“Bottom line? There’s really only one question and I think you already know what that is.”
Angela sighed. “Do we love each other, I suppose.”
“That’s the one.”
“Any insights?” Angela asked wistfully.
“I haven’t seen the two of you in the same room long enough to tell yet.” She winked. “Give me until tomorrow. I’ll share my matchmaking insights with you, though to hear Jenny tell it, I’m really lousy at it.”
That said, she left Angela alone again with her thoughts. All of the things she had to consider were beginning to give her a headache. If she’d thought she could manage it without getting caught, she would have slipped back up to her room and hidden out there until the holidays were over.
The distrust between her and Clint had just escalated to another level, fueled by Janet’s suggestions that he had somehow discovered her potential net worth and decided that maybe being married wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
At this rate, would they ever be able to rediscover the feelings that had drawn them together so many months ago? Or were they destined always to be at cross-purposes, always trying to second-guess motives?
Angela sighed heavily. She’d been exposed to a lot of very strong marriages over her lifetime. Jordan and Kelly, Cody and Melissa, her own parents, Grandpa Harlan and Janet. All of them had shown her the power of love. She believed in it with all her heart. She also knew that trust was at the core of each and every one of them.
Over the last few days the seeds of distrust had been sown between her and Clint, intentionally or inadvertently. It didn’t really matter which. The point was, could any couple overcome that kind of obstacle? The sad answer, it seemed to her, was no.
* * *
Clint knew he was on display. Hell, he was on trial. So far he thought he’d managed to hold his own. Harlan Adams was an even tougher nut to crack than his son, but Clint thought he seemed at least willing to wait and see if Clint could prove himself worthy of an Adams.
The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him. If he’d known everything he knew now about her family on the day he’d met Angela, even he would have said he was out of his league. But he hadn’t fallen for Angela Adams. He’d been caught up in a blazing romance with Hattie Jones, whose background had been kept a mystery and whose heart was as generous as any woman’s on earth.
That was what made him crazy now. He kept remembering all of Hattie’s best traits and questioning which of them existed in Angela. Had any man ever been presented with such a complex puzzle to sort out? If so, he’d like to meet him and discover how he’d done it without losing his sanity in the process.
When another carload of family members turned up—Cody and Melissa and their kids, if he’d gotten the names straight—he took the opportunity to slip away from the ensuing chaos and hunt for Angela. She’d vanished again, though he was pretty sure this time that she’d gone no farther than the kitchen. He’d noticed that she seemed to retreat there an awful lot. It must have always been some sort of haven for her. That suited him just fine, since the warm room and the sympathetic housekeeper drew him, as well.
Sure enough, Angela was sitting at the table, eyes closed, a half-empty glass of milk on the table, her feet propped up on another chair. He noticed that her ankles were swollen. Since she was either asleep or simply oblivious to his arrival, he slid into the chair closest to her feet and lifted them into his lap. He massaged them gently, regretting all the exhausting days she must have spent when he hadn’t been around to perform this simple act of kindness for her.
Her sigh of pure pleasure sounded genuine. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at him in surprise. “You?”
“Who’d you think it was?” he inquired, chuckling at her disconcerted expression.
“I don’t know. Consuela maybe.”
“I’m disappointed, angel. I thought for sure you’d recognize my touch.”
“It’s been a long time.” Her gaze caught his and lingered. “A very long time.”
“Some things a man never forgets,” he said. “I guess it’s different for a woman.”
“Not really,” she admitted softly.
The response and the hint of intimacy hovered in the air between them, too fragile to test. Clint was wise enough for once to keep silent. He contented himself with the sighs his ongoing massage earned him.
“I suppose I can’t put it off any longer,” she said eventually.
“What?”
“Joining the others.”
“There are more here now,” he advised her. “Your uncle Cody, I believe. I skipped out before meeting him and came to look for you.”
She grinned. “Two Adams men didn’t alarm you, but three began to seem like impressive odds, I guess.”
“Something like that.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Or maybe I just missed you.”
“I wish I could believe that,” she said almost wistfully.
“Then do. It’s true.”
She regarded him with blatant skepticism. “True or convenient,” she muttered.
His fingers stilled against her soft skin. “Convenient?” he asked, his tone lethal.
There was a flash of pure panic in her eyes, but it quickly gave way to defiance. “Yes, convenient,” she said firmly. “You’re up to something, Clint Brady. There’s not a doubt in my mind about that.”
“Sweetheart, unlike you, I laid all my cards out on the table. I intend to marry you and give my child my name.”
“And then?” she asked distrustfully.
“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to take things as they come after that.”
She scowled. “Now that’s the part that has me worried.”
“It shouldn’t.” He slid his hand up her leg, beneath her slacks. The skin was soft as silk and warmed to his caress. “We were always very, very good at improvising.”
An obviously reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Yes,” she conceded eventually. “Yes, we were.”
