Saxon's Lady

by Stephanie Janes

  "Can't complain," Bev said equably. "You sure look good. You've done somethin' real nice with your hair, haven't you? I like it. And where'd you get those slick jeans?"

  "From a store on Union Square. They cost a fortune and Garth's been making rude comments about them since he saw them."

  Before Bev could respond, Garth interrupted. "Send Ryan out here," he called from the drive. "You two can catch up on the news later. I want to get this stuff un­loaded."

  A thin, sandy-haired man with an open smile and amused blue eyes appeared in the doorway behind Bev. He was dressed in a European-cut shirt and a pair of men's designer jeans. "I hear you, Garth. I'm coming." Ryan came down the steps and stopped for a moment in front of Devon. He grinned. "Well, look who's here. Couldn't re­sist the fleshpots and temptations of Hawk Springs any longer, huh, Devon?"

  ''The bright lights called and here I am," she agreed blandly. "How have you been, Ryan?"

  "Great. It's been a good year in L.A. Did Garth tell you I've been working there?"

  "He mentioned it."

  Garth interrupted again. "Are you going to stand there chatting all night or are you going to give me a hand with these things, Ryan?"

  "Do I have a choice?" Ryan asked irrepressibly.

  "No, you do not have a choice. Move."

  "Yes, sir." Ryan gave a mock salute and brushed past Devon. "Love your jeans," he murmured as he went by her.

  She laughed softly. "Yours look pretty good, too. Ital­ian?"

  "French." "Ah."

  Garth was halfway up the walk. Unceremoniously he shoved a suitcase into Ryan's hand. "You two can com­pare jeans some other time. I'm hungry."

  "Okay," Ryan said good-naturedly. "Where do you want all this stuff?"

  "The suitcases go in the south bedroom. The boxes go into the storage locker on the back porch."

  Ryan started up the steps with the suitcase. "South bedroom, hmm?" He leered in a friendly fashion. "That's on the opposite side of the house from your room, Garth. Quite a walk."

  Garth's expression would have frozen hellfire. "That's where Devon will be sleeping until we're married. Bev will be staying in the center bedroom and you, as long as you're here, will have the one next to mine."

  Ryan glanced at Bev Middleton. "Looks like you and me get to play chaperon, Bev."

  "Now, Ryan, you know perfectly well Garth wouldn't have her in the house alone with him until they're mar­ried," Bev said chidingly. "I've agreed to say here until the knot is tied." But there was a distinct twinkle in her eye when she glanced at Devon. "When it comes to Devon, the man's got a sense of propriety that would make a preacher nervous. Come on inside, Devon. You can help me get dinner on the table. Got a nice roast in the oven."

  "Wonderful," Devon said under her breath.

  She was unaware Garth had overheard her until he came right up behind her and drawled in her ear, "You can't have noodles and peanut butter every night. The stuff sticks to the roof of your mouth."

  Devon tried to quell him with a quick glare and failed miserably. She abandoned the attempt and followed Bev Middleton into the house.

  Dinner was everything Devon had been expecting. Roast beef, potatoes and thick gravy, overcooked vegetables and a huge apple pie Devon knew had been baked in her honor. It wasn't a bad meal, she told herself consolingly, if one overlooked the overcooked veggies and the high-cho­lesterol gravy. It was just that it was so predictable.

  She was industriously sawing off another chunk of beef and listening to Garth talk about a new stallion he was considering buying when she glanced up and caught Ryan's eyes. His blue gaze was full of laughter as he watched her plow through the heavy food.

  "So, tell me," Ryan said smoothly to Devon as Garth finished talking, "how was life in the big city?"

  "I was about to ask you the same question," she re­torted, smiling. "Garth says you're an account execu­tive?"

  "That's what I've been doing until recently." Ryan nodded enthusiastically. "My firm markets computers to small businesses. It's a hot field. Very competitive. We're putting computers into every kind of business these days."

  "What do you mean, it's what you've been doing until recently?" Garth asked ominously.

  Ryan's enthusiasm was replaced by a kind of grim de­termination that was vaguely reminiscent of his older brother. "Well, the fact is, I quit my job last week so that I could concentrate full-time on another project."

