by Diana Palmer
“We can’t...!” she burst out, aware of murmuring voices somewhere close by.
“Like hell we can’t,” he said shortly. “Come here...!”
But even through the fever that was consuming him, he heard the footsteps coming up behind them and the soft creak of the wrought iron gate.
He stopped in his tracks, his eyes blazing with sudden need. “What are you doing to me?” he asked huskily.
“I could ask you the same question,” she said in a shaky voice. She gently disentangled her fingers from his and turned away, thoroughly disoriented, as Aggie and Ned joined them on the porch.
“Ned wants to meet some of my friends,” Aggie said, leaning gently against Ned’s hard arm. “So how about helping me organize a party, Gaby?”
CHAPTER SIX
THAT BOWIE WAS furious about the upcoming party became quickly evident. He excused himself and went out the back door with his pearly gray Stetson tilted at a furious angle across his brow. He didn’t come back until late evening, then he walked straight into his study with only one long, hungry glance in Gaby’s direction before he vanished for the rest of the evening.
“Bowie’s going to be one big headache, isn’t he?” Aggie sighed after Ned had gone to bed. Bowie was still shut up in the study with the phone, making business calls.
“He’s worried about you,” Gaby said simply. “He just doesn’t know how to express it.”
Aggie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you worried?”
Gaby lowered her gaze to the floor. “Aggie, your life is your own business. I really shouldn’t interfere.”
“But?” the older woman prompted with a knowing smile.
“What do you know about Mr. Courtland?” the younger woman asked.
Aggie curled up on the sofa in her stocking feet. “He’s kind. He doesn’t put on airs. He likes children and animals. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He was married, but his wife died of cancer nine years ago. They had no children of their own.” She lifted soft eyes to Gaby’s. “And I think I’m in love with him.”
Gaby whistled noiselessly. “Oh, boy.”
“But how he feels is anybody’s guess,” Aggie added solemnly. “He seems to enjoy my company, and he didn’t start looking for excuses when I invited him here. But he’s very close-lipped about his feelings.” She seemed to slump. “He hasn’t even kissed me. He’s very old-fashioned. There were younger women making a play for him on the cruise. Even for his age, he’s very attractive, but he didn’t give them the time of day. He stayed with me.” She smiled, reminiscing. “I got lost in Montego Bay and couldn’t find my way back to the tour jitney. He rescued me and got me back to the hotel. After that, he was always around when we went sightseeing. After the second day, we seemed to be inseparable.”
“He seems very nice. But...”
“But what?”
“There’s something hidden in him,” Gaby replied, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Not something devious, just secretive. He seems to find Bowie’s attitude amusing, although he hides it well. And he’d better.” She chuckled. “Your son seems to be searching for a way to get at him.”
“Something I noticed immediately. I noticed something else, too,” she added, eyeing Gaby. “You and Bowie were holding hands.”
Gaby hated the flushed skin on her cheeks. She picked at the sofa. “Yes, we were.”
“Has he made a pass at you yet?” Aggie grinned.
“Not a real one.”
“That will come,” the older woman said. “He may not seem like a ladies’ man, my darling, but you’d better believe that the experience is there. Don’t ever underestimate him.”
Gaby looked up. “Shame on you,” she said gently. “Bowie’s the last man on earth who’d ever seduce me out of some casual need.”
Aggie’s eyes widened. “Well, my goodness...!”
“He scares me, Aggie,” she burst out involuntarily. She wrapped her arms around herself. “But it’s not a kind of scared that I’ve ever been. He...shakes me up inside.”
