Connal

by Daina Palmer

  "He thinks you're the berries," he replied. "And he's a lonely man. Don't encourage him."

  "I noticed you didn't mention Harden. Don't you want to protect him, too?"

  He ignored the sarcasm, shocked by his own posses-siveness, his sudden sharp jealousy. "Harden's immune. Evan isn't."

  "Listen here, C. C. Tremayne, just because I liked sleeping with you is no reason to accuse me of being a loose woman. . .!"

  "Point one," he said, covering her lips with a firm forefinger, "I am not accusing you of anything. And point two, what we just did together had nothing, not a damned thing, to do with sleeping."

  "Ticky, ticky," she returned.

  He searched her eyes slowly. "I've never had it like that," he said curtly. "Not with anyone. Not so bad that I cried out and damned near fainted from the force of the pleasure when you satisfied me. I don't know that I like losing control that savagely."

  She felt a fierce pride that she'd done that to him, and her eyes told him so. "Suppose I make you like it?" she whispered huskily.

  His heart began to thunder against his ribs all over again at her sultry tone. "Think you could?" he chal­lenged.

  She moved closer, her finger toying with one of the pearly buttons at his throat. "Wait and see," she said softly. She reached up and teased his lips with hers, a fleeting touch that aroused without satisfying.

  He watched her go to the door with a feeling of hav­ing given up a part of himself that he was going to miss like hell one day. She knew how he reacted to her, and that gave her a weapon. She enjoyed lovemaking, that was obvious, but she'd said she didn't love him. If she ever realized how hopelessly in love with her he was, she'd have him on the end of a hook that he'd never get free from. He almost shivered with apprehension. Acci­dental marriage or not, he wanted this woman with blind obsession. Whatever happened now, he wasn't going to give her up.

  They drove the rest of the way to Jacobsville in a tense silence. C.C. smoked cigarettes until Pepi had to let down a window in self-defense. He seemed nervous, and she wondered if it was coming home that had him in such a state, or bringing her here. Despite his denials, she won­dered how she was going to be received by his family. He was used to wealth and society people, and she wasn't. Would they even accept her?

  He drove past a huge feedlot, through the country and down a long winding paved road until he reached an arch that boasted a sign that read Tremayne.

  "Home," he murmured, smiling at her. He sped down the driveway in the Ford, while Pepi clenched her hands in her lap and hoped that she could cope. There were white fences on either side of the driveway, and far in the distance sat a white Victorian house with a long porch and beautiful gingerbread latticework. There were flower beds everywhere, and right now assorted chrysanthe­mums were blooming in them.

  "It's beautiful," she said, her eyes lingering on the tall trees around the house.

  "I've always thought so. There's Mother."

  Theodora Tremayne was small and thin and dark, with silver hair that gleamed in the sun. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with an apron. She rushed out to meet them.

  "Thank God you're home," she said, hugging Con­nal. "You must be Pepi, I'm so glad to meet you." She hugged Pepi, too, before she turned back to her tall son. "The sink in the kitchen is stopped up and I can't find Evan anywhere! Can you fix it?"

  "Don't you have a plumber's helper?" Connal asked with a wry smile.

  "Of course. What do you want with it?" she asked blankly.

  "She had a flat tire on the wheelbarrow," he told Pepi.

  "Go ahead, blurt out all the shameful family secrets at once!" Theodora raged at him. "Why don't you tell her about the mouse under the sink that I can't catch, and the snake who insists on living in my root cellar?"

  Pepi burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. She'd been so afraid of some rich society matron who'd make fun of her, and here instead was Theodora Tremayne, who was nothing short of a leprechaun.

  "I'm glad to see you have a sense of humor, Pepi," Theodora said approvingly. "You'll need it if you have to live with my son. He has no sense of humor. None of my sons do. They all walk around like thunderheads, glowering at everybody."

  "Nobody glowers except Harden," C.C. said defen­sively.

  "He's enough," Theodora said miserably. "He gets worse all the time. Well, come in and fix the sink, son. Pepi, do you like ham sandwiches? I'm afraid that's all I could get together in a hurry. I've been out helping Evan and the boys brand new calves and things are in a bit of a mess."

