The Cowboy and the Lady. Diana Palmer

      “Oh, by the way,” Marguerite began, “I—”

      Before she could get the words out, Maria came in to announce that Tess was on the phone and wanted to speak to Jace.

      Marguerite glared at him as he passed her on his way to the hall phone a second time. “Why don’t you have a special phone invented with a plate attached?” she asked nastily. “Or better, an edible phone, so you could eat and talk at the same time?”

      Amanda’s solemn face dissolved into laughter. It had been this way with the Whitehalls forever. Marguerite had had this same argument with Jude.

      The older woman shook her head, glancing toward Terry with a mischievous smile. “Would you like to explain the advertising business to me, Terry? I can’t give you the account, but I won’t rush off in the middle of your explanation to answer the phone.”

      Terry laughed, lifting a homemade roll to his mouth. “No problem, Mrs. Whitehall. There’s plenty of time. We’ll be here a week, after all.”

      During which, Amanda was thinking, you might get Jace to yourself for ten minutes. But she didn’t say it.

      Later, everyone seemed to vanish. Jace went upstairs, and Marguerite carried Terry off to show him her collection of jade figurines, leaving Amanda alone in the living room.

      She finished her after-dinner cup of coffee and put the saucer gingerly back down on the coffee table. Perhaps, she thought wildly, it might be a good idea to go up to her room. If Jace came downstairs before the others got back, she’d be stuck with him, and she didn’t want that headache. Being alone with Jace was one circumstance she’d never be prepared for.

      She hurried out into the hall, but before she even made it to the staircase, she saw Jace coming down it. He’d added a brown-and-gold tie to the white silk shirt and brown suit, and he looked maddeningly elegant.

      “Running?” he asked pointedly, his eyes narrow and cold as they studied her.

       Chapter Four

      She froze in the center of the entrance, staring at him helplessly. He made her nervous. He always had.

      “I…was just going up to my room for a minute,” she faltered.

      He came the rest of the way down without hesitation, his booted feet making soft thuds on the carpeted steps. He paused in front of her when he got to the bottom, towering over her, close enough that she could smell his woodsy cologne and the clean fragrance of his body.

      “For what?” he asked with a mocking smile. “A handkerchief?”

      “More like a shield and some armor,” she countered, hiding her nervousness behind humor.

      He didn’t laugh. “You haven’t changed,” he observed. “Still the little clown.” His narrowed eyes slid down her body indifferently. “Why did you come back here?” he demanded abruptly, cold steel in his tone.

      “Because Duncan insisted.”

      He scowled down at her. “Why? You only work for Black.”

      “I’m his partner,” she replied. “Didn’t you know?”

      He stared at her intently. “How did you manage that?” he asked contemptuously. “Or do I need to ask?”

      She saw what he was driving at and her face flamed. “It isn’t like that,” she said tightly.

      “Isn’t it?” He glared at her. “At least I offered you more than a share in a third-class business.”

      Her face went a fiery red. “That’s all women are to you,” she accused. “Toys, sitting on a shelf waiting to be bought.”

      “Tess isn’t,” he said with deliberate cruelty.

      “How lovely for her,” she threw back.

      He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down his arrogant nose at her. There was a strange, foreign something behind those glittering eyes that disturbed her.

      “You’re thinner,” he remarked.

      She shrugged. “I work hard.”

      “Doing what?” he asked curtly. “Sleeping with the boss?”

      “I don’t!” she burst out. She looked up into his dark face, her own pale in the blazing light of the crystal chandelier. “Why do you hate me so? Was the bull so important?”

      His face seemed to set even harder. “A grand champion, and you can ask that? My God, you didn’t even apologize!”

      “Would it have brought him back?” she asked sadly.

      “No.” A muscle in his jaw moved.

      “You won’t…you won’t let your dislike of me prejudice you against the agency, will you?” she asked suddenly.

      “Afraid your boss might lose his shirt?” he taunted.

      “Something like that.”

      He cocked his head down at her, his hard mouth set. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? Duncan didn’t invite you down here. You came on your own initiative.” He smiled mockingly. “I haven’t forgotten how you used to tag after him. And now you’ve got more reason than ever.”

      She saw red. All the years of backing away dissolved, and she felt suddenly reckless.

      “You go to hell, Jace Whitehall,” she said coldly, her brown eyes throwing off sparks as she lifted her angry face.

      Both dark eyebrows went up over half astonished, half amused silver eyes. “What?”

      But before she could repeat the dangerous words, Terry’s voice broke in between them.

      “Oh, there you are,” he called cheerfully. “Come back in here and keep us company. It’s too early to turn in.”

      Jace’s eyes were hidden behind those narrowed eyelids, and he turned away before Amanda could puzzle out the new look in them.

      “Off again?” Marguerite asked pleasantly. “Where are you taking Tess?”

      “Out,” he said noncommittally, reaching down to kiss the wrinkled pink cheek. “Good night.”

      He pivoted on his heel and left them without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.

      Terry stared at Amanda. “Did I hear you say what I thought I heard you say?”

      “My question exactly,” Marguerite added.

      Amanda stirred under their intent stares and went ahead of them into the living room. “Well, he deserved it,” she muttered. “Arrogant, insulting beast!”

      Marguerite laughed delightedly, a mysterious light in her eyes that she was careful to conceal.

      “What is it with you two?” Terry asked her. “If ever I saw mutual dislike…”

      “My mother once called Jace a cowboy,” Amanda replied. “It was a bad time to do it, and she was terribly insulting, and Jace never got over it.”

      “Jace took to calling Amanda ‘lady,’“ Marguerite continued. She smiled at the younger woman. “She was, and is, that. But Jace meant it in another sense.”

      “As in Lady MacBeth,” Amanda said. Her eyes clouded. “I’d like to cook him a nice mess of buttered toadstools,” she said with a malicious smile.

      “Down, girl,” Terry said. “Vinegar catches no flies.”

      Amanda remembered what Marguerite had said about Tess, and when their eyes met, she knew the older woman was also remembering. They both burst into laughter,