Книга - Donavan

Donavan
Diana Palmer


Anything worth having is worth fighting for…From the moment the elegantly dressed society woman walked into the bar on the wrong side of town, rugged Texan Donavan Langley knew she was trouble–and just the type of woman he'd vowed to avoid. But the lovely Fay York awoke a tenderness in him that he'd never known…and a yearning for something he could never have.The electrifying instant Fay gazed into a pair of glittering silver eyes, she fell hard for Donavan. Even though the rough-and-tumble cowboy was determined to keep his heart from her, he needed Fay. And it wasn't such a big step from needing to loving….







Dear Reader,

I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Harlequin Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Harlequin Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Harlequin, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer




DIANA PALMER


The prolific author of more than a hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A multi–New York Times bestselling author and one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.

Visit her website at www.DianaPalmer.com.




Donavan

Diana Palmer







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


For a special reader—Peggy




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10




Chapter 1


Fay felt as if every eye in the bar was on her when she walked in. It had been purely an impulse, and she was already regretting it. A lone female walking into a bar on the wrong side of town in south Texas late at night was asking for trouble. Women’s lib hadn’t been heard of this far out, and several pairs of male eyes were telling her so.

She could only imagine how she looked in her tight designer jeans, her feet encased in silk hose and high heels, a soft yellow knit sweater showing the faint swell of her high breasts. Her long dark hair was around her shoulders in soft swirls, and her green eyes darted nervously from one side of the small, smoke-filled room to the other. There was a jukebox playing so loud that she had to yell to tell the bartender she wanted a beer. That was a joke, too, because in all her twenty years, she’d never had a beer. White wine, yes. Even a piña colada down in Jamaica. But never a beer.

Defiance was becoming expensive, she thought, watching a burly man separate himself from his companions with a mumbled remark that made them laugh.

He perched himself beside her at the bar, his narrow eyes giving her an appraisal that made her want to run. “Hello, pretty thing,” he said, grinning through his beard. “Wanta dance?”

She cupped her hands around the beer mug to stop them from shaking. “No, thank you,” she said in her soft, cultured voice, keeping her eyes down. “I’m…waiting for someone.”

That was almost true. She’d been waiting for someone all her life, but he hadn’t shown up yet. She needed him now. She was living with a mercenary, social-climbing relative who was doing his best to sell her to a rich friend with eyes that made her skin crawl. All her money was tied up in trust, and she was stuck with her mother’s brother. Rescue was certainly uppermost in her mind, but this rowdy cowboy wasn’t her idea of a white knight.

“You and me could have a good time, honey,” her admirer continued, unabashed. He smoothed her sweater-clad arm and she withdrew as if his fingers were snakes. “Now, don’t start backing away, sweet thing! I know how to treat a lady.”

No one noticed the dark face in the corner suddenly lift, or saw the dangerous glitter in silver eyes that dominated it. No one noticed the look he gave the girl, or the colder one that he gave her companion before he got gracefully to his feet and moved toward the bar.

He wore jeans, too. Not like Fay’s, because his were working jeans. They were faded and stained from work, and his boots were a howling thumbed nose at city cowboys’ elegant footwear. His hat was blacker than his thick, unruly hair, a little crumpled here and there. He was tall. Very tall. Lean and muscular and quite well-known locally. His temper, in fact, was as legendary as the big fists now curled with deceptive laxness at his sides as he walked.

“You’d like me if you just got to know me—” The pudgy cowboy broke off when the newcomer came into his line of vision. He became almost comically still, his head slightly cocked. “Why, hello, Donavan,” he began uneasily. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

“Now you do,” he replied in a deep, gravelly voice that sent chills down Fay’s spine.

She turned her head and looked into diamond-glinted eyes, and lost her heart forever. She couldn’t seem to breathe.

“It’s about time you showed up,” he told Fay. He took her arm, eased her down from the bar stool with a grip that was firm and exciting. He handed her beer mug to her, and with a last cutting glare at the other man, he escorted her back to his table.

“Thank you,” she stammered when she was sitting beside him. He’d left a cigarette smoking in the dented metal ashtray, and a half-touched glass of whiskey. He didn’t take off his hat when he sat down. She’d noticed that Western men seemed to have little use for the courtesies she’d taken for granted back home.

He picked up his cigarette and took a long draw from it. His nails were flat and clean, despite traces of grease that clung to his long-fingered, dark hands. They were beautiful masculine hands, with no jewelry adorning them. Working hands, she thought idly.

“Who are you?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m Fay,” she told him. She forced a smile. “And you…?”

“Most people just call me Donavan.”

She took a sip of beer and grimaced. It tasted terrible. She stared at it with an expression that brought a faint smile to the man’s hard, thin mouth.

“You don’t drink beer, and you don’t belong in a bar. What are you doing on this side of town, debutante?” he drawled.

“I’m running away from home,” she said with a laugh. “Escaping my jailers. Having a night on the town. Rebelling. Take your pick.”

“Are you old enough to do that?” he asked pointedly.

“If you mean, am I old enough to order a beer in a bar, yes. I’m two months shy of twenty-one.”

“You don’t look it.”

She studied his hard, suntanned face and his unruly hair. With a little trimming up and proper dressing, he might be rather devastating. “Are you from around here?” she asked.

“All my life,” he agreed.

“Do you…work?”

“Child, in this part of Texas, everybody works.” He scowled. “Most everybody,” he amended, letting his eyes linger pointedly on her diamond tennis bracelet. “Wearing that into a country bar is asking for trouble. Pull your sleeve down.”

