Unlikely Lover

“No, just peach trees and magnolia blossoms and dainty little cattle farms.”

She glared at him. “In Atlanta we don’t have dainty little cattle farms, but we do have a very sophisticated tourism business and quite a lot of foreign investors.”

“Don’t tangle with me, honey,” he advised with a sharp glance. “I’ve had a hard morning, and I’m just not in the mood for verbal fencing.”

“I gave up obeying adults when I became one,” she replied.

His eyes swept over her dismissively. “You haven’t. Not yet.”

“I’ll be twenty-two this month,” she told him shortly.

“I was thirty-five last month,” he replied without looking her way. “And, to me, you’d still be a kid if you were four years older.”

“You poor, old, decrepit thing,” she murmured under her breath. It was getting harder and harder to feel sorry for him.

“What an interesting houseguest you’re going to make, Miss Raymond,” he observed as he drove down the interstate. “I’ll have to arrange some razor-blade soup to keep your tongue properly sharpened.”

“I don’t think I like you,” she said shortly.

He glared back. “I don’t like women,” he replied and his voice was as cold as his eyes.

She wondered if he knew why she’d come and decided that Aunt Lillian had probably told him everything. She averted her face to the window and gnawed on her lower lip. She was being deliberately antagonistic, and her upbringing bristled at her lack of manners. He’d asked Lillian to bring her out to Texas; he’d even paid for her ticket. She was supposed to cheer him up, to help him write his memoirs, to make his last days happier. And here she was being rude and unkind and treating him like a bad-tempered old tyrant.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to look at him. “You let me come here, you bought my ticket, and all I’ve done since I got off the plane is be sarcastic to you. Aunt Lillian told me all about it, you know,” she added enigmatically, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face. “I’ll do everything I can to make you glad you’ve brought me here. I’ll help you out in every way I can. Well,” she amended, “in most ways. I’m not really very comfortable around men,” she added with a shy smile.

He relaxed a little, although he didn’t smile. His hand caressed the steering wheel as he drove. “That’s not hard to understand,” he said after a minute, and she guessed that her aunt had told him about her strict upbringing. “But I’m the last man on earth you’d have to worry about in that particular respect. My women know the score, and they aren’t that prolific these days. I don’t have any interest in girls your age. You’re just a baby.”

Annoying, unnerving, infuriating man, she thought uncharitably, surprised by his statement. She looked toward him hesitantly, her eyes quiet and steady on his dark face. “Well, I’ve never had any interest in bad-tempered old men with oil wells,” she said with dry humor. “That ought to reassure you as well, Mr. Jessup, sir.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” he murmured with an amused glance. “I’m not that old.”

“I’ll bet your joints creak,” she said under her breath.

He laughed. “Only on cold mornings,” he returned. He pulled into the road that led to Three Forks and slowed down long enough to turn and stare into her soft blue eyes. “Tell you what, kid, you be civil to me and I’ll be civil to you, and we’ll never let people guess what we really think of each other. Okay?”

“Okay,” she returned, eager to humor him. Poor man!

His green eyes narrowed. “Pity, about your age and that experience,” he commented, letting his gaze wander over her face. “You’re uncommon. Like your aunt.”

“My aunt is the reincarnation of General Patton,” she said. She wondered what experience he meant. “She could win wars if they’d give her a uniform.”

“I’ll amen that,” he said.

“Thanks for driving up to get me,” she added. “I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about a strange cowboy,” he said gently. “Although we don’t know each other exactly, I knew that Lillian’s surely mentioned me and figured you’d be a bit more comfortable.”

“I was.” She didn’t tell him how Lillian had described him as Attila the Hun in denim and leather.

“Don’t tell her we’ve been arguing,” he said unexpectedly as he put the car back in gear and drove up to the house. “It’ll upset her. She stammered around for a half hour and even threatened to quit before she got up the nerve to suggest your visit.”

“Bless her old heart.” Mari sighed, feeling touched. “She’s quite a lady, my aunt. She really cares about people.”

“Next to my grandmother, she’s the only woman that I can tolerate under my roof.”

“Is your grandmother here?” she asked as they reached a huge cedarwood house with acres of windows and balconies.

