Evan. Diana Palmer
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started. “Evan, she’s nineteen, going on twenty,” she said with urbane amusement. “Of course she’s allowed to drink.”
“Alcohol can kill,” he persisted. “Especially if she ever gets in the habit of driving under the influence. She could go to jail…”
“I don’t drink and drive, Evan,” Anna said solemnly. “I never would. If the alcohol bothers you so much, why don’t you go home?”
She poured herself another cup—her fourth, actually—and lifted it to her lips, draining it while her blue eyes defied the angry dark ones glaring at her.
“Can’t you do anything with her?” he demanded of Polly.
Anna’s eyebrows arched. “My mother doesn’t tell me what to do anymore.”
Evan’s own eyebrows arched. That didn’t sound like Anna. Not at all. “You’re not used to liquor,” he began.
She smiled coldly. “Watch me get used to it,” she replied, still smarting from his public humiliation of her and wanting to hurt back. “Nothing I do is any of your damned business. You remember that.”
She whirled on her heel, a little wobbly, and went toward the staircase. The whiskey in the punch was lying heavily on her stomach and she felt nausea rising in her throat. But she felt as if she’d just declared independence, and it wasn’t a bad feeling at all. Evan wasn’t going to be her fatal weakness anymore. Even if she’d deserved his rejection, he could have simply spoken to her in private. He didn’t have to do it like this.
Evan stared after her, scowling. It was the first time in memory that Anna had talked back to him. He was used to blind adoration from her, or at worst, pert, flirting comments. Stark hostility was new and all too exciting. His body was reacting to her antagonism in ways he’d never expected.
“She’s a bit tipsy, I think, Evan. Don’t mind anything she says,” Polly said, waving it off. “By the way, I’ve got a new investment property that you might be interested in. Want to stop by the office sometime next week and look over a prospectus?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Evan said, preoccupied.
“Let’s go,” Nina coaxed. “I’m so tired, and I’ve got a show in the morning.”
“Sure. Good night, Polly,” Evan said.
She nodded, smiling curiously at the way Evan’s eyes kept going to the staircase. His possessive attitude toward Anna startled and amused her. Of course, Evan was thirty-four, too old to be taking any real masculine interest in her poor, lovesick daughter. She turned and went back to her remaining guests, thrusting his odd behavior to the back of her mind. Anna would get over him. It was just a crush.
Anna was sick most of the night, and not just from the alcohol. It had been an eye-opening experience to have Evan flaunt a woman in front of her. For all of the two years, she’d been madly pursuing him, he’d never used that counterattack before. Probably now that he knew it bothered her, it wouldn’t be the last time he resorted to it.
Well, she told herself, that was that. If he was desperate enough to throw himself into the arms of an old flame to escape Anna, it was time to retreat. She’d always known somehow that he was never going to take her seriously. She should have given up long ago.
The next morning she braided her long blond hair, put on her shorts and halter top and went out to set up her easel in the garden. She loved to paint. She was quite good at landscapes, having even sold a few. It gave her something to do when she wasn’t working.
Polly was at the office today—she sometimes worked seven days a week. But Anna worked five and painted the other two. Now she was toying seriously with the idea of quitting the office. She loved art and she had an eye for investment paintings. She could ask the owner of the local art gallery, who was a friend of the family, to give her a job. It would get her away from the office, where she was all too likely to run into Evan. He wanted her out of his life, so she decided that she’d give him a helping hand. It was the least she could do after having pestered him for two years. Cold sober, she could even understand why he’d brought Nina to the party last night. Poor man. He must have been at the very end of his rope.
As she dabbed paint on the canvas, she considered her options. She didn’t really want to leave home, but even that might be a good idea. She was going on twenty years old. It was time she had a life of her own, apart from her mother’s. She had to start thinking about her future. Marrying Randall was hardly an option, even though he’d been hinting that he wouldn’t be averse to the idea. Considering Polly’s wealth, it would be a strategic move on his part. It would give him the financial wherewithal to buy into an established practice, because certainly Polly would be willing to help her new son-in-law.
The landscape she was working on was a study of sunflowers against the sky. She was using a huge sunflower in the garden as a model. It was a lazy summer day with only a slight breeze, and the sun felt like heaven on her skin.
A car door slammed. She didn’t look up. It was almost lunchtime and she was expecting her mother.
“I’m out back,” she called. “If you’re ready, there’s a pasta salad in the fridge. I want to finish this before I come in.”
Footsteps answered her shout, but they didn’t belong to a woman. They were too heavy.
Her head turned just as Evan came around the side of the house. He was wearing work clothes—jeans and a dust-stained blue plaid shirt, with disreputable boots and a Stetson that was battered almost beyond recognition. She stiffened with hurt indignation, but she couldn’t afford to let it show. She turned back to her painting.
“Where’s Polly?” he asked without preamble.
So much for the forlorn hope that he might have come to see her, to apologize for dragging her pride through the dust the night before. She kept her eyes on the canvas, so that he wouldn’t see the disappointment in them.
“If she isn’t at the office, she’s on her way here for lunch, I guess,” she said.
His dark eyes slid over her with reluctant interest. “She was supposed to leave a prospectus for me on a new piece of land. Know anything about it?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.” She traced a sunflower petal with maniacal accuracy, to keep her mind off her breaking heart. “If you’d like to wait, Lori can make you some iced tea.”
Anna was so unlike her usual self that he felt out of his element. “What? No invitation to ravish you among the sunflowers?”
“I’ve decided to grow up,” she said without looking at him. “Chasing after unwilling men is for adolescents. From now on, I’m only going after men I think I can catch.”
“Like Randall?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Why not?”
Her attitude disturbed him. He leaned against the fence that surrounded the small garden. “I didn’t know you painted.”
“At the speed you always go around me, I’m not surprised,” she said imperturbably and dotted more yellow on the canvas. “No more games, Evan,” she said, looking up at him quietly. “I got the message last night. If you really came here to make it clear, there’s no need.” She managed a smile. “I’m sorry I made your life so difficult. I won’t embarrass you anymore, I promise.”
He felt empty. His eyes narrowed as she turned back to her canvas. She didn’t sound like herself. In fact, he mused, she didn’t look like the kid he’d always thought her. Those long, tanned legs were a woman’s, like the full breasts under that skimpy halter. She was delectable.
He quietly watched her. “Are you and Polly going to the Ballenger barbecue next week?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced at him shyly. “If you’re going to be there, probably not. I don’t want to do your social life any more damage than I already have.