  "What other project?" Garth asked much too softly.

  Ryan cleared his throat. "Similar line of work, but I'll be my own boss."

  There was an uncomfortable silence at the table. Devon hastened to fill it. "I'll bet Garth could use a computer to help run this ranch and keep track of all his real estate in­vestments."

  Garth's head came up abruptly. "When hell freezes over. You don't raise horses with computers."

  Ryan's mouth thinned briefly but he kept his attention on Devon. "A friend of mine and I are planning to open our own business."

  "Selling computers?" Devon asked with interest.

  "That's right." Ryan shot a challenging glance toward Garth, who was surveying his half brother with an assess­ing expression. "It would take some capital to get started, naturally. But Phil and I both know what we're doing." As he spoke Ryan's voice again picked up enthusiasm. "We've both had experience in the field and between us we've made some good contacts. They'd be the basis of our new client list."

  "I think," Garth said evenly, "I'm beginning to under­stand why I came home to find you on my doorstep this evening. You wouldn't by any chance be shopping for cash to put into this new business venture of yours, would you?"

  Ryan took a deep breath. "I'd like to talk to you about the possibilities, Garth. And I'd like for you to meet Phil Ordway."

  "The possibilities are about zero, and I am not inter­ested in meeting this Phil Ordway," Garth said bluntly. At that moment Bev Middleton bustled in from the kitchen to clear the table. Ryan retreated into brooding silence.

  "Well, now, how was everything?" the housekeeper demanded expectantly.

  "Just as I'd remembered it, Bev," Devon assured her politely.

  The only one at the table who seemed to pick up on the irony of her words was Garth. He gave Devon a narrow glance and then went to work on the huge slice of apple pie Bev had put in front of him.

  Five

  Devon awakened at dawn the next morning. Sounds of the already stirring household filtered into her conscious­ness. Garth Saxon rose early, and, therefore, so did every­one else around him. Devon yawned and made a sleepy grimace. The truth was, she was accustomed to getting up early herself. Old habits die hard. Apparently a year in the city hadn't been long enough to change them. Pushing back the heavy, faded quilt, she got out of bed and started toward the small bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.

  En route she paused to examine the dreary beige cur­tains that were undoubtedly a legacy of the former own­ers along with almost everything else in the house. The curtains harmonized perfectly with the dreary beige car­pet. The room was neat as a pin, naturally. Bev Middle-ton saw to that. But nothing compensated for the old, neglected feeling given off by the furnishings. The former owners had probably ordered everything out of a catalog and thought they'd been terribly modern in their tastes. They'd done the whole house in shades of beige and brown.

  Devon shuddered delicately and went on into the bath­room. Even when she'd been scraping by on a tight bud­get while raising Lee and Kurt she'd managed to make her home more interesting than this. If nothing else, she could view the task of putting some life into Garth's home as a challenge. She'd always had a flair for design. She could do a lot with this place. The basic room proportions weren't bad and with a wall knocked down here and there and some windows added the house might take on some real style. On that thought Devon stepped into the shower.

  Half an hour later she arrived in the big kitchen down­stairs to find Ryan and a couple of men in boots and den­ims sitting around th
e old, oval table. Ryan was digging into a pile of pancakes and the two men were helping themselves to coffee. Bev was busy at the stove. There was no sign of Garth.

  Everyone glanced up and said good-morning as Devon walked to the table. The two men eyed her with polite cu­riosity, introducing themselves casually as Steve and Cal. They had been working for Garth for the past several months, one of them explained. One of the perks of the job, it seemed, consisted of several cups of Bev's coffee while they discussed the day's work with the boss.

  "You're up bright and early this morning," Bev ob­served as she threw bacon into the frying pan. "Thought maybe you'd want to sleep in."

  "How could I sleep in with the smell of your coffee fill­ing the house?" Devon grinned and helped herself to the pot. Bev Middleton might have limited notions of what constituted dinner but she did make first-rate coffee.

