"I'd get dishpan hands." He chuckled. He glared at Logan. "That was a low blow, what you did in the hall."
Logan didn't look up from his scrambled eggs. "Yes, it was. I'll kill myself if you like."
Emmett didn't believe he'd heard that from his staid cousin, so he ignored it.
Kit didn't. Logan didn't sound like himself. She stared at him until he lifted his head, and what she saw in his eyes then made her blush furiously and look away.
Logan felt his fingers tremble on his fork. Damn it, what was happening to him? Only this morning, he'd been in complete control of his life. Or had he? He hadn't phoned Betsy to say he was leaving for San Antonio, or offered to bring her with him. He hadn't even phoned the office to tell them where he was. Chris would be dragged in to sub for him, which would make his brother furious. And why had he come dashing out here in the first place? To save Kit from Emmett.
That threat, at least, certainly seemed real enough. Emmett stared at her dreamily and kept making veiled references to how well he could provide for a new wife. The kids wanted to take her hunting with them, he added, which was a real honor.
"No, thanks." She chuckled. "I'd look sad with arrows sticking out all over me."
"Oh, none of that," Emmett protested. "They hunt with those electronic spotting guns. Toys, you know. I wouldn't dream of turning them loose with real bullets!"
"Did you know that if you get close enough with a radio signal you can ignite a dynamite cap?" Polk asked conversationally, which caused his father to choke on his biscuit.
"Out!" Tansy told the three, who had finished eating, while she hit Emmett on the back to dislodge the biscuit.
"I didn't say we'd ever done it," Polk muttered defensively. "Anyway, we couldn't get the man to sell us any dynamite."
"Oh, my God!" Emmett wailed.
"Wouldn't you like to enlist them in the Marine Corps?" Logan suggested. "You could lie about their ages."
"You won't feel like that when you have kids of your own," came the droll reply. "Flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood..."
"Speaking of blood, they're after the cat again," Tansy remarked.
Emmett muttered something violent and went to yell out the window. When he came back, he looked even older.
"I can't stand it. Please, for God's sake, marry me!" he pleaded with Kit, dropping to his knees by her chair and draping one long, muscular arm over her lap. "I'll reform. I'll stay home and cook barbecued ribs and breakfast and manage old man Regan's ranch. Anything. Just save me from those kids!"
Kit doubled over laughing. She just shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but I really can't. I have to find missing people."
He looked up at her thoughtfully, his lips pursed, one eye narrowed. "Find people, do you? Okay. How are you at the reverse? Couldn't you hide me where those kids can't find me?"
"Why, you craven coward," Tansy chided. "Get off your knees and act like a proper father."
"I did try, Tansy," he said good-naturedly as he got gracefully to his feet. "But just as I broke the switch, one yelled to distract me, the second one positioned himself behind my knees and the third one knocked me over the second one into the river. I haven't really tried to hit one of them since."
"You don't have to hit them," Tansy continued, unabashed. “You could discipline them in other ways. Take away their television privileges."
He stared at her. "We don't have a television. Those kids threw a bowling ball through it. Thank God we have a good volunteer fire department here."
"Emmett, you're not the man I remember," Logan said, shaking his head.
"I'm not sure I ever was. Things have gone from bad to worse since she left me," he said, obviously referring to his ex-wife. "Since I got custody, no sane woman will have me. Maybe I could lock the kids up until I got one to the altar. Too late for you, of course," he said with a wistful smile in Kit's direction. "It's got to be a woman who doesn't know they exist until we're legally married!"
"Buffaloed by three children," Logan scoffed. "Imagine that."
"You try dealing with them," Emmett dared.
"Not me. I'm on the first plane to Houston this afternoon."
Emmett put down his coffee cup. "Why not stay until tomorrow?"
"Yes, why not?" Tansy seconded. "You and I get no time together these days, Logan. You're either too busy making money or traveling around the world or escorting that taffy-brained woman friend of yours around town."
He glared at her. "Let's leave Betsy out of this, shall we?"
