Champagne Girl. Diana Palmer

Blake, all silvery hair and bright eyes and laughter, came rushing down the steps to meet her daughter.

      “Darling, you’re home!” she enthused. “How lovely to have you back!”

      “It was only for four days,” Catherine reminded her as she returned her mother’s hug. “How did Matt take it?”

      “He’s barely spoken to me,” Betty confessed. “Oh, Kit, you’ve landed me in the fire this time!”

      “I have to be independent,” Catherine said, her green eyes wide and pleading. “Matt just wants his own way again, as usual, but this time he isn’t winning. I’ll go if I have to wait on tables. But I won’t need to,” she said stubbornly. “I still have my income from the stock. I’ll live on that!”

      Betty started to speak but nibbled on her lower lip instead. “Come in and get settled,” she said eventually. “Did you get the job?”

      “Not the one in San Antonio,” Catherine said with a sigh. She glowered. “Imagine, having to sneak off and make up stories about holidays with a nonexistent girlfriend just to go and apply! Honestly, Matt is such a tyrant.…” She grinned at her mother’s worried face. “I won’t start again, I promise. Anyway, I did get a job. But it’s in New York.”

      “New York!” Betty looked shocked.

      “It pays well, and I don’t start for a month. Plenty of time to get ready.”

      “Matt won’t like it,” Betty said grimly.

      “Matt doesn’t matter!”

      “You know better than that,” Betty replied. “Without Matt, you and I would be living in low-income housing right now. You know your father got us up to our ears in debt just before he was killed in Vietnam. I’ve told you often enough.”

      “And Great-Uncle Henry got us out of trouble and brought us to live with him. Yes, I know,” she said broodingly. She followed her mother into the enormous house where the beauty of the Spanish styling of the hall and staircase staggered her as much now as it had in her childhood. Betty had been raised in this house, too, by Uncle Henry. “Oh, I love this house,” Catherine murmured.

      “Your great-uncle was quite a man,” Betty said with a laugh. “He had style and taste.”

      “Except in wives,” Catherine muttered darkly.

      “Just because Matt’s mother was young is no excuse for a remark like that. You know very well she adored Henry. And she gave him three strong stepsons, too.”

      Catherine didn’t reply. She and her mother went up the winding staircase leading to Catherine’s bedroom. Matt and Hal, who were both bachelors, lived at the other side of the enormous, sprawling house. Jerry and his wife, Barrie, lived in a house farther down the ranch road.

      “The family are all coming for dinner tomorrow night,” Betty remarked. “Matt flew to Houston this afternoon, but he’ll be back late tonight, I expect. The rains have been horrible. We’re expecting more tonight, and there are flash-flood warnings out. I do hope he’ll fly carefully.”

      “At least he’s not driving, thank God. Matt has never driven carefully,” Catherine said dryly. “How many cars did he wreck before he got out of college?”

      Betty laughed. “Not as many as Hal did.”

      Catherine stopped on the way down the hall to stare at the huge portrait of Great-Uncle Henry that hung on the wall between a pair of sconces. “I don’t like him up here,” she said as she studied the face that was so much like her late grandfather’s—dark hair and green eyes and an olive complexion, the features Catherine had inherited from her mother’s people. “He belongs downstairs in the living room,” she added absently.

      “I can’t watch television with him glaring at me,” Betty said reasonably. “Besides, I always feel safe going down the hall in the dark, knowing he’s here.”

      Catherine laughed softly. “Oh, Mama.”

      “He was my idol when I was growing up.” The older woman smiled, staring at the portrait. “I adored him. I still do.”

      “Even though he provided you with a stepaunt half your age?”

      “I like Evelyn quite well, in fact,” Betty answered softly. “She took great care of all of us. My parents died when I was so young, I barely remember them.” She sighed. “I miss your father so much sometimes.…”

      “So do I, Mama.” Catherine hugged her gently and gave her a sound kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad I’ve got you,” she said warmly, then quickly changed the subject. “Now, come and tell me all the news! I’m terribly out of touch.”

      * * *

      Betty and Catherine sat down to dinner alone, listening to Annie’s mutterings as she waddled around the table putting food on it.

      “Never can get the family together all at one time,” Annie grumbled, glaring at the food as if it were responsible for her dilemma. “Mr. Hal never shows up until Mr. Matt yells at him, and Mr. Jerry and Miss Barrie gone off again, and—”

      “We’ll eat twice as much,” Catherine promised the buxom, white-haired woman who’d come there with Matt’s mother.

      Annie relented. “Well, I made enough. We can freeze some, I guess.”

      She went back into the kitchen, and Catherine and Betty exchanged knowing glances.

      “Where is Hal, anyway?” Catherine asked.

      “I don’t know. Before Matt left, he told him to help the boys move some cattle off the flats, and Hal went out into the rain in a huff. He hates getting wet, you know.”

      “He hates taking orders more,” the younger woman replied.

      “A trait he shares with you, my darling.” Betty sighed as she lifted her fork. “I do hope you won’t start right in on Matt. He’s been in a terrible temper since you left.”

      “I’ll wait a day or two, all right?”

      Betty looked faintly apprehensive. “All right.”

      * * *

      Catherine had gone to bed when Hal came in. She heard him talking to Betty as he went past her door. Good old Hal, she thought with a smile. He was her only ally in Matt’s family. She and Hal were a lot alike, both renegades, both refugees from Matt’s authority.

      She closed her eyes and slept, feeling safe and comfortable in her warm bed, hearing the rain come down in torrents. She wondered if Matt would be able to fly back tonight.

      A few hours later the sound of a motor awakened her, and she lifted the window curtain beside the bed to peek out. The outside lights were ablaze, and a tall, lean man in a distinctive tan trench coat and a silverbelly Stetson was getting out of a car. He lifted an attaché case and plowed toward the house in the drenching rain. Matt!

      With faint misgivings she stared down at his hard, formidable face. It was a shock to catch Matt unawares; he was almost always lighthearted and smiling when he was around Catherine. He smiled more with her than with anyone else. But when he didn’t know she was looking, he became a stranger. Matt was a puzzle she’d never solved. Most of his men were afraid of him, although he was never unfair or overly demanding. It was that air of authority he wore, the remnants of his strict upbringing.

      Matt was the oldest of Evelyn’s sons from her first marriage, and from all accounts, his childhood hadn’t been an easy one. Matt’s real father had been a military man, and Matt’s early life had been spent at military academies. When his father died and Evelyn married Great-Uncle Henry, he’d stayed in the academy for another year. Then he went on to boarding school, then college, and then service in the Marine Corps, with little chance for parental love in between. Henry was a formidable man himself, and Evelyn was more businesswoman than mother.

      But