Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  Their stiff courtesy with each other didn't go unnoticed. People remembered that Elysia had worked for Tom in New York before she'd come home to marry Fred Nash. They began to wonder about these two people be­cause of their obvious hostility toward each other.

  The gossip was unavoidable.

  Tom found himself seated next to Elysia at the monthly meeting of businessmen. It was a lunch affair, served in the private dining room of the largest local restaurant. Tom, in a dark suit, and Elysia, in a neat gray pantsuit, her hair in a chignon, was secretary of the group. She couldn't avoid him at this function, or the gossip would have been even worse.

  But it was obvious to the most unobservant of guests that they barely tolerated each other. When Elysia passed around the neat copies she'd made of the financial report, she made sure that her hand didn't touch Tom's. When she passed the cream and sugar holders to him, again, she kept her fingers from making con­tact.

  Tom was keenly aware of her bitter avoid­ance of him. He understood it, but that didn't make it any easier. He was astonished that such a mercenary woman still had feelings to hurt.

  After the meeting, she went straight to her car.

  Tom followed right behind her, keenly aware of eyes following his progress to his own somber Lincoln, which was parked beside her Mercedes convertible.

  Elysia fumbled with her keys and dropped them in her haste to get away before he came to his car. She muttered curses, hating the door because it wouldn't cooperate.

  "Don't worry," he murmured coolly from across the top of her car, "whatever I seem to have probably isn't contagious a car length away."

  She glared at him, flushed. "That works both ways, Mr. Walker!"

  "Listen, if you want to sleep your way up in the fashion world, it's none of my busi­ness," he said with icy venom.

  She bit back a curse as the president of the chamber of commerce passed them with a cu­rious glance.

  "Nice meeting, Mr. James," she said through her teeth with a smile.

  "Yes, it was. Nice to have you aboard, too, Mr. Walker," he said, pausing to shake Tom's hand. "You be good to him, Mrs. Nash, we need new blood in the community!" he added with a wave of his hand as he went along to his own car.

  "Oh, how I'd love to show him some of yours," Elysia said fervently, glaring at Tom.

  "You need to work on that attitude prob­lem," he replied somberly. "You seem to have lost your knack for diplomacy."

  "Only with you," she shot right back. "I get along fine with everyone else."

  "Especially French buyers, hmmm?"

  "Damn you!"

  His eyebrows arched as she pulled off a high heel shoe and threw it at him.

  "Wouldn't you know I’d miss?" she de­manded of the parking lot. "Give me back my shoe."

  "Come over here and get it," he chal­lenged.

  "You're not my type," she purred. "You can't speak French!"

  His eyes went cold. He threw the shoe onto the top of her car, got into his own, backed out and drove away without even looking in her direction.

  "I love you, too, you sweet man!" she called after him.

  "Can I print that?" the local newspaper ed­itor whispered in her ear.

  She shrieked. "John, don't sneak up on me like that!"

  He grinned wickedly. "Can't you see the headlines? Boutique Owner Shouts Love For Financial Advisor At Top Of Lungs..."

  "Do you need a shoe?" she asked, holding it over her head in a threatening manner.

  He cleared his throat. "Not my size. Thanks, anyway."

  He beat a hasty retreat. She glared after him. This was getting totally out of hand.

  Tom was kept busy for the rest of the week, and Elysia took a back seat in his mind as he dealt with one financial crisis after another. By Saturday, he was ready for some rest and rec­reation. He decided that fishing might be a nice way to relax, and a local man had a stocked private pond where he rented poles and bait for a small all-day fee.

  He put on jeans and went on his way. For­tunately the fish were biting, since he did love a nice fried bass. It brought back memories of his youth in South Dakota, when he and Kate had gone fishing with Jacob Cade on the older man's sprawling ranch.

  His boots were worn, but serviceable, like the old beige Stetson he'd had for years. Dressed like that, he looked every inch a cow­boy. Kate had always wondered why her only brother had chosen city life. She'd never re­alized that the very anonymity of a big city was kind to his ego. In a small town, his alone-ness would have been so much more notice­able.

  In fact, it worried him here. He hadn't con­sidered how curious small-town people were about strangers, or how gossip, though kind, ran rampant. It was rather like being part of a huge family, having everyone know all about you. The comforting thing about it was that, also like family, people tended to accept each other regardless of human frailty.

