Claimed By The Cowboy

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#ulink_5609f6c7-c85d-5378-8a05-670417998438)

“May I help you?”

Josh Calhoun whipped off his Hollister-Whitney trucker hat and beamed a grin at the receptionist. “I sure hope so,” he said, unconsciously letting his country accent bleed through a little more. He couldn’t help it. This was the first time he’d been back in Chicago in five years and so much had changed.

Once, he’d tried to hide his accent. He’d tried to blend in with the big city.

Not anymore.

“I’m looking for the Newport boys,” he went on, leaning his head toward the receptionist. Her eyes widened and he thought he saw a little bit of color come to her cheeks. He wasn’t flirting—not intentionally—but Sydney, God rest her soul, had said that this was just his way. His down-home charm was what had attracted her to him in the first place.

Damn it. He hadn’t been in Chicago proper for more than thirty minutes and he was already thinking about Sydney again.

He hated this town.

“I’m Josh Calhoun,” he went on. “They asked me to stop by.”

Which was the only reason he had bothered to come back to Chicago. Brooks, Graham and Carson Newport were old college friends, and all three men had called him recently—apparently, without the others knowing that they were making the same call. Brooks Newport had asked for Josh’s help in dealing with a rather stunning set of revelations about Sutton Winchester—Josh was still having trouble putting it all in order.

Apparently, Sutton Winchester was Carson’s father and for a couple of months, Brooks and Graham had suspected that maybe the old real estate baron was their father, as well. But the paternity results had been conclusive—Brooks and Graham didn’t share a father with Carson.

Ever since Sutton’s involvement with their mother, Cynthia, had come to light, the Newport boys had been locked in a fierce battle with Sutton’s daughters—Eve, Grace and Nora Winchester. As best Josh could gather from scrolling through the news stories on his phone, Sutton was on his deathbed.

The Winchester girls—particularly Eve—were not that happy to have a newly discovered brother who had strong opinions about staking his newfound inheritance claims. The rumors on the internet were flying fast and furious, and Josh had had trouble figuring out what was real and what were strategic PR leaks.

Brooks wanted Josh’s legal advice on how to make Sutton pay for getting his mother pregnant with Carson and leaving her high and dry. His twin brother, Graham, wanted Josh’s help in finding out who their father was, since it wasn’t actually Sutton. And Carson, the baby of the family, desperately wanted Josh to come help calm Brooks down.

Josh wasn’t sure he could actually do any of that. He was a former corporate lawyer and a dairy farmer. He negotiated with representatives and senators on legislation governing the dairy industry. He ran a multi-million-dollar dairy company. Sure, he had a reputation for being ruthless behind his good-time smile, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.

Not for a single second did he think that anyone named Winchester would so much as give him the time of day. What did Chicago real-estate moguls care what a guy who made ice cream for a living thought? But he had to try. He owed the Newport boys.

The receptionist turned her attention to her computer screen. “Ah, yes. I see. Sadly, none of them are available.” She looked up at Josh and he noticed that she had some dimples. “Brooks is in a private meeting and asked not to be disturbed. Graham is off-site, as is Carson.”

“Off-site?” Chicago wasn’t exactly a two-horse town. Off-site could mean anywhere. “Can you tell me where Graham and Carson are? They are expecting me.” Irritation snaked up the back of his neck. At their request, he’d sucked it up and braved coming back to Chicago for the first time since the funeral, and they weren’t even there to meet him?

The receptionist looked contrite. “I’m not at liberty to say where Graham is. However, Carson is on-site at the new children’s hospital that the Newports are funding and constructing. I’d be happy to give you directions to the work site or...” She batted her eyelashes at him as her dimples deepened. “You’re more than welcome to wait here.”

Just as he had over the course of the last five years whenever a pretty lady made eyes at him, Josh did a gut check and waited to see if he’d have a reaction. Any reaction.

But there was nothing. Nothing other than the simple observation that this was a pretty girl who was flirting with him. He felt no attraction, no desire. There was absolutely no interest.

He ignored the black loneliness that existed in place of temptation and slapped on one of his best smiles. “I do need to speak with Carson,” he said in his most apologetic tone. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault that Josh was incapable of feeling anything.

The disappointment that crossed over her face was fleeting. “Let me get you those directions,” she said in a much more professional tone.

“Thank you kindly,” Josh said.

He was vastly out of his league and he knew it. He had vowed never to come back to Chicago, but there he was. The Newport boys were the only people on this earth who could’ve gotten him back inside city limits. They had been there for him at the hospital and at the funeral. In all likelihood, they’d probably saved his life. Not that Josh would ever tell anyone that, but when the people he cared for kept dying on him, it made it hard to put on a brave face and keep moving forward.

