by Diana Palmer
She sighed. She nodded. “Like oil and water.”
“Pretty much.” He moved closer, bent and brushed his mouth softly against hers. “I’ll see you around.”
He left before she could recover from the endearment, the kiss and the insinuation that he wasn’t coming here alone again. It should have made her happy. Instead, it was actually painful. He didn’t want to get mixed up with an innocent. Jake did. Poor Jake, for whom she had no feelings. Jake, who wanted so desperately for her to love him.
Life was messy, she thought. Which was why she liked reading—and writing—romance novels. There were very few happy endings in life. There were, in her books. She felt that a romance should be uplifting, especially at the end. Even though there were some powerful dramatic moments in between the kisses. She wondered what that wild-eyed cowboy would think if he knew how she researched her novels. It made her laugh.
* * *
BART WAS CURIOUS about the taut expression on his usually carefree cousin’s face when he came back from delivering the apples to Mina.
“You look glum,” he observed.
“She reads romance novels and she knows less about men than I know about theoretical physics,” he murmured.
Bart’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not trying to add my best friend to your list of permissible bedmates.”
“Not a chance,” he said curtly. “Virgins are right off my wanted list.”
Bart let out the breath he’d been holding. “Sorry,” he said, when Cort glared at him. “But I’m sort of protective about her.”
“Are you in love with her?” Cort shot back.
Bart’s eyebrows arched. “With Mina?” he asked, aghast.
Cort scowled. “Why the shocked expression?”
Bart laughed. “She and I have known each other for years. If we were going to get romantic, it would have happened a long time ago.”
“I guess so.”
Bart was puzzled by his cousin’s attitude about Mina. How did Cort know she was innocent? He studied the other man covertly, noting his swollen lips, and came to an interesting conclusion.
“Did she mention how her date with Jake McGuire went?” Bart fished.
Cort glared at him. “He wants her.”
“That was blunt.”
“Well, he does. But not like I want women,” he added quietly. He sighed. “I think he’s in love with her. She says she doesn’t feel like that about him.”
Cort didn’t comment on his own curiosity about her motives for seeing the wealthy rancher. He wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t resisting McGuire to keep him interested. He was rich and she wasn’t. He couldn’t get past that. She might be innocent. In fact, he was convinced that she was. Would she barter that innocence to McGuire to land him as a husband and acquire the wealth she lacked? The thought unsettled him.
“Love begins slowly and grows,” Bart said, recalling his own broken heart. “I know how that feels. I lost the only woman I ever loved to another man.”
Cort turned, surprised. “You never talk about it.”
“Hurts too much,” Bart replied with a sad smile. He cocked his head and studied the other man. “You don’t even know what love is,” he said gently. “You think it’s two compatible bodies in bed.”
Cort sighed. “Well, that’s all I know about it,” he confessed. “The type of women I attract aren’t homebodies. They’re models or actresses or debutantes.” He glanced at Bart. “I had sort of a feeling for a debutante once, but her father broke it up before it began. I don’t belong to the old money crowd, you see. They marry among themselves. No outsiders.”
“I’d never be able to run in that sort of social circle,” Bart chuckled.
“Neither would Mina,” he said surprisingly. He turned to the window and rammed his hands into his pockets. “Even at Latigo, we have business dinners and parties. I travel all over the world on business, go to conferences, meet with legislators.” He sighed. “She dresses like a cowgirl. I doubt she’s ever organized even a small dinner party.”
“A lot of woman never have. But they can learn.”
He laughed coldly. “She said that.” He turned back to Bart. “She couldn’t cope with Latigo, or me. So I’m not going back over there. You’ll have to carry your own apples next time.”
“That’s decent of you,” Bart said.
“It’s self-protection,” came the dry reply. “Maybe even survival. I grew up rich. All the people I associate with are rich. I’ve never been poor. We come from different worlds. It’s best to keep them separate.”
“I guess so.”
“Mina said she’d bring you an apple pie tomorrow,” he added.
Bart laughed. “I was hoping she’d do that, when I sent the apples over. Nobody makes an apple pie like Mina!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
CORT SLEPT LATE the next morning. Bart was just finishing bacon and eggs and biscuits provided by the bunkhouse cook, when his cousin dragged into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of black coffee.
“Have some eggs,” Bart offered.
Cort made a face. “I don’t usually eat breakfast. Where did you get all that?” he added, because Bart had been eating cereal in the mornings.
“Bunkhouse has a cook for a couple of weeks,” he said. “Until the production sale. We have to feed people who come to buy our bulls.”
“Nice. We do the same thing at Latigo,” Cort replied. “Except we have a permanent cook and a full bunkhouse.”
“Considering the size of Latigo, I’m not at all surprised,” Bart chuckled. “You even trot out a chuck wagon during roundup, I hear.”
“We have to,” Cort explained “The damned ranch is so big that it would take half a day for the hands to go all the way back to the bunkhouse for every meal. We also have extra nighthawks who have to watch over the herds when we have calves dropping, and they have to be fed at odd hours.”
“I think I’m glad my ranch isn’t that big.” Bart grinned.
