Tate (Cowboys & Debutantes: Contemporary Book 4) Read online

  Tate

  Cowboys and Debutantes

  Kit Morgan

  Angel Creek Press

  Contents

  Tate

  License Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Kit Morgan

  Tate

  (Cowboys and Debutantes, Contemporary Book 4)

  by

  Kit Morgan

  ANGEL CREEK PRESS

  Tate

  (Cowboys and Debutantes, Contemporary Book 4)

  by Kit Morgan

  © 2017 Kit Morgan

  To sign up for Kit’s newsletter and find out about upcoming books and other fun stuff, click here.

  To check out Kit’s complete collection of stories, click here.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Angel Creek Press and Agape Authors.

  License Note

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  September, New York City

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay here, Mr. Woodrow.”

  J. Wayne Woodrow smiled at Tate Sullivan. “It’s my pleasure. Besides, this is a corporate apartment.”

  “But I’m not doing business with you, sir,” Tate pointed out.

  Mr. Woodrow laughed. “Your brother is married to my daughter now. That’s good enough for me. Casey lived here for a time, or didn’t you know?”

  Tate looked around the large living room. Most of two walls were windows overlooking Manhattan’s Upper East Side. What an incredible view. No doubt an incredible price tag for such an apartment too. “I think she might have mentioned it.”

  “Here.” Mr. Woodrow tossed him the keys. “It’s not hard to get from here to Dixie’s Riding Academy in Brooklyn. What days my driver’s available, he can take you and you can catch the subway back.”

  Tate did his best not to gape. “Oh yes, well, thanks. But I can handle the subway – I don’t want to make extra work for your driver.” He felt he should’ve gotten a cheap hotel room near the stable, as he and Jake had done on earlier visits. But now Jake was married to Mr. Woodrow’s daughter, which changed everything. Tate knew his new sister in-law had come from money, but didn’t realize just how much until now.

  “I’m off – I have a meeting,” Mr. Woodrow said. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow?”

  Tate froze. He was still getting over having full use of an apartment as big as his family’s home back in Oregon. And their home didn’t cost ten grand a month. “I’m not sure … depends on how much paperwork there is to catch up on.”

  “It’s your first day back at the stable. Peruse the place, make a list of what’s what – that’s my suggestion. Then spend some time with an old codger.”

  Tate laughed. He liked Casey’s father. “Sure, all right.”

  “Good,” Mr. Woodrow headed for the door. “Meet me here at seven.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  The older man laughed. “I appreciate manners, but you can drop the “sir.” We’re family.”

  Tate nodded. “Okay, uh, John.”

  “Thanks.” J. Wayne Woodrow turned and left.

  Tate glanced around the living room again, gazed at the New York skyline a moment then flopped onto a loveseat that was probably worth more than he was and rubbed his face a few times. “What am I doing here?” Not that he minded living in the lap of luxury for a few weeks, but he felt so out of place. Heck, he still slept on a twin-size bed back home, in a room no bigger than this place’s bathroom! And he’d never minded – he was an outdoorsman, often preferring the stars overhead at night as his ceiling.

  He got up and went to inspect the kitchen. He was jetlagged, and had been tired before he made this trip besides. Though he’d been looking forward to it, he didn’t have the same amount of excitement as the last time. Probably because the last time he’d come to the Big Apple he’d made a fool of himself.

  He sighed and opened the refrigerator. “Let’s try not to do that again, old boy. Take it slow, or she’s out of here.”

  “She” was Cassandra Olson, who’d caught his eye at Jake and Casey’s wedding where she’d served as Casey’s best friend Melanie’s photography assistant. They got along fine at the reception – Melanie even snapped a few photos of them dancing and laughing together. He even kept one of the photos with him. And what man wouldn’t? She was drop dead gorgeous with a cute personality.

  But cute didn’t always hold up under the strain of a long-term relationship, not to mention a long-distance one. Since his last visit to New York, they’d kept in touch by phone, text and e-mail, but it wasn’t the same as being with a person. This trip, he’d planned on broaching the subject of taking their relationship up a notch.

  Once she got back from Paris, that is. Cassandra traveled a lot – when she wasn’t working for Melanie, she was building her own modeling career. Would she be willing to scale down her career to spend more time with him? He planned on asking her to come back to Oregon with him, see if she liked it, but would it be someplace she could live, settle down, raise a family?

  “Crumbs on a cracker, what am I thinking?” he muttered as he pulled out a can of 7Up. The fridge was full of food – John must have had it stocked before he arrived. The fruit and veggies were fresh. He grabbed an apple and went back to the living room.

  Picking up the remote, he switched on the huge flat-screen. He might as well enjoy the rest of his day and relax instead of pining after Cassandra. Besides, didn’t he just tell himself to take it slow? Girls like her could have any man they wanted. She had it all, and Tate didn’t want to blow it.

