“Everybody in Collins knows.”
He probably shouldn’t be annoyed, but he felt as if she’d been spying on him. “I always liked working out-of-doors. I managed one of the few farms left in Southern California.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
“I was living in a one-bedroom apartment, and I didn’t want Christine to grow up there. I wanted her to have space for horses, a chance to feel part of something permanent.”
“Why here? This is your mother’s place.”
Dillon got to his feet. That still grated. He hoped Angie couldn’t see it in his eyes. “This is home.”
She didn’t pursue that. “What else do you like about it?” she asked.
“It’s hard to say. It’s dirty, sweaty, hard work. And it’s outside no matter what the weather.”
“But that isn’t what speaks to you, is it?”
He didn’t want to keep talking to her. He didn’t want her intelligent understanding to force him to change his antagonism toward her. But her interest felt so genuine, her perception was so quick, he couldn’t stop himself.
“No. It’s the land itself. I guess you have to grow up on a farm to understand that. Sometimes I think you belong to it more than it belongs to you.” He felt something settle down within himself and realized that simply talking about this land calmed him. “My grandfather told me the name of every Weddington who ever owned this farm. He never let me forget I was next in line.”
“I can see why you don’t want your mother to sell.”
No, she might think she did, but not even Dillon had fully understood how important this place was to him until Angie had come bouncing down his driveway. He sank down on the porch railing, his arm around one of the massive columns, his back to the fields and moonlight
“Now it’s my turn to ask why you want to give up all that power and position for a few horses.”
“I guess you would say I’m not giving it up so much as leaving the day-to-day work to someone else.”
“It’s like having your cake and eating it, too.”
“That would be one way to put it.”
He didn’t want to see it that way. He wanted her to tell him she was different from Evelyn, that she could live without money and position. Her face was beautiful and pale in the moonlight, like the flawless porcelain of Christine’s dolls. It would be so easy to think of her as a desirable woman and forget her threat to his happiness. “How do you see it?” he asked.
“I may own the company, but I’m not necessarily the best one to run it, especially if my real interest is somewhere else.”
“So you can afford to be a dilettante.”
She flinched. “I intend to make the center work,” she said, a distinct edge to her voice. “If I didn’t think I could, I’d stay in banking. I’m head of overseas investments. I’m very good at it.”
“Are you going to look at other places?”
“Yes.”
Hope lifted his spirits. “So you’re not definite about buying Weddington Farms?”
“No. If I do, I’ll need to change some of my plans.”
Dillon felt a weight slide from his shoulders. He had a chance. If he knew what she wanted, maybe he could steer her somewhere else. “Tell me about your center.”
“It’s pretty much what you’d expect,” Angie began. “It would be a place where professionals and Olympic hopefuls could train for jumping and dressage all year round.”
Dillon’s interest grew as Angie went into specifics about the number and kinds of barns, the training facilities, living quarters for the people who would care for and train the horses. This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment whim of a bored, rich woman or of some dreamer with no head for business.
“I have detailed plans back in my office,” Angie confessed. “My stepfather would have a fit if he knew how many of my appointments during the past year have been with architects and farm managers.”
“Won’t you be cutting yourself off from your friends if you come down here?” he asked. Maybe he could scare her off with fears of loneliness.
“I’ll make new friends.”
“How about the men in your life? Are they likely to follow you here?”
She turned toward him, a teasing smile on her lips. “Are you discreetly asking if I have a love life? Or are you just as discreetly implying that I’m not attractive enough to make men want to follow me into the wilds of South Carolina?”
“Neither. It’s none of my business.” He got up and walked down the steps. Now that some of the pressure was off, he could feel his attraction for her growing dangerously fast. He had to get away from her.
“Are you going to run off and leave me? I’ve always heard Southern men are gallant.”
Instinct told him to run. But years of training— and hot desire—caused him to turn around slowly. “Would you like to join me?”
“Even a Yankee can tell that’s a reluctant invitation.”
“Not really. I was just thinking about something every good old Southern boy does when he gets a chance.”
She came down the steps to join him, a teasing smile on her lips. “And what might that be?”
Dillon had to turn away to keep from responding to her olive branch. This woman was dangerous. He was a fool to keep flirting with temptation. But his resistance was only halfhearted. “Come with me and you’ll see.”
They began to walk toward a lane that ran in the opposite direction from the barns.
“I’d bet my life you’ve never had anything to do with ‘good old boys,’” he said. “You may not spend your free time at the ballet or the opera, but you sure don’t spend it going to wrestling matches or stock car races.”
“Actually, I prefer movies, walking outdoors and almost anything to do with horses.”
“Movies? What kind?”
“Promise you won’t laugh.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Faint heart.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“I like the kind where the woman is in danger and the hero risks his life to save her. Silly, isn’t it?”
Hell, that’s exactly what he liked, though he’d never admit it. “No.”
“Sure it is. What successful professional woman needs rescuing?”
