Books By Diana Palmer Read online

  She'd stood up, ignoring the stares of the astonished bystanders, walked straight over to him, and coolly slapped him with all the strength of her slender body behind her small hand. And then she'd walked out the door, leaving him staring at her.

  It was days later that she learned they were neighbors. He'd come to talk to Uncle Dan about a horse, and that was when she'd found out who Carson Wayne was. He'd smiled at her, and confessed to her uncle what had happened in town, as if it amused him. It had taken her weeks to get used to Carson's rowdy humor and his unpolished behavior. He would slurp his coffee and ig­nore his napkin, and use language that em­barrassed her. But since he was always around, she had to get used to him. So she did.

  Later that first year, she'd gone to the ro­deo, and Carson had been beating the stuff­ing out of another cowboy as she was coming out of the stands. Obviously intoxi­cated, he was throwing off the men who tried to stop him. Without a thought of defeat, she'd walked over to Carson and touched him lightly on the arm. He'd stopped hitting the other man immediately, looking down at her with dark, quiet eyes. She'd taken his hand, and he'd let her lead him around the corral, to where Jake was waiting nervously. After that, Jake went looking for her when­ever his boss went on a spree. And she al­ways went to the rescue. But after last night, she'd never go again.

  With a long sigh, she walked back into the house and put on a pot of coffee. She fixed a piece of toast and ate it with her coffee, checking the time. She had a meeting at nine with Patty Hopper, a local woman who'd just come back home fresh out of veterinary school and needed an office. Then, after lunch, she had to talk to the developer who was interested in Carson's forty-acre tract. It was going to be another long day. The man had insisted on seeing Carson personally, but after last night, it was going to be heavy go­ing. Mandelyn didn't particularly relish the thought.

  Patty met her at the vacant house Man­delyn wanted to show her. The small, dark-eyed woman had light brown hair and a broad, sweet face. She and Mandelyn had been on the verge of friendship when Patty went away to college, and they still met oc­casionally when the younger woman was home on vacation.

  “Well, what do you think?" Mandelyn answered her. "Isn't it a great location, just off the town square? And I can help you get a great interest rate if you want to finance it over a twenty-year period."

  "I'm speechless." Patty grinned warmly. "It's exactly what I wanted. I've got space for an operating room here, and enough acreage out back to put in fences for runs. This gigantic living room will make a per­fect waiting room. Yes, I like it. I like the price, too."

  "I just happen to have all the paperwork right here," Mandelyn laughed, producing an envelope from her large purse. "Then you can meet with James over at the bank and convince him you need the loan."

  "James and I went to school together," Patty told her. "That won't be any problem at all. I've saved up a hefty down payment, and I'm a good credit risk. Just ask all my classmates who loaned me money!"

  "I believe you." Mandelyn smiled as she watched Patty sign the preliminary agree­ment. "This is a sunny office. I can see you making your fortune right here."

  "I hope you're right." Patty stood up, folding her arms over the tan sweater she was wearing with casual jeans. "Wow! All mine."

  "Yours and the bank's, at least," came the dry reply.

  "You're a jewel, Mandy," Patty told her. She glanced curiously at Mandelyn's lip. "I heard you were riding around with Jake in the early morning hours."

  "Small towns," Mandelyn said gruffly. "Yes, I was. Carson had the local bar in an uproar again."

  Patty laughed, "Just like old times," she said, and looked oddly relieved. "Carson's a bearcat, isn't he? I'm on my way out there next, on a large animal call. He's got a sick bull."

  "Don't get too close, he might make a grab for you," Mandelyn teased.

  "Me? Not Carson, he's too polite."

  "That's rich!" Mandelyn laughed bit­terly. "He's a savage. Something right out of ancient history."

  "He's always been polite to me," Patty said. "Strange, isn't it, that he's never mar­ried?"

  Mandelyn felt her blood boil. "It doesn't seem strange to me. He's too uncivilized to get a woman. He'd have to kidnap one and point a gun at her to get a wife!"

  "I thought he was your friend," Patty said.

  "He was," Mandelyn said coldly. She turned. "Well, I've got a developer coming round in about an hour. I'd better go and have my lunch. I'm glad you liked the of­fice."

