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“My apologies, Mr. Parrish.” She impulsively reached out to touch his arm to emphasize her sincerity, then froze, her fingers a mere inch from his shirt sleeve. “I naturally assumed—if I’d thought you were being forced—”
She cut herself off, unable to complete the sentence. The knowledge that her grandmother would have pressured her to come anyway—and that she would have complied—kept her from offering the lie. She jerked her hand back and turned her face forward, her apprehension about coming to Texas multiplied a hundredfold.
CHAPTER TWO
RYE kept track of the highway ahead, but kept a large share of his attention on the brittle hothouse flower on the other side of the bench seat. She was truly embarrassed by her grandmother’s actions. Hard, heavy blushes like the one that reddened her light complexion were impossible to fake. All the better.
“So,” he went on, “Grandma sent you out here to break up the lovebirds.”
The color that had only begun to ebb from her cheeks blazed back. “What makes you think that, Mr. Parrish?” she asked. She’d meant to seek a private word with Rachel to convey their grandmother’s message. She’d hoped her clever younger sister could let Chad Parrish down gently and humanely. The coward in her hoped neither Parrish brother would connect her with the unpleasantness that would follow her visit. But her covert glance caught on the knowing look Rye was giving her.
“Musta been something the old gal said about crude, ego-inflated Texans.” His handsome mouth quirked at Lillian’s look of horror. “I thought the part about hayseed farmers on horseback was off the mark, since we’re hayseed ranchers on horseback. But the real point your granny tried to make was that the Parrish pedigree isn’t blue-blooded enough for a Renard, and the Parrish fortune is too puny for Chad to be considered a decent catch for your sister.”
Lillian’s soft, “Oh, no,” was choked. She turned her face away as her mortification deepened. Her grandmother had clearly been as offensive to Rye Parrish as possible. Grandmama had been wildly unreasonable on the whole subject of Rachel’s wedding plans, but Lillian had no idea the old lady had expressed her objections so boldly to anyone but her or Rachel.
The huge hand that suddenly gripped her thigh made her jump. The embarrassing little squeak that was surprised out of her as she whipped her head around, elevated the trauma of the day to epic proportions.
“So, judging by your granny and your equally charming sister, you Renard women don’t really have any more manners or class than us uncouth Parrish men,” he commented as he divided his attention between her and the road ahead. His hand didn’t move.
Lillian was speechless. The feel of that big hand and its firm grip on her thigh conveyed an aggressive sensuality that took her breath away. She should have shoved his hand away, should have slapped it away. She should have slapped him, both for the harassment of her person and the mocking laughter in his eyes. But, frozen by the jolt of sensation that arced through her, she could do nothing but stare into his arrogant face with rounded eyes.
And that made him chuckle. It was a low, rich sound of masculine good humor. For the smallest moment, his hostility toward her eased. He dragged his hand from her thigh and slowed the pickup. She was still in an uproar from the feel of his hand, so she was only dimly aware that he was turning the truck off the highway onto a graveled ranch drive. He brought the vehicle to a halt and shifted into park before they reached the scrolled iron arch that read Parrish Ranch.
Lillian resisted the urge to shrink away when he suddenly turned toward her. The arm he laid on the back of the seat and the wrist he draped over the steering wheel made her feel claustrophobic.
“How did your grandma expect you to break up the lovers?” There was no sign of good humor now in his harsh, handsome face. The intensity in his gaze was relentless.
Lillian’s everlasting cowardice warred with her flagging pride as she tried to hold up under Rye’s intimidation. “Are we sharing confidences, Mr. Parrish, or are you in favor of the engagement?”
He tilted his head back slightly and his gaze narrowed on her pale face. It was obvious that he’d expected her to be easily bullied into giving a more precise answer.
“Oh, let’s do share confidences, Miz Lilly,” he drawled. His voice was intimately low, but his mouth was curved with a hint of menace.
Her daring, “You first,” brought him inches nearer. Suddenly, she could barely stand to have him so close to her. The subtle leather and aftershave scent of him was much more pronounced, and his blatant masculinity was overpowering in the close confines. The fact that she hadn’t the slightest notion how to deal with him was another distress.