“She left last week, thank God,” he said heavily. “One more day of her and I’d have left and so would Lillian. She’s too much like me. We only get along for short stretches.”

“I like your house,” she remarked as he opened the door for her.

“I don’t, but when the old one burned down, my sister was going with an architect who gave us a good bid.” He glared at the house. “I thought he was a smart boy. He turned out to be one of those innovative New Wave builders who like to experiment. The damned bathrooms have sunken tubs and Jacuzzis, and there’s an indoor stream…Oh, God, what a nightmare of a house if you sleepwalk! You could drown in the living room or be swept off into the river.”

She couldn’t help laughing. He sounded horrified. “Why didn’t you stop him?” she asked.

“I was in Canada for several months,” he returned. He didn’t elaborate. This strange woman didn’t need to know that he’d gone into the wilderness to heal after Caroline’s betrayal and that he hadn’t cared what replaced the old house after lightning had struck and set it afire during a storm.

“Well, it’s not so bad,” she began but was interrupted when Lillian exploded out of the house, arms outstretched. Mari ran into them, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.

“Oh, you look wonderful,” Lillian said with a sigh. “How are you? How was the trip?”

“I’m fine, and it was very nice of Mr. Jessup to come and meet me,” she said politely. She turned, nodding toward him. “Thanks again. I hope the trip didn’t tire you too much?”

“What?” he asked blankly.

“I told Mari how hard you’d been working lately, boss,” Lillian said quickly. “Come on, honey, let’s go inside!”

“I’ll bring the bag,” Ward said curiously and followed them into the rustic but modern house.

Mari loved it. It was big and rambling and there was plenty of room everywhere. It was just the house for an outdoorsman, right down to the decks that overlooked the shade trees around the house.

“I think this place is perfect for Ward, but for heaven’s sake, don’t tell him that! And please don’t let on that you know about his condition,” Lillian added, her eyes wary. “You didn’t say anything about it?” she asked, showing Mari through the ultramodern upstairs where her bedroom overlooked the big pool below and the flat landscape beyond, fenced and cross-fenced with milling cattle.

“Oh, no, Scout’s honor,” Mari said. “But how am I going to help him write his memoirs?”

“We’ll work up to it in good time,” Lillian assured her. “He, uh, didn’t ask why you came?”

Mari sighed. “He seemed to think I’d asked to come. Odd man, he thought I was afraid of him. Me, afraid of men, isn’t that a scream? Especially after what Beth and I did at that all-night department store.”

“Don’t ever tell him, please,” Lillian pleaded. “It would…upset him. We mustn’t do that,” she added darkly. “It could be fatal!”

“I won’t, truly I won’t,” Mari promised. “He sure is healthy looking for a dying man, isn’t he?”

“Rugged,” Lillian said. “Real rugged. He’d never let on that he was in pain.”

“Poor brave man,” Mari said with a sigh. “He’s so tough.”

Lillian grinned as she turned away.

* * *

“Did his sister like this house?” Mari asked later after she’d unpacked and was helping Lillian in the kitchen.

“Oh, yes,” Lillian confided to her niece. “But the boss hates it!”

“Is his sister like him?” Mari asked.

“To look at, no. But in temperament, definitely,” the older woman told her. “They’re both high-strung and mean tempered.”

“You mentioned that he had a male secretary,” Mari reminded her as she rolled out a piecrust.

“Yes. David Meadows. He’s young and very efficient, but he doesn’t like being called a secretary.” Lillian grinned. “He thinks he’s an administrative assistant.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“I don’t know what the boss would do without him, either,” Lillian continued as she finished quartering the apples for the pie. Another apple pie might soften him up a little, she was thinking. “David keeps everything running smoothly around here, from paying the accounts to answering the phone and scheduling appointments. The boss stays on the road most of the time, closing deals. The oil business is vast these days. Last week he was in Saudi Arabia. Next week he’s off to South America.”

“All that traveling must get tiresome,” Mari said, her blue eyes curious. “Isn’t it dangerous for him in his condition?”

For a moment Lillian looked hunted. Then she brightened. “Oh, no, the doctor says it’s actually good for him. He takes it easy, and it keeps his mind off things. He never talks about it, though. He’s a very private person.”