  "Me too," Patty said, laughing. "Say, do you really think Carson would be all that bad in bed?" she added curiously. "He's awfully sexy."

  Mandelyn couldn't meet her friend's eyes. "If you say so. I'll give you a call later about the details of the agreement, okay?" she said with a forced smile.

  "Sure," Patty said. "Thanks again."

  "My pleasure."

  Mandelyn had a salad at the local cafe, but she didn't enjoy it. Her thoughts kept returning to Carson and to Patty's disturb­ing remarks about him. Afterward, she went back to her office where the developer was pacing back and forth, waiting for her. She made a sly wink at Angie, her new secretary.

  "Hello, Mr. Denton," she said pleas­antly, extending her hand. "Sorry I'm late. I was finalizing another deal.”

  "Perfectly all right,” he returned, a tall, dignified man in a gray suit. "I'd like to go out to the ranch, if you're ready?"

  She hesitated. "I'd better check with Mr. Wayne first," she said.

  "I had your secretary do that," he said curtly. "He's waiting for us. I'll drive my car."

  She didn't like his high-handedness, but she couldn't afford to antagonize a poten­tial client, so she ground her teeth together in a false smile and followed him out the door.

  "Sorry," Angie mouthed at her.

  Mandelyn gave her a shrug, and winked again.

  All the way to the ranch, Mandelyn felt as if her stomach was tied in knots. She glanced out across the grassy valley rather than ahead to the ramshackle house nestled in the cottonwood trees with the mountains be­hind it. She didn't want to see Carson. Why was fate tormenting her this way?

  His black Thunderbird was sitting near the house, covered with dust and looking unused. The pickup truck Jake had driven the night before was parked by the barn. The corral was deserted. The front door was standing open, but she couldn't see through the screen.

  "This is where he lives?" Mr. Denton asked in astonishment as he pulled his green Lincoln up in front of the rough wood house.

  "He's rather eccentric," she faltered.

  "Crazy," he muttered. He got out of the car, looking neat and alien in his city cloth­ing, and Mandelyn fell reluctantly into step beside him. She was wearing a blue knit suit, with her hair in a bun. She looked elegant and cool, and felt neither. She'd tried to dis­guise her swollen lip with lipstick, but it was raw where her tongue touched it.

  As they started up the steps, Carson walked out onto the porch with quick strides. He looked even taller in his work boots. He was wearing faded denim jeans and a blue chambray shirt half unbuttoned over his broad, hair-roughened chest. He looked tired and hung over, but his blue eyes were alert and at least he seemed approach­able.

  "Mr. Wayne?" the developer said, put­ting on his best smile. "Nice place you have here. Rustic.”

  Carson bent his head to light a cigarette, pointedly ignoring the developer's out­stretched hand.

  "You won't take no for an answer, will you?" Carson asked him with a cold blue glare.

  Denton looked a little ruffled but he with­drew his hand and forced the smile back onto his thin lips. "I got rich that way," he replied. "Look, I'll up my previous offer by two thousand an acre. It's a perfect tract for my retirement village. Lots of water, flat land, beautiful view..."

  "It's the best grazing land I've got," Carson replied. "And there's a fort on the place that dates back to the earliest settlement."

  "The fort could be moved. I'd be will­ing..."

  "My g
reat-grandfather built it," came the cold reply.

  "Mr. Wayne," the developer began. "Look," Carson said curtly, "I don't like being pushed. This is my place, and I don't want to sell it. I told you that. I told her that," he added, glancing toward Mande-lyn. "I'm tired of talking. Come out here again and I'll load my gun."

  "You can't threaten me, you back­woods ...!" the developer began.

  "Oh, no," Mandelyn ground out, cover­ing her face with her hands. She knew even as Carson began cursing what was going to happen. She flinched at the first thud, the shocked cry, the heavy sound of a body landing on hard ground. She peeked be­tween her fingers. The developer was trying to sit up, holding his jaw. Carson was stand­ing over him with calm contempt, smoking his cigarette. He didn't even look rumpled.

