by Janet Dailey
Her grandfather's hand guided her along the edge of the dance floor. The chin that had begun drooping was jerked up as Patty looked into a pair of thoughtfully mocking blue eyes. She had been so intent on Lije that she hadn't noticed Morgan Kincaid among the dancers on the floor. But he was there, partnering Jill Van Wert, a tawny-haired barrel racer who followed the rodeo circuit just as the professional cowboys did. The pair had paused directly in their path.
"I see you've changed your mind," Morgan observed dryly.
"Yes, I did," Patty agreed with cold arrogance. "It looks as if you lose."
His metallic gaze flickered to her grandfather. "I guess so."
"Lije has just come in, Patty," Jill Van Wert inserted with a faintly catty edge to her tongue. "He's seated right over there—with his wife. Have you seen him yet?"
Patty's mouth tightened. She had never liked Jill very much. The girl was an excellent barrel racer, but Patty had always had the impression that it wasn't the competition that had prompted Jill to follow the rodeo, but the cowboys—in the plural sense.
"Yes, I did notice him," she answered stiffly. "Gramps and I were just on our way over to say hello."
"We mustn't keep you, then." Morgan smiled crookedly, his eyes openly laughing at the stiff, defensive expression on her face. "See you later."
"What I wouldn't give to dance on that man's grave!" Patty muttered in a savage underbreath as Morgan Kincaid guided his attractive partner onto the dance floor again.
Everett King clicked his tongue at her in a reproving manner and started moving her toward Lije's table.
That spurt of anger at Morgan seemed to have eased some of her tension and brought the color into her cheeks. Gathering her courage, she commanded a bright expression to appear on her face as they neared the table.
"I'm still kicking myself for not buying that red horse of yours two years ago, Lije, when you sold him to Tod," Blake Williams was grumbling. "If I had, I'd be the one raking in the dough off him instead of Tod."
"Horses, horses, horses!" Patty forced herself to laugh. "It seems as if that's what you were talking about the last time I saw you, Lije."
"Hello, Patty, Everett." Lije rose to his feet to welcome them to the table. "It's good to see you again."
With a sinking heart, Patty noticed the easy warmth with which he greeted them. The cool aloofness was gone, no doubt melted by the ardent glow that was in his wife's eyes whenever she looked at him.
"Are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady, Lije?" her grandfather asked after shaking hands.
"Of course," Lije smiled. "This is my wife Diana." Patty wanted to cry at the caressing way he spoke her name. "Diana, I know you've met Patty King. This is her grandfather, Everett King."
The vacant table and chairs were pulled closer to include Patty and her grandfather in their small group. Patty found herself sitting next to the silvery blonde, who seemed more beautiful than Patty remembered. She felt like the ugly duckling next to the swan.
"That was a stunning performance you gave tonight," complimented Diana Masters with obvious sincerity. "I really envy your horsemanship, Patty."
Patty wondered what Diana's reply would be if she said that she envied Diana her husband. The fleeting glimpse of compassion that flickered through the blonde's luminous blue eyes gave Patty the impression that such a statement would not surprise Lije Masters's wife. The last thing she wanted was Diana's pity.
"Thank you." Her mouth moved stiffly into a smile, so Patty turned her face away from the woman. "Actually my grandfather deserves much of the credit since he helps me with the training and perfecting the stunts."
"She's just as modest as she always was, Lije," Everett King grinned. "I may help, but you couldn't get me to stand on the backs of those two horses while I was trying to control the four ahead of them."
"And I'll bet Patty feels the same about those bulls you used to ride," Lije laughed.
"Either way, we're a team now," Patty inserted.
"Talking about a pair of Kings, I saw your family before Diana and I left. They told me to be sure to give both of you their love and to let you know all of them are fine. Your mother suggested that you could write more often, Patty," Lije smiled.
"She's right, I could," she sighed. "But I doubt if I will. You'd probably better carry the same message back from gramps and me."
"Well, Blake," her grandfather turned to the third man at the table, "I never have heard you say what you think of that bay horse Lije is trying to sell you."
