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“Worth would skin me alive if I let an expensive rod like this get away.”
Meaning she’d done it for some character named Worth, not for him. Thomas struggled to his feet, taking half the river-with him. If she made a single wisecrack, he’d toss her in the middle of the Roaring Fork.
“I have an old pair of Worth’s jeans in the car. They’re clean and dry. I’ll get them.” She scrambled up to the parking area, returning seconds later with the jeans.
He grabbed them. “Do you plan to watch me change?” he asked as she stood there.
“Nope. I’ve seen your knobby knees. C’mon, Davy, let’s fix lunch.”
Halfway up the bank she slipped and grabbed a clump of weeds at her feet. The sight of her khaki-clad bottom waving in the air momentarily took Thomas’s mind off his cold, wet misery.
The jeans were ripped in one knee and threadbare in the other. They were at least a quarter inch too short for Thomas. A fact which, inexplicably, satisfied him immensely.
Cheyenne manfully swallowed her laughter as she poked around in the large basket sitting on the riverside picnic table. Thomas Steele failed to share her amusement at his mishap even after she’d loaned him Worth’s dry jeans and given him an old blanket to drape around his shoulders. Admittedly the river was cold. And wet. She clamped her lips to hold back a giggle.
After he’d changed into Worth’s dry jeans, Thomas Steele had marched up the bank on bare feet and ranted and raved, accusing her of all kinds of folly, including recklessly endangering Davy. A person would think Davy had fallen into the middle of the Mississippi River the way his uncle carried on. Cheyenne had kept her mouth shut, not even pointing out that, not only had she never taken her eyes off Davy, she knew to the centimeter the depth of the water where she’d allowed him to play.
Her family would have been astonished at her restraint, Cheyenne had barely listened to Thomas Steele’s recriminations. The man could snap and snarl and growl all he wanted, but he’d betrayed himself. Deny his feelings all he wanted, he cared enough about Davy to rush to his rescue. There might be hope for Thomas Steele.
“I’m hungry enough to eat a bear,” Davy said.
“A disgusting notion.”
Now the man was pouting. “I’m afraid all I have is peanut butter and jelly,” Cheyenne said. “No bear.”
“Peanut butter and jelly.” Thomas Steele grimaced. “I thought you went to the delicatessen.”
“Changed my mind. I felt like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich so I went to the grocery store.”
“I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Davy said.
“I hate peanut butter and jelly.”
“More for us,” Davy said with a gap-toothed grin.
“What did you say, young man?”
The snapped question erased the grin on Davy’s face. “That’s what you said when I told the lady I didn’t like fish eggs.”
“Those fish eggs were extremely expensive Russian caviar,” his uncle said in an overbearing voice. “It would have been more polite to keep your mouth shut. No one forced you to eat caviar.”
“What your uncle is saying, Davy, is he holds himself to different standards than he holds you. Children should be seen, not heard.”
“I said no such thing, Ms. Lassiter.”
“You’re absolutely right. All you said was you hated peanut butter and jelly.”
“You don’t like anyone disagreeing with you, do you?”
“Not when they’re wrong, which you are.”
He uttered a harsh laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
“That’s me. A frizzy, honest, bleached blonde.” More honest than he was. Thomas Steele hid behind so many layers of masks, she questioned if he knew who he was. A cold, selfish uncle or a man hiding from his true feelings? She didn’t like the mask he’d shown her. How would she feel about the real Thomas Steele? If one existed.
“If it would make you feel better, I’ll admit I rather like your hair, okay?”
As if she cared one tiny bit whether he liked her hair. “It’s better than okay. It’s better than winning the Colorado lottery. It’s better than sunshine and rainbows and chocolate chip cookies.” Smearing peanut butter and jelly on two hunks of white bread, she slapped them together and handed him his sandwich.
“I get the picture,” he said dryly. “You don’t give a damn about my opinion.”
Ignoring him, Cheyenne ate her own lunch. A team of wild horses couldn’t have dragged from her the admission that peanut butter was not her favorite food, but she’d spent enough time around kids to know what they liked to eat, and she refused to sink to the level of bologna. Chewing resolutely, she used apple juice to wash down the peanut butter gumming up the roof of her mouth. Davy shoved down his lunch and took off to investigate the small gray squirrel scolding them from a large rock beside the river.
Thomas Steele pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and turned to lean back against the table’s edge. His eyes closed in the warm sun and his head gradually sank to his chest. Cheyenne sipped juice and studied him. His well-groomed hands were nothing like her brother’s. Worth’s work-roughened, calloused hands were strong and capable. As was Worth. She wondered about Thomas Steele.
