Rage of Passion. Diana Palmer

down and cocked his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. “It shows,” he said absently. “You don't look like the spunky little kid who used to play with my sisters. What's happened to you?”

      Maggie felt herself going cold. He was watching her, like a cat watching a mouse. She felt vulnerable and a little afraid of that single-mindedness. Once, she would have taken exception to his blunt challenge. But there had been so many fights, so much struggle. Her spirit was carefully buried—had to be, for Becky's sake.

      She laid down her fork and stared at him. “I've grown up,” she replied, her voice soft.

      His level gaze sized her up. “You had money. And now you don't. Then what brings you here, Miss Turner? Are you looking for a vacation or a man to support you?”

      “Gabriel!” Janet slammed her napkin down. “How dare you!”

      Maggie clasped her hands tightly under the table and stared at him with a courage she didn't really feel. “Your mother offered me a visit, Mr. Coleman,” she said dully. “I needed to get away for a little while, that's all. You'll have to excuse me for being so dim, but I didn't realize that I needed your permission as well as Janet's. If you want me to leave…?” She started to rise.

      “Oh, for God's sake, sit down,” he snapped. His eyes cut into hers. “The last thing I need is a Texas society girl out here at roundup, but if Mother wants you, you're welcome. Just keep to the house,” he warned softly, his eyes emphasizing the threat. “And out of my way.”

      He tossed his own napkin down, ignoring his mother's furious glare.

      “I won't get in your way,” Maggie said, her voice, her whole manner vulnerable.

      Gabriel's pale eyes narrowed as he bent his dark head to light a cigarette, watching her the whole time. “Won't you? What a difference,” he added as he took a draw from the cigarette. “The girl I remember was like a young filly, all long legs and excitement and blushing fascination. How you've changed, Maggie Turner.”

      The comment surprised her. She looked up, feeling hot all over as his eyes searched hers. “You haven't,” she blurted out. “You're just as blunt and rude and overbearing as you ever were.”

      He actually grinned. “Just as mean-tempered, too, honey. So look out,” he added as he got to his feet. He groaned a little with the movement and murmured a curse under his breath.

      “Can I get you anything?” Janet asked, frowning.

      He spared her a cool glance. “Nothing, thank you,” he replied formally. He nodded at the women, the brief and unexpected humor gone as he turned and went out the door.

      “I'm sorry,” Janet told Maggie. “It's roundup, you know. He gets so ill-tempered, and he doesn't really like women very much.”

      “He doesn't like me very much, you mean,” Maggie said quietly, staring at the tablecloth. “He never did.” She smiled wistfully. “Do you know, I once had the most terrible crush on him. He never found out, thank goodness, and I outgrew it. But I used to think he was the whole world.”

      “And now?” Janet queried gently.

      Maggie bit her lower lip and laughed, the sound soft and nervous. “Now, I think I'm a little afraid of him. I'm not sure that coming here was a good idea.”

      “Oh, yes, it was,” Janet said. “I'm certain that it will work out. You'll see. I've got it all planned.”

      Maggie didn't ask what “it” was, but the man listening outside the door had a face that would have stopped traffic. He'd read an entirely different meaning into Janet's innocent remark, and he was livid with anger. So his mother was matchmaking again. This time she'd picked a woman he knew, although she couldn't know what he'd thought of Maggie Turner. His eyes narrowed. Well, this time his mother had gone too far. And if little Maggie thought she was going to lead him down the aisle, she had a surprise coming. A big one!

      He went out the door, his eyes cold with calculation, his steps so soft that no one heard him leave.

      Janet shook her head. “I was so sure that he wouldn't be around the house,” she said. “He's hurting, but he won't admit it. That's why he was so rude.”

      “Is he like that with all women?” she probed gently.

      Janet picked up a roll and buttered it carefully. “I'll tell you about it, one day,” she said quietly, her eyes sad. “For now, let's just say that he had a particularly bad experience, and it was my fault. I've been trying to make it up to him ever since. And failing miserably.”

      “Can't you talk to him about it?” Maggie asked.

      Janet only laughed. “Gabriel has a habit of walking off when he doesn't want to hear me. He won't listen. I tried, once, to explain what happened. He cut me dead and went to Oklahoma on a business trip. After that…well, I suppose I just lost my nerve. My son can be very intimidating.”

      “I remember,” came the dry reply.

      Janet smiled at her. “Yes. You understand, don't you? You know, I never even told him that you'd married. He had an odd way of ignoring me if I mentioned you, after that summer you spent some time here. You remember, when he had the fight in town with that cowboy…?”

      Maggie actually blushed and couldn't hide it from Janet. “Oh, yes. How could I forget?”

      “He wouldn't talk about you at all after that. He seemed preoccupied for a long time, and a little strange, in fact,” she mused. “He filled in our swimming pool and wouldn't let anyone ride Butterball…”

      Something barely remembered, exciting, stirred deep inside Maggie. He'd given her Butterball to ride, and she could still see him towering over her, his lean hands working with the cinch. She'd adored him in those days, despite his evident antagonism toward her. Even that was inexplicable, because he got along well with most women. He was polite and courteous to everyone—except Maggie.

      “He's still not pleased to have me around,” Maggie murmured.

      “Well, it's my home, too,” Janet said doggedly. “And I love having you here. Do have some more beef. It's our own, you know.”

      “Purebred Santa Gertrudis?” Maggie exclaimed in horror, staring blankly at the platter Janet was offering her.

      “What?” Then Janet got the message and laughed. “No, no, dear. Gabriel raises some beef cattle as well. Purebred…oh, that's sinfully amusing. Gabriel would eat his horse before he'd eat one of the purebreds. Here, have a roll to go with it. Jennie bakes them fresh every day.”

      Maggie took one, savoring it, and not for the first time she had misgivings about the wisdom of coming here. Gabriel seemed to be out for blood, and she wondered if the Coleman ranch wasn't going to become a combat zone.

       Chapter Three

      It was vaguely like living in a war zone, Maggie thought as the first few days went by. Gabriel was impatient and irritable because of his arm, and he seemed to hate the whole world. Nothing pleased him—least of all, it appeared, having Maggie in the house. He treated her with a cold formality that raised goose bumps on her arms. It was obvious that he was tolerating her for his mother's sake alone. And just in case she hadn't already guessed it on her own, he spelled it out for her at breakfast three days after she'd arrived.

      He glanced up coldly when she sat down. It was just the two of them, because his mother was still upstairs. She and Maggie had been up late talking the night before, and Janet seemed to sleep poorly anyway.

      “I'm sorry, am I late?” she asked, throwing out a white flag.

      He smoked his cigarette quietly, his icy eyes level and cutting. “Do you care, one way or another?” he asked.

      She took a deep breath. “I realize you don't want me here…”

      “That's an understatement.” He rolled