Donavan. Diana Palmer

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      “Men,” she muttered. She glared at him, but she got into the car and closed the door.

      “Drive carefully,” he said. “And wear your seat belt.”

      She fastened it, but not because of his order—she usually wore a seat belt. She spared him one long, last look before she started the car and pulled away. When she drove onto the main highway, he was already driving off in the other direction, and without looking back. She felt a sense of loss that shocked her, as if she’d given up part of herself. Maybe she had. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another human being.

      Her father and mother had never been really close to her. They’d had their own independent lives, and they almost never included her in any of their activities. She’d grown up with housekeepers and governesses for companionship, and with no brothers or sisters for company. From lonely child to lonely woman, she’d gone through the motions of living. But she’d never felt that anyone would really mind if she died.

      That hadn’t changed when she’d come out to Jacobsville, Texas, to live with her mother’s brother, Uncle Henry Rollins. He wasn’t well-to-do, but he wanted to be. He wasn’t above using his control over Fay’s estate to provide the means to entertain. Fay hadn’t protested, but she’d just realized tonight how lax she’d been in looking out for her own interests. Uncle Henry had invited his business partner to supper and hadn’t told Fay until the last minute. She was tired of having Sean thrown at her, and she’d rebelled, running out the door to her car.

      It had been almost comical, bowlegged Uncle Henry rushing after her, huffing and puffing as he tried to match his bulk to her slender swiftness and lost. She hadn’t known where she was going, but she’d wound up at the bar. Fate had sent her there, perhaps, to a man who made her see what a docile child she’d become, when she was an independent woman. Well, things were going to change. Starting now.

      Donavan had fascinated her. She tingled, just remembering how he hadn’t even had to lift a hand in the bar to make the man who’d been worrying her back down. He was the stuff of which romantic fantasies were made. But he didn’t like rich women.

      It would be nice, she thought, if Donavan had fallen madly in love with her and started searching for her. That would be improbable, though, since he didn’t have a clue as to her real identity. She didn’t know his, either, come to think of it; all she knew was what he did for a living. But he could have been stretching the truth a little. He hadn’t sounded quite forceful when he’d said he was a foreman.

      Well, it didn’t really matter, she thought sadly. She’d never see him again. But it had been a memorable meeting altogether, and she knew she’d never forget him. Not ever.

      Chapter 2

      The feedlot office was quiet, and Fay York was grateful for the respite. It had been a hectic two weeks since she started this, her first job. She was still faintly amazed at her own courage and grit, because she’d never thought she’d be able to actually do it. She’d surprised her uncle Henry as much as herself when she’d announced her plans to get a job and become independent until her inheritance came through.

      It had been because of Donavan that she’d done it. Her evening with him had changed her life. He’d made it possible for her to believe in herself. He’d given her a kind of self-confidence that she hadn’t thought possible.

      But it hadn’t been easy, and she’d been scared to death the morning she’d walked into the office of the gigantic Ballenger feedlot to ask for a job.

      Barry Holman, the local attorney who was to handle her inheritance, had suggested that she see Justin Ballenger about work, because his secretary was out having a baby and Calhoun Ballenger’s wife, Abby, had been reluctantly filling in.

      She could still remember her shock when she’d gone to Mr. Holman to ask for a living allowance until her inheritance came through, something that would give her a little independence from her overbearing uncle.

      That was when the blow fell. “I’m sorry,” Holman said. “But there’s no provision for any living allowance. According to the terms of the will, you can’t inherit until you’re twenty-one. Until that time, the executor of your parents’ estate has total control of your money.”

      She gasped. “You mean I don’t have any money unless Uncle Henry gives it to me?”

      “I’m afraid so,” he said. “I realize it probably seems terribly unfair to you, Fay, but your parents must have thought they were doing the right thing.”

      “I can’t believe it,” she said, feeling sick. She wrapped her arms around her body. “What will I do?”

      “What you originally planned. Go ahead and get a job. You’ll only need it for a couple of weeks, until you get your inheritance.”

      The statement helped her fight out of her misery. Involuntarily, she smiled, liking the blond attorney. He was in his early thirties, very good-looking and successful. He was married, because on his desk was a photograph of a young woman with long, brown hair holding a baby.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Don’t worry, you won’t even have to look far for a job. I just happen to know of an opening. Know anything about cattle?”

      She hesitated. “Not really.”

      “Do you mind working around them?”

      “Not if I don’t have to brand them,” she murmured dryly.

      He laughed. “It won’t come to that. The Ballenger brothers are looking for a temporary secretary. Their full-time one was pregnant and just had a complicated delivery. She’ll be out about two months and they’re looking for someone to fill in. Calhoun Ballenger’s wife has been trying to handle it, but you’d be a godsend right now. Can you type?”

      “Oh, yes,” she said. “I can handle a computer, too. I took several college courses before my parents died and I had to come out here to comply with the terms of their will.”

      “Good!”

      “But surely they’ve found someone…”

      “There aren’t that many people available for part-time work,” he said. “Mostly high-school students, and they don’t like the environment that goes with the job.”

      She grinned. “I won’t care, as long as I make enough to pay my rent.”

      “You will. Here.” He scribbled an address. “Go and see Justin or Calhoun. Tell them I sent you. Trust me,” he added, rising to shake hands with her. “You’ll like them.”

      “I hope so. I sure don’t like my uncle much at the moment.”

      He nodded. “I can understand that. But Henry isn’t a bad man, you know. And there could be more to this than meets the eye,” he added reluctantly.

      That statement gave her cold chills. The way Uncle Henry had been throwing her headlong at a rich bachelor friend of his made her uneasy. “I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Do you know just how my uncle’s been managing my affairs in the past two months?”

      “Not yet,” Barry Holman СКАЧАТЬ