скачать книгу бесплатно
She shook her head. “I’ll think of something as I go.” She dialed Sam’s home number and got him instead of Joan. “Sam?”
“Where the devil are you?” her brother raged.
“I’m at the Carlton Arms,” she said. “Look, I’m late for work and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise…”
“You’ll damned well tell me everything now!”
Harden held out his hand and she put the phone into it, aware of the mocking, amused look on his hard face.
She moved toward the breakfast trolley, absently aware of the abrupt, quiet explanation he was giving her brother. She wondered if he was always so cool and in control, and reasoned that he probably was. She lifted the lid off one of the dishes and sniffed the delicious bacon. He’d ordered breakfast for two, and she was aware of a needling hunger.
“He wants to talk to you,” Harden said, holding out the phone.
She took it. “Sam?” she began hesitantly.
“It’s all right,” he replied, pacified. “You’re apparently in good hands. Just pure luck, of course,” he added angrily. “You can’t pull a stunt like that again. I’ll have a heart attack.”
“I won’t. I promise,” she said. “No more office parties. I’m off them for life.”
“Good. Call me tonight.”
“I will. Bye.”
She hung up and smiled at Harden. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Sit down and eat. I’ve got a workshop at eleven for the cattlemen’s conference. I’ll drop you off at your place first.”
She vaguely remembered the sign she’d seen on the way into the hotel about a beef producers seminar. “Isn’t the conference here?” she stammered.
“Sure. But I’ll drop you off anyway.”
“I don’t know quite how to thank you,” she began, her silver eyes soft and shy.
He searched her face for a long, long moment before he was able to drag his eyes back to his plate. “I don’t care much for women, Miranda,” he said tersely. “So call this a momentary aberration. But next time, don’t put yourself in that kind of vulnerable situation. I didn’t take advantage. Most other men would have.”
She knew that already. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, darting curious glances at him. “Why don’t you like women?”
His dark eyebrows clashed and he stared at her with hard eyes.
“It won’t do any good to glower at me,” she said gently. “I’m not intimidated. Won’t you tell me?”
He laughed without humor. “Brave this morning, aren’t we?”
“I’m sober,” she replied. “And you shouldn’t carry people home with you if you don’t want them to ask questions.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” he assured her as he lifted his fork.
“Why?” she persisted.
“I’m illegitimate.”
She didn’t flinch or look shocked. She sipped her coffee. “Your mother wasn’t married to your father.” She nodded.
He scowled. “My mother had a flaming affair and I was the result. Her husband took her back. I have three brothers who are her husband’s children. I’m not.”
“Was your stepfather cruel to you?” she asked gently.
He shifted restlessly. “No,” he said reluctantly.
“Were you treated differently from the other boys?”
“No. Look,” he said irritably, “why don’t you eat your breakfast?”
“Doesn’t your mother love you?”
“Yes, my mother loves me!”
“No need to shout, Mr. Tremayne.” She grimaced, holding one ear. “I have perfect hearing.”
“What business of yours is my life?” he demanded.
“You saved mine,” she reminded him. “Now you’re responsible for me for the rest of yours.”
“I am not,” he said icily.
She wondered at her own courage, because he looked much more intimidating in the light than he had the night before. He made her feel alive and safe and cosseted. Ordinarily she was a spirited, independent woman, but the trauma of the accident and the loss of the baby had wrung the spirit out of her. Now it was beginning to come back. All because of this tall, angry stranger who’d jerked her from what he’d thought were the waiting jaws of death. Actually jumping had been the very last thing in her mind on that bridge last night. It had been nausea that had her hanging over it, but it had passed by the time he reached her.
“Are you always so hard to get along with?” she asked pleasantly.
His pale blue eyes narrowed. Of course he was, but he didn’t like hearing it from her. She confused him. He turned back to his food. “You’d better eat.”
“The sooner I finish, the sooner I’m out of your hair?” she mused.
“Right.”
She shrugged and finished her breakfast, washing it down with the last of her coffee. She didn’t want to go. Odd, when he was so obviously impatient to be rid of her. He was like a security blanket that she’d just found, and already she was losing it. He gave her peace, made her feel whole again. The thought of being without him made her panicky.
Harden was feeling something similar. He, who’d sworn that never again would he give his heart, was experiencing a protective instinct he hadn’t been aware he had. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He didn’t like it, either.
“If you’re finished, we’ll go,” he said tersely, rising to dig into his pocket for his car keys.
She left the last sip of coffee in the immaculate china cup and got to her feet, retrieving her small purse from the couch. She probably looked like a shipwreck survivor, she thought as she followed him to the door, and God knew what people would think when they saw her come downstairs in the clothes she’d worn the night before. How ridiculous, she chided herself. They’d think the obvious thing, of course. That she’d slept with him. She flushed as they went down in the elevator, hoping that he wouldn’t see the expression on her face.
He didn’t. He was much too busy cursing himself for being in that bar the night before. The elevator stopped and he stood aside to let her out.