  He started watching an action movie, but fell asleep halfway through – not even Chuck Norris could keep him awake. But his phone could. He answered groggily on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Tate! Good, I caught you.”

  “Casey?”

  “Yeah, listen – I put some things in your suitcase.”

  He sat up. “Y’did what?”

  “Some swimsuits – can you give them to Mel?”

  He scratched his head, then yawned. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry. How do you like the apartment?”

  He looked around again. “I can’t believe you used to live here.”

  “I can’t believe my dad hangs on to that place, but he does use it for business.”

  “Good thing it’s a write-off,” Tate said, more awake now. “So why did you put swimsuits in my suitcase?”

  She laughed. “They’re new designs I threw together. I want Mel to take a look at them, then try to find some decent models.”

  “Models … too b
ad Cassandra’s in Paris.”

  She laughed again. “I’m afraid Cassandra doesn’t have quite the look I want for these.”

  “She doesn’t?” he said in disbelief. Cassandra could make sackcloth and ashes look good if she had to.

  “Definitely not,” Casey replied through a bit of static. “Oh, and be sure to try Fernan’s Deli across the street – their bagels and croissants are to die for.”

  Tate pushed himself off the couch and went to the window. He was at least 15 stories up. “Sure, if I can find it.”

  “It’s literally across the street from the front doors. If you go blind overnight, just ask Bernard the doorman – he can point you toward it and shove.”

  Tate chuckled. “I’d like to see him try.” He didn’t remember a doorman, but he and Casey’s father were deep in conversation from the moment the man and his limo picked him up at the airport.

  “You’ll love Bernard,” she assured.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Okay, so you’ll see Mel tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know – does she plan to be at the stables?”

  “Tate, Mel is always at the stables. She rides Georgie every chance she gets.”

  “She wasn’t there much the last time I was here.”

  “Because she was shooting out of town, remember?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh yeah, forgot about that.” Of course, he’d been so wrapped up in Cassandra he wouldn’t have noticed Melanie anyway. He did remember her horse, though – a nice big bay gelding.

  “Thanks, Tate. You saved me going to the post office.”

  He rolled his eyes. Casey, a native New Yorker now living on his family’s ranch outside Sisters, Oregon, hated driving. She was a good driver – Jake had taught her well – but didn’t like having to drive to everything. She was too used to stepping outside her door and there it all was. Including Fernan’s Deli across the street, which was starting to sound good to him. He could do with a bagel and coffee …

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, followed by another yawn.

  “You’d better turn in early tonight,” she suggested.

  “I will,” he said with a sigh. “Talk to you later, Sis.”

  “Okay, and thanks again! Bye!” She hung up.

  Tate shoved his phone into his back pocket and headed out. He was hungry, and there was nothing pre-made in the fridge. He really didn’t feel like cooking, tired as he was. He took the elevator down to the lobby, where a short, swarthy man in a doorman’s uniform greeted him. “Hullo there!”

  Tate was momentarily stunned – the man looked like Gandhi with a workout regimen and a pointed chin beard, but his accent was Irish or Scottish. “Howdy.”

  “Yer Mr. Sullivan, am I correct?”

  “Er, yes, I am.”

  “Bernard’s me name, hostin’s me game!” He fiddled with his doorman’s cap then put it on. “There, now I’m complete. What can I do fer ye, laddie? Need a car? Dinner? A four-star hotel for doing one-star … oh, wait, that would be the gentleman in 1306. Never mind!”

  What a character. Tate thought as he laughed. The man reminded him of some sort of leprechaun. John should have warned him. But he was beginning to see why Casey liked the man. “Just going to Fernan’s,” he informed him.

  “Ah, Fernaaaaan’s! Well, that’s a wonderful place! Don’t let him put pickles on anything, though. Man puts the green things on everything that ought not to have one!”

  Tate tried not to laugh again but couldn’t help it. Bernard was loud and boisterous, talking with his hands – not the sort of doorman he’d imagine an expensive place like this would have.

  But no sooner had he thought it than a well-dressed woman approached the front doors. Bernard rushed over and opened one. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Grayson,” he greeted softly with a waggle of his thick eyebrows and a bow.

  “Good afternoon, Bernard. Tell me, when are you going to leave your wife and run away with me?”

  Tate’s jaw dropped. Mrs. Grayson had to be at least eighty.

  Bernard made a rolling sound with his tongue, like a cat purring. “The thought intrigues, lass. But ye know well as I she’d skin us both and boil us in oil.”

  “You’d probably like that.”

  He purred again, then straightened. “Your granddaughter came by earlier. Mind ye call the wee lassie.”

  “I will. Thank you, Bernard.”

