Red Rock Cinderella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Copyright

Chapter One

After a week of roughing it in the wilds, Clay Baldwin drove back to Red Rock, looking as if he’d misplaced his razor days ago and had been bathing in a cold mountain spring.

But then again, that’s exactly what had happened.

He probably should have gone home so he could shower and shave before going out in public, but tonight he was too tired and too hungry to care.

For the past few days, he’d been surviving on the fish he could catch—as well as the canned food he’d taken with him—so he was more than ready for a hearty dinner. And what better place to find the Mexican food he’d been craving than at Red, one of the most popular restaurants in town.

He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror of his car, seeing little trace of the corporate executive who usually peered back at him. Two months ago, he would never have considered going out in public resembling a down-on-his-luck drifter. But the scruffy, laidback look fit the new Clay Baldwin. The time he’d spent alone these past few days had changed his view on a lot of things.

Or maybe the harsh realities of life had begun to alter his perspective long before he’d loaded up his brand-new camping gear into his new Mercedes.

Clay made his way through the crowded parking lot and into the busy restaurant that had once been an old hacienda. He would have been completely unaware that it was the holiday season if it weren’t for all the lush poinsettia plants, little twinkly lights and a huge Christmas tree with Southwestern ornaments adorning Red.

The hostess, a woman in her mid-fifties, offered him a friendly smile. “I’m sorry, sir. It’ll be a bit of a wait. Our manager is having his wedding rehearsal dinner here tonight, and we’re shorthanded.”

Clay had known that Marcos Mendoza was marrying Wendy Fortune. He’d been invited to the wedding, but he’d instructed his executive secretary to tell them he couldn’t attend the ceremony—a happy occasion for some, but one that would only drag him down. He’d asked his assistant to send an appropriate gift instead.

“I don’t plan to eat here,” Clay told the hostess. “I’d just like to place an order to go.”

“No problem.” The woman reached for a notepad.

After Clay ordered the hearty carne asada plate, the hostess left him to wait in one of several seats in the entry.

He hoped he wouldn’t see anyone he knew tonight since he looked more like a vagrant than a corporate executive. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about how he was feeling and where he would go from here. In truth, he was still coming to grips with the loss of his best friend and business partner, Connor Reynolds.

Two months ago, Connor had died of a massive coronary at the gym where they both worked out. Connor had only been in his late-thirties, so his death had been a total shock to Clay. It had also forced him to reevaluate his own life, since he and Connor had shared the same work ethic, rarely taking any time off.

Ironically, it was that work ethic that had enabled Clay and Connor to build a successful corporation and to become multimillionaires. But even though Clay had amassed a fortune, he now realized it was worthless if he had no one to share it with, no one to leave it to someday.

Connor, on the other hand, had left his estate to his gold-digging wife, who’d not only been cheating on Connor—causing him additional stress that had probably contributed to his heart attack—but who also thought she would step in and become Clay’s new business partner. What a nightmare that would have been. She would have bankrupted the company once she got her hands on the company credit card.

Clay knew that for a fact because just after she and Connor were married she’d nearly forced Connor into the poorhouse before he canceled all his cards and had threatened to divorce her if she didn’t stop her spending.

Fortunately, both Clay and Connor had enough foresight to include a buy-out clause when they’d first created their corporation. So before she could bankrupt his company, Clay had offered the poor widow a sizable amount for her shares, which she’d pounced on. Now Clay owned a hundred percent of the stock shares.

When the main door to the restaurant opened, an older man in a sport jacket entered and approached the hostess. “I’m here for the Mendoza rehearsal dinner.”

“It’s on the patio,” the woman told him.

The well-dressed man nodded, then took off to find his party.

Clay sighed. It seemed that everyone he knew was getting married or having babies these days. And after Connor’s death, Clay was forced to realize that his once-charmed life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But now that he was back in Red Rock, he was determined to settle down and create a family—if he could just find a woman who was honest and true, someone who was interested in him for more than the things he could buy or the fancy places he could take her.

When the door opened again, a petite redhead entered the restaurant, her cheeks flushed from the crisp, wintry air. She wore dark denim jeans that hugged her hips nicely and a white, long-sleeve T-shirt under a green Christmas vest.

Her pretty hair was a remarkable shade of Irish red and windblown as if she’d been walking on the moors. Yet he was even more drawn to the color of her eyes, a vivid shade of emerald green, highlighted by lush, black lashes.

She wasn’t what you’d call beautiful, but she was certainly appealing. And she had a wholesome aura about her….

In fact, Clay was probably looking for someone a lot like her—at least, in appearance. As he studied her, a smile stretched across his face.

The hostess returned, drawing Clay from his musing when she announced, “I’ve placed your order. If you don’t mind, I’ll ring up your bill now.”

Clay got to his feet and reached for his wallet. But as he felt his back hip pocket, which had pulled apart at the seams, he came up empty-handed.

Had it fallen out?

“I’m sorry,” he told the hostess. “I…” He reached into his front pocket and pulled out three one-dollar bills which he’d crammed in there this afternoon when he’d received change from a coffee shop just off the interstate. “I must have left my wallet in the car.”

The hostess crossed her arms as if doubting his explanation. But before he could respond, the redhead stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm, sending a spiral of heat hurtling through his bloodstream.

When he turned and caught her gaze, she offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll pay for your meal.”

Did she think he was down and out? He supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. He probably looked like a transient.

He started to object, to tell her that he was far from penniless, but then thought better of it. What if his wallet wasn’t in the car? He’d be embarrassed if he refused her offer and still couldn’t pay the bill.

Besides, the old Clay had a habit of always picking up the tab. What would it hurt for him to accept and appreciate someone else’s generosity once in a while?