She did, obeying him instantly when she was known for ignoring anything that sounded like a command at home. She flushed at her instant deference. Maybe she was drunk already. Sure, she mused, on two sips of beer.

“What do you do when you aren’t giving orders?” she taunted.

He searched her green eyes. “I’m a ranch foreman,” he said. “I give orders for a living.”

“Oh. You’re a cowboy.”

“That’s one name for it.”

She smiled again. “I’ve never met a real cowboy before.”

“You aren’t from here.”

She shook her head. “Georgia. My parents were killed in a plane crash, so I was sent out here to live with my uncle.” She whistled softly. “You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“Get out,” he said simply. “People live in prisons out of choice. You can always walk away from a situation you don’t care for.”

“Want to bet? I’m rich,” she said curtly. “Filthy rich. But it’s all tied up in a trust that I can’t touch until I’m twenty-one, and my uncle is hoping to marry me off to a business associate in time to get his hands on some of it.”

“Are you for real?” he asked. He picked up the whiskey glass and took a sip, putting the glass down with a sharp movement of his hand. “Tell him to go to hell and do what you please. At your age I was working for myself, not for any relatives.”

“You’re a man,” she pointed out.

“What difference does that make?” he asked. “Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?”

She smiled. At least one person in the bar had heard of women’s lib. “I’m not that kind of woman. I’m wimpy.”

“Listen, lady, no wimpy girl walks into a place like this in the middle of the night and orders a beer.”

She laughed, her green eyes brilliant. “Yes, she does, when she’s driven to it. Besides, it was safe, wasn’t it? You were here.”

He lifted his chin and a different light came into the pale, silvery eyes. “And you think I’m safe,” he murmured. “Or, more precisely, that you’re safe with me?”

Her heart began to thud against her ribs. That was a very adult look in his eyes, and she noticed the corresponding drop of his voice into a silky, soft purr. Her lips parted as she let out the breath she was holding.

“I hope I am,” she said after a minute. “Because I’ve done a stupid thing and even though I might deserve a hard time, I’m hoping you won’t give me one.”

He smiled, and this time it was without mockery. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

“Is it a lesson?” she asked.

He drained the whiskey glass. “Life is all lessons. The ones you don’t learn right off the bat, you have to repeat. Get up. I’ll drive you home.”

“Must you?” she asked, sighing. “It’s the first adventure I’ve ever had, and it may be the last.”

He cocked his hat over one eye and looked down at her. “In that case, I’ll do my best to make it memorable,” he murmured dryly. He held out a lean, strong hand and pulled her up when she took it. “Are you game?”

She was feeling her way with him, but oddly, she trusted him. She smiled. “I’m game.”

He nodded. He took her arm and guided her out the door. She noticed a few looks that came their way, but no one tried to distract him.

“People seem to know you in there,” she remarked when they were outside in the cool night air.

“They know me,” he returned. “I’ve treed that bar a time or two.”

“Treed it?”

He glanced down at her. “Broken it up in a brawl. Men get into trouble, young lady, and women aren’t always handy to get them out of it.”

“I’m not really handy,” she said hesitantly.

He chuckled. “Honey, what you are is written all over you in green ink. I don’t mind a little adventure, but that’s all you’ll get from me.” His silvery eyes narrowed. “If you stay around here long enough, you’ll learn that I don’t like rich women, and you’ll learn why. But for tonight, I’m in a generous mood.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

He laughed without humor. “I don’t suppose you do.” He eyed her intently. “You aren’t safe to be let out.”

“That’s what everybody keeps saying.” She smiled with what she hoped was sophistication. “But how will I learn anything about life if I’m kept in a glass bowl?”

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’ve got a head start already.” He tugged her along to a raunchy gray pickup truck with dents all over it. “I hope you weren’t expecting a Rolls-Royce, debutante. I could hardly haul cattle in one.”

She felt terrible. She actually winced as she looked up at him, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the dry remark that was meant to be funny.

“Oh, I don’t care what you drive,” she said honestly. “You could be riding a horse, and it wouldn’t matter. I don’t judge people by what they have.”

His pale eyes slid over her face lightly. “I think I knew that already,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I meant it as a joke. Here. Don’t cut yourself on that spring. It popped out and I haven’t had time to fix it.”

“Okay.” She bounced into the cab and he closed the door. It smelled of the whole outdoors, and when he got in, it smelled of leather and smoke. He glanced at her and smiled.

He started the truck and glanced at her. “Did you drive here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He paused to look around the parking lot, pursing his lips with faint amusement when he saw the regal blue Mercedes-Benz sitting among the dented pickup trucks and dusty four-wheel-drive vehicles.

“That’s right, you don’t need to ask what I drove here in,” she muttered self-consciously. “And yes, it’s mine.”

He chuckled. “Bristling already, and we’ve only just met,” he murmured as he pulled out into the road. “What do you do when you aren’t trying to pick up strange men in bars?”

She glared at him. “I study piano, paint a little and generally try to stay sane through endless dinner parties and morning coffees.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Some life.”

She turned in the seat, liking the strength of his profile. “What do you do?”

“Chase cattle, mostly. Figure percentages, decide which cattle to cull, hire and fire cowboys, go to conferences, make financial decisions.” He glanced at her. “Occasionally I sit on the board of directors of two corporations.”

She frowned slightly. “I thought you said you were a foreman.”

“There’s a little more to it than that,” he said comfortably. “You don’t need to know the rest. Where do you want to go?”

