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Unlikely Lover
Diana Palmer
The boss is fading fast. His last request is that a writer compose his memoirs was Aunt Lillian's plea. Helping the elderly oilman seemed natural to Mari. But Ward Jessup was anything but old and sickly…."Poor little Mari," her aunt fretted. "I'm worried about her state of mind-deep emotional scars." Ward's sympathy went out to Lillian's niece, and he invited Mari to the ranch. But the woman who arrived was hardly a helpless little girl….Though they knew they had been tricked, neither could fight the power of Cupid's magic arrow.
“The boss is fading fast. His last request is that a writer compose his memoirs” was Aunt Lillian’s plea. Helping the elderly oilman seemed natural to Mari. But Ward Jessup was anything but old and sickly….
“Poor little Mari,” her aunt fretted. “I’m worried about her state of mind-deep emotional scars.” Ward’s sympathy went out to Lillian’s niece, and he invited Mari to the ranch. But the woman who arrived was hardly a helpless little girl….
Though they knew they had been tricked, neither could fight the power of Cupid’s magic arrow.
Also by Diana Palmer
Man of the Hour
Trilby
Lawman
Lacy
Heart of Winter
Outsider
Night Fever
Before Sunrise
Lawless
Diamond Spur
Desperado
The Texas Ranger
Lord of the Desert
The Cowboy and the Lady
Most Wanted
Fit for a King
Paper Rose
Rage of Passion
Once in Paris
After the Music
Roomful of Roses
Champagne Girl
Passion Flower
Diamond Girl
Friends and Lovers
Cattleman’s Choice
Lady Love
The Rawhide Man
Her Kind of Hero
Unlikely Lover
Diana Palmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter One (#u5d656809-7b27-5c58-9cea-415e40f5aec1)
Chapter Two (#u7b134bc1-6280-5dc6-810b-7d1b9f0d87ea)
Chapter Three (#uc448f1d2-1cb4-50a4-9acb-55cd3318c7c5)
Chapter Four (#u9a907ab2-f221-5026-b37d-8bd0a245713b)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Ward Jessup went to the supper table rubbing his big hands together, his green eyes like dark emeralds in a face like a Roman’s, perfectly sculpted under hair as thick and black as crow feathers. He was enormously tall, big and rangy looking, with an inborn elegance and grace that came from his British ancestors. But Ward himself was all-American. All Oklahoman, with a trace of Cherokee and a sprinkling of Irish that gave him his taciturn stubbornness and his cutting temper, respectively.
“You look mighty proud of yourself,” Lillian huffed, bringing in platters of beef and potatoes and yeast rolls.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “Things are going pretty well. Grandmother’s leaving, did she tell you? She’s going to stay with my sister. Lucky, lucky Belinda!”
Lillian lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I must have pleased you, Lord, for all my prayers to be so suddenly answered,” she said.
Ward chuckled as he reached for the platter of sliced roast beef. “I thought you two were great buddies.”
“And we stay that way as long as I run fast, keep my mouth shut and pretend that I like cooking five meals at a time.”
“She may come back.”
“I’ll quit,” was the gruff reply. “She’s only been here four months, and I’m ready to apply for that cookhouse job over at Wade’s.”
“You’d wind up in the house with Conchita, helping to look after the twins,” he returned.
She grinned, just for an instant. Could have been a muscle spasm, he thought.
“I like kids.” Lillian glared at him, brushing back wiry strands of gray hair that seemed to match her hatchet nose, long chin and beady little black eyes. “Why don’t you get married and have some?” she added.
His thick eyebrows raised a little. They were perfect like his nose, even his mouth. He was handsome. He could have had a dozen women by crooking his finger, but he dated only occasionally, and he never brought women home. He never got serious, either. He hadn’t since that Caroline person had almost led him to the altar, only to turn around at the last minute and marry his cousin Bud, thinking that, because Bud’s last name was Jessup, he’d do as well as Ward. Besides, Bud was much easier to manage. The marriage had only lasted a few weeks, however, just until Bud had discovered that Caroline’s main interest was in how much of his small inheritance she could spend on herself. He had divorced her, and she had come rushing back to Ward, all in tears. But somewhere along the way Ward had opened his eyes. He’d shown her the door, tears and all, and that was the last time he’d shown any warmth toward anything in skirts.
“What would I do with kids?” he asked. “Look what it’s done to Tyson Wade, for God’s sake. There he was, a contented bachelor making money hand over fist. He married that model and lost everything—”
“He got everything back, with interest,” Lillian interrupted, “and you say one more word about Miss Erin and I’ll scald you, so help me!”
He shrugged. “Well, she is pretty. Nice twins, too. They look a little like Ty.”
“Poor old thing,” Lillian said gently. “He was homely as sin and all alone and meaner than a tickled rattlesnake. And now here he’s made his peace with you and even let you have those oil leases you’ve been after for ten years. Yes sir, love sure is a miracle,” she added with a purely calculating look.
He shivered. “Talking about it gives me hives. Talk about something else.” He was filling his plate and nibbling between comments.
Lillian folded her hands in front of her, hesitating, but only for an instant. “I’ve got a problem.”
“I know. Grandmother.”
“A bigger one.”
He stopped eating and looked up. She did seem to be worried. He laid down his fork. “Well? What’s the problem?”
She shifted from one foot to the other. “My brother’s eldest girl, Marianne,” she said. “Ben died last year, you remember.”
“Yes. You went to his funeral. His wife died years earlier, didn’t she?”
Lillian nodded. “Well, Marianne and her best friend, Beth, went shopping at one of those all-night department store sales. On their way out, as they crossed the parking lot, a man tried to attack them. It was terrible,” she continued huskily. “Terrible! The girls were just sickened by the whole experience!” She lowered her voice just enough to sound dramatic. “It left deep scars. Deep emotional scars,” she added meaningfully, watching to see how he was reacting. So far, so good.
He sat up straighter, listening. “Your niece will be all right, won’t she?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yes. She’s all right physically.” She twisted her skirt. “But it’s her state of mind that I’m worried about.”
“Marianne…” He nodded, remembering a photograph he’d seen of Lillian’s favorite niece. A vivid impression of long dark hair and soft blue eyes and an oval, vulnerable young face brought a momentary smile to his lips.
“She’s no raving beauty, and frankly, she hasn’t dated very much. Her father was one of those domineering types whose reputation kept the boys away from her when she lived at home. But now…” She sighed even more dramatically. “Poor little Mari.” She glanced up. “She’s been keeping the books for a big garage. Mostly men. She said it’s gotten to the point that if a man comes close enough to open a door for her, she breaks out in a cold sweat. She needs to get away for a little while, out of the city, and get her life back together.”
“Poor kid,” he said, sincere yet cautious.
“She’s almost twenty-two,” Lillian said. “What’s going to become of her?” she asked loudly, peeking out the corner of her eye at him.
He whistled softly. “Therapy would be her best bet.”
