by Jeanne Allan
Zane didn’t need his daughter to point out the obvious. From the moment he’d joined them, he’d been aware of Allie’s lightly tanned, long, shapely legs. She had no business wearing shorts that short in September. No business tempting him to run his hands over her bare skin.
“Allie, I made another boo-boo,” Hannah wailed.
“It’s okay. A little polish remover will fix it.”
“We’re gonna be pretty for our party, Daddy.”
Images of his legs entwined with Allie’s vanished. “What party?”
“We’re gonna have ice cream,” Hannah said happily. “Davy’s coming and everybody.”
“Just family,” Allie said. “They’re coming over Sunday.”
“Ruth doesn’t work on Sundays.”
“I know. We’ll barbecue. Everyone’s bringing something.”
“Everyone?”
“Mom and Worth and Greeley. And Cheyenne and Thomas.”
“And Davy,” Hannah said in an anxious voice.
Allie smiled at his daughter. “Of course, Davy. And we’ll ask Grandma and Grandpa Taylor.”
White-hot anger flashed through Zane as he realized where her smiles and tricks were leading. “I suppose you’ve sent an engraved invitation to Doyle,” he said tightly.
“I told you,” Allie said, “we’re just having family.”
How could Allie think about having a damned party when his life was disintegrating? If she had the least shred of decency, felt the least bit of kindness toward Hannah, she wouldn’t be planning a celebration. Not now.
Unless she was celebrating victory. He’d mailed in the damned swabs for the DNA test. He knew what the outcome would be, but waiting for the test results gave him a little breathing room. Time to plan. Maybe hire a private investigator to dig into Doyle’s life. If he had to resort to blackmail to keep Hannah, he would.
Losing Hannah didn’t bear thinking about.
Zane opened the closet door and reached for a blanket, then stopped. Damn it. Why should he sleep on the sofa? The house, the bed, belonged to him. Allie had destroyed his life. There was no reason she should destroy his back. Closing the door he marched down the hall toward the bedroom. His bedroom.
Allie looked up as he threw open his bedroom door. “It occurred to me, I should have asked you a crucial question about Sunday before I started issuing invitations.”
He scowled at her. “Just one?”
“I’m sure more will come to me.” She returned her attention to the pad in her hand. “The question is, can you grill?”
“What?” He didn’t exactly know what question he’d braced himself to hear, but that wasn’t it.
“Grill. You know? Cook outdoors on a barbecue grill? No matter what Worth puts on the grill, what he takes off is raw or charcoal briquettes, and I suspect Thomas has lever barbecued in his life. So the crucial question is, can you grill?”
“Allie,” he began, then hesitated. How did a man go about discussing his wife’s treachery when she insisted on talking about something as mundane as cooking?
“I know, I know. It’s sexist, expecting the man of the house to do the barbecuing, but for Hannah’s sake, I’d like the party to go well, even if it’s just family.”
“Allie,” he tried again.
“The thing is, Worth is a closet chauvinist when it comes to barbecuing. He thinks it’s a man’s job. Whenever Mom or I or Cheyenne or Greeley planned to grill, he insisted on doing it. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, we let him, but he is, without a doubt, the worst outdoor chef in the state of Colorado. If he sees me grilling, he’ll take over. If you grill, he’ll stand around and talk cows and sports, the way guys always do.”
“I can handle the grill.”
“Good.” Allie wrote something, then studied her pad.
What the hell was going on? Zane hadn’t felt so disoriented since he’d awakened five years ago to find himself in Kim Taylor’s bed. A few days ago Allie had vilely betrayed him, and now apparently all she had on her mind was a barbecue. If he’d left a movie for popcorn and come back into the theater to find a different movie playing, he couldn’t be more befuddled.
She looked up from her pad. “What do you want?”
He wanted her under him.
The sudden heat of desire jolted him. Allie had betrayed him, sabotaged his life, and he wanted to bury himself in her warmth. How could he even think of warmth in connection with Allie after what she’d done? His weakness angered him. Wanting Allie was a betrayal of Hannah.
