LITMIR.BIZ

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and the handsome, powerful senator.”

      Georgie laughed. “Oh, apple pie, my eye. What have you been smoking?” Georgie gripped the woman’s arm and tugged her away from the others, though the cameraman followed. Lowering her voice, she fluttered her lashes in perfect imitation of Parker. “Ooh, Senator, I’d love to get my gold-digging claws into your trust fund.”

      The guy with the camera huffed out a snort and rolled his eyes as Georgie stepped even closer to the reporter, her palm covering the microphone. “You want to get up and personal with me, Grace, bring it. But this vendetta you have because you threw yourself at the senator and he had the good taste to ignore you needs to stop. Don’t make me go to your producers.”

      Arching a brow, Georgie waited. She had information Parker didn’t—mainly that Barron Entertainment owned the majority shares in the station the reporter worked for. And she was fairly positive that a word to Boone would result in a phone call to Chase Barron, Barron Entertainment CEO.

      “Don’t threaten me, Georgeanne Dreyfus,” the other woman hissed. When Georgie just continued to stare, Parker blanched. “You wouldn’t dare.”

      “Let’s get everything out in the open, Parker. When it comes to the senator, there’s very little I wouldn’t dare. I’m telling you unequivocally there is not, nor has there ever been anything of a romantic nature between Senator Barron and me. If you want to go fishing in that pond, be careful what bait you use. You never know what you might catch on the end of your line. Some things out there in the water bite. Hard.”

      Parker assessed her with a questioning eye but Georgie didn’t flinch. “When did you get so tough, little girl?”

      “Honey, I’m an Oklahoma cowgirl. We’re born tough. And don’t you forget it.” Georgie offered the cameraman a sympathetic look as Parker stormed away, her ridiculous heels tap-tap-tapping on the pavement. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

      He snorted again and with a resigned slump of his shoulders, followed the retreating talent.

      “I am still capable of speaking for myself, Georgie.”

      Startled by the voice in her ear, she whirled and almost tipped over when she bumped into Clay—who was standing inordinately close. Heat crept up her cheeks and she settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “The last time I checked, talking to reporters is still in my job description.”

      “So...Parker had a thing for me, huh?”

      Her mouth dropped open and she closed it, only to gape again as Boone chuckled and nudged Clay’s shoulder with his. “I told you so.” He held out his hand. “Pay up, cuz.”

      Georgie snapped her mouth shut again. “Wait...you made a bet? On what?”

      While Boone tried to look innocent, she didn’t fall for it. “Please don’t tell me you were betting on me confronting her.”

      A wickedly sinful grin spread across Clay’s face. “Okay. We won’t tell you.” He snagged her arm and headed toward the building’s entrance. “But I would appreciate knowing the next time a sexy woman finds me desirable. Men need to know these things.”

      Sputtering, Georgie allowed Clay to tow her along beside him. Jealousy flared hot as a sparkler on the 4th of July and she stuffed it deep. As they entered the Russell’s rotunda, Clay leaned down to whisper in her ear.

      “And for your information, I find nothing mousy about you.”

      * * *

      Three weeks later Clay sprawled in the desk chair in the study at the Barron family compound in Oklahoma City, feet propped on the scarred desktop. Despite his busy schedule, he’d caved to his sister-in-law’s demand for a family Thanksgiving gathering. He’d insisted it was a working break and brought Georgie with him. They were currently dealing with his upcoming schedule. Georgie, all business, stood at the whiteboard ticking off a list when his nephew plowed into the room. “Uncle Clay! Aunt Cassie says time to eat. You gots to come now, ’kay?” The boy was all but bouncing out of his cowboy boots and Clay wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Cord, his next younger brother, had almost died earlier in the fall. During his recovery, he’d reconnected—sort of—with his ex-girlfriend, only to discover he had a son. CJ looked like a Barron and Clay remembered when Cord and Chance had been filled with the same energy.

      He’d been their caretaker during their mother’s final illness and death from cancer. Their father hadn’t wanted to deal with the domestic situation so he didn’t. Cyrus Barron had done what he did best: abandoned his parental responsibilities. And after the accidental death of his first stepmother, Clay had also taken on the twins, Chase and Cash, when Cyrus pulled his disappearing act.

      Dropping his feet to the floor, Clay pushed out of the chair and joined CJ at the door. “You heard the little man, Georgie. Aunt Cassie says it’s time to eat.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Has your dad explained about the wishbone?”

      CJ’s eyes widened and he nodded like a bobblehead dog on the dash of a car driving down a rough road. “Yup. Uncle Cash ’n’ me get to break it an’ I get something cool when I win. C’mon! There’s pie and hot rolls and sweet taters.”

      Holding the door, Clay gestured for Georgie to precede him, a part of him oddly gratified she’d agreed to come home with him for the weekend. Granted, they’d mostly been closeted in this small study since their arrival the previous day so he hadn’t had much interaction with anyone besides her, but wasn’t that the point? She was a buffer between him and his brothers, in much the same way that she stood between him and the press.

      The meal went as family gatherings usually did in the Barron household, at least when Cyrus was absent—lots of teasing, gooey glances between Chance and his not-so-new bride as Miz Beth and Big John presided over the festivities like the surrogate parents they’d been since coming into the brothers’ lives. When the time came for the wishbone pull, Cash—as the youngest brother—made a halfhearted attempt at the tradition with CJ. When the boy won, Cash pushed away from the table and strode out, angry over something.

      Clay considered following his baby brother but CJ’s sly wish about getting his mom and dad back together kept him in his seat as Cord stammered his way through an explanation of why that wouldn’t happen. With the cleanup underway and football-watching to follow, Clay took the opportunity to slip back into the study.

      Almost two hours later his father strode in. Clay glanced up at the intrusion, surprised since Chance had assured everyone that Cyrus was in Las Vegas for the duration. He sat up straighter, recognizing the set of the man’s shoulders and the expression on his face.

      “We need to talk.” The old man glowered, anticipating he’d vacate the chair behind the desk. Clay didn’t indulge him.

      Irritated now more than when he’d walked in, his old man lowered himself into a less comfortable chair and didn’t wait to fire the opening volley. “Get your brothers. We have family business.”

      Clay didn’t like the derisive tone in his father’s voice. “What sort of family business?”

      “Cord and my grandson and that woman who wants to ruin them both. Now get the hell out of my chair. We’ll talk more after I deal with your thickheaded brother.”

      Doing as he was told but dragging his feet, he went in search of his brothers. He found Cash first and received a curt nod and sneer for his trouble. “I’ll round up everyone and then text Cord to meet us in the conference room,” Cash informed him.

      Cash’s reaction and obvious previous knowledge of the situation left a bitter taste in Clay’s mouth. His youngest brother had once been the most easygoing of them all—rivaling even Cord for being laid-back. He wondered what had happened to turn Cash into the man he currently was.

      With reluctance, Clay headed to the conference room and sank into the chair at one end of the table. During the “family intervention” his father demanded Cord sue for full custody of CJ, and made other more personal demands about CJ’s

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