It was unfortunate that his brother Evan had decided to fly up early for the workshop Harden was conducting on new beef production methods. It was even more unfortunate that Evan should be standing in front of the elevator when Harden and Miranda got off it.
“Oh, God,” Harden ground out.
Evan’s brown eyebrows went straight up and his dark eyes threatened to pop. “Harden?” he asked, leaning forward as if he wasn’t really sure that this was his half brother.
Harden’s blue eyes narrowed threateningly, and a dark flush spread over his cheekbones. Instinctively he took Miranda’s arm.
“Excuse me. We’re late,” he told Evan, his eyes threatening all kinds of retribution.
Evan grinned, white teeth in a swarthy face flashing mischievously. “You aren’t going to introduce me?” he asked.
“I’m Miranda Warren,” Miranda said gently, smiling at him over Harden’s arm.
“I’m Evan Tremayne,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“Go home,” Harden told Evan curtly.
“I will not,” Evan said indignantly, towering over both of them. “I came to hear you tell people how to make more money raising beef.”
“You heard me at the supper table last month—just before you volunteered me for this damned workshop!” he reminded the other man. “Why did you have to come to Chicago to hear it again?”
“I like Chicago.” He pursed his lips, smiling appreciatively at Miranda. “Lots of pretty girls up here.”
“This one is off-limits, so go away,” Harden told him.
“He hates women,” Evan told Miranda. “He doesn’t even go on dates back home. What did you do, if you don’t mind saying? I mean, you didn’t drug him or hit him with some zombie spell…?”
Miranda shifted closer to Harden involuntarily and slid a shy hand into his. Evan’s knowing look made her feel self-conscious and embarrassed. “Actu-ally—” she began reluctantly.
Harden cut her off. “She had a small problem last night, and I rescued her. Now I’m taking her home,” he said, daring his brother to ask another question. “I’ll see you at the workshop.”
“You’re all right?” Evan asked Miranda, with sincere concern.
“Yes.” She forced a smile. “I’ve been a lot of trouble to Mr. Tremayne. I…really do have to go.”
Harden locked his fingers closer into hers and walked past Evan without another word.
“Your brother is very big, isn’t he?” Miranda asked, tingling all over at the delicious contact with Harden’s strong fingers. She wondered if he was even aware of holding her hand so tightly.
“Evan’s a giant,” he agreed. “The biggest of us all. Short on tact, sometimes.”
“Look who’s talking,” she couldn’t resist replying.
He glared down at her and tightened his fingers. “Watch it.”
She smiled, sighing as they reached his car in the garage. “I don’t guess I’ll see you again?” she asked.
“Not much reason to, if you don’t try jumping off bridges anymore,” he replied, putting up a cool front. Actually he didn’t like the thought of not seeing her again. But she was mourning a husband and baby and he didn’t want involvement. It would be for the best if he didn’t start anything. He was still wearing the scars from the one time he’d become totally involved.
“I had too much to drink,” she said after he’d put her in the luxury car he’d rented at the airport the day before and climbed in beside her to start the engine. “I don’t drink as a rule. That last piña colada was fatal.”
“Almost literally,” he agreed, glancing at her irritably. “Find something to occupy your mind. It will help get you through the rough times.”
“I know.” She looked down at her lap. “I guess your brother thinks I slept with you.”
“Does it matter what people think?”
She looked over at him. “Not to you, I expect. But I’m disgustingly conventional. I don’t even jaywalk.”
“I’ll square it with Evan.”
“Thank you.” She twisted her purse and stared out the window, her sad eyes shadowed.
“How long has it been?”
She sighed softly. “Almost a month. I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”
“It takes a year, they say, to completely get over a loss. We all mourned my stepfather for at least that long.”
“Your name is Tremayne, like your brother’s.”
“And you wonder why? My stepfather legally adopted me. Only a very few people know about my background. It isn’t obvious until you see me next to my half brothers. They’re all dark-eyed.”
“My mother was a redhead with green eyes and my father was blond and blue-eyed,” she remarked. “I’m dark-haired and gray-eyed, and everybody thought I was adopted.”
“You aren’t?”
She smiled. “I’m the image of my mother’s mother. She was pretty, of course…”
“What do you think you are, the Witch of Endor?” he asked on a hard laugh. He glanced at her while they stopped for a traffic light. “My God, you’re devastating. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”
“Well, no,” she stammered.
“Not even your husband?”
“He liked fair women with voluptuous figures,” she blurted out.
“Then he should have married one,” he said shortly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’m flat-chested,” she said without thinking.
Which was a mistake, because he immediately glanced down at her bodice with a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes. “Somebody ought to tell you that men have varied tastes in women. There are a few who prefer women without massive…bosoms,” he murmured when he saw her expression. “And you aren’t flat-chested.”
She swallowed. He made her feel naked. She folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window again.
“How long were you married?” he asked.
“Well…four months,” she confessed.
“Happily?”
“I don’t know. He seemed so different before we married. And then I got pregnant and he was furious. But I wanted a baby so badly.” She had to take a breath before she could go on. “I’m twenty-five. He was the first man who ever proposed to me.”