"Suit yourself," Tansy replied. "You could fly back tomorrow with me. I can't stay around much longer. I'm only filling in for the housekeeper."
"My housekeeper," Emmett said. "The only woman west of the Pecos who isn't terrified of those kids."
"She had to have some minor surgery, but she'll be back tomorrow. Come on, son," Tansy coaxed. "You could use a day off. Besides, it's too late to go home and try to get anything done."
He didn't want to admit how much he wanted to stay. The way he felt about Kit was changing by the minute. He didn't want to leave her.
"You stay, too, Kit," Tansy commanded. "It's too late for you to go now, anyway."
"But I have my ticket..."
"You can use it tomorrow," Emmett coaxed, smiling at her. "I'll take you to a concert. Our local symphony has several this time of year. How do you fancy Aaron Copland?"
“Fanfare for the Common Man!" Kit said enthusiastically. "Oh, I'd love to go and hear some of his music!"
Logan was mildly surprised. The topic of music in any personal way hadn't come up since Kit had started working for him three years ago. He had no idea she liked Copland. So did he.
"How about Stravinsky?" he asked. "His work is largely of an experimental nature. A lot of people don't care for it."
"I like it," Kit said.
"So do I," Emmett seconded. "I think The Firebird is a tribute to his ability as a composer." He hesitated. "Let me make a couple of telephone calls. There's a special charity concert being given by a visiting orchestra, and I think they might include Stravinsky in their program. Let me find out."
He came back shaking his head. "Wrong night, I'm afraid," he said ruefully. "But there's a Mexican folk group in the city. Want to go see a Mexican ballet?"
"What about the children?" Kit asked.
"They like concerts and music of any sort," Emmett said. "They'll sit like mice. You wouldn't recognize them properly dressed and behaved."
"I certainly wouldn't." Tansy sniffed.
"That's because they used my flexible ropes to tie her to the bed the first night she got here," Emmett explained. "She taught them some new adjectives."
"You, too," Tansy chuckled. Her eyes twinkled. "It's so alive here, Kit. You really ought to marry Emmett. You'd never be bored."
“Not until the kids got grown, at least," he added. "Be a sport. Two little words—I do."
“I'm not that much of a sport, thanks just the same." She laughed. "I don't want to get married for years yet."
"It's a shame to wait for something that may never happen," Tansy said gently.
Kit's eyes were eloquent as she begged Tansy not to give away to Logan how she felt.
"All right," the elderly woman said, laughing softly. "I'll quit playing matchmaker. I would like to point out, though, that I have a perfectly marriageable son who thinks you're wonderful..."
“I have never said...!" Logan began fiercely, color burning along his high cheekbones.
"Chris, my dear, Chris, not you," Tansy scoffed. "You've already announced to all and sundry that you can't wait to talk the beauteous Betsy into letting you support her for life in the manner to which she'd like to become accustomed."
"Betsy has money of her own," Logan said shortly.
"Indeed she does," Kit said, burning inside at the injustice of it.
"If you have something to say, Morris, spit it out," Logan challenged.
"Very well, I will." She threw down her n
apkin and got to her feet. “Your beautiful blond spider caused my nice old neighbor to kill himself over a stupid lottery ticket. He killed himself because she played him for a fool and got him to sign over every penny he had to her! That's why she's got money, Mr. Deverell. That's how she'll get yours, too," she added huskily. "She'll wind you around her little finger and promise you that lovely body. But you won't get it until she's got your name on a legal document of some sort. And then you still won't get it. But she'll have you. Drawn and quartered and bled to death, she'll have you."
She turned and left the room. The closed expression on Logan's broad, dark face had told her that he wasn't buying a word of it.
You simply couldn't talk to a stone wall.
Emmett caught up with her outside a few minutes later. He was smoking a cigarette and looking all around.
