Книга - A Wedding in the Family

A Wedding in the Family
Susan Fox


BACK TO THE RANCHSister of the bride!Lillian has a mission: to stop her wayward sister's wedding! Not only will her grandmother cut both sisters off without a penny if it goes ahead…but Rachel is also about to marry into the family of Texan rancher Rye Parrish. And he's just about the most self-satisfied, egotistical man Lilly has ever met!Rye is equally determined to stop the wedding. Only he's too proud to cooperate with Lilly. Just because she's heart-stoppingly pretty, that doesn't mean she isn't a spoiled little rich girl, just like her sister! Except, somehow, Lilly is beginning to seem a lot like his ideal woman, after all…."Susan Fox entertains us with lighthearted scenes and witty dialogue."–Romantic Times







“How do you expect to break up the lovers?” (#u294e806f-b577-58a2-8c6e-42beb3ebc3c4)About the Author (#u06870d5f-f0f6-5cfc-9d2d-c195983a8a51)Title Page (#u66757440-0f10-54a0-a37f-80f456ee1ba4)CHAPTER ONE (#ucf8afd4a-4d15-573b-9829-c437efe571ae)CHAPTER TWO (#uc722ecc0-2f75-531d-aa73-dcf6ee9af02a)CHAPTER THREE (#u9e1e3d84-b3b2-5775-a133-4084df8cc71a)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)


“How do you expect to break up the lovers?”

“Does this mean you approve of their plans to marry?” Lilly countered.

“No, I do not approve,” he growled. Rye’s voice was intimately low, and his blatant masculinity overpowering. “But if you so much as hint that to either of them, I’ll swear you’re a liar. It’s better for my brother to figure out for himself that your sister is nothing more than trash with money!”

The statement gave Lilly’s heart a viscious squeeze. She longed to fly home that instant, but knew she couldn’t until she could bring her sister with her. Her single, unengaged sister...

Susan Fox writes deeply emotional romances that will move and enthrall you—till the very last page!


Susan Fox lives with her youngest son, Patrick, in Des Moines, Iowa. A lifelong fan of Westerns and cowboys, she tends to think of romantic heroes in terms of Stetsons and boots! In what spare time she has, Susan is an unabashed couch potato and movie fan. She particularly enjoys romantic movies and also reads a variety of romance novels—with guaranteed happy endings—and plans to write many more of her own.

Susan Fox loves to hear from readers! You can write to her at: P.O. Box 35681, Des Moines, Iowa 50315, USA.




A Wedding In The Family

Susan Fox







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


CHAPTER ONE

RYE PARRISH hated socialites.

His mother had been one of those. Rich, spoiled, obsessed with her looks, her clothes and her rancher husband’s bank account. She’d hated the grand Texas house Rand Parrish had built for her. She’d endured his attentions and tolerated his companionship from time to time—as long as she could spend his money like water and live most of the year in the city.

But two sons later, she decided motherhood was too high a price to pay in exchange for the Parrish fortune. She’d abandoned her husband and sons. Walked away without a backward glance before her youngest was out of diapers and her eldest was eight years old.

Rye’s younger brother, Chad, had few memories of their beautiful mother. Rye remembered everything about the glamorous woman who’d never had the capacity to show affection to her rambunctious offspring. Rena Parrish had been appalled by the dirty face and dirty clothes he’d worn after a day of play. She’d been too squeamish about his scraped knees and normal childhood illnesses to tend them. She’d never offered comfort and seldom paid either of her sons any attention. Except to criticize.

Even so, her final desertion had deeply wounded him. Her abandonment had been so absolute that he’d eventually come to hate her. But for the rest of his thirty-three- years, he’d measured every female he’d ever met against her. Whatever a woman’s faults or shortcomings, he’d rarely come across one whose failings were as abysmal as Rena’s, rarely met another who deserved so little respect.

But the elegant blonde who walked through the small air terminal in his direction might be the rare one who came close.

Rye watched her, his eyes narrowing cynically as he noted that her collar-length blond hair had been trimmed to fall into a precise pageboy curve. Her aristocratic face was fine-boned, her features delicate, her skin a glamor-perfect peaches and cream. Her pink silk blouse and khaki bush pants were designer labels, the leather sandals on her small feet made for her by the same Italian designer who’d crafted the matching handbag. The baggage handler who carried four pieces of her monogrammed luggage followed closely, but her very erect, regal posture gave every signal that she’d dismissed his presence behind her as completely as if he’d been in charge of someone else’s luggage.

Rye Parrish liked most women, but his first glimpse of this woman roused little more than contempt. Even if he hadn’t guessed the little snob had come all the way from New York to Texas to express her snooty family’s disapproval of her sister’s engagement to his younger brother, he wouldn’t have liked her. His disdain for females of her ilk ensured that.

Lillian Renard walked down the concourse, so badly disrupted by this trip to the wilds of Texas that her stomach was in knots. She’d been watching dismally out the window when the commuter aircraft began to reduce altitude, more appalled by the second at the vast emptiness of the land she’d been about to descend upon. The sparse scattering of buildings—not one more than six stories high, she’d noted—emphasized the notion that she was hundreds of miles from civilization.

Lillian didn’t handle stress well. She was, in fact, a coward. Traveling to an area which she regarded as little more than a Wild West frontier was terrifying for a young woman who’d grown up in the city and had never traveled anywhere in the world that wasn’t metropolitan. Why her imperious grandmother had insisted that she be the one to travel to Texas to issue the ultimatum to her rebellious younger sister, Rachel, was impossible to discern.

Except that Rachel was Grandmama’s favorite. Lillian had lived most of her life scrambling to attain even a smidgen of their grandmother’s approval. But Rachel, no matter how eccentric, no matter what her latest escapade or public blunder, had managed to capture the lion’s share of the old woman’s affection.

Until she’d run off with a cowboy from Texas. Though Rachel was barely twenty-two, Chad Parrish was her fifth love affair. But because he was a cowboy—a glorified farmer who herded cattle from horseback—their grandmother had taken exception to him. Once she’d learned he’d inherited only half of a Texas fortune, which she’d calculated to be far below her staunch requirements for her favorite granddaughter, Grandmama was apoplectic. If Rachel didn’t give up her cowboy lover and return to. New York, she would be promptly and irrevocably disowned.

And though the old harridan hadn’t expressly decreed it, Lillian might well find herself disowned if she failed to succeed in her assignment.

Her heart trembled at the thought of being so horribly shamed. After growing up among the elites of New York, she couldn’t bear to imagine the terror of being cast adrift, without a penny to her name. The scandal and humiliation of it was unthinkable. Carefully cosseted and repressibly overprotected from those her grandmother deemed unworthy, every friend she’d ever had had been ruthlessly investigated and monitored by the old lady who downright dominated everyone she came in contact with. She’d restricted the education of her granddaughters to boarding schools and colleges which catered exclusively to young ladies of impeccable breeding. A real education in something useful—in anything that might have afforded either of them a moneymaking career apart from their inheritance—had been discouraged.

Lillian was certain even that was their grandmother’s way of maintaining control over her young, orphaned charges. Lillian and Rachel had been reared to supervise a houseful of servants, serve on the boards of selective charities, entertain guests on a grand scale, and make some wealthy man of Grandmama’s choosing the perfectly turned-out wife. Neither of them were capable of earning a living that would enable them to maintain the rarefied lifestyle they’d been born into. The idea of either of them reduced to making their way in the world without a fortune to back them was terrifying.

