Читать книгу Lone Star Rancher - Laurie Paige - Страница 10

A drizzle began to fall on the return trip. Clyde glanced at Jessica, silhouetted by the blackness of the night and dimly illuminated by the dashboard lights. The rain wouldn’t do that silky outfit any good.

“Wait,” he said when they arrived at the ranch. “I think there’s an umbrella in the car.”

He fished the old umbrella out of the back of the station wagon and held it over Jessica’s head when he opened the door for her. He’d parked as close to the porch as possible so she wouldn’t get wet.

There, that ought to prove to his mom that he was considerate.

He frowned as he opened the front door and flicked on the lights inside, brightening up the length of the foyer with wall sconces and a lamp in the living room.

The air inside the house felt cold compared to the muggy ambiance outside. He saw Jessica shiver and wrap her arms across her middle.

“How about a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked, putting on a jovial air.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” she told him, giving him one of those dead-level stares she was so good at.

Since she was nearly his height, it was effective. With other men, it must be damned intimidating to be so calmly and unemotionally looked down on by a beautiful woman.

Correction—a striking woman.

Either way, she attracted a man’s eye. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she would arouse all his primitive instincts when he’d okayed her visit. However, he’d been expecting his kid sister’s friend, not this…this…poised, silky smooth, graceful female.

“Yes, I do have to be nice to you, or else my mother will pin my ears back,” he said, tossing his suit jacket and tie on the nearest dining room chair and heading into the kitchen.

Jessica, he noted, had stopped by the stairs.

“Why don’t you change out of those damp clothes while I make the hot chocolate?” He managed to speak in a casual tone, but blood pumped hard through his lower regions at the images that sprang into his mind.

He could imagine those long slender legs tangled with his, wrapped around his hips, straddling his body….

“All right.” She disappeared up the stairs.

By concentrating on the task, he got the warm drink made without spilling milk and cocoa all over the counter, but it wasn’t easy. His hands were actually trembling.

He muttered a word he couldn’t use in polite company.

“I beg your pardon?” Jessica entered the kitchen and gave him a questioning look.

“Nothing.” He forced his eyes to stay on the cups he carried to the island counter. But part of his mind had already taken in the long blue nightgown that peeked out from the lacy blue robe with each step she took. The color was a knockout with those blue eyes of hers.

She slid onto one of the three stools and took a sip of the cocoa and declared it “delicious.”

He sat down, keeping one stool between them, and tried to think of something pleasant to say.

“The rain is getting heavier, and the wind seems to be picking up,” she remarked, her eyes on the windows. “It was raining Friday, too, when you picked me up.”

“It’s that time of year,” he said inanely.

“Yes, June to November. Thunderstorms and hurricanes. I remember.” She paused, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged, irritated and frustrated with his barely controlled libido. “With the ranch? Nothing. With life? Who knows?”

“I think it’s something to do with the funeral, or rather, with the death of Christopher Jamison.”

“The murder of Christopher Jamison,” he corrected, hearing the harshness in his voice.

“Do you know something about it?”

He gazed into her eyes and saw only sympathy. So she wasn’t asking out of morbid curiosity. He frowned as some part of him softened fractionally. “I’ve got bad vibes about it. Nothing specific, but a feeling….”

He tried to find words to describe the vague uneasiness that wouldn’t let up. It was impossible.

“He was young and healthy,” he finally said. “He fought with his attacker, according to the rumor, but…I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe whoever it was took him by surprise.”

“Maybe. But what was he doing at the lake by himself?”

“Fishing?” she suggested. “Thinking about life? His fiancée said she thought he was looking for someone.”

Clyde heaved a frustrated sigh. “The police don’t seem to be doing much.”

“I’m sure there are things going on that we don’t know about. Ryan Fortune isn’t going to let the murder pass without trying to find out who, what, why and all that.”

“Yeah? I suppose you charmed information out of Ryan at the funeral?” He regretted the sarcasm immediately and opened his mouth to apologize.

She spoke first. “His wife Lily said their housekeeper saw a red ring around the moon a few months ago. That means trouble, usually death. I know how it feels to be bothered by something you can’t quite define, especially when it indicates danger or a tragedy you can’t quite grasp.”

Clyde noticed Jessica’s fingers trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips. She wore no lipstick now, but her lips were a pale pink, very soft-looking…very enticing.

He stared while she drank then licked the foam off her upper lip, the motion as delicate as a cat swiping cream off its whiskers. He licked his own lips and thought of things he could be doing to her, with her.

His blood hit fast boil. Sweat broke out on his brow. His body went rigid while his control shredded. He resorted to a sneer of amusement, knowing it was underhanded. It was the only thing he had left as a defense.

“Superstition, Texas gal,” he scoffed. “After your years in the city, you should be past your country upbringing, shouldn’t you?”

Her eyes flicked to him. There was intelligence as well as fury in those bright blue depths. “I don’t think so,” she drawled in a slow, provocative manner. “My country instincts have served me rather well in the city.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“Like knowing when a man is interested because I’m a model and he thinks that means I sleep around. I don’t,” she said flatly, her eyes sweeping over him as if she could see every sizzling pulse point in his body.

Clyde felt the heat rush to his head. Okay, he’d asked for that one. An apology was definitely in order.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“Oh, don’t bother,” she snapped, frowning as she took another drink and licked those delectable lips again.

He went into meltdown. Again. He cleared his throat. “You don’t cut a fellow much slack,” he said in a carefully amiable voice.

She gave him a glance that could have sliced bread without leaving a crumb. “I heard your mother.”

He tried to figure out if this was a trick. Women were good at turning the tables on a man and making him feel guilty for something he didn’t even think of doing.

“What about my mother?” he asked cautiously.

Again the laser glance, then a sarcastic half laugh. “She told you to be cordial to me. After all, I am a guest in your house, albeit an unwelcome one.”

She appeared cool, poised and aloof. Yet he sensed, in some way he didn’t comprehend, that he’d hurt her, and he was truly sorry for that.

“You’re not unwelcome,” he told her, peering straight into her eyes so she could see he meant what he said. “But you are a surprise. You left Texas shortly before I returned here to live. Sometime in those years between then and now, you changed from a cygnet into a swan, from a girl into a woman.” He managed a smile. “Be careful, or I’ll be tempted to show you how pleasant I can be to a guest.”