Книга - Texas Glory

Texas Glory
Joan Elliott Pickart


THE WIFE HUNT Glory Carson couldn't believe she'd actually agreed to sexy Texan Bram Bishop's unorthodox proposition. For two weeks she would "act" as Bram's wife so the determined wanna-be-groom could learn the husband ropes and lasso himself a real bride. Glory herself had no intention of ever getting married.As a marriage counselor, she was only in this ruse for its research value - certainly not because she found the blue-eyed, blue-collar Bram husband material. And although she thought she'd conveyed this loud and clear, she never counted on Bram's love of a challenge!FAMILY MEN Tux, Bram, Blue and Gib are four unforgettable men with love as endless as the Texas sky, just waiting for women special enough to win their hearts!







As Of Monday Evening, Glory Carson Would Be His Wife, And He Would Be Her Husband. (#u1163149a-4ebf-597d-8685-e70130437609)Letter to Reader (#u14f86d06-ce92-58f1-b019-ef4bb729b961)Title Page (#u2cd31ab2-40e0-52c5-9c79-f4e4b8fc39d5)Dedication (#u53c1d5b5-0822-5556-9777-8598ac982381)About the Author (#u8d78400d-491a-56b9-b366-d4069153f14f)Prologue (#u99a481cc-41c9-58f9-bad4-1f8705f7de3c)Chapter One (#uf318d956-6932-5d7e-b096-cfb2692a12e8)Chapter Two (#u2b50e918-483f-5edf-8718-14b7a3240c9c)Chapter Three (#ue57f0c55-dd42-5768-8b06-5f5d31090fee)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


As Of Monday Evening, Glory Carson Would Be His Wife, And He Would Be Her Husband.

He had two weeks to observe her in that role and decide if she was a viable wife candidate.

He also had only two weeks to convince Glory that having a husband around the house wasn’t a rotten way to live.

Bram yawned. The thing was, the two weeks had to have an aura of authenticity to them. Bringing home flowers and candy every night wasn’t realistic.

The best way to handle this was just to be himself, do what felt natural and right.

Yep, Bram concluded, as sleep edged over his senses, he’d just be Bram Bishop, the man, come Monday evening.

No...he’d be Bram Bishop, the husband.


Dear Reader,

This month we have some special treats in store for you, beginning with Nobody’s Princess, another terrific MAN OF THE MONTH from award-winning writer Jennifer Greene. Our heroine believes she’s just another run-of-the-mill kind of gal...but naturally our hero knows better. And he sets out to prove to her that he is her handsome prince...and she is his princess!

Joan Elliott Pickart’s irresistible Bishop brothers are back in Texas Glory, the next installment of her FAMILY MEN series. And Amy Fetzer brings us her first contemporary romance, a romantic romp concerning parenthood—with a twist—in Anybody’s Dad.

Peggy Moreland’s heroes are always something special, as you’ll see in A Little Texas Two-Step, the latest in her TROUBLE IN TEXAS series.

And if you’re looking for fun and frolic—and a high dose of sensuality—don’t miss Patty Salier’s latest, The Honeymoon House. If emotional and dramatic is more your cup of tea, then you’ll love Kelly Jamison’s Unexpected Father.

As always, there is something for everyone here at Silhouette Desire, where you’ll find the very best contemporary romance.

Enjoy!






Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian P O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3


Joan Elliott Pickart

Texas Glory










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Pam Vallentine


JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over seventy novels When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and a fantastic little grandson. In September of 1995. Joan traveled to China to adopt her fourth daughter, Autumn. Joan and Autumn have settled into their cozy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.








Prologue

“Tell you a story? Why, I’d be mighty pleased to do just that. I’m figurin’ you want to hear ’bout Bram Bishop. So make yourself real comfy there, and your ol’ Granny Bee will tell you all ’bout Bram.

“Now, you know that two of the Bishop boys up and got themselves married. Tux is with his Nancy. Blue is with his Amy. They’re happy as can be.

“Bram was mighty pleased that his brothers found the forever love they were seekin’. But, oh, mercy, Bram surely did wish himself a fairy godmother with a magic wand, who would produce a lovin’ lady for him to marry. He just wasn’t havin’ any luck findin’ a wife, none at all.

“Well, one day Bram was gettin’ on an aeroplane to fly back to Houston, after doin’ some business over Austin way. I never been on an aeroplane and don’t intend to, either. I’m just fine right here in my ol’ rockin’ chair.

“Anyway, that plane had three seats glued together on each side of the aisle. Can you imagine that? There wasn’t even room for a person to put their knittin’ bag ’longside their chair ’cause they’re stuck plum together.

“You got a little piece of paper tellin’ you what seat you’re to settle yourself in. Silly business, if you ask me. But Bram was lookin’ for the seat number on his special paper, ‘long with the other folks all shufflin’ in a row on that plane. Bram found his place and saw a lady already in the seat by the window.

“Now, that’s where my story really begins, you see, with that pretty little gal by the window. Glory be, she was... Funny I should say that word...Glory...”


One

Glory Carson leaned her head back and closed her eyes, telling herself to tune out the noise of the other passengers boarding the airplane.

Good grief, she thought, she was so exhausted she was nearly numb. The seminar in Austin for psychologists specializing in marriage counseling had been well attended, resulting in a constant cacophony of jarring voices. She’d had to be her professional best at all times, a constant smile in place, her interest in who was speaking to her at least appearing to be at the maximum.

It had been a productive weekend...she hoped. She’d pressed her business card into more hands than she could count, and been promised a half dozen referrals. All she could do now was wait and see if they materialized in her office.

Her speech had been well received, Glory mused foggily. The applause had been loud and long, and afterward the favorable comments were numerous.

All in all, she had no complaints about the way things had transpired in Austin, except for the fact that she was so tired she practically had to remind herself to inhale, then exhale.

Oh, what she would give for a bubble bath, then bed, and hours and hours of undisturbed, rejuvenating sleep.

Glory was vaguely aware of activity next to her, but she kept her eyes closed, assuming the passenger in the middle seat was settling in.

Fine, she thought. The sooner everyone got their bottoms planted, the quicker this plane could leave Austin and make the hour flight to Houston and home, and her waiting, welcoming bed.