“She won’t talk to anyone,” she said quickly, cocking her head to one side. “Now, I know how you feel about women. I don’t even blame you. But I can’t turn my back on my own niece.” She straightened, playing her trump card. “Now, I’m fully prepared to give up my job and go to her—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you know me better than that after fifteen years,” he returned curtly. “Send her an airline ticket.”
“She’s in Georgia—”
“So what?”
Lillian toyed with a pan of rolls. “Well, thanks. I’ll make it up to you somehow,” she said with a secretive grin.
“If you’re feeling that generous, how about an apple pie?”
The older woman chuckled. “Thirty minutes,” she said and dashed off to the kitchen like a woman half her age. She could have danced with glee. He’d fallen for it! Stage one was about to take off! Forgive me, Mari, she thought silently and began planning again.
Ward stared after her with confused emotions. He hoped that he’d made the right decision. Maybe he was just going soft in his old age. Maybe…
“My bed was more uncomfortable than a sheet filled with cacti,” came a harsh, angry old voice from the doorway. He turned as his grandmother ambled in using her cane, broad as a beam and as formidable as a raiding party, all cold green eyes and sagging jowls and champagnetinted hair that waved around her wide face.
“Why don’t you sleep in the stable?” he asked her pleasantly. “Hay’s comfortable.”
She glared at him and waved her cane. “Shame on you, talking like that to a pitiful old woman!”
“I pity anyone who stands within striking distance of that cane,” he assured her. “When do you leave for Galveston?”
“Can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?” she demanded as she slid warily into a chair beside him.
“Oh, no,” he assured her. “I’ll miss you like the plague.”
“You cowhand,” she grumbled, glaring at him. “Just like your father. He was hell to live with, too.”
“You sweet-tempered little woman,” he taunted.
“I guess you get that wit from your father. And he got it from me,” she confessed. She poured herself a cup of coffee. “I hope Belinda is easier to get along with than you and your saber-toothed housekeeper.”
“I am not saber-toothed,” Lillian assured her as she brought in more rolls.
“You are so,” Mrs. Jessup replied curtly. “In my day we’d have lynched you on a mesquite tree for insubordination!”
“In your day you’d have been hanging beside me,” Lillian snorted and walked out.
“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” Mrs. Jessup demanded of her grandson.
“You surely don’t want me to walk into that kitchen alone?” he asked her. “She keeps knives in there.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “And a sausage grinder. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Mrs. Jessup tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. She hit at him affectionately. “Reprobate. Why do I put up with you?”
“You can’t help yourself,” he said with a chuckle. “Eat. You can’t travel halfway across Texas on an empty stomach.”
She put down her coffee cup. “Are you sure this night flight is a good idea?”
“It’s less crowded. Besides, Belinda and her newest boyfriend are going to meet you at the airport,” he said. “You’ll be safe.”
“I guess so.” She stared at the platter of beef that was slowly being emptied. “Give me some of that before you gorge yourself!”
“It’s my cow,” he muttered, green eyes glittering.
“It descended from one of mine. Give it here!”
Ward sighed, defeated. Handing the platter to her with a resigned expression, he watched her beam with the tiny triumph. He had to humor her just a little occasionally. It kept her from getting too crotchety.
Later he drove her to the airport and put her on a plane. As he went back toward his ranch, he wondered about Marianne Raymond and how it was going to be with a young woman around the place getting in his hair. Of course, she was just twenty-two, much too young for him. He was thirty-five now, too old for that kind of child-woman. He shook his head. He only hoped that he’d done the right thing. If he hadn’t, things were sure going to be complicated from now on. At one time Lillian’s incessant matchmaking had driven him nuts before he’d managed to stop her, though she still harped on his unnatural attitude toward marriage. If only she’d let him alone and stop mothering him! That was the trouble with people who’d worked for you almost half your life, he muttered to himself. They felt obliged to take care of you in spite of your own wishes.
He stared across the pastures at the oil rigs as he eased his elegant white Chrysler onto the highway near Ravine, Texas. His rigs. He’d come a long damned way from the old days spent working on those rigs. His father had dreamed of finding that one big well, but it was Ward who’d done it. He’d borrowed as much as he could and put everything on one big gamble with a friend. And his well had come in. He and the friend had equal shares in it, and they’d long since split up and gone in different directions. When it came to business, Ward Jessup could be ruthless and calculating. He had a shrewd mind and a hard heart, and some of his enemies had been heard to say that he’d foreclose on a starving widow if she owed him money.
That wasn’t quite true, but it was close. He’d grown up poor, dirt poor, as his grandmother had good reason to remember. The family had been looked down on for a long time because of Ward’s mother. She’d tired of her boring life on the ranch with her two children and had run off with a neighbor’s husband, leaving the children for her stunned husband and mother-in-law to raise. Later she’d divorced Ward’s father and remarried, but the children had never heard from her again. In a small community like Ravine the scandal had been hard to live down. Worse, just a little later, Ward’s father had gone out into the south forty one autumn day with a rifle in his hand and hadn’t come home again.
He hadn’t left a note or even seemed depressed. They’d found him slumped beside his pickup truck, clutching a piece of ribbon that had belonged to his wife. Ward had never forgotten his father’s death, had never forgiven his mother for causing it.
Later, when he’d fallen into Caroline’s sweet trap, Ward Jessup had learned the final lesson. These days he had a reputation for breaking hearts, and it wasn’t far from the mark. He had come to hate women. Every time he felt tempted to let his emotions show, he remembered his mother and Caroline. And day by day he became even more embittered. He liked to remember Caroline’s face when he’d told her he didn’t want her anymore, that he could go on happily all by himself. She’d curled against him with her big black eyes so loving in that face like rice paper and her blond hair cascading like yellow silk down her back. But he’d seen past the beauty to the ugliness, and he never wanted to get that close to a woman again. He’d seen graphically how big a fool the most sensible man could become when a shrewd woman got hold of him. Nope, he told himself. Never again. He’d learned from his mistake. He wouldn’t be that stupid a second time.
He pulled into the long driveway of Three Forks and smiled at the live oaks that lined it, thinking of all the history there was in this big, lusty spread of land. He might live and die without an heir, but he’d sure enjoy himself until that time came.
He wondered if Tyson Wade was regretting his decision to lease the pastureland so that Ward could look for the oil that he sensed was there. He and Ty had been enemies for so many years—almost since boyhood—although the reason for all the animosity had long been forgotten in the heat of the continuing battle over property lines, oil rigs and just about everything else.
Ty Wade had changed since his marriage. He’d mellowed, becoming a far cry from the renegade who’d just as soon have started a brawl as talk business. Amazing that a beautiful woman like Erin had agreed to marry the man in the first place. Ty was no pretty boy. In fact, to Ward Jessup, the man looked downright homely. But maybe he had hidden qualities.
Ward grinned at that thought. He wouldn’t begrudge his old enemy a little happiness, not since he’d picked up those oil leases that he’d wanted so desperately. It was like a new beginning: making a peace treaty with Tyson Wade and getting his crotchety grandmother out of his hair and off the ranch without bloodshed. He chuckled aloud as he drove back to the house, and it wasn’t until he heard the sound that he realized how rarely he laughed these days.