7
Clint had grown up in what he considered to be a large family, plenty of brothers and sisters to make holidays chaotic, if stressful, even a handful of cousins on his mother’s side to fill up the house. He’d always thought that was one reason he’d moved to such a small town in Montana and chosen an isolated ranch. He’d longed for some peace and quiet.
He now knew with absolute certainty that the one thing he would never get with Angela in his life was peace and quiet, not on holidays spent in Texas, anyway.
By three in the afternoon he’d lost count of the number of people who’d arrived for the pre-Christmas party. Harlan Adams presided over the celebration with as much pride as any clan patriarch in a state filled with larger-than-life men. He commanded the respect not only of his sons, but his daughters-in-law and of all the grandchildren. They deferred to him in most matters, teased him unmercifully about others and always, always showed their love with every word and action.
Clint knew it took an incredible man to earn so much adoration. He’d never had a male role model of his own. He’d thought when he first met Luke Adams that Luke might be the man to emulate. Now he realized that Luke was simply his father’s son: a strong, honest man shaped by a strong, honest father. Cody and Jordan were, as well. Parenting such fine men was a legacy Harlan Adams could be proud of.
Watching their interaction made Clint feel the kind of gut-deep envy that he’d never before experienced as child or adult. Sure, as a kid he’d wanted a dad around for the simple stuff, a father-son dinner at school, a game of catch in the backyard, an afternoon of fishing. He’d regretted not having something that even his own brothers and sisters had experienced. But he hadn’t felt this wrenching sense of having missed something powerful and meaningful in his life.
He had no idea what kind of man his father had become when he’d left them, but the fact
that he’d gone said quite a lot about his character. It was obvious to Clint that his father hadn’t come from the same sort of stock that Harlan Adams had. Even if he’d stayed, his influence on Clint’s life probably wouldn’t have been as sharply defined as Harlan Adams’s had been on his sons.
It was rare for Clint to feel that he wasn’t another man’s equal, but in this crowd he began to have his doubts. His own code of ethics was decent, his own brand of loyalty deep, but he wasn’t at all sure it measured up to what he was witnessing at this family gathering.
Having doubts about himself always made him edgy. As a kid he’d taken swings at anyone who’d suggested he was less than they were. As an adult he’d learned to avoid situations that would put him at a disadvantage.
Now, feeling decidedly edgy, he retreated outside after Consuela’s gargantuan feast. He figured it would be hours before anyone even noticed he’d gone. If they did notice, they’d probably be relieved since his presence had created more than one awkward, stressful moment.
Angela surely wouldn’t miss him. She was finally and totally caught up in her reunion with her family, just as she should be. Whatever questions anyone had raised had been silenced, probably by stern admonitions from on high. In the absence of such probing, she had relaxed. Her smile had come more frequently, twisting his insides with the innocent beauty of it. He thought she looked happier than he’d ever made her. That made him edgy, too.
“Too overwhelming?” she asked, suddenly appearing at his side as if he’d conjured her up. Her hair was whipping around her face in the icy wind. That same wind had put patches of color in her cheeks. She was desperately tugging at her coat, trying to close the ever-widening gap over her expanding tummy, but it was a losing battle.
He smiled at the futile effort and drew a responding scowl.
“You try adding an inch a day to your waistline and see how long clothes fit,” she grumbled.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said curtly. “The sun’s about to go down and the temperature’s dropping.”
“I needed some air and a chance to let my face muscles relax.”
He grinned at that. He’d felt much the same way himself. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to taunt. “Too much smiling?” he inquired. “Didn’t I read somewhere that it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown?”
She chuckled. “Have you been reading those beauty magazines I left behind?”
It was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. She’d cluttered the whole darn ranch house with her romance novels and her magazines. After she’d gone, he’d felt closer to her when he’d glanced through them. Silly nonsense, for the most part, at least when it came to the magazines.
The books had been another story. Some of those writers could weave a fascinating story, and the steamy sex in a few of them had left him downright hot for days afterward. He’d regretted not peeking at them when Hattie had been around to satisfy the urges they stirred.
“You have, haven’t you?” she demanded, laughing. “I don’t believe it.”
He feigned a scowl. “Don’t let it get around, angel. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
She eyed him speculatively and he could see evidence of the insatiable Hattie in her expression. She had always been as eager as he to make love, as anxious as he for a stolen caress or a passionate kiss.
“Exactly what other tidbits of useful information did you pick up from your reading?” she asked.
Suddenly enjoying the game, he reached over and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. He lingered to trace his thumb across her lower lip and felt the shock of his touch jolt through her. The flare of yearning in her eyes was unmistakable. Once upon a time he’d seen it often. That kind of longing was heady stuff for a man who’d always been odd man out with his own family. To have someone want him so desperately fueled his masculine ego and filled his heart. Only after she’d gone had he realized just how much he’d come to depend on it. Now she was openly offering him a chance to grab just a small taste of what they’d once shared.