Which was why Lillian had come to Texas to rescue her wayward sister. Rachel behaved as if the prospect of imperiling her inheritance was as improbable as it was untenable. Rachel had already run through huge sums of money as she’d skipped about the world indulging her whims. That she also showered her man of the moment beneath the same fountain of money she showered over herself had made her an easy target for dishonorable men with an eye to her fortune. If young Rachel were suddenly impoverished, the free-spending lifestyle she seemed to require might lead her to make desperate choices which could lead to disaster.

Particularly when Lillian considered that Rachel had landed herself in enough disasters, even with their grandmother’s fortune to buy her out of trouble.

Lillian’s aloof gaze continued to scan the small air terminal. Though she would have heartily welcomed the sight of her sister’s beautiful face, she’d already resigned herself to the idea that Rachel would send someone else to carry out the boring chore of collecting her. That meant someone from the Parrish Ranch should already be on hand.

And that was surely the reason for the fresh wave of nervousness that flooded her. She was completely out of her element. She’d heard Texans were a difficult, if sometimes amiable lot. Filled with overweening pride and braggadocios exaggerations about heaven knew what in their huge, rugged state, Texans were reputed to be rough-mannered, uncouth, and nearly impossible to truly civilize, despite the size of their land, cattle and oil wealth. Grandmama had warned her implicitly about all that.

The fact that Lillian had been so closely shielded from such low-brow elements gave her an understandable fear of suddenly having to bear exposure.

And if the very tall, broad-shouldered cowboy who lounged against the next pillar was an example of the uncouth male element she’d be exposed to, she was certain she’d be terrified.

From his black Stetson to the scuffed and dusty leather of his boots, the man was a blatantly male specimen of Texas arrogance. Macho-looking in the extreme, he looked as hard and unrelenting as weathered granite. The chambray cotton of his work shirt strained over impressive chest, shoulder and arm muscles, and the soft wash-worn denim of his jeans hugged trim hips and heavily muscled thighs.

But it was the cowboy’s harshly chiseled face and the almost brutal line of his mouth that drew her attention and gave her qualms about meeting his gaze. When she did, the blazing blue of his narrowed eyes made her heart skip. Even from beneath the small bit of shade his Stetson cast over his tanned face, his eyes were a hot, electric blue, their color emphasized by his dark skin-tones. That those hot, electric-blue eyes were trained on her face with the cutting intensity of a laser made her chest tighten with distress as she registered the unmistakable hostility in their hard lights.

The tightness became more pronounced, but Lillian resisted the urge to immediately look away. Some primitive sense about the man warned her not to show even a sliver of weakness. If she could brazen out his harsh gaze a moment more and get past him, she would surely find someone from the Parrish Ranch and be on her way. Suddenly, the wild, outdoor expanse of a remote Texas cattle ranch seemed far less intimidating than the man who appeared to hate the very sight of her.

She finally allowed herself to glance away, finding it surprisingly difficult to break the gleaming eye contact. Her chin went up the slightest fraction in unconscious self-defense as she continued past him.

The low, gravelly drawl that reached her before she’d got a safe distance sent a shudder of pure horror through her small frame.

“Miz Renard?”

Somehow she’d known that low, gravelly drawl would carry the unmistakable hint of insolence that it did. But how had she known it would also be so slow-sounding and rough-edged, like the warning growl of a vicious guard dog? What she hadn’t known until she’d actually heard it, was that the cowboy’s voice had such an appealing sensual texture beneath all that insolence and warning. The fact that it called up the image of a velvet glove covering a tight male fist didn’t dampen a bit of her shockingly feminine response to it.

If this was the Texas cowboy Rachel had run off with, she could now understand a bit of her sister’s rabid attraction. She also understood even more deeply how unhealthy that rabid attraction was.

Lillian brought herself to a reluctant halt, her posture going more rigid as she tried to brace herself against the cowboy’s clear message of hostility. As she forced herself to turn back to him, she was terrified by the reminder that she never fared well with people who seemed not to like her. She did even worse with overbearing, domineering people. That this man appeared to possess all of those intimidating qualities badly unnerved her.

She gave a cool lift of her light brows as she tried desperately to mask the crippling insecurities she’d felt her whole life.

Her imperious, “Yes?” was meant to assert herself to him as a lady entitled to at least a pretense of outward respect. Instead, it seemed to give him license to behave in any manner he chose. That this cowboy would never lay claim to civilized manners was immediately evident.

“Figured you were Rocky’s meddling big sister. Not many little aristocrats from New York blow down this way without a reason.” He ignored her startled intake of breath. His insolent gaze made a head-to-toe pass over her before he reached for two of the suitcases the baggage handler carried for her.

“Here.” The cases he shoved at her were neither the smallest nor the lightest of her things. When she didn’t immediately take them, he fixed her with a hard look. “No one on the Parrish Ranch is gonna carry you around on a lace pillow, Princess. Either lend a hand and wait on yourself for a change, or climb back on that plane before it flies out.”

Lillian’s cheeks blazed a bright red. She read the challenge in the hard shine of his eyes. His hostility was like a mile-wide wall that soared to the clouds between them. Her first instinct was to abandon her luggage and run for the safety of the airplane. Her second, that she square off with this rude, uncouth male creature and somehow best him, was even stronger.

And that ranked as the biggest surprise of Lillian’s twenty-three years. As a woman who was easily intimidated, who had lived most of her life in cowardly subservience to her volatile grandmother, the notion that this man had somehow stirred some faint bit of spirit in her was stunning. That she felt compelled to fight her fears—and him—to win, was even more stunning.

He didn’t wait longer than that fleeting instant of realization for her to act. He didn’t give her so much as a heartbeat of time to contemplate the meaning of it all. Instead, he shoved the cases toward her a second time.

She almost lost her grip on the handle of her handbag as she grappled to take the cases without touching his long, powerful fingers. He took the other two suitcases and turned.

Just that quickly, he was striding away from her in the direction of an exit. Lillian started after him, then remembered the baggage handler. She stopped and hastily set down the cases to open her handbag for a tip. She passed the bill to the handler with a shaky smile and a soft, “Thank you,” that won her an enthusiastic thanks when he saw the denomination of the bill.

By the time she’d picked up her suitcases and turned toward the exit, she saw through the glass doors that the cowboy was a distant figure halfway across the parking lot. Getting a better grip on the cases, Lillian hurried through the exit.

Once she was past the automatic doors, the heat of the blazing Texas sun struck her slight body like a speeding freight truck. The sun was so bright that she had to squint her eyes to see before they could adjust.

The wall of heat that had slammed into her now beat down oppressively. Her nervous breath began to go shallow, but she made herself step forward and walk in the direction she’d last glimpsed the cowboy.

He was no longer in sight, but she had little choice but to keep going. By the time she reached the far end of the parking lot, she was panting with frustration. She turned to scan the assortment of cars and pickups. She saw a few men with hats, but none with the battered black Stetson the cowboy had been wearing.

She ended up walking all the way back to the doors of the terminal before her arms gave out and she had to set down the heavy suitcases. Her fingers were shaking so much from the worry that she’d been abandoned in the hot sun, that she nearly dropped the cases. She did drop her handbag, scattering its contents on the hot concrete. Her eyes were blurry with perspiration as she bent to gather her things from the ground.

