Читать книгу: «Diana Palmer Texan Lovers», страница 2

Chapter Two

Abby arranged to miss breakfast the next morning. Calhoun’s attitude irritated her. He didn’t want her himself, but he was so possessive that she couldn’t get near another man. His attitude was frustrating at best. He had no idea how she felt, of course. She was careful to hide her feelings for him. A man like Calhoun, who was rich and moderately handsome, could have any woman he wanted. He wouldn’t want a plain, unsophisticated woman like Abby. She knew that, and it hurt. It made her rebellious, too. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life grieving for a man she could never have. It was far better to look in other directions. But how could she, when Calhoun refused to let go?

She drove several miles from the ranch to the office at the mammoth feedlot in the small red British sports car she’d talked Justin into cosigning for when she’d graduated from the local vocational school. Because of the attention Calhoun and Justin paid to hygiene, there wasn’t as much odor as most feedlots generated, which surprised a lot of visiting cattlemen. Abby had once gone with Calhoun to tour some other feedlots and had come out with a new respect for the one back home. The Ballenger brothers’ operation was a little more expensive to run, but there were hardly any cattle deaths here because of disease. And that was a prime consideration. A rancher who contracted with the feedlot to fatten his cattle for slaughter didn’t want to lose the animals to disease.

Since Abby was early, the office was deserted. There were three other women who worked here, all married, and they helped keep records on the various herds of feeder cattle being fattened for ranches all over the country. There were contracts to sort and file, records on each lot of cattle to keep, and ongoing vaccination and management reports. There was the constant hum of the heavy equipment used to feed the cattle and to remove waste to underground storage to be used later to fertilize pastures where grain was grown. The phones rang constantly and the computers had to be programmed. There was a payroll department, as well as a salesman, a staff veterinarian and a number of cowboys who moved cattle in and out and saw to feeding them and maintaining the machinery that kept it all going. Abby hadn’t realized until she’d come to work here how big the operation was.

The sheer size of it was staggering, even for Texas. Fenced areas filled with steers stretched to the horizon, and the dust was formidable, as was the smell, which was inevitable even when sanitary management practices were employed.

The Ballengers didn’t own a packing plant—that wasn’t legal, just as it wasn’t legal for packers to own custom feedlots. But the brothers did own a third of their feeder cattle, and the other two-thirds were custom fed. Abby had grown up hearing terms like profit margin, break-even prices and ration formulation. Now she understood what the words meant.

She put her purse under her desk and turned on her computer. There were several new contracts waiting to be filled in for new lots of four-footed customers.

The feedlot took in feeder cattle weighing six hundred to seven hundred pounds and fed them up to their slaughter weight of one thousand to eleven hundred pounds. The Ballengers had a resident nutritionist and an experienced stockman who handled the twice-daily feeding routine with its highly automated machinery. They had the feeding down to such a fine art that the Ballenger operation was included in the top five percent of feedlots nationally. And that was a real honor, considering all the things that could go wrong, from falling cattle prices to unexpected epidemics to drought.

Abby was fascinated by the workings of it all. There were thousands of bawling steers and heifers out there. There were always big cattle trucks coming and going and men yelling and herding and vaccinating and dehorning, and the noise could get deafening despite the soundproofed office walls. Visiting cattlemen came to see their investments. Those who didn’t come were sent monthly progress reports. Daily records were kept on everything.

Abby fed the first contract into her electronic typewriter, trying to decipher the spidery scrawl of Caudell Ayker, the feedlot office manager. He was second only to Calhoun in the chain of command, because Calhoun’s name went in as manager. He and Justin owned the feedlot jointly, but Justin held the lion’s share of the stock. Justin preferred money management to meeting with clients, so Calhoun did most of the day-to-day management on the feedlot. That was one reason Abby loved the job. It meant she got to see a lot of Calhoun.

When Calhoun walked in the door in a dashing pale tan suit, Abby hit the wrong key, covering the contract with a flock of Xs. She grimaced, backspacing to correct her mistake, and then discovered that she couldn’t do it. The correction was too little, too late. Irritated, she ripped the paper out of the machine, put a clean sheet in and started all over again.

“Having problems this morning, honey?” Calhoun asked with his usual cheerful smile, despite the way they’d parted in anger the night before. He never carried grudges. It was one of his virtues.

“Just the usual frustrations, boss,” she answered with a blithe smile.