She got out a hesitant, “Does this mean you approve of their plans to marry?”
The swearword he used was mild, but it was enough to startle her. “No, I do not approve,” he growled. “But if you so much as hint that to either of them, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”
The knowledge that neither of them approved of the marriage should have been a relief. It was the fervency of his threat that prevented her from relaxing.
“Why would you keep an opinion on something so important from your brother?” After living more than half her life with two relatives who made their opinions on every subject quite clear, it was a bit of a shock to think that other families practiced some restraint.
“Because it’s better for my brother to figure out for himself that Rocky is nothing more than trash with money.”
The brutal statement gave her heart a vicious squeeze. Her gaze fled the hard lights in his and she turned her face forward. Family loyalty should have prompted her to take offense and vigorously stand up for her sister. The bitter truth of his words broke her heart and kept her silent. She knew how wild and unprincipled her sister was. Lillian seemed to be the only member of her family who’d agonized over her sister’s abominable behavior. She was probably the only one who was genuinely terrified about how Rachel would end up.
Deep in her heart, she had hoped Rachel’s cowboy was strong enough to handle her, special enough to change her and inspire a more stable attitude and lifestyle. Rye’s blunt assessment told her that nothing had changed with Rachel. Truthfully, Lillian would have gladly seen her inheritance and Rachel’s lost if marrying Chad Parrish could save her sister from her headlong plunge toward disaster.
Rye suddenly felt faintly ashamed of himself. If he’d ever met a more fragile, repressed or proper young woman than Lillian Renard, he couldn’t remember her. She was the absolute opposite of her sister in temperament and manner, and he’d taken ruthless advantage of that. He’d been predisposed to be unkind to her, but now he felt like a bully.
And that made him think of what else was in store for her. “There’s something you ought to know,” he said gruffly. He watched as she stiffened, and looked over at him.
“Chad didn’t tell Rocky your grandma was sending you out here. He wanted it to be a...surprise.”
Judging from the flash of alarm in her blue eyes before she managed to conceal it from him, Lillian knew right away what kind of reception she would get from her sister.
He looked away from her then and stared out the back glass of the truck cab. “So, if you change your mind, we can turn around and get you on another plane. I’ll tell Chad to keep quiet...” He let his voice trail off.
There was nothing Lillian would have liked better than to leave Texas and fly home that instant. But Eugenia had sent her and Lillian knew she couldn’t go home until or unless she could bring her sister with her. Her single, unengaged sister.
“I need to see this through, Mr. Parrish,” she said quietly. “And I’d prefer to get my ‘surprise’ arrival over with, if that’s all right with you.”
“Whatever you say, Miz Lillian.”
Though Rye’s gruff words were suitably courteous, Lillian wasn’t foolish enough to think that the rancher’s attitude toward her was any less hostile. He didn’t look her way once during the ten minute ride to the main house.
The next surprise Lillian had was when they finally drove over the crest of the low rise south of the ranch house. After traveling for miles through the nearly empty expanse of Texas range land, the buildings and corrals beyond the main house looked as if they stretched at least a mile wide. The sheer size of the ranch headquarters was beyond anything Lillian had imagined.
But it was the huge house that sat well to the front of it all that captured her attention. Built of stone and adobe, its red tile roof ablaze from the light of the evening sun, the house was magnificent. Six wide adobe arches stretched across the front of the one-story structure. A stone veranda beneath the roof’s deep overhang divided the line of arches from the actual front of the house. Hanging pots of richly flowering plants adorned the arches and she glimpsed several groupings of black iron furniture. The wide stone veranda—and more arches—continued around both sides of the C-shaped house and suggested a size even more impressive than the front.
The obvious wealth of the Parrish home shocked her a little. Surely her grandmother had been mistaken in her judgment that Parrish money would never be enough for her sister.
“You have a beautiful home. Mr. Parrish,” she offered stiffly, unable to keep the comment back. The house was truly beautiful. It would be dishonest not to tell him so.