"He's good," the man answered, turning his head to the side and smiling. "But I don't want to say how good for fear Lije will raise the price. We haven't started dickering yet."
With the topic changed to rodeo and horses, Patty was able to sit back and pretend an interest in the conversation.
The longer she sat, the tighter her chest seemed to constrict with pain at the sight of Lije's hand touching his wife's shoulder in light possession. Patty wondered if the ache in her heart would ever go away.
"Is this a private party or can anyone join?" The low, drawling voice belonging to Morgan Kincaid brought an immediate tensing of Patty's muscles.
"Pull up a chair and sit down, Morgan," Lije insisted.
There was an answering scrape of a chair leg behind Patty. Then a hand on the back of her chair was moving her to the side.
"Move over, Skinny," Morgan ordered with mock gruffness.
Flashing him a fiery look of irritation, Patty slid her chair away from Diana's. Every time he tormented her with that wretched nickname that he alone used, it made her feel like a bag of bones covered with a sack. Heaven knew she wasn't voluptuous, but her slender form did possess the necessary feminine curves.
His muscular shoulders and upper arms rubbed against her as he settled into the chair he had placed between the two women. Unconsciously Patty flinched from the contact and was punished for the withdrawal by the arm Morgan laid along the back of her chair. The mocking glitter in his gaze derided the resentment that darkened her eyes.
"This is quite a contrast," mused Morgan, glancing from Patty to the silvery blonde. "On one side I have the goddess Diana and on the other is a reincarnation of Annie Oakley."
A slow anger began to seethe to the surface. "And I thought you were going to make some remark about Beauty and the Beast, with you naturally being the Beast, Morgan," Patty smiled with poisonous sweetness.
"Careful, Skinny," he winked. "Your sarcasm is showing."
Lije leaned back in his chair, surveying the two of them with that indulgent look that had always filled Patty's heart with overwhelming admiration.
"Nothing has changed very much, has it?" Lije commented. "You two are still trading insults."
"I guess it's just a case of New Mexico water not being able to mix with Oklahoma oil," Morgan suggested lazily, sliding Patty a mocking look.
"I don't think I would have compared Patty with water," Diana spoke hesitantly. "Maybe air—like a warm, summer day."
"No, it's water," Morgan assured her. "Placid and serene on the surface with treacherous undercurrents below. Besides, she's still wet behind the ears."
"Well, you're just like oil—slimy!" Patty retorted.
"Which makes me hard to catch. That's how I've managed to stay a bachelor." Her gibe slid away without causing any ripple of reaction on his smooth exterior.
"I thought two years ago you said it was going to be your last season on the rodeo circuit, Morgan," Lije commented. "Your brother Alex was going to take over the stock contracting part of your operations, wasn't he?"
"I considered quitting seriously for a while," Morgan shrugged indifferently, "but as you can see, I changed my mind."
What a pity, Patty thought silently.
As if reading her thoughts, Morgan darted her a knowing glance, showing his amusement at her dislike of him.
A calloused brown hand clamped itself on Lije's shoulder. "Ya sold Blake that hoss yet?" Lefty Robbins asked gruffly.
"I'm trying," replied Lije.
"Hello, Lefty," Diana smiled, tilting her head to look up to the short, wiry cowboy standing behind her husband. Her blue gaze danced to the white cast on his left arm. "How did you break your arm this time?"
"Ah, one of Morgan's buckin' horses squeezed my arm in the chute. My bones are gettin' so brittle, they break if ya look at 'em cross-eyed." His leathery face was cracked by a smile. "Hey, congratulations! I heard you're gonna have an addition to yore family, Lije."
An incredibly proud light gleamed in the gray eyes that exchanged an intimate look with his wife. "That's right," Lije admitted.
"Congratulations," Patty forced the acknowledgment through the tight lump in her throat. "I—I hope you have a healthy and happy baby."
"Thank you," Diana returned sincerely, taking Lije's hand and holding it. "That's all either one of us is asking."