His oblong face softened slightly in repose, although the chin remained as square-cut, the cheekbones as sharp. Not a curl disturbed the blue-black hair laying sleekly over his well-shaped head. A dark, straight brow slashed across his forehead, and a tiny patch of premature gray edged the temple she could see. She approved of the ear lying flatly against his head. His nose fit his face, but his mouth betrayed him with a bottom lip too full for a man. Especially a man who boasted he didn’t believe in love.
An urge to touch that lip surprised her. How did he feel about passion?
A hummingbird whistled shrilly past. Thomas Steele stirred, looked up and caught her watching him. His gaze locked on her mouth. Darn him. Was she so transparent?
“Have a boyfriend?” he asked.
“What business is that of yours?”
“You flung around accusations about my social life. Turnabout’s fair play. I’ll bet you don’t. You’d scare off any sane man.”
“Do I scare you?”
“Nothing scares me anymore.”
“What used to scare you?”
He looked down at the juice bottle in his hands. “Nothing. Where’s Davy?”
“Trailing the squirrel. Don’t worry. I’ve been keeping an eye on him while you slept.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You lie about everything, don’t you?”
“Do you have a trust fund or something?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I’m trying to figure out how you live. No one could support herself with these so-called tours.”
“Wait until you get your bill.”
“You can’t have many repeat customers. People don’t care to be lectured to, made fun of, or told they’re liars.”
“Have I hurt your feelings?” she asked lightly.
“Would you care?”
“No.” Maybe poking and prodding him would dislodge his mask. She wanted the real Thomas Steele to stand up.
“Why do I have the distinct impression you want me to lose my temper, Ms. Lassiter?”
“Are you in the habit of losing your temper, Mr. Steele?”
“I don’t lose my temper.”
“Everyone loses their temper. Do you become violent when you lose yours?”
“Are you deliberately irritating me to see if I’ll get mad enough to haul off and slug you?” he asked slowly.
“Will you?”
He gave her a long look. “Don’t you think finding out might be a little on the dangerous side?”
“For me? Or for Davy?” After the episode at the river, this man held no terrors for her. He’d fallen, gotten soaked and miserable, and almost lost his fishing rod. He could have blamed Davy for his mishap. Instead he’d lashed out at Cheyenne. That kind of anger grew out of fear. Fear over Davy’s safety.
Thomas Steele exhaled impatiently. “I admit the boy and I aren’t close. My family isn’t exactly your apple pie kind of family, but no one is harming Davy. He’s fine.”
“He’s not fine. He needs parents.”
“I can’t do anything about that, and I doubt it’s true. These days, children are raised by employees and by television. They do fine. Just because your father tucked you in at night doesn’t mean every kid needs that.”
“I know he’s lost his parents, but a child needs someone who cares about him.” Cheyenne made a snap decision to tell him a little about herself. “My father didn’t tuck me in. At first he was off rodeoing, then he was just—off. I was ten the last time I saw him.”
“Is that why you hate men? Because you hate your father for abandoning you?”
“I don’t hate men and I don’t hate my father. He’s dead now anyway. Tangled with one bull too many.” Seeing his blank look, she explained. “He rode bulls and saddle broncs in rodeos. He was good.” She flashed a quick smile. “If he’d been ugly, Mom said even if he could ride anything with four legs, she wouldn’t have fallen so hard for him. Or if he was good-looking, but couldn’t ride. She claims the combination did her in. Tough, reckless riding and a smile to charm the birds from the trees. When Beau would hobble back with broken bones and his crooked smile, Grandpa would say ‘handsome is as handsome does,’ and Mom’d laugh and say ‘handsome did pretty darned good.’ Grandpa always laughed, which made the rest of us laugh. A person couldn’t help but like Beau, even if he did shed responsibility the way Shadow sheds water.” She added, “Shadow’s Allie’s black Labrador retriever.”
“You call your father Beau?”
“He didn’t like being called Dad.” Cheyenne made a face. “Rumed his image.”
“Yet you loved him? How charitable and forgiving of you.”
She heard the sarcasm. “There was nothing to forgive. Beau never tried to be other than he was. He never promised to come see us or write or phone. He came around when he needed a place for broken bones to heal. He was like an unexpected guest. We’d enjoy him, then he’d leave, and life would return to normal.”
“No resentment at all?” He clearly doubted her.
“No. We had Grandpa and Mom. And Worth, of course. Beau used to say fate picked Worth’s name because Worth was worth ten of Beau.” She half smiled. “Beau never lied, not even to himself.”
“And you found that admirable, even lovable?” he asked in disgust.