“Where’s your seat belt?” a man with a rich, deep voice asked. “Oh, here it is. There you go, buddy. You’re all set. You sit there and behave like a good little guy. Okay? See? I’m right here next to you.”

Oh, dear, Glory thought, apparently she had been seated next to a father with a young son. She adored children, she really did, but she hoped to the heavens that this one was well behaved and quiet.

Moments later, as the airplane began to move, Glory allowed the rumble of the engines to drift over her senses like a comforting blanket. She was semiconscious of the pressure of liftoff, the plane tilting, then straightening again.

She was up among the peaceful clouds, she thought dreamily. It was a perfect place for a nap.

Glory gave way to blissful slumber.

Bram Bishop leaned slightly forward to get a better view of the woman in the seat next to the window.

Sleeping Beauty, he thought, just like in the fairy tale. Man, oh, man, she was one beautiful woman.

Her strawberry blond hair was swept away from her face to clearly display her delicate features. He couldn’t tell if her hair was just extremely short or if she had one of those bun gizmos.

Long lashes fanned her peaches-and-cream cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted, begging to be kissed.

The silky, rose-colored blouse she was wearing defined lush breasts, and her navy blue slacks gave evidence of gently sloping hips and long legs.

And there was no wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“Want to trade seats?” Bram said to the traveling companion he’d boarded the plane with. Certainly not expecting a reply to his question, Bram frowned, grabbed a magazine from the pocket in front of him and settled back in his seat.

His lousy luck was running true to form, he thought. He was in close proximity to a gorgeous lady, and she was sound asleep! She was a captive audience for getting-to-know-you chit-chat during the hour flight, but was she smiling, eager to communicate? Hell, no.

Bram shook his head in frustration, flipped through the magazine, then jammed it back into place.

He was beginning to believe that he’d never find a wife, a woman to share his life, have their children, be the other half of his dream of forever love. He’d begun his quest to find the woman of his heart more months ago than he cared to count.

The decision to marry had been a mutually agreed-upon project with his brothers. Both Tux and Blue had done it, the lucky sons-of-guns. Tux had Nancy. Blue had Amy. They were couples. Husbands and wives.

And he, Bram Bishop, was still alone and, damn it, lonely, with no one even in the running as a candidate for his wife.

What was wrong with him? He was a nice guy, decent looking, and he had a prosperous construction company that was growing by leaps and bounds. He liked babies and puppies and had learned, at his mother’s knee, which fork to use and the importance of treating women with gentlemanly respect at all times.

When he was part of the swinging singles scene, he’d had women falling all over him. But ever since he’d decided he wanted to get married, that flock of females left a lot to be desired.

Bram sighed.

Well, he’d just have to hang in there, not give up, stay ever alert for a possible wife candidate. It sure as hell would help his cause, though, if pretty women like the one seated by the window would stay awake long enough for him to at least say hello.

Bram glanced up to see the flight attendant making her way slowly down the aisle. She was pushing a cart and distributing drinks and small packages of peanuts to the passengers.

Well now, he thought, opportunity was knocking. Sleeping Beauty was going to miss out on having a refreshing beverage if she continued to snooze.

The considerate thing for him to do would be to gently wake her and inquire if she was thirsty. She could always go back to sleep if she wasn’t interested in either a drink or in talking to him.

Good plan.

Except...

How did a man rouse a sleeping woman he didn’t know? What part of her delectable person should he touch to ensure she wouldn’t start hollering for the cops?

Bram unsnapped his seat belt and leaned forward to get a full view of the woman. Reaching across his companion in the middle seat, Bram tentatively pressed one fingertip on the lady’s knee.

Glory raised her lashes slowly, reluctantly, unaware she was turning her head to the side at the same time.

In the next instant her eyes flew wide open, and she stiffened. A scream began to build in her chest and work its way up to her throat, headed for her mouth.

She was staring at the biggest, stuffed toy panda she had ever seen.

“Oh, Lord,” Bram said, watching the reactions of the woman.

Without thinking it through, Bram clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth. She shifted her terrified eyes to his face

“Don’t scream,” Bram whispered. “Please, stay calm. I just thought you might want a cool drink. The flight attendant will be here in a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Okay? Are you with me here?”

Flight attendant? Glory’s mind echoed frantically. Oh, yes, of course, the airplane, the flight home to Houston. Fine. She understood now.

What wasn’t fine, though, was that a strange man, albeit an incredibly handsome man, had his large hand over her mouth. Also not dandy was the fact that there was an enormous toy panda, with seat belt in place around its fat middle, sitting next to her.

Glory frowned. Bram removed his hand quickly from her mouth and produced his very best smile.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Bram Bishop. I’m really sorry I startled you. I guess I should have let you sleep through refreshment time.”

Wrong, he thought. Sleeping Beauty awake was even more beautiful than Sleeping Beauty asleep. She had the most expressive green eyes he’d ever seen. They completed her lovely features to perfection.

“And you are?” Bram said pleasantly, raising his eyebrows.

“Not happy,” she said, glaring at him. “You scared me half to death. You can’t go around poking a woman’s knee. You’re going to end up in jail one of these days.”

“Oh,” he said. “I really am sorry. I was trying to be a nice guy. You know, didn’t want you to miss having a drink if you wanted one.”

“Mmm,” Glory said. She looked at the panda. “And what, or who, is that?”

Bram straightened slightly, patted the bear on the head and chuckled.

“Great bear, huh?” he said. “See, I was in Austin on business and my brother, Tux, telephoned me. Tux is a year older than I am. I have a twin brother named Blue, too. Blue and Amy were married last month.

“Anyway, Tux married Nancy about a year ago, and they just found out they’re going to have a baby. Tux was so excited he decided not to wait until I got home to tell me the big news.

“I read an article once that said newborn babies can decipher black and white from the time they’re born. So, when I saw the panda I knew it was the perfect gift for my niece or nephew.

“Of course, this is the middle of May and the baby isn’t due until Christmas but—” Bram shrugged “—it’s a terrific panda. Don’t you think so?”

Glory blinked, trying to digest all that Bram Bishop had said.