He searched her eyes. They had such a peculiar light in them lately. He found her more and more disturbing, especially when she wore close-fitting suits like the blue one she had on today. It clung lovingly to every line of her tall, slender body, outlining the thrust of her high breasts, the smooth curve of her hips. He took a slow breath, trying to hide his growing attraction to her. It was odd how she’d managed to get under his skin so easily.

“You look nice,” he said unexpectedly.

She felt color blush her cheeks, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

He hesitated without knowing why, his dark eyes caressing her face, her mouth. “I don’t like your hair like that,” he added quietly. “I like it long and loose.”

She was having a hard time breathing. Her eyes worked up his broad chest to his face and were trapped by his steady gaze. Like electricity, something burst between them, linking them, until she had to drag her eyes down again. Her legs actually trembled.

“I’d better get back to work,” she said unsteadily, fiddling with the paper.

“We both had,” he replied. He turned and walked into his office without knowing how he got there. Once inside, he sat down behind his big oak desk and stared through the open door at Abby until the buzz of the intercom reminded him of the day’s business.

Things went smoothly for a little while, but it was too much to expect that the serenity would last. Just before lunch, one of the cattlemen who had feeder steers in the lot came by to check on them and got an eyeful of Abby.

“You sure are a pretty little thing,” the man said, grinning down at the picture she made in her neat blue knit suit and white blouse with her hair in a French twist and a minimum of makeup on her pretty face. He was about Calhoun’s age.

She flushed. The man wasn’t as handsome as Calhoun, but he was pleasant-looking and he seemed harmless. “Thank you,” she said demurely, and smiled at him, just as she smiled at other customers. But he took it as an invitation.

He sat down on the corner of her desk, giving her a purely masculine scrutiny with his pale blue eyes. “I’m Greg Myers,” he introduced himself. “I just stopped in on my way to Oklahoma City, and I thought I’d take Calhoun to lunch if he’s in. But I think I’d rather take you instead.” He lowered his voice, then reached out unexpectedly and touched Abby’s cheek, ignoring her indrawn breath. “You pretty little thing. You look like a tea rose, ripe for the picking.”

Abby just gaped at him. All her reading and imagining hadn’t prepared her for this kind of flirtation with an experienced man. She was out of her depth and frankly stunned.

“Come on, now,” Myers drawled, caressing her cheek. “Say you will. We’ll have a nice long lunch and get to know each other.”

While Abby was searching for the right words to extricate herself from the unwelcome situation, Calhoun came out of his office and stood directly behind Mr. Myers, looking suddenly murderous.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me,” Calhoun said tersely. “Abby’s my ward, and she doesn’t date older men.”

“Oops.” Myers stood up, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, old son, I didn’t know.”

“No harm done,” Calhoun said carelessly, but his eyes were dark and cold and dangerous-looking. “Let’s go. Abby, I’ll want the latest progress report on his cattle when we get back.”

Only a few months before, Abby might have had some snappy reply to that, or she might have jumped back at Calhoun for acting so possessive. But now she just looked at him, feeling helpless and hungry and awash on a wave of longing because he was acting jealous.

He seemed to stop breathing, too. His dark eyes searched hers, aware of her embarrassment, her confusion. He let his gaze fall to her mouth and watched her lips part suddenly, and his body reacted in a way that shocked him.

“Lunch. Now.” Calhoun ushered the other cattleman to the door. “If you’ll get in the car, I’ll just get my hat and be right with you,” he told the man with a glued-on smile and a pat on the shoulder. “That’s right, you go ahead….” He turned to Abby, his expression unreadable. “I want to talk to you.” Calhoun took her arm and pulled her up, leading her into his office without a word. He closed the door, and the way he looked at her made her feel threatened and wildly excited all at the same time.

“Mr. Myers is waiting….” she faltered, disturbed by the darkness of his eyes as they met hers.

He moved toward her, and she backed up until his desk stopped her, her eyes riveted to his. Maybe he was going to make a declaration!

His chin lifted then, and it was anger that glinted in his dark eyes, not possessiveness. “Listen,” he said curtly, “Grey Myers has had three wives. He currently has at least one mistress. He’s forgotten more than you’ve had time to learn. I don’t want you to learn that kind of lesson with a professional Romeo.”

“I’m going to learn it with someone eventually,” she said, swallowing hard. Her body felt odd, taut and tingling all at once, because his was close enough that she could feel its warm strength.

