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Belatedly Thomas recalled the newspaper the woman had carried in. “Give me the paper.” He assumed she gave dead bugs the same repulsed look. “Please,” he ground out.
She handed him the newspaper. Red ink encircled an advertisement.
The boy left his place at the table and edged around to peer over Thomas’s arm. “It’s in there,” he said in an awed voice.
Thomas read the ad. Then read it again. Blood pounded at his temples. “I hope you can explain this, young man.”
The boy backed away. “Sandy said.”
Thomas recalled the elderly widow who’d seemed so sane and sensible. “Go on,” he said grimly. Too grimly. The boy shrugged. Thomas rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Served him right for impulsively bringing the boy to Aspen. Thomas wasn’t in the habit of giving in to impulse.
Cheyenne Lassiter butted in. “What did Sandy say?”
“We was watching this TV program and she said it was too bad I couldn’t put a ad in the paper for a mom. I asked her how and she laughed and said Uncle Thomas oughta put one in for a wife and I could live with him. So I asked Tiffany and she said you had to write something and give it to a newspaper. Grandmother gave me money to buy stuff and I asked Paula to take me to the newspaper place.”
Thomas couldn’t believe the flow of information. He’d been lucky to pull more than two words at a time from the boy.
“He’s-not your father?”
“No.” The boy looked down at his plate and muttered, “He’s Uncle Thomas.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t his father?”
Trying to recall who, of the horde of females he’d hired to take the boy off his hands, Tiffany was, Thomas merely scowled at her. Paula was the sweet, if not too bright, sister of one of the women at the front desk. Tiffany must be the college student home for the summer.
He eyed his nephew. “I can’t believe the newspaper took it without checking with me.”
“I said it was a surprise.” The boy slid back into his chair. “For your birthday,” he added in a barely audible voice.
“My birthday is in April.”
The boy dragged his spoon through his oatmeal. “My birthday is in August. Yours coulda been.”
Suspicion clawed at Thomas’s midsection. “When in August?”
Cheyenne Lassiter glared at him in outrage. “You don’t know when your own nephew’s birthday is?”
He ignored her, waiting for the boy’s answer.
The boy flicked him a look. “August 21. I’m seven.”
Three days ago. Thomas clenched his back teeth. Leave it to his mother to neglect to mention the small matter of her only grandson’s upcoming birthday. “Finish your breakfast and get dressed.”
Thomas stood. “As for you, Ms. Lassiter, despite that ridiculous ad which any halfway intelligent individual would reason was written by a child, I am not seeking a wife.” He couldn’t throw her bodily out. Not in front of the boy. “I expect you to be gone by the time I finish dressing.”
“You didn’t eat your breakfast,” she pointed out.
“You’ll be happy to know you have destroyed my appetite.” He stalked across the carpet to his bedroom.
“Then you won’t mind if I eat this last muffin. Even Mom’s muffins don’t compare with St. Chris’s. Oh, and Thomas...”
Her low voice invested his name with all kinds of sensual possibilities. He turned. And wished he hadn’t.
She studied his legs, then in an exact duplication of his earlier insulting appraisal of her, slowly eyed her way up the length of his body. When at last her gaze reached his face, she gave him a smoldering look from under outrageously long, dark lashes. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and a satisfied smile crawled across her mouth. “I’m not looking for a husband, but if I were, you’d be perfectly safe. Knobby knees really turn me off.”
Thomas slammed the bedroom door behind him, catching his bathrobe. A low gurgle of laughter came from the other side of the door. He wanted to rip free the silk garment and shred it into a million pieces. Instead he calmly shrugged out of the robe and let it drop to the floor.
The impassive face on the naked man in the mirror across the room mocked him. His mother had no doubt deliberately neglected to mention the boy’s birthday. She’d deny it, of course, turning the blame for not knowing back on him. Damn her.
And damn him for not knowing. Thomas felt like smashing the mirror with his bare fists. Damn. He’d thought he was beyond feeling. Had his family taught him nothing? Damn him for caring. He didn’t want to care. Not about the boy. Not about anyone.
A murmur of voices came from the other room. He certainly didn’t care that his unwanted visitor despised him. He’d never see her again.
Cheyenne drew open the gold and crimson brocade drapes and brushed aside sheer lace curtains. Through the window’s metal mullions, the sight of the gondolas parading up Aspen Mountain reminded her of Thomas Steele. An automated, unfeeling machine.
A machine who’d brought his nephew with him to Aspen.
In her experience, adults who disliked children tried to hide their dislike. Even Harold Karper had publicly pretended a fondness for his stepson.
Thomas Steele demonstrated a total lack of affection for Davy, yet Cheyenne could have sworn he’d been perturbed to learn he’d missed his nephew’s birthday. A disconcerting thought crept into her mind, chilling her in spite of the warm, sunny morning. Had Thomas Steele been perturbed, or had she allowed a handsome face to influence her judgment?