“You...you bought the panda a ticket on this flight?” she asked finally.

“Well, yeah,” Bram said, nodding. “I figured it would get really messed up if I sent it through with my luggage. Since it’s nearly five feet tall, it was too big for the overhead compartments, so I bought it a ticket for a seat of its own. Hey, this is a very important bear for a very special baby.”

“Right,” Glory said, eyeing him warily. “Well, one thing is clear. The baby is going to have an interesting uncle—to say the least.”

Before Bram could decide if he’d just been insulted, the flight attendant arrived with her offerings. Bram asked for a soft drink. Glory requested orange juice.

“Would your friend like anything?” the flight attendant asked Bram. She had a perfectly serious expression on her face as she nodded toward the panda. “A drink? Some peanut?”

“No, thanks,” Bram said. “He gets airsick if he eats or drinks during a flight.”

“Okeydokey,” the attendant said, then pushed the cart forward.

“The craziness is catching,” Glory muttered.

“I heard that,” Bram said, laughing.

Heavens, Glory thought, taking a sip of her juice, Bram Bishop had such a rich, rumbly, masculine laugh, that it had sent a shiver down her spine. He really was very good-looking. His features were rugged and tanned, his medium brown hair was sun streaked to nearly blond in places. And he had, without a doubt, the most beautiful, bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Oh, yes, Bram Bishop was drop-dead gorgeous

He was also nuttier than a fruitcake.

He’d bought a plane ticket for a five-foot toy panda bear? Said bear being a gift for a baby who wasn’t due to be born until the end of the year?

That was definitely crazy.

Well, it was sweet, too, in all fairness. Bram Bishop and his brothers must be extremely fond of each other. That was nice. A close-knit family certainly wasn’t a given in today’s society.

“So!” Bram said, interrupting Glory’s thoughts. “I’ve introduced myself and my buddy here. It’s your turn. You are...?”

“Glory Carson,” she said, smiling.

Say, now, Bram thought, what a lovely smile Glory Carson had. It lit up her whole face and made those fascinating green eyes sparkle.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said. “Glory. I really like it.”

“Thank you.”

“So tell me, Ms. Glory Carson—it is Ms., isn’t it?”

“I’m not married,” she said.

She could, she supposed, correct Bram, tell him she was actually Dr. Carson, but she wasn’t in the mood to go into a lengthy explanation about her work, not after the weekend she’d just put in. She was having an hour’s flight worth of time-out.

“I’m single, too,” Bram said, then drained his cup. “That’s one thing we have in common already.”

Already? That was a red-alert word, Glory thought. Mr. Bram Bishop just might be starting his hustle, making his move, his come-on. Oh, this malarkey got so tiresome.

“That didn’t sound right,” Bram said, frowning. “My mouth got ahead of my mind. That ‘already’ was really tacky.”

“Oh,” Glory said, surprise evident on her face.

Bram smiled. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to get to know you better—talk, share, discover who you are. But I’m not assuming anything here.”

“That’s very refreshing,” Glory said, unable to keep from smiling.

“Let’s take it from the top,” Bram said. “Do you live in Houston?”

“Yes.”

Dynamite. “That’s good,” Bram said, nodding. “Next question. How long is your hair when it’s falling free?”

Glory frowned and finished her orange juice.

“Cancel refreshing,” she said. “What’s next? The spiel about wanting to see my hair spread out on your bed pillow? You need some new material, Mr. Bishop.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Talk to your panda bear.”

No wonder he wasn’t married, Bram thought in self-disgust. He was an idiot. The thing was, he didn’t have any “material,” because he’d never needed it with women. He just said what was honestly on his mind. And since he was wondering how long Glory Carson’s hair was, he’d asked her.

Bram looked at the panda. “I blew it, buddy.”

“Indeed,” Glory said, not opening her eyes.

“Cups, please,” the flight attendant said, appearing next to Bram’s seat. “We’ll be landing in Houston very soon.”

Bram reached over and plucked the cup from Glory’s hand.

“There you go, darlin’,” he said to the attendant. “Listen, let me ask you something.”

“Yes, sir?”

“If a man you just met asked you how long your hair was when it wasn’t piled on your head, what would you do?”

“Slug him,” the flight attendant said.

“Thanks for sharing,” Bram said glumly.

“Glad to help,” the attendant said, moving on.

Glory had to quickly smother a bubble of laughter.

This really wasn’t funny, she told herself. Her merriment was probably the product of her bone-deep fatigue. But Bram had sounded like a dejected little boy who’d been told it wasn’t polite to ask for candy that hadn’t been offered to him.

He was an unusual man, this Bram Bishop. She’d expect someone with his looks and build to be smooth as molasses around women, having them fall all over him after one glimpse of that dazzling smile, that body and those gorgeous blue eyes.

Yet he seemed to be doing everything wrong, saying the worst things possible in a first-meeting scenario.

Wait a minute, Glory thought. The key word was seemed. It could very well be that Bram had perfected an aw-shucks-poor-me-I-screwed-up routine that resulted in women forgiving him a multitude of social sins.

. Oh, forget it. She didn’t have time for this nonsense. She’d be very glad when the plane landed and Bram exited with his silly panda.

Glory opened one eye just enough to look at the toy bear.

Then again, she mused, she had to give Bram credit for doing such a sweet—though ridiculous—thing as getting that toy for his brother’s baby-to-be, and actually buying an airplane ticket for the enormous bear so nothing would happen to it.

Stop it, she told herself, closing her eye again. Why was she wasting her precious time attempting to analyze the enigmatic Mr. Bishop? Enough was enough.

Glory directed her mind to go as blank as a television screen when the Off button was pushed. No matter how little time remained until the plane landed in Houston, every minute spent in a relaxed, nonthinking mode was beneficial for replenishing her energy supply.

Three minutes later she opened her eyes.

Darn it, she thought, she was becoming more tense by the second. She could no longer ignore the presence of the huge panda, or the man who had plunked it next to her.

She was just so aware of Bram Bishop sitting beyond the enormous toy. It was as though he was emanating a masculine current that crackled and hummed over and around her.

