Callaghan's Bride. Diana Palmer

he asked.

      “Oh, nothing,” Rey muttered, thoroughly disgusted. “Tess made him a birthday cake and he destroyed it. She’s packing.”

      Leo let out a rough sigh and turned his eyes toward the house. “I can’t say I blame her. I got her into trouble at the Christmas party by spiking the holiday punch, and now this. I guess she thinks we’re all lunatics and she’s better off without us.”

      “No doubt.” Rey shrugged. “Well, let’s get the cattle loaded.”

      “You aren’t going to try to stop her?” Leo asked.

      “What would be the point?” Rey asked solemnly. His face hardened. “If you’d seen her, you wouldn’t want to stop her.” He glared at Cag. “Nice work, pal. I hope she can pack with her hands shaking that badly!”

      Rey stormed off toward the truck. Leo gave his older brother a speaking glance and followed.

      Cag, feeling two inches high and sick with himself, turned reluctantly and went back toward the house.

      Tess had her suitcases neatly loaded. She closed the big one, making one last sweep around the bedroom that had been hers for the past few weeks. It was a wrench to leave, but she couldn’t handle scenes like that. She’d settle for harder work in more peaceful surroundings. At least, Cag wouldn’t be around to make her life hell.

      She picked up her father’s world champion gold belt buckle and smoothed her fingers over it. She took it everywhere with her, like a lucky talisman to ward off evil. It hadn’t worked today, but it usually did. She put it gently into the small suitcase and carefully closed the lid, snapping the latches shut.

      A sound behind her caught her attention and she turned around, going white in the face when she saw who had opened the door.

      She moved around the bed and behind the wing chair that stood near the window, her eyes wide and unblinking.

      He was bareheaded. He didn’t speak. His black eyes slid over her pale features and he took a long, deep breath.

      “You don’t have anywhere to go,” he began.

      It wasn’t the best of opening gambits. Her chin went up. “I’ll sleep at a Salvation Army shelter,” she said coldly. “Dad and I spent a lot of nights there when we were on the road and he didn’t win any events.”

      He scowled. “What?”

      She hated having admitted that, to him of all people. Her face closed up. “Will you let one of the hands drive me to town? I can catch a bus up to Victoria.”

      He shoved his hands into the pockets of his close-fitting jeans, straining the fabric against his powerful thighs. He stared at her broodingly.

      “Never mind,” she said heavily. “I’ll walk or hitch a ride.”

      She picked up her old coat, the threadbare tweed one she’d had for years, and slipped it on.

      “Where’s your new coat?” he asked shortly.

      “In the hall closet. Don’t worry, I’m not taking anything that doesn’t belong to me.”

      She said it so matter-of-factly that he was wounded right through. “We gave it to you,” he said.

      Her eyes met his squarely. “I don’t want it, or a job, or anything else you gave me out of pity.”

      He was shocked. He’d never realized she thought of it like that. “You needed a job and we needed a cook,” he said flatly. “It wasn’t pity.”

      She shrugged and seemed to slouch. “All right, have it any way you like. It doesn’t matter.”

      She slipped her shoulder bag over her arm and picked up her worn suitcases, one big one and an overnight bag, part of a matched set of vinyl luggage that she and her father had won in a raffle.

      But when she reached the door, Cag didn’t move out of the way. She couldn’t get around him, either. She stopped an arm’s length away and stared at him.

      He was trying to think of a way to keep her without sacrificing his pride. Rey was right; she was just a kid and he’d been unreasonable. He shocked himself lately. He was a sucker for helpless things, for little things, but he’d been brutal to this child and he didn’t know why.

      “Can I get by, please?” she asked through stiff lips.

      He scowled. A muscle jumped beside his mouth. He moved closer, smiling coldly with self-contempt when she backed up. He pushed the door shut.

      She backed up again, her eyes widening at the unexpected action, but he didn’t come any closer.

      “When I was six,” he said with cold black eyes, “I wanted a birthday cake like the other kids had. A cake and a party. Simon had gone to town with Dad and Corrigan. It was before Rey was born. Leo was asleep and my mother and I were in the kitchen alone. She made some pert remark about spoiled brats thinking they deserved treats when they were nothing but nuisances. She had a cake on the counter, one that a neighbor had sent home with Dad. She smashed the cake into my face,” he recalled, his eyes darker than ever, “and started hitting me. I don’t think she would have stopped, except that Leo woke up and started squalling. She sent me to my room and locked me in. I don’t know what she told my father, but I got a hell of a spanking from him.” He searched her shocked eyes. “I never asked for another cake.”

      She put the suitcases down slowly and shocked him by walking right up to him and touching him lightly on the chest with a shy, nervous little hand. It didn’t occur to him that he’d never confessed that particular incident to anyone, not even his brothers. She seemed to know it, just the same.

      “My father couldn’t cook. He opened cans,” she said quietly. “I learned to cook when I was eleven, in self-defense. My mother wouldn’t have baked me a cake, either, even if she’d stayed with us. She didn’t want me, but Dad did, and he put her into a position where she had to marry him. She never forgave either of us for it. She left before I started school.”

      “Where is she now?”

      She didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

      His chest rose and fell roughly. She made him uncomfortable. He moved back, so that her disturbing hand fell away from his chest.

      She didn’t question why he didn’t like her to touch him. It had been an impulse and now she knew not to do it again. She lifted her face and searched his dark eyes. “I know you don’t like me,” she said. “It’s better if I get a job somewhere else. I’m almost twenty-two. I can take care of myself.”

      His eyes averted to the window. “Wait until spring,” he said stiffly. “You’ll have an easier time finding work then.”

      She hesitated. She didn’t really want to go, but she couldn’t stay here with such unbridled resentment as he felt for her.

      He glanced down at her with something odd glittering in his black eyes. “My brothers will drown me if I let you walk out that door,” he said curtly. “Neither of them is speaking to me.”

      They both knew that he didn’t care in the least what his brothers thought of him. It was a peace initiative.

      She moved restlessly. “Dorie’s had the baby. She can make biscuits again.”

      “She won’t,” he said curtly. “She’s too busy worshiping the baby.”

      Her gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s a sweet baby.”

      A wave of heat ran through his body. He turned and started back toward the door. “Do what you please,” he said.

      She still hesitated.

      He opened the door and turned before he went through it, looking dark as thunder and almost as intimidating. “Too afraid of me to stay?” he drawled, hitting her right in her pride with deadly accuracy.