ever again, not for help, sex or even company. Carla had wanted to help him too much, his mother not at all, but Clint was happy to be shot of them both.
All he wanted was for the few people he chose to interact with to see past his injury to the man he was. And he couldn’t do that if he flaunted his prosthetic so he never, ever allowed anyone to see his bionic leg.
And if giving up sex was the price he paid for his independence then he’d happily live with the lack of below-the-belt action. Nothing was more important to him than his independence. And his pride.
But some days, like today, a woman came along who made him wonder, who made him burn. But he was nothing if not single-minded, and like the others he’d felt a fleeting attraction to, he wouldn’t act on it.
No woman was ever worth the hassle.
Fee slid into a booth in Royal’s diner and nodded her appreciation. Every time she walked through the doors, she had the same thought: that this was what a diner should look like: 1950s-style decor, red fake-leather booths, black-and-white checkerboard linoleum floor and the suggestion that gossip flowed through here like a river.
She rather liked Royal, Texas. It was, obviously, everything New York City wasn’t—a slow-paced small town with space to breathe.
From being yanked from town to town with her parents, Fee had honed the ability to immediately discern whether a town would, temporarily, suit her or not. She’d hated Honolulu—weird, right?—and loved Pensacola, tolerated Tacoma and loved Charleston. But something about Royal called to her; she felt at ease here.
She would never belong anywhere—Manhattan was where she’d chosen to work and socialize but it still wasn’t home, she didn’t think any place would be—but Royal was intriguing.
Strange that this small town with its wide, clean streets and eclectic mix of people and shops was where she felt more relaxed than she had in a long, long time.
Fee grinned. If she kept on this mental train, soon she would be thinking she could live on a ranch and raise cows. She snorted and looked down at her manicured fingers and soft hands. This from a girl who believed meat came from the supermarket and eggs from cardboard cartons?
Now, crotchety Clint Rockwell looked like he was born to ride the range. The man was one sexy cowboy. Pity he had the personality of a rabid raccoon. Fee put her hand on the box lying on the table and grinned.
Twenty thousand to fix a heap of rust? Ok, that wasn’t fair, it was vintage truck and probably rare but the repair, from her research, wouldn’t cost that much! She knew she was being hustled; she wasn’t the village idiot.
Well, she might be a reality TV star but she was a pragmatic reality TV star and she didn’t hand out money like it was M&M’s.
If he hadn’t been such a snot she might’ve tossed in a few extra grand to compensate him for the inconvenience but the guy had taken jerk to a whole new level…
He needed to be brought down a peg or six.
Fee heard the door to the diner swing open and watched as Lulu threaded her way through the tables to fall into the seat opposite her. Like her, Lulu had also dressed down in jeans. In her case, they were topped with a simple white, thigh-length jersey, a brightly colored scarf in a complicated knot around her neck. Lu slapped a paper folder on the table between them and frowned at the board game Fee had purchased from the toy shop down the road. It was a game to teach kids about money and, importantly, the notes inside looked remarkably real.
“I’m sure we can find something to do in Royal that doesn’t include board games,” Lulu stated.
Fee grinned. “I’m not playing with you. I’m going to play with someone else.”
“You’re going to pay him in toy money?” Lulu caught on instantly. That was one of the many reasons they were best friends. “Oh, clever.”
Fee put her hands together as if to pray and bowed her head. “Thank you. Did the Secret Lives researcher dig up any information on Clint Rockwell?” she demanded, pulling the folder to her. “I mean, I don’t think he’s one of Royal’s leading lights—not with a personality like his—but maybe he made the papers because he did something stupid. I can see him busting up a bar or racking up speeding tickets, maybe breaking and entering…”
“You have a hell of an imagination,” Lulu commented, thanking the waitress when she offered coffee.
Fee was certain that Clint Rockwell was not the boy next door, not someone who was part of the Chamber of Commerce or a member of the illustrious Texas Cattleman’s Club.
He was an outsider, a loner, someone who didn’t do group events. Someone mysterious, possibly dangerous…
Fee flipped open the folder and looked down to see a photograph of Rockwell looking very un-farmy. In this photograph, his short dark-blond hair was covered by a tan beret immediately identifying him as an army ranger. He wore a dark blue dress uniform with about a million medals on his chest, including a Purple Heart.
Well, she’d gotten one thing right—as part of that elite regiment, he was definitely dangerous.
Fee was about to move the photograph to the side when she heard the waitress sigh. Fee looked up to find the young girl’s eyes firmly on the photograph. Fee couldn’t blame her for taking a moment. Rockwell, looking like Captain America in his dress blues, was definitely sigh worthy.
“It’s so sad.”
Fee exchanged a look with Lulu and frowned. “What’s so sad?” Lulu asked the waitress, whose name tag stated she was Julie.
Julie gestured to the photograph with her coffee carafe. “Clint Rockwell. Poor guy.”
Ooh, gossip. Fee leaned back, her full attention on the waitress. “Why? What happened to him?”
“He’s a Rockwell, so obviously there’s no shortage of cash. Like his daddy, his granddaddy and his granddaddy before him, Clint is an oilman and a rancher. But he leases his oil fields and occupies himself with his ranch. And with coordinating Royal’s volunteer fire department.”
Fee’s head spun with all the information. She held up a hand. “He’s a fireman too?”
“Apparently, he did some firefighting course in California before he enlisted.” Julie pulled her eyebrows together, looking a little confused. “Where was I? Right, his daddy died when he was young, really young, and he and his mama don’t talk.”
Yeah, that was sad. Her parents might have hauled her from pillar to post and back to pillar but they were now settled in Florida and she saw them occasionally. In fact, she was heading there shortly to spend Christmas with them. They weren’t super close but she knew she was loved, in an abstract kind of way.
“The Rockwells are a Royal institution, a founding family and really rich.”
“How rich?” Fee asked, as direct as always.
“Mega,” Julie replied.
And he was stiffing her for twenty grand? The bastard!
“What else can you tell me about him?” Fee asked, her temper bubbling.
“He lost his leg in a helicopter crash. That’s how he earned his Purple Heart. His leg was mangled. His whole unit was seriously injured. Apparently, the helicopter crashed in an enemy-controlled area and he, and another guy, held off the bad guys until reinforcements arrived. Half of his unit survived, but Clint lost his leg.”
Fee frowned at Julie, not understanding. “He lost his leg?” She’d noticed he walked with a slight limp but never suspected he wore a prosthetic.
Julie nodded. “Yeah. That’s why he left the army.” Julie shrugged. “Ever since he got back, he’s