Chapter Two
Marianne Raymond didn’t know what to expect when she landed at the San Antonio airport. She knew that Ravine was quite a distance away, and her Aunt Lillian had said that someone would meet her. But what if no one did? Her blue eyes curiously searched the interior of the airport. Aunt Lillian’s plea for her to visit had been so unusual, so…odd. Poor old Mr. Jessup, she thought, shaking her head. Poor brave man. Dying of that incurable disease, and Aunt Lillian so determined to make his last days happy. Mari had been delighted to come, to help out. Her vacation was overdue, and the manager of the big garage where she kept the books and wrote the occasional letter had promised that they could do without her for a week or so. Mr. Jessup wanted young people around, he’d told Lillian. Some cheerful company and someone to help him write his memoirs. That would be right up Mari’s alley. She’d actually done some feature articles for a local newspaper, and she had literary ambitions, too.
Someday Mari was going to be a novelist. She’d promised herself that. She wrote a portion of her book every night. The story involved a poor city girl who was assaulted by a vicious gang leader and had nightmares about her horrible assailant. She’d told Aunt Lillian the plot over the phone just recently, and the older woman had been delighted with it. Mari wondered about her aunt’s sudden enthusiasm because Lillian had never been particularly interested in anything except getting her married off to any likely candidate who came along. After her father’s death, especially. The only reason she’d agreed to come down to Ravine was because of poor old Mr. Jessup. At least she could be sure that Aunt Lillian wasn’t trying to marry her off to him!
Mari pushed back her hair. It was short now, a twenties-style pageboy with bangs, and it emphasized the rosy oval of her face. She was wearing a simple dropped-waist dress in blue-and-white stripes and carrying only a roly-poly piece of luggage, which contained barely enough clothes to get her through one week.
A tall man attracted her interest, and despite the shyness she felt with most men, she studied him blatantly. He was as big as the side of a barn, tall with rippling muscles and bristling with backcountry masculinity. Wearing a gray suit, an open-necked white shirt and a pearly gray Stetson and boots, he looked big and mean and sexy. The angle of that hat over his black hair was as arrogant as the look on his deeply tanned face, as intimidating as that confident stride that made people get out of his way. He would have made the perfect hero for Mari’s book. The strong, tender man who would lead her damaged heroine back to happiness again…
He didn’t look at anyone except Mari, and after a few seconds she realized that he was coming toward her. She clutched the little carryall tightly as he stopped just in front of her, and in spite of her height she had to look up to see his eyes. They were green and cold. Ice-cold.
“Marianne Raymond,” he said as if she’d damned well better be. He set her temper smoldering with that confident drawl.
She lifted her chin. “That’s right,” she replied just as quietly. “Are you from Three Forks Ranch?”
“I am Three Forks Ranch,” he informed her, reaching for the carryall. “Let’s go.”
“Not one step,” she said, refusing to release it and glaring at him. “Not one single step until you tell me who you are and where we’re going.”
His eyebrows lifted. They were straight and thick like the lashes over his green eyes. “I’m Ward Jessup,” he said. “I’m taking you to your Aunt Lillian.” He controlled his temper with a visible effort as he registered her shocked expression and reached for his wallet, flashing it open to reveal his driver’s license. “Satisfied?” he drawled and then felt ashamed of himself when he knew why she had reason to be so cautious and nervous of him.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. That was Ward Jessup? That was a dying man? Dazed, she let him take the carryall and followed him out of the airport.
He had a car—a big Chrysler with burgundy leather seats and controls that seemed to do everything, right up to speaking firmly to the passengers about fastening their seat belts.
“I’ve never seen such an animal,” she commented absently as she fastened her seat belt, trying to be a little less hostile. He’d asked for it, but she had to remember the terrible condition that the poor man was in. She felt guilty about her bad manners.
“It’s a honey,” he remarked, starting the engine. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, on the plane, thank you,” she replied. She folded her hands in her lap and was quiet until they reached the straight open road. The meadows were alive with colorful wildflowers of orange and red and blue, and prickly pear cacti. Mari also noticed long stretches of land where there were no houses and few trees, but endless fences and cattle everywhere.
“I thought there was oil everywhere in Texas,” she murmured, staring out at the landscape and the sparse houses.
“What do you think those big metal grasshoppers are?” he asked, glancing at her as he sped down the road.
She frowned. “Oil wells? But where are the big metal things that look like the Eiffel Tower?”
He laughed softly to himself. “My God. Eastern tenderfoot,” he chided. “You put up a derrick when you’re hunting oil, honey, you don’t keep it on stripper wells. Those damned things cost money.”
She smiled at him. “I’ll bet you weren’t born knowing that, either, Mr. Jessup,” she said.
“I wasn’t.” He leaned back and settled his huge frame comfortably.
He sure does look healthy for a dying man, Mari thought absently.
“I worked on rigs for years before I ever owned one.”
“That’s very dangerous work, isn’t it?” she asked conversationally.
“So they say.”
She studied his very Roman profile, wondering if anyone had ever painted him. Then she realized that she was staring and turned her attention to the landscape. It was spring and the trees looked misshapen and gloriously soft feathered with leaves.
“What kind of trees are those, anyway?” she asked.
“Mesquite,” he said. “It’s all over the place at the ranch, but don’t ever go grabbing at its fronds. It’s got long thorns everywhere.”
“Oh, we don’t have mesquite in Georgia,” she commented, clasping her purse.
“No, just peach trees and magnolia blossoms and dainty little cattle farms.”
She glared at him. “In Atlanta we don’t have dainty little cattle farms, but we do have a very sophisticated tourism business and quite a lot of foreign investors.”
“Don’t tangle with me, honey,” he advised with a sharp glance. “I’ve had a hard morning, and I’m just not in the mood for verbal fencing.”
“I gave up obeying adults when I became one,” she replied.
His eyes swept over her dismissively. “You haven’t. Not yet.”
“I’ll be twenty-two this month,” she told him shortly.
“I was thirty-five last month,” he replied without looking her way. “And, to me, you’d still be a kid if you were four years older.”
“You poor, old, decrepit thing,” she murmured under her breath. It was getting harder and harder to feel sorry for him.
“What an interesting houseguest you’re going to make, Miss Raymond,” he observed as he drove down the interstate. “I’ll have to arrange some razor-blade soup to keep your tongue properly sharpened.”
“I don’t think I like you,” she said shortly.
He glared back. “I don’t like women,” he replied and his voice was as cold as his eyes.
She wondered if he knew why she’d come and decided that Aunt Lillian had probably told him everything. She averted her face to the window and gnawed on her lower lip. She was being deliberately antagonistic, and her upbringing bristled at her lack of manners. He’d asked Lillian to bring her out to Texas; he’d even paid for her ticket. She was supposed to cheer him up, to help him write his memoirs, to make his last days happier. And here she was being rude and unkind and treating him like a bad-tempered old tyrant.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to look at him. “You let me come here, you bought my ticket, and all I’ve done since I got off the plane is be sarcastic to you. Aunt Lillian told me all about it, you know,” she added enigmatically, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face. “I’ll do everything I can to make you glad you’ve brought me here. I’ll help you out in every way I can. Well,” she amended, “in most ways. I’m not really very comfortable around men,” she added with a shy smile.