  "Get off my land, you..." He tacked on a few rough words and bent to lift the other man by the collar. He frog-marched him to the Lincoln, tossed him inside, and slammed the door. "Vamoose!" he growled.

  Mandelyn stood there, frozen, while the Lincoln jerked out of the yard. She stared for a long minute and then, with a sigh, started after it.

  "Where the hell do you think you're go­ing?" Carson asked.

  "Back to town."

  "Not yet. I want to talk to you."

  She whirled and glared at him. "I don't want to talk to you."

  He took her arm and half led, half dragged her up the steps and into the house. "Did I ask?"

  "No, you never do!" she shot back. "You just move in and take over! He made you a very generous offer. You've cost me a for­tune...!"

  "I told you not to bring him out here."

  "You told my secretary he could come!" she floundered.

  "Like hell I did. I told her to tell him he could come if he felt lucky."

  And poor little Angie hadn't realized what that meant.

  "Angie's new," she muttered, standing still in the dim living room. He didn't even have electricity. He had kerosene lanterns and furniture that she didn't want to sit on. It looked as if it were made with leftover gunny sacks.

  "Sit," he said curtly, dropping into a rag­ged armchair.

  She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She'd only been in this house once or twice, with her uncle. Since his death, she'd found excuses to stay on the porch or in the yard when she stopped by to talk business with Carson.

  His face hardened when he saw the look she was giving the sparse furniture. He got up, furiously angry, and walked into the kitchen.

  "In here," he said icily. "Maybe the kitchen chairs will suit you better."

  She felt cruel. She hadn't meant to be rude. With a sigh, she walked past him and sat down in one of the cane-bottomed chairs around the table with its red checked oil­cloth cover. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't trying to be rude."

  "You didn't want to soil your designer clothes on my filthy furniture," he laughed through narrowed eyes. He sat down roughly and leaned back in the chair, glaring at her. "Why pussyfoot around?"

  She stared at him unblinkingly. "What do you want?"

  "There's a question," he replied softly. His blue eyes wandered slowly over her face, down to her lips, and hardened visibly. "Hell," he breathed at the swollen evidence of his brutality. He pulled an ashtray to­ward him with a sigh and crushed out his half-finished cigarette. "I didn't realize how rough I'd been."

  "I'll put it down to experience," she said curtly.

  "Do you have much?" he asked, holding her gaze. "Did you fight because you were afraid?"

  "You were hurting me!" she said, red with embarrassment and bad temper.

  His nostrils flared as he breathed. He paused a moment, and his next words took her completely by surprise. "You told Patty I was too savage to get a woman."

  Her mouth flew open. She just sat and stared, hardly able to believe Patty's be­trayal.

  "I... I never dreamed..."

  "That she'd tell me?" he asked coolly. He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it with an impatient snap of his lighter. "She was kidding around, she didn't mean anything. I guess you didn't either." He stared at the cigarette. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately, about getting older, be­ing alone." He looked up. "When Patty said that this morning, it made me mad as hell. Then I realized that you were right, that I don't even know how to behave in polite so­ciety. That I'm not... civilized."

  "Carson…” she began, at a loss for words.

  He shook his head. "Don't apologize. Not for telling the truth." He sighed, stretching, and the hard, heavy muscles of his chest were evident beneath his shirt. Her eyes were drawn to the mat of dark hair visible in the opening, and she felt a sensation that shocked her. "I didn't sleep," he said after a minute, watching her. "I'm sorry I cut your lip, that I manhandled you. I guess you knew I was drinking."

  "You tasted of whiskey," she said with­out thinking, and then flushed when she re­membered exactly how he'd tasted.

  "Did I?" His eyes dropped to her swollen lip. "I don't know what came over me. And you fought me... that only made it worse. You should have known better, little debu­tante."

  "I've been fighting you for years," she reminded him.

  "Verbally," he agreed. "Not physically."

  She glared at him. "What was I supposed to do, lie back and enjoy it?" she chal­lenged.

  His eyes darkened. His chest rose and fell roughly. "All right, I'm sorry," he growled, "For God's sake, what do you expect? I never knew my mother, never had a sister. My whole life revolved around a man who beat the hell out of me when I dis­obeyed—"

  She stood quietly, forcing away her bad temper, hearing him without thinking until the words began to penetrate. She turned slowly and stared up at him. "Beat you?"