She somehow knew that he was sliding glances her way, scrutinizing her from head to toe. She could feel the heat radiating from Bram’s gorgeous blue eyes as his gaze touched her body, causing her skin to first tingle, then draw the warmth inward, deep and low

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. But then again, she reasoned, she couldn’t remember ever being quite this exhausted. Of course. That had to be the answer to her overreaction to Bram’s blatant male sexuality. Her state of total fatigue.

But even though there was a reasonable explanation for her being flustered by Mr. Bishop, it was still disconcerting and definitely unacceptable.

Well, there was only one solution. Bram couldn’t sneak little peeks at her body if she was talking to him. She could keep those compelling, dangerous eyes of his centered on her face if she chatted with him

“So, Bram, what do you do in Houston?” Glory asked pleasantly.

Bram jerked in his seat at the sudden sound of Glory’s voice.

“When?” Bram asked, just as pleasantly.

Glory frowned. “When?”

“Yeah, you know, are you asking what I do for a living during the day? Or—” his voice seemed to drop an octave “—what I do at night in my private time? What hours exactly are you interested in?”

This had not been a good idea, Glory thought. Talking to Bram was not solving the problem of the strange heat swirling through her. He’d taken an ordinary what-do-you-think-of-the-weather type question and somehow turned it into a sensuous image-evoking event....

Bram Bishop at night, in a room glowing with candlelight. Tall, ruggedly handsome Bram, reaching out those powerful arms to draw a woman close and... A woman? Oh, why not.... Go for it, Glory. Bram pulling her into his embrace, pinning her in place with those blue, blue eyes, then slowly, tantalizingly lowering his head toward her lips and...

“Glory?”

“Who?” Glory blinked. “What?” She sighed. “Never mind. I’m really too tired for chit-chat, I guess. I apologize if I’ve been rude in any way, Bram. I’m not at my best, by any means. I’m going to shut up until we land. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye.”

“I own Bishop Construction,” Bram said quickly. “Would you like me to build you a house?” He smiled. “A patio? How about a gazebo? You strike me as the type of lady who would really enjoy a gazebo.”

“I do? I don’t think... No, I know, I’ve never sat in a gazebo.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I haven’t had the opportunity or the time, I guess.”

“Ms. Glory Carson, you should correct that as soon as possible.” Bram nodded decisively. “You’re definitely a gazebo person.

“Hey, don’t misunderstand me here. This isn’t a sales pitch to have you hire me to build you a gazebo. I simply picture you really liking one.

“Let’s see now,” Bram went on. “You’d wear a summer dress, one of those filmy, swishy things, and a wide-brimmed hat. Yes, that’s good. Don’t forget the hat. And—” he grinned “—your hair would be down, loose. Yep, that’s you, all right.”

It certainly was not, Glory thought. The verbal picture Bram was painting was of a woman with idle hours, who was whimsical and romantic. That definitely was not who Dr. Glory Carson was.

“Well,” she said, “if I ever decide to have a gazebo built, I’ll give you a call.”

“Speaking of calling,” Bram said, “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable giving me your telephone number so I could—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant said, “we’ll be landing in Houston in five minutes. Please be certain that your seat belts...”

Damn, Bram thought, tuning out the remainder of the attendant’s message. Glory had retreated behind the panda, was checking her seat belt and fiddling with her purse. There was a briefcase under the seat in front of her. Cripe, he hadn’t even found out what she did for a living.

Why had she been in Austin? What had she been doing to become so exhausted? Where did she live in Houston? What was her telephone number?

Who was Glory Carson?

If his brothers knew how badly he’d blown the opportunity to gather information about a possible wife candidate, they’d razz him from now until next Tuesday.

Well, all was not lost.

They still had to land, exit the plane and walk up the tunnel. Before he was separated from Glory in the crunch of people in the terminal, he was definitely going to find out how to contact her.

He had no intention of losing track of her, because he had every intention of seeing Ms. Glory Carson again.


Two

Bram sank onto the sofa in his living room and muttered a word his mother would never have allowed to be spoken under her roof.

It was totally unbelievable, he mentally fumed, reflecting on the mayhem that had arisen the moment the powers that be had given permission for the passengers of the airplane to leave their seats.

He’d leaned over to retrieve the panda and to tell Glory Carson that he wished to speak to her—his intention being the request of her telephone number—when a little old lady, who looked no bigger than an elf, had asked him if he’d please retrieve her parcel from the overhead compartment, dear boy?

Two more women tagged him for the same job, as well as one short, stocky man. When he’d finally been able to return to his seat, the panda was still there, grinning like an idiot, but Glory was gone.

His last hope had been the luggage claim area, but no Glory Carson appeared to snatch a suitcase from the rotating jumble of luggage. Apparently she had been in Austin for a short enough stay to have a carryon in the overhead compartment like the rest of the world.

“Damn it,” Bram said, then lunged to his feet. “The telephone book!”

Twenty minutes later, Bram smacked the large book shut and glowered into space.

Nothing, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He’d looked up every spelling of Carson imaginable. He’d even called directory assistance and come up empty. The operator had found a Dr. G. Carson, but Bram hadn’t bothered to ask for the number.

No, Glory wasn’t a doctor, for Pete’s sake. They’d covered the Ms. versus Mrs. bit on the plane. If Glory was a doctor, she would have said so at the time.

Bram began to pace, the large living room accommodating his long, heavy strides back and forth across the chocolate-colored carpeting.

He’d decorated his apartment on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise in earth tones: brown, oatmeal, yellow, burnt orange and deep green. The knickknacks and pictures were of a Southwestern motif, the furniture oversize to allow for his height. The color scheme, he’d told his mother, represented Texas, which was exactly the way he wanted it.

He’d decided years before that even though he owned a construction company, he wouldn’t build himself a house until he was ready to marry and settle down. Then he would draw up plans with his wife’s input to create a home, not just a structure with the label of “home.”

But here he was, thirty-three years old, more than ready to find the woman of his dreams, have babies with her, build that special home.

Here he was, alone and lonely.

And he’d let a very viable wife candidate in the form of Ms. Glory Carson slip through his fingers.

“Man,” Bram said, halting his trek and dragging one hand through his hair, “this is frustrating as hell.”