He was Josh Calhoun, heir to the Calhoun Creamery fortune and its current CEO. To the rest of the world, the fact that he had buried his parents and then his wife didn’t matter as much as being one of the most powerful dairy owners in the country.

Well, it mattered to him. Sydney mattered to him. And when she’d been taken away from him, the Newport boys had been there.

Brooks, Graham and Carson mattered to him. It was the only reason he was in this godforsaken city, because if something happened to any of them, well, it just might be the end of the world. His world.

“Here you go,” the receptionist said. It was a pity that Josh couldn’t work up any attraction for her, but he just couldn’t. “Shall I let Carson know that you’re on your way?”

“Much obliged,” Josh said, settling his hat on his head. “It’s been a while since I drove in the city—how long do you think it’ll take me to get there?”

The receptionist turned her attention back to her computer. After a few keystrokes, she said, “At this time of day, it shouldn’t take you more than forty minutes.”

Josh didn’t try to hide his groan. Back home in Cedar Point, Iowa, forty minutes would put him three towns over. Here, forty minutes on a good traffic day would take him all of three miles.

The dimples were back on the receptionist. “It could be worse—it’s only two in the afternoon.”

“I know.” He touched the brim of his hat and headed back out to his truck. It stuck out like a sore thumb there, parked among the sleek Jaguars and shiny sports cars of all sorts. But he’d had his truck since high school. It’d outlasted college, marriage and his wife’s death. He wasn’t about to get a new vehicle to meet someone else’s preconceived notions of what a multimillionaire business owner should drive.

Because, most days, Josh didn’t feel like a multimillionaire business owner. Most days he was up by four checking on the cattle in the milking operations of the Calhoun Creamery farm. He got crap on his boots and broke a sweat nearly every day. The only break he got was times like now. He’d been on his way home from Washington, DC, after meeting with a lobbyist for the National Dairy Council about what regulations they wanted to see included in the FDA’s new organic standards.

As the owner of one of the largest dairies in the country and the CEO of the Calhoun Creamery, Josh’s word carried some weight in those discussions. It was the only time he left the dairy farm.

Sighing heavily, Josh fired up the old truck and merged back into the hell that was Chicago traffic. He hoped the Newport boys appreciated the sacrifices he was making. And he was thankful that the traffic was just bad enough that he had to really pay attention. People in Iowa did not run lights like they did in Chicago. There, when the light turned red, people stopped. Here, when the light turned red, people sped up. He almost got rear-ended three separate times because he couldn’t make himself run the red.

Finally, the new children’s hospital work site came into view. It didn’t look much like a children’s hospital at this point—half of the exterior didn’t even have walls. Josh studied his directions and saw that the receptionist had made a note that he was to pull down a side street and park in the back. She was a good receptionist. He almost wished that he’d been able to feel something for her. If he was going to be stuck in Chicago, a little distraction could go a long way.

He parked in the construction zone and there, at least, his truck blended in a little better. Josh made himself a promise. He would only stay in Chicago as long as it took to help the Newport boys get some of their issues sorted out. The moment he stopped being useful, he was out of there.

He’d worked too damned hard for a sense of equilibrium after Sydney’s death. He knew better than to tempt fate again, and he simply did not have the mental energy to let himself fall into another deep depression.

If it were anyone but the Newports, he wouldn’t be there.

But he was already there. So he better get this over with.

* * *

“But you understand that he’s not dead yet,” Dr. Lucinda Wilde said, trying her very best to keep a grip on her temper. She rarely got mad at patients—it was a waste of time and emotional energy. “I can only prolong his life if he stays in the hospital, under constant care. You do see that?”

Carson Newport stood to the doctor’s left, his hands on his hips and a determined set to his eyes. On the doctor’s right, Eve Winchester was glaring at Lucinda, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed with anger. All around them, the sounds of construction filled the air—as did dust. So much dust. She was going to have to shower before she went on her rounds again.

Lucinda had to hope that the construction materials being used here at the new children’s hospital weren’t carcinogenic. She vastly preferred her own hospital, where everything was already hospital-sterile. And she was not happy about having to leave her patients to trek halfway across town to mediate yet another dispute between the Newports and the Winchesters about her patient, Sutton Winchester.

Lucinda sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. She would have a better chance convincing a pack of wild dogs than Sutton Winchester’s children that the scion of the Winchester fortune needed to stay in the hospital.