A wave of dizziness and nausea made her straighten and press trembling fingers to her forehead. She was an abysmal traveler, never more so than on this trying mission for her grandmother. The enormity of the task was impacting her in the awful heat, and this shameful bout of bad nerves was mortifying.

She didn’t pay attention to the big pickup that had rumbled to a stop along the curb a few feet away as she struggled to relax.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

That low, gravelly drawl coming from so close beside her made her jump. Resisting the urge to glance up at the cowboy to see if the reluctant concern she’d heard in his voice was in evidence on his rugged face, she turned away and crouched down to gather her things from the concrete.

“No—I—dropped my bag,” she said hastily as she picked up her wallet and cosmetics and shoved them into her handbag. The dusty toes of the cowboy’s enormous boots intruded into the perimeter of her downcast vision. Appalled at his nearness, she stood up.

She was about to step back to reassert the huge distance she intended to maintain between herself and this rude man, when he caught her small chin with calloused, blunt-nailed fingers that were too strong to fight. The unexpected touch sent a cascade of pleasurable tingles over her skin that made her forget her queasiness. Then, despite the inherent power he could have used to manhandle her, he gently forced her face up and her wide eyes made unwilling contact with the harsh blue intensity of his.

“Your face is as white as new cotton panties.”

The deliberately crude comparison he made between her face and new lingerie insulted her. Profoundly. She reached up and tried to push his big hand away, but it didn’t budge. She grabbed his thick wrist, but the carefully manicured ends of her fingers barely touched nail tips with her thumb as she wrenched his hand away and took an angry step back.

“I thought the Parrish family raised cattle, Mr. Whomever-you-are,” she declared with stiff dignity. “I had no idea they raised swine.”

Once she’d delivered an insult to him which she considered every bit as obnoxious as the one he’d delivered her, she regained her composure. She glanced down, brushing and smoothing at her blouse and slacks, as much for something to do with her shaking hands as to recover her neat appearance.

To Rye, she gave every impression of a small exotic bird smoothing down her ruffled feathers. She already looked as neat and elegant as any other self-obsessed socialite. But to see those fine, delicate little hands fluttering around to tug and smooth over her pricey blouse and pants was almost as amusing as her priggish attempt to insult him. The sight was also powerfully arousing.

“Rye Parrish.”

The sudden offer of a name identified the uncouth cowboy as the owner of the monstrous Parrish Ranch. Lillian’s head snapped up and she gave an involuntary gasp.

“You are Rye Parrish?”

A humorless smile flitted over his hard mouth. “None other,” was his terse response.

Lillian arched a brow, but said nothing. Instead, she turned from him to reach for her luggage. He got to it first, so she followed to the dusty pickup parked at the curb. She winced when he swung her cases over the side of the truck box, but he managed to set them down gently enough next to the rest of her things. The casual strength of his fit, muscled body impressed her despite her reluctance to admire anything about him. The hostility he’d shown earlier reasserted itself when he opened the passenger door of the big pickup and motioned her in with a mocking flourish of his wide hand.

She hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the running board and climbed into the tall vehicle. The door closed smartly beside her the moment she sat on the seat. She got her safety belt on by the time he rounded the pickup and got behind the wheel.

“Ever been to Texas?” His question sounded mild enough as he twisted the key and the truck engine roared to life.

Lillian couldn’t help that her soft, “No, I haven’t,” was wary. Particularly when his expression relaxed and those blue eyes gave her an all-encompassing glance that took in her neatly combed and pressed appearance. She got the impression that her careful grooming was somehow a mark against her.

He glanced away as if he’d suddenly lost interest, starting the pickup off to drive toward the paved road that led to the highway. Lillian eventually made herself relax, grateful for the truck’s air-conditioning as Rye turned onto the highway and accelerated.

She managed to feel a bit more at ease and found a surprising amount of enjoyment in the vast expanse of range land they passed through. Widespread herds of cattle could be seen from time to time, but the oil pumping stations that were visible from the highway seemed to pepper the land with amazing regularity. The novelty of speeding down the long ribbon of highway and rarely meeting another vehicle was astonishing to someone accustomed to the heavy traffic snarls of New York. The huge panorama that surrounded them was breathtaking. The sky was as vividly blue as it was endless, and Lillian realized with some surprise that something about the sheer size of it all was as soothing to her as it was overwhelming.

Rye watched Ms. Lillian Renard’s wide-eyed attention shift to take in every cow, oil well and change in the landscape. Twice they’d sped over the top of a shallow hill. He’d heard her soft intake of breath as they’d reached the crest. The first time, he’d thought she was alarmed by something. The second time she’d done it, he’d realized that her little gasp meant she was favorably impressed by the panoramic view of the countryside they saw briefly from their higher vantage point. He hadn’t expected her to be interested in anything Texas or the Parrish Ranch had to offer.

He still didn’t want to take her to Parrish. Because she was here to look down that perfectly formed aristocratic nose at his baby brother and object to his honorable intentions toward her spoiled, hotheaded sister, he didn’t want her anywhere near his home.

It wasn’t as if he thought her sister was good enough to marry his brother. She sure as hell wasn’t. Rachel—or Rocky, as she insisted everyone call her—was very nearly the last female on the planet he could stand having around, much less wanted to see marry into his family. It had about killed him to keep his objections to himself, but he had. For his brother’s sake, he’d smiled, laughed at Rocky’s off-color jokes and ignored her none-too-subtle come-ons to him. He was deathly afraid that any hint of an objection from him would make his headstrong brother more determined than ever to marry her.

But now Rocky’s high-toned sister was about to stick her nose into the mess. Her interference had the small possibility of spoiling everything, and Rye couldn’t allow that. He didn’t want anyone to put the lovers on the defensive and prompt them to an act of defiance that might end in the elopement he dreaded.

The hell of it was that his careful patience these past interminably long weeks was beginning to bear a few promising bits of fruit. As he’d hoped, Rocky and Chad were starting to appear less than enchanted with one another. Rocky, when she got worked up, had a mouth on her that could blister the hide off a hog. And she’d got worked up at Chad over a couple of little nothings the last few days. The first time, she’d pitched a fit that had sent Chad to the far end of Parrish range until the next day. The second time, his little brother had stood his ground. Rocky had taken one of the cars and gone to a honky-tonk in town, coming back in the wee hours of the morning so dangerously drunk that they’d all been amazed she hadn’t wrecked the car or killed someone.

From there, Rye realized it was only a matter of time—maybe days, hopefully hours—before Chad woke up to the idea that Rocky was incapable of making him any kind of decent wife. It took every bit of self-control he’d had to allow his brother time to see it.

But now, just as he sensed Chad was on the verge of figuring it all out and calling off the engagement, here came the useless bit of fluff whose interference might coax the mismatched lovers more solidly together.

The call Rocky’s grandmother had made to the ranch the day before had been their only warning of Lillian’s arrival. Chad had taken the call and, believing that a visit from Lillian might soften the old lady’s objections, he’d promised that she’d be met at the airport.