Allie didn’t wait for his answer. “I thought steaks, but if you’d rather fix hamburgers, I don’t care. I promised Hannah we’d have hot dogs, too.”
She’d been asking about the damned barbecue.
“Mom is bringing a chocolate cake. Cheyenne said they’ll hit the deli, and Greeley is making her famous potato salad. Hannah and I can make bread, unless you want to fix hamburgers, then I’ll buy buns. Let’s see.” She jotted on the pad. “Condiments, lemonade, iced tea and baked beans, You always liked my grandmother’s baked bean recipe. Ice cream, of course. Can you think of anything else?”
He wanted to tell her to quit acting. Allie had always excelled at hiding her feelings, but he’d never seen her put on a performance this remarkable. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were a normal married couple discussing the trivia of their lives as they prepared for bed.
The hell with her games. He could play a few games himself. “I’m not sleeping on that damned sofa anymore.”
“Okay.” She didn’t look up.
Damn her. “This is my house and my bed, and I’m sleeping here whether you like it or not.”
Her nostrils briefly flared with annoyance. “Sleep where you want.”
“I intend to.” Zane sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. Standing, he yanked off his shirt. His hands went to the waistband of his jeans. Allie hadn’t moved. “Well?” He waited for her to dash from the room. He didn’t give a damn where she slept.
Allie looked at him. Her eyes darkened. “Well, what?”
It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to interpret the flushed look on her face. However Allie had meant the question, the voice she’d asked it in had been low and sensuous. Less question than sultry challenge.
Zane’s body hardened. Her need for revenge had killed any love he’d had for her. She meant nothing to him. Thai didn’t mean he couldn’t use her. Maybe find forgetfulness for a short time. His gaze holding hers, Zane unfastened his jeans, leaving them to hang on his hips as he rounded the foot of the bed. Reaching down, he took the pad and pencil from her loose grasp and set them on the bedside table, then snapped off the lamp. His jeans hit the floor with a muffled thump. Allie said nothing as he slid into bed and reached for her.
Allie dumped sugar into the pitcher of lemonade and stirred vigorously. Pretending for Hannah’s sake that things were normal didn’t mean a person had to enjoy herself enthusiastically in the marital bed. Blame Zane. Allie could control her reactions better if he were an unsatisfactory lover. Except of course, what they did had nothing to do with love. Zane wanted sex and an escape from reality. Allie knew he was using her to hold his fears temporarily at bay.
Why not? She was using him to... Well, actually, Allie didn’t know why she was using him. When she tried to analyze her behavior in Zane’s bed, her thoughts got stuck on inconsequential details such as the width of Zane’s shoulders, the warmth of his skin, his heart beating against her palms. It was sick. When a woman felt totally neutral toward a man, her stomach shouldn’t turn squishy funny at the sight of his bare chest.
Worse was admitting she liked listening to his steady breathing at her side as he slept. She liked seeing the false dawn in the sky and hearing the early bird song as his hands molded her to him again.
She liked everything about being married to Zane. Except being married to him.
She’d gone stark raving mad.
In the oven a pot of baked bea
ns slowly bubbled. Bread cooled on racks. The freezer held three flavors of ice cream, and steaks and iced tea waited in the refrigerator. Allie had come downstairs to take care of last-minute preparations while Zane supervised Hannah’s bath.
Allie’s stirring slowed. Funny how a woman could plan to many a man and have his children and never consider what kind of father he’d make. Years ago Allie had seen Zane as strong and handsome and sexy. Seeing him with Hannah disclosed qualities she’d never considered. Strength, yes, but gentleness and firmness. He protected and nurtured his daughter, and Hannah adored him.
“No! I don’t wanna! I don’t like you, Daddy! I’m gonna tell Allie!” Hannah yelled from the upper floor, then ran down the staircase and down the hall, calling for Allie. The little girl charged into the kitchen, her mouth turned dramatically downward. “Daddy said I hafta put on shoes!”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Allie asked, looking in disbelief at the seemingly ubiquitous neon pink dress.