She had to readjust her thinking from the abrupt statement. She glanced out the dark window at the flat south Texas landscape. “Well…I don’t know. I just don’t want to go home.”

“They’re having a fiesta down in San Moreno,” he said with an amused glance. “Ever been to one?”

“No!” Her eyes brightened. “Could we?”

“I don’t see why not. There isn’t much to do except dance, though, and drink beer. Do you dance?”

“Oh, yes. Do you?”

He chuckled. “I can when forced into it. But you may have trouble with the beer part.”

“I learned to like caviar,” she said. “Maybe I can learn to like beer.”

He didn’t comment. He turned on the radio and country-western music filled the cab. She leaned her head back on the seat and smiled as she closed her eyes. Incredible, she thought, how much she trusted this man when she’d only just met him. She felt as though she’d known him for years.

The feeling continued when they got to the small, dusty town of San Moreno. A band of mariachis was playing loud, lively Mexican music while people danced in the roped-off main square. Vendors sold everything from beer to tequila and chimichangas and tacos. The music was loud, the beer was hot, but nobody seemed to mind. Most of the people were Mexican-American, although Fay noticed a few cowboys among the celebrants.

“What are we celebrating?” Fay asked breathlessly as Donavan swung her around and around to the quick beat of the music.

“Who cares?” He chuckled.

She shook her head. In all her life, she couldn’t remember being so happy or feeling so carefree. If she died tomorrow, it would be worth it, because she had tonight to remember. So she drank warm beer that tasted better with each sip, and she danced in Donavan’s lean, strong arms, and rested against his muscular chest and breathed in the scent of him until she was more drunk on the man than the liquor.

Finally the frantic pace died down and there was a slow two-step. She melted into Donavan, sliding her arms around him with the kind of familiarity that usually came from weeks of togetherness. She seemed to fit against him, like a soft glove. He smelled of tobacco and beer and the whole outdoors, and the feel of his body so close to hers was delightfully exciting. His arms enfolded her, both of them wrapped close around her, and for a few minutes there was nobody else in the world. She heard the music as if through a fog of pure pleasure, her body reacting to the closeness of his in a way it had never reacted before. She felt a tension that was disturbing, and a kind of throbbing ache in her lower body that she’d never experienced. Being close to him was becoming intolerable. She caught her breath and pulled away a little, raising eyes full of curious apprehension to his.

He searched her face quietly, aware of her fear and equally aware of the cause of it. He smiled gently. “It’s all right,” he said quietly.

She frowned. “I…I don’t quite understand what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “Maybe the beer…”

“There’s no need to pretend. Not with me.” He framed her face in his lean hands and bent, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. “We’d better go.”

“Must we?” she sighed.

He nodded. “It’s late.” He caught her hand in his and tugged her along to the truck. He was feeling something of the same reckless excitement she was, except that he was older and more adept at controlling it. He knew that she’d wanted him while they were dancing, but things were getting ahead of him. He didn’t need a rich society girl in his life. God knew, one had been the ruin of his family. People around Jacobsville, Texas, still remembered how his father had gone pell-mell after a local debutante without any scruples about how he forced her to marry him, right on the heels of his wife’s funeral, too. Donavan had turned bitter trying to live down the family scandal. Miss High Society here would find it out eventually. Better not to start something he couldn’t finish, even if she did cause an inconvenient ache in his body. No doubt she’d had half a dozen men, but she might be addictive—and he couldn’t risk finding out she was.

She was pleasantly relaxed when they got back to the deserted bar where she’d left her Mercedes. The spell had worn off a little, and her head had cleared. But with that return to reality came the unpleasantness of having to go home and face the music. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, and they were going to be angry. Really angry.

“Thank you,” she said simply, turning to Donavan after she unlocked her car. “It was a magical night.”

“For me, too.” He opened the door for her. “Stay out of my part of town, debutante,” he said gently. “You don’t belong here.”

Her green eyes searched his gray ones. “I hate my life,” she said.

“Change it,” he replied. “You can if you want to.”

“I’m not used to fighting.”

“Get used to it. Life doesn’t give, it takes. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

“So they say.” She toyed with her car keys. “But in my world, the fighting gets dirty.”

“It does in mine, too. That never stopped me. Don’t let it stop you.”

She lowered her eyes to the hard chest that had pillowed her head while they danced. “I won’t forget you.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he murmured dryly, flicking a long strand of hair away from her face. “I’m not looking for complications or ties. Not ever. Your world and mine wouldn’t mix. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“You just told me to,” she pointed out, lifting her face to his.

“Not in my direction,” he emphasized. He smiled at her. The action made him look younger, less formidable. “Go home.”

She sighed. “I guess I should. You wouldn’t like to kiss me good-night, I guess?” she added with lifted eyebrows.

“I would,” he replied. “Which is why I’m not going to. Get in the car.”

“Men,” she muttered. She glared at him, but she got into the car and closed the door.

“Drive carefully,” he said. “And wear your seat belt.”

She fastened it, but not because of his order—she usually wore a seat belt. She spared him one long, last look before she started the car and pulled away. When she drove onto the main highway, he was already driving off in the other direction, and without looking back. She felt a sense of loss that shocked her, as if she’d given up part of herself. Maybe she had. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another human being.

Her father and mother had never been really close to her. They’d had their own independent lives, and they almost never included her in any of their activities. She’d grown up with housekeepers and governesses for companionship, and with no brothers or sisters for company. From lonely child to lonely woman, she’d gone through the motions of living. But she’d never felt that anyone would really mind if she died.

