Texas Heir

Cari Michaels was having a "take two Tylenol" type of day.

And it was only five minutes to eight.

With tires squealing, she swerved into her parking spot with the speed and arrogance of her sixteen-year-old nephew. She had five minutes to make the executive meeting on time.

Why was Reed Dalton Preston, CEO of Dalton's Department Stores, calling an impromptu gathering of his executives this early? The one morning her alarm clock chose to die.

Seconds ticked away.

No sweat. She'd make it.

Thrusting the gearshift into Park, she turned off the engine and grabbed her purse and briefcase. Then she was off at a run for the elevator, her heels tapping in three-quarter time across the pavement in the parking garage. She prayed Homer, the elevator operator, was waiting with the door open.

He was. She could see his smiling round face, and then she heard a snap. The next thing she knew she was kissing hard, dirty concrete. She moaned as burning needles of pain shot through her knee and elbow.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Her day just got worse.

"Ms. Cari, are you okay?" Through a wave of humiliation she heard Homer's worried voice and rolled to her feet faster than a quarterback nailed for a loss.

"Yes, Homer. I'm fine." She brushed off her black Prada pantsuit and took a deep breath. "Just broke a heel." She raised her foot to remove the offending shoe and held it up, but she didn't have a moment to chat. Time was running out and she knew she'd get "The Look" from Reed if she slid into her seat one second late.

Homer picked up her briefcase and purse and handed them to her with a concerned look in his eyes.

"Thank you," she said, and hobbled into the elevator. "Can you make Louise fly?"

"No, ma'am," Homer replied, adjusting his bellman's cap with the Dalton logo on it. "She only goes one speed." Homer was mentally challenged and he took his job seriously. He'd named the elevator Louise and sometimes he stayed until every executive was out of the building because he didn't like anyone pushing Louise's buttons but him. Everyone loved Homer, including Cari.

As the elevator smoothly glided upward she removed her other heel. Being just five feet three inches tall, she really needed the heels for the extra confidence-boosting height.

Glancing down, she saw she'd ripped her slacks at the knee. There was also dirt on her cobalt-blue silk blouse. Great. Now she was going to look like a street urchin, but she wasn't missing the meeting.

Elevator music, Bach or Beethoven or something, played in the background and it started to get on her nerves. Why was this thing going so slow? Louise needed a checkup.

"My mama says it doesn't matter what you look like as long as you have a good heart." Homer's bit of wisdom made Cari wonder if she looked that bad.

"You have a good heart, Ms. Cari."

"Thank you, Homer. So do you."

The doors opened. She smiled at Homer a second before she dashed out and down the hall to the private door of her office.

Homer's "Have a good day" followed her.

She threw the shoes and her briefcase onto her desk and took a moment to glance at herself in the mirror by the door. Slipping her purse strap over her shoulder, she ran her fingers through her short, blow-and-go, dark brown hair. At the moment it was more blow than go.

Her sister, the beautician, had talked her into the style. Chic and stylish, Kitty had said--just what Cari needed for her busy lifestyle. Shaking her head, she hoped her hair looked chic instead of looking more like it had been cut with a weed-eater.

And who's going to notice, she asked herself as she darted out the door to the boardroom. Certainly not Reed Preston. Cari remembered vividly the first time she had seen Reed. He and Richard Preston, his father, were making a tour of the store, something Mr. Preston didn't do too often. But Reed was home for the summer from the University of Texas and Mr. Preston was priming him to take over the reins of Dalton's. Everyone had been on their toes, watching their p's and q's for the momentous occasion.

She'd been a naive, gauche teenager determined to make something of her life away from the small farm where she'd been raised. When she looked at Reed, she saw everything she'd been looking for and everything she could never have. He was tall with dark hair and warm, brown eyes. Cari knew Reed was as far out of her reach as Prince William. Not that she wanted the prince, but that's how she thought of Reed--as the Prince of Dalton's.

So did a lot of other women.

She kept her feelings secret. No one knew how she felt about Reed except Marisa Kincaid, Reed's sister, a woman whose struggles with her difficult, demanding family had put her in desperate need of a good friend.

When Marisa was seventeen she'd fallen in love with a rodeo cowboy, Colter Kincaid. Marisa was in training to be a concert pianist and her involvement with Colter was unacceptable to the Prestons.