“I’m not stupid, Mr. Steele. I know Beau used his weaknesses to evade responsibility. I liked him. Everyone liked Beau. But love?” She shook her head. “Love is for men like Grandpa and Worth. Men you can depend on. None of us kids loved Beau. We accepted him.” She drew in the dirt with a stick. “That’s sad, don’t you think? Beau had excitement and glamour and women and a certain amount of fame. He never had kids who loved him.”
“Sounds as if he had what he wanted.”
“Beau didn’t know what he wanted. He grew up in a series of foster homes. Beau never saw his mom, but for some reason, she never signed the papers which would allow him to be adopted. As a result, he never connected with anyone. He didn’t know how to love.” Cheyenne watched Davy standing beside the river looking up into the branches of a small aspen. “A child has to be loved to learn how to love.”
“I had a feeling your true confession was leading somewhere. Forget it. I’m no more interested in your opinions on child-rearing than I am in hearing your family’s history.”
“Why do you deny Davy what you had? Parents and family who loved you?” Cheyenne asked in a quiet, intense voice.
“Don’t forget the hundreds of gorgeous women who are madly in love with me and nightly grace my bed.” He paused. “Considering your appalling naiveté, I ought to assure you they grace it one at a time.”
His patronizing smile went no further than his lips. His eyes told her nothing. He hid his secrets well. He hadn’t answered her question. His jaw tightened. Her scrutiny bothered him. She wondered what kind of parents he’d had, but knew better than to ask.
Thomas gave a low laugh. “The next time you start on one of your dreary little sermons, I’ll remember that mentioning my sex life shuts you up.”
The triumph in his voice saddened her. Life was about winning and losing to him, and he thought he’d won. Perhaps he had. Only an idiot would believe she could turn this man and Davy into a family. Allie was nght. Cheyenne couldn’t save the world.
She could give Davy a friend for two weeks. After that... Cheyenne wrapped her arms around herself and watched Davy stalk a butterfly through a small patch of fuchsia-blooming thistles. “I’ll pick Davy up at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”
Thomas Steele said nothing. The silence grew. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things and kick her feet in frustration. Why couldn’t he understand? Tiny prickles crawled down her spine. Raising her chin, she turned her head.
He was studying her, an enigmatic look on his face. “He’ll be ready.”
She’d missed something. He seemed almost disappointed. As if he’d expected something else from her. Something more. Surely not jealousy at the thought of other women in his bed. So what her knees went a little weak at the sight of the chest he’d exposed to the sun’s rays? It took more than blatant masculinity to offset bony knees.
He closed his eyes, shutting her out. Silly thought. When had he let her in? The feeling he’d wanted something from her and she’d failed to deliver wouldn’t go away. Maybe she hadn’t been clear enough. Surely he understood she’d agreed to take Davy for the next two weeks. Didn’t Thomas Steele realize she was letting him off the hook?
An incredible thought almost knocked her off the picnic table bench. Perhaps Thomas Steele didn’t want off the hook. The outline of a brilliant plan sprang into being. What if she refused to let him off the hook?
Deciding to put her theory to the test, Cheyenne spoke before sanity prevailed. “I’ll take Davy to the Aspen Center for Environmental Studies in the morning. We can kill a couple of hours at the nature preserve watching the hawks and ducks, look for a muskrat or beaver Will that be enough tune for you to get things ready for the party?”
Thomas Steele’s eyelids snapped up. “What party?”
“Davy’s birthday party. I’ll order the cake tonight and you can go shopping for presents and decorations in the morning.”
“His birthday has passed.”
“A late party is better than no party.”
“Fine. Give him a birthday party and send me the bill. I don’t care how you entertain him.”
Cheyenne chose to misinterpret his words “If you don’t care what kind of party, I have a better idea. Mom and Worth would think it great fun to throw a birthday party at Hope Valley I’d planned to go out to the ranch tomorrow afternoon, but we can go earlier. Mom loves to bake birthday cakes. I’ll take Davy with me to buy the ice cream and decorations and tell him they’re for Worth. You’ll be in charge of the presents.”
Thomas Steele looked at her as if she’d grown several extra heads. He opened his mouth, but Cheyenne had no intention of giving him an opportunity to refuse. “A couple of hours should give you enough time. We’ll come back to the hotel for you and Olivia. She’s booked with Allie for tomorrow, and she’ll love a party.”
“Ms. Lassiter.” He stood. The blanket fell to the picnic bench. “I’m not—”
“You’ll like Olivia,” Cheyenne said quickly, trying not to stare at the sculpted male torso shining in the sunlight. “She’s filthy rich, and she always stays in Steele hotels.”