  He drew in a slow breath, then glanced down at her bare arm where his strong, tanned fingers held it firmly. His thumb moved on the soft skin experimentally. "My father was a cattleman," he said. "My mother couldn't live with him. She ran away when I was four. He took me in hand, and his idea of discipline was to hit me when I did something he didn't like. I had a strug­gle just to get through school—he didn't believe in education. But by then, I outweighed him by fifty pounds," he added with glitter­ing eyes, "and I could fight back."

  It explained a lot of things. He never talked about his childhood, although she'd heard Jake make veiled references to how rough it had been.

  Her eyes searched his hard face curiously.

  He lifted his hand to her face and touched her lip gently. "I'm sorry I kissed you like that."

  She went flaming red. She felt as if his eyes could see right through her.

  "I've never-been gentle," he said, "be­cause I never knew what it was to be treated gently. And now, I'm thirty-eight years old, and I'm lonely. And I don't know how to court a woman. Because I'm a savage. This," he sighed bitterly, tracing her swol­len lip, "is proof of it."

  She stared up at him, searching his eyes quietly as his hand dropped. "Didn't you have any other relatives?" she asked.

  "Not one," he said. He turned away and went to stand by the window. "I ran away from home once or twice. He always came after me. Eventually I learned to fight back, and the beatings stopped. But I was four­teen by then. The damage had already been done."

  She studied his long back in silence, and then shifted, looking around the messy kitchen until her eyes found a facsimile of a coffee pot. She got to her feet. "Mind if I make some coffee?" she asked. "I'm sort of thirsty."

  "Help yourself." He watched her with a familiar, unblinking scrutiny. "You look odd, doing that," he remarked.

  "Why?" she asked with a laugh. "I'm very domestic. I cook, too, or don't you re­member those dinners Uncle used to invite you to?"

  "It's been years since I've eaten at your table."

  She stared down at the pot she was filling. How could she possibly confess that she was too uneasy with him to enjoy his company? He disturbed her, unsettled her and she didn't understand why. Which only made it worse.

  "I've been too busy for
guests," she said. Her eyes went up to the tattered curtains at the window. "You could use some new cur­tains."

  "I could use a lot of things," he said curtly. "This house is falling apart."

  "You're letting it," she reminded him. She put the pot on to boil, grimacing at the grease that had congealed and blackened on top of the once-white range.

  "There hasn't been any reason to fix it up before," he said. "Just me, living alone, not much company. But I've hired a construc­tion firm to do some renovations."

  That was startling. She turned to face him, her gray eyes wide and curious. "Why?" she asked without thinking.

  "It has something to do with the reason I brought you in here," he admitted. He finished the cigarette and crushed it out. "I need some help."

  "You! "she burst out.

  He glared at her. "Don't make jokes."

  "Okay," she sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

  He hesitated uncharacteristically. His face hardened. "Hell, look at me," he growled finally, ramming his hands into the pockets of his worn, faded jeans. "You told Patty I was too savage to get a woman, and you were right. I don't know how to behave in civilized company. I don't even know which fork to use in a fancy restaurant." He shifted restlessly, looking arrogant and proud and self-conscious all at once. "I want you to teach me some manners.”

  "Me?" Mandelyn exclaimed in shock.

  "Of course you," he shot back. "Who else do I know with a cultured background? I need educating."

  She blinked away her confusion. "After all these years, why now?"

  "Females," he said angrily. "You always have to know it all, don't you? Every single damned thing... all right," he sighed roughly, running a hand through his thick hair. "There's a woman."

  She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She stood there like an elegant statue, star­ing at him. Patty! she thought. It had to be Patty! It was the only possibility that made sense. His unreasonable anger about what Mandelyn had said to Patty, his sudden de­cision to renovate the house coinciding with Patty's return to Sweetwater. So that was it. The invulnerable man was in love, and he thought Patty had become too citified to like him the way he was. So he was making the supreme sacrifice and having himself turned into a gentleman. Pygmalion in reverse.