Friends and Lovers

by Diana Palmer

  She relaxed. But only a little. The memories were going to come rushing back the minute she walked through the door, and she was afraid of them.

  Her eyes scanned John’s rugged face. What would he do, she wondered, if she looked him in the eye and said, “John, I’m pregnant?” A tiny mischievous smile flared in her eyes and died before she lifted them. He’d probably faint, she thought. After which…She didn’t dare think about afterward. Her fingers clutched her purse firmly. She had to control herself.

  “Okay,” she said. “Where did the steak come from? The ranch?”

  He gaped at her with an appalled expression. “The ranch? My God, I don’t run beef cattle!”

  She blinked. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Is one of those pedigreed, mangy old cows of yours too good to serve to your friend?” she prodded.

  He shifted impatiently. “Those ‘mangy old cows’ bring around twenty-five thousand dollars or more at auction. They’re purebred. You don’t eat purebred breeding cattle.”

  “Why not? Do you have to eat the papers with them?”

  He drew in a slow breath. “God give me patience…”

  “He did not,” she pointed out. “You have absolutely no patience.”

  “I did once,” he reminded her with a slow, tender smile.

  She blushed to the roots of her hair and caught her breath, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

  There was a short pause before he asked, quietly, “Are you still ashamed of what happened?”

  Now there was a question. She looked out the window at the beautiful night-lights of the city. “Isn’t Houston pretty at night?” she asked with forced brightness.

  He only laughed, and it sounded vaguely predatory.

  ***

  The steak was incredibly tender. Josito served it with homemade rolls, baked potatoes smothered in sour cream and a cold, crisp salad. There was a peach cobbler for dessert. Madeline ate as if it were going to be her last meal, aware of John’s amused gaze the whole time.

  “Well, it was delicious,” she said defensively, her lower lip thrusting out at him.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he replied. He got up, holding her chair for her, and led her into the living room.

  “Brandy?” he asked.

  She almost accepted it, then changed her mind. Alcohol wouldn’t be good for the baby.

  He smiled as he went to pour himself a small whiskey, eyeing her over the rim of the glass.

  “Rather have whiskey?” he chided, and laughed when she made a horrible face.

  He leaned back against the bar and stood just looking at her, his silvery eyes glancing over every rounded inch of her body with a purely possessive boldness.

  She lifted her chin. “Looking for rips in the material?” she asked politely.

  He shook his head, still smiling. “It becomes you, honey,” he said in a deep, hushed tone.

  Her eyes immediately became suspicious. “What does?”

  “Gaining weight, of course. I’ve noticed, you know,” he muttered as he raised the glass to his lips and sipped the amber liquid. “What did you think I meant?”

  She flushed, looking away. “Nothing.”

  He laughed softly as he moved to sit down beside her on the plush couch. She glanced at him warily, remembering the last time they’d shared this sofa, and what it had led to.

  “Don’t look so threatened,” he murmured gently. “I promised not to touch you, didn’t I?”

  “You do it very well with your eyes, John Durango,” she informed him. He was very close, and she felt the impact of that closeness—the warmth of him, the clean, male scent of his cologne. She crossed her legs and tightened the clasp of her fingers in her lap.

  He sighed deeply, leaning back. His eyes closed, and he looked as if he’d just returned from months in the desert.

  “Tired?” she asked with involuntary concern.

  His mouth smiled under the bushy mustache. “Dead. I’ve kept up a killing work schedule.” One eye opened, watching her. “Not to mention being out of sorts with you.”

  She flushed. “Don’t put all the blame on me, if you please,” she bristled. “It was your suspicious mind that started the whole thing.”

  He shook his head. “No, honey, it was taking you to bed that started it.” He caught her eyes, his head turning sideways against the back of the sofa, and there was an expression in them that made her tingle all over. “Was it as rough on you as it was on me, having a sword between us?”

  She nodded. “We’ve been very close over the years, and I didn’t realize how much time we spent together until we weren’t doing it anymore.” She smiled wistfully. “I…felt alone.”

  “So did I.” He caught her fingers in his big, warm ones and held them gently. “Madeline, suppose we…spent a lot more time together.”

  “How do you mean?”

  He took a deep breath and looked straight into her curious eyes. “I mean, why don’t we get married?”

  She felt the shock of the words right down to her toes. She froze, staring at him as though she’d gone mute.

  He grimaced. “Damn, I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I meant to lead up to it…well, it’s too late now,” he said stubbornly, his jaw tightening. “Will you?”

  Her lips tried to make words, trembled, and tried again. “We…you said you’d never marry again,” she faltered.

  “So I changed my mind,” he growled. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and retrieved his gold-plated lighter from his pocket.

  She watched him light the cigarette, startled at the suddenness of his proposal. He said he wanted to marry her, yet he had never spoken of love. If he loved her, how could he have treated her the way he had the past six weeks? It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. And then there was the baby….