He spun around and started toward the kitchen, realizing suddenly that he was hungry. As he passed the panda where it was perched in an easy chair, Bram glared at the toy.

“Knock off the smile, pal,” he said. “This is not a happy situation.”

In the kitchen Bram began to yank food from the refrigerator, shoving all and everything onto the nearest counter.

Tomorrow, he decided, he’d talk to Tux, who was a private investigator. After Tux finished laughing himself silly over Bram’s inability to obtain a telephone number from a woman held captive on an airplane, he would hopefully agree to use his investigative resources to track down Glory for Bram.

Whatever it takes, Bram vowed, as he pitched a moldy tomato into the trash. Yes, sir, he’d pull out all the stops, leave no stone unturned, and a whole slew of other clichés.

He would find Glory Carson.

Glory sank into bed with an exhausted sigh, savoring the feel of the marshmallow-soft pillow beneath her head.

Sleep at last, she thought. She’d unpacked her carryon, eaten a light dinner, sorted through the maze of papers in her briefcase, checked with her answering service for messages, then finally indulged in a long, leisurely bubble bath.

And now she was anticipating hours of blissful sleep before the alarm clock shrilled the announcement that it was Monday morning and the beginning of a new and busy week.

As she began to drift off into slumber, sudden images of a six-foot-tall panda began to dance before her mental vision.

Glory’s last conscious thought before sleep claimed her was that the human-size panda toy had gorgeous, sapphire blue eyes.

The next morning the panda sat in a chair in the corner of Tux Bishop’s office. The huge toy now had a billed Houston Oilers cap balanced on top of its head. No respectable panda, one of Tux’s investigators had declared, would be seen without a cap announcing loyalty to the city’s football team.

Bram paced heavily back and forth across his brother’s office, finishing his tale of having found, then lost, Glory Carson.

“It wasn’t my fault, of course,” Bram said, slouching onto a chair opposite Tux’s desk.

“Of course not,” Tux said, then paused. “Whose fault is it?”

“Our mother’s. Mrs. Jana-John Bishop.”

Tux chuckled. “This ought to be good. What does our sweet mother have to do with the fact that you screwed up royally on that airplane?”

“She taught us to be polite gentlemen, you dolt. What was I supposed to do when those little old ladies asked me to get their junk out of the overhead compartments? Tell them to go find a Boy Scout? Tux, Glory has vanished. I need your help here.”

“Hmm.” Tux rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, made a steeple of his hands and tapped his fingertips against his lips as he stared into space.

There was a definite family resemblance among the Bishop brothers, each having nicely muscled physiques on six-foot frames, rugged, handsome features, and the same deep blue eyes.

Tux’s hair, however, was very blond, streaked nearly white-blond by the sun in places. Bram’s twin brother, Blue, had hair as black as midnight.

“You got absolutely nothing from the directory assistance operator?” Tux said finally.

“Nope. Isn’t that strange? If Glory had an unlisted number, the telephone operator would have said so. The only G. Carson was some doctor, but I know that isn’t Glory.”

Bram stiffened in his chair.

“Do you suppose Glory gave me a phony name?” he said. “Why would she do that?”

Tux shrugged. “According to you, she’s a very beautiful woman. Maybe she gets rid of hustlers like you by inventing a name, making it impossible for you to bother her.”

“I’m not a hustler!” Bram frowned. “Well, I was in my former swinging single life...sort of. But not now. I’m sincere, honest and trustworthy.”

“Brave, courageous and bold,” Tux added.

“Would you knock it off? Come on, Tux. You’re the private investigator in the family, so investigate, for Pete’s sake. Find Glory Carson for me.”

“Chill, little brother,” Tux said. “I’m leaping into action.”

“It’s about time,” Bram muttered.

Tux opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the telephone book, placing it in front of him.

“Oh, man,” Bram said, “are you deaf? I already did that bit.”

Tux glared at Bram.

“Did you check the yellow pages?” Tux asked.

“What for?” Bram said, flinging out his arms. “Glory didn’t strike me as someone who might be a plumber or exterminator.”

“Bishop, shut up a minute, will you?” Tux said.

“I’m taking my bear back,” Bram said. “You’re worthless, Bishop.”

“You can’t have the panda,” Tux said, flipping to the yellow section of the telephone book. He began to turn pages, one at a time. “It now belongs to my son or daughter. Whew. Can you believe it, Bram? I’m going to be an honest-to-goodness father.”

Bram smiled. “It’s wonderful, it really is. You’ll be a great daddy, Tux, and Incredibly Beautiful Nancy sure will be a super mother. I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thanks. We’re on Cloud Nine, that’s for sure. Well, actually, Nancy kind of came down off the cloud this morning when she was tossing her cookies. Morning sickness is really the pits.”

“Yeah, I bet it is. What did you do for her?”

“I suggested it might be a good idea to put something back in her stomach, you know what I mean? I offered to heat up the leftover pizza we had last night.”

“And you lived to tell about it?” Bram asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Just barely. I won’t do that again, believe me.” Tux leaned closer to the telephone book. “Man, I’m a top-notch investigator. I should receive an award for solving this case so quickly. Maybe I’ll settle for sending you a megabucks bill.”

“Why? What?” Bram said, getting to his feet.

“It’s right here,” Tux said, tapping the page. “Dr. Glory Carson is a psychologist specializing in marriage counseling. She has an office in a building about six blocks from here.”

Bram sank back onto the chair, an incredulous expression on his face.

“She is Dr. G. Carson?” he said. “Why didn’t she correct me when I called her ‘Ms’? A marriage counselor?” He raked both hands through his hair. “Oh, hell, that’s terrible.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her profession? Hey, it says the lady has brains, as well as looks. Dr. Carson is not a bubblehead.”

“I realize that, Tux, but, cripe, a marriage counselor? She spends her days listening to people with messed-up marriages, then suggests appropriate behavior, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Don’t you get it?” Bram said. “This is not an ordinary woman. This is someone with an indelible ink blueprint of how things should be done in a relationship.”

“Oh,” Tux said. “I see your point. Well, maybe she has an open mind regarding her personal life.”