“It’s no New York mansion, but we’ve got indoor plumbing,” he drawled, the glance he sent her way once again mocking. She searched his face for the reason.
“Is it just me you’ve taken an instant dislike to, or do you hate women in general?” she dared, then felt her face warm at her uncharacteristic audacity.
Rye’s handsome mouth slanted. “I like women just fine, Miz Lilly,” he said. “Most women, that is.”
Lillian knew right away that she didn’t fit into the category of most women. She’d always known that she was lacking somehow, but the rancher’s clear indication that he didn’t like her specifically hurt.
When he pulled the truck to a halt at the end of the front walk, she opened the door and hastily climbed out. Recalling his “Princess” remark, she stepped onto the running board of the big pickup and leaned carefully over the dusty side of the truck box to reach for the handle of the nearest suitcase.
She hefted it out, feeling her face redden with exertion. Of course, this suitcase would have to be one of the heavier ones, but she refused to acknowledge it. Though Rye wasn’t looking directly at her, she’d caught sight of the cynical twist at one comer of his handsome mouth.
Lillian as much dropped the suitcase as set it down, then turned back to reach for a second one. To her relief, the smallest case was the only one left. She glanced over at Rye in surprise, but he was already turning away to walk around the back of the pickup. He’d not only left the smallest case for her, but he’d made certain it was placed within reach.
Why that made her feel a small flutter of excitement bothered her. Rye Parrish was too big and crude and macho for her to find attractive. On the other hand, perhaps she was overreacting to his small sign of consideration. The dismal reminder that she had misread a man’s intentions twice before made her wary of misreading another.
She lifted the small suitcase over the side, but when she turned to step off the running board, Rye smoothly removed the small case from her hand. He ignored her automatic, “I can carry it,” before he leaned down to snag the handle of the heavy suitcase.
With astonishing ease, he strode away from her with the handles to two suitcases in each of his huge hands. He carried the heavy load as if he were carrying nothing more challenging than four handbags, and Lillian was impressed in spite of her natural aversion to muscular men.
She followed him up the front walk and stepped beneath the deep roof overhang that shaded the veranda. She hurried past Rye to open the door, then held it for him as he carried her cases into the house.
The icy chill of the air-conditioned house was a welcome relief from the outdoor heat. Rye walked on, leaving her to close the door and take a quick look around as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
The large sunken living room that began a few feet from the tiled entry was part of the center portion of the huge home. Along the wall opposite the entry were two wide doorways. The door on the left led to what looked to be a large, well-appointed kitchen with commercial-size appliances. The delicious smell of food cooking made her mouth water. The double doors on the right opened to a formal dining room to reveal a long, polished table. Lillian could see the deep shine from where she stood.
The living room itself was decorated with heavy leather and wood furniture that complemented the rough timber beams that striped the ceiling. Brightly colored Native American rugs decorated the dark lustrous wood of the floor, drawing out the vivid colors of the Western paintings on the white walls.
It was a room that could have come directly from the pages of a glossy decorating magazine and she was duly impressed. Though it was worlds removed from the formal elegance of her grandmother’s homes, which she’d always felt had a sterile look, the colors and arrangement of this room were as visually interesting as they were inviting. In spite of her reluctance to come here, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the huge home.
The only thing that spoiled the view was the rancher who’d paused at the wide hallway to the left to glance back at her. “You comin’?”
With nothing more gracious than that, he disappeared through the doorway, the heels of his boots thudding confidently on the rug runner in the hall.
Lillian followed him down the west hall of the ranch house. Halfway to the end, Rye turned and stepped through an open door with his load. Seconds later, Lillian walked into one of the loveliest bedrooms she’d ever seen.