“I know that,” he said impatiently, and his face hardened. “But I’d just as soon you didn’t join a queue. Myers is no serious suitor. He’s a playboy with a smooth manner, and he’d have you screaming for help five minutes after you were alone with him.”

So that was it. More big-brother responsibility. He wasn’t jealous, he was upset because his protective instincts had been aroused. She stared at the steady rise and fall of his chest in dull acceptance. Stupid me, she thought miserably, wishing for a star again.

“I wasn’t trying to lead him on,” she said finally. “I just smiled at him, like I smile at everyone—even you. I guess he thought I was sending out smoke signals, but I wasn’t, honestly.”

His face relaxed. “No harm done.” And then he moved. One long, powerful arm slid behind her, bringing his lips within an inch of hers. She almost moaned at the minty warmth of his breath on her mouth. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, curiously tracing every hard line of the thin upper lip and the more chiseled lower one. Her heart throbbed. Her breath seemed to stop altogether, and for one long instant she felt the full weight of his chest against her soft breasts in a contact that was shocking. She looked up at him with wide, stunned eyes.

Then he moved back, the hat he’d been reaching for in one hand, his eyes frankly amused at the look on her face. So she’d never thought of him that way, had she? It irritated him to think that she didn’t feel the new and very unwelcome attraction he was discovering for her. It was just as well that he had a business function tonight; it would keep his overimaginative brain away from Abby.

“Were you expecting something?” he asked coldly. “I just wanted my hat.” He watched a shadow pass across her eyes before she mumbled something and lowered her gaze. He put his Stetson on his thick blonde-streaked hair and tilted it over one eye. “I hired you to work here, not to send out signals, intentional or otherwise, to clients.”

“I hate you,” she said suddenly, sick of his accusations and his hateful remarks.

“Sure you do. What else is new?” He tapped her chin with a long finger. “Get busy.”

While she was still struggling with her composure he opened the door and went out without a backward glance.

Abby hardly got anything done for the next hour. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so turned around, so confused. She was sure she hated Calhoun, but in an hour he’d be back, smiling, and then she’d forgive him. That was what made her so miserable, the knowledge that he could commit murder and she’d still love him. Damn this hateful attraction!

She took a half-hour break and went to the canteen and had a sandwich that she didn’t taste. She was barely back at her desk when Mr. Myers returned—with Justin instead of Calhoun.

She handed the progress reports to Justin, who herded Mr. Myers into his brother’s office, kept him there a scant ten minutes and then herded him out again. Abby kept her head down and didn’t even say hello. That was just as well, because Mr. Myers didn’t look in her direction.

Justin gave Abby a curious look afterward. “That’s unusual,” he remarked. “Calhoun called me out of a board meeting to have lunch and talk over that contract with Myers. Then he waltzed off and left me there. What’s going on?”

Abby cleared her throat. “Why, Justin, I have no idea,” she said, even managing a smile. Justin lifted an eyebrow, shrugged and went back into Calhoun’s office without another word. Abby stared after him, curious herself about Calhoun’s behavior. Then it occurred to her that maybe he just didn’t like Greg Myers, which led to the unpalatable thought that perhaps they’d fallen out over a woman. Maybe one of Myers’s mistresses…She turned back to her typewriter. She hated even thinking about that side of Calhoun’s life.

Justin was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but he had plenty to say when Calhoun came in just before quitting time. The door was half-open, and Abby, who was the last of the office group to leave, got an earful as she was straightening up her desk.

“This has got to stop,” Justin was telling his brother. “One of the office girls told me that Myers got friendly with Abby just before you cleared out. It’s gotten to the point that Abby can’t even smile at a man without having you come down on her head like Judgment. She’s almost twenty-one. It isn’t fair to expect her to live like a recluse.”

“I wasn’t,” Calhoun said curtly. “I just warned her off him. My God, you know his reputation!”

“Abby’s no fool,” came the reply. “She’s a levelheaded person.”

“Sure, she’s proved that,” Calhoun said with biting sarcasm. “Going to a strip show—”

“It was not!” Abby called through the open door. “It was a male variety show.”

“My God, she’s standing out there listening!” Calhoun jerked the door all the way open, glaring at her. “Stop eavesdropping! It isn’t polite!”

“Stop talking about me behind my back, then,” she returned, picking up her purse. “I wouldn’t have gone out with a man like Grey Myers even to spite you, Calhoun. I know a line when I hear one.”