That hadn’t changed when she’d come out to Jacobsville, Texas, to live with her mother’s brother, Uncle Henry Rollins. He wasn’t well-to-do, but he wanted to be. He wasn’t above using his control over Fay’s estate to provide the means to entertain. Fay hadn’t protested, but she’d just realized tonight how lax she’d been in looking out for her own interests. Uncle Henry had invited his business partner to supper and hadn’t told Fay until the last minute. She was tired of having Sean thrown at her, and she’d rebelled, running out the door to her car.

It had been almost comical, bowlegged Uncle Henry rushing after her, huffing and puffing as he tried to match his bulk to her slender swiftness and lost. She hadn’t known where she was going, but she’d wound up at the bar. Fate had sent her there, perhaps, to a man who made her see what a docile child she’d become, when she was an independent woman. Well, things were going to change. Starting now.

Donavan had fascinated her. She tingled, just remembering how he hadn’t even had to lift a hand in the bar to make the man who’d been worrying her back down. He was the stuff of which romantic fantasies were made. But he didn’t like rich women.

It would be nice, she thought, if Donavan had fallen madly in love with her and started searching for her. That would be improbable, though, since he didn’t have a clue as to her real identity. She didn’t know his, either, come to think of it; all she knew was what he did for a living. But he could have been stretching the truth a little. He hadn’t sounded quite forceful when he’d said he was a foreman.

Well, it didn’t really matter, she thought sadly. She’d never see him again. But it had been a memorable meeting altogether, and she knew she’d never forget him. Not ever.




Chapter 2


The feedlot office was quiet, and Fay York was grateful for the respite. It had been a hectic two weeks since she started this, her first job. She was still faintly amazed at her own courage and grit, because she’d never thought she’d be able to actually do it. She’d surprised her uncle Henry as much as herself when she’d announced her plans to get a job and become independent until her inheritance came through.

It had been because of Donavan that she’d done it. Her evening with him had changed her life. He’d made it possible for her to believe in herself. He’d given her a kind of self-confidence that she hadn’t thought possible.

But it hadn’t been easy, and she’d been scared to death the morning she’d walked into the office of the gigantic Ballenger feedlot to ask for a job.

Barry Holman, the local attorney who was to handle her inheritance, had suggested that she see Justin Ballenger about work, because his secretary was out having a baby and Calhoun Ballenger’s wife, Abby, had been reluctantly filling in.

She could still remember her shock when she’d gone to Mr. Holman to ask for a living allowance until her inheritance came through, something that would give her a little independence from her overbearing uncle.

That was when the blow fell. “I’m sorry,” Holman said. “But there’s no provision for any living allowance. According to the terms of the will, you can’t inherit until you’re twenty-one. Until that time, the executor of your parents’ estate has total control of your money.”

She gasped. “You mean I don’t have any money unless Uncle Henry gives it to me?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I realize it probably seems terribly unfair to you, Fay, but your parents must have thought they were doing the right thing.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said, feeling sick. She wrapped her arms around her body. “What will I do?”

“What you originally planned. Go ahead and get a job. You’ll only need it for a couple of weeks, until you get your inheritance.”

The statement helped her fight out of her misery. Involuntarily, she smiled, liking the blond attorney. He was in his early thirties, very good-looking and successful. He was married, because on his desk was a photograph of a young woman with long, brown hair holding a baby.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. Don’t worry, you won’t even have to look far for a job. I just happen to know of an opening. Know anything about cattle?”

She hesitated. “Not really.”

“Do you mind working around them?”

“Not if I don’t have to brand them,” she murmured dryly.

He laughed. “It won’t come to that. The Ballenger brothers are looking for a temporary secretary. Their full-time one was pregnant and just had a complicated delivery. She’ll be out about two months and they’re looking for someone to fill in. Calhoun Ballenger’s wife has been trying to handle it, but you’d be a godsend right now. Can you type?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I can handle a computer, too. I took several college courses before my parents died and I had to come out here to comply with the terms of their will.”

“Good!”

“But surely they’ve found someone…”

“There aren’t that many people available for part-time work,” he said. “Mostly high-school students, and they don’t like the environment that goes with the job.”

She grinned. “I won’t care, as long as I make enough to pay my rent.”

“You will. Here.” He scribbled an address. “Go and see Justin or Calhoun. Tell them I sent you. Trust me,” he added, rising to shake hands with her. “You’ll like them.”

“I hope so. I sure don’t like my uncle much at the moment.”

He nodded. “I can understand that. But Henry isn’t a bad man, you know. And there could be more to this than meets the eye,” he added reluctantly.

That statement gave her cold chills. The way Uncle Henry had been throwing her headlong at a rich bachelor friend of his made her uneasy. “I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Do you know just how my uncle’s been managing my affairs in the past two months?”

“Not yet,” Barry Holman replied. “I’ve asked for an accounting, but he’s refused to turn over any documents to me until the day you turn twenty-one.”

“That doesn’t sound promising,” she said nervously. “I understood my father to say he had at least two million dollars tied up in trust for me. Surely Uncle Henry couldn’t have gone through that in a few weeks, could he?”

“I hardly think so,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Go and see the Ballengers. Good luck.”

“I think I’ll need it, but thanks for your help,” she said as she left the office.



The Ballenger feedlot was a mammoth operation. During the short time she’d been in Jacobsville, Fay had never gotten a good look at it. Now, up close, the sheer enormity of it was staggering. So was the relative cleanliness of the operation and the attention to sanitation.

It was Justin Ballenger who interviewed her. He was tall and rangy, not at all handsome, but kind and courteous.