Her father had used good looks and a facile charm to sabotage her mother’s judgment. Mary Lassiter had paid the price, raising four children by herself while her husband lived a bachelor’s life on the rodeo circuit. Calling Beau Lassiter an absentee father overstated his role. Absent, yes. A father, no.
Cheyenne had not been without a loving family. Her mother and grandfather more than made up for Beau’s negligence, and Worth and her two sisters would always be there for her.
Davy’s parents had died, leaving the poor kid with no one who cared about him. Cheyenne had delicately probed as he ate his breakfast, and the child’s artless answers convinced her he wasn’t physically battered. The question settled, she should have left when Davy went to his room to dress but the sad lonely picture he painted of an unwanted child, relegated to the periphery of his relatives’ lives made her heart ache. She couldn’t leave. Not yet.
Cheyenne rubbed the gleaming old oak windowsill. Davy needed a loving family. Someone ought to shake Thomas Steele until his head snapped. Someone ought to explain to him little boys were more important than hotels and women friends and making money. Her fingernails bit into the sill. She was the only someone around.
“What does a person have to do to get nd of you, Ms. Lassiter? Call security?”
Cheyenne hadn’t heard him return. To let him know she considered him quite insignificant, she waited a few seconds before turning to face him. And again felt the impact of his striking dark good looks. If it weren’t for the disdain in gray eyes and the cool self-assurance slightly curling the corners of his sensuous mouth, she might have found him attractive. She didn’t. Sneering, arrogant males didn’t interest her. No matter how tall they were.
She refused to be intimidated by a voice colder than the top of the mountain in February. Even if his beautifully tailored charcoal suit and white-collared dark blue shirt and maroon silk tie made her feel like a slightly grubby adolescent. He looked like a walking advertisement for what the sophisticated businessman should wear if he wanted to radiate power and confidence. And sex appeal.
Thomas Steele straightened a French cuff and lifted an eyebrow, a gesture clearly meant to make her feel like an errant schoolgirl. Cheyenne thrust from her mind any thoughts of his sex appeal. If ever the man existed who needed a few home truths, that man was Thomas Steele.
“I’ll leave when I’ve had my say,” she said.
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Or in Davy or anything he has to say.”
“The boy is my business.”
“Davy isn’t business. He’s a little boy. What kind of uncle are you? His parents are dead—yes, he told me. I sat with him while he finished breakfast. You should have. He said he has to stay with you until his grandparents return from a trip. He wanted to go to camp, but you wouldn’t let him.”
“Six years old is too young for camp.”
“He’s seven. He had a birthday three days ago, or have you already forgotten again?” If she hadn’t been watching closely, she wouldn’t have seen the infinitesimal stiffening of his body.
“My family’s never put much stock in birthdays.”
“Your family doesn’t put much stock in family. Davy thinks if he bothers you, you’ll lock him in a hotel room by himself.”
The barest tightening of his mouth acknowledged her words. “He has too much imagination.”
“Does he? I can see he’s afraid of you.”
“He’s afraid of everything. His own shadow, for all I know.”
“For all you know. Which isn’t very much, is it? He’s a little boy, in a strange place, with strange people, and an uncle who does nothing to reassure him. Would it hurt you to sit with him while he eats, talk to him, give him a hug, read him a bedtime story, hear his prayers?”
“It’s time he learned there’s no such thing as fairy tales, and praying is for those too weak and lazy to stand on their own two feet.”
“He’s only seven and his parents are dead,” Cheyenne said, torn between anger and horror. “He misses them terribly.”
“The boy was eight months old when they died. He doesn’t remember them.”
The quickly vanquished glimmer of pain in his eyes and the tightly controlled voice gave Cheyenne pause. Was Thomas Steele still grieving? Or denying his grief? She chose her words carefully. “Davy said his father was your brother. I’m sorry. It must be awful to lose a brother.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“Is sympathy for the weak and lazy, too?” The sharp look he gave her should have slashed her to ribbons. Cheyenne ignored it. “If it doesn’t hurt you to talk about your brother, you—”
“It doesn’t hurt,” he snapped.
“Then why haven’t you told Davy about his parents? He knows almost nothing. He said your mother won’t talk about them.”
Cheyenne wondered what Thomas Steele meant by the harsh laugh he uttered. When he said nothing, she persevered. He doesn’t even have a picture of his mother.”
“The two of you were certainly chatty.”
It would take more than a forbidding, sarcastic voice to chase her away. “He’s lonely. The baby-sitters you’ve hired tell him to go play or sit quietly and watch TV with them. Do you think that’s what his parents would have wanted?”
“I have no idea. My brother and I went our separate ways when he married.”
“Didn’t you like his wife?”
“I never met her. David didn’t want me to. He was raised to runSteele hotels, not marry one of the maids. He dropped out of college and out of the family.”
“But if he loved her and was happy...”
“Love. Happy.” He turned the words into a curse. “Steeles don’t many for love or happiness. They marry for control, power, passion, sex, money and any one of a hundred other reasons, but never for love and happiness.” Turning, he walked over to a huge black-lacquered chinoiserie armoire and opened its doors to disclose a fax machine. Ripping off the long ribbon of white hanging from the machine, he began to read.