Chad had wanted to meet her plane, but Rye had guessed right off what the sister’s sudden visit was about and insisted on doing the honors. Particularly since her grandmother had got him on the phone two days prior and expressed her violent objection to a marriage between their families. The female curmudgeon hadn’t minced words, so there was no reason to think Lillian Renard’s arrival would be anything more than a face-to-face repeat.

But the fragile-looking socialite perched beside him on the seat didn’t appear capable of repeating the old witch’s exact words. Now that he’d met her, he also found it difficult to believe she could come up with any demands of her hedonistic sister that would press Rocky’s loud-mouthed temper toward anything more serious than laughter.

He’d felt a little like laughing himself at her stiff little swine comment. His worries over her arrival at the ranch were probably groundless. After weeks of enduring Rocky’s overbearing personality and short temper, he couldn’t imagine how the two females were remotely related, much less that this little pansy had the ability to bully her sister into a rash act.

Why the grandmother would send such a colorless little ninny to carry out her dirty work might have made for amusing speculation if he hadn’t found her so personally annoying. Particularly when he reckoned it was up to him to derail whatever it was that she and her grandmother had cooked up. And since his only chance of doing that was to level with her and try to gain her cooperation, Rye reckoned he’d have to make a better attempt at concealing his natural aversion to her kind.

But not until he took the little snob down a notch or two. He leaned back a bit more comfortably on the seat and draped a wrist over the wheel.

“A city girl, huh?”

Rye’s lazy drawl was ripe with cynical humor. Lillian glanced at his strong profile, finding his tanned handsomeness more exciting than she wanted to. The raw masculinity of the man was staggering to a young woman who’d had so little experience with men. Every instinct warned her to keep a safe distance.

“I’m certain you already know that, Mr. Parrish,” she answered stiffly. The man clearly disliked her and meant to rub it in.

“And a gen-u-ine New York socialite,” he drawled on.

Lillian bristled at the scorn in his tone and dared a comeback. “Is there a point to your rudeness, Mr. Parrish, or are you too boorish to realize your lack of manners? I believe it’s clear enough now that the invitation for me to visit your ranch was your brother’s idea. If you had such strong objections, perhaps you should have taken them up with him before my travel plans were this far along.”

“What invitation are we talking about, Miz Renard?” The blue gaze that swung toward her was tinged with mockery. “I’d hardly call your grandma’s demand to meet you at the airport and escort you to the ranch an invitation.”

Lillian stared over at him, startled by his blunt statement. Her face flushed. It was just like her grandmother to do such a thing. The grim duty of delivering her message was odious enough to Lillian. To compound it by barging in on everyone uninvited was unthinkable.

Grandmama’s low regard for all things rural and all things Texan had apparently disqualified the Parrish brothers from any pretense of proper manners. Rye’s hostility toward her and his crudeness, though bad behavior, suddenly made sense. And because Lillian had labored all her life to be as proper and inoffensive as possible, her grandmother’s actions embarrassed her.

“My apologies, Mr. Parrish.” She impulsively reached out to touch his arm to emphasize her sincerity, then froze, her fingers a mere inch from his shirt sleeve. “I naturally assumed—if I’d thought you were being forced—”

She cut herself off, unable to complete the sentence. The knowledge that her grandmother would have pressured her to come anyway—and that she would have complied—kept her from offering the lie. She jerked her hand back and turned her face forward, her apprehension about coming to Texas multiplied a hundredfold.


CHAPTER TWO

RYE kept track of the highway ahead, but kept a large share of his attention on the brittle hothouse flower on the other side of the bench seat. She was truly embarrassed by her grandmother’s actions. Hard, heavy blushes like the one that reddened her light complexion were impossible to fake. All the better.

“So,” he went on, “Grandma sent you out here to break up the lovebirds.”

The color that had only begun to ebb from her cheeks blazed back. “What makes you think that, Mr. Parrish?” she asked. She’d meant to seek a private word with Rachel to convey their grandmother’s message. She’d hoped her clever younger sister could let Chad Parrish down gently and humanely. The coward in her hoped neither Parrish brother would connect her with the unpleasantness that would follow her visit. But her covert glance caught on the knowing look Rye was giving her.

“Musta been something the old gal said about crude, ego-inflated Texans.” His handsome mouth quirked at Lillian’s look of horror. “I thought the part about hayseed farmers on horseback was off the mark, since we’re hayseed ranchers on horseback. But the real point your granny tried to make was that the Parrish pedigree isn’t blue-blooded enough for a Renard, and the Parrish fortune is too puny for Chad to be considered a decent catch for your sister.”

Lillian’s soft, “Oh, no,” was choked. She turned her face away as her mortification deepened. Her grandmother had clearly been as offensive to Rye Parrish as possible. Grandmama had been wildly unreasonable on the whole subject of Rachel’s wedding plans, but Lillian had no idea the old lady had expressed her objections so boldly to anyone but her or Rachel.

The huge hand that suddenly gripped her thigh made her jump. The embarrassing little squeak that was surprised out of her as she whipped her head around, elevated the trauma of the day to epic proportions.

“So, judging by your granny and your equally charming sister, you Renard women don’t really have any more manners or class than us uncouth Parrish men,” he commented as he divided his attention between her and the road ahead. His hand didn’t move.

Lillian was speechless. The feel of that big hand and its firm grip on her thigh conveyed an aggressive sensuality that took her breath away. She should have shoved his hand away, should have slapped it away. She should have slapped him, both for the harassment of her person and the mocking laughter in his eyes. But, frozen by the jolt of sensation that arced through her, she could do nothing but stare into his arrogant face with rounded eyes.

And that made him chuckle. It was a low, rich sound of masculine good humor. For the smallest moment, his hostility toward her eased. He dragged his hand from her thigh and slowed the pickup. She was still in an uproar from the feel of his hand, so she was only dimly aware that he was turning the truck off the highway onto a graveled ranch drive. He brought the vehicle to a halt and shifted into park before they reached the scrolled iron arch that read Parrish Ranch.

Lillian resisted the urge to shrink away when he suddenly turned toward her. The arm he laid on the back of the seat and the wrist he draped over the steering wheel made her feel claustrophobic.

“How did your grandma expect you to break up the lovers?” There was no sign of good humor now in his harsh, handsome face. The intensity in his gaze was relentless.

Lillian’s everlasting cowardice warred with her flagging pride as she tried to hold up under Rye’s intimidation. “Are we sharing confidences, Mr. Parrish, or are you in favor of the engagement?”

He tilted his head back slightly and his gaze narrowed on her pale face. It was obvious that he’d expected her to be easily bullied into giving a more precise answer.

“Oh, let’s do share confidences, Miz Lilly,” he drawled. His voice was intimately low, but his mouth was curved with a hint of menace.

Her daring, “You first,” brought him inches nearer. Suddenly, she could barely stand to have him so close to her. The subtle leather and aftershave scent of him was much more pronounced, and his blatant masculinity was overpowering in the close confines. The fact that she hadn’t the slightest notion how to deal with him was another distress.

She got out a hesitant, “Does this mean you approve of their plans to marry?”

The swearword he used was mild, but it was enough to startle her. “No, I do not approve,” he growled. “But if you so much as hint that to either of them, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”

The knowledge that neither of them approved of the marriage should have been a relief. It was the fervency of his threat that prevented her from relaxing.

“Why would you keep an opinion on something so important from your brother?” After living more than half her life with two relatives who made their opinions on every subject quite clear, it was a bit of a shock to think that other families practiced some restraint.