"Instead of congratulatin' someone else," Lefty spoke up, "you should be getting-married and havin' one of your own, Patty. Don't you think so?"
The corners of her mouth trembled as she tried to make them curve into a smile. "I'm afraid I'm not the marrying kind, Lefty." With Patty, it was all or nothing, and if she couldn't have Lije, nothing was what she wanted.
"Well, Skinny, if you're not the marrying kind, are you the dancing kind?"
Morgan Kincaid didn't give her a chance to reply as he pried her fingers free of the knots she had twisted them into and spun her out of the chair. Before she could plant her feet, he was pushing her onto the dance floor.
"If you call me Skinny one more time, I'll break a beer bottle over your head!" she threatened in a hissing undertone, and tried to pull her arm free of his iron grip. "And I don't want to dance with you!"
"I never asked whether you wanted to or not," he replied calmly, winding an arm around her slim waist. "You should be thanking me for saving you from some considerable embarrassment."
"What are you talking about?" Patty demanded.
Still holding her hand, he raised it with his to flick a finger on the end of her lower lash, touching the tear that trembled on the edge.
"Right now you're so busy hating me that you've forgotten you were about to cry." His mouth moved into a complacent smile.
"I was not," Patty denied. "And I should think you would have laughed if I had."
"You can't see me as the knight in shining armor, is that it?" he mocked. The hand on her back forced her to follow his steps.
"No I can't," she answered with obvious challenge as she kept her palm spread against his chest, trying to keep as much distance between them possible.
"The truth is I wouldn't have cared if you'd embarrassed yourself or not." The ebony dark head was tilted to the side, a faint arch to one brow while the cold steel of his eyes contradicted the crooked smile on his mouth. "I am fond of your granddad, though. Since I'd already lost my bet, I was more concerned that your quivering 'stiff upper lip' would collapse and he would be left with the red face. Are you satisfied, Skinny? You were partially right."
She believed what he said was true, but the last gibe jarred the boring cup of her anger. Snapping brown eyes burned a hole in the collar of his shirt, which was opened to reveal the muscular column of his throat.
Gritting her teeth, she retorted caustically, "Don't call me Skinny! I've outgrown my training bra."
"Have you?"
The taunting edge of laughter was in his voice. He moved her slightly away from him, his mocking gaze insolently inspecting her torso with embarrassing thoroughness before it returned to the flaming heat in her face. "And stop looking at me like that. It's insulting!" Patty hissed.
"You're a prude, Patty King," Morgan chided.
"Why?" she challenged angrily. "Because I don't like men disrobing me with their eyes?"
The grooves around his mouth deepened. "You'd better keep your voice down."
Self-consciously Patty glanced around the small dance floor, her eyes seeing the amused looks that were being directed at them. She wanted to squirm like a butterfly on a pin, but she wouldn't give Morgan that satisfaction.
"You're insufferable," she murmured quietly. "You enjoy making me look a fool."
"You dig your own hole," Morgan responded dryly. "I just watch."
Long ago she had stopped hearing the music, letting her feet automatically follow his lead. So when the song ended, her feet kept moving until she bumped into the broad wall of his chest. Before Patty could regain her balance and step back, his arm had tightened around her waist.
"The song is over. Will you please let me go?" Patty demanded coldly.
"Where will you go? The party has disbanded, so you won't want to go back to the table."
The band began playing another slow tune. The hand on her back firmly guided her to follow his steps, turning her at a slight angle so she could see the table where Lije was seated. Only he, Diana and Blake Williams were there.
"Where's grandpa?" she asked, tearing her gaze from the fingers Lije had laced through his wife's as the two hands rested on the tabletop, the tenderly intimate contact there for all to view.
"He's playing a game of checkers with Lefty," Morgan informed her. "I suppose you could go back to the table. While Lije and Blake discuss his horse, you could help Diana pick out some names for the baby."
"Stop it!" The desperate command was issued in an underbreath taut with pain.