Actions meant to dismiss her. Cheyenne marched across acres of black floral carpet and sat on the curvaceous purple velvet sofa. “You’re a Steele. Is that what you want from marriage?”
“Disappointed?” Looking up from his papers, his grin mocked her. “Did you think I’d take one look at your frizzy bleached hair and muddy blue eyes and fall hopelessly in love? Forget it Steeles don’t love.”
“Not even little boys?”
“Davy gets fed, clothed and schooled. He’ll survive. I did.”
He’d said the last two words as if they were a badge of honor instead of extremely sad. If they were true. Studies proved people needed love to survive. Thomas Steele had done more than survive. He’d thrived. How convenient to forget those who had loved him, rather than be inconvenienced by his nephew. “Davy needs love and attention,” she said firmly.
Thomas Steele heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Look, Ms. Lassiter, lay off the lectures. Bringing the boy was a mistake. Unfortunately I’m stuck with him until his grandparents return.”
Cheyenne traced the patterns in the cut velvet upholstery. “You cared enough about Davy to worry about him being too young for camp.”
“Don’t read anything into that. You want the brutal truth, Ms. Lassiter? If my brother hadn’t gotten the hots for a pretty face, we wouldn’t have to figure out what the hell to do with the boy he left behind. Steeles raise hotels, they don’t raise children. Davy would have been better off dying in the plane crash with his parents.”
The sound of a closing door came on the heels of Cheyenne’s horrified gasp. Thomas Steele instantly spun around. Jamming his clenched fists into his pockets, he stared at the closed door to Davy’s room. Only the slightest twitch at the corner of one eye disturbed his stone-carved countenance. Then he ground out a swearword and turned away, delivering a swift kick to the nearest chair.
Cheyenne waited until it was apparent Thomas Steele had no intention of going to his nephew before she went to Davy’s door and knocked. She didn’t wait for permission to enter.
Davy sat on the extreme edge of his bed, his thin shoulders hunched over. Cheyenne sat beside him on the frilly mauve bedspread. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, answering the question of how much he’d understood of his uncle’s words.
When she wrapped an arm around him, Davy tried to pull away, but she held him tighter. With her other hand she reached for a box of tissues and held it out to him. “He didn’t mean it.” Davy’s anguish drew the lie from her. Cheyenne didn’t know what Thomas Steele had meant.
“I didn’t want to go to camp. There are bears in the woods and I didn’t know anybody and I couldn’t sleep with my sniffer.”
“What’s a sniffer?”
Davy hung his head lower. “Grandmother threw Bear away because he had holes and stuff was coming out and she said he smelled bad and I was too old to take him to bed. I saved a little piece that come off I keep it under my pillow. It’s a secret. Pearl knows, but she won’t tell.”
“Who’s Pearl? A friend?”
“She works for Grandmother at the hotel.”
“You live in a hotel?”
Davy nodded. Taking a tissue, he noisily blew his nose. “I think Uncle Thomas knows about my sniffer. That’s why he don’t like me. Pearl said he does, but he don’t.”
The sad little voice tore at Cheyenne’s heart, and she wanted to hit Davy’s uncle. Thomas Steele definitely had a problem, and what that problem was, she had no idea, but he had no right to make a little boy so unhappy. Or himself so unhappy. The unbidden thought gave her pause, but Davy came first. Gently squeezing him, she forced lightness into her voice. “Somebody probably took your uncle Thomas’s sniffer away from him when he was a little boy and that’s why he’s so cranky.”
Davy gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t think he had a sniffer. Grandmother says he’s mean and bossy. She told Grandfather she got the wrong baby when she got Uncle Thomas from the hospital. I asked Pearl what Grandmother meant and she laughed and said Uncle Thomas spits like Grandfather and all the Steeles. I never seen Grandfather spit.” He paused. “I thought Uncle Thomas wanted me to come so he could teach me to spit. I’m a Steele, too.”
Cheyenne needed a second to interpret Davy’s words. “Pearl must have meant your uncle Thomas is the spitting image of your grandfather. That means they look alike. People say my sister Allie and I are the spitting images of each other.”
“I wish I had a brother to play with.”
Cheyenne saw an opportunity to perhaps repair some damage. “Sisters aren’t always so great. Last week Allie let Moonie, one of her dogs, get a hold of my new sweater and Moonie chewed a big hole in it. I told Allie I couldn’t decide whether to kill her or Moonie.”
Davy gave her a wide-eyed look. “You wanted to kill your sister?”
“Of course not. People say stupid things without meaning what they say. Maybe they are unhappy or in a bad mood. Your uncle’s probably in a bad mood because he’s hungry.” She rubbed Davy’s back. “He should have eaten his breakfast.”
“Grandmother says I’m a nuisance. When I’m eight she’s gonna send me away to school and have a party.”