“You understand that this would only be a temporary job?” he emphasized, leaning forward. “Our secretary, Nita, is only going to be out long enough to recuperate from her C-section and have a few weeks with their new baby.”

“Yes, Mr. Holman told me about that,” Fay said. “I don’t mind. I only need something temporary until I get used to being on my own. I was living with my uncle but the situation was pretty uncomfortable.” Without meaning to, she went on to explain what had happened, finding in Justin a sympathetic listener.

Justin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Your uncle is a mercenary man. I think you did the right thing. Make sure Barry keeps a close watch on your holdings.”

“He’s doing that.” She gnawed her lower lip worriedly. “You won’t mention it to anyone…?”

“It’s nobody’s business but yours,” he agreed. “As far as we know, you’re strictly a working girl who had a minor disagreement with her kin. Fair enough?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling. “I’m not really much more than a working girl, since everything is tied up in trust. But only for a few more weeks.” She smiled. “Money doesn’t really mean that much to me. Honestly I’d rather marry someone who loved me than someone who just wanted an easy life.”

“You’re a wise girl,” he replied quietly. “Shelby and I both felt like that. We’re not poor, but it wouldn’t matter if we were. We have each other, and our boys. We’re very lucky.”

She smiled, because she’d heard about Shelby Ballenger and the circumstances that had finally led to her marriage to Justin. It was a real love story. “Maybe I’ll get lucky like that one day,” she said, thinking about Donavan.

“Well, if you want the job under those conditions, it’s yours,” he said after a minute. “Welcome aboard. Come on and I’ll introduce you to my brother.”

He preceded her down the hall, where a tall blond man was poring over figures on sheets of paper scattered all over his desk.

“This is Fay York,” he said, introducing her. “Fay, my brother, Calhoun.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said sincerely, and shook hands. “I hope I can help you keep things in order while Nita’s away.”

“Abby will get down and kiss your shoes,” Calhoun assured her. “She’s been trying to keep one of our boys in school and the other two in day care and take care of the house while she worked in Nita’s place this week. She’s already threatened to open all the gates if we didn’t do something to help her.”

“I’m glad I needed a job, then,” she said.

“So are we.”

Abby came barreling in with an armload of files, her black hair askew around her face, her blue-gray eyes wide and curious when they met Fay’s green ones.

“Please be my replacement,” she said with such fervor that Fay laughed helplessly. “Do you take bribes? I can get you real chocolate truffles and mocha ice cream…”

“No need. I’ve already accepted the job while Nita is out with her baby,” Fay assured the other woman. “Oh, thank God!” she sighed, dropping the files on her husband’s desk. She grinned at Calhoun. “Thank you, too, darling. I’ll make you a big beef stew for dinner, with homemade rolls.”

“Don’t just stand there, go home!” he burst out. He grinned sheepishly at Fay. “She makes the best rolls in town. I’ve been eating hot dogs for so many days that I bark, because it’s all I can cook! This has been hard on my stomach.”

“And on my stamina.” Abby laughed. “The boys have missed me. Well, I’ll show you what to do, Fay, then I’ll rush right home and start dough rising.”

Fay followed her back to the desk out front and listened carefully and made notes while Abby briefed her on the routine and showed her how to fill in the forms. She went over the basics of feedlot operation as well, so that Fay would understand what she was doing.

“You make it sound very easy, but it isn’t, is it?”

“No,” Abby agreed. “Especially when you deal with some of our clients. J. D. Langley alone is enough to make a saint throw in the towel.”

“Is he a rancher?”

“He’s a…” Abby cleared her throat. “Yes, he’s a rancher. But most of the cattle he deals in are other people’s. He’s general manager of the Mesa Blanco ranch combine.”

“I don’t know much about ranching, but I’ve heard of them.”

“Most everybody has. J.D.’s good at his job, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a perfectionist when it comes to diet and handling of cattle. He saw one of the men use a cattle prod on some of his stock once and he jumped the man, right over a rail. We can’t afford to turn down his business, but he makes things difficult. You’ll find that out for yourself. Nobody crosses J.D. around Jacobsville.”

“Is he rich?”

“No. He has plenty of power because of the job he does for Mesa Blanco, but it’s his temperament that makes people jump when he speaks. J.D. would be arrogant in rags. He’s just that kind of man.”

Abby’s description brought to mind another man, a rangy cowboy who’d given her the most magical evening of her life. She smiled sadly, thinking that she’d probably never see him again. Walking into that bar had been an act of desperation and bravado. She’d never have the nerve to do it twice. It would look as if she were chasing him, and he’d said at the time that there was no future in it. She’d driven by the bar two or three times, but she couldn’t manage enough courage to go in again.

“Is Mr. Langley married?” Fay asked.

“There’s no woman brave enough, anywhere,” Abby said shortly. “His father’s marriage soured him on women. He’s been something of a playboy in past years, but he’s settled somewhat since he’s been managing the Mesa Blanco companies. There’s a new president of the company who’s a hard-line conservative, so J.D.’s toned down his playboy image. There’s talk of the president giving that job to a man who’s married and settled and has kids. The only child in J.D.’s life, ever, is a nephew in Houston, his sister’s child. His sister died.” She shook her head. “I can’t really imagine J.D. with a child. He isn’t the fatherly type.”

“Is he really that bad?”

Abby nodded. “He was always difficult. But his father’s remarriage, and then his death, left scars. These days, he’s a dangerous man to be around, even for other men. Calhoun leaves the office when he’s due to check on his stock. Justin seems to like him, but Calhoun almost came to blows with him once.”