Hannah pirouetted. “It’s my party dress.” Pressing the ruffled skirt to her knees, she looked down at feet encased in white patent leather shoes. “They can’t see my pretty toes!” she wailed. “Tell Daddy I can’t put on shoes.”
“Well, uh...” A sound alerted her and Allie looked up to see Zane lean against the kitchen doorjamb. He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
Allie took a deep breath and started with the dress. “Since it’s a barbecue party, your father and I are wearing jeans.”
“Wanna wear my party dress,” Hannah said mulishly.
Allie took another look at the atrocious dress. “All right.” With luck Hannah would destroy it. “Put on your sandals and your toenails will show.”
Zane folded his arms across his chest. “She doesn’t have sandals. She lives on a ranch. It’s boots or her white shoes.”
Allie looked at father and daughter. One challenging face and one expectant face stared back. Great. Now she knew how Solomon felt rendering judgments. Allie wanted to smack both their knuckles with the lemonade spoon. She wasn’t anyone’s mother. Why were they looking at her? “Okay, here’s the deal, Hannah. Wear your cowboy boots—”
“Noooo!”
“Let me finish. Boots when you’re off the porch, but you can go barefoot in the house or on the porch.”
“Okay.” Hannah sat on the floor and tugged at her shoes.
“I’m not through. If you don’t put your boots on when you leave the porch, then you may not go barefoot anymore.”
“Okay.” Holding her shoes and stockings, Hannah stood and smirked at Zane. “See, Daddy,” she said smugly, “I tol’ ya. Allie knows ’cause she’s a big lady.”
Zane lightly swatted his daughter’s behind as she trotted past him to get her boots. “Show a little respect for your father.”
Hannah came running back. “I love you,” she said seriously, “but you don’t know about pretty toes.”
“I know about toes. In fact, I just might eat yours with mustard and ketchup at our party.”
“No!” Hannah squealed with delight. “I’m gonna eat yours!” Giggling she ran from the room.
The laughter on Zane’s face faded, and his shoulders slumped.
Clearing her throat, Allie said, “I don’t know why I bothered to fix beans if everyone’s eating toes for dinner.”
Zane squared his shoulders and brought his gaze to rest on her face. “A good question. Why did you bother?”
She almost blurted out because he liked them. “You give a party, you have to have food.”
“Why give a party? To celebrate what a sap I was to marry you?”
Allie traded spoons and opened the oven to stir the beans. “You might recall whose idea this dumb marriage was.” She slammed the oven door. And remembered she’d mentioned marriage first. Which Zane would no doubt quickly remind her.
“Allie.” Zane’s hands clamped on her shoulders. “How’d we come to this? I never wanted to fight with you, but it drove me crazy the way you assumed I was like Beau.”
Her fingers curled painfully around the spoon. “Don’t put the blame on me. I’m not the one who slept with someone else.”
His hands fell away. “It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?”
Allie whirled. “What do you expect? You betrayed me.”
His face utterly still, Zane stared down at her.
Allie took a deep breath. “There’s no point rehashing the past.” Gripping the spoon, she turned to face the sink. “The steaks are in the refrigerator. Have you started the grill?”
“It’s gas.”
Allie stared out the window at a chipmunk eating dandelion seed heads. She wished Zane would leave the kitchen. Thinking of what might have been hurt too much. The drawn-out silence behind her vibrated with tension. Just leave. The unspoken prayer seemed to bounce off the cupboards and walls.
Zane moved to stand directly behind her, his body heat bridging the space between them. “Allie.” He slid his hands down her upper arms. “We could start over. We’re older, wiser. We could try to make this marriage work. If you wanted.”
The spoon fell from lifeless fingers into the sink. First shock, then an unexpected reaction jolted Allie. She wanted to try. She wanted to say yes.
Fear held her silent. Giving Zane her body had been easy. Trusting him meant a far greater risk. She’d barely recovered from the last time he’d hurt her. If he hurt her again...
She sensed something wonderful hovering just beyond her reach. It could be hers. All she had to do was reach out and grab it. Take a chance.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
Zane dropped his hands at the shout from the front hall and stepped back. “Forget it. It’s too late for us to start over.”