"It looks safe enough right here," he said, shoving his free hand into his jeans pocket. Under the wide brim of his hat, he was smiling as he joined her in the middle of the path that led into the distant pastures. The cool, dull brown horizon stretched out forever, a reminder that winter was almost here. “I have to pick times and places to smoke," he added ruefully. "Those kids have radar and smoke detectors and water guns in every shape and size. I guess they're right. I really should quit."
"It doesn't do your lungs much good, I suppose," she said.
"Mine or anyone else's. I don't smoke in closed rooms. It's too dangerous for bystanders." He flicked off an ash. "Funny, you know, the Indians used tobacco for hundreds of years, but they used it mostly for ceremonial purposes. Same thing with peyote. Mostly those substances weren't abused because they considered it sacrilege. Our culture abuses damned near everything."
"Especially natural resources." She turned and looked up at him. He seemed different when he wasn't pretending to be something he really wasn't. He looked somber and quiet and very, very masculine. If it hadn't been for the way she felt about Logan, she could have found herself falling all over this man.
"Did I put my nose on upside down again?" he asked with a cynically cocked eyebrow.
She laughed. "No. I was just thinking that you're many-faceted. I don't think I've seen the real you yet."
He shrugged. "Most people are pretty complex." He studied her face for a long moment. "You're without guile, aren't you? You have an honest, open face. I'll bet you return quarters you find on restaurant floors and obey parking signs and never tell lies."
"I try not to," she corrected. "I was raised not to cheat."
Her face closed up as she got the words out, and he saw her reaction.
"You tense when you get close to the subject of your parents."
"Do I? How big is this ranch?"
He hesitated, but only for a minute. He smiled and proceeded to describe the size and operation of the ranch for her, until a perplexed and irritated Logan came out to join them. He'd made all the necessary telephone calls, and he was still seething at Betsy's spitting fury because he hadn't phoned her sooner. He didn't like aggressive, snarling women. He respected intelligence, but Betsy had displayed cold, icy self-interest. Even through his physical infatuation for the woman, he recognized that.
"Do you know where the children are?" Kit asked suddenly. "Should I go look for them?"
“You'll find them in the barn with the new kittens," Emmett said. "That's where they usually are these days. Pretty little things, all different colors and all with long fur and blue eyes. Old Walt wanted to get rid of them, but we've got mice in the barn, so I figured they might as well stay."
He had a warmth about him that probably drew women like flies Kit thought. She'd never had warmth from Logan, not even the two or three times she'd had flu or a virus since she'd worked for him It was never "poor Kit." Rather, it was "when the hell are you coming back?"
"I'll go with you to look for them," Logan said, smoothly interposing himself between Kit and Emmett. "Sorry you're too busy to come with us," he said with a smile at his cousin. "But I know how it is."
"Not yet, you don't," Emmett said enigmatically, with a gleam in his eyes. "But you'll find out. How about that ballet?" he asked.
Kit hesitated. "I really don't feel quite up to it, but thanks anyway. Maybe Tansy and Logan...?"
"Not me," Logan replied.
"Oh, well, maybe next trip," Emmett said. He winked at Kit. "If you married me, we could go to all sorts of cultural events."
"Right now, we're going to look at kittens and kids, thanks," Logan told him, taking Kit's arm. "Come along."
"Okay, I get the picture," Emmett said. He tipped his hat at Kit and strode away, whistling.
"I don't want to go anywhere with you," Kit snarled at Logan.
He let go of her arm and linked his big hands behind him to study her. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and tie with his dark gray suit slacks. The shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow and he was wearing boots instead of street shoes. His dark, thick black hair was windblown and it gave his broad face an untamed appearance. Against the sky, he looked as if he were part of the history of the place.
"Who were your ancestors?" she asked unexpectedly.
"One of them was a lieutenant under Santa Ana," he mused, smiling at her shock. "You did know that the enemy troops sometimes raped and pillaged in the local communities? One of my ancestors was unfortunate enough to be in a house alone when they marched through. Along with the Mexican blood, I've got some very upper crust French and British."