“Is he here very often?” Fay asked with obvious reluctance.

“Every other week, like clockwork.”

“Then I’m very glad I won’t be around long,” she said with feeling.

Abby laughed. “Not to worry. He’ll barely notice you. It’s Calhoun and Justin who get the range language.”

“I feel better already,” she said.



Her first day was tiring, but by the end of it she knew how many records had to be compiled each day on the individual lots of cattle. She learned volumes about weight gain ratios, feed supplements, veterinary services, daily chores and form filing. If it sounded simple just to feed cattle, it wasn’t. There were hundreds of details to be attended to, and printouts of daily averages to be compiled for clients.

As the days went by and she fell into the routine of the job, Fay couldn’t help but wonder if Donavan ever came here. He was foreman for a ranch, he’d told her. If that ranch had feeder cattle, this was probably where they’d be brought. But from what she’d learned, it was subordinates who dealt with the logistics of the transporting of feeder cattle, not the bosses.

She wanted badly to see him, to tell him how big an impact he’d had on her life with his pep talk that night she’d gone to the bar. Her horizons had enlarged, and she was independent for the first time in her life. She’d gone from frightened girl to confident woman in a very short time, and she wanted to thank him. She’d almost asked Abby a dozen times if she knew anyone named Donavan, but Abby would hardly travel in those circles. The Ballengers were high society now, even if they weren’t social types. They wouldn’t hang out in country bars with men who treed them.

Her uncle had tried to get her to come back to his house when word got out that she was working for a living, but she’d stood firm. No, she told Uncle Henry firmly. She wasn’t going to be at his mercy until she inherited. And, she added, Mr. Holman was going to expect an accounting in the near future. Her uncle had looked very uncomfortable when she’d said that and she’d called Barry Holman the next morning to ask about her uncle’s authority to act on her behalf.

His reply was that her uncle’s power of attorney was a very limited one, and it was doubtful that he could do much damage in the short time he had left. Fay wondered about that. Her uncle was shrewd and underhanded. Heaven knew what wheeling and dealing he might have done already without her knowledge.

Pressure of work caught her attention and held it until the early afternoon. She took long enough to eat lunch at a nearby seafood place and came back just in time to catch the tail end of a heated argument coming from Calhoun’s office.

“You’re being unreasonable, J.D., and you know it!” Calhoun’s deep voice carried down the hall.

Unreasonable, hell,” an equally deep voice drawled. “You and I may never see eye to eye on production methods, but while you’re feeding out my cattle, you’ll do it my way.”

“For God’s sake, you’d have me out there feeding the damned things with a fork!”

“Not at all. I only want them treated humanely.”

“They are treated humanely!”

“I wouldn’t call an electric cattle prod that. And stressed animals aren’t healthy animals.”

“Have you ever thought about joining an animal rights lobby?” came the exasperated reply.

“I belong to two, thanks.”

The door opened and Fay couldn’t drag her eyes away from it. That curt voice was so familiar…

Sure enough, the tall, lithe man who came out of the office in front of Calhoun was equally familiar. Fay couldn’t help the radiance of her face, the softness of her eyes as they adored his lean, dark face under the wide brim of his hat.

Donavan. She could have danced on her desk.

But when he turned and saw her, he frowned. His silvery eyes narrowed, glittered. He paused by her desk, his head cocked slightly to one side, a lit cigar dangling from his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her bluntly.

“I’m filling in for Nita,” she began.

“Don’t tell me you have to work for a living now, debutante?” he asked in a mocking tone.

She hesitated. He sounded as if he disliked her. But she knew he’d enjoyed the fiesta as much as she had. His behavior puzzled her, intimidated her.

“Well, yes,” she stammered. “I do.” And she did. For the time being.

“What a hell of a comedown,” he murmured with patent disbelief. “Still driving the Mercedes?”

“You know each other?” Calhoun asked narrowly.

Donavan lifted the cigar to his mouth and blew out thick smoke. “Vaguely.” He glanced at Calhoun until the other man sighed angrily and went back to his office with a muttered goodbye.

“You’ve been driving by the bar fairly regularly,” he remarked curtly, and she blushed because she couldn’t deny it. She’d been looking for him, hoping to have a chance to tell him how he’d helped her turn her life around. But he seemed to be putting a totally different connotation on her actions. “Is that where you found out I did business with the Ballengers?” He didn’t even give her time to deny it. “Well, no go, honey. I told you that night, no bored debutante is going to try to make a minor amusement out of me. So if you came here hoping for another shot at me, you might as well quit right now and go home to your caviar and champagne. You’re not hard on the eyes, but I’m off the market, is that clear?”

She stared at him in quiet confusion. “Mr. Holman told me about the job,” she said with what dignity she had left. “I don’t have a dime until my twenty-first birthday, and I’m living on my own so I have to pay rent. This was the only job available.” She dropped her gaze to her computer. “I drove by the bar a time or two, yes. I wanted to tell you that you’d changed my life, that I was learning to stand on my own feet. I wanted to thank you.”

His jaw tautened and he looked more dangerous than ever. “I don’t want thanks, teenage adulation, hero worship or misplaced lust. But you’re welcome, if it matters.”

He sounded cynical and mocking. Fay felt chastised. She’d only been grateful, but he made her feel stupid. Maybe she was. She’d spun a few midnight dreams about him. Except for some very innocent dates with boys, she’d never had much attention from the opposite sex. His protective attitude that night in the bar, his quiet handling of what could have become a bad incident, had made her feel feminine and hungry for more of his company. He was telling her that she’d made too much of it, that she was offering him affection that he didn’t want or need. It was probably a kindness, but it hurt all the same.