“For starters,” he said quietly, his gaze pinned on hers, “I learned that sometimes a kiss is more devastating than sex, that the brush of a finger across a woman’s lips can make her toes curl.” He studied her quizzically as he suited action to words. “Is it true, angel?”
She swallowed hard, but never took her eyes from his. The bold look further inflamed him as he waited to see if she’d respond honestly or lie.
“It seems to be,” she said. “But I think one experiment is hardly scientific.”
Smiling to himself, he traced the outline of her mouth, lingering at the dip in the top lip, then skimming the bottom lip lightly with his fingernail. She trembled.
“Two for two,” he said with satisfaction. “Enough yet?”
“Not nearly enough,” she insisted.
“The experimenting’s getting dangerous,” he warned.
“You scared?” she taunted.
“No, but maybe you should be.”
“Nothing scares an Adams,” she retorted.
He laughed. “That’s definitely one part of your heritage you never denied. You were always game for any risk.”
“So were you. Some said it was what made us a good match,” she said.
“Still feeling intrepid?”
“Always.”
He slowly lowered his head until his mouth hovered over hers. “Still?”
With her gaze pinned to his, she simply nodded.
The touch of their lips set off a familiar blazing heat. Clint was no longer aware of the biting cold of the wind. Inside, his body temperature shot up. Perspiration broke out on his brow.
When Angela settled into his embrace, her lips molded to his, he felt as if he could strip naked, make love to her right here and right now, and never even notice the frozen ground beneath them. She could make him hotter faster than a wood stove set on high. Always could.
“Hey, Justin, is there steam rising from Angie?”
Reality slammed into him at the comment. Angela went absolutely still in his arms. He guessed the whispered question came from young Harlan Patrick, Cody’s son. He was twenty or so and had a smart mouth and a young man’s fascination with sex. That much had been evident from the moment he arrived.
“Maybe we should douse them with water,” Jordan’s son, Justin, whispered back. “That’s what Dad does to the cats when he catches them going at it.”
“You do and you are going to be two very uncomfortable young men for the rest of your visit,” Clint said. Angie shivered or so he thought. He glanced down and realized she was laughing and trying to keep her two cousins from catching her at it. She buried her face against his chest.
Justin and Harlan whirled to take off, but Clint released Angela with some reluctance and placed himself squarely in their path, one hand firmly on each boy’s shoulder. He regarded them steadily. “Now here’s the deal, guys. You keep very, very quiet about what you saw and I will keep my mouth shut about the cigarettes you were sneaking.”
Despite being plenty old enough to smoke the two teens exchanged guilty looks. They knew how vehemently their grandfather objected. Harlan had gone on about it earlier.
“Are we agreed?” Clint asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Justin said fervently. “Even at my age Dad would knock me from here to Dallas if he knew I was smoking.”
“From here to Kansas,” Harlan concurred. “We never saw a thing, Mr. Brady.” He dared a glance at his cousin. “Sorry, Angie. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “You guys go back to doing whatever it was you were doing when we showed up. Not that we noticed or anything.”
“Later, guys,” Clint said. “And ditch the cigarettes.”
They took off running. Away from the house, Clint noticed with amusement.
�
�How’d you know they’d been smoking?” Angie asked when they were out of earshot. “I never smelled a thing.”
“Guesswork,” he admitted. “They looked guilty as sin when your grandfather was talking about cigarettes. My brothers and I used to sneak out and try to catch a smoke after some family gathering, so we could feel grown-up. It was my mother who caught up with us the second or third time we tried it. She was not pleased. She threatened to shred the tobacco like a salad and make us eat it for dessert, if she ever caught us with a cigarette again. She said if we were going to put that foul stuff into our bodies, we might as well chow down on it. Said it would kill us quicker that way.”
“Did she do it?”
“Never had to. We’d gotten the message.”
She studied him, her expression thoughtful. “You never talked much about your family when we were together,” she said.
“Neither did you,” he pointed out.
“Touché. Maybe we should start all over again, pretend we just met.”
He glanced at her protruding belly. “That’s a little hard to do, don’t you think?”
Suddenly she gasped and grabbed her stomach.
“What?” he demanded at once. “Are you OK? Sweet heaven, you’re not going into labor, are you? It’s too soon, isn’t it? Have you even seen a doctor since you got here?”
“Whoa. Relax.” She grinned. “Your kid was just making his presence felt. I think he’s practicing for the NFL already.”
“You’re convinced it’s a boy?”
“No, but Consuela is. She’s almost never wrong.” She regarded him shyly, then took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Here, feel.”
For several seconds he felt nothing at all, then suddenly he felt the thump of a very solid kick. The rush of feelings that came over him was mind-boggling. For the first time, the baby was a reality, not just part of some grand lie that stood between them.
“A field goal kicker, for sure,” he said, feeling the unexpected sting of tears in his eyes.
The Heart of Hill Country Page 8