“I can identify with that,” Aggie laughed softly, and her face was young all at once, excited. “You know, I loved my husband,” she said, “but his whole life was the company. He was always working—nights, weekends, holidays. I lived in his shadow and took what he gave without making any demands on his time, but it was a shallow relationship. I gave, he took. With Ned, it’s...different. I can talk to him. He doesn’t shut me out. He tells me what he feels, what he thinks. I feel so close to him, even when we aren’t touching.” She shrugged. “Imagine, at my age, feeling like a shy girl with a man.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Gaby said quietly. She studied the high-cheekboned face that had, in its day, been beautiful. “You’ve been alone for a long time. Don’t be afraid to go out and get what you want, Aggie. It’s a different world today. Don’t let Bowie overwhelm you. He means well, but he doesn’t see both sides of issues. He only sees the side he’s fighting for.”
“Yes, I know. Copeland raised him that way. He loves me, in his fashion, but I was never able to get close to Bowie. He shut me out. In a way, he’s still doing that.” She laughed gently. “You were so much easier to love, my darling. My son is a hard case.”
“He loves you, though,” Gaby said. “He really does.”
Aggie’s dark eyes were suddenly piercing. “What do you feel for Bowie, Gaby?” she asked softly.
Now there, Gaby thought dazedly, was a question. Her heart ran wild. What did she feel for him? Just a fiery arousal of the senses, a stirring of physical sensation that she’d never known? Or was there more to it—feelings that she’d submerged for years: It was a question that she might have to answer all too soon, and she was nervous of it.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice a shadow of its usual self.
Aggie pursed her lips. “Well, don’t brood about it, darling,” she said gently, and patted the other woman’s hand. “Time takes care of most everything. Now. Whom shall we invite to my ‘coming out’ party?” she asked with twinkling dark eyes.
It was just the right diversion. They made a list of prospective guests—mostly from Aggie’s friends, but a few from Bowie’s.
“Probably that is a mistake,” she mused, pointing to two of Bowie’s boyhood cronies. “Ted and Mike were always all for anything Bowie wanted to do, and they still are. He’ll sic them on me, too.”
“I’ll save you, Aggie,” Gaby assured her.
“Will you, really?” The older woman grinned. “Then who’s going to save you?”
That was an interesting question, and Gaby didn’t have a pat answer for it. Disturbing images of Bowie as she’d seen him at the pool house drifted across her mind while she listened to Aggie ramble on about the guest list and the catering. His sudden and unexpected ardor had startled her. It had been so sweet, feeling that way about a man for the first time in her life—feeling wanted without fear. Bowie was experienced, all right—she didn’t need Aggie to tell her that. She’d known just by the velvet soft tone of his deep voice, by the look on his face, the intent in his dark eyes. He’d stirred her so easily with just his voice, without even touching her. She could hardly breathe when she tried to imagine what it would be like to have him kiss her in passion.
But it worried her as well. Bowie was coming on strong, and she was a cautious woman—very cautious. She didn’t want to involve herself in a situation that was totally without resolution. Being physically attracted to Bowie was one thing; contemplating intimacy with him was something quite different. She couldn’t tell him why she was afraid of love-making, or that she was concerned that she wouldn’t be capable of giving herself in intimacy. The lack of explanation would disturb him, but his ego would suffer if she led him to believe she wanted him and then pulled back. She’d been accused once of being a tease, which was almost laugha
ble, considering her past. The man hadn’t been anyone she cared about; in fact, he’d been a pest. But the sharp memory had stung her pride, and she didn’t want Bowie to say such things about her.
The thing was, she had no intimate experience with men, and it put her in a bad situation with Bowie.
Aggie had just penciled in the name of a caterer when Bowie came out of the study with a cigarette in his hand. His head was bare, his boots off, so that he was walking around the floor in his white stockinged feet. His shirt was out of his jeans and open down the front, and Gaby felt her heart racing at the sight of all that lean, tanned muscle, with its rippling mat of hair running down past the hand-tooled leather belt with its fancy picture jasper buckle.
Bowie liked the way she was looking at him. He could pick the thoughts right out of her mind. He smiled slowly, a predatory kind of smile that made her blush.
“Did you get through with your work?” Aggie asked him.
“Most of it,” he said. “We’ve got an apartment complex going up in Colorado that I may have to check on later in the week. I’ve got a good crew up there, but I like to make sure.”