Allie whirled. “Zane...” The indifference in his blue eyes silenced her.
“I think our guests have arrived,” he said coolly and left the room.
Leaving Allie to fail miserably at making sense of the chaos he’d made of her emotions.
She’d stood in his kitchen, in front of his stove, and Zane’s ability to reason had flown out the window. He’d wanted so badly to believe his fairy tale, he’d mindlessly ignored the evidence of her betrayal, and like an idiot, suggested they stay married. No wonder Allie hadn’t known how to respond. She must have been struggling to keep from laughing in his face.
Now he knew why she was giving a party. More turning the knife. His wife—inwardly he gave the label a mocking sneer—had put on a good show of surprise when she’d seen Sean Doyle with the rest of them, but she hadn’t fooled Zane.
Absently Zane smoothed down Hannah’s curls as she stuck to his leg. Strangers milling around paying her extravagant compliments made her bashful.
“What a beautiful dress,” Doyle said in the hearty voice clueless adults use with children. “Will you come over here so I can get a better look at it?”
Hannah stuck her thumb into her mouth and shook her head.
Mary Lassiter rolled her eyeballs at Zane and held her hand out to Hannah. “Davy and I want to see Honey. Come show us which one she is.”
Hannah hopped off the porch, stopped, gave Zane a guilty look and dashed back to the porch. Sitting, she thrust her bare feet into boots, one eye on Allie. Allie pretended not to notice. Or more likely, Zane thought savagely, Allie didn’t give a damn if Hannah stepped in a cow pie or on a rusty nail.
Her boots on, Hannah joined Mary and Davy as they headed for the pasture fence. Mary had a way with kids. The trio had traveled barely two feet from the house before Mary and Hannah swung clasped hands as Hannah skipped and chattered.
Zane stiffened as Doyle stood. He was damned if he’d let the actor pester Hannah.
“Sean, come here and help us out.” Allie pointed to a chair near her. “We know half of what Jake is telling us about Hollywood is lies, but we don’t know which half. We need you to tell us when he’s lying.”
The TV actor eagerly joined the crowd around Jake Norton.
“Finally. I’ve been dying to get you to myself.” The dark-haired woman who’d been introduced as Jake Norton’s wife sat in the chair beside Zane.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve long wanted to meet the man who broke Allie’s heart.” Kristy Norton gave him a lopsided smile. “Not exactly the most brilliant way to start a conversation, was it?”
“No.”
Kristy laughed. “An honest man.” She put crimsontipped fingers on his arm. “I’m so happy for Allie. It’s great the way she and your daughter adore each other.”
Zane saw no reason to set her straight. She was right about Hannah, anyway.
“Although you were mean to get married without us. We were stunned when we arrived last night and Cheyenne told us. I told Jake he has to persuade you to let him use your wedding in a movie. I love that image of Allie in blue jeans.” The woman studied Zane’s face. “I’ll bet she was a beautiful bride.”
Zane’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. “Yes.”
A slow smile spread over the woman’s face. “I see why she never gave other men the time of day.”
Zane didn’t. “She has no trouble giving Doyle the time of day.”
“Blame Jake for hauling Sean here today. I keep telling my husband he can’t just show up at people’s houses with uninvited guests.” She dimpled. “Not that we aren’t uninvited ourselves, but Cheyenne said we’d be a big surprise.” Kristy gave Zane a shrewd look. “Not all surprises are good.”
Zane found himself liking the outspoken woman. “Allie’s friends are always welcome at my place.”
“Jake’s doing another Western movie, and Sean wants to play the second lead. He attached himself to Jake the second we ran into him in the J-Bar at the Hotel Jerome. The part would be great for his career, but I’m not sure he has the right look.”
“I thought women liked Doyle’s look.”
“Adolescent females. He’s too pretty. This movie has parts for two rough, he-man types. Like Jake and you and Worth. Your faces have the kind of hard edge that appeals to men as well as women. What do you think, Allie?” she called across the porch. “Doesn’t Zane belong in pictures? He’s the epitome of the strong, silent, rugged, rock-solid, dependable cowpoke. And really sexy, don’t you agree?”