  He tipped his hat, smiled and escorted her to the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, he headed back to Tate. “Mrs. Grayson is a dear lamb. Makes the best oatmeal cookies I’ve ever had.”

  Tate could only stare. His image of a proper doorman had just been blown to bits. “Nice.”

  “But yer no interested in cookies, are ye lad? Nay, it’s Fernan’s ye be wanting!” He spun and pointed at the door. “Straight across the street, but mind ye use the crosswalk, aye?”

  Tate chuckled. “I’ll do that.”

  “See that ye do. I wouldn’t want yer cold dead body on me conscience.”

  Tate gave up and belly-laughed. Did the man sideline as a stand-up comic?

  “Laugh if ye will, laddie!” Bernard pointed across the street. “But mind the pickles! Remember, ye be warned!”

  Tate wiped at his eyes. “Pickles, got it.”

  Then in all seriousness, Bernard asked. “Are ye going to the stables tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I am.” Tate cocked his head. “How do you know about the stables?”

  “I ken everything!” he said with a bow. “I’m a doorman! But do tell Miss Mel I said hello, will ye?”

  “Mel? Oh, Melanie – yes, of course.”

  “She’s a bonny lass, that one. Used to come see Casey a lot – thick as thieves, those two.”

  “Trust me, they still are.”

  “Good – besties should be, no matter the distance.”

  Tate raised an eyebrow. Just how much did Bernard know about him and his family? What had John told him? “They stay in touch.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Bernard said somberly. “Off with ye now,” he added, shooing Tate toward the front doors. He opened one and waved him toward the sidewalk. “I’ll be waitin’ fer yer return, sir.”

  Tate managed a worried smile. “I’m not sure if I should be comforted by that or not.”

  Bernard just waggled his eyebrows again.

  Tate left the building. What a character! But this was New York. If Bernard acted like that in Oregon … hmmm. In Portland, he supposed folks would think he was just as funny. Out in the country, it might not fly.

  He crossed the street (using the crosswalk, as he didn’t fancy getting flattened by a taxi) and thought of Melanie. He’d have to remember to take her Casey’s package. His mother had packed his suitcase, as he was stuck on a tractor and didn’t have time that day. Casey must have slipped it in then. He hadn’t even looked in his case, but his standard clothing was a T-shirt, boots and jeans. A man couldn’t go wrong with simplicity. Casey sure didn’t mind Jake wearing standard-issue ranch wear. Cassandra, however …

  “Afternoon,” an older gentleman greeted Tate as he entered the deli. “What can I get for you?” He had an accent too – Latin American of some sort.

  Tate nodded. “How about a bagel and, um …” He studied the variety of spreads heaped in bowls behind the glass counter. “… I’ll take the cream cheese and scallions.”

  “Right away. Which kind of bagel?”

  “Poppy seed, thank you.” Tate watched the man put his order together as Melanie popped into his head again. It would be good to see her, and he wondered if she had any stories about Bernard the doorman.

  The man behind the counter handed him a plate with his bagel. “Would you like a pickle with that?”

  Tate couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “No, no, that’s okay …”

  Chapter 2

  After a lengthy discussion on the pros and cons of pickles, Tate managed to get
out of the deli and back across the street. But pickles weren’t the only thing he and Fernan (whom he found out was from Argentina) spoke of – they also talked about Melanie and Casey. Seemed everyone knew them. Sure, New York was a big city, but folks still tended to know their regulars, just like anywhere else. It made the huge expanse of concrete and skyscrapers less intimidating.

  After another ten-minute conversation with Bernard, he got back to the apartment, ate and unpacked. Casey’s package was a sealed plastic bag, and he wondered what sort of designs she’d come up with. His mother loved having a fashion designer in the family, and had been talking her daughter-in-law into designing other sorts of clothing.

  Tate sighed. His brother was lucky to have found a woman like Casey. He just hoped he’d be as fortunate with Cassandra. Speaking of which … he pulled his laptop out of his backpack and set it on the desk in the bedroom. The apartment had two – Tate took the smaller one, not wanting to use the other as he still didn’t feel comfortable in such surroundings. Maybe by the time he went home he’d be used to it. Then again, maybe not.

  He checked his e-mail in growing frustration. “What, nothing? C’mon, Cassandra, talk to me.” And then he saw it. For some reason he’d passed it over amidst the ads for boots, tack, farm equipment and grass seed:

  Tate,

  Just a quick note to let you know I’m having a fabulous time here in Paris! What a place to work! Check it out!

  Cass

  He clicked on the attachment and waited for it to download. A picture of Cassandra in a light pink raincoat and high black boots came up, her dark hair windswept and green eyes shining, a mischievous smile on her face. The Eifel Tower rose in the background. The scene made you wonder what she’d just pulled over on the French.