“He seems terribly cold,” Mari remarked thoughtfully.

“Camouflage,” Lillian assured her. “He’s warm and gentle and a prince of a man,” she added. “A prince! Now, get this pie fixed, girl. You make the best pies I’ve ever tasted, even better than my own.”

“Mama taught me,” Mari said gently. “I really miss her sometimes. Especially in the autumn. We used to go up into the mountains to see the leaves. Dad was always too busy, but Mama and I were adventurous. It’s been eight years since she died. And only one since Dad went. I’m glad I still have you.”

Lillian tried not to look touched, but she was. “Get busy,” she said gruffly, turning away. “It isn’t good to look back.”

That was true, Mari thought, keeping her own thoughts on the present instead of the past. She felt sad about Ward Jessup—even if he was a dreadful oilman. She’d heard her aunt talk about him for so many years that she felt as if she knew him already. If only she could make it through the week without making him angry or adding to his problems. She just wanted to help him, if he’d let her.

Mari was just going into the other room to call him when her attention was caught by the stream running through the room, lit by underwater colored lights. It was eerie and beautiful indoor “landscaping,” with plants everywhere and literally a stream running through the middle of the living room, wide enough to swim in.

Not paying much attention to where she was going, Mari backed along the carpet, only half aware of footsteps, and suddenly collided with something warm and solid.

There was a terribly big splash and a furious curse. When she turned around, she felt herself go pale.

“Oh, Mr. Jessup, I’m sorry,” she wailed, burying her cheeks in her hands.

He was very wet. Not only was he soaked, but there was a lily pad on top of his straight black hair that had been slicked down by all the water. He was standing, and though the water came to his chin, he looked very big and very angry. As he sputtered and blinked, Mari noticed that his green eyes were exactly the shade of the lily pad.

“Damn you…” he began as he moved toward the carpeted “shore” with a dangerous look on his dark face. At that moment nobody would have guessed that he was a dying man. As quick as lightning he was out of the water, dripping on the carpet. Suddenly Mari forgot his delicate condition and ran like hell.

“Aunt Lillian!”

Mari ran for the kitchen as fast as her slender legs could carry her, a blur in jeans and a white sweatshirt as she darted down the long hall toward the relative safety of the kitchen.

Behind her, soggy footsteps and curses followed closely.

“Aunt Lillian, help!” she cried as she dashed through the swing door.

She forgot that swing doors tend to swing back when forcibly opened by hysterical people. It slammed back into a tall, wet, cursing man. There was an ominous thud and the sound of shattering ceramic pieces.

Lillian looked at her niece in wide-eyed shock. “Oh, Mari,” she said. Her ears told her more than she wanted to know as she stared at the horrified face of her niece. “Oh, Mari.”

“I think Mr. Jessup may need a little help, Aunt Lillian,” Mari began hesitantly.

“Prayer might be more beneficial at the moment, dear,” Aunt Lillian murmured nervously. She wiped her hands on her printed apron and cautiously opened the swing door to peer into the dining room.

Ward Jessup was just sitting up among the ruins of his table setting, china shards surrounding him. His suit was wet, and there was a puddle of water under him as he tugged his enormous frame off the floor. His eyes were blazing in a face that had gone ruddy in anger. He held on to a chair and rose slowly, glaring at Lillian’s half-hidden face with an expression that told her there was worse to come.

“She’s really a nice girl, boss,” Lillian began, “once you get to know her.”

He brushed back his soaked hair with a lean, angry hand, and his chest rose and fell heavily. “I have a meeting just after supper,” he said. “I sent the rest of my suits to the cleaner’s this afternoon. This is the last suit I had. I didn’t expect to go swimming in it.”

“We could dry it and I could…press it,” Lillian suggested halfheartedly, pretty sure that she couldn’t do either.

“I could forget the whole damned thing, too,” he said curtly. He glared at Lillian. “Nothing is going to make up for this, you know.”

She swallowed. “How about a nice freshly baked apple pie with ice cream?”

He tilted his head to one side and pursed his lips. “Freshly baked?” “Freshly baked.”

“With ice cream?”

“That’s right,” she promised.