She didn’t sound like a high-powered executive. To Dillon, she sounded very womanly and very approachable. “One who hasn’t been rescued often enough. Don’t you have any red-blooded American boys in Pittsburgh or Charlotte?”
“Sure, but rescuing a woman like me is a tall order. My stepfather runs the company, and I’m his second in command and the biggest stockholder.”
He had forgotten her money. The dose of reality was like a face full of cold water. “Somebody should’ve tried.”
They were walking between fields of drying corn. A light breeze moved over the dry, rustling fronds like a wave over the beach.
“Actually quite a few have, but they seem to have at least one eye on my money. Poor little rich girl. Tragic, isn’t it, and nobody understands.”
He understood more than she could guess. Money had come between him and Evelyn. Once the magic disappeared, she could see only the enormous difference in their wealth. She couldn’t imagine anyone could love her for herself alone.
He had a sudden desire to reach out, pull Angie to him and give her a hug. Only he couldn’t do that. He’d been angry with her practically from the moment she set foot on the farm. Such an abrupt aboutface would make her question his motives.
They stopped in the middle of the lane. The house lights glowed in the distance. The fields around them were cloaked in shades of purple velvet.
“Have you ever walked barefoot in the grass at night?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I have,” she replied, apparently startled at his question.
“You can start now. It’s warm and the grass is soft.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure, it’s what good old Southern boys do,” he said, alre
ady wondering why he’d suggested such a stupid thing to a city woman. “I used to do it all the time when I was a kid. You aren’t wearing panty hose, are you?”
She laughed. “You Southern men are the most incongruous combination of rigid propriety and easygoing informality. No man in Pittsburgh would dare ask that.”
“Well, are you?” He’d already dug his hole. No point in not diving in now.
Besides, there was invitation in her eyes, no sign of the barracuda, just a lovely woman who had heated his blood to a boil. Something about her made him feel reckless. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d met Evelyn.
“No, I’m not wearing panty hose.”
“Then all you have to do is take off your shoes.”
She looked at him as if he were crazy.
“Ladies first,” he reminded her.
She laughed. “I assume it’s against the rules for men to go barefoot in the presence of a shod lady.”
“I’d be struck off the dinner party circuit for at least a year.”
Laughing as if she thought they were both a little crazy, Angie removed her shoes. “Now it’s your turn.”
Dillon kicked his foot in the air and his shoe flew off. The other came off just as easily. He bent over, pulled off his socks and picked up his shoes. He felt like giving a hop and a skip. Putting his toes in the dirt lifted his spirits no matter how down he’d been feeling.
“I get the impression you do this a lot,” Angie said.
“Nearly every night when it’s warm. Here—” he held out his hand toward her “—let me show you something.”
Angie hesitated only briefly before she put her hand in his. “I feel like a little girl again.”
“Good. Being a grown-up is hard work. I believe in giving myself time off for good behavior.”
Angie laughed. “I can’t wait to try that philosophy on my stepfather.”
“He’ll never understand if he stays in the city.”
They were swinging hands as they walked. Dillon felt almost carefree.
“Where are we going?” Angie asked.
“Afraid of the dark?”
“It’s not dark out here. I thought it would be.”
“Can’t be, not with a moon and all those stars shining as hard as they can.”
They came to a small pasture between cornfields. An open shed had been built in a stand of pines along one edge of the field. Dillon gave a sharp whistle. A horse that had been grazing in the shadows raised its head. Dillon whistled again, and the horse started toward him at a fast walk. Almost immediately something moved in the shadows.
“A foal!” Angie exclaimed.
It quickly got to its feet and followed its mother.
“She’s less than two weeks old,” Dillon said.
“She’s beautiful,” Angie cooed. “Is she Christine’s?”
“They’re both mine,” he said, fondling the mare as she thrust her head between the boards of the fence. “My grandfather gave her to me on my eighth birthday. She’s twenty-one. This will be her last foal.” He fed her a cube of sugar. The foal came to the fence, curious about what her mother was eating. Angie stuck her hand through the fence and petted her. Startled at the smell of a stranger, the foal scampered behind her mother, then immediately peeped out from behind her haunches.
Angie leaned against the fence, her arms folded under he chin. “She’s darling. What are you going to do with her?”
“Keep her.”
Dillon leaned against the fence next to Angie. Without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulder. It seemed the natural thing to do, what he wanted to do. With moonlight shining on her hair and starlight in her eyes, bare feet in the dirt, this Angie had little to do with the sleek, efficient woman who’d come to take his land. There was an enticing softness about her now.
Angie turned to look at him. “So you really do like horses.”
“I’ve kept all seven of Duchess’s daughters. You probably noticed them on the way in.”
“I would never have guessed this when we first met.”
“We got off on the wrong foot.”
Angie made no move to escape from the arm he’d placed around her shoulder. Common sense told him not to move ahead until he’d tested the ground; experience told him this woman was not going to take anything on faith. Inclination told him not to wait. She was attractive. He was drawn to her. She liked him at least well enough not to draw back. Maybe she wanted this as much as he did. All he knew for certain was that his loins ached with wanting to make love to her.
