Books By Diana Palmer Page 6

  It had been years. Years, since she'd felt passion. She hadn't wanted to give herself over to it again, and yet Carson had kindled an emotion in her that overwhelmed her tenderest memories of the past. She'd never felt so violent, so hungry. She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Per­haps it was her age. Perhaps she'd reached the brink of spinsterhood and was feeling alone, as Carson felt alone.

  She could picture him, blue eyes devour­ing her face, dark-skinned hands so gentle on her body—

  Of course, it could just be infatuation. He was her creation, after all, she was teaching him. Yes, that could be it. She could be like Svengali, overcome by pride. But if that was it, why did she tingle when she thought about Carson? She closed her eyes and thought about birds.

  Patty came by the office the next day at lunchtime with some documents from the bank. "Here are the loan papers," she said with a grin. "What time do we meet with that attorney?"

  "Today at five," Mandelyn said. "Happy?"

  "Just ecstatic," came the reply. "I've got to run out to Carson's and see about that bull. Want to come along, and we'll swing by the barbecue place and have lunch on the way back?"

  "Yes, I'd like that,” Mandelyn said. "Angie, just close up at noon when you get your own lunch, okay?"

  Angie nodded. "Have fun."

  Fun! Mandelyn's heart was racing wildly as she climbed into the red pickup truck be­side Patty. She didn't really want to see Car­son, but he was coming to her house for dinner that night so she couldn't very well avoid him.

  Carson wasn't at the house when they drove up. The door was closed and locked.

  "I wonder where he could be?" Patty asked, nibbling on her lip. "Surely to good­ness he knew I was coming?"

  "Maybe he's in the barn," Mandelyn suggested.

  Patty sighed. "Boy, am I sharp, not to have thought of that. Maybe I should try another profession... yep, look, there's the ranch pickup."

  They walked down to the barn. Mandelyn wished she hadn't worn the spiked high heels that went so well with her jaunty little two-piece blue and white suite. But when she en­tered the barn and saw the frank apprecia­tion on Carson's face, she decided it was worth a little discomfort. He was half kneel­ing beside his bull, with Jake at his side, and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

  Both men got to their feet, and Mandelyn couldn't help noticing how animated Patty suddenly became. She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, and had her hair pulled back in a bun, but she still looked feminine and cute, and Carson gave her a big grin and hugged her.

  “There's my best girl," he said, and Mandelyn felt suddenly murderous.

  "How's my patient?" Patty asked, hug­ging him back while Jake looked at them with an expression Mandelyn couldn't quite describe.

  "Well, he's about the same," Carson sighed, staring down at the bull. He still had an arm around Patty, and Mandelyn found she resented it.

  Patty got down beside the big animal, a Hereford, and checked him over with pro­fessional thoroughness. "We'll try another dose of the same, and see if that won't do it. He's improved some, Carson, I think we can save him."

  "If you don't, I may never speak to you again," Carson assured her. "And I'll guar­antee at least five of my cows will die of broken hearts, judging by the way they've behaved since he's been out of action."

  Mandelyn flushed, but Patty only laughed. "We'll restore him to his former vigor. Let me get my bag. Mandy, you aren't in a rush to get back, are you?"

  "No," came the quiet reply. "I don't have anything pressing."

  "Here, I'll help with that bag," Jake said curtly, and walked out of the bam behind Patty with a determined stride. Mandelyn had never actually seen the easygoing fore­man move so quickly.

  Carson studied Mandelyn with narrow, thoughtful eyes, hands on his hips, powerful legs apart. "You're quiet. And you won't look at me. Why?"

  Her eyes glanced off his and back down to the bull. "What's the matter with the bull?" she asked nervously.

  He moved closer, ignoring the question. So close that she could smell him, feel him, touch him if she chose. His shirt was half unbuttoned, and she wanted to reach out and rip it open—

  His fingers tilted her oval face up to his eyes, and he looked at her for a long time. "Shy, Mandy?" he asked softly.

  She flushed and tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her. Her lips parted on a rush of breath.