He relaxed a little, although he didn’t smile. His hand caressed the steering wheel as he drove. “That’s not hard to understand,” he said after a minute, and she guessed that her aunt had told him about her strict upbringing. “But I’m the last man on earth you’d have to worry about in that particular respect. My women know the score, and they aren’t that prolific these days. I don’t have any interest in girls your age. You’re just a baby.”
Annoying, unnerving, infuriating man, she thought uncharitably, surprised by his statement. She looked toward him hesitantly, her eyes quiet and steady on his dark face. “Well, I’ve never had any interest in bad-tempered old men with oil wells,” she said with dry humor. “That ought to reassure you as well, Mr. Jessup, sir.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” he murmured with an amused glance. “I’m not that old.”
“I’ll bet your joints creak,” she said under her breath.
He laughed. “Only on cold mornings,” he returned. He pulled into the road that led to Three Forks and slowed down long enough to turn and stare into her soft blue eyes. “Tell you what, kid, you be civil to me and I’ll be civil to you, and we’ll never let people guess what we really think of each other. Okay?”
“Okay,” she returned, eager to humor him. Poor man!
His green eyes narrowed. “Pity, about your age and that experience,” he commented, letting his gaze wander over her face. “You’re uncommon. Like your aunt.”
“My aunt is the reincarnation of General Patton,” she said. She wondered what experience he meant. “She could win wars if they’d give her a uniform.”
“I’ll amen that,” he said.
“Thanks for driving up to get me,” she added. “I appreciate it.”
“I didn’t know how you’d feel about a strange cowboy,” he said gently. “Although we don’t know each other exactly, I knew that Lillian’s surely mentioned me and figured you’d be a bit more comfortable.”
“I was.” She didn’t tell him how Lillian had described him as Attila the Hun in denim and leather.
“Don’t tell her we’ve been arguing,” he said unexpectedly as he put the car back in gear and drove up to the house. “It’ll upset her. She stammered around for a half hour and even threatened to quit before she got up the nerve to suggest your visit.”
“Bless her old heart.” Mari sighed, feeling touched. “She’s quite a lady, my aunt. She really cares about people.”
“Next to my grandmother, she’s the only woman that I can tolerate under my roof.”
“Is your grandmother here?” she asked as they reached a huge cedarwood house with acres of windows and balconies.
“She left last week, thank God,” he said heavily. “One more day of her and I’d have left and so would Lillian. She’s too much like me. We only get along for short stretches.”
“I like your house,” she remarked as he opened the door for her.
“I don’t, but when the old one burned down, my sister was going with an architect who gave us a good bid.” He glared at the house. “I thought he was a smart boy. He turned out to be one of those innovative New Wave builders who like to experiment. The damned bathrooms have sunken tubs and Jacuzzis, and there’s an indoor stream…Oh, God, what a nightmare of a house if you sleepwalk! You could drown in the living room or be swept off into the river.”
She couldn’t help laughing. He sounded horrified. “Why didn’t you stop him?” she asked.
“I was in Canada for several months,” he returned. He didn’t elaborate. This strange woman didn’t need to know that he’d gone into the wilderness to heal after Caroline’s betrayal and that he hadn’t cared what replaced the old house after lightning had struck and set it afire during a storm.
“Well, it’s not so bad,” she began but was interrupted when Lillian exploded out of the house, arms outstretched. Mari ran into them, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.
“Oh, you look wonderful,” Lillian said with a sigh. “How are you? How was the trip?”
“I’m fine, and it was very nice of Mr. Jessup to come and meet me,” she said politely. She turned, nodding toward him. “Thanks again. I hope the trip didn’t tire you too much?”
“What?” he asked blankly.
“I told Mari how hard you’d been working lately, boss,” Lillian said quickly. “Come on, honey, let’s go inside!”
“I’ll bring the bag,” Ward said curiously and followed them into the rustic but modern house.
Mari loved it. It was big and rambling and there was plenty of room everywhere. It was just the house for an outdoorsman, right down to the decks that overlooked the shade trees around the house.
“I think this place is perfect for Ward, but for heaven’s sake, don’t tell him that! And please don’t let on that you know about his condition,” Lillian added, her eyes wary. “You didn’t say anything about it?” she asked, showing Mari through the ultramodern upstairs where her bedroom overlooked the big pool below and the flat landscape beyond, fenced and cross-fenced with milling cattle.
“Oh, no, Scout’s honor,” Mari said. “But how am I going to help him write his memoirs?”
“We’ll work up to it in good time,” Lillian assured her. “He, uh, didn’t ask why you came?”
Mari sighed. “He seemed to think I’d asked to come. Odd man, he thought I was afraid of him. Me, afraid of men, isn’t that a scream? Especially after what Beth and I did at that all-night department store.”
“Don’t ever tell him, please,” Lillian pleaded. “It would…upset him. We mustn’t do that,” she added darkly. “It could be fatal!”
“I won’t, truly I won’t,” Mari promised. “He sure is healthy looking for a dying man, isn’t he?”
“Rugged,” Lillian said. “Real rugged. He’d never let on that he was in pain.”
“Poor brave man,” Mari said with a sigh. “He’s so tough.”
Lillian grinned as she turned away.
* * *
“Did his sister like this house?” Mari asked later after she’d unpacked and was helping Lillian in the kitchen.
“Oh, yes,” Lillian confided to her niece. “But the boss hates it!”
“Is his sister like him?” Mari asked.
“To look at, no. But in temperament, definitely,” the older woman told her. “They’re both high-strung and mean tempered.”
“You mentioned that he had a male secretary,” Mari reminded her as she rolled out a piecrust.
“Yes. David Meadows. He’s young and very efficient, but he doesn’t like being called a secretary.” Lillian grinned. “He thinks he’s an administrative assistant.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I don’t know what the boss would do without him, either,” Lillian continued as she finished quartering the apples for the pie. Another apple pie might soften him up a little, she was thinking. “David keeps everything running smoothly around here, from paying the accounts to answering the phone and scheduling appointments. The boss stays on the road most of the time, closing deals. The oil business is vast these days. Last week he was in Saudi Arabia. Next week he’s off to South America.”
“All that traveling must get tiresome,” Mari said, her blue eyes curious. “Isn’t it dangerous for him in his condition?”
For a moment Lillian looked hunted. Then she brightened. “Oh, no, the doctor says it’s actually good for him. He takes it easy, and it keeps his mind off things. He never talks about it, though. He’s a very private person.”
“He seems terribly cold,” Mari remarked thoughtfully.
“Camouflage,” Lillian assured her. “He’s warm and gentle and a prince of a man,” she added. “A prince! Now, get this pie fixed, girl. You make the best pies I’ve ever tasted, even better than my own.”
