Night Fever. Diana Palmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ shop in the drugstore. He bought her a cup of black coffee, one for himself, and a doughnut. He offered her one. But she was too sick to accept it.

      They sat down at a corner table and he studied her quietly while he sipped his coffee. Her hair was in its usual bun, her face devoid of makeup. She looked as she felt—washed out and depressed.

      “No cutting remarks about my cigar?” he prompted with a raised eyebrow. “No running commentary on my manners?”

      She lifted her wan face and stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Mr. Kilpatrick, my life is falling apart, and I don’t care very much about your cigar smoke or your manners or anything else.”

      “What did your father say when you told him about your brother?”

      She was tired of the pretense. It was time to lay her cards on the table. “I haven’t seen or heard from my father in two years.”

      He frowned. “What about your mother?”

      “She died when the boys were young, when I was sixteen.”

      “Who takes care of them?” he persisted. “Your grandfather?”

      “Our grandfather has a bad heart,” she said. “He isn’t able to take care of himself, much less anyone else. We live with him and take care of him as best we can.”

      His big hand hit the table, shaking it. “Are you telling me that you’re taking care of the three of them by yourself?!” he demanded.

      She didn’t like the look on his dark face. She moved back a little. “Yes.”

      “My God! On your salary?”

      “Granddad has a farm,” she told him. “We grow our own vegetables and I put them up in the freezer and can some. We usually raise a beef steer, too, and Granddad gets a pension from the railroad and his social security. We get by.”

      “How old are you?”

      She glared at him. “That’s none of your business.”

      “You’ve just made it my business. How old?”

      “Twenty-four.”

      “You were how old when your mother died?”

      “Sixteen.”

      He took a draw from the cigar and turned his head to blow it out. His dark eyes cut into hers, and she knew now exactly how it felt to sit on the witness stand and be grilled by him. It was impossible not to tell him what he wanted to know. That piercing stare and cold voice full of authority would have extracted information from a garden vegetable. “Why isn’t your father taking care of his own family?”

      “I wish I knew,” she replied. “But he never has. He only comes around when he runs out of money. I guess he’s got enough; we haven’t seen him since he moved to Alabama.”

      He studied her face quietly for a long time, until her knees went weak at the intensity of the scrutiny. He was so dark, she thought, and that navy pin-striped suit made him look even taller and more elegant. His Indian ancestry was dominant in that lean face, although he seemed to have the temperament of the Irish.

      “No wonder you look the way you do,” he said absently. “Worn out. I thought at first it might be a demanding lover, but it’s overwork.”

      She colored furiously and glared at him.

      “That insults you, does it?” he asked, his deep voice going even deeper. “But you yourself told me that you were a kept woman,” he reminded her dryly.

      “I lied,” she said, moving restlessly. “Anyway, I’ve got enough problems without loose living to add to them,” she said stiffly.

      “I see. You’re one of those girls. The kind mothers throw under the wheels of their sons’ cars.”

      “Nobody will ever throw me under yours, I hope,” she said. “I wouldn’t have you on a half shell with cocktail sauce.”

      He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Why not?” he asked, lifting his chin to smile at her with pure sarcasm. “Has someone told you that I’m a half-breed?”

      She flushed. “I didn’t mean that. You’re a very cold man, Mr. Kilpatrick,” she said, and shivered at his nearness. He smelled of some exotic cologne and cigar smoke, and she could feel the heat from his body. He made her nervous and weak and uncertain, and it was dangerous to feel that way about the enemy.

      “I’m not cold. I’m careful.” He lifted the cigar to his mouth. “It pays to be careful these days. In every way.”

      “So they say.”

      “In which case, it might be wise if you stopped smearing honey over the mystery man who keeps you. You did say,” he reminded her, “that you were the kept woman of one of your employers?”

      “I didn’t mean it,” she protested. “You were looking at me as if I were totally hopeless. It just came out, that’s all.”

      “I should have mentioned it to Bob Malcolm yesterday,” he murmured.

      “You wouldn’t!” she groaned.

      “Of course I would,” he returned easily. “Hasn’t anyone told you that I don’t have a heart? I’d prosecute my own mother, they say.”

      “I could believe that, after yesterday.”

      “Your brother is going to be a lost cause if you don’t get him in hand,” he told her. “I came down on him hard for that reason. He needs firm guidance. Most of all, he needs a man’s example. God help you if your father is his hero.”

      “I don’t know how Clay feels about Dad,” she said honestly. “He won’t talk to me anymore. He resents me. I wanted to talk to you because I wanted you to understand the situation at home. I thought it might help if you knew something about his background.”

      He nibbled the doughnut with strong white teeth and swallowed it down with coffee. “You thought it might soften me, in other words.” His dark eyes pinned hers. “I’m part Indian. There’s no softness in me. Prejudice beat it out a long time ago.”

      “You’re a little bit Irish, too,” she said hesitantly. “And your people are well-to-do. Surely, that made it easier.”

      “Did it?” His smile was no smile at all. “I was unique, certainly. An oddity. The money made my path a little easier. It didn’t remove the obstacles, or my uncle, who tolerated me because he was sterile and I was the last of the Kilpatricks. God, he hated that. To top it all off, my father never married my mother.”

      “Oh, you’re...” She stopped dead and flushed.

      “Illegitimate.” He nodded and gave her a cold, mocking smile. “That’s right.” He stared at her, waiting, daring her to say something. When she didn’t, he laughed mirthlessly. “No comment?”

      “I wouldn’t dare,” she replied.

      He СКАЧАТЬ