A Little Town In Texas. Bethany Campbell
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even a bit…jealous? When Kitt had heard, years ago, that Nora had married Ken Slattery, Kitt had thought: Another cowboy. Won’t she ever learn?
As a girl, Kitt had paid little attention to Ken. He’d been attractive in an old-fashioned Randolph Scott sort of way—but aloof. The sort of man who’d worked hard, kept to himself, and talked little.
She’d told herself that since he was foreman, Nora might have some security at last. She had never imagined that Nora could really be in love with him or that he would treat her as anything more than a hardy pioneer wife, born to do woman’s work.
“Okay, so I was wrong,” Kitt admitted to the darkness.
The man obviously adored Nora, and she adored him in return. Kitt had sensed the strength of their feeling every moment she was with the two of them. From the way they’d looked at each other when they’d said good-night, they were probably making love at this very moment.
The thought of Nora, naked and happily abandoned in Ken’s strong arms, made Kitt feel like a voyeur. She quickly shooed the image away.
But still she felt unsettled. Kitt had always considered herself the lucky one, the one who escaped. She’d thought of Nora as trapped—and that sex was what had trapped her.
So why did Kitt feel suddenly lonely? She never felt lonesome; she never allowed it. And why did her series of safe, comfortable affairs suddenly seem empty, almost soulless?
Kitt wasn’t promiscuous. She took her time between romances—in fact the time between romances usually lasted far longer than any of the romances themselves. Nora was right. Kitt seldom stayed involved with a man. She’d always thought it the fault of the men. But maybe it was something that was missing within her….
Thinking of the men in her life reminded her again of Mel Belyle. There was no sense in this linkage of thoughts; it just happened. All evening he’d haunted her.
She was above all a professional, but she had acted frivolously with him. That was a mistake. This assignment made them adversaries. That could not be helped. But at least he should see her as a worthy one.
Did she think of him as a serious opponent? She would be a fool if she didn’t. Nora had told her that Nick Belyle was smart as hell—and that he himself had said his younger brother just might be smarter.
KITT PARKED in the hotel’s back lot, picked up her laptop and backpack and went in the service entrance leading to the lower floors. She remembered it from years ago, when she and Nora used to deliver fresh eggs to the hotel kitchen. Kitt’s mother had raised hens on her patch of tenant land. The yard around the house had always been pecked bare and smelled of chickens. Kitt still hated eggs.
She went down the long hall that led to the registration desk. The hotel had been spiffed up nicely, she thought with approval. She eyed the oak paneling and the spruce green carpet with its pattern of thistles.
At the desk she smiled at a blond woman with a Scottish accent. She’s a newcomer, I don’t know her, thought Kitt. The realization made her feel odd. This was her hometown, but she was a stranger in it.
She took the brass keys to the back entrance and her room—no plastic card keys for this old-fashioned place—thanked the blond woman, and picked up her bags. She turned from the desk and looked directly into a man’s broad chest.
He smelled divinely of expensive aftershave, and the sweater looked like cashmere. Sapphire blue cashmere. She looked up and met the beautiful, enigmatic eyes of Mel Belyle.
Although she knew he was staying here, he’d caught her by surprise. Her heartbeat sped, and her breath felt just as stuck in her throat.
His perfect mouth twitched, as if he might say something. But he was silent, and almost self-consciously he touched his forefinger to his upper lip. There was something shy in that gesture, and it surprised her.
She swallowed and found herself saying, “I’m sorry for what happened this afternoon. You bought me a drink. I’d like to buy you one in return. After all, why not?”
The words sprang from her mouth before she had time to think of them. Instantly, she regretted them. He would of course say no. He would be scathing; she would be resentful, and they would dislike each other more than before.
He kept his finger resting on his upper lip thoughtfully. He looked at her such a long time that she thought he was not going to speak, only snub her. She was ready to spin on her heel and go.
But he said, “I could give you fifty reasons why not. Instead, I’ll say it’s a good question. Shall we start over, Mitchell?”
She looked up at him. For some reason she felt a smile stealing across her lips. “Let’s,” she said.
CHAPTER FIVE
NOW WHY THE DEVIL HAD HE said that? He wasn’t supposed to talk to her.
But he already had in the airport, by accident, and the accident had turned out to be disastrous. Damage control was in order. Or so Mel told himself, looking into those blue eyes that were so lively—and so lovely.
He must change her image of him—not for his own ego. Of course not. For Fabian’s sake and the sake of the assignment.
But part of him wondered if he didn’t sympathize with her after listening to Gloria Wall dredge up the Mitchell family scandals. She had implied Kitt’s own past was stained. Had the woman spoken truth? Or slander?
But finally, Mel admitted that he was with Kitt because he wanted to be. As a lawyer he could think of a hundred reasons to justify this urge. As a man, the desire was reason enough.
Besides, for years Mel had followed Fabian’s whims and weird rules. He was smart enough to know when they could and should be broken. He certainly wasn’t going to surrender corporate secrets to this woman. He was merely going to repair some wrong impressions.
He looked down at her—Lord, but she was a little thing. She came just to his collarbone. She had her laptop computer slung over one shoulder, her bulging backpack over the other. Its weight made her lean to one side.
“You’re listing to starboard,” he said. “Can I carry something for you?”
“No thanks. I can handle it myself.” She shook her head for emphasis, and the ponytail flashed like silken fire in the lobby’s subdued light.
I can handle it myself. He bet that was the motto of her life. She probably had it tattooed on her forehead under her bangs.
They paused at the entrance of the pub. The place was indeed a piece of Scotland transplanted to the Texas Hill Country. Tartans and crossed broadswords ornamented the paneled walls. The sound system played Scottish music. Mel recognized Andy Stewart’s voice singing of pining for the love of an elfin queen.
A friendly waitress saw them and called, “Sit anywhere, y’all.” Mel nodded. A booth in the far corner promised privacy. He bent to speak in Kitt’s ear. “Back there?” Her minty perfume tickled his nostrils. He was both surprised and pleased at the old-fashioned scent.
She nodded. “Fine.”
He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. Although all he touched was her travel vest, it was as if sparks jabbed the palm of his hand, shot up his arm and struck him through the heart.
She stiffened and jerked away slightly, as if she felt the same instantaneous shock. He snatched his hand back, thinking, What the hell? He told himself they must have worked up a charge of static electricity crossing the carpet, but he knew it was a lie.
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