“Mama taught me,” Mari said gently. “I really miss her sometimes. Especially in the autumn. We used to go up into the mountains to see the leaves. Dad was always too busy, but Mama and I were adventurous. It’s been eight years since she died. And only one since Dad went. I’m glad I still have you.”
Lillian tried not to look touched, but she was. “Get busy,” she said gruffly, turning away. “It isn’t good to look back.”
That was true, Mari thought, keeping her own thoughts on the present instead of the past. She felt sad about Ward Jessup—even if he was a dreadful oilman. She’d heard her aunt talk about him for so many years that she felt as if she knew him already. If only she could make it through the week without making him angry or adding to his problems. She just wanted to help him, if he’d let her.
Mari was just going into the other room to call him when her attention was caught by the stream running through the room, lit by underwater colored lights. It was eerie and beautiful indoor “landscaping,” with plants everywhere and literally a stream running through the middle of the living room, wide enough to swim in.
Not paying much attention to where she was going, Mari backed along the carpet, only half aware of footsteps, and suddenly collided with something warm and solid.
There was a terribly big splash and a furious curse. When she turned around, she felt herself go pale.
“Oh, Mr. Jessup, I’m sorry,” she wailed, burying her cheeks in her hands.
He was very wet. Not only was he soaked, but there was a lily pad on top of his straight black hair that had been slicked down by all the water. He was standing, and though the water came to his chin, he looked very big and very angry. As he sputtered and blinked, Mari noticed that his green eyes were exactly the shade of the lily pad.
“Damn you…” he began as he moved toward the carpeted “shore” with a dangerous look on his dark face. At that moment nobody would have guessed that he was a dying man. As quick as lightning he was out of the water, dripping on the carpet. Suddenly Mari forgot his delicate condition and ran like hell.
“Aunt Lillian!”
Mari ran for the kitchen as fast as her slender legs could carry her, a blur in jeans and a white sweatshirt as she darted down the long hall toward the relative safety of the kitchen.
Behind her, soggy footsteps and curses followed closely.
“Aunt Lillian, help!” she cried as she dashed through the swing door.
She forgot that swing doors tend to swing back when forcibly opened by hysterical people. It slammed back into a tall, wet, cursing man. There was an ominous thud and the sound of shattering ceramic pieces.
Lillian looked at her niece in wide-eyed shock. “Oh, Mari,” she said. Her ears told her more than she wanted to know as she stared at the horrified face of her niece. “Oh, Mari.”
“I think Mr. Jessup may need a little help, Aunt Lillian,” Mari began hesitantly.
“Prayer might be more beneficial at the moment, dear,” Aunt Lillian murmured nervously. She wiped her hands on her printed apron and cautiously opened the swing door to peer into the dining room.
Ward Jessup was just sitting up among the ruins of his table setting, china shards surrounding him. His suit was wet, and there was a puddle of water under him as he tugged his enormous frame off the floor. His eyes were blazing in a face that had gone ruddy in anger. He held on to a chair and rose slowly, glaring at Lillian’s half-hidden face with an expression that told her there was worse to come.
“She’s really a nice girl, boss,” Lillian began, “once you get to know her.”
He brushed back his soaked hair with a lean, angry hand, and his chest rose and fell heavily. “I have a meeting just after supper,” he said. “I sent the rest of my suits to the cleaner’s this afternoon. This is the last suit I had. I didn’t expect to go swimming in it.”
“We could dry it and I could…press it,” Lillian suggested halfheartedly, pretty sure that she couldn’t do either.
“I could forget the whole damned thing, too,” he said curtly. He glared at Lillian. “Nothing is going to make up for this, you know.”
She swallowed. “How about a nice freshly baked apple pie with ice cream?”
He tilted his head to one side and pursed his lips. “Freshly baked?” “Freshly baked.”
“With ice cream?”
“That’s right,” she promised.
He shrugged his wet shoulders. “I’ll think about it.” He turned and sloshed off down the hall.
Lillian leaned back against the wall and stared at her transfixed niece. “Honey,” she said gently, “would you like to tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Mari burst out. “I went in to call him to the table, and I started looking at that beautiful artificial stream, and the next thing I knew, he’d fallen into it. I must have, well, backed into him.”
“How you could miss a man his size is beyond me.” Lillian shook her head and grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet.
“I had my back to him, you know.”
“I wouldn’t ever do that again after this if I were you,” the older woman advised. “If it wasn’t for that apple pie, even I couldn’t save you!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mari said apologetically. “Oh, Aunt Lillian, that poor, brave man.” She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t get a chill because of me. I’d never be able to live with myself!”
“There, there,” Lillian assured her, “he’s tough, you know. He’ll be fine. For now, I mean,” she added quickly.
Mari covered her face with her hands in mingled relief and suppressed amusement. Ward Jessup was quite a man. How sad that he had such little time left. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look on his face when he climbed out of the indoor stream, or the excited beat of her heart as she’d run from him. It was new to be chased by a man, even an ill one, and exhilarating to be uninhibited in one’s company. She’d been shy with men all her life, but she didn’t feel shy with Ward. She felt…feminine. And that was as new to her as the rapid beat of her heart.
Chapter Three
“I didn’t mean to knock you into the pool,” Mari told Ward the minute he entered the dining room.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at her from his great height. His hair was dry now, thick and straight against his broad forehead, and his wet clothes had been exchanged for dry jeans and a blue plaid shirt. His green eyes were a little less hostile than they had been minutes before.
“It isn’t a pool,” he informed her. “It’s an indoor stream. And next time, Miss Raymond, I’d appreciate it if you’d watch where the hell you’re going.”
“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.
“I told you not to let him put that stream in the living room,” Lillian gloated.
He glared at her. “Keep talking and I’ll give you an impromptu swimming lesson.”
“Yes, boss.” She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen to fetch the rest of the food.
“I really am sorry,” Mari murmured.
“So am I,” he said unexpectedly, and his green eyes searched hers quietly. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
She glanced down at her shoes, nervous of the sensations that his level gaze prompted. “It’s hard to be afraid of a man with a lily pad on his head.”
“Stop that,” he grumbled, jerking out a chair.
“You might consider putting up guardrails,” she suggested dryly as she sat down across from him, her blue eyes twinkling with the first humor she’d felt in days.
“You’d better keep a life jacket handy,” he returned.
She stuck her tongue out at him impulsively and watched his thick eyebrows arch.
He shook out his napkin with unnecessary force and laid it across his powerful thighs. “My God, you’re living dangerously,” he told her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said smartly and meant it.
“That isn’t what your Aunt Lillian says,” he observed with narrowed eyes.
She stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
“She says you’re afraid of men,” he continued. He scowled at her puzzled expression. “Because of what happened to you and your friend,” he prompted.
She blinked, wondering what her aunt had told him about that. After all, having your purse pinched by an overweight juvenile delinquent wasn’t really enough to terrify most women. Especially when she and Beth had run the offender down, beaten the stuffing out of him, recovered the purse and sat on him until the police got there.