  Bev looked pleased. "Garth'll be in shortly. He ducked outside before breakfast to check on the progress the builder made yesterday on the new barn."

  The tanned, lanky man who had called himself Cal chuckled. "Garth figures the whole place might fall apart if he's gone for more than eight hours."

  Ryan raised his eyebrows. "I'll bet he packed you up in a hurry and hustled you back here right quick yesterday, huh, Devon?"

  "Faster than a speeding bullet." Devon took a sip of the strong, hot coffee.

  "That's my big brother. Always organizes things so that he gets what he wants. The rest of us aren't always so lucky." The bitterness in Ryan's voice was audible to everyone in the kitchen. Steve and Cal paid great atten­tion to their coffee and Bev concentrated on frying ba­con.

  Only Devon offered Ryan a quietly sympathetic glance. "Is that the morning paper you've got there?" she asked, searching for a polite way to break the awkward silence.

  Ryan nodded, handing it to her. "Sure. You want it?"

  "Just the financial section." Devon reached across the table. "I took a flyer in the stock market a couple of months ago. Since then I've developed this obsessive in­terest in the financial sections of newspapers. Even the comic pages come second these days."

  Ryan's expression brightened. "No kidding? What did you buy?"

  "Just a couple of little penny stocks. One mining outfit in Colorado and a tiny software firm in Washington. A hundred shares each." Devon flipped through the paper to find the previous day's stock listings.

  Ryan leaned forward intently. "While you're checking, take a look at a firm called Ethelton Green Creations. My broker talked me into a hundred shares last week."

  "Over the counter?"

  "Right."

  Devon agreeably ran her finger down the over-the-counter listings. "Here we go. Ethelton Green. Six and a half."

  "Hey, not bad." Ryan was already out of his chair. "I bought that sucker at four." He leaned over Devon's shoulder to verify her report. "Two and a half points in one week."

  "Watch out or you'll get rich," Devon teased. "Now let me look at my little winners. Aha, here we go. The mining stock is down a point and the other one is up a point. Must be my lucky day. I'm actually breaking even."

  Ryan grinned. "Unless you count brokerage commis­sions."

  Steve and Cal stared at the other two in silence. It was obvious the stock market was a foreign world to them. Bev had nothing to contribute to the conversation either. When Garth strode into the kitchen from the back porch he found Devon and Ryan with their heads together intently discussing P/E ratios, short sales and options.

  "What the devil's got you two so fascinated with the paper this morning?" he demanded dourly as he sat down next to Devon and reached for the coffee. He seemed to fill the warm, cozy room, dominating it with his presence. Steve and Cal greeted him with an easy informality, but there was no doubt about the quiet respect that under­lined their words. The boss was back.

  "Ryan and I were just checking our stocks," Devon ex­plained. She smiled sunnily at Garth, ignoring the re­mote, forbidding quality that was emanating from him. Garth was always sober looking and sober acting, but this morning he seemed downright grim. She wondered what was bothering him. "Ryan's making money and I'm breaking even. Not bad, huh?"

  "You two are involved in the stock market?" He shot both offenders a hard glare. "Of all the damn fool ideas. What did you do? Let some fast-talking broker open an account and sell you a bunch of junk? Might as well go out and buy a lottery ticket." His gaze pinned Devon. "How much have you thrown away, Devon?"

  She refolded the paper, taking her time in the process. Ryan quietly resumed his seat. "We're not married yet, Garth. My finances are still my own private business."

  "The hell they are. If you've got no more sense than to get into the stock market, then you're damn well going to get some advice from me on your private business."

  Devon grinned, aware that everyone else in the room was feeling extremely uncomfortable as they watched the small scene. "Advice, Garth? Have you got any hot tips?" she asked ingenuously.

  "If you've got any extra cash to invest, you can put it into something solid, like land."

  "Oh, I couldn't possibly afford California real estate. I'll stick to my little speculative stocks. At least they do something interesting every day. Land just sits there. Very boring."

  "Of all the idiotic nonsense," Garth exploded tightly. He was about to add to that when he seemed to become aware at last of the fact that he had an audience. "We will discuss this later, Devon," he concluded grimly.