Calhoun glared at her. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, your working here.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really? Why?”

“The place is full of men,” Calhoun muttered, and Justin had to smother a grin.

Abby lifted her eyebrows and smiled. “Why, so it is,” she gushed. “Lovely, unshaven men who smell of cattle and cow chips. Sooo romantic,” she sighed.

Justin had turned away. Calhoun’s dark eyes were glittering.

“Myers didn’t smell of cow chips,” he reminded her.

She arched her eyebrows at him. “How interesting that you noticed,” she said in a theatrical whisper.

He looked as if he might throw something at her. “Will you cut that out?” he muttered.

She sighed. “Suit yourself. I was just trying to help. God forbid that I should be seduced by some strange, sweet-smelling man.”

“Go home!” Calhoun roared.

“My, my, what a nasty temper we’re in,” she said demurely. She reached for her purse, glancing back at him. “I’ll have Maria make you a nice bowl of razor-blade soup, just to keep your tongue sharp.”

“I won’t be home for supper, thank God,” Calhoun said coldly. “I’ve got a date,” he added, for no other reason than to irritate her. He didn’t like the idea of her knowing how much Myers’s flirting had upset him. He didn’t want her to know that he’d been so violently jealous that he couldn’t even trust himself to have lunch with the man and had had to call Justin to intervene.

But Abby didn’t know that, and she was sure that it was just Calhoun being overprotective as usual. It hurt her to hear about where he was going. Abby felt as if she were being choked to death. If only she were beautiful and blond, if only she could cope! But she managed to hide her emptiness. “That’s great, Calhoun, you just enjoy yourself while I sit home alone. I’ll never get a date as long as you’re two steps behind me.”

“Dream on,” Calhoun told her. “Hell will freeze over before you’d go out with a man like that.”

“There’s a little town called Hell, you know,” Abby told him. “It does snow there….”

“If I were you I’d go home, Abby,” Justin said, eyeing his brother. “It’s Friday night. You might find a nice movie to watch. Come to think of it, I just bought a new war movie. You can watch it with me if you want to.”

She smiled. Justin really was nice. “Thanks. I might do that, since my watchdog doesn’t want me out after dark,” she added with a glare at Calhoun. “I’ll bet Elizabeth the First had a guardian just like you!”

Justin caught Calhoun’s arm in the nick of time, and Abby took off running, her heart in her throat. It was odd how Calhoun, usually so easygoing, had turned explosive lately. She did goad him, of course, but she couldn’t help it. Fighting him was the only way she could stay sane and hide her feelings for him. If she ever started batting her eyelashes and sighing over him, he’d probably shoot her off the place like a bullet.

She started her car and drove home, all the fury dying into misery as she left the feedlot behind. What good was pretending? Her heart was broken, because Calhoun was going out with one of his women and she didn’t qualify for that title. She never would. She’d grow old with Calhoun patting her on the head. Once or twice she’d almost thought he felt something for her, that he’d begun to notice her. But if he had, he certainly wouldn’t be running all over the place with other women. And he wouldn’t ignore Abby unless she started a fight or got into trouble. She was his responsibility, of course. His headache. To him she was anything but a warm, attractive woman whom he might love eventually. That she’d never be.

By the time she got to the house, she felt sick all over, but a plan was beginning to form in her mind. If Calhoun thought she was giving in that easily, he was in for a shock. She could have a good time, too, even if she didn’t have a date. By golly, she’d get out and find herself one!

Chapter Three

Abby ate a solitary meal. Justin was called to the phone shortly after they got home, and he told Maria to put his dinner on a tray so he could eat it while he watched the movie he’d bought. Calhoun had come home to change for his date, and Abby had made a beeline for her room and stayed there until after he’d left. She didn’t even care how it looked; she was sick at the thought of Calhoun with some faceless blonde. That was when she knew she had to break out, even if just for the evening.

She hadn’t started out to rebel. But she couldn’t sit home and watch the movie with Justin. She’d never hear a word of it; she’d just brood about Calhoun.

So she got dressed in slacks and a blouse and brushed her hair. Then she called Misty.

“How do you feel about helping me rebel?” she asked the older girl.

Misty laughed huskily. “You’re lucky my date canceled out. Okay. I’m game. What are we rebelling against?”

“Calhoun caught me at the revue last night and dragged me home,” Abby told her. “And today he…Well, never mind, but he set me off again. So tonight I thought I’d like to sample that new dance bar in Jacobsville.”