  She went on mumbling ahead of them. Connal caught Pepi's hand.

  "No more worried thoughts?" he asked with an amused smile.

  "None at all. She's a treasure!" she said.

  He slid his arm around her and hugged her close. "She isn't the only treasure around here," he whispered, and bent to kiss her.

  Pepi went inside with him, her feet barely touching the floor. She wondered if she wouldn't float right up to the ceiling, she was so happy. He had to care a little. He just had to!

  Chapter Eleven

  But Connal's earlier warmth seemed to disintegrate as the day wore on. He fixed his mother's sink, leaving Pepi to help a flustered Theodora set the dining-room table.

  "I'm so glad he's coming out of the past," Theodora told the younger woman with sincere gratitude. "You don't know how it's been for us, watching him beat him­self to death over something he couldn't have helped. He came to see us, occasionally, and there were phone calls and letters. But it's not the same thing as regular con­tact."

  "We never knew anything about his past; Dad and I, that is," Pepi said. "But C.C. always had class. You couldn't miss it. I used to wonder why he buried himself on a run-down place like ours."

  "He speaks highly of your father," Theodora said. "And he, uh, had a lot to say about you, too, the last time he was here."

  Pepi blushed, lowering her eyes to the plate she was putting on the table. Thank God she knew where the knife, fork and spoon went, and it wasn't one of those elaborate settings that she couldn't figure out. "I guess he did," she answered Theodora. "He was furious when he left the ranch. I didn't blame him, you know," she said, lifting quiet brown eyes to the other woman's face. "He had every right to hate me for not telling him the truth."

  Theodora searched those soft eyes. "He's hurt you badly, hasn't he?" she asked unexpectedly. "Does he know how you feel?"

  The blush got worse. Pepi's hand shook as she laid the silverware. "No," she said in a whisper. "If he even considers it, he probably thinks I'm in the throes of physical attraction. And for right now, it's safer that way. I'm not convinced that I can ever be the kind of wife he needs. You see," she added worriedly, "I'm not sophis­ticated."

  Theodora impulsively went around the table and hugged her, warmly. "If he lets you get away from him, I'll beat him with a big stick," she said forcefully. "I'll go and bring in the sandwiches and call the boys in. Don't look so worried, Penelope, they won't take any bites out of you!" she said with a grin.

  Pepi sat down where Theodora had indicated, and a minute or so later, the older woman came back with a huge platter of sandwiches, closely followed by her three towering sons.

  "Hello, again," Evan said warmly, seating himself beside Pepi. "What a treat, having something pretty to look at while I eat," he added, with a meaningful glance toward his brother Harden.

  Harden lifted a dark eyebrow, glancing with cold in­difference at Pepi. "I've told you before, if you don't like looking at me while you eat, wear a blindfold."

  "God forbid, he'd probably eat the tablecloth!" Theodora chuckled. "Sit down, Connal, don't dither."

  "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, but his smile wasn't re­flected in his eyes as he glanced with open disapproval at Evan sitting beside Pepi.

  "Say Grace, Harden," Theodora said.

  He did, and everyone became occupied with sand­wiches and coffee preparation. Evan told Pepi about the ranch and its history while Harden ate in silence
and Theodora quizzed Connal about his future plans.

  Pepi couldn't hear what Connal was saying, but she did feel the angry lash of his eyes. She wondered what she'd done to make him so cold toward her. Could he be re­gretting that impulsive stop at the motel? She flushed a little, embarrassed at the memories that flooded her mind. She still ached pleasantly from the experience. But perhaps it was different for a man, if he didn't love a woman he slept with. Connal had wanted her with a rag­ing passion, she couldn't have mistaken that. But after­ward he might have regretted his loss of control, the lapse that had turned an accidental marriage into a real one. He might be having second thoughts about Edie even now. He looked odd, too. Very taciturn and quiet. Pepi knew that mood very well. It was the one that caused the men to keep well away from him, because when he got broody, he got quick-tempered, too. Pepi hoped he wasn't spoiling for a fight with her.

  "I always wanted a sister," Evan murmured dryly. "What I got was Connal and Donald and. . . him," he shuddered as he glanced at Harden.

