his mistresses or the children who have been born outside of his marriage to my mom. That’s on him, Keaton. No one else.”

  “Thank you for saying that.” Keaton took another draft of beer then set the bottle down on the wide-plank floor. “I understand it conceptually, but it doesn’t hurt to hear someone else speak the words.”

  “Anytime you need it,” Graham answered.

  “About the article... Ariana Lamonte,” Keaton said, “is the reporter doing the feature. She’s going to make it clear in her article that there may be more Fortunes yet to be revealed. I’ve asked her not to speak specifically about how much Gerald or your mother might have known. My intention isn’t to drag the family through the mud.”

  He saw Graham’s jaw tighten even as he nodded. “I appreciate that, although I wouldn’t blame you if it was.”

  “That’s not going to help anyone.”

  Graham leaned forward, elbows on knees, and glanced over at Keaton. “Can I ask you a candid question?”

  Keaton nodded. “By all means.”

  “Why are you trying to find these other Fortunes? I get Ben’s motivations. He’s always been the bold one, and as Dad’s presumptive heir, he was shaken by what we learned last year. He felt it was his duty to find out the truth and track down you and whoever else is out there. In his heart, he wants to reunite the family.” He shrugged. “But you have every reason to hate our father, yet you haven’t done anything to make a claim on the family money or to publicly ruin his reputation.” Graham tipped his head toward Keaton. “You could do both of those things without much effort, especially if you’ve got the attention of a reporter.”

  “I don’t want anything from Gerald Robinson,” Keaton confirmed. “But I do want to connect with people in the same situation as me. No one chooses to grow up without knowledge of who their father is. If Gerald has other children out there—”

  “And we both know he does,” Graham interrupted.

  “They deserve to know,” Keaton finished.

  “What if they don’t want to be a part of the Fortune family?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Ben and I are making sure our research is thorough. Before we approach anyone, we need to be certain they are who we think they are. That’s where Ariana can help.”

  Graham stared out over the front porch rails. Keaton followed his gaze and saw two horses nuzzling each other in the far pasture. “I don’t want to be defined only by becoming a Fortune,” he said after a moment. “But I can’t deny it’s changed who I am and how I think of myself. I hope it’s changed me for the better, but that remains to be seen.”

  “You’re a good man, Keaton.”

  “You, too, Graham.” Keaton laughed softly. “I’m continually impressed with my brothers and sisters and the fully formed adults you are given who your father is and how he acted for so many years. Your mother must be an amazing woman.”

  Graham stood abruptly and shot Keaton a look he couldn’t interpret. The tall rancher and newly minted head of a major corporation walked to the edge of the porch before turning. “I’m lucky, just like Wes and Ben are, to have found a truly amazing woman to share my life.”

  Keaton straightened from the rocker, thinking of Francesca. He was taking her out tonight and had planned the evening with the level of detail he’d use for his biggest client. Sharing coffee had been a lovely interlude and it still blew his mind how effortless it was to talk to her. But tonight was about blowing her mind and making her understand how truly special she was.

  There was a fine line between wooing her and scaring her away, but he was willing to walk that line and give her a night out she wouldn’t soon forget. It was clear she hadn’t had enough people in her life who made her a priority. He was going to be the one to change that.

  Chapter Seven

  Frances
ca opened the door a little before seven to reveal Keaton standing on the other side, his hand raised as if he was about to knock.

  She sucked in a breath as his blue gaze raked over her. He looked ten kinds of hot and sexy in a pair of black pants and an olive-green collared shirt.

  “Hullo,” he said slowly, looking into her eyes.

  “I saw you park,” she said, gesturing behind her to the picture window that looked out to the street in front of her building. “Not that I was staring...or waiting...or babbling.”

  “Take a breath, Francesca.”

  She drew air in and out of her lungs, trying—in vain—to calm her racing heart. “Why am I so nervous?” she asked, hysterical laughter rising up her throat. She swallowed it down and forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry I’m nervous. It makes me babble.”

  “You have no reason to be nervous,” he said and pulled an arm from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of yellow roses. “Or to apologize. I like you being excited for me to arrive.”

  “Excited,” she repeated dumbly. There were at least two dozen blooms in the massive bunch, each flower more vibrant than the next.

  “These are for you.” He handed her the bouquet. “I wasn’t sure of your favorite but since yellow roses are synonymous with Texas, I thought you might enjoy them.”

  “You know that song was written about a slave girl,” she said as she lifted the flowers to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “She was said to have distracted the Mexican general Santa Anna so that Sam Houston and his men could ride across the plains and have their victory at the battle of San Jacinto.”

  “Fascinating,” Keaton murmured.

  Francesca’s eyes snapped open. “I’m still babbling,” she muttered then took a step back into the apartment. “Please come in while I put these in water and try to get my brain working again.”

  She could barely make eye contact with him. Keaton Whitfield was handsome, smart and very successful. He could have any woman he wanted, and all Francesca could manage was to give him a history lesson on a famous Texas folk song. She was an idiot.

  She took a vase from the cabinet, filled it with water and arranged the flowers as well as she could given that her fingers were trembling. Keaton took her hand as she turned back to him, tugging her closer. “I like how your brain works,” he said. “I like a lot of things about you.”

  He leaned in on the last words and his lips met hers. Francesca wasn’t expecting the kiss, which left her no time to panic. She simply reacted to it, savoring the feel of his strong but gentle mouth against hers. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of mint and subtle cologne, and she had the craziest urge to press her nose into his neck.

  Her eyes drifted closed instead, just as he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips. She felt the touch all the way down to her toes.

  Too soon he pulled back. “I knew kissing you would be perfect,” he whispered as he smoothed the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks.

  “I don’t have a lot of experience,” she answered, “but don’t you normally save the kiss for the end of the night?”