“Because it’s better for my brother to figure out for himself that Rocky is nothing more than trash with money.”

The brutal statement gave her heart a vicious squeeze. Her gaze fled the hard lights in his and she turned her face forward. Family loyalty should have prompted her to take offense and vigorously stand up for her sister. The bitter truth of his words broke her heart and kept her silent. She knew how wild and unprincipled her sister was. Lillian seemed to be the only member of her family who’d agonized over her sister’s abominable behavior. She was probably the only one who was genuinely terrified about how Rachel would end up.

Deep in her heart, she had hoped Rachel’s cowboy was strong enough to handle her, special enough to change her and inspire a more stable attitude and lifestyle. Rye’s blunt assessment told her that nothing had changed with Rachel. Truthfully, Lillian would have gladly seen her inheritance and Rachel’s lost if marrying Chad Parrish could save her sister from her headlong plunge toward disaster.

Rye suddenly felt faintly ashamed of himself. If he’d ever met a more fragile, repressed or proper young woman than Lillian Renard, he couldn’t remember her. She was the absolute opposite of her sister in temperament and manner, and he’d taken ruthless advantage of that. He’d been predisposed to be unkind to her, but now he felt like a bully.

And that made him think of what else was in store for her. “There’s something you ought to know,” he said gruffly. He watched as she stiffened, and looked over at him.

“Chad didn’t tell Rocky your grandma was sending you out here. He wanted it to be a...surprise.”

Judging from the flash of alarm in her blue eyes before she managed to conceal it from him, Lillian knew right away what kind of reception she would get from her sister.

He looked away from her then and stared out the back glass of the truck cab. “So, if you change your mind, we can turn around and get you on another plane. I’ll tell Chad to keep quiet...” He let his voice trail off.

There was nothing Lillian would have liked better than to leave Texas and fly home that instant. But Eugenia had sent her and Lillian knew she couldn’t go home until or unless she could bring her sister with her. Her single, unengaged sister.

“I need to see this through, Mr. Parrish,” she said quietly. “And I’d prefer to get my ‘surprise’ arrival over with, if that’s all right with you.”

“Whatever you say, Miz Lillian.”

Though Rye’s gruff words were suitably courteous, Lillian wasn’t foolish enough to think that the rancher’s attitude toward her was any less hostile. He didn’t look her way once during the ten minute ride to the main house.

The next surprise Lillian had was when they finally drove over the crest of the low rise south of the ranch house. After traveling for miles through the nearly empty expanse of Texas range land, the buildings and corrals beyond the main house looked as if they stretched at least a mile wide. The sheer size of the ranch headquarters was beyond anything Lillian had imagined.

But it was the huge house that sat well to the front of it all that captured her attention. Built of stone and adobe, its red tile roof ablaze from the light of the evening sun, the house was magnificent. Six wide adobe arches stretched across the front of the one-story structure. A stone veranda beneath the roof’s deep overhang divided the line of arches from the actual front of the house. Hanging pots of richly flowering plants adorned the arches and she glimpsed several groupings of black iron furniture. The wide stone veranda—and more arches—continued around both sides of the C-shaped house and suggested a size even more impressive than the front.

The obvious wealth of the Parrish home shocked her a little. Surely her grandmother had been mistaken in her judgment that Parrish money would never be enough for her sister.

“You have a beautiful home. Mr. Parrish,” she offered stiffly, unable to keep the comment back. The house was truly beautiful. It would be dishonest not to tell him so.

“It’s no New York mansion, but we’ve got indoor plumbing,” he drawled, the glance he sent her way once again mocking. She searched his face for the reason.

“Is it just me you’ve taken an instant dislike to, or do you hate women in general?” she dared, then felt her face warm at her uncharacteristic audacity.

Rye’s handsome mouth slanted. “I like women just fine, Miz Lilly,” he said. “Most women, that is.”

Lillian knew right away that she didn’t fit into the category of most women. She’d always known that she was lacking somehow, but the rancher’s clear indication that he didn’t like her specifically hurt.

When he pulled the truck to a halt at the end of the front walk, she opened the door and hastily climbed out. Recalling his “Princess” remark, she stepped onto the running board of the big pickup and leaned carefully over the dusty side of the truck box to reach for the handle of the nearest suitcase.

She hefted it out, feeling her face redden with exertion. Of course, this suitcase would have to be one of the heavier ones, but she refused to acknowledge it. Though Rye wasn’t looking directly at her, she’d caught sight of the cynical twist at one comer of his handsome mouth.

Lillian as much dropped the suitcase as set it down, then turned back to reach for a second one. To her relief, the smallest case was the only one left. She glanced over at Rye in surprise, but he was already turning away to walk around the back of the pickup. He’d not only left the smallest case for her, but he’d made certain it was placed within reach.

Why that made her feel a small flutter of excitement bothered her. Rye Parrish was too big and crude and macho for her to find attractive. On the other hand, perhaps she was overreacting to his small sign of consideration. The dismal reminder that she had misread a man’s intentions twice before made her wary of misreading another.

She lifted the small suitcase over the side, but when she turned to step off the running board, Rye smoothly removed the small case from her hand. He ignored her automatic, “I can carry it,” before he leaned down to snag the handle of the heavy suitcase.

With astonishing ease, he strode away from her with the handles to two suitcases in each of his huge hands. He carried the heavy load as if he were carrying nothing more challenging than four handbags, and Lillian was impressed in spite of her natural aversion to muscular men.

She followed him up the front walk and stepped beneath the deep roof overhang that shaded the veranda. She hurried past Rye to open the door, then held it for him as he carried her cases into the house.

The icy chill of the air-conditioned house was a welcome relief from the outdoor heat. Rye walked on, leaving her to close the door and take a quick look around as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

The large sunken living room that began a few feet from the tiled entry was part of the center portion of the huge home. Along the wall opposite the entry were two wide doorways. The door on the left led to what looked to be a large, well-appointed kitchen with commercial-size appliances. The delicious smell of food cooking made her mouth water. The double doors on the right opened to a formal dining room to reveal a long, polished table. Lillian could see the deep shine from where she stood.

The living room itself was decorated with heavy leather and wood furniture that complemented the rough timber beams that striped the ceiling. Brightly colored Native American rugs decorated the dark lustrous wood of the floor, drawing out the vivid colors of the Western paintings on the white walls.

It was a room that could have come directly from the pages of a glossy decorating magazine and she was duly impressed. Though it was worlds removed from the formal elegance of her grandmother’s homes, which she’d always felt had a sterile look, the colors and arrangement of this room were as visually interesting as they were inviting. In spite of her reluctance to come here, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the huge home.

The only thing that spoiled the view was the rancher who’d paused at the wide hallway to the left to glance back at her. “You comin’?”

With nothing more gracious than that, he disappeared through the doorway, the heels of his boots thudding confidently on the rug runner in the hall.

Lillian followed him down the west hall of the ranch house. Halfway to the end, Rye turned and stepped through an open door with his load. Seconds later, Lillian walked into one of the loveliest bedrooms she’d ever seen.