“Now that is an idea worthy of you, Abby. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Abby ran downstairs, giving no thought at all to how Calhoun was going to react to this latest rebellion. Well, he had his woman, damn him. Horrible pictures of his bronzed body in bed with the faceless blonde danced in front of Abby’s eyes. No, she told herself, she wasn’t going to let Calhoun’s actions hurt her like that. She was going to get out and live!

She poked her head into the living room. Cigarette smoke drifted in front of a screen on which men in uniforms were blowing each other up.

“I’m going out with Misty,” she told Justin.

He glanced up from where he was sitting. His long legs were crossed over the coffee table, and he had a snifter of brandy in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Okay, honey,” he said agreeably. “Stay out of trouble, will you? You and Calhoun are hell on the digestion lately, and he doesn’t seem to need much excuse to go for your throat.”

“I’ll behave. Misty and I are just going to that new dance place. I’ll be good, honest I will. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He went back to the bullets and bombs, and she closed the door with a sigh. Justin was so nice. He never tried to hog-tie her. Now why couldn’t Calhoun be like that? She felt murderous when she considered Calhoun’s possessiveness. She was entitled to a life that didn’t revolve around him. There was just no sense in wearing her heart out on his taciturn indifference. None at all!

Misty came ten minutes later. Thank God, Calhoun didn’t reappear. With a sigh of relief, Abby ran out to Misty’s little sports car, all smiles, her breaking heart carefully concealed from her all-too-perceptive girlfriend.

It was Friday night, and the Jacobsville Dance Palace was booming. It had a live Western band on the weekends, and while it did serve hard liquor, it wasn’t the kind of dive Calhoun had forbidden her to frequent. Not that she cared one whit about his strictures, of course.

Abby glanced apprehensively toward the doorway, across the crowded room where cigar and cigarette smoke made a gray haze under bright lights. The band’s rhythm shook the rafters. Couples danced on the bare wood floor, the men in Western gear, the women in jeans and boots.

“Calhoun won’t know you’re here, I tell you.” Misty laughed softly. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous the way he dogs your footsteps lately.”

“That’s what I keep telling him, but it does no good at all,” Abby replied miserably. “I just want to get out on my own.”

“I’m doing my best,” Misty assured her. “Any day now I’ll have some new apartment prospects for us to look at. I’ve got a real estate agent helping.”

“Good.” Abby sipped her drink, trying not to notice the blatant stare she was getting from the man at the next table. He’d been eyeing her ever since she and Misty had walked in, and he was giving her the willies. He looked about Calhoun’s age, but he lacked Calhoun’s attractive masculinity. This man was dark headed and had a beer belly. He wasn’t much taller than Abby, but what he lacked in height he made up in girth. He had a cowboy hat pulled low over his small eyes, and he was obviously intoxicated.

“He’s staring at me again,” Abby muttered. She lifted her gin and tonic to her lips, wondering at how much better it tasted every time she took a sip. She hated gin, but Misty had convinced her that she couldn’t sit at the table drinking ginger ale.

“Don’t worry,” Misty patted her arm. “He’ll give up and go away. There’s Tyler! Hi, Ty!”

Tyler Jacobs was tall and rangy-looking. He had green eyes and an arrogant smile, and Abby was a little afraid of him. But he didn’t carry his wealth around on his shoulders as some rich men did, and he wasn’t a snob, even though the town of Jacobsville took its name from his grandfather.

“Hello, Misty. Abby.” Tyler pulled out a chair and straddled it. “What are you doing here? Does Calhoun know?” he asked quietly.

Abby shifted restlessly in the chair and raised her glass to her lips again. “I am perfectly capable of drinking a drink if I want to,” she said, enunciating carefully because her tongue suddenly felt thick. “And Calhoun doesn’t own me.”

“Oh, my God,” Tyler sighed. He gave Misty a rueful glance. “Your doing, I gather?”

Misty blinked her long false lashes at Tyler, and her blue eyes twinkled. “I provided transportation, that’s all. Abby is my friend. I’m helping her to rebel.”

“You’ll help get her killed if you aren’t careful. Where’s Calhoun?” he asked Abby.

“Out with one of his harem,” she said with a mocking smile. “Not that I mind, as long as he’s out of my hair for the evening,” she added carelessly.