As he wrestled with himself, she added, “Christmas is the season for giving.” Then she offered him a shy smile and a little shrug, as if that explained it all.

And maybe for her it did. Not only did she appear to be wholesome, she apparently had a good heart as well. Clay couldn’t remember the last time an attractive woman had made an offer like that without expecting anything in return from him. So he was reluctant to let her get away before he learned more about her.

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you. Would you mind if I told the kitchen to put a hold on my order?”

The redhead cocked her pretty head to the side, clearly perplexed by his question.

If she knew him better, she would realize that he hadn’t become a very successful businessman by relying on chance and letting the chips fall where they may. He made things happen.

“Christmas isn’t a time to be alone, either,” he said. “And if you’re here by yourself, I’d like you to eat with me.”

As she pondered his comment, his pulse rate soared.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “Normally I’d say no.”

And under “normal” circumstances, he wouldn’t want an attractive woman to think he only had three dollars to his name. But nothing seemed the least bit ordinary about this evening.

And for one wild and crazy moment, the redhead held a bit of holiday magic in the palm of her hands.

Chapter Two

Ella Stewart studied the stranger who’d asked her to join him for dinner—and on her dime.

With her current financial outlook what it was, she shouldn’t have stopped for take-out food in the first place, let alone offered to pay for someone else’s meal. But as she’d reminded him, it was the Christmas season, and it seemed only right to help someone who was less fortunate than she was.

“What do you say? Should I let the hostess know we’d like a table for two?” His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gazed at her as though her agreement might change his bad luck to good with a nod of her head.

She nearly laughed at that, since her own ship had yet to come in. And if truth be told, it seemed to be sailing farther and farther out to sea. But what would it hurt? Since Aunt Aggie was having dinner with one of her nephews, the alternative was for Ella to eat alone in front of the television. So she said, “Sure. Why not?”

The man said something to the hostess, who then left her post. When she returned a moment later, she smiled. “There’s one last table in the courtyard. Apparently, the couple I’d seated there earlier decided it was too cold and went into the lounge to eat.”

“How cold is it?” Ella wondered if she was dressed warm enough to sit outdoors.

“It’s a little chilly,” the hostess admitted, “but we have heaters.”

Ella glanced at the down-and-out stranger, who offered her a wide grin. His eyes glimmered in a way that made her want to look beyond his worn clothing and his scruffy beard to the man beneath.

“Okay,” she said. “That works for me.”

The hostess led them to the quaint courtyard, with a rustic old fountain, its water gurgling. The soft sounds of mariachi music coming from another room made the setting even more romantic than it might have been otherwise.

They took a seat at a small pine-wood table for two, and moments later, a busboy brought them glasses of water, as well as two types of salsa and a woven basket containing chips.

“My name’s Clay,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Ella.” She was glad he hadn’t shared his last name. They were clearly on the same page about what their dining together meant. On a night when so many couples and families were out on the town or nestled together at home, they wouldn’t have to be alone. Something told her she and this man might be kindred spirits in a way, always standing on the outside looking in.

“So what brings you to Red?” she asked.

“I was hungry, and there wasn’t much in the fridge or the pantry.”

She wondered if he’d really left his wallet in the car—or if he even had a vehicle. But she let it go. It really didn’t matter. They would share a meal, give each other some company, then go their separate ways.

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked, making small talk.

He hesitated, and she realized that if he was between jobs, the question had been a low blow. As a sense of awkwardness hovered over the table, he finally said, “I’m in sales. How about you?”

She wished she could claim to be a doctor or schoolteacher or lawyer. But she’d never gone to college, something she now regretted.

“Actually, my job is ending after the holidays, so I’m looking for work.”

He leaned forward, as if he knew of an open position. “What kind of experience do you have?”

She smiled and gave a little shrug, deciding to own up to it. “I’ve done it all—dog walking, house sitting, waitressing, working at a day-care center. Right now, I’m taking care of my elderly great-aunt, but that’s soon going to change.”

Again, he gazed into her eyes intently, as if everything she said mattered.

As if she mattered.

It was a welcome feeling for Ella, particularly after the past few months. She’d been begging Fred, the trustee of her aunt’s trust, to reconsider his decision to sell the house and move Aunt Aggie into a retirement home, but she might as well have been pleading with a tree stump. None of her relatives would listen to her, and she’d begun to feel like a second-class citizen, at least in her own family.

“Why?” Clay asked. “Is your aunt ill?”

Ella paused, wondering how much to share with a stranger, then decided a man she’d never see again was probably safe. Besides, it was nice when someone asked her opinion without accusing her of having ulterior motives.

So she told it like it was. “No one expected my aunt to live to be eighty-four, and the nest egg meant to last through her golden years has dwindled away. The house needs a new roof, as well as new wiring and plumbing. So her nephew has decided to sell it, rather than fix it up. And he’s planning to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“How does your aunt feel about that?”

“She’s not happy. And neither am I. She’s really spunky, and I think that moving her out of the only home she’s had for more than sixty years is a bad idea. But she’s not my mother, and I have no say about any of it.”

“I can’t imagine anyone ignoring your opinion, especially since you’re the one who lives with your aunt. If I were the nephew, I’d welcome your thoughts.”

His understanding, his vote of confidence, settled over her like a balm. How nice to have someone in her corner for a change.

Ella reached for a chip, but as she pulled her hand back, the delicate antique bracelet Aggie had given her this morning snagged on the basket and caught.

“Oh, no.” She hated to pull it free. The chain was old and delicate.

“Here,” Clay said. “Let me.”

He placed one hand on her wrist, spiking her heart rate and sending a surge of heat zipping through her blood. Then he fingered the silver chain with the other.

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