The natural direction of their steps turned her away from the table. With a start, Patty discovered that her fingers had been digging into the solid muscle of Morgan's shoulder. Instantly she relaxed the grip. As she did so, some of the fight drained out of her.
"So you've condemned yourself to following the rodeo circuit the rest of your life, have you?" Morgan commented.
"What?" Patty asked faintly, not really following his statement.
"At the table, you said you weren't the marrying kind," he reminded her. "We both know it's really a case of 'if you can't be Mrs. Masters, you don't want to marry anyone.' Since you don't intend to marry and settle, down, that only leaves you the circuit."
"I was thinking about opening a Roman riding school in a few years," Patty shrugged, for some reason unable to take offense at his gibes.
"And where have you planned to locate it? In New Mexico? On your parents' ranch? Nextdoor, so to speak, to Lije?" Morgan jeered softly. "Are you hoping that after a few years the luster will wear off his wedding band?"
A weary frown creased her forehead. "I'm tired, Morgan. Will you please leave me alone?"
His usually mocking features were drawn in serious, thoughtful, lines. "I imagine you'd like to go home."
Patty didn't answer, but her gaze swung to the side table where her grandfather and Lefty Robbins were bent over the checkerboard. Their games were inevitably grudge matches that could go on for hours. Morgan had followed her gaze.
"I'll take you back."
Immediately she stiffened. "No, thank you. I'll take the truck and grandpa can find his own way to the trailer."
"It will be the wee hours of the morning before they break up," Morgan stated firmly. "They'll either have to walk or take a taxi back to the grounds."
"I don't want you to take me," Patty declared, pushing her weight against the iron hand on her back. "Besides, Jill will be furious if you leave with me."
"I can't imagine Jill being jealous of you."
"Thanks a lot!" she hurled sarcastically. "You're really great for a person's ego!"
The song ended and he laughed down at her. "I only meant that she knows how much you despise me. She'll hardly think that you and I will be sneaking off to indulge in some passionate rendezvous. Chances are I'll be back before she realizes I had left, unless you were considering a few consoling kisses?"
"Don't be disgusting!"
Spinning away from the loosened hold on her waist, Patty weaved through the tables to the exit, only to have Morgan's hand reach around her to open the door.
Her mouth tightened as
she walked out of the door, his long, broad shadow falling over her, blocking out the light from the bar. She took one step in the direction of her own pickup and his hand curved around the back of her neck, his fingers enmeshed in her long hair.
"You're riding with me, Skinny," Morgan announced.
Turning as much as the punishing hand on her neck would allow, Patty glared into the roughly masculine face, midnight black hair curling down toward thick black brows. The blue of his eyes was lost in the dark of the night and the lazily narrowed sooty lashes. The calmly determined set of his jaw irritated her.
"I have no wish to ride with you," she declared frostily.
"We aren't talking about wishes. You have three choices. We can stand out here and argue. You can go with me peaceably or I can carry you. Now, which is it going to be?"
Their eyes locked in silent challenge. "I wish I were a man," Patty sighed bitterly, breaking away from his gaze as tears of angry frustration filled her eyes.
"There you go, talking about wishes again," he mocked.
His fingers released her neck and twined themselves deeper in her hair, tugging its sharply to send shooting fires of pain through her scalp. Uselessly she grabbed for his arm in self-protection.
"You're a brute! Do you know that?" she accused.
His expression was calm and unruffled. "I know you think so. What's it going to be—do I carry you or are you walking?"
The thought of being crushed unwillingly against that massive chest the second time in one day sent waves of heat flowing through her blood. The last time was much too vivid in her mind for Patty to want a repeat performance. That was an experience she wanted to forget.
"If you would quit pulling my hair, I'll walk to your stupid truck!" Patty muttered.
"Was I pulling it?" Morgan asked with false innocence. Untangling his fingers, he smoothed the hair from the back of her neck to her shoulders. "I'm so used to seeing you in your Annie Oakley pigtails that I was probably subconsciously making certain these silky locks were yours and not a wig."