“You still have the problems I have,” came the amused reply. “Just on a smaller scale.”
Bart studied him. “You’re dragging this morning. Bad night?”
He hesitated. Then he nodded.
“Combat comes back to bite us in our dreams,” he said quietly.
Cort couldn’t tell him that his particular dream was of Mina Michaels in his bed. He woke squeezing the hell out of a pillow, so hot that he wondered if he’d burned the sheets. He couldn’t get the taste of her out of his memory. He’d as much as told her he wasn’t going to see her again. Now he was wondering how he could find an excuse to go back. She haunted him.
She was so different from the women who passed through his life. He was used to glitter, perfume, flashy couture clothing, nights on the town riding in stretch limos with some of the most beautiful women on Earth. He’d been on the cover of tabloids at least once when a movie star accused him of assault. It went to court. She was lying and Cort produced witnesses to prove that he wasn’t. Instead of his good name being ruined, hers was, and she faced not only jail time but a million-dollar lawsuit filed on Cort’s behalf. It was still going through the courts, and he didn’t feel any sympathy for the star, who apologized on live television, in tears, pleading for forgiveness. The tears were crocodile ones, however, as one astute newscaster mentioned during his broadcast. Cort wished he’d never met the woman. Bedroom skills were hardly worth the misery she’d caused him. Not because he missed her, though. Until she made the accusation, he’d even forgotten what she looked like.
The women in his past were a colorful blur of memory. They were as far away from ranch life as it was possible to get.
“Deep thoughts?” Bart asked, interrupting his train of thought.
Cort looked up. “I was thinking about Stella Hayes,” he said.
“Oh. The woman who
accused you of assault.” He chuckled. “We heard about that even up here. She was so shallow that nobody believed her. Served her right to get caught in a lie and sued to the back teeth for lying.”
“She’s still pleading for me to drop the lawsuit.” He shrugged. “I don’t need the money. I just want to make sure her reputation gets the attention it deserves, to save some other poor fool from her lies.”
“It’s a sad thing she did,” Bart agreed. “When women really get attacked—and far too many do—they have to face ridicule because of women like Stella, who lie to get attention. We live in a mad world.”
“Mad and bad.”
“And ‘the night is dark and full of terrors,’” Bart said on a chuckle.
That made Cort smile. “I was talking to Mina about the series. She watches it, too.” He frowned slightly. “It doesn’t seem quite her type of show, does it? I mean, the language and nudity and the gore...”
Bart choked on his coffee. He recovered quickly and didn’t let on how amused he was at Cort’s impression of Mina. If he knew what that woman had done in the past few years to research books. He almost howled at the thought of Mina being shocked by a television show. He glanced at his cousin and thought again that he’d done the right thing, keeping Mina’s profession a secret. One day Cort would find out what she did, and how. It was going to be a shock.
On the other hand, Mina had no idea that Cort was worth millions or that he owned the biggest ranch in West Texas.
“She’s going to Galveston with Jake McGuire,” Cort murmured. “Then he’s flying her to New York City, to another restaurant. Or so he says,” he added darkly. “I hope she’s not being taken in by him. He likes women.”
“So do you,” Bart reminded him. “And he isn’t being seen around town with the happy divorcée.”
Cort made a face. “She’s really not what people think she is,” he said.
“There’s a lot of that going around lately,” Bart replied, and averted his eyes.
“No, I’m not kidding,” Cort said. “Ida isn’t a scarlet woman. It’s a defense mechanism. If she flaunts her scandalous reputation, men leave her alone. They’re afraid they won’t measure up to her expectations. She avoids relationships like the plague.”
“She goes out with you,” he was reminded.
Cort smiled. “We’re friends, and that isn’t a euphemism. I like her. I don’t like most women.”
“Do you like Mina?”
Cort looked worried. He shifted in his chair and refreshed his coffee from the pot sitting on the table. He sipped it before he answered. “She’s an odd mixture,” he said. “She’s nervous around men. I can understand why she’s that way. Her mother should have been in federal prison.”
“A lot of us around here felt that way,” he replied. “Cody tried so damned hard to get anything on her that would get Mina out of her life. He never could.”
“Her father was a piece of work, too,” he murmured. “He could have tried to keep in touch with his daughter. We have all sorts of ways to do that, even snail mail if it came right down to it.”
“If he’d tried, Anthea would have burned any letters he sent while Mina was out of the house.”
“Damn!”
“I understand that he did try to get custody of her, but Anthea made up some false charge—sort of like your starlet did—and threatened him with prison if he tried to take Mina away.”
“She didn’t want the child,” Cort said, frowning.
“No. But she didn’t want her husband to have her, either.”
“I’ve never understood how women like that get away with so much.”
“Me, neither.”
Cort looked up at him. “What do you think of Mina’s new hire? The full-time man. I can’t remember his name.”
“His name is Jerry Fender,” Bart said, frowning. “McAllister and he go to the same church. He told Fender the job was available, so Fender applied.”
“Does McAllister know if he’s trustworthy?” Cort wondered. “Mina’s over there with him alone at night,” he reminded Bart.