  "Tonight," he whispered, making a promise of it as he searched her wide eyes.

  Her lips trembled and he started to bend toward them, his eyes intent, his lean hand moving to the back of her head to position her face where he wanted it. And just as his open mouth started to touch hers, the truck door slammed.

  He laughed. "I seem to spend my life try­ing to kiss you without interruptions, don't I, honey?"

  She managed a nervous laugh, too, but her eyes were wary. She didn't miss the spec­ulative look he sent toward Patty and Jake, or the way he moved quickly back to his bull. Was he trying to make the other girl jealous?

  She didn't say another word until Patty was ready to go, and then she all but ran for the truck. Carson made her nervous, he in­timidated her. She sat there listening as Patty told him what else to do for the sick bull. And all the while Mandelyn never actually looked at him. She was frightened of what her eyes might tell him.

  "You sure were quiet today," Patty re­marked as they ate a hamburger at a local restaurant known for its barbecue. "You and Carson have a fight or something?"

  "Oh, nothing like that," Mandelyn said. "We, uh, I just couldn't think of anything to say, that's all. I don't know a lot about ani­mals."

  "I love them," Patty sighed. "I always did. There was never anything I wanted to be more than a vet." She glanced suspiciously at Mandelyn. "What was going on in the barn when Jake and I walked in, by the way? You were hot and bothered like I've never seen you. Carson make a pass?"

  "You know I don't feel that way about Carson," Mandelyn said nervously, making a jerking motion with her hand that knocked over her cup of soda.

  Patty ran for more napkins, and Mande­lyn sat there in the ruin of her suit wonder­ing if it would be undignified to scream.

  The rest of the day was no better. She didn't make a single sale, although she did show one undecided young couple six houses only to learn that at least one major thing was wrong with each. She stopped by the at­torney's office for the closing on Patty's new building, and then locked up her own office with a weary sigh. She still had to think of something to fix for supper. And Carson was coming!

  She jumped in her car and made a wild rush home to see what she had to cook. Thank goodness there was some chicken she could fry and some vegetables. She took off her suit, put on jeans and a loose shirt, and got to it. She didn't even think about what lay ahead; it made her too nervous. Things were getting entirely out of hand with him, and she didn't know what to do anymore. What had begun as a simple etiquette course now promised to be a full-fledged affair if she didn't watch her step. It occurred to her that he wanted her, physically. But she knew that he could feel that way and still be in love with Patty. It wasn't the same with men as it was with women. Which made her even more nervous about her own survival in­stincts. They didn't seem to work with Car­son.

  Just before six, she tried on five outfits before deciding on a demure little yellow sundress. She left her hair down and brushed it to silky perfection, and then stared at her­self in the mirror and hoped she didn't look too eager or too dressed up. She hadn't been so excited in years, and over Carson, of all people!

  He got there five minutes early, just as she'd finished dishing up the chicken and vegetables. She ran to the door to let him in, and smiled in helpless appreciation at the way he looked.

  He was wearing one of the new outfits they'd bought him—tan slacks with a pat­terned shirt and a casual white and tan plaid blazer. He was freshly shaven and his hair, under his Stetson, was well-groomed. He smelled of fine cologne and he looked good
enough to eat.

  "Well?" he asked impatiently.

  She stood aside to let him in, sensitive to the sweeping glance he gave her. "You look very nice," she murmured.

  "So do you. Good enough to be the main course, in fact."

  She grinned. "I'd give you a rash."

  "Think so?" He tossed his hat onto the chair and there was a sudden sharp gleam in his eyes.

  She knew what he was thinking, and it frightened her. She went hurriedly ahead of him into the dining room, where the table was already laid, including iced tea in tall glasses.

  "I'd just finished," she explained. "Shall we start?"

  He sighed. "I guess so," he said with a wistful glance in her direction.

  She stood by her chair while he sat down and shook out his napkin.

  "Ahem!" she cleared her throat.

  He glanced up. "Something wrong with your throat?"

  "I'm waiting for you to seat me."

