One Bride Delivered. Jeanne Allan

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