He shrugged his wet shoulders. “I’ll think about it.” He turned and sloshed off down the hall.

Lillian leaned back against the wall and stared at her transfixed niece. “Honey,” she said gently, “would you like to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Mari burst out. “I went in to call him to the table, and I started looking at that beautiful artificial stream, and the next thing I knew, he’d fallen into it. I must have, well, backed into him.”

“How you could miss a man his size is beyond me.” Lillian shook her head and grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet.

“I had my back to him, you know.”

“I wouldn’t ever do that again after this if I were you,” the older woman advised. “If it wasn’t for that apple pie, even I couldn’t save you!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mari said apologetically. “Oh, Aunt Lillian, that poor, brave man.” She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t get a chill because of me. I’d never be able to live with myself!”

“There, there,” Lillian assured her, “he’s tough, you know. He’ll be fine. For now, I mean,” she added quickly.

Mari covered her face with her hands in mingled relief and suppressed amusement. Ward Jessup was quite a man. How sad that he had such little time left. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look on his face when he climbed out of the indoor stream, or the excited beat of her heart as she’d run from him. It was new to be chased by a man, even an ill one, and exhilarating to be uninhibited in one’s company. She’d been shy with men all her life, but she didn’t feel shy with Ward. She felt…feminine. And that was as new to her as the rapid beat of her heart.

Chapter Three

“I didn’t mean to knock you into the pool,” Mari told Ward the minute he entered the dining room.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at her from his great height. His hair was dry now, thick and straight against his broad forehead, and his wet clothes had been exchanged for dry jeans and a blue plaid shirt. His green eyes were a little less hostile than they had been minutes before.

“It isn’t a pool,” he informed her. “It’s an indoor stream. And next time, Miss Raymond, I’d appreciate it if you’d watch where the hell you’re going.”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

“I told you not to let him put that stream in the living room,” Lillian gloated.

He glared at her. “Keep talking and I’ll give you an impromptu swimming lesson.”

“Yes, boss.” She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen to fetch the rest of the food.

“I really am sorry,” Mari murmured.

“So am I,” he said unexpectedly, and his green eyes searched hers quietly. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

She glanced down at her shoes, nervous of the sensations that his level gaze prompted. “It’s hard to be afraid of a man with a lily pad on his head.”

“Stop that,” he grumbled, jerking out a chair.

“You might consider putting up guardrails,” she suggested dryly as she sat down across from him, her blue eyes twinkling with the first humor she’d felt in days.

“You’d better keep a life jacket handy,” he returned.

She stuck her tongue out at him impulsively and watched his thick eyebrows arch.

He shook out his napkin with unnecessary force and laid it across his powerful thighs. “My God, you’re living dangerously,” he told her.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said smartly and meant it.

“That isn’t what your Aunt Lillian says,” he observed with narrowed eyes.

She stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“She says you’re afraid of men,” he continued. He scowled at her puzzled expression. “Because of what happened to you and your friend,” he prompted.

She blinked, wondering what her aunt had told him about that. After all, having your purse pinched by an overweight juvenile delinquent wasn’t really enough to terrify most women. Especially when she and Beth had run the offender down, beaten the stuffing out of him, recovered the purse and sat on him until the police got there.

“You know, dear,” Lillian blustered as she came through the door, shaking her head and smiling all at once. She looked as red as a beet, too. “The horrible experience you had!”

“Horrible?” Mari asked.

“Horrible!” Lillian cried. “We can’t talk about it now!”

“We can’t?” Mari parroted blankly.

“Not at the table. Not in front of the boss!” She jerked her head curtly toward him two or three times.

“Have you got a crick in your neck, Aunt Lillian?” her niece asked with some concern.

“No, dear, why do you ask? Here! Have some fried chicken and some mashed potatoes!” She shoved dishes toward her niece and began a monologue that only ended when it was time for dessert.

“I think something’s wrong with Aunt Lillian,” Mari confided to Ward the moment Lillian started back into the kitchen for the coffeepot.

“Yes, so do I,” he replied. “She’s been acting strangely for the past few days. Don’t let on you know. We’ll talk later.”

She nodded, concerned. Lillian was back seconds later, almost as if she was afraid to leave them alone together. How strange.

