Fight For Love. PENNY JORDAN
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Tip had been wholly innocent, and she ought to be amused rather than annoyed that a man as cynical and worldly as this one obviously was could be taken in by an old man, bluffing his way through life. Even so, she was still angry enough to want to taunt him a little.
Looking up at him through dark, curling lashes, she said sweetly, ‘Do I look the sort of woman who makes a play for older men?’
Her gibe bounced harmlessly off him, his eyes narrowing in bitter concentration on the upturned oval of her face as he said bitterly, ‘Yes … provided he’s rich enough to afford you. Gramps told us you worked in an art gallery—where they paid you peanuts. That fancy rig you’re wearing didn’t come cheap, lady …’
It took her a moment to catch her breath, and by that time he was hurrying her through the Arrivals hall.
What on earth had happened to this man to make him so bitter, so cynical about her sex? He was what … somewhere in his early thirties? Good-looking, if you liked the rough-hewn, domineering type. More than good-looking, she acknowledged with another quick glance at his impassive profile. He was dark enough to possess Indian or Mexican blood; she couldn’t remember Tip mentioning anything about either of his son’s wives. Women hadn’t held much importance in Tip’s life, except as the providers of sons and grandsons, and great-grandsons …
‘It’s very kind of you to come all this way simply to pick me up, Mr …’
The sweet sarcasm of her comment bounced back off him. With a hard sideways look, he told her laconically, ‘I didn’t … I had to come down to pick up the girls.’
The girls! Wild thoughts of tarty good-time girls joining them on the flight were swiftly banished when he added, ‘They’re at school here in Dallas, and school’s out for the summer now …’
‘Oh, I see.’ She didn’t, of course, but it was becoming a challenge to see if she could actually goad him into some sort of response, and so she added questioningly, ‘The girls … they’re your daughters?’
She could feel the heat in the sideways glance slashed in her direction, and she had to fight against responding to it.
‘My brother’s.’
She could almost feel the tight-lipped clenching of his jaw that went with the raw admission. Why should it cause him so much pain to tell her that? She frowned, deep in thought, trying to remember the little Tip had told her about his family. There had been another grandson; he had been killed, like her parents, in a road accident along with his wife. Ah, yes, she remembered it now. Something about a quarrel, but between whom and what about she didn’t know.
Tip hadn’t mentioned his great-granddaughters at all, but then, of course, they were female … and thus to be easily disregarded.
She frowned again as they walked out across the hot tarmac. Her captor was still holding her arm; standing between her and the hot wind racing across the exposed space, but she didn’t delude herself that he was standing so close to her from any gentlemanly concern for her.
This hostility, this almost ferocious dislike of her wasn’t something she had bargained for and yet, instead of frightening her, she found it challenging.
Again those callused fingertips brushed her skin, causing a faint frisson of sensation to whirl through her. Without turning to look at him, she knew that he was aware of her sudden shiver, and she hoped that he thought it was caused by dislike. It was rather unnerving to be so aware of him as a man, when quite plainly he loathed and detested the very sight of her.
He must have recognised her from the few photographs Tip had insisted on them having taken together, she mused as they approached an immaculate—although frighteningly small—Cessna aircraft, which brought her back to another matter.
‘You still haven’t told me your name,’ she reminded him when they stopped alongside the plane. Where on earth had it come from, this dangerous desire to goad him until she could see the grey eyes burn with controlled ire?
‘Jay—Jay Travers,’ he told her laconically. ‘I’m sure my grandfather mentioned me to you.’
His mouth twisted oddly over this last cynical statement, and deep down inside her something fluttered in feminine response.
‘Oh, yes,’ she countered sweetly, determined not to let him see how he affected her. ‘But only as ‘‘my grandson’’.’
There, that should put him in his place! He struck her as a man so fiercely proud and independent that he would loathe the very thought of being considered a mere adjunct to anyone.
He didn’t make any attempt to help her board the small plane, much to her relief. She didn’t like the way her thought processes became tangled up when he touched her.
As she entered the small cabin, she saw that it already had two other occupants.
‘You found her then, Uncle Jay. Great, now we can go! I’m just dyin’ to git back to the ranch …’
‘You quit talking like that, Rosalie … You know that Gramps sent us to school so that we could learn to talk properly and become ladies.’
Two voices, one brimful of mischief, the other slightly prim; two identical faces with matching sets of blonde pigtails; two small noses liberally sprinkled with freckles, and two pairs of grey eyes remarkably like those possessed by their uncle.
The girls were twins, and they were studying Natasha with open interest.
‘Is this her, then, Uncle Jay? Gramps’s fancy-piece?’
A muffled giggle from the silent twin belied the innocence shining out of the clean little-girl face.
Although she fought against showing it, Natasha was appalled. Was that how all of Tip’s family thought of her? If so, she would have to disabuse them of their false ideas, right away. She opened her mouth to do so, and would have done, if she hadn’t caught the faint flicker of fear running over the silent twin’s face. She turned her head to see what had frightened her, and realised that Jay was standing behind her, studying the twins with hard implacability.
‘Apologise to Miss Ames, Rosalie,’ he commanded, thin-lipped. ‘That’s not the way to treat our guests.’
A bright flush stained the small face, and Natasha felt her heart go out to the child. She was, after all, only repeating what she must have overheard from adults. She wanted to say as much to Jay Travers, but was surprised to discover that she didn’t have the courage.
‘I’m sorry I was rude, Miss Ames.’
Two pairs of grey eyes watched her uncertainly, and then the irrepressible Cherry burst out, ‘If you’d have married Gramps, would that have made you our grandmother? We’d have liked that, wouldn’t we, Rose? Gramps was always saying that we needed a woman about the place. I ‘spect that’s why he brought you out here …’
Natasha could feel the hairs lifting at the back of her neck, and she knew that the sudden tension filling the small enclosed space did not come from her.
What had Cherry said that made Jay go so instantly tense? Whatever it was, she was not likely to find out. Besides, she had more pressing matters to attend to right now.
‘Cherry, your grandfather and I were friends—nothing more,’ she explained as she leaned towards the little girl. ‘And he didn’t bring me out here, I came because …’
‘Because he’s left you half the ranch. Yes, we know all about that!’
‘Cherry!’
The whip-hard voice cut through the little girl’s revelations.
Natasha spun round, her face suddenly milk-white. It couldn’t be true, Cherry must have misunderstood. She opened her mouth to question Jay, but he was already turning his back on her.
‘Time we were taking off … Cherry, please show Miss Ames how to fasten herself into her seat …’