She forced a smile. “You needn’t worry. I wasn’t planning to follow you around with a wedding band on a hook or anything. I just wanted to thank you for what you did.”

“You’ve done that. So?”

“I…have a lot of work to get through. I’m only temporary,” she added quickly. “Just until Nita comes back. When I get my legacy, I’ll be on the first plane back to Georgia. Honest.”

His dark eyebrows plunged above the straight bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember asking for any explanations.”

“Excuse me, then.” She turned her attention back to her keyboard; her hands were cold and numb. She forced them to work. She didn’t look up, either. He’d made her feel like what came out of a sausage grinder.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t linger, either. His measured footsteps went out the door immediately, leaving the pungent scent of cigar smoke in their wake.

Calhoun came back out five minutes later, checking his watch. “I have to be out of the office for an hour or so. Tell Justin when he comes back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling.

He hesitated, his narrowed eyes registering the hurt on her face that she couldn’t hide. “Listen, Fay, don’t let him upset you,” he added quietly. “He doesn’t really mean things as personally as they sound, but he rubs everybody the wrong way except Justin.”

“He saved me from a bad situation,” she began. “I only wanted to thank him, but he seemed to think I had designs on him or something. My goodness, he thought I came to work here because he did business with you!”

He laughed. “Can’t blame him. Several have, and no, I’m not kidding. The more he snarls, the harder some women chase him. He’s a catch, too. He makes good money with Mesa Blanco, and his own ranch is nothing to laugh at.”

“Mesa…Blanco?” she stammered, as puzzle pieces began to make a pattern in her mind.

“Sure. Didn’t he introduce himself before?” He smiled ruefully. “I guess not. Well, that was J. D. Langley.”




Chapter 3


Fay got through the rest of the day without showing too much of her heartache. She’d had hopes that Donavan might have felt something for her, but he’d dashed those very efficiently. He couldn’t have made it more obvious that he wanted no part of her or her monied background. He wouldn’t believe that she had to work. Well, of course, she didn’t, really. But he might have given her the benefit of the doubt.

It hadn’t been a terrible shock to learn that he was J. D. Langley. He did live down to his publicity. Later, she’d found out that Donavan was his middle name and what he was called locally, except by people who did business with him. She certainly understood why the Ballengers hated to see him coming.

She was sorry about his hostility, because the first time she’d ever seen him, there had been a tenderness between them that she’d never experienced. It must have all been on one side, though, she decided miserably.

Well, she told herself as she lay trying to sleep that night, she’d do better to stop brooding and concentrate on her own problems. She had enough, without adding the formidable Mr. Langley to them.

But fate was conspiring against her. The next day, she tried a new cafeteria in Jacobsville and came face-to-face with J. D. Langley as she sat down with her tray.

He gave her a glare that would have stopped traffic. He’d obviously just finished his meal. He was draining his coffee cup. Fay turned her chair so that she wasn’t looking directly at him and, with unsteady hands, took her food off the tray.

“I told you yesterday,” Donavan said at her shoulder, “that I don’t like being chased. Didn’t you listen?”

The whip of his voice cut. Not only that, it was loud enough to attract attention from other diners in the crowded room.

Fay’s face went red as she glanced at him apprehensively, her green eyes huge as they met the fierce silvery glitter of his.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here…” she began uneasily.

“No?” he challenged, his smile an insult in itself. “You didn’t recognize my car sitting in the parking lot? Give it up, debutante. I don’t like bored little rich girls, so stop following me around. Got that?”

He turned and left the cafeteria. Fay was too humiliated by the unwanted attention to enjoy much of her meal. She left quickly and went back to work.

Following him around, indeed, she muttered to herself while she fed data into her computer. She didn’t know what kind of car he drove. The only vehicle she’d seen him in was a battered gray pickup truck, had he forgotten? Perhaps he thought she’d seen his car when he’d come to the feedlot, but she hadn’t. The more she saw of him the less she liked him, and she’d hardly been hounding him. She certainly wouldn’t again, he could bank on that!

Abby came in the next afternoon with an invitation. “Calhoun and I have to go to a charity ball tonight. I know it’s spur-of-the-moment, but would you like to come?”

“Will my uncle be there, do you think?” Fay asked.

“I hardly think so.” Abby grinned. “Come on. You’ve been moping around here for two days, it will be good for you. You can ride with us, and there’s a very nice man I want to introduce you to when we get there. He’s unattached, personable and rich enough not to mind that you are.”

“Uh, Mr. Langley…?”

“I heard what happened in Cole’s Café.” Abby grimaced. “J.D. doesn’t go to charity balls, so you aren’t likely to run into him there.”

“Thank God. He was so kind to me the night I met him, but he’s been terrible to me ever since. I only wanted to thank him. He thinks I have designs on him.” She shuddered. “As if I’d ever chased a man in my life…!”

“You’re not J.D.’s kind of woman, Fay,” the older woman said gently. “Your wealth alone would keep him at bay, without the difference in your ages. J.D.’s in his early thirties, and he doesn’t like younger women.”

“I don’t think he likes any women,” Fay replied with a sigh. “Especially me. But I wasn’t chasing him, honestly!”

“Don’t let it worry you.”

“You’re sure he won’t be there tonight?”

“Absolutely positive,” Abby assured her.