  If only she could trust him not to hurt her the way he had before. But if he had reacted so violently to the mere sight of Donald in her bedroom, how would he react to the news that she was pregnant? Would she ever be able to convince him that the child was his, not Donald’s? She didn’t think she could bear the hurt of having him turn away from her again. She wished she had the time to be sure of his feelings, to build up his trust in her. But time was one thing she didn’t have. In another month or so her pregnancy would begin to show…. Oh, God, it was an impossible situation.

  “I can’t marry you,” she said at last.

  He studied her quietly, smiling at the fear and uncertainty he read in her lovely face. “Oh, I think you will,” he murmured. “All you need is a chance to get used to the idea. I always get my way, honey, and I happen to want you like hell.” His voice lowered, softened. “Now more than ever.”

  That light in his eyes puzzled her.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  His darkening eyes slid down every taut inch of her body in the clinging black dress, and he smiled wickedly. “You’d be shocked at the reasons,” he murmured. “Come here and I’ll show you a few of them.”

  She grabbed up her purse from the coffee table and walked deliberately toward the door. “Goodbye, John,” she ground out. “Thanks for the steak.”

  “How were you planning to get home?” he asked politely.

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob, thinking. “I’ll get a cab.”

  He chuckled. “Wait a minute. I’ll have Josito run you over to the house. And this time I won’t insist on going along. Does that brighten your evening?”

  “Yes,” she said defiantly.

  But he only smiled, getting up from the sofa like a big, graceful cat. “Just remember, Satin. You’ll see it my way sooner or later.”

  ***

  The house was beginning to look like a florist’s shop. Every day there was another dozen roses—red ones, pink ones, white ones, apricot ones—from John.

  If he wasn’t sending flowers, he was calling. Or having food delivered—he knew she wouldn’t make herself breakfast, so
he had Josito run over with hot plates of bacon, eggs and homemade biscuits every morning. And she found out the first day that if she didn’t eat them, he’d simply keep sending the poor little man back with more until she did. For Josito’s sake, she cleared the plate.

  But she wouldn’t talk to him, despite the fact that he phoned six times a day, at regular intervals. She was afraid to talk to him, she admitted to herself. John could bulldoze a brick wall, he was so persuasive, but this was one decision she had to make on her own. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do that with John around. For once in his life John Durango was going to learn that he couldn’t always get his way through sheer force of will.

  She went to the grocery store Friday afternoon, as was her habit, parking in her usual spot. But she’d no sooner gotten out of the car than she was aware of being watched.

  She stopped in front of a bake-sale table outside the store entrance as John Durango came striding up on the sidewalk, wearing a blue pin-striped suit, his familiar white Stetson and a furious black scowl.

  “Why in hell won’t you talk to me?” he growled. “Don’t you like the damned roses?”

  “I have to like them,” she countered angrily, “they’ve covered up two rooms. I’m using them to stuff pillows, to flavor soups, to decorate cakes…. I’m even bathing in the damned things!”

  “I thought you liked roses.”

  “I do, but I didn’t want to be buried in them!” she wailed. “I’ve long ago run out of vases. All my cooking pots are now full of roses—I’ll starve!”

  He brightened. “I’ll have Josito bring over lunch and supper, too.”

  “No!” she burst out, aware of the curious, amused looks they were getting from the three bake-sale ladies. “Breakfast is enough, thank you. I can manage the rest. You know I hate breakfast,” she added accusingly.

  “You’ve been ill,” he replied stubbornly, his lower lip jutting out. “You need to get your strength back.” He grinned. “If you’d marry me, I could fatten you up. I could spoon-feed you your meals.”

  “I am not, repeat not, going to marry you!” she burst out in exasperation. “Please, John. Just go away!”

  “Not until you say yes,” he replied. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got all day free. I’ll just tag along with you.”

  “In that case, you’re going to get pretty hungry, aren’t you?” she asked, her lips pursing thoughtfully.

  He shrugged. “I’ll get a bite to eat somewhere along the way.”

  “Oh, allow me to take care of that little problem for you.” She turned, studying the array of foodstuffs. “Lemon meringue,” she said to John, picking up a pie. “Your favorite, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

  Holding the pie in one hand, she dug out a five dollar bill and handed it to one of the ladies at the table with a nice smile.

  “Here, darling,” she told John, batting her eyelashes at him. “Enjoy it.”

  And she reached up and smashed it in the middle of his face.

  ***

  She’d thought the pie would discourage him. But the next morning when she went out to jog down the street, hoping it would get her started after a sleepless night, the sound of a car caught her ear.

  She moved over to the side of the road to let it pass, idly wondering why anyone sane would be up at this ungodly hour—besides crazy pregnant women who couldn’t seem to sit still, that was. But when several seconds went by and the car still didn’t pass, she looked over her shoulder.

  There, behind her, keeping pace with her graceful movements, was the white Rolls, Josito at the wheel and John leaning out the open back window, grinning at her through his neatly trimmed black mustache.

  Chapter Ten

  “Good morning,” John said.

  “Good morning,” she returned curtly, ignoring him as she continued to jog. She counted her steps: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

  “Nice weather we’re having,” he persisted, gazing up through the thick green leaves on the hardwood trees that lined the street. “For early summer, that is.”