  Harden kept eating, totally impervious to the insult.

  "You won't get through his hide with insults," Theo­dora told her son. "I tend to think he thrives on them."

  "You should know," Harden told her, his blue eyes as cold as the smile he bent on her.

  "Not now," she told him firmly. "We have guests."

  "Family," Evan corrected.

  "Yours, not mine," Harden said with a pointed glare at his mother. "No offense," he added to Connal.

  "You plan to carry the vendetta to your grave, I gather," Theodora muttered.

  "I've got to get back to work," Harden said, rising. "I'll see you tonight, Connal."

  He walked out, lean and lithe and arrow-straight, without a backward glance.

  "Now that the company has improved, what do you think of our quaint little place?" Evan asked Pepi.

  She replied automatically, her mind on the awkward conversation that had gone before. If this was any indi­cation of how things were going to go for the duration of her visit, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to stay.

  But it got better, without Harden's difficult presence. Evan took her in hand before Connal could protest and drove off with her in the ranch Jeep.

  "What about Connal. . . ?" she asked uneasily, glanc­ing back to where he stood with Theodora glaring after them.

  "Now, now, all I have in mind is a little brotherly chat," Evan replied, and the teasing was abruptly gone. As he glanced at her without smiling, she saw in Evan the same steely character that had intimidated her first in C.C. and then in Harden.

  He pulled the Jeep off on the side of the ranch road when they were out of sight of the house, and cut the en­gine. "Edie called here this morning, looking for Con­nal," he said without preamble.

  "Oh. I see." She studied the broad, leonine features quietly. He and Connal looked alike. Although Evan's hair was more brown than black, he had the same pierc­ing, unsmiling sternness as his brother.

  "I don't think you do," Evan replied. "Edie isn't the kind of woman to take a rebuff lying down. She didn't believe him when he told her he was married. She thought he was being tricked by a fake license, and she told me so."

  She sighed heavily. "Well, it's easy enough to check, you know," she said.

  "Undoubtedly. I did, when Connal showed us the li­cense." He smiled ruefully at her glare. "No offense, child, but he stands to inherit a hell of a fortune when Mother passes on. He's not exactly a poverty case now, and I didn't know you from a peanut when he came storming in here waving that damned license and cursing at the top of his lungs."

  "But Connal said it was you who changed his mind about staying married to me," she faltered.

  He leaned back against the Jeep door, big and ele­gant-looking for a cattleman, his Stetson pushed back over his broad forehead. "Sure I did," he mused. "One of these days I'll let you read what my private detective said about you. You're the kind of woman mothers dream about finding for their sons. A walking, talking little elf with domestic skills and a gentle heart. In this oversexed, undercompassionate generation, you're a miracle. I told Connal so. Eventually he began to realize that he could do a lot worse."

  "I wonder." She sighed.

  "Edie doesn't seem to agree, so watch out," he cau­tioned sternly. "Don't let her spring any surprises on you. Forewarned is forearmed, right?"

  "Right. Thanks, Evan."

  "Connal deserves a little happiness," he said tersely. "He never had much with Marsha, and she couldn't bear to have him out of her sight five seconds. It's time he stopped beating himself to death."

  "I think so, too," she said gently. "I'll take good care of him, Evan." If I get to, she added silently.

  He smiled almost tenderly. "I gather that you've been doing that very well for the past three years," he said, his deep voice warm with affection. "We'd better get back. I thought you ought to know what the competition was up to so there wouldn't be any unexpected surprises."

  "I'll watch my back," she promised.

  Evan drove her around the ranch and pointed out herd sires along the way. He seemed to have a phenomenal memory for their names, because he never seemed to draw a blank. He was in a jovial mood for the rest of the way home.

  But Connal was in a furious one when they got there. He gave his brother a glare that would have fried a de­fenseless egg, and the one he bent on Pepi made her feel like backing away.

  Theodora pretended not to notice the tension. She herded them into her four-by-four and they drove into Jacobsville to get some more supplies for roundup.