“Then why isn’t she married? No, she’s a tough case. You should have seen the wall clank into place when I asked her how long her hair was when she didn’t have it pulled back.”

“You asked her that? The first time you talk to the woman, you ask her that? On an airplane? Bram, you’re hopeless. You’re doomed.”

“I wanted to know,” Bram yelled.

“It wasn’t the appropriate time or place, dumbbell.”

“Ah-ha!” Bram said, pointing one finger in the air. “See? There’s that word again. My blunders are going to be magnified tenfold by someone whose profession is centered on appropriate behavior.”

“Yep,” Tux said, nodding slowly. “I do believe you’re right, which is unusual for you.”

“This is going to call for finesse, expertise, a very carefully thought through approach.”

“That leaves you out. Forget Glory Carson.”

“Not a chance.” Bram got to his feet, reached across the desk and tore the page from the telephone book.

“Hey!” Tux said.

“I need this. Thanks, Tux. Hug Nancy for me. Don’t forget to feed the panda. He likes hamburgers and fries, no mustard, extra catsup. See ya.”

Tux watched his brother stride from the room, then turned to look at the bear.

“Count your blessings that you’re going to live with me, Nancy and our baby, kiddo,” he said to the panda.

Friday at noon, Glory sat at the desk in her office, eating the lunch she’d packed at home. She usually studied the files of her afternoon clients during the break, but today she found she couldn’t concentrate.

The week since she’d returned from the seminar in Austin had seemed especially long, the days dragging by. She’d recuperated energywise after a solid night’s sleep on Sunday, had typed the notes from the conference into a semblance of order and placed them into appropriate files in the cabinet.

Glory sighed.

What she had not managed to do during the week was to follow her own firm directives to put Bram Bishop out of her mind.

For some unknown and very annoying reason, Bram had hovered in her mind’s eye, the image so clear she could actually hear his rich voice and rumbly laughter.

She’d purposely scooted into the aisle of the airplane as quickly as possible when she’d seen that Bram was busy helping passengers retrieve their possessions from the overhead compartments.

While she’d chalked up her disconcerting feminine reaction to Bram’s masculine magnetism as bone-weary fatigue, she was still shaken, still felt vulnerable.

She had removed herself from Bram’s presence on the plane, knowing with relief she’d never see him again.

Ha, she thought dismally. Never see Bram Bishop again? That wasn’t quite how the week had gone. The man and his silly panda had followed her into her dreams at night, causing her to toss and turn.

It was so ridiculous. Bram was just a man. Well, okay, he was the best-looking male specimen she’d ever encountered in her twenty-seven years, but that was beside the point.

Also of no importance was the masculine aura that emanated from Bram, the blatant male sexuality, the crackling whatever-it-was that had woven over, around and within her with disturbing, heated intensity.

Glory covered the unfinished fruit salad with a plastic lid, replaced it in an insulated bag beneath her desk, then got to her feet and roamed restlessly around the office.

As if the strange week she’d just spent wasn’t bad enough, she fumed, she still had this afternoon to get through.

Each morning her secretary, Margot, placed the files of the day’s appointments on Glory’s desk. So what had she discovered at nine o’clock?

Bram Bishop had an appointment to see her at one, right after the lunch break.

Why?

Why would Bram make an appointment with a marriage counselor?

How had he even discovered where she was? She had not told him what she did for a living, nor corrected his use of Ms. to Dr.

Bram had somehow tracked her down, and in less than fifteen minutes he would be walking into her office.

What on earth did he want?

“Calm down, Glory Carson,” she told herself aloud. “You’re acting like an idiot.”

She marched into the small bathroom off the office, freshened her lipstick and smoothed back her hair. Her fingertips lingered on the figure-eight bun at the back of her head.

How long is your hair when it’s falling free?

Bram’s words spoken on the airplane echoed in Glory’s head, and she glared at her image in the mirror.

“Would you stop it?” she said to her reflection.

With a cluck of self-disgust, she left the bathroom and returned to her desk, placing Bram’s empty file squarely in front of her.

When Bram arrived, Margot would request that he fill out a new-client form, which the secretary would give to Glory when Bram was escorted from the reception area into the office.

At the moment, however, the file was devoid of paper, and was devoid of answers as to why Bram had made an appointment to see her.

Maybe, she thought suddenly, he’d lied when he’d said he wasn’t married. Maybe he was having problems in his marriage because he flirted with women other than his wife. Women, for example, who he encountered on airplanes. Maybe he needed professional help to be able to be faithful to his wedding vows.

Bram Bishop married? Yes, that was a definite possibility and would certainly explain why he wished to see her in her professional arena.

What didn’t make sense was why the thought of Bram being in a committed relationship was extremely depressing.

Glory pressed her fingertips to her temples where a stress headache was beginning to throb.

Bram Bishop was driving her crazy, right out of her mind.

She narrowed her eyes.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she was glad Bram was coming to the office today. Because she was no longer in a state of exhaustion, she’d be able to view Bram in a normal light.

Yes, he was handsome, but so were a multitude of other men. Yes, he had beautiful blue eyes, but so did millions of other men. Yes, he had a nice physique, a dazzling smile, a sexy laugh, but big deal. He was just a man—no more, no less. And now Bram Bishop was just a client—no more, no less.

Thank goodness, Glory thought, she’d gotten all that straightened out. She was under control, calm, cool and collected.

The telephone on her desk buzzed.

And she’d straightened out just in the nick of time, she mentally tacked on.

Glory lifted the receiver at the same moment she pressed the button with the blinking light in the row at the base of the telephone.

“Yes, Margot?” she said.

“Mr. Bishop is here for his appointment.”

Tell him I went home, Glory’s mind yelled. Tell him I died. Tell him... Glory, get a grip.

“Show him in, please, Margot.”

Glory replaced the receiver, drew a steadying breath, then got to her feet. She came around the side of her desk, as she did when she greeted all clients upon their arrival.

Bram was just a man, she mentally repeated. No more, no less.

The door to the office opened and Margot stepped back to allow Bram to enter.

Wrong, Glory thought frantically. Bram Bishop was more—much more—than any man she’d previously met. Her fully rested state was doing nothing to diminish the sensual impact he was having on her as he walked slowly toward her.