“How many crews do you have?” Gaby asked, because she was genuinely curious. “You sent one to Canada, you said.”
“That’s right. I’ve got several gangs of workers,” he replied. “We’re a big company, Gaby. We bid on jobs all over the country, and even in other countries.”
“But how do you know how much to bid?”
He laughed softly. “That’s a long story. I have people who can estimate a job right down to the last nail. After that, it’s a matter of averaging out the cost of the job with an acceptable profit, and still undercutting the competition.”
“Copeland was a past master at it,” Aggie recalled. “He taught Bowie.”
“Losing two big jobs in a row at the beginning taught me a lot, too,” Bowie murmured dryly. He stretched, muscles rippling under dark skin. “God, I’m tired. Did you two iron out the guest list for the party?” He glanced at his mother. “I hope you remembered to put Ted and Mike on the list.”
She glared at him. “How could I forget? But don’t you dare incite those boys to join your plot against me, Bowie. And don’t forget that two can play at that game.”
He pursed his lips. “Game?”
“The Academy Awards have already been doled out,” Aggie said imperturbably as she got to her feet. She glanced from Bowie’s speculative gaze at Gaby, to Gaby’s flushed cheeks, and smiled. “Come on, Gaby,” she murmured with a speaking glance in Bowie’s direction. “We’ll go up together. You can get the lights, can’t you, dear?” she asked her son.
“I can get the lights,” he agreed with narrowed eyes. “Good night, Mother, Gaby.”
Gaby nodded. She didn’t dare look at him, because he’d see her disappointment. She’d thought that Aggie might go to bed and leave them alone, and if she did, Bowie might kiss her. The thought had made her body sing with anticipation, but Aggie was going to put paid to that sweet hope. The message was getting through, loud and clear. If they were going to interfere, so was Aggie.
“Sleep well, darling,” Aggie told her son with a wicked smile. She went up the stairs beside Gaby, humming a cheerful little tune.
Behind them, Bowie was watching their progress with eyes that were as amused as they were frustrated. He wondered if Gaby was as disappointed as he was, and if his mother intended to spend her time at the ranch keeping them apart. She was telling him that he’d better keep his nose out of her friendship with Ned Courtland.
Ned Courtland had been much on his mind. He’d heard from Aggie that the man supposedly lived in Jackson, Wyoming, but his discreet inquiries tonight hadn’t netted him any information about their mysterious house guest. He was even more suspicious now than he had been. Who was Ned Courtland, and why was he after Aggie? Somehow, he had to find out before any damage was done.
Gaby took a shower and changed into her nightgown, a brief, yellow silk delight that fit her body like a second skin. It was cut low in front, emphasizing her high, firm breasts and narrow waist, flaring to softly curved hips and long, elegant legs. Her figure was a perfect twelve—not quite voluptuous, but very noticeable—which was why she spent so much time camouflaging it. She didn’t like men staring at it. On the other hand, it didn’t bother her to think of Bowie looking at her.
She flushed, remembering the exquisitely masculine lines of his own body without clothing. She hid her face in her hands and wondered if she’d ever forget what she’d seen. The newness of her attraction to him was as disturbing as his sudden interest in her.
She lay down on the cover of the bed, her eyes on the ceiling. Even though she had every reason to be afraid of men, she wasn’t afraid of Bowie. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel his arms and his hands on her. She wanted...
She actually moaned, stretching sensually on the covers, her body on fire for the first time in her life. She didn’t understand the trembling need in it, the stark hunger for something she couldn’t even put a name to. She closed her eyes and forced her mind to focus on the party. Bowie was making her all too vulnerable.
* * *
AGGIE WAS UP at the crack of dawn, standing outside on the patio to watch the sunrise in her neat white dress, when footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to find Ned there, bareheaded, his dark, silver-streaked hair still damp from a shower, his gray plaid shirt carelessly unbuttoned at the throat. His face was pensive as he studied her.