It was a reminder that his background was much more monied than her own. She averted her eyes as they walked. "You're very dark."
"Most of that is from the sun. I spend a lot of time in the Mediterranean,"
"Yes, I know."
He followed her toward the barn. It was warm for a November day. She pulled off her sweater and left her arms bare in the long-sleeved white shirt she was wearing with off-white jeans and boots.
"You look pretty western today," he remarked. "Didn't you live on a ranch once?"
She winced. "A long time ago. Look, there are the children...!"
He caught her arm and swung her back to face him.
"Your parents divorced, didn't they?" he said quietly.
He knew. She'd never been quite sure where he found out, or who had told him. She did know that her job required a thorough background check, and that he'd had one done before Dane's detective agency even opened for business.
Whoever had searched around in her record had certainly hit pay dirt. She didn't even bother to deny it. His eyes told her there was no point.
"It was a very messy divorce," she said averting her eyes. "They were arguing all the time. I don't like to remember those days. They both remarried after the divorce, but they only had a few years with their new spouses. Both my parents are dead now."
He pulled her into his big arms. She was warm and soft and vulnerable, and he loved the feeling it gave him to comfort her. That should have warned him that his emotions were teetering on the edge, but it didn't.
Here, now," he muttered. He drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her red, wet eyes with it. "Blow."
She did, hiccuping at the same time. "I never cry."
"I know. Not even when I yell."
He wiped the rest of her face and pressed the handkerchief into her hand. "Keep it. I've got dozens. Tansy has them hidden in every other drawer in my house. She thinks a man should have an endless supply.”
"Why do you always call her Tansy instead of Mother?" she asked curiously.
"She doesn't seem old enough to be my mother at times," he replied with a wistful smile. "She's unique. Not that she doesn't worry me out of my damned mind just by being unique."
"Not every woman her age would try sailboarding."
"This is true." He pushed back the disheveled hair from her eyebrows. "You have skin like milk, Kit," he said, sketching her cheekbones. "It's almost transparent."
She flushed. "My mother...my mother had skin like that."
"Did
she? Your people were ranchers, weren't they?"
"Yes. From over around El Paso," she said wearily. "Poor farmers. I come from a long line of poor people."
"Wealth or the lack of it never made character, Kit," he replied.
"It opens and closes doors, though."
He didn't argue. "I know the memories won't ever fade completely," he said. "But surely you're doing yourself no favors by burying them so deeply."
"It seemed best."
"I suppose so. Feel better now?"
"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Deverell."
He sighed. "Kit, after three years, don't you think you could manage to call me Logan?"
She searched his dark eyes in a long silence.
"Surely we know each other well enough," he persisted. He touched her lower lip, startled by its softness, its warmth and fullness. He couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from it. As he watched, her lips parted and his breath lingered in the very back of his throat.
His blood began to pound in his veins. His hands settled on her waist and drew her to him. There was nothing in his eyes except her mouth and even as he bent toward it, he knew he was going to regret this for the rest of his life.
"There's Betsy," she croaked defensively, pressing her hands flat against his broad, hard chest.
"Damn Betsy," he bit off against her soft mouth.
Chapter Five
Kit froze, but only for an instant. The reality of Logan's hard, expert mouth on her lips was all of heaven. She closed her eyes and felt as if her body was on fire from head to toe. He knew what to do with a woman's mouth, she thought dizzily, pressing closer. He knew exactly what to do!
Years of anguished longing, and it was happening. It was actually happening! These were Logan's arms enveloping her, this was Logan's mouth grinding so hungrily against her own.
She knew she'd live on this memory for the rest of her life. Her body lifted closer to his, and she moaned. The pressure of his mouth lessened and he began to tease and softly probe her lips, breaking through any defenses she might have had left, demanding surrender.
She gave it willingly. Her mouth opened to his penetration. She leaned into his big, powerful body and let him bring her so close that she could feel the corded muscles of his thighs, the flatness of his belly, the warmth of his broad chest against her soft breasts as his arms tightened.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 130