  He laughed softly. “I couldn’t wait. Do you feel less nervous now?”

  She thought about the question for a moment then nodded.

  “Right,” he agreed. “Don’t mistake me, Francesca. I have every intention of kissing you at the end of the evening.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive place under her jaw. “I intend to kiss you as often as possible,” he said against her skin. “You have no reason to be nervous.” His lips brushed hers. “It will always be like this between us.”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice coming out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “But I’m a little worried.”

  He lifted his head, smoothed a curl away from her face. “About what?”

  “Well,” she said, biting down on her lower lip. “if you start the date like that, I’m not sure how you’re going to top it.”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Then we’d better start the evening so we can find out.”

  She grabbed her purse from the table, flipped off the lights and locked the door behind her. As they walked out onto the sidewalk, Keaton took her hand. She glanced toward Lola May’s to see Ciara, Lola May and several of the regular customers staring out the front window.

  “We have an audience.” With his free hand, Keaton gave the group a small wave.

  “I’m sorry,” Francesca muttered. “Everyone is curious.” They were probably trying to figure out what a man like Keaton saw in someone like her. At least she wasn’t so inexperienced to say those words out loud.

  “They care about you,” he answered and she glanced over her shoulder toward the diner.

  Ciara blew her a kiss, Lola May gave her the thumbs up and the two older men, who were truly like pseudo grandfathers, fist bumped each other then waved again.

  Francesca smiled. Maybe Keaton was right and it wasn’t that no one believed she was good enough for him. They were her family, and they wanted her to be happy.

  Then she noticed where Keaton was leading her. “A limo?” she asked on a gasp.

  “I thought it would be fun. Have you even been in one?”

  She shook her head. Stinky tour buses, yes. Limousines, no.

  The driver was waiting next to the back door and opened it as they approached. Francesca whispered her thanks as she climbed in, scooting forward on the plush leather seats.

  Keaton settled next to her and took her hand. “I was so busy kissing you that I forgot to mention how beautiful you look.” He traced his thumb in circles over the inside of her wrist, setting off a stream of tiny sparks across her skin. “You make that dress seem like something out of a fairy tale.”

  She’d chosen a beaded cocktail dress that indeed made her feel like a princess. It was deep purple color with a scooped neck and an empire waist. Between the diner and her classes, Francesca didn’t have much need for fancy clothes. But Ciara had insisted on taking her shopping after her break up with Lou. Retail therapy, her friend had called it. Francesca had thrown out every band T-shirt and article of black clothing she owned. She associated the dark color with all the nights spent trying to hide herself backstage at Lou’s gigs.

  Ciara had encouraged her to buy an outfit that represented the new chapter in her life and who she wanted to be. As soon as Francesca had seen the flirty, youthful dress she’d known it was perfect. It had hung in her closet with the tags still on until tonight. Tonight with Keaton she was who she wanted to be. She felt like the best part of herself when she was with him.

  He didn’t expect her to change to accommodate his needs the way Lou had or try to limit her options so she wouldn’t get hurt, like her mother sometimes did. Keaton helped her see that there was more to her than she gave herself credit for. Even if this magical night was the only one she had with him, she’d always remain grateful for that gift.

  “This is better than a fairy tale,” she said. “Because it’s real.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  As the limousine wound through the streets of downtown Austin, Keaton told her about his visit to the ranch his half brother Graham still helped manage when time allowed. He seemed surprised that she didn’t ride, but she explained that she’d spent her entire childhood near downtown. Austin wasn’t as big as London, but there were plenty of non-cowboys living in the city.

  “One of the few things my mom would tell me about my father,” she said, leaning her head back against the soft leather of the limo’s backseat, “was that he wore a cowboy hat when he stayed at the hotel.” She picked at the hem of her dress. “She called it his ‘damned hat.’ I always thought maybe he had a ranch or some kind of horse property. I imagined that if I ever got to know him, he’d teach me how to ride.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he offered.

  “I’d li
ke that,” she answered with a smile, both because she loved the idea of being on horseback and because it meant Keaton was thinking of spending time with her beyond tonight. She already knew she wanted more.

  The limo came to a stop in front of a charming, redbrick building tucked into a quiet street west of downtown. Francesca glanced out the window and sucked in a breath. “Do you know where we are? This is Il Fontaine.”

  Keaton chuckled. “Who do you think gave the driver directions? They’re expecting us.”

  The door to the limo opened and he started to move toward it, but she grabbed his arm. “This is the top-rated restaurant in the city,” she said. “It takes months to get a reservation here.”

  He flashed a small smile. “One of the partners at the firm designed the space. He made a call for me.”

  “It’s super expensive,” she said on a hiss of breath. “We can do something less—”

  “We’re having dinner at Il Fontaine,” he said calmly. “For the record, I’d really like to punch the man who made you believe you don’t deserve the best of everything.”

  She opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut when tears pricked the back of her eyes. She did believe she wasn’t deserving of the best. She wanted to change that. Not that she needed five-star dinner dates, but the fact that Keaton wanted her to experience this meant a lot to her. She wished it was as easy as blaming Lou the Louse, but Francesca had allowed herself to be made to feel small. She hadn’t expected someone to care if she felt differently.

  She scooted toward Keaton and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for tonight.”

  He tapped a finger on the tip of her nose. “The night has barely started.”

  “It’s like the kiss,” she answered. “Between you and me, it’s bound to be perfect.”

  * * *

  The evening made Keaton want to experience everything through her eyes. In London, between his work and the social circles in which he now traveled, he’d been to countless formal dinners. Nothing about an exclusive reservation at a trendy restaurant, a menu of elaborate food prepared by a famous chef or an expensive bottle of wine impressed him.