Texas Forever. Janet Dailey

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      “Damn!” Hunter’s fist came down hard on the table, making the dishes and cutlery jump. “You’ll never get the girl if you let her push you around like that. Be a man. Go after her. Show her you mean business. Understand?”

      “Yes, Dad.” Kyle’s handsome face wore a sullen look.

      “Yes, what?”

      “Yes, I understand.”

      “That’s better.” Hunter’s gaze swung toward his wife. “Vivian, these potatoes are cold. Can’t you learn to serve a meal with everything hot at the same time? No, don’t get up. Just learn to do it right, unless you’re too stupid to learn. If that’s the case, we have a problem.”

      * * *

      Vivian Cardwell didn’t reply. She’d long since learned that meeting her husband’s tirades with silence was the only defense available to her. Stand up to him, and she would pay the price for days on end.

      She could leave him, she thought. Her mirror told her she was still a pretty woman, with fair skin, green eyes, long, auburn hair, and a nice, voluptuous figure. Some man would want her. Or she could always get a job. But that would mean leaving her home, and leaving her son at the mercy of Hunter’s browbeating. Kyle was old enough to strike out on his own. But as long as there was a chance of his marrying Erin Tyler, Hunter would never let him go.

      She studied her husband from her place at the foot of the table, nearest the kitchen. Hunter Cardwell was a strikingly handsome man, tall and athletically built, with chiseled features and dark hair that was turning an elegant shade of silver. When he had something to gain by it, he could be charming, especially to women.

      As far as Vivian knew, her husband hadn’t been unfaithful. He was demanding in bed, but sex tended to be all about him, leaving her feeling more used than loved. Sometimes, like tonight, she almost wished Hunter would have an affair. At least it might improve his disposition—or better yet, give her an excuse to walk away.

      When the meal was finished, Hunter retired to his study and the endless record keeping that the syndicate owners demanded. Kyle went up to his room to spend time on his computer course in range management—or at least, that’s what he said he’d be doing. Tonight, Vivian didn’t care.

      After the table was cleared, the kitchen tidied, and the dishwasher loaded, she wandered outside, onto the front porch of the modest, split-level frame house that had come with the manager’s job. Standing at the rail, she closed her eyes and let the night breeze dry her sweat-dampened face. Night-flying insects chirped and hummed in the darkness. The jasmine vine she’d planted below the porch and had babied through two years of heat, drought, and cold had finally put out a few timid white blossoms, their fragrance almost drowned by the odors of dust and livestock.

      Minutes away, by unpaved back road, lay the neighboring Rimrock Ranch. Its impressive main house, a blend of stone, glass, and timber, was as handsome and rugged as its owner. Vivian had been inside the house just once, when she and Hunter had paid their respects after the funeral of Will Tyler’s wife. They’d only stayed a short time, but when Will had taken her hand, the briefest gesture, she’d been struck by his quiet strength and dignity, and by the sheer masculinity of his presence.

      Since that day, four months ago, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

      How would it feel to be cradled by those powerful arms? To be kissed by him? Loved by him?

      Fantasizing about him was wrong, she knew. Will was mourning his wife. She was married.

      But as long as nothing happened, what harm could a little dreaming do? And nothing was going to happen between her and Will Tyler. Not ever.