  She seemed to know everyone. Pepi lost her nervous­ness as she was introduced to several people at the hard­ware store, including a harassed young woman herding three small children through the aisles, followed by a tall blond man.

  "The Ballengers," Theodora told Pepi, "Abby and Calhoun. That's Matt. . .no, it's Terry.. .and that's Edd," she said, trying to identify each child.

  "You've got it just backward, Theodora," Calhoun drawled. "Terry, Edd and Matt."

  "Between your kids and your brother Justin's chil­dren, I can't keep the names straight!"

  "And Justin and Shelby have another one on the way," Calhoun chuckled. "Shelby's sure this one is going to be a girl."

  "After two boys I can understand her determina­tion," Theodora replied.

  "We gave up," Abby sighed. "I like boys and I'm tired of the maternity ward, not to mention never being able to get one word in edgewise. They'd trample my dead body to get to their Daddy."

  "They sure would, but I still love you," Calhoun murmured and kissed her forehead warmly.

  She melted against him, almost visibly a part of him. Pepi felt a twinge of sadness that she might never know that kind of devotion. Apparently desire was all she aroused in C.C, and the way he was acting, he might not even feel that anymore. His lean face was as hard as if it had been carved out of granite, and he didn't move a step closer to Pepi when she was introduced as his wife. It was hard to pretend that everything was fine, that she was divinely happy, when her heart was breaking.

  Later, Theodora took her on a tour of Jacobsville, named after Shelby Ballenger's family, and pointed out the huge Ballenger feedlot and the old Jacobs's home, now owned by a new resident. Back at the ranch, Theo­dora produced photo albums, while the men went out to check on the progress of the branding.

  There was little conversation over the supper table. The pert, gangly cook made some acid comments about the enormous male appetites and grinned on her way back to the kitchen.

  "She's been here for so long that she owns the kitchen," Theodora explained merrily. "She loves clean platters after a meal."

  "She's a wonderful cook," Pepi mused.

  "I hear you make wonderful apple pies," Evan com­mented dryly.

  "I don't know about that," Pepi said shyly. "My dad seems to think they're pretty good, because he sure hates sharing them."

  "I don't blame him." Evan glared at Harden and his mother. "I hardly
ever get my fair share of any dessert around here."

  Theodora's eyebrows arched. "Penelope, his idea of a fair share is two-thirds of the pie,"

  "I'm going seedy, anybody can see that," Evan pro­tested. "Wasting away from starvation. . ."

  Pepi laughed delightedly, her eyes twinkling at Evan, who was sitting beside her.

  Across the table, Connal wasn't laughing. He was tor­menting himself with that smile and reading all sorts of ridiculous ideas into it. She'd been attracted to Evan since the first time she'd seen him, and today she'd gone off with him all too willingly. Now she was hanging on his every word. He was losing Pepi. If all she'd felt for him was a sensual curiosity, now that he'd satisfied that, she might have no interest left in him. God, what if she fell in love with Evan? His face contorted and he averted it quickly, before anyone saw his anguish.

  After supper, Theodora produced a new video as a special treat, a first-run comedy that Pepi had been dying to see. But her enthusiasm quickly waned when C.C. left in the middle stating that he needed to make a few busi­ness calls.

  Pepi excused herself shortly thereafter and went to­ward the study, hoping to have it out with C.C. But he wasn't there. With a leaden sigh, she went out the front door, pulling her sweater closer around her, and sat alone on the steps to look out over the dark horizon.

  The door opened and closed. Expecting, hoping, that it was C.C, she got to her feet. But it was Harden.

  Of all the men she'd ever met, he made her the most nervous.

  "Am I intruding?" he asked quietly.

  "No. I. . .just wanted a little air," she stammered. "I'd better go back in now."

  He caught her arm, very gently, and held her in place. "There's no need to be afraid of me," he said softly. "None of my vendettas, as Theodora calls them, involve you."

  She relaxed a little when he let her go and lit a ciga­rette.

  "Connal's been watching you all night," he said after a minute. "Brooding. Did you argue before you came here?"

  "No," she said, glad of the dark because she blushed remembering what they'd done before they came here. "We were getting along better than we had in some time, in fact. Then when we got here, he closed up."