  "Oh." He got to his feet, frowning. The gleam came back into his blue, blue eyes. He pulled out her chair and bent and lifted her in his hard arms. "Like this?" he asked softly, putting her down in the chair with his mouth hovering just above her own.

  "N-not exactly," she whispered back. Her eyes fell to his mouth, and she wanted it. Wanted it...!

  He seemed to know that, because he straightened with a purely masculine smile on his face and went back to his own chair.

  "This looks good," he murmured while she tried to get her heart to settle down, her lungs to work again.

  "I hope it tastes that way," she said tautly. "It was a rush job. I had a long afternoon."

  "So did I."

  "How's your bull?" she asked, handing him the platter of chicken.

  "He'll make it. He was better after that second shot. Poor old critter, I felt sorry for him."

  "I thought it was the cows you felt sorry for," she murmured demurely.

  He studied her downbent head for a long moment before he dished out some mashed potatoes onto his plate. "You ought to come over when I turn him back out into the pas­ture," he said drily. "You'd learn a few things."

  She all but overturned her tea glass, and he threw back his black head and laughed uproariously.

  "All right, I give up, you're out of my league," she burst out. "You terrible man!"

  "You need to spend some time around Patty," he remarked. "She'd put you on the right track soon enough. A girl after my own heart."

  Which was probably true, she thought miserably. Patty would suit him to a tee. He might want Mandelyn, but Patty appealed to his mind and heart. How terrible, to be wanted only for her body.

  “You put out salad forks,'' he remarked. "Why? You didn't make a salad."

  "I meant to," she said.

  "Etiquette," he scoffed. "I'll be damned if I understand any of it. A bunch of rules and regulations for snobs, if you ask me. Why dress up a table like this when all you do is eat, anyway? Who the hell cares which fork you eat what with?"

  "Ladies and gentlemen do," she said, biting down hard on a roll.

  "I'm not much of a gentleman, am I?" he sighed. "I don't suppose if I worked at it all my life, I'd improve a hell of a lot."

  "Yes, you will," she said softly. She stud­ied his craggy face, liking its hardness, its strength. Her eyes fell to his slender hand and she remembered how tender it had been on her bare skin. She dropped her fork nois­ily against her plate and scrambled to pick it up.

  "Do I make you nervous, Mandelyn?" he murmured wryly. "That's a first."

  She shifted in her seat. "I'm not used to entertaining men here," she admitted.

  "Yes, I know that."

  He was watching her, the way he always did, and that made her more nervous than ever. They finished the meal in silence, and he helped her carry the dishes into the kitchen. Not only that—he insisted on help­ing as she washed them. He dried them, smiling at her confusion.

  "I'm handy in the kitchen," he reminded her. "I have to be or I'd have starved to death years ago. I don't have women over to cook my dinner."

  She lifted her eyes to his hard face and searched it curiously.

  He looked down at the curious expression on her flushed face. "Yes, once in a while they come over for other purposes,” he said softly. "I’m a man, not a plaster saint, and I have all the usual needs."

  Her face colored slowly and he grinned. She tore her eyes away, but her hands trem­bled and she hated that giveaway sign.

  "You're such a little greenhorn," he mur­mured. "You don't know anything about men and women, do you?"

  "I’m not ignorant," she muttered.

  "I didn't say you were. Just innocent." He finished drying the last dish and put it to one side. "I like that. Your being innocent, I mean. I like it a lot."

  She couldn't meet his eyes. He made her feel shy and young and all thumbs.

  "Why hasn't there been a man?" he asked quietly.

  "Let's start your dancing lessons, shall we?" she began nervously. She started past him, but he caught her.

  "Why, Mandelyn?" he persisted.

  "Carson..."

  His big hands caught her waist and crushed her body against his. "Why, damn it?" he burst out, his patience at an end.

  Her vulnerability to his nearness shocked her. She panicked and suddenly tore away from him as if she couldn't bear for him to touch her. She stood with her back to him, shivering.

  She knew he hadn't liked her withdrawal, not one bit. But she couldn't help it, he ter­rified her. She was getting in over her head, and she didn't know how to stop him, how to handle him. Carson was more man pound for pound than she'd ever seen.