He was so tall, with shoulders so wide. His features were even more rugged, tanned and compelling than she remembered. He was wearing a white Western shirt and crisp jeans that were obviously quite new.

And those eyes...dear heaven, those gorgeous blue eyes of Bram’s were holding her immobile. Was she breathing? Oh, she hoped so. She’d be mortified if she fainted dead-out-on-her-nose from being in close proximity to Bram Bishop.

“Glory?” Margot said.

“Hmm?” Glory turned her head to look at her secretary, then blinked. “Oh, thank you.” She took the paper Margot was extending toward her.

Margot stared at Glory questioningly for a long moment, then hurried across the room, closing the door behind her as she left.

“Well, we meet again,” Glory said, sitting down gratefully in the chair behind her desk.

Her legs were trembling, she realized. Her heart was racing. There was heat—pulsing heat—thrumming low in her body. This was absurd, ridiculous and absolutely unacceptable.

“Have a seat, Mr. Bishop.”

“Bram,” he said, settling in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “After all, we’re already acquainted, Dr. Carson. You might have corrected my use of Ms., you know.”

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” she said. “I’ll need a minute to look over this new-client form you’ve filled out.”

“That’s fine,” Bram said.

There she is, Bram thought, looking intently at Glory. Man, he was glad to see her. He’d been really rattled when he discovered he’d lost track of her. But now he’d found her again, and she was even lovelier than the image he’d been carrying in his mind.

She was dressed very much as she’d been on the airplane. Ultrabusiness—cream-colored slacks, a pale blue blouse and a navy blue blazer.

What would Glory look like in jeans and a T-shirt?

And, oh, man, what would Glory look like with her hair falling free?

“You didn’t answer any of the questions on the form, Bram,” Glory said, “beyond name, address, telephone number and age. There’s a whole section here on how long you’ve been married and so forth.”

Bram propped one ankle on his opposite knee.

“I told you on the plane that I wasn’t married,” he said, no readable expression on his face.

Glory slipped the paper into Bram’s file, then folded her hands on top.

“Yes, so you said. But I thought since you’d made an appointment to consult with a marriage counselor that perhaps you actually were married.”

“No.”

Hooray! Glory thought. No, forget it. Glory, just stop it. Get it together. Professional conduct at all times, remember?

“I’m planning on getting married,” Bram said.

“Oh, I see,” Glory said. “Well, that’s nice.” No, that was terrible, just awful, really depressing, and... Oh, Glory, please stop. “Congratulations.” She cleared her throat. “When’s the big day?”

Bram shrugged. “I have no idea. Soon, I hope.”

“So! What brings you here?”

You, Bram thought. But Glory had been more relaxed, more open, on the plane. In her professional setting, she was stiff as a board, her smiled forced and phony.

If he marched around the desk, hauled her into his arms and kissed her senseless, would she loosen up? No. she’d probably deck him.

Easy does it, Bishop, he told himself. Take it slow and easy.

“Well, here’s my theory,” Bram thought. “If a person consults a marriage counselor before he gets married, he stands a better chance of not gumming up the works after he’s married. Get it?”

Glory frowned slightly. “Well, I... Well, the idea has merit, I suppose. I’ve never done any prenuptial counseling, but... Don’t you think your fiancée should take part with you in these proposed sessions?”

A slow smile broke across Bram’s face, widening into a grin.

“I don’t have a fiancée,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want to get married. I fully intend to get married,” he said, his smile fading. “I just haven’t been able to find the right woman yet. In the meantime, I’m going to prepare myself to get married, sort of like boot camp. You know what I mean?

“I have a lot to learn about the appropriate behavior for being a husband, partner, the half of a whole. When I marry, it will be until death parts me from my wife. The Bishop boys believe in forever love.” He paused. “Yes, forever love.”

Oh, no, Glory thought, was that the ache of tears she was feeling in her throat? Yes, it was. Control. She had to gain control of her emotions. Right now.

But, dear heaven, what Bram said had been so touching, so honest and real. The words had obviously come straight from his heart, spoken in a voice low and reverent, with an echo of wistfulness.

Forever love.

What a beautiful way to express it, to define the essence of his hopes and dreams. Bram wasn’t strutting his machismo stuff at the moment, he was simply being a man, rendering himself vulnerable to her censure.

Bram Bishop was asking for her help as a professional, who had expertise in an area where he admittedly was lacking in knowledge.

How could she, in all good conscience, refuse his heartfelt request?


Three

Bram was hardly breathing as he watched the changing emotions on Glory’s face.

She was, he knew, weighing and measuring, reaching a decision regarding his “boot camp for marriage” theory. Personally, he considered the idea nothing short of brilliant.

Of course, his mental patting himself on the back was due to his having concocted a plan whereby he could see a great deal of Glory and really get to know her, the person, the woman.

He certainly didn’t need a training course on how to be a proper husband. All a man had to do was love his wife with his entire heart, mind and soul, be faithful, be honest. That was marriage, pure and simple.

But he didn’t mind pretending he needed training if it accomplished his goal of discovering whether or not Glory Carson was a viable wife candidate.

Glory sure was doing some heavy-duty thinking. Come on, sweetheart, Bram silently directed, open your pretty mouth and say yes to the plan.

“Well,” Glory said finally.

Bram dropped his booted foot to the floor and sat up straighter in the chair.

“Let me be very candid with you, Bram,” Glory said. “I moved to Houston from Chicago about seven months ago to escape the brutal winters. I’m in the process of building my practice here, which takes time and energy.

“I’ve been attending workshops, seminars and giving lectures—all and everything necessary to become known in the psychologist community.”

Bram nodded.

“Your idea of prenuptial counseling,” Glory went on, “just might offer something different, unique and, therefore, bring in new clients.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“I was wondering, though, if the concept should be offered in group sessions.”

“No,” Bram said, nearly yelling.

Glory jerked in surprise at his outburst.

“Sorry,” he said. “But no, that’s not a good suggestion. The whole thing is too personal, too private. I mean, cripe, Glory, do you think I want a bunch of strangers knowing that I’m worried I won’t know how to be a good husband? A man has his pride to protect.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning. “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

Man, he was on a roll, Bram thought smugly. He could hardly wait to tell Tux and Blue about this genius-level performance.