“Well, I think I’ll go up to bed,” Mari said after she finished her coffee, glancing quickly at Aunt Lillian. “I’m very tired.”

“Good idea,” Ward said. “You get some rest.”

“Yes,” Lillian agreed warmly. “Good night, dear.”

She bent to kiss her aunt. “See you in the morning, Aunt Lillian,” she murmured and glanced at Ward. “Good night, Mr. Jessup.”

“Good night, Miss Raymond,” he said politely.

Mari went quietly upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat by the window and looked down at the empty swimming pool with its wooden privacy fence and the gently rolling, brush-laden landscape, where cattle moved lazily and a green haze heralded spring. Minutes later there was a stealthy knock at the door, and Ward Jessup came into the room, scowling.

“Want me to leave the door open?” he asked hesitantly.

She stared at him blankly. “Why? Are you afraid I might attack you?”

He stared back. “Well, after the experience you had, I thought…”

“What experience?” she asked politely.

“The man at the shopping center,” he said, his green eyes level and frankly puzzled as he closed the door behind him.

“Are you afraid of me because of that?” she burst out. “I do realize you may be a little weak, Mr. Jessup, but I promise I won’t hurt you!”

He gaped at her. “What?”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she assured him. “I’m not really as bad as Aunt Lillian made me sound, I’m sure. And it’s only a red belt, after all, not a black one. I only sat on him until the police came. I hardly even bruised him—”

“Whoa,” he said curtly. He cocked his dark head and peered at her. “You sat on him?”

“Sure,” she agreed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you that Beth and I ran the little weasel down to get my purse back and beat the stuffing out of him? Overweight little juvenile delinquent, he was lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”

“You weren’t attacked?” he persisted.

“Well, sort of.” She shrugged. “He stole my purse. He couldn’t have known I was a karate student.”

“Oh, my God,” he burst out. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tautened. “That lying old turkey!”

“How dare you call my aunt a turkey!” she returned hotly. “After all she’s doing for you?”

“What, exactly, is she doing for me?”

“Well, bringing me here, to help you write your memoirs before…the end,” she faltered. “She told me all about your incurable illness—”

“Incurable illness?” he bellowed.

“You’re dying,” she told him.

“Like hell I am,” he said fiercely.

“You don’t have to act brave and deny it,” she replied hesitantly. “She told me that you wanted young people around to cheer you up. And somebody to help you write your memoirs. I’m going to be a novelist one day,” she added. “I want to be a writer.”

“Good. You can practice with your aunt’s obituary,” he muttered, glaring toward the door.

“You can’t do that to a helpless old lady,” she began.

“Watch me.” He was heading for the door, his very stride frightening.

“Oh, no! You can’t!” She ran after him, got in front of him and plastered herself against the door. “You’ll have to go through me.”

“Suits me, Joan of Arc,” he grumbled, catching her by the waist. He lifted her clear off the floor until she was unnervingly at eye level with him. “You sweet little angel of mercy, you.”

“Put me down or I’ll…I’ll put you down,” she threatened.

He stared amusedly into her blue eyes under impossibly thick lashes. “Will you? Go ahead. Show me how you earned that red belt.”

She tried. She used every trick her instructor had taught her, and all it accomplished was to leave her dangling from his powerful hands, panting into his mocking smile.

“Had enough?” she huffed.

“Not at all. Aren’t you finished yet?” he asked politely.

She aimed one more kick, which he blocked effortlessly. She sagged in his powerful hold. Lord, he was strong! “Okay,” she said, sighing wearily. “Now I’m finished.”

“Next time,” he told her as he put her back on her feet, leaving his hands tightly around her waist, “make sure your intended victim didn’t take the same course of study. My belt is black. Tenth degree.”

“Damn you!” she cursed sharply.

“And we’ll have no more of that in this house,” he said shortly, emphasizing the angry remark with a reproachful slap to her bottom, nodding as she gasped in outrage. “You’ve been working in that garage for too long already, if that’s any example of what you’re being taught.”

“I’m not a child!” she retorted. “I’m an adult!”

“No, you aren’t,” he replied, jerking her against him with a mocking smile. “But maybe I can help you grow up a little.”