  “Very nice,” she panted. She forced herself not to look at him.

  “Why don’t you take a breather and ride along with us?” John invited after a minute.

  She glared at him. “Why don’t you get out of that car and take a little exercise? Didn’t you used to say that executives who sat at desks went to seed?”

  There was a pause, the sound of a door opening and closing, and a minute later John was jogging along beside her with Josito pacing them in the luxurious car.

  Even in worn jeans and a yellow knit shirt, he looked elegant, she thought, approving of his big, muscular body against her will as he trotted lazily alongside her.

  “You really look like him this morning,” she murmured.

  “Like whom?”

  “That guy on TV,” she teased. “Except that he wears sneakers, not boots.”

  He grinned, one side of the mustache lifting. “In the series, he couldn’t afford boots.”

  “I reckon not, partner,” she drawled.

  He glanced at her. “Thanks for the pie, by the way. What I tasted of it was delicious.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, really I am, it just seemed the thing to do at the time.”

  “Like lobbing that plate of spaghetti into my lap?” he mused.

  “I thought you liked spaghetti!”

  “I used to,” he agreed. He glanced at her. “You’re damned pale. Feel okay?”

  “Sure,” she lied. Actually, she was feeling pretty green. But she was determined not to let it show. She started counting mentally again.

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous we look?” she asked a minute later, darting a glance toward the Rolls. “Jogging in front of a Rolls Royce at five-thirty on a Saturday morning?”

  He laughed softly. “We’ve done crazier things,” he reminded her. “How about the night we walked home in the rain from Jones Hall after the concert and got soaked to the skin?”

  “Or the time we overbalanced that little boat when we were fishing and fell into the lake, fully clothed?” She grinned. “We’ve had some good times together.”

  “They’re not over, either,” he replied. “Not by a long shot, Satin.”

  She stopped suddenly, fighting the nausea as she gazed up at him. She swallowed, breathing unsteadily. “John, I think I’m going to faint,” she managed.

  He caught her on her way to the sidewalk and lifted her easily in his hard arms. “Madeline, what’s the matter?” he asked, his voice taut, concerned. “Madeline!”

  “I…I just felt faint,” she whispered, resting her head against his warm, broad chest, breathing in the male scent of his big body with a sense of homecoming. “A little sick…”

  He muttered something that sounded like the worst kind of swearwords, striding quickly toward the Rolls where Josito was holding the back door open.

  “Drive until you run out of gas,” he told Josito as he got into the backseat with Madeline on his lap. He closed the door, then the curtain between them and the front seat.

  Josito got behind the wheel and minutes later they were under way.

  “I thought you said that damned doctor gave you a clean bill of health,” he growled down at her.

  “He did,” she said stubbornly. She drew an unsteady breath and relaxed against him, savoring his strength. “Don’t fuss at me, John, I feel dreadful.”

  His arms tightened gently. “Want something cold to drink?” he asked. “A Coke? Something slushy with ice?”

  She nuzzled against him. “Ice would be lovely.”

  “No sooner said than done.” He moved, his arm stretching. “Josito, take us by that new ice-cream place.”

  “Sí, señor. Is the señorita okay?”

  “I reckon,” he growled.

  “I really am,” she murmured weakly. “Or I will be when I get my breath back. I ju
st overdid it a little. I haven’t jogged in a while, you know,” she said, eager to convince him that it was nothing serious. John, being John, would think nothing of walking into any doctor’s office he happened to come to and carrying her straight into an examination room. He had the arrogance of high position and great wealth, and he used it when he needed to.

  “You’re not going to do anything silly, are you?” she asked, thinking aloud. She eased her head back on his broad shoulder, staring uneasily up at his hard, lined face. “John, I’ll be okay. I really will.”

  The lines didn’t smooth out. His glittering silver eyes ran over her like loving hands searching for broken bones. “You scare me sometimes,” he said enigmatically. His voice was husky, concerned.

  She smiled. “I’m not trying to shoot the rapids, am I?” she laughed. “Or hang glide…”

  “My God, shut up,” he sighed roughly, leaning back against the seat and drawing her with him. “If you get sick just running, imagine how you’d feel soaring down some damned mountain? I haven’t forgotten the day you decided to try parachuting,” he added with a black glare.

  She shifted uncomfortably and settled closer against his warm body. “I didn’t put the tree in the way,” she reminded him.

  “It took me the better part of an hour to cut you loose,” he grumbled. “After I spent a damned hour scouring the woods looking for you. You’re lucky it took me that long.”

  She made a face at him. “Then you must have been in a nasty temper. You bawled me out as it was!”

  “And it served you right, you little daredevil,” he said unsympathetically. “Madeline, don’t you even think about pulling anything that stupid now,” he added in a challenging tone, his jaw set.

  Her heart jumped. She tried to breathe normally while she stared into his hard eyes. Did he know more about her condition than he was letting on? She tried to recall some of the strange remarks he’d made to her lately.

  “Not until you get over this damned virus,” he added in a minute, and she relaxed unconsciously.

  “They do…hang on,” she murmured.