“So you’d prefer to meet with me privately?” Glory said.

“You bet.”

“Well, over the years research has shown there are ten major causes for divorce. The studies list them in the order of frequency. What if we had ten sessions together here in my office and thoroughly covered that list?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Glory, look,” Bram said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, I think we should cover whatever is on that list, but there’s more to marriage than we can deal with sitting in this office.”

“What do you mean?”

“For example, a guy on one of my construction crews just separated from his wife. Why? Because he’s an outdoors man who likes to camp, hunt, fish. His wife’s idea of a vacation is a fancy hotel, shopping and going to the theater. It may not sound like a big deal, but it’s blowing them apart now, even though they were aware of it before they were married.”

“And?” Glory said.

“Another guy I know is miserable. He loves his wife, he really does, but they’re in trouble after being married four months. When they were dating, he took her out a lot, wined and dined and courted her. Now he wants quiet evenings at home. She’s still into going out at night.”

“What’s your point, Bram?”

“I want to do this right, Glory, which means boot camp extends beyond the walls of this office. It’s one thing to talk about potential red-alert areas, it’s quite another to actually live them.”

Glory frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“We pretend we’re married.”

“What!” she said, definitely yelling.

Bram raised both hands quickly. “Don’t stress. Hear me out. Okay?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Glory said dryly. “This is absurd.”

“It is not! I’m not saying our role-playing would include the lovemaking part of marriage. I have my principles, you know, Dr. Carson.”

Glory narrowed her eyes. “Do tell.”

“I’m trying to. We’d spend every evening together for a while, just as though we were coming together at the end of our workday like a married couple. That’s important, don’t you see? It’s not like dating...being at one’s best at all times. This would be the real goods, totally realistic.

“Glory, wouldn’t you, as a professional marriage counselor, gain valuable insight into the nitty-gritty details that rip people apart? Be able to show them how to head trouble off at the pass? Wouldn’t you have a much better handle on how to help couples than you do now just sitting behind that desk?”

“I’m an excellent counselor, Mr. Bishop.”

“Oh, hey, I believe it, but by doing this project with me you’d be even better. We’d both benefit. I’d learn how to be an appropriately behaved husband, and you’d sharpen your professional skills, which would surely increase your client list.” Bram shrugged. “Then we go our separate ways, and that’s that.”

Glory stared at Bram, her mind racing.

Yes? No? she thought. From a professional standpoint, the idea had very exciting possibilities. The hands-on experiences would be invaluable, exactly as Bram stated.

But from a personal angle? Going home to Bram Bishop at the end of each workday, having dinner, spending the evening together—that scenario shouted danger in big, bold letters. There was no denying the sensual impact Bram had on her. To place herself in such close proximity to the man night after night wasn’t wise, not at all.

But then again, what a marvelous opportunity to gather information that might very well benefit so many of her future clients.

On the other hand...

“Oh, drat,” Glory said, pressing her fingertips to her temples, “this is crazy. I’m chasing my own thoughts around in an endless circle.”

“There’s really no reason to stress,” Bram said. “This is definitely a win-win situation. We each accomplish our individual goals by doing something together. It’s very simple, Glory.”

“At the risk of sounding like an old movie,” she said, “would this every-evening togetherness be at your place or mine?”

Bram shrugged. “We’ll alternate. All we have to do is pretend we’re home, no matter whose place it is. Do you have an apartment or a house?”

“A cottage.”

Bram grinned. “With a gazebo?”

“No,” she said, matching his smile. “There’s no gazebo.”

“That’s a shame. I still say you’re the type of lady who should have a gazebo.”

“Ah, yes, and a filmy summer dress and a big hat to wear while sitting in said gazebo.”

“Hey, you remembered what I said.” Bram’s smile grew even bigger.

“Well, there aren’t that many fanciful thoughts in that particular compartment of my brain.”

Bram’s smile disappeared as he looked directly into Glory’s green eyes.

“Well, I think we’ll just have to do something about that,” he said.

“Oh, well, I...” Glory started, then stopped, having totally forgotten what she was about to say.

Those eyes, she thought. Dear heaven, those blue eyes of Bram’s were like a beautiful sea, beckoning to her to forget everything and just fling herself into their fathomless depths.

Her heart was racing, its wild tempo echoing in her ears. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She was held in a sensuous web by Bram Bishop’s mesmerizing eyes.

A quiet buzzing noise came from a small black box attached to the side of Glory’s telephone. She tore her gaze from Bram’s, took a quick but deep breath, then cleared her throat.

“That’s the signal from Margot that our time is up,” she said, looking above Bram’s left shoulder.

Man, Bram thought, jerking himself back to reality. He’d lost track of where he was as he’d stared into Glory’s emerald eyes. The heat low in his body was coiled, so hot, twisting.

This woman was tying him in knots, and he had a feeling she wasn’t even aware of the effect she had on him—and probably on a whole helluva lot of other men who crossed her path.

There was an innocent aura surrounding Glory, as though her womanliness was asleep, her compelling femininity slumbering, not known even to herself.

She was strictly business in her tailored clothes and severe hairstyle. Her smiles were rare commodities, not easily given.

He’d dubbed her Sleeping Beauty when he’d first seen her on the airplane. That name was more appropriate than he’d even realized at the time.

“Bram?” Glory said.

“What? Oh.” He got to his feet. “Right. Listen, we need to talk more about this idea of mine. Why don’t we go out for a hamburger tonight and discuss the plan?”

“No, I don’t think—”

“Come on, Glory. There’s a lot of potential to this proposal. You said yourself you’re trying to build up your practice. It won’t cost you anything to discuss it further over a hamburger. Seven o’clock?”

Glory sighed. “Yes, all right.”

“Great. What’s your address. I’ll pick you up.”

Glory wrote the information on a slip of paper and extended it toward Bram.

“Better include your telephone number,” he said. “You know, in case I get a flat tire on the way, or whatever, and I’m delayed.”

Glory added the number and Bram took the paper.

Smooth, Bishop, he told himself. Very smooth.





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