“Your son doesn’t want me here,” he said quietly. “He thinks I’m a gigolo on the make. What do you think?”
Aggie smiled at him shyly. “I think you’re a very nice man with impeccable manners who made my holiday unforgettable.” She lowered her eyes to his chest. “I’m sorry Bowie’s such hard going. He thinks you may be a permanent guest, I suppose...”
“He thinks right.” He moved closer, no trace of amusement in his dark eyes as he stopped just in front of Aggie and pulled her against him. “I want you.” He bent his head and kissed her.
At no time in her life had Aggie been kissed like that, not even by her late husband. She gasped under his hard mouth and stiffened, but he didn’t back away so much as a fraction of an inch. His hard arms tightened and the kiss deepened. She was shocked to find that she could still feel desire. She reached up and slid her arms around his neck, letting him hold her more intimately. Her body trembled against his, and she heard him whisper something roughly under his breath. As the kiss grew harder, Aggie let her eyes close helplessly. Love, she thought, could be so painful at her age.
A long moment later Ned lifted his head. He had tasted tears on her soft mouth. His dark eyes searched hers. “Why the tears, Aggie?”
“You’ll go home...!” she whispered, and her voice broke.
“No!” His lean hands came up to frame her face, to brush away the tears. “My God, I’m not leaving you—not now, not ever! Aggie,” he breathed, “I love you!”
She wasn’t certain that she’d heard him, but he repeated it. When he kissed her again, it echoed in her whirling mind, bringing spring to the winter of her heart, blossoming in her like roses in a barren garden. She whispered the words back to him, glorying in the newness of loving. She thought she heard a sound nearby, but she was too lost in Ned to care what it was, or whom.
* * *
BY THE TIME Gaby woke up, dressed, and got downstairs after a totally disturbing night, the rest of the family was already at the breakfast table. Bowie was wearing a chambray shirt with jeans and boots, brooding as he ate.
Aggie was talking to Ned Courtland. His hair was faintly disheveled and his face was closed. His thin lips pursed as he listened to Aggie, but his mind was obviously somewhere else. Aggie herself had dressed to the teeth in a white, Mexican-style dress. With her hair neatly brushed and makeup on, her dark eyes sparkl
ed with new fire. She was actually glowing.
“Good morning,” Gaby told them, sitting down next to Bowie. Aggie was at the other end of the table, and Ned Courtland was at Bowie’s other side.
“Good morning,” Aggie said.
Gaby felt a little uneasy in her form-fitting olive green blouse and neat jeans. Her tanned arms were bare under the short sleeves and the vee-neck was more revealing than anything she’d ever worn before. She felt Bowie’s eyes on her.
“I hope you slept well, Mr. Courtland?” she asked.
“I slept very well, Miss Cane,” he replied. He smiled back at her, but when his eyes moved down the table to Aggie, his smile changed. “Aggie and I were up at dawn, watching the sunrise.”
“It was lovely,” Aggie said, and blushed.
Bowie clanged his fork against his plate. “I’ve got to help Montoya do some work in the garage this morning,” he muttered, rising. “One of the trucks is running rough, and Bandy’s busy breaking new horses for the remuda.”
“Bandy’s too rough with them,” Gaby murmured, glancing at the other three faces. Something was very wrong. She could feel the tension in the atmosphere, and she wondered what she’d missed.
“Can’t be helped,” Bowie said quietly. “We don’t have time to gentle each horse individually.”
“I’d make time,” Ned Courtland said, lifting his head. “A horse is a creature with feeling and intelligence. Raking him with spurs will break his spirit.”
There was a distinct challenge in the very set of the older man’s head, and Bowie smiled coolly as he met it head-on. “We don’t use big roweled spurs on our stock,” he told Courtland. “When Gaby says that Bandy’s rough, she doesn’t mean that he whips the horses bloody or beats them. He simply rides them down until they give in, and the horses always have an equal chance. Bandy’s had two broken ribs in the past six months.”