“You know, dear,” Lillian blustered as she came through the door, shaking her head and smiling all at once. She looked as red as a beet, too. “The horrible experience you had!”
“Horrible?” Mari asked.
“Horrible!” Lillian cried. “We can’t talk about it now!”
“We can’t?” Mari parroted blankly.
“Not at the table. Not in front of the boss!” She jerked her head curtly toward him two or three times.
“Have you got a crick in your neck, Aunt Lillian?” her niece asked with some concern.
“No, dear, why do you ask? Here! Have some fried chicken and some mashed potatoes!” She shoved dishes toward her niece and began a monologue that only ended when it was time for dessert.
“I think something’s wrong with Aunt Lillian,” Mari confided to Ward the moment Lillian started back into the kitchen for the coffeepot.
“Yes, so do I,” he replied. “She’s been acting strangely for the past few days. Don’t let on you know. We’ll talk later.”
She nodded, concerned. Lillian was back seconds later, almost as if she was afraid to leave them alone together. How strange.
“Well, I think I’ll go up to bed,” Mari said after she finished her coffee, glancing quickly at Aunt Lillian. “I’m very tired.”
“Good idea,” Ward said. “You get some rest.”
“Yes,” Lillian agreed warmly. “Good night, dear.”
She bent to kiss her aunt. “See you in the morning, Aunt Lillian,” she murmured and glanced at Ward. “Good night, Mr. Jessup.”
“Good night, Miss Raymond,” he said politely.
Mari went quietly upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat by the window and looked down at the empty swimming pool with its wooden privacy fence and the gently rolling, brush-laden landscape, where cattle moved lazily and a green haze heralded spring. Minutes later there was a stealthy knock at the door, and Ward Jessup came into the room, scowling.
“Want me to leave the door open?” he asked hesitantly.
She stared at him blankly. “Why? Are you afraid I might attack you?”
He stared back. “Well, after the experience you had, I thought…”
“What experience?” she asked politely.
“The man at the shopping center,” he said, his green eyes level and frankly puzzled as he closed the door behind him.
“Are you afraid of me because of that?” she burst out. “I do realize you may be a little weak, Mr. Jessup, but I promise I won’t hurt you!”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she assured him. “I’m not really as bad as Aunt Lillian made me sound, I’m sure. And it’s only a red belt, after all, not a black one. I only sat on him until the police came. I hardly even bruised him—”
“Whoa,” he said curtly. He cocked his dark head and peered at her. “You sat on him?”
“Sure,” she agreed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you that Beth and I ran the little weasel down to get my purse back and beat the stuffing out of him? Overweight little juvenile delinquent, he was lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”
“You weren’t attacked?” he persisted.
“Well, sort of.” She shrugged. “He stole my purse. He couldn’t have known I was a karate student.”
“Oh, my God,” he burst out. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tautened. “That lying old turkey!”
“How dare you call my aunt a turkey!” she returned hotly. “After all she’s doing for you?”
“What, exactly, is she doing for me?”
“Well, bringing me here, to help you write your memoirs before…the end,” she faltered. “She told me all about your incurable illness—”
“Incurable illness?” he bellowed.
“You’re dying,” she told him.
“Like hell I am,” he said fiercely.
“You don’t have to act brave and deny it,” she replied hesitantly. “She told me that you wanted young people around to cheer you up. And somebody to help you write your memoirs. I’m going to be a novelist one day,” she added. “I want to be a writer.”
“Good. You can practice with your aunt’s obituary,” he muttered, glaring toward the door.
“You can’t do that to a helpless old lady,” she began.
“Watch me.” He was heading for the door, his very stride frightening.
“Oh, no! You can’t!” She ran after him, got in front of him and plastered herself against the door. “You’ll have to go through me.”
“Suits me, Joan of Arc,” he grumbled, catching her by the waist. He lifted her clear off the floor until she was unnervingly at eye level with him. “You sweet little angel of mercy, you.”
“Put me down or I’ll…I’ll put you down,” she threatened.
He stared amusedly into her blue eyes under impossibly thick lashes. “Will you? Go ahead. Show me how you earned that red belt.”
She tried. She used every trick her instructor had taught her, and all it accomplished was to leave her dangling from his powerful hands, panting into his mocking smile.
“Had enough?” she huffed.
“Not at all. Aren’t you finished yet?” he asked politely.
She aimed one more kick, which he blocked effortlessly. She sagged in his powerful hold. Lord, he was strong! “Okay,” she said, sighing wearily. “Now I’m finished.”
“Next time,” he told her as he put her back on her feet, leaving his hands tightly around her waist, “make sure your intended victim didn’t take the same course of study. My belt is black. Tenth degree.”
“Damn you!” she cursed sharply.
“And we’ll have no more of that in this house,” he said shortly, emphasizing the angry remark with a reproachful slap to her bottom, nodding as she gasped in outrage. “You’ve been working in that garage for too long already, if that’s any example of what you’re being taught.”
“I’m not a child!” she retorted. “I’m an adult!”
“No, you aren’t,” he replied, jerking her against him with a mocking smile. “But maybe I can help you grow up a little.”
He bent his head and found her lips with a single smooth motion, pressing her neck back against his muscular shoulder with the fierce possessiveness of his hard mouth.
Mari thought that in all her life nothing so unexpected had ever happened to her. His lips were warm and hard and insistent, forcing hers open so that he could put the tip of his tongue just under them, his breath tasting of coffee and mint, the strength of his big body overwhelming her with its hard warmth.
For an instant she tried to struggle, only to find herself enveloped in his arms, wrapped up against him so tightly that she could hardly breathe. And everywhere her face turned, his was there, his mouth provocative, sensuous, biting at hers, doing the most intimate things to it.
Her legs felt funny. They began to tremble as they came into sudden and shocking contact with his. Her heart raced. Her body began to ache with heat and odd longings. Her breath caught somewhere in her chest, and her breasts felt swollen. Because these new sensations frightened her, she tried to struggle. But he only held her tighter, not brutally but firmly, and went on kissing her.
His fingers were in her hair, tugging gently, strong and warm at her nape as they turned her face where he wanted it. His mouth pressed roughly against hers and opened softly, teaching hers. Eventually the drugging sweetness of it took the fight out of her. With a tiny sigh she began to relax.
“Open your mouth, Mari,” he murmured in a deep, rough whisper, punctuating the command with a sensual brushing of his open lips against hers.
She obeyed him without hearing him, her body with a new heat, her hands searching over his arms to find hard muscle and warm strength through the fabric. She wanted to touch his skin, to experience every hard line of him. She wanted to open his shirt and touch his chest and see if the wiry softness she could feel through it was thick hair….
Her abandon shocked her back to reality. Her eyes opened and she tugged at his arms, only vaguely aware of the sudden, fierce hunger in his mouth just before he felt her resistance. He lifted his head, taking quick, short breaths, and by the time her eyes opened, he was back in control.