Prophetic words. Abby and Calhoun picked Fay up at her apartment house, and drove her to the elegant Whitman estate where the charity ball was already in progress. Fay was wearing a long, white silk dress with one shoulder bare and her hair in a very elegant braided bun atop her head. She looked young and fragile…and very rich.

They went through the receiving line and Fay moved ahead of Calhoun and Abby to the refreshment table while they spoke to an acquaintance. She bumped into someone and turned to apologize.

“Again?” J. D. Langley asked with a vicious scowl. “My God, do you have radar?”

Fay didn’t say a word. She turned and went back toward Abby and Calhoun, her heart pounding in her chest.

Abby spotted J.D. and grimaced. “I didn’t know,” she told a shattered Fay. “I swear I didn’t. Here, you stick close to us. He won’t bother you. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Bart and that will solve all your problems. I’m sorry, Fay.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It’s fate, I guess,” she said dryly, although her eyes were troubled.

“Arrogant beast,” Abby muttered, sparing the tall, elegant man in the dinner jacket a speaking glance. “If he were a little less conceited, you wouldn’t have this problem.” She drew Fay forward. “Here he is. Bart!”

A thin, lazy-looking man with wavy blond hair and mischievous blue eyes turned as his name was called. He greeted Abby warmly and glanced at Fay with open curiosity and delight.

“Well, well, Greek goddesses are back in style again, I see. Do favor me with a waltz before you set off for Mount Olympus, fair damsel.”

“This is our newest employee, Fay York,” she introduced them. “Fay, this is Bartlett Markham. He’s president of the local cattlemen’s association.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. “Do you know cattle?”

“I grew up on a ranch. I work for a firm of accountants now, but my family still has a pretty formidable Santa Gertrudis purebred operation.”

“I don’t know much, but I’m learning every day,” Fay laughed.

“I’ll leave her with you, Bart,” Abby said. “Do keep her away from J.D., will you? He seems to think she’s stalking him.”

“Do tell?” His eyebrows levered up and he grinned. “Why not stalk me instead? I’m a much better catch than J.D., and you won’t need preventive shots if you go out with me, either.”

Insinuating that she would with J.D., she thought. Rabies probably, she mused venomously, in case he bit her. She smiled at Bart, feeling happier already.

“Consider yourself on the endangered species list, then,” she said.

He laughed. “Gladly.” He glanced toward the band. “Would you like to dance?”

“Charmed.” She gave him her hand and let him lead her to the dance floor, where a live band was playing a bluesy two-step. She knew exactly where J. D. Langley was, as if she really did have radar, so she was careful not to look in that direction.

He noticed. It was impossible not to, when she was dancing with one of his bitterest enemies. He stood quietly against a wall, his silver eyes steady and unblinking as he registered the fluid grace with which she followed her partner’s steps. He didn’t like the way Markham was holding her, or the way she was responding.

Not that he wanted her, he assured himself. She was nothing but another troublesome woman. A debutante, at that, and over ten years his junior. He had no use for her at all, and he’d made sure she knew it. Their one evening together had sent him tearing away in the opposite direction. She appealed to him terribly. He couldn’t afford an involvement with a society girl. He knew he was better off alone, so keeping this tempting little morsel away from him became imperative. If he had to savage her to do it, it was still the best thing for both of them. She was much too soft and delicate for a man like himself. He’d break her spirit and her heart, because he had nothing to give. And his father’s reputation in the community made it impossible for him to be seen in public with her in any congenial way. He’d accused her of stalking him, but gossip would have it the other way around. Another money-crazy Langley, critics would scoff, out to snare himself a rich wife. He groaned at just the thought.

He didn’t like seeing her with Markham, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shouldn’t have come tonight.

He turned away to the refreshment table and poured himself a glass of Scotch.

“You aren’t really after Donavan, are you?” Bart asked humorously.

“He flatters himself,” she said haughtily.

“That’s what I thought. Like father, like son,” he said unpleasantly.

“I don’t understand.”

He made a graceful turn, carrying her with him as the music’s tempo increased. “After Donavan’s mother died, Rand Langley got into a financial tangle and was about to lose his ranch. My aunt was very young then, plain and shy, but she was filthy rich and single, so Rand set his cap for her. He kept after her until he seduced her, so that she had to marry him or disgrace her family. She was crazy about him. Worshiped the ground he walked on. Then, inevitably, she found out why he really married her and she couldn’t live with it. She killed herself.”

Fay grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“So were all of us,” he added coldly, glaring at J. D. Langley’s back. “Rand didn’t even come to the funeral. He was too busy spending her money. He died a few years later, and believe me, none of us grieved for him.”

“That wasn’t Donavan’s fault,” she felt bound to point out.

“Blood will tell,” came the unbelieving reply. “You’re well-to-do.”

“Yes, but he can’t stand me,” she replied.

“I don’t believe that. I can’t imagine J.D. passing up a rich woman.”

“How many has he dated over the years?” she asked with faint irritation.

“I don’t keep up with his love life,” he said tersely, and all his prejudices showed quite clearly. Fay could see that he wouldn’t believe a kind word about J. D. Langley if he had proof.

“The two of you don’t get along, I gather.”

“We disagree on just about everything. Especially on his ridiculous theories about cattle raising,” he added sarcastically. “No. We don’t get along.”

She was quiet after that. Now she understood the situation. It couldn’t have been made clearer.

She danced with several eligible bachelors and several married men before the evening ended. It surprised her that J. D. Langley was still present. He remained on the fringes of the dance floor, talking to other men. He asked no one to dance. Fay was sadly certain that he wouldn’t ask her.





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