A Wedding in the Family. Susan Fox

to boarding schools and colleges which catered exclusively to young ladies of impeccable breeding. A real education in something useful—in anything that might have afforded either of them a moneymaking career apart from their inheritance—had been discouraged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Miz Renard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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