So he kissed her.
Her lips were soft and slightly parted. And warm. They moved invitingly under his. His arm tightened around her, pulling her toward him as he deepened their kiss. She yielded, allowing her body to be drawn against him. He could feel the pressure of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her leg as it moved against his, her abdomen as it brushed his stiffening body.
A shudder of desire ran through him. She opened her mouth to welcome his seeking tongue, their bodies pressing together with more intimacy. The intensity of their kiss increased until Dillon felt he had to break off or melt from the heat.
But something unexpected happened when he looked into Angie’s eyes. He saw mirrored there his own surprise at the nature and intensity of the feeling that had exploded between them. They both knew it was something more than sexual desire, more than the buildup of animal lust between two healthy young people.
He wanted to speak first, to say something to diffuse the tension, but he couldn’t think of a word that didn’t sound foolish and out of place. Angie saved him.
“I promised Christine I’d tell her good-night.” She ran her hand over her hair in a nervous gesture. She touched her lips briefly, tentatively, then self-consciously let her hand drop to her side. “I imagine she’s been wondering what happened to me.”
He didn’t move. She looked at him questioningly.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want her to get too attached to you.”
Damn, she looked hurt
“It’s just that she seems to like you so much, and you’ll be gone in a day or two. She already knows too much about losing people.”
“Then you go. You’re the person she really wants.”
“She’s never wanted me.”
“She won’t learn to want you if you keep avoiding her.”
When he didn’t move, she took his hand and tugged. He hesitated. “She won’t want to see me.”
“Sure she will. She just doesn’t know how to show it. I imagine you’re very demanding and critical. Most men are.”
With a shrug of resignation, he fell in beside her. “Maybe she’ll like me better if we go together,” he said. “A spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN DILLON AND ANGIE reached Christine’s room, the child was sitting in her bed, a doll on either side, talking to Harper.
“Mrs. Stuart says Angie likes Daddy more than me,” Christine was saying.
“Maybe she’s afraid you’ll start to like Angie more than you like her,” Harper said. “She probably doesn’t realize people can like more than one person at the same time.”
Christine looked doubtful.
“Don’t you love Mrs. Stuart and me?”
Christine nodded, and Dillon’s heart beat a little faster. This was the first time Christine had admitted she loved anyone besides her mother and grandparents.
“Well, I love you and your daddy. We can love lots of people at the same time.”
“Mrs. Stuart doesn’t love anybody but me.”
At Angie’s urging, Dillon slipped into the room after her.
“Angie!” Christine’s eyes lit up when she saw Angie. Dillon would have traded the whole farm if she’d only look at him that way.
“Sorry to be so late,” Angie said, “but your daddy took me to see the foal.”
Dillon tried to han
g back, but Angie pulled him forward.
“Mrs. Stuart said you’d forgotten me,” Christine said.
Angie took Harper’s place next to Christine. She signaled Dillon to sit on the other side. He didn’t expect anything to come of it, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t pass up a chance to be near Christine.
“I wouldn’t forget you,” Angie said. “Your father and I hurried back. Why didn’t you tell me about the foal? She’s beautiful.”
“Mrs. Stuart says she’s not as pretty as Eddie.”
“I think it’s time for Mrs. Stuart to go to sleep.” Angie took the doll, gave her a kiss and tucked her under the covers. “I like Mrs. Stuart, but I like talking to you better.” Angie lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Daddies don’t understand dolls like your grandmother and I do. I think you’d better talk to him yourself.”
Christine looked warily at her father. “What does he want to say?”
“He wants to kiss you good-night and tell you he loves you.”
Dillon wanted to tell her more than that. He wanted to tell her he thought she was beautiful, to tell her how good it made him feel to see her smile, how his heart ached to have her smile at him.
“Good night,” was all he managed. It seemed a paltry thing to say, but he knew if he said only half of what he felt, he’d scare her again. He placed a nervous kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “I love you.”
“Now you have to kiss him good-night and tell him you love him,” Angie coaxed.
Christine looked at her doll.
“Mrs. Stuart would want you to.”
Christine looked as though Mrs. Stuart wouldn’t want any such thing, but Angie’s confidence made her uncertain.
“Good night,” Christine mumbled. “I love you.”
It was an almost inaudible whisper, but Dillon heard it. His heart swelled with happiness.
“Now put your arms around his neck and give him a big hug and kiss,” Angie said. “When I was a little girl, I couldn’t go to sleep until my father hugged and kissed me.”
The child did as she was instructed, and Dillon was almost afraid to reciprocate. What if she drew back from him? But his need was greater than his fear. He let his arms enfold her tiny body and pulled her tenderly against his chest. It was an awkward embrace at first, but it grew warmer the longer it lasted. It was obvious when they separated that his daughter was as surprised as he by their feelings.
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