The room was larger than she expected. Decorated with three large leafy plants that were nearly as tall as she, the room was utterly feminine. Gauzy ivory fabric was draped in deep swags from the high points of the four-poster bed and above the French doors to the inner patio. Heavy, intricate lace lay elegantly across the dark polished wood of the dresser, chests and night tables. The area rug was a soft peach shade on the wood floor, but the walls were decorated with cheery watercolors of flowered scenes. Two antique oval pictures were hung tastefully, the attractive women in the sepia-toned photographs clearly Parrish matriarchs. Though the old photos made it impossible to detect eye color, the dark hair and facial structure of each bore a faint resemblance to the present day owner of the Parrish ranch.

Lillian looked quietly at the old pictures, intrigued by what she could only describe as the feminine ruggedness of the two frontier women. Rye’s low voice drew her attention.

“Bathroom’s over there.” He gestured to her right. He walked over and put out a hand to draw back one side of the gauzy drapes over the French doors. “Patio and pool out that way. This room is the other half of the master suite.” He released the drape and nodded toward the door to her left. “Other half’s through there and mine.”

She’d glanced obligingly toward the closed door before the “and mine” fully registered. When it did, her gaze swung back to meet the gleam in his.

“If you get spooked by something howlin’ in the night, or some low-to-the-ground critter wanders in, I’ll be handy.” The faint curve of his mouth gave away his exaggeration.

Lillian felt a stir of annoyance at his none-too-subtle effort to put her off. She arched a brow. “Unless you’re claiming responsibility for your nocturnal habits ahead of time, Mr. Parrish, I’m certain I’ll be fine.” The stiff smile she managed mirrored his as she maintained contact with the remarkable blue of his eyes.

It was oddly satisfying to see the brief spark of surprise on his face before his expression hardened. The hostility she’d sensed in him earlier reasserted itself as he strode toward the hall door.

“Dovey’s waitin’ supper. We’ll eat when you get done primping.” With that, he walked into the hall and pulled the heavy door closed behind him.

Lillian, a veteran of her grandmother’s impatience, checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror, ran a brush through her hair, then washed her hands and rushed out to the hall. Once there, she slowed and walked quietly toward the living room. The stillness of the home, despite its size, gave her the sense that Rachel was nowhere close by.

Though her nervousness about intruding on her sister wasn’t particularly high at the moment, she couldn’t help the undercurrent of dread she felt. The thought that she’d be spared the fallout from the “surprise” of her arrival for a little longer put her more at ease, though a part of her wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

She was tired of walking on eggshells around her family. She was weary to death of being the hapless target of someone else’s bad temper. The fact that she’d sensed a vast potential for bad temper in her reluctant host sent her spirits downward.

On the other hand, the reminder that she was obligated to tolerate only so much from nonfamily was welcome. There was an end to her forced contact with Rye Parrish. In as little as a few days, she’d be on her way back to the airport and civilization. The idea made her feel better.

She entered the large living room and walked toward the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. She’d almost reached the door when what she heard made her hesitate.

“You ain’t said much about what she’s like, boss,” a gravelly male voice was saying.

A child’s voice cut in, “Is she bratty and mean like Rocky?”

The question pained Lillian, but the silence that followed made her strain to hear what Rye would say.

“Don’t you need to take that bowl of food out to your pup, Joey?” There was a mild rebuke in Rye’s tone and she could instantly imagine the steRN look that went with it.

Joey’s voice was suddenly subdued. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it now.”

Lillian heard the hiss of a sliding-glass door as it opened and the thud when it closed. She’d just taken a step toward the kitchen door when Rye spoke again.

“She seems as pampered and useless as any other female of her type,” he said grimly, “but she’s more a sissy than a brat. She’ll probably fall over in a faint if her hair gets mussed or her clothes get wrinkled.”

Lillian felt heat surge into her cheeks as the other man chuckled. Rye went on.

“I’d just as soon we kept Joey away from her. And keep Buster away from her, too. Hell, she’s probably never been around a dog you couldn’t put a bow on or hold in your hand. God knows how she’d take it if he got too close or he jumped up on her.”

“Ol’ Chad sure picked up a burr,” the gravelly voice commented.

Rye said nothing more. Lillian was outraged, but the shame she felt was just as strong. It distressed her to think Rye Parrish had so accurately pegged her. She was nothing if not a sissy. What other kind of woman would have allowed her grandmother and sister to walk all over her for so many years? She hadn’t exactly been pampered, though by his standards she probably was. She was fairly useless as far as supporting herself or making her own way in the world, but her careful grooming and attention to her figure had been an absolute necessity. She didn’t dare appear less than perfect. He was even right about big dogs.

He was not right, however, about keeping the child away from her. Though she’d rarely had an opportunity to be around children, she felt no animosity toward them. It hurt that he thought he needed to protect a child from her.

On the other hand, the boy’s comment about Rachel being mean and bratty probably meant he was worried that she’d behave the same way. The notion that Rye might be sensitive to the boy’s feelings and that he was perhaps trying to protect the child made her a little less angry.

Lillian forced her mouth into a pleasant line, then stepped forward, letting her sandals make a quiet tap-tap on the wood floor to alert everyone in the kitchen that she was about to walk in.

The kitchen was even larger than she’d expected. The cook was in the midst of meal preparations, but he’d confined the various utensils, pans and serving dishes he was using to his immediate work area. Though the room was predominantly white, it had a surprising amount of color, from the assortment of pans that hung over a center island counter to the collection of cookbooks, knick knacks and potted herbs arranged here and there. The view of the patio and pool beyond the sliding-glass doors added even more color to the generously proportioned room.

The dining area of the kitchen was spacious enough for a large round oak table and chairs, as well as a small sofa and recliner. The room boasted a wall-mounted TV next to the wide door to the dining room and was placed high enough that it could be seen from anywhere in the kitchen.

Rye sat at the table, his plate, napkin and silverware pushed toward the middle of the table so his coffee cup could sit closer to the edge. He nodded to her when she walked in, then spoke to the cook.

“Here she is now, Dovey.”

The cook was a short, muscular, middle-aged man with a well-tended crew cut that gave the impression he’d been in the military at one time. Lillian gave him a smile as Rye stood to his feet and introduced her.

“Miz Lillian Renard, meet Dovey Smithers. He mostly cooks, but he also runs the house. Dovey, this is Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

She made her smile widen as she crossed to the cook and offered her hand to shake his. Dovey hastily wiped his hand on a nearby dish towel so he could shake her hand.

“I’m right pleased to meet you, Miz Renard. Hope you enjoy yer stay with us.” He released her hand then added, “Now if there’s any kinda food you’d like to have while yer here, or if you’d rather have somethin’ other than what I’ve cooked, don’t you be afraid to say so. Ain’t no one goes hungry when I’m doing the cookin’.”

Rye spoke up. “If she’s as particular as Miz Rocky, you might have to turn into a short-order cook to keep them happy, Dovey.”

Dovey gave his boss a mock frown, but his dark eyes twinkled good-naturedly. “Now, boss, this little gal looks about as sweet and easy to get along with as vanilla icing on a white cake.”

Lillian was prompted to speak up. “I’m certain whatever you’ve planned to cook will be fine, Mr. Smithers. In fact, what you’ve prepared now smells wonderful.”

“Name’s Dovey to you, Miz Lillian. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll get supper on the table—unless you’d rather I set the table in the dining room. Won’t be no trouble if you’d rather eat formal.”

