Chapter One
Elliott Becker climbed out of the helicopter and strode across the beach without bothering to apologize for his dramatic arrival that unexpectedly halted a high school reunion. A lot of faces in the crowd stared back at him, all easy to read. Men narrowed their eyes in distrust because he was wearing a Stetson and arrived by chopper. Women ogled openly because, well, he was wearing a Stetson and arrived by chopper.
He cleared his throat, tipped his hat back, and applauded himself for choosing this reunion to start his search. His goal had nothing to do with Mimosa High, but this was an easy way to reach a lot of island residents at one time. And easy was the only way he rolled.
“I’m looking for a man named Frank Cardinale,” he announced to the crowd that had gathered when his helicopter had landed on the sand.
From under the rim of his hat, he scanned the crowd, catching a quick movement in the back. Long dark hair fluttered as a woman darted away, moving with just enough purpose that her retreat couldn’t have been coincidental.
No one answered his question right away, so he zeroed in on the lady who’d left. With some luck, she’d lead him right to Mr. Cardinale. And if there was one thing Elliott Becker had a ton of, it was luck. And money. And charm. And some damn fine looks. He was about to put all of them to good use.
He followed his instinct and the sway of wavy waist-length hair the color of coffee beans. In a sheer cotton skirt that clung to her hips and danced around her ankles, she made an easy, and lovely, mark.
She power-walked down the beach, away from the resort and the party, heading straight to the frothy white shore where the Gulf of Mexico swirled in low tide. Just as her bare feet reached the water line, she glanced over her shoulder, too quickly for him to get a look at her face. But he could easily see her narrow shoulders tighten and her long legs pick up speed.
Interesting. Maybe someone didn’t want him to find the owner of the twenty acres in Barefoot Bay that he and his partners needed to close this deal. The plans to build a small baseball stadium and start a minor-league team on Mimosa Key were supposed to be secret, but he and his partners had already nailed down verbals on three plots in the northeast corner of the island. Word could have gotten out that they wanted that last twenty acres, even though the other landowners had signed nondisclosures. On an island less than ten miles long and three miles wide? Even scads of money didn’t buy silence.
He matched her quickened steps. No, she wasn’t out for a sunset stroll; she was running. Not literally. Not yet, anyway. But definitely moving away from Elliott for a reason. A reason he had every intention of finding out.
It didn’t take more than a few long strides to catch up, but he stayed about a foot behind her.
“I bet you know where I can find Frank Cardinale,” he said, keeping his voice low and unthreatening.
She didn’t turn, pretending not to hear him.
“Otherwise, why would you take off like a twister in a trailer park?”
That slowed her step. In fact, it stopped her completely. Elliott felt his mouth turn up in a satisfied grin. The Texas drawl always got ’em. Of all the moves his military family had made, he’d lived in the Lone Star State for only a year, but it was enough to pick up a few expressions and work on the twang. And, hell, he looked excellent in a cowboy hat. Now if she’d only turn—
“I live in a trailer.” Her words were nearly lost with the splash of a wave at her feet.
Shoot. Way to blow the first impression. “It’s just a turn of phrase, ma’am.”
“More like an expression of condescension and mockery.”
“No, a way to say you’re moving too fast, not an insult to your home.” He took two more steps, close enough to notice how the late afternoon light made her skin glow and pick up a whiff of something flowery and pretty. “After all, home is where the heart is,” he said. Not that he’d know, but he’d certainly heard that enough in his life.
“It’s not for sale.” She spun around, making her hair swing like a curtain opening to a stage play. “So get back on your fancy helo, cowboy, and leave me alone.”
He blinked at her, still not fully processing the demand because, man, oh, man, she was pretty. No, she rounded pretty and slid right into gorgeous, despite the fire in whiskey-gold eyes and the daring set of a delicate jaw.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded. “Are you deaf or just dumb as dirt?”
“Blind. By your beauty.”
“Oh, puhlease.” She looked skyward and sighed. “Spare me the lines.”
“That’s not a line.”
Her eyes turned into golden slits of sheer disbelief.
“Okay, it’s a line,” he conceded. “But in this case, it’s also true.”
“Did you hear me? It’s not for sale.”
Yeah, he’d heard her, and the statement was starting to make sense, considering he’d come to the barrier island for one purpose, and it wasn’t to flirt with sexy brunettes on the beach. Not that he’d fight the inevitable, but his goal was to buy land, and these words were not what he wanted to hear, no matter how scrumptious the mouth that spoke them.
“Do you know Frank Cardinale?” he asked.
She crossed her arms, which was patently unfair considering what that did to her cleavage. “I am Frank Cardinale.”
He snorted softly and didn’t fight the need to examine her breasts further. ’Cause, hell, now he had an excuse. “Considering ol’ Frank is in his eighties and a man, I’d say you have one hell of a plastic surgeon, Mr. C.”
“Miss,” she corrected. “Miss Francesca Cardinale.” She squeezed her upper arms as if nature and good manners were telling her to reach out and offer a handshake but she had to ignore the order. “Frank was my grandfather. He’s dead.”
The lady wasn’t married, and the landowner was dead. Meaning this little excursion to the remote island would be fast, easy and possibly quite fun. He refused to smile at the thought, but took off his hat with one hand and extended the other. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m Elliott Becker.”
She didn’t take his hand, but met his gaze. “I know why you’re here. You’re not the first person to come sniffing around the land. Although you’re the first to drop down like you owned the place.”
“Which I don’t.” But he intended to.
The thump of helicopter blades pulled his attention. There went Zeke, whisking away the woman he’d recently gone stupid in love over. Zeke had taken the chopper for the day, leaving Elliott with the task of finding Frank—er, Francesca—Cardinale to close the land deal.