The room was larger than she expected. Decorated with three large leafy plants that were nearly as tall as she, the room was utterly feminine. Gauzy ivory fabric was draped in deep swags from the high points of the four-poster bed and above the French doors to the inner patio. Heavy, intricate lace lay elegantly across the dark polished wood of the dresser, chests and night tables. The area rug was a soft peach shade on the wood floor, but the walls were decorated with cheery watercolors of flowered scenes. Two antique oval pictures were hung tastefully, the attractive women in the sepia-toned photographs clearly Parrish matriarchs. Though the old photos made it impossible to detect eye color, the dark hair and facial structure of each bore a faint resemblance to the present day owner of the Parrish ranch.
Lillian looked quietly at the old pictures, intrigued by what she could only describe as the feminine ruggedness of the two frontier women. Rye’s low voice drew her attention.
“Bathroom’s over there.” He gestured to her right. He walked over and put out a hand to draw back one side of the gauzy drapes over the French doors. “Patio and pool out that way. This room is the other half of the master suite.” He released the drape and nodded toward the door to her left. “Other half’s through there and mine.”
She’d glanced obligingly toward the closed door before the “and mine” fully registered. When it did, her gaze swung back to meet the gleam in his.
“If you get spooked by something howlin’ in the night, or some low-to-the-ground critter wanders in, I’ll be handy.” The faint curve of his mouth gave away his exaggeration.
Lillian felt a stir of annoyance at his none-too-subtle effort to put her off. She arched a brow. “Unless you’re claiming responsibility for your nocturnal habits ahead of time, Mr. Parrish, I’m certain I’ll be fine.” The stiff smile she managed mirrored his as she maintained contact with the remarkable blue of his eyes.
It was oddly satisfying to see the brief spark of surprise on his face before his expression hardened. The hostility she’d sensed in him earlier reasserted itself as he strode toward the hall door.
“Dovey’s waitin’ supper. We’ll eat when you get done primping.” With that, he walked into the hall and pulled the heavy door closed behind him.
Lillian, a veteran of her grandmother’s impatience, checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror, ran a brush through her hair, then washed her hands and rushed out to the hall. Once there, she slowed and walked quietly toward the living room. The stillness of the home, despite its size, gave her the sense that Rachel was nowhere close by.
Though her nervousness about intruding on her sister wasn’t particularly high at the moment, she couldn’t help the undercurrent of dread she felt. The thought that she’d be spared the fallout from the “surprise” of her arrival for a little longer put her more at ease, though a part of her wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
She was tired of walking on eggshells around her family. She was weary to death of being the hapless target of someone else’s bad temper. The fact that she’d sensed a vast potential for bad temper in her reluctant host sent her spirits downward.
On the other hand, the reminder that she was obligated to tolerate only so much from nonfamily was welcome. There was an end to her forced contact with Rye Parrish. In as little as a few days, she’d be on her way back to the airport and civilization. The idea made her feel better.
She entered the large living room and walked toward the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. She’d almost reached the door when what she heard made her hesitate.
“You ain’t said much about what she’s like, boss,” a gravelly male voice was saying.
A child’s voice cut in, “Is she bratty and mean like Rocky?”
The question pained Lillian, but the silence that followed made her strain to hear what Rye would say.
“Don’t you need to take that bowl of food out to your pup, Joey?” There was a mild rebuke in Rye’s tone and she could instantly imagine the steRN look that went with it.
Joey’s voice was suddenly subdued. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it now.”
Lillian heard the hiss of a sliding-glass door as it opened and the thud when it closed. She’d just taken a step toward the kitchen door when Rye spoke again.
“She seems as pampered and useless as any other female of her type,” he said grimly, “but she’s more a sissy than a brat. She’ll probably fall over in a faint if her hair gets mussed or her clothes get wrinkled.”
Lillian felt heat surge into her cheeks as the other man chuckled. Rye went on.
“I’d just as soon we kept Joey away from her. And keep Buster away from her, too. Hell, she’s probably never been around a dog you couldn’t put a bow on or hold in your hand. God knows how she’d take it if he got too close or he jumped up on her.”
“Ol’ Chad sure picked up a burr,” the gravelly voice commented.