He was watching her, half amused, half mocking. He lifted his mouth, breathing through his nose, and let her move away.
“You little virgin,” he accused in a tone that she didn’t recognize. “You don’t even know how to make love.”
Her swollen lips could barely form words. She had to swallow and try twice to make herself heard. “That wasn’t fair,” she said finally.
“Why not?” he asked. “You tried to kick me, didn’t you?”
“That isn’t the way…a gentleman gets even,” she said, still panting.
“I’m no gentleman,” he assured her, smiling even with those cold green eyes. The smile grew colder as he realized how close he’d come to letting her knock him off balance physically. She was dangerous. Part of him wanted her off the property. But another part was hungry for more of that innocently ardent response he’d won from her. His own emotions confused him. “Haven’t you realized yet why you’re here, Georgia peach?” he asked mockingly. And when she shook her head, he continued, half amused. “Aunt Lillian is matchmaking. She wants you to marry me.”
Mari’s pupils dilated. “Marry you!”
His back stiffened. She didn’t have to make it sound like the rack, did she? He glared down at her. “Well, plenty have wanted to, let me tell you,” he muttered.
“Masochists,” she shot back, humiliated by her aunt, his attitude and that unexpectedly ardent attack just minutes before. “Anyway,” she said salvaging her pride, “Aunt Lillian would never—”
“She did.” He studied her with a cold smile. “But I’m too old for you and too jaded. And I don’t want to risk my heart again. So go home. Fast.”
“It can’t be fast enough to suit me. Honest,” she told him huskily as she tried to catch her breath. “I don’t want to wake up shackled to a man like you.”
“How flattering of you.”
“I want a partner, not a possessor,” she said shakily. “I thought I knew something about men until just now. I don’t know anything at all. And I’ll be delighted to go back home and join a convent!”
“Was it that bad?” he taunted.
“You scare me, big man,” she said and meant it. She backed away from him. “I’ll stick to my own age group from now on, thanks. I’ll bet you’ve forgotten more about making love than I’ll ever learn.”
He smiled slowly, surprised by her frankness. “I probably have. But you’re pretty sweet all the same.”
“Years too young for a renegade like you.”
“I could be tempted,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“I couldn’t. You’d seduce me and leave me pregnant, and Aunt Lillian would quit, and I’d have to go away and invent a husband I didn’t have, and our child would grow up never knowing his father…” she burst out.
His eyes widened. He actually chuckled. “My God, what an imagination.”
“I told you I wanted to be a writer,” she reminded him. “And now, since you’re not dying, would you mind leaving me to pack? I think I can be out of here in ten minutes.”
“She’ll be heartbroken,” he said unexpectedly.
“That’s not my problem.”
“She’s your aunt. Of course it’s your problem,” he returned. “You can’t possibly leave now. She’d—”
“Oh!”
The cry came from downstairs. They looked at each other and both dived for the door, opening it just in time to find Lillian on her back on the bottom step, groaning, one leg in an unnatural position.
Mari rushed down the stairs just behind Ward. “Oh, Aunt Lillian!” she wailed, staring at the strained old face with its pasty complexion. “How could you do this to me?”
“To you?” Lillian bit off, groaning again. “Child, it’s my leg!”
“I was going to leave—” Mari began.
“Leave the dishes for you, no doubt.” Ward jumped in with a warning glance in Mari’s direction. “Isn’t that right, Miss Raymond?” Fate was working for him as usual, he mused. Now he’d have a little time to find out just why this woman disturbed him so much. And to get her well out of his system, one way or another, before she left. He had to prove to himself that Mari wasn’t capable of doing to him what Caroline had done. It was a matter of male pride.
Mari swallowed, wondering whether to go along with Ward. He did look pretty threatening. And huge. “Uh, that’s right. The dishes. But I can do them!” she added brightly.
“It looks like…you may be doing them…for quite a while, if you…don’t mind,” Lillian panted between groans while Wade rushed to the telephone and dialed the emergency service number.
“You poor darling.” Mari sighed, holding Lillian’s wrinkled hand. “What happened?”
“I missed Ward and wondered if he might be…if you might be…” She cleared her throat and stared at Mari through layers of pain. “You didn’t say anything to him?” she asked quickly. “About his…condition?”
Mari bit her tongue. Forgive me for lying, Lord, she thought. She crossed her fingers behind her. “Of course not,” she assured her aunt with a blank smile. “He was just telling me about the ranch.”
“Thank God.” Lillian sank back. “My leg’s broken, you know,” she bit off. She glanced up as Ward rejoined them, scowling down at her. She forced a pitiful smile. “Well, boss, I guess you’ll have to send for your grandmother,” she said slyly.
He glared at her. “Like hell! I just got her off the place! Anyway, why should I?” he continued, bending to hold her other hand. “Your niece won’t mind a little cooking, will she?” he added with a pointed glance at Mari.
Mari shifted restlessly. “Well, actually—”
“Of course she won’t.” Lillian grinned and then grimaced. “Will you, darling? You need to…recuperate.” She chose her words carefully. “From your bad experience,” she added, jerking her head toward Ward, her eyes pleading with her niece. “You know, at the shopping center?”
“Oh. That bad experience.” Mari nodded, glancing at Ward and touching her lower lip where it was slightly swollen.
A corner of his mouth curved up and his eyes twinkled. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” he murmured.
“It was terrible!” Lillian broke in.
“You said it,” Mari agreed blithely, her blue eyes accusing. “Besides, I thought you couldn’t wait to push me out the door.”
“You want her to leave?” Lillian wailed.
“No, I don’t want her to leave,” Ward said with suffering patience. He lifted his chin and stared down his straight nose at Mari, then smiled. “I’ve got plans for her,” he added in a tone that was a threat in itself.
That was what bothered Mari. Now she was trapped by Lillian’s lies and Ward’s allegiance to his housekeeper. She wondered what on earth she was going to do, caught between the two of them, and she wondered why Ward Jessup wanted her to stay. He hated women most of the time, from what Lillian had divulged about him. He wasn’t a marrying man, and he was a notorious womanizer. Surely he wouldn’t try to seduce her. Would he?
She stared at him over Lillian’s supine form with troubled eyes. He had an unscrupulous reputation. She wasn’t so innocent that she hadn’t recognized that evident hunger in his hard mouth just before she’d started fighting him.
But his green eyes mocked her, dared her, challenged her. She’d stay, he told himself. He’d coax her into it. Then he could find some way to make her show her true colors. He was betting there was a little of Caroline’s makeup in her, too. She was just another female despite her innocence. She was a woman, and all women were unscrupulous and calculating. If he could make her drop the disguise, if he could prove she was just like all the other she-cats, he could rid himself of his unexpected lust. Lust, of course, was all it was. He forgave Lillian for her fall. It was going to work right in with his plans. Yes, it was.
Chapter Four
Lillian was comfortably settled in a room in the small Ravine hospital. The doctor had ordered a series of tests—not because of her broken leg but because of her blood pressure reading taken in the emergency room.