“He dragged her out of line at the male revue last night at the Jacobsville theater,” Misty explained. “We’re getting even.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “You tried to see a male strip show? Abby!”

Abby glared at him. “Where else do you expect me to get educated? Calhoun wants me to wear diapers for the rest of my life. He doesn’t think I’m old enough to go on dates or walk across the street alone.”

“You’re like a kid sister to him,” Tyler said, defending his friend. “He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can get hurt if I like,” Abby grumbled. Her eyes closed. She was feeling worse by the second, but she couldn’t let on. Tyler was as bad as the Ballenger brothers. He’d have her out of here like a shot if he thought she was sick.

“What are you drinking?” Tyler asked, staring at her glass.

“Gin and tonic,” she replied, opening her eyes. “Want some?”

“I don’t drink, honey,” Tyler reminded her with a slow smile. “Well, I’ve got to pick up Shelby at the office. She had to work late tonight. Watch out for Abby, Misty.”

“Of course I will. Sure you won’t stay and dance with me?” Misty asked.

Tyler got up, his eyes worried as they trailed over Abby’s wan face. “Sorry. I don’t usually have to get Shelby, but her car was in the shop today and they didn’t finish with it.”

“Lucky Shelby, to have a brother like you,” Abby mumbled. “I’ll bet you don’t have a kamikaze pilot fly behind her when she goes to work, or a gang of prizefighters to walk her home after dark, or a whole crew of off-duty policemen to fend off her suitors….”

“Oh, boy,” Tyler sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Misty told him. “She’s fine. She’s just miffed at Calhoun, that’s all. Although how anybody could get upset at a dishy man like that being so protective—”

“Dishy isn’t a word I’d use to describe Calhoun if he finds Abby like that and thinks you’re responsible for it,” Tyler cautioned. “Have you ever seen him get angry?”

Misty pushed back her curly hair uncomfortably. “Justin’s temper is worse,” she reminded him.

Tyler lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure. They’re cut from the same cloth.” He touched Abby’s shoulder. “Don’t drink any more of that.” He gestured toward her drink.

“Whatever you say, Ty,” Abby said, smiling. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He waved and left them there.

“I wonder what he was doing here,” Misty said, puzzled. “Since he doesn’t drink.”

“He may have been looking for somebody,” Abby murmured. “I guess a lot of cattlemen congregate around here on the weekends. This stuff is pretty good, Misty,” she added, taking another sip.

“You promised you wouldn’t,” she was reminded.

“I hate men,” Abby said. “I hate all men. But especially I hate Calhoun.”

Misty chewed her lower lip worriedly. Abby was starting to tie one on, and that wasn’t at all what Misty had had in mind. “I’ll be back in a minute, honey,” she promised, and got up to go after Ty. She had a feeling she was going to need his help to get Abby to the car, and now was the time to do it.

The minute she left, the burly, intoxicated man who’d been watching Abby for the past hour seized his opportunity. He sat down next to her, his small, pale eyes running hungrily over her.

“Alone at last,” he drawled. “My gosh, you’re a pretty thing. I’m Tom. I live alone and I’m looking for a woman who can cook and clean and make love. How about coming home with me?”

Abby gaped at him. “I don’t think I heard you?”

“If you’re here with a girlfriend, you’ve got to be out looking for it, honey.” He laughed drunkenly. “And I can sure give it to you. So how about it?” He put his pudgy-fingered hand on her arm and began to caress it. “Nice. Come here and give old Tom a kiss….”

He pulled her toward him. She protested violently, and in the process managed to knock her drink over onto him. He cursed a blue streak and stood up, holding her by the wrist, homicide in his drunken eyes.

“You did that on purpose,” he shot at her. “You soaked me deliberately! Well, let me tell you, lady, no broad pours liquor on me and gets away with it!”

Abby felt even sicker. He was hurting her wrist, and there was a deathly hush around them. She knew that most people didn’t involve themselves in this kind of conflict. She couldn’t fight this man and win, but what else was she going to do? She wanted to cry.

“Let her go.”

The voice was deep, slow, dangerous and best of all, familiar. Abby caught her breath as a tall, heavily built blond man came toward her, his dark, deep-set eyes on the man who had Abby’s wrist. He was in a gray vested suit and a dressy cream-colored Stetson and boots, but Abby knew the trappings of civilized company wouldn’t save this ruddy cretin if he didn’t turn her loose. Abby had seen Calhoun lose his temper, and she knew how hard he could hit when he did.