Lillian shook her head, but her soft, “In here will be fine,” was nearly drowned out by Rye’s brisk, “The hell it’s not.”

The silence that followed was awkward and loud. Lillian felt her face go hot. “I wouldn’t be comfortable making more work for you...Dovey.” She gave him a nervous smile. “I’d prefer not being formal if there’s a choice.”

Dovey sent Rye another frown. “See there, boss? She’s as easy to get along with as she looks.” The cook hurried around the island counter to the table and pulled out the chair next to Rye. “If you’d like to sit down, Miz Lillian...”

Lillian walked to the table and slid obligingly onto the chair he held for her, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” once she was seated.

She offered a stiff smile to Rye, who watched her almost warily, then she glanced toward the news report on the television. The sound was on low, but she could easily hear it.

The swish of the sliding door drew her attention and she turned her head in time to see the boy try to squeeze through the opening without letting the pup in. But the pup, a short-haired black and tan breed with huge feet, who was more the size of a small pony, was determined to wiggle in.

“Buster!” the boy shouted as the animal shoved past his legs and burst into the room.

Buster—who was more a muscular dog than puppy—barked loudly at Lillian then suddenly lunged toward her, his dark eyes wild and his huge mouth hanging open to show lethally sharp teeth.

As alarmed as she was appalled, Lillian sprang from her chair to use it as a barricade. The huge puppy pounded around the chair, yapping hysterically as he tried to catch her. She’d let go of the chair to dash around the table, when a thickly muscled arm slid around her waist and lifted her off her feet to swing her out of harm’s way.

“No.”

Rye’s command wasn’t exactly a shout, but it rumbled in the large room. Though Lillian was held high against his side, she was watching when the monstrous puppy skidded to a stop on the vinyl floor, his paws slamming up against the toes of Rye’s big boots.

“Down.”

The puppy reacted to the second command as if he’d been shot. He instantly dropped down at Rye’s feet and gave a soft whimper before he looked up at the steRN rancher with no less than adoration in his big brown eyes.

“Good dog.”

As if he knew he was forgiven, the dog opened his huge mouth and let his tongue roll out in a goofy parody of a smile, but he didn’t offer to get up.

Meanwhile, Lillian’s heart was pounding, as much from the amazing feeling of being held so effortlessly against Rye’s hard-muscled body as out of terror about the dog. He’d picked her up as if she weighed nothing and the sheer manliness of the protective gesture made her insides quiver.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Rye. I didn’t mean to let Buster get in.” The boy’s face was the picture of anxiety.

Rye swung Lillian past the huge dog and set her on her feet next to her chair. His gruff, “Under the table,” made the monstrous young dog crawl swiftly beneath it and settle against one of the claw-foot legs of the wood pedestal.

Lillian, still a bit shaken, brushed self-consciously at her clothes, smoothing out the tiny wrinkles of her blouse before she ran her hands down the upper thigh of her slacks. She’d just raised her hands to run her fingers over her hair when the heavy silence in the big kitchen registered.

Her heart dipped a bit as she slid a quick glance toward Rye. Heat scorched her face as she noted the intense way he was looking at her. She knew then that he’d been watching every move she’d made. When his gaze met hers, the gleam of amusement that shone in their blue depths was a shameful reminder of what she’d overheard him say earlier about mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.

When he suddenly glanced from her to the boy, he gave the impression he’d somehow dismissed her.

Lillian’s wide gaze shot from Rye’s harsh expression to the boy’s pale face. The child was obviously terrified, and her heart went out to him. She suddenly decided Rye Parrish might be a bully. His next words were a complete surprise.

“I don’t want Buster to eat our houseguests, Joey. Let’s see to it he sticks to dog food.”

The effect Rye’s words had on the worried little boy was astonishing. Lillian was watching when the child’s tense face relaxed and he broke into a huge grin. A quick glance toward Rye showed that his grin was just as big.

The sound of the boy’s giggles brought an instant smile to Lillian and a lightness of heart that surprised her. That was the moment she forgave Rye for his rudeness to her. If he was always as patient with the boy and his dog as he’d been these past minutes, then he wasn’t quite the uncouth boor he tried to be.

Unfortunately, that made him more appealing to Lillian than was prudent.


CHAPTER THREE

“Miz Lillian, this is my cousin, Joey Parrish,” Rye said, then motioned the boy to step closer. Joey complied, but stopped at arm’s length from her while Rye finished the introductions.

“Joey, this is Miz Lillian. She’s Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

Joey’s mumbled, “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am,” charmed Lillian.

“And I’m pleased to meet you, Joey,” she said with a gentle smile as she held out her hand to shake his. “That’s some dog you have there. Is he a good playmate?”

Because her first instinct was to make the boy feel comfortable and to let him know she was friendly, she’d tried to add as much pleasant interest as she could to her response.

Joey shyly took her hand and gave it one firm shake before he let go and pulled back.

“He’s my friend,” he said with childish candor as he wedged his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. His straight golden brown hair came to his collar in a sleek cut and framed a small, freckled face that was surprisingly angelic. His large, thickly fringed hazel eyes sparkled with an engaging mixture of earnestness and intelligence as he looked up at her, and Lillian liked him instantly.

Before she could think of something else to say that would make them both feel more at ease, Rye said gruffly, “Go ahead and sit down, Joey. Dovey’s waitin’ to serve.”

As if relieved to get away, Joey turned from her and rushed around the table to the place set for him. Lillian sat down and reached for her napkin as Rye sat and moved his coffee cup out of the way to drag his plate and silverware closer.

Dovey served a layered lettuce salad, fat baked potatoes, fresh tomatoes and thick sirloin steaks that had been broiled medium-well. Generous slabs of steamy homemade bread that had been buttered and broiled on one side rested on the slim edge of their large dinner plates.

Lillian couldn’t help but be privately appalled at the huge plate of food. After more than half a lifetime of having her food scrutinized by a grandmother who disdained anything but small portions, she felt uncomfortable with such large servings.

“Something wrong with the food?”

Rye’s brusque words startled her. Lillian automatically glanced his way, saw the disapproval that tightened his jaw, then quickly shook her head.

“No—not at all,” she said, then made herself smile and look over at the cook, who was wiping down the counter. The way Dovey’s gaze shot away from hers—as if he’d been listening, but didn’t want to be caught—made her realize he might be worried about whether she liked his cooking.

She hastily added, “It all looks so wonderful, I can’t decide where to start.” She was rewarded with a broad grin and a wink from the cook.

She looked down at her plate, straightened the napkin on her lap, then reached determinedly for her knife and fork.

Lillian managed to follow Rye’s and Joey’s lead and clear her plate. Actually, the food had been so good that she’d been a bit shocked at how easily she’d packed it away. But later, as she sat on a lawn chair on the patio, she felt elephantine. She could almost hear her grandmother chiding her for making a pig of herself.

Actually, her grandmother would have done more than merely chide her. “Lillian, I will not tolerate a fat child.” How many times did she still hear her grandmother’s blunt reminders about gaining so much as an ounce of weight?

In truth, Eugenia Renard had an extensive list of things she would not tolerate. It still hurt to know that the list seemed to be comprised exclusively of the things she might have wanted to do or try. But the harshest items on the list had to do with Lillian’s looks.

The sudden plunge of her spirits made Lillian force her thoughts away from that subject. She turned her head to glance toward the shallow end of the pool where the boy was, and gasped.