Rye said nothing more. Lillian was outraged, but the shame she felt was just as strong. It distressed her to think Rye Parrish had so accurately pegged her. She was nothing if not a sissy. What other kind of woman would have allowed her grandmother and sister to walk all over her for so many years? She hadn’t exactly been pampered, though by his standards she probably was. She was fairly useless as far as supporting herself or making her own way in the world, but her careful grooming and attention to her figure had been an absolute necessity. She didn’t dare appear less than perfect. He was even right about big dogs.
He was not right, however, about keeping the child away from her. Though she’d rarely had an opportunity to be around children, she felt no animosity toward them. It hurt that he thought he needed to protect a child from her.
On the other hand, the boy’s comment about Rachel being mean and bratty probably meant he was worried that she’d behave the same way. The notion that Rye might be sensitive to the boy’s feelings and that he was perhaps trying to protect the child made her a little less angry.
Lillian forced her mouth into a pleasant line, then stepped forward, letting her sandals make a quiet tap-tap on the wood floor to alert everyone in the kitchen that she was about to walk in.
The kitchen was even larger than she’d expected. The cook was in the midst of meal preparations, but he’d confined the various utensils, pans and serving dishes he was using to his immediate work area. Though the room was predominantly white, it had a surprising amount of color, from the assortment of pans that hung over a center island counter to the collection of cookbooks, knick knacks and potted herbs arranged here and there. The view of the patio and pool beyond the sliding-glass doors added even more color to the generously proportioned room.
The dining area of the kitchen was spacious enough for a large round oak table and chairs, as well as a small sofa and recliner. The room boasted a wall-mounted TV next to the wide door to the dining room and was placed high enough that it could be seen from anywhere in the kitchen.
Rye sat at the table, his plate, napkin and silverware pushed toward the middle of the table so his coffee cup could sit closer to the edge. He nodded to her when she walked in, then spoke to the cook.
“Here she is now, Dovey.”
The cook was a short, muscular, middle-aged man with a well-tended crew cut that gave the impression he’d been in the military at one time. Lillian gave him a smile as Rye stood to his feet and introduced her.
“Miz Lillian Renard, meet Dovey Smithers. He mostly cooks, but he also runs the house. Dovey, this is Miz Rocky’s older sister.”
She made her smile widen as she crossed to the cook and offered her hand to shake his. Dovey hastily wiped his hand on a nearby dish towel so he could shake her hand.
“I’m right pleased to meet you, Miz Renard. Hope you enjoy yer stay with us.” He released her hand then added, “Now if there’s any kinda food you’d like to have while yer here, or if you’d rather have somethin’ other than what I’ve cooked, don’t you be afraid to say so. Ain’t no one goes hungry when I’m doing the cookin’.”
Rye spoke up. “If she’s as particular as Miz Rocky, you might have to turn into a short-order cook to keep them happy, Dovey.”
Dovey gave his boss a mock frown, but his dark eyes twinkled good-naturedly. “Now, boss, this little gal looks about as sweet and easy to get along with as vanilla icing on a white cake.”
Lillian was prompted to speak up. “I’m certain whatever you’ve planned to cook will be fine, Mr. Smithers. In fact, what you’ve prepared now smells wonderful.”
“Name’s Dovey to you, Miz Lillian. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll get supper on the table—unless you’d rather I set the table in the dining room. Won’t be no trouble if you’d rather eat formal.”
Lillian shook her head, but her soft, “In here will be fine,” was nearly drowned out by Rye’s brisk, “The hell it’s not.”
The silence that followed was awkward and loud. Lillian felt her face go hot. “I wouldn’t be comfortable making more work for you...Dovey.” She gave him a nervous smile. “I’d prefer not being formal if there’s a choice.”
Dovey sent Rye another frown. “See there, boss? She’s as easy to get along with as she looks.” The cook hurried around the island counter to the table and pulled out the chair next to Rye. “If you’d like to sit down, Miz Lillian...”
Lillian walked to the table and slid obligingly onto the chair he held for her, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” once she was seated.
She offered a stiff smile to Rye, who watched her almost warily, then she glanced toward the news report on the television. The sound was on low, but she could easily hear it.