  She swallowed down a rush of shyness and turned back to face him. He was preoccu­pied, as if he was thinking deep thoughts. He came close again, his gaze intent.

  "Suppose you show me how to dance," he said at last. "Then next week comes cul­ture. I’ve bought tickets for a ballet in Phoenix. I thought you might come along and explain it all to me."

  She laughed. "You, at a ballet?"

  He glared at her. "Stop that!"

  "Yes, Carson,” she said demurely.

  "Turn on that damned stereo, will you?"

  A moment later the music flowed sweetly into the silence. Mandelyn went easily into his arms and showed him how to hold her, not too tightly, not too loosely. Then she taught him what to do with his feet. He was a little clumsy at first, but an apt enough student.

  "Why do I have to hold you so far away?" he asked. "I've seen couples prac­tically making love on the dance floor."

  "Not in polite company," she said hus­kily, staring at her feet.

  "Yes, in polite company," he murmured. His hands brought her gently closer, until she was standing right up against him, so close that she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts. "Like this. Here." He brought one of her hands up to his neck and slid his arm further around her, resting his chin on her head. "Mmm," he murmured, "much better."

  That depended on one's point of view, she thought nervously. She felt stiff, because her body was reacting to his like wildfire.

  "Don't panic," he said softly. "We'll just dance."

  But she was all too close to him, and something had happened to his body that she'd never experienced before. She tried to edge a little away from him, but he held her fast.

  "Carson," she protested weakly.

  "Mandelyn, I know you're a virgin," he said quietly. "I'm not going to make a wild grab for you."

  "Yes, I know, but... but..."

  "But you can feel me wanting you and you're frightened, isn't that it?" He lifted his head and searched her eyes. "I'm not em­barrassed. Why should you be? It's a man's very natural reaction to a lovely woman."

  She'd never heard it put like that. She studied his hard face.

  "I've spent my life working with ani­mals," he said, his voice quiet, deep. "I don't find anything distasteful about reproduction, about sex. You shouldn't either. It's God's way of perpetuating the species, and it's
beautiful."

  She flushed, but she didn't look away. "You make it sound that way," she said softly.

  His eyes searched hers intimately. "I don't like the idea of one-night stands and affairs, or people living together without marriage. I'm old-fashioned enough to want a woman with principles when I marry, and not a woman who'll proposition me just because she feels liberated."

  Her eyebrows arched. "Has that ever happened to you?" she asked.

  He laughed softly. "As a matter of fact, yes, at a cattle convention, of all places. She was a little rodeo rider and as pretty as a picture. She came up to me, touched me in a way I won't even tell you about and invited me to spend the night with her.”

  She hesitated. "Did you?" she asked in a tiny voice, all eyes.

  He studied her mouth for a long moment. "Shame on you. A well brought up young woman like you, asking a man that kind of question "

  "Did you sleep with her?" she persisted.

  "No, as a matter of fact, I didn't," he chuckled. "I like to do the chasing."

  "Yes, I imagine you would," she replied, but she felt relieved all the same.

  His hand slid down her back to the bot­tom of her spine and pushed her just a little closer, and she caught her breath and froze.

  "Too intimate?" he murmured. "Okay, I get the message. The kind of girls I'm used to don't mind being held like that. But I guess I've got a lot to learn about civilized behavior."

  She nuzzled her face against his chest with a sigh. "I've got a lot to learn about the re­verse," she said with a smile. "No one's ever held me this way."

  His hands contracted on her waist, and she gasped. "Hey, not so tight," she laughed. 'That hurts!''

  "Why don't you go out with anyone?"

  That was a good question, but it wasn't the time for confessions. "I like my own company,” she said after a minute.

  "You'll need a man one day."

  "No," she protested. "I don't want any­one."

  His hand caught suddenly in the thick length of her hair and tugged sharply. She gasped at the twinge of pain and stared at him as if he were a stranger.

  "You can't live alone forever," he said harshly, his eyes glittering down into hers. "You need more than your work."