“If Bill McAllister says he’s okay, he is,” Bart replied, surprised at his cousin’s concern for a woman he wasn’t overly fond of.
Cort sighed. “I hope so. She’s...innocent,” he said finally, and the way he said it was almost a caress. “That’s why I don’t like her going around with McGuire. He’s too experienced for a young woman.”
Bart burst out laughing. “Do you know what century this is? Most women Mina’s age have been in at least one serious relationship, sometimes many more. Women are street-smart, and sassy, and many of them don’t like men at all.”
“Sad news for the future generations we won’t have,” Cort replied on a laugh.
“Oh no, we’ll have kids,” Bart assured him. “Women will keep men in cages for breeding purposes.”
“Not on my ranch,” Cort chuckled.
“Nor mine.” He sighed. “City fellers aren’t like us, though. They eat tofu and quiche and talk about stock options and the latest physical fitness craze.” He sipped coffee. “You and I are throwbacks to another whole generation.” He leaned forward. “We’re victims of toxic masculinity!” He waved both hands in the air and made a face.
Cort burst out laughing.
Bart just smiled.
* * *
MINA WAS HAVING PROBLEMS. She’d never had a boyfriend. Well, except for the high school boy her mother had seduced. But now she seemed to have two. Jake McGuire wanted to take her to exotic places. Cort wanted her in his arms, but not for keeps.
Every time she remembered the feel of his hard mouth on her lips, she went weak at the knees. It was a memory that burned in her mind like a beautiful candle, lighting her up, making the world joyful.
She knew that Cort didn’t have staying power. He wasn’t going to settle down in Catelow, Wyoming, and work for Bart and marry her. He was a cowboy. Roaming was in his very nature. He didn’t have any money. He’d never have it. He’d be poor all his life. But he’d be doing what he wanted to. He’d have a sort of freedom that most men never knew, living on the land. She couldn’t afford to let herself be drawn to him too closely. Her body wanted him. That way lay disaster. She knew nothing about birth control past what she’d learned in health classes in high school. And she was far too intense for an affair. Cort could sleep with her and walk away. His sort of woman was Ida Merridan, who was as much a rounder as he was. But Mina would never get over being intimate with him. It would destroy her life.
So it was better for both of them if she stepped back and treated Cort like a distant relation. She could have fun with Jake McGuire as long as he kept it low-key. She knew he had feelings for her. It made her sad, because if they dated for a hundred years, she’d never be able to feel that way about him. She was sorry. He was a good man.
But as long as he knew she was only looking for friendship, they could have fun going places together. She enjoyed his company very much. Just as long as he didn’t try to get serious, she’d be okay.
* * *
JAKE PICKED HER up early Saturday and they flew to Galveston. He apologized, but he had a business meeting early the next morning and he had to be back in time for it. She offered to postpone the trip, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He just smiled. It flattered her that he put her above business.
He was courteous and the soul of respect.
* * *
HE’D FOUND A little seafood restaurant in a town on the coast. It was constructed so that boats could sail right up to the landing and come ashore to eat. Mina was fascinated with it.
“How did you find it?” she asked when they were eating delicately breaded oysters with cocktail sauce and homemade French fries. “These oysters are delicious!”
He chuckled. “A friend of mine pointed me in this direction. I love food.”
&nb
sp; She smiled at him. It didn’t show, that he loved food. He was streamlined. No fat, anywhere.
He caught that searching scrutiny and grinned. “I work it all off,” he said, anticipating the question. “I’m not the type to sit at a desk and let my men do the hard stuff.”
She laughed. “I didn’t think you were.”
“How do you manage a ranch and what you do for a living, as well?” he wanted to know.
Her dark brown eyes twinkled. “I wasn’t doing so good at that,” she said. “Cousin Rogan insisted that I needed a full-time hire, so I got one; a guy named Jerry Fender. He came with good references. Plus, he goes to the same church that Bill McAllister and I do. Bill likes him.”
He sighed. “Mina, Bill likes everybody.”
“True. But he really is a decent judge of character. Besides,” she added, “Fender’s got this great horse of a dog and he said that if I didn’t want the dog in the bunkhouse, he’d pass on the job and go hunting for one someplace else.”
That caught Jake’s attention. His dark eyebrows rose. “What sort of dog is it?”
“Sort of a duke’s mixture,” she replied. “Big and sweet and cuddly.”
“Honestly,” he told her, “I’d take a dog’s instincts about people more seriously than another human’s. They can sense dishonesty. My German shepherd, Wolf, is my best personnel sniffer.” He chuckled. “He growled at a man who applied to the ranch for work. I had a quick background check run on the man, who turned out to be an escaped felon. Dogs are smart.”
“A German shepherd,” she said, smiling gently. “People say they’re very smart.”
“Smart.” He finished his fries and sipped black coffee. “He’s too smart. He can open doors and cabinets and once he turned on the stove.”
“Goodness!”
“I try to keep him out of the kitchen.” He burst out laughing. “I missed my wallet one morning when I got up. I looked in the living room and Wolf had my wallet open and my credit cards spread out on the carpet. I wondered if he planned to go shopping while I was still asleep.”