“Will she be all right, do you think?” Mari asked Ward as they waited for the doctor to speak to them. For most of the evening they’d been sitting in this waiting room. Ward paced and drank black coffee while Mari just stared into space worriedly. Lillian was her last living relative. Without the older woman she’d be all alone.
“She’s tough,” Ward said noncommittally. He glared at his watch. “My God, I hate waiting! I almost wish I smoked so that I’d have something to help kill the time.”
“You don’t smoke?” Mari said with surprise.
“Never could stand the things,” he muttered. “Clogging up my lungs with smoke never seemed sensible.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “But you drink.”
“Not to excess,” he returned, glancing down at her. “I like whiskey and water once in a blue moon, and I’ll take a drink of white wine. But I won’t do it and drive.” He grinned. “All those commercials got to me. Those crashing beer glasses stick in my mind.”
She smiled back a little shyly. “I don’t drink at all.”
“I guess not, tenderfoot,” he murmured. “You aren’t old enough to need to.”
“My dad used to say that it isn’t the age, it’s the mileage.”
His eyebrows arched. “How much mileage do you have, lady?” he taunted. “You look and feel pretty green to me.”
Her face colored furiously, and she hated that knowing look on his dark face. “Listen here, Mr. Jessup—”
“Mr. Jessup.” His name was echoed by a young resident physician, who came walking up in a white coat holding a clipboard. He shook hands with Ward and nodded as he was introduced tersely to Mari.
“She’ll be all right,” he told the two brusquely. “But I’d like to keep her one more day and run some more tests. She’s furious, but I think it’s for the best. Her blood pressure was abnormally high when we admitted her and it still is. I think that she might have had a slight stroke and that it caused her fall.”
Mari had sudden horrible visions and went pale. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
“I said, I think,” the young doctor emphasized and then smiled. “She might have lost her balance for a number of reasons. That’s why I want to run the tests. Even a minor ear infection or sinusitis could have caused it. I want to know for sure. But one thing’s certain, and that’s her attitude toward the high blood pressure medication she hasn’t been taking.”
Ward and Mari exchanged puzzled glances. “I wasn’t aware that she had high blood pressure medication,” Ward said.
“I guessed that,” the young doctor said ruefully. “She was diagnosed a few weeks ago by Dr. Bradley. She didn’t even get the prescription filled.” He sighed. “She seems to look upon it as a death sentence, which is absurd. It’s not, if she just takes care of herself.”
“She will from now on,” Mari promised. “If I have to roll the pills up in steak and trick them into her.”
The young resident grinned from ear to ear. “You have pets?”
“I used to have a cat,” Mari confided. “And the only way I could get medicine into him was by tricking him. Short of rolling him up in a towel.”
Ward glared at her. “That’s no way to treat a sick animal.”
She lifted her thin eyebrows. “And how would you do it?”
“Force his mouth open and shove the pills down his throat, of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “Before you say it,” he added when her mouth opened, “try rolling a half-ton bull in a towel!”
The young doctor covered his mouth while Mari glared up at the taciturn oilman.
“I’ll get the pills into her, regardless,” Mari assured the doctor. She glanced at Ward Jessup. “And it won’t be by having them forced down her throat like a half-ton bull!”
“When will you know something?” Ward asked.
“I’ll have the tests by early afternoon, and I’ll confer with Dr. Bradley. If you can be here about four o’clock, I’ll have something to tell you,” the young man said.
“Thank you, Doctor…?”
“Jackson,” he replied, smiling. “And don’t worry too much,” he told Mari. “She’s a strong-willed woman. I’d bet on her.”
They stopped by Lillian’s room and found her half sedated, fuming and glaring as she sat propped up in bed.
“Outrageous!” Lillian burst out the minute they entered the room. “They won’t give back my clothes. They’re making me spend the night in this icebox, and they won’t feed me or give me a blanket!”
“Now, now.” Mari laughed gently and bent to kiss the thin face. “You’re going to be fine. They said so. They just want to run a few more tests. You’ll be out of here in no time.”
That reassured the older woman a little, but her beady black eyes went to Ward for reassurance. He wouldn’t lie to her. Not him. “Am I all right?” she asked.
“You might have had a stroke,” he said honestly, ignoring Mari’s shocked glare. “They want to find out.”
Lillian sighed. “I figured that. I sure did. Well,” she said, brightening, “you two will have to get along without me for a day or so.” That seemed to cheer her up, too. Her eyes twinkled at the thought of them alone together in the house.
Ward could read her mind. He wanted to wring her neck, too, but he couldn’t hurt a sick lady. First he had to get her well.
“I’ll take good care of baby sister, here,” he said, nodding toward Mari, and grinned.
Lillian’s face fell comically. “She’s not that young,” she faltered.
“Aunt Lillian!” Mari said, outraged. “Remember my horrible experience!”
“Oh, that.” Lillian nibbled her lip. “Oh. That!” She cleared her throat, her eyes widened. “Well…”
“I’ll help her get over it,” Ward promised. He glanced down at Mari. “She’s offered to help me get some of my adventures in the oil business down on paper. Wasn’t that nice? And on her vacation, too,” he added.
Lillian brightened. Good. They weren’t talking about his “fatal illness” or her “brutal attack.” With any luck they wouldn’t stumble onto the truth until they were hooked on each other! She actually smiled. “Yes, how sweet of you, Mari!”
Although Mari felt like screaming, she smiled at her aunt. “Yes. Well, I thought it would give me something interesting to do. In between cooking and cleaning and such.”
Lillian frowned. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said, indicating her leg.
“Get well,” Ward said shortly. “Don’t be sorry. And one more thing. Whether or not this fall was caused by your blood pressure, you’re taking those damned pills from now on. I’m going to ride herd on you like a fanatical ramrod on a trail drive. Got that?”
“Yes, sir, boss,” Lillian said, pleased by his concern. She hadn’t realized she mattered so much to anyone. Even Mari seemed worried. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll do what they tell me.”
“Good for you,” Ward replied. He cocked his head. “They said it could have been an ear infection or sinusitis, too. So don’t go crazy worrying about a stroke. Did you black out before you went down?” he persisted.
Lillian sighed. “Not completely. I just got real dizzy.”
He smiled. “That’s reassuring.”
“I hope so. Now, you two go home,” Lillian muttered. “Let me sleep. Whatever they gave me is beginning to work with a vengeance.” She closed her eyes as they said their goodbyes, only to open them as they started to leave. “Mari, he likes his eggs scrambled with a little milk in them,” she said. “And don’t make the coffee too weak.”
“I’ll manage,” Mari promised. “Just get well. You’re all I have.”
“I know.” Lillian sighed as they closed the door behind them. “That’s what worries me so.”
But they didn’t hear that troubled comment. Mari was fuming all the way to the car.
“You shouldn’t have told her what the doctor said.” She glowered at him as they drove out of the parking lot.
“You don’t know her very well,” he returned. He pulled into the traffic without blinking. Ravine had grown in the past few years, and the traffic was growing with it, but speeding cars didn’t seem to bother him.
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