  "Later might be too late," she pointed out. "I might have lost my shirt in the market by then."

  "That's enough for now, Devon," Garth growled.

  "On the other hand," Devon went on thoughtfully, "I might be rich."

  "I said that's enough."

  "Of course, I may get lucky with my lottery ticket this week and that will solve all my problems, won't it? Has anyone seen the winning numbers yet?"

  "Devon."

  When Garth used that tone everyone shut up. Devon was no exception, but she knew from the looks being ex­changed by the others that as far as they were concerned, she had definitely won the small confrontation that had just taken place over the breakfast table.

  It was Bev Middleton who made a gallant effort to de­fuse the situation. She set down a heaping platter of pan­cakes in front of Garth and another in front of Devon. "Now, then, have you two talked about the wedding ar­rangements? I'll want to do some shopping, you know. Didn't you say you were going to have the ceremony in the minister's office next Saturday morning, Garth?"

  Devon opened her mouth before Garth could. "Oh, that's all been changed, Bev."

  "Changed?" Bev looked honestly confused. People seldom changed plans made by Garth Saxon.

  "That's right," Devon assured her. "I've decided we're going to make an occasion out of this. If you can't cele­brate a wedding in style, what can you celebrate? The cer­emony will take place at the end of the month. That will give you and me time to address invitations, Bev. We'll have the reception here, of course. A buffet, I think, with plenty of champagne. Better plan for about two hundred. We'll hire people to help clean up since Garth and I won't be able to stick around afterward. He and I will be leaving immediately after the reception."

  Bev was looking dumbfounded. "Leaving?" she man­aged, sending a questioning glance toward Garth, who was giving his full attention to his pancakes. "For where?"

  "Hawaii. We'll be gone a week," Devon informed her blithely.

  Steve and Cal stared first at Devon and then at Garth.

  "A whole week?" Steve asked blankly.

  Garth didn't look up from his food. "You heard her."

  Cal choked discreetly on his coffee. "I see."

  It was Ryan who dared to voice the amazement of the others. "A week in Hawaii, big brother? Aren't you afraid Hawk's Flight will crumble into ruin while you're gone? And a reception for two hundred? We all know how you hate large parties. This is fascinating. Much more inter­esting than the stock market. A whole new world could
be opening up here. Garth Saxon: gentleman socialite."

  Garth finished his meal and got to his feet. "There's one thing Devon got wrong."

  Devon held her breath but she kept her inquiring smile very serene. "What's that, Garth?"

  "The wedding," he announced flatly, "will be in three weeks, not a month."

  Her smile widened, but she merely nodded obediently. It was obviously nothing more than a desperate effort to reclaim some semblance of control over the matter, and she didn't begrudge it. The poor man was undoubtedly feeling backed into a corner. A dangerous situation for all concerned. She knew she would be wise to surrender a small battle in exchange for the larger victory. "Three weeks," she agreed. ,

  He didn't appear particularly mollified, but at least he let the matter drop. Garth turned to face his half brother. "You look like you've had enough pancakes, Ryan. You can give Cal and me a hand down at the new barn. As long as you're going to hang around, you might as well earn your keep. Steve, you were supposed to be fixing the fence in the south pasture today, as I recall. Let's get moving, folks. The day is half over."

  He led the way out of the kitchen and the other men followed obediently. But Ryan, about to be the last male out the door, paused to throw Devon a cheerful grin and a wink. Then the screen door slammed behind him.

  Bev watched the men leave and then plunked down at the table across from Devon. She poured herself a big cup of coffee, leaned her elbows on the table and gave Devon a long, considering look.

  "Well, well, well," Bev Middleton murmured. "Going in for a bit of lion taming these days, eh?"

  "You know as well as I do, Bev, that if this marriage is going to work, there will have to be a few changes made around here."

  Bev nodded. "I always did say that if any woman could change Garth, it would be you. No one else stands a chance. I'm impressed. How in the world did you con­vince him to take a week-long honeymoon in Hawaii? That man hasn't been off this ranch for more than twenty-four hours since the day he bought it."