The huge pup—Buster—had been sitting silently beside her. He’d been so quiet, she’d not known he was there. To turn her head and come face-to-face with the brute startled her badly. Coupled with his loud, “Woof,” she sprang up from the lawn chair.

Rye stood in the ranch kitchen watching out the patio door. He’d been looking on as the dog slipped up beside Lillian and sat down beside her. He’d been waiting with secret amusement to see what she’d do when she discovered how close Buster was. He had no worry about the dog, who clearly seemed smitten by the new human in his territory. The old nursery rhyme about Little Miss Muffet made a singsong pass through his mind.

Suddenly, “Miss Muffet” turned her head, saw the dog, then shot up off the lawn chair as if it were spring-loaded.

Rye chuckled, then got tickled again as he watched Lillian eye the big dog while she kept the lawn chair between them. He told himself it was because of Joey that he decided to rescue her. The boy was sensitive about the dog, and if Miz High Society raised hell, it would upset them all.

Just as he was about to slide the big door open and step out, he saw Lillian stretch a small hand toward Buster. Though he could see the tremor in those delicate fingers, the fact that she was making even a small overture toward the dog surprised him.

Buster’s big mouth dropped open and his tongue rolled out to give those timid fingers an enthusiastic lick, but Lillian snatched her hand back. The distaste on her face as she looked down her perfectly formed little nose nettled Rye.

He slid the door open, stepped through, then let it slide quietly closed. His low whistle got Buster’s attention. The big dog turned from Lillian, and bounded toward him. He allowed the animal to dance excitedly around him a moment before he leaned down to give him an affectionate rub around the ears and neck.

Rye’s gruff, “Where’s the stick?” and the brisk wave of his hand sent Buster charging to the far end of the patio and through the open gate. Rye straightened, his gaze going immediately to Lillian’s. The look of near fascination he’d caught before her gaze fled his gave him an odd little tingle.

More than once he’d caught those haunting blue eyes looking at him, watching him. Though he didn’t consider himself a vain man, he knew female attraction when he saw it. The little aristocrat must have found something about him worth watching, but he didn’t feel flattered. Women like her had nothing more exciting to offer a man than tantrums and hellish salon and boutique bills. Sex was simply a means to manipulate or coerce, and love for anyone beyond herself would be impossible. He’d be damned if he fell into the same trap his father had.

“My brother called a few minutes ago,” he said, then hesitated when he realized how harshly he’d spoken. It was surprisingly hard for him to soften his tone. His “Rocky decided she wanted to hare off to Dallas,” was only marginally better. “Better entertainment there, I reckon.”

Lillian ignored his sarcasm, but nodded stiffly. “Has he told her I’ve arrived?”

“No tellin’ what he’s told her.”

Because he sounded so irritable, Lillian felt about as welcome as the plague. She glanced away a moment and resisted the urge to fidget. Lord she hated to have intruded on this man. Not because he was a gracious host, because he certainly was not, but because he seemed to have a singular talent for making her feel unwanted.

Considering the fact that she’d felt that way most of her life, it didn’t really surprise her that this uncouth stranger behaved no differently toward her than did the members of her own family.

It seemed she would never be free of that mysterious something that kept others from feeling affection for her—from even liking her. Though sometimes she was convinced it was possible to die from lack of love, the fact that she’d survived this far without much of it made her believe she could go on a good many more years the way she always had.

Overwhelmed by emotion suddenly, she glanced determinedly toward the boy, who appeared to be struggling with one of the little sails on his boat. She forced out a hoarse, “I think the boy could use some help,” then started off toward the far end of the pool.

But by the time she reached the boy, he’d straightened the sail and had stepped down into the shallow end of the pool to set the boat on the water. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that Lillian stopped a few feet away so she wouldn’t disturb him.

The colorful little boat dipped awkwardly when Joey set it on the water. He started it off with a push that sent it gliding across the surface before water resistance slowed it to a stop. By the time it did, he was wading after it.

Left without an excuse to linger nearby, Lillian turned and strode back to the lawn chair. Rye had apparently not taken his eyes from her the whole time and his calm scrutiny was unnerving. She was too edgy now to sit down.

“The boy seems quite competent at what he’s doing. I should have realized,” she said, feeling the kind of screaming awkwardness that made her wish she could be more at ease around others.

Unable to bear the penetrating look Rye was giving her, Lillian glanced away a moment, then reluctantly brought her gaze back to meet his. “I’m certain my presence here might be...is...inconvenient. Surely there’s some sort of hotel or motel in the area.” She hesitated when his dark brows drew together in clear displeasure. “When Rachel returns from Dallas, we could just as easily have our visit there.”

He was shaking his head before she finished, and one comer of his handsome mouth curled. “I figured you’d at least wait until you actually got hot and dusty and bored, before you started whining to leave.”

Lillian felt the insult like a slap. The urge to slap back was shockingly strong. “I imagine nearly every place I could go in Texas is hot, dusty and boring, Mr. Parrish, but I never whine. However, I do know when I’m not welcome. If the situation were reversed, you’d do the same.”

Something dark flared in his eyes and the mocking curl of his mouth tightened. “If the situation were reversed, you’d damn well put up with me until I’d got done what I came to do.”

“And that’s the difference between us, I suppose,” she said quietly. “The fact that you’re ungracious enough to inflict your cranky disposition on others until you get your way is hardly a surprise. But I don’t behave that way, and I never appreciate putting up with that trait in others.”

The fact that Rye actually chuckled at her made the color in her face darken. “You might not behave that way, but my guess is you’ve had vast experience putting up with people who do, whether you ‘appreciate’ it or not.”

Lillian didn’t reply to that. There was no reason to. The man had obviously figured it all out. How could he not? He’d met her sister, and her grandmother had made an especially witchy impression on him over the phone. All in all, there was probably no hope that any of them could ever get along with one another, much less that the friction between her and Rye could ease.

“Nevertheless, Mr. Parrish, I think it would be better for me to take a room someplace else. I’m certain we’ll both be more comfortable.”

“Something tells me your granny wouldn’t give a rat’s backside for the comfort of anyone but herself. How will you explain moving to a motel forty miles down the highway when she expects you to be here?”

Lillian felt her face go hot again. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid that’s my problem.”

Rye’s fine mouth moved into a smirking line. “Honey, if you can’t put up with me, you sure as hell won’t be able to put up with your little sister when she shows up. She might have been bad before, but in the few weeks she’s been around here, she’s gone downhill.”

A sick feeling went through her. “What do you mean by... downhill?”

Rye was watching Lillian closely, had been all along. He saw clearly the flash of anxiety that made her beautiful blue eyes go silver for the tiniest moment. Was her anxiety for her sister or for herself?

He didn’t let himself be kind. “Unless you can tell me that your sister is normally spiteful and cruel, that she hates kids and animals, and is prone to drink, swear and come on to every male over sixteen who crosses her path, then I’d say she’s gone downhill.”

He heard Lillian’s shaky intake of breath and saw the sudden pallor that bleached the color from her cheeks. He’d shocked her. She glanced toward Joey, who was playing with his boat. Rye was watching when he saw the nearly imperceptible straightening of her narrow shoulders. Her shock was still there, but under rigid control by the time she turned her head and looked directly at him.





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