Diana Palmer Texan Lovers: Calhoun / Justin / Tyler / Sutton's Way / Ethan / Connal. Diana Palmer

      He was an odd mixture, she thought, studying him. So tenderhearted that he’d go off for half a day by himself if he had to put down a calf or if something happened to one of his men. And so hotheaded at times that the men would actually hide from his anger. In temperament, he was like Justin. They were both strong, fiery men, but underneath there was a tenderness, a vulnerability, that very few people ever saw. Abby, because she’d lived with them for so many years, knew them better than any outsider ever could.

      “How did you get back so fast?” she asked to break the silence.

      He shrugged. “I guess I’ve got radar,” he murmured, smiling faintly. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be sitting at home with Justin watching old war movies on the VCR.”

      “I didn’t think you’d be back before morning.”

      “So you decided you’d go watch a lot of muscle men strip off and wiggle on the stage.”

      “Heaven knows I tried.” She sighed theatrically. “Now I’ll die ignorant, thanks to you.”

      “Damn it all,” he laughed, taken aback by her reactions. She made him laugh more than any woman he’d ever known. And lately he’d found himself thinking about her more than he should. Maybe it was just his age, he thought. He’d been alone a long time, and a woman here and there didn’t really satisfy him. But Abby wasn’t fair game. She was a marrying girl, and he’d better remember that. No way could he seduce her for pleasure, so he had to keep the fires banked down. If he could.

      Justin was in his study when they got back, frowning darkly over some figures in his books. When he looked up, his craggy face was devoid of expression, but his dark eyes twinkled when he glanced from Calhoun’s irritated expression to Abby’s furious one.

      “How was the art show?” he asked her.

      “It wasn’t an art show,” Calhoun said flatly, tossing his Stetson onto the coffee table. “It was a male strip show.”

      Justin’s pencil stopped in midair as he stared at Abby. His shock was a little embarrassing, because Justin was even more old-fashioned and reactionary than Calhoun about such things. He wouldn’t even talk about anything intimate in mixed company.

      “A what?” Justin asked.

      “A male revue,” Abby countered, glaring at Calhoun. “It’s a kind of…variety show.”

      “Hell,” Calhoun retorted, his dark eyes flashing. “It’s a strip show!”

      “Abby!” Justin scolded.

      “I’m almost twenty-one,” she told him. “I have a responsible job. I drive a car. I’m old enough to marry and have children. If I want to go and see a male variety show—” she ignored Calhoun’s instantly inserted “strip show” “—I have every right.”

      Justin laid his pencil down and lit a cigarette. Calhoun glared at him, and so did Abby, but he ignored them. The only concession he made to their disapproval was to turn on one of the eight smokeless ashtrays they’d bought him for Christmas.

      “That sounds like a declaration of war,” Justin remarked.

      Abby lifted her chin. “That’s what it is.” She turned to Calhoun. “If you don’t stop embarrassing me in front of the whole world, I’ll move in with Misty Davies.”

      Calhoun’s good intentions went up in smoke. “Like hell you will,” he countered. “You’re not living with that woman!”

      “I’ll live with her if I want to!”

      “If you two would…” Justin began calmly.

      “Over my dead body!” Calhoun raged, moving closer. “She has parties that last for days!”

      “…just try to communicate…” Justin continued.

      “She likes people! She’s a socialite!” Abby’s eyes were almost black now as she clenched her fists by her side and glared up at Calhoun.

      “…you just might…” Justin went on.

      “She’s a featherbrained, overstimulated eccentric!” Calhoun retorted.

      “…COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING!” Justin thundered, rising out of his chair with blazing eyes.

      They both froze at the unfamiliar sound of his raised voice. He never shouted, not even when he was at his angriest.

      “Damn, I hurt my ears,” Justin sighed, putting his palm to one while he glared at his brother and Abby. “Now, listen, this isn’t getting you anywhere. Besides that, any minute Maria and Lopez are going to come running in here thinking someone’s been murdered.” Just as he finished speaking, two robed, worried elderly people appeared, wide-eyed and apprehensive, in the doorway. “Now see what you’ve done,” Justin grumbled.

      “What is all this noise about?” Maria asked, pushing back her long salt-and-pepper hair and glancing worriedly around the room. “We thought something terrible had happened.”

      “¡Ay de mí! Another rumble.” Lopez shook his head and grinned at Abby. “What have you done now, niñita?”

      She glared at him. “Nothing,” she said tersely. “Not one thing—”

      “She went to a male strip show,” Calhoun volunteered.

      “I did not!” she protested, red faced.

      “What is the world coming to?” Maria shook her head, put her hands to it and went out mumbling in Spanish, followed by a chuckling Lopez. The couple, married more than thirty years, had been with the family for two generations. They were family, not just cook and former horse wrangler.

      “But, I didn’t!” Abby called after them. She darted a speaking glance at Calhoun, who was perched on a corner of Justin’s desk looking elegant and imperturbable. “Now see what you’ve done!”

      “Me?” Calhoun asked coolly. “Hell, you’re the one with the lurid curiosity.”

      “Lurid?” She gaped at him. “Go ahead, tell me you’ve never been to a female strip show.”

      Calhoun got up, looking uncomfortable. “That’s different.”

      “Oh, sure it is. Women are sex objects but men aren’t, right?”

      “She’s got you there,” Justin said.

      Calhoun glared at both of them, turned on his heel and left the room. Abby gazed after him smugly, feeling as if she’d won at least a minor victory. There was little consolation in her triumph, though. Calhoun had been harder to get along with than a bone-dry snake at a poison water hole lately. She didn’t know how or what, but she was going to have to do something about the situation, and soon.

       Chapter Two

      Abby arranged to miss breakfast the next morning. Calhoun’s attitude irritated her. He didn’t want her himself, but he was so possessive that she couldn’t get near another man. His attitude was frustrating at best. He had no idea how she felt, of course. She was careful to hide her feelings for him. A man like Calhoun, who was rich and moderately handsome, could have any woman he wanted. He wouldn’t want a plain, unsophisticated woman like Abby. She knew that, and it hurt. It made her rebellious, too. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life grieving for a man she could never have. It was far better to look in other directions. But how could she, when Calhoun refused to let go?

      She drove several miles from the ranch to the office at the mammoth feedlot in the small red British sports car she’d talked Justin into cosigning for when she’d graduated from the local vocational school. Because of the attention Calhoun and Justin paid to hygiene, there wasn’t as much odor as most feedlots generated, which surprised a lot of visiting cattlemen. Abby had once gone with Calhoun to