Texas Sunrise by Fern Michaels

something .”
    â€œWait a minute. Are you saying you’re attracted to me? Are you worried that I might try to seduce you? For heaven’s sake, Rand, I’d never do that. I adore Maggie. If you’re one of those guys in this bar who has a hard-on, then I suggest you squelch it, because you simply aren’t my type.”
    Well, shit, Rand thought. He had to say something, make some kind of comeback to wipe that victorious smile off her face. “You definitely aren’t my type either,” he said, rather lamely. “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you say we get down to business?”
    â€œYes, let’s,” Valentine agreed.
    Â 
    It was a pretty house, Rand thought, surrounded by gracious old elms that were in the process of dressing themselves for spring. Once, when Ferris had been in residence, it must have been manicured to perfection. Now the grass was brown and full of wide-leaf crabgrass, and the flower beds were choked with weeds.
    â€œGardeners cost money,” he said tightly.
    Valentine nodded.
    â€œThis house kind of looks like the one we had in England,” he continued. “Very cottagey, if there is such a word. That’s an English garden at the side of the house, and I’d bet five dollars Susan tended it herself. She was happy here. So was little Jessie. I thought they had a good working marriage. I mean, the kind of marriage Billie and Thad have.”
    â€œSometimes people grow apart, things go wrong, one changes, the other doesn’t,” Valentine said quietly.
    â€œThat’s well and good, but that didn’t give Ferris the right to rob Susan blind. I want you to pull out every big gun you have and shove it in that bastard’s face. Make it smoke. Guess the file is here already,” Rand said, pointing to the bright Federal Express envelope propped up by the front door.
    Valentine looked over the low ranch house with its added dormers. It appeared neat and tidy, much the way she remembered Susan being. The pink and white brick, and the diamond-shaped windows, reminded her of the foster home she had grown up in. She corrected the thought. She hadn’t grown up in a home, she’d grown up in a house, a house full of kids who, like herself, were unwanted. The Delroys hadn’t been unkind, but neither had they been particularly kind. She’d been fed and clothed decently with the money the state paid for her keep. There were no extras, no spending money, no parties. No love of any kind was showered on her. Yet she hadn’t been truly unhappy, and she still stayed in touch with the Delroys. She always remembered to send a Christmas card as well as a present. But she’d never gone back to visit.
    At eighteen she’d struck out on her own, working as many as three jobs at a time to put herself through college and law school. She’d done all right for herself too. She’d graduated from college in the top three percent of her class, and was the salutatorian in law school. Then she’d done a lot of pounding the sidewalks, looking for someone to give her a decent job. In the end she’d had to sleep her way through several senior law partners just to be taken on as an associate at a miserly salary. She never looked back, never chastised herself for what she had done. Her big break, as she always thought of it, had come when she took over a case from a law partner when he went into the hospital for an operation. Not only did she get a whopping three million dollar settlement for the firm’s client, but she also managed to get her adversary’s business. Afterward, she bought a swanky condo full of chrome, glass, and mirrors. End of story. No, not quite. She still didn’t have anyone to share her success with.
    Valentine sighed as she watched Rand fit the key into the lock.
    â€œTell you what,” he said, “I’ll turn up the heat and make some coffee while you read the file