  For instance, everyone knew that old Harry was an alcoholic, and that Jeff had been in prison for killing his wife's lover. They also knew that a local spinster bought copies of a notorious magazine that contained vivid pho­tos of nude men, and that a certain social worker lived with a man to whom she wasn't married. These were open secrets, however, and not one person ridiculed these people or treated them as untouchables. They were fam­ily.

  Tom began to understand that even the talk about Elysia wasn't vicious or brutal.

  In fact, as Tom spent more time around lo­cal people, and heard more gossip about her, he learned that Elysia's marriage had been looked upon more as a charitable act on her part, despite her husband's wealth.

  "Took care of him like a nurse, she did," old man Gallagher had said, nodding with ap­proval as he filled Tom's order at the office supply store the week before, when talk had turned to Elysia's similar taste in stationery for her boutique. “Never shirked, not even at the end when he was bedridden and needed around-the-clock nursing. She had a nurse, but she stayed, too." He smiled. "She may have inherited a lot of money, that's true, but most people feel like she earned it with the care she took of old Fred. Never doubted that she was fond of him. And that kid doted on him." He sighed. "She mourned him, too, and so did the kid. Nice young woman. Most folks remember her dad." His eyes had darkened and nar­rowed.

  Tom frowned. "In a kind way?" he asked, because the old man's voice had shaded a bit.

  "Hardly. Old man Craig drank like a fish. Beat Elysia's mother and Luke. Day came when Luke was old enough to realize he had to do something. He called the police, even though his mama wouldn't. Swore out a war­rant for his dad and signed it, too." He chuck­led. "They put the man away. He died in prison of a heart attack, but I think it was a relief to all of them. Would never have stopped beating her, if they'd ever let him out. I reckon they all knew it."

  That had sounded painfully familiar to Tom, who'd had his share of beatings. His and Kate's father had never touched alcohol, but the brain tumor had made a monster of him. The two of them had been "disciplined" fre­quently by their unpredictable parent, espe­cially if they ever showed a flicker of interest in the opposite sex.

  Tom threw his line into the water and leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree with a sigh. He wasn't really interested in fish­ing, but it was something to do. His days had been empty for a long time. In the city, there was always something to do in the anonymity of crowds. Here, he either sat at home with rented movies or fished. Fishing was much preferable.

  "Hi!"

  The bright greeting caught his attention. He turned his head to find Luke and Crissy with tackle boxes and fishing poles.

  "I never expected to find a big city dude in a place like this," Luke murmured dryly. "Bored to death or do you just enjoy eating cheap fish?"

  "This isn't cheap," Tom murmured on a chuckle. "Ten dollars a day and the price of renting the tackle. Plus fifty cents a pound for whatever you catch. It adds up."

  "Bobby Turner's no fool," Luke said with a grin. "He figures people will pay to catch clean fish in a good locat
ion. He does a roaring business."

  Tom, glancing out over the dozens of peo­ple around the big lake, had to admit that the warm weather drew scores of fishermen.

  "Mind if we join you?" Luke asked. "The best spots are already taken."

  "Is this one of them?" Tom queried.

  "It sure is," Crissy piped up. "I caught a big fish last time, didn't I, Uncle Luke?"

  "She caught a four-pound bass," Luke agreed, settling in. "But I had to land him. She's a bit small yet for pulling in fighting fish on a line."

  "It pulled me down," Crissy explained sol­emnly. Then she grinned. "But we ate it for supper. It tasted very good."

  Tom laughed in spite of himself. The child had an incredible variety of facial expressions.

  Crissy looked at him for a long time, her little face studious and quiet. "You have green eyes and dark hair," she noted. "Just like me."

  He nodded. "So I do." He paused, glancing at Luke, who'd gone to the small shed where bait was sold. "I guess your dad had green eyes, too, huh?"

  She frowned. "No," she said, shaking her head. "My daddy had red hair."

  Tom's heart jumped up into his throat. The most incredible thoughts were gathering speed in his head. He stared down at the child. She had his own olive skin, his eyes, his hair. She was in kindergarten, that would make her at least five years old. He couldn't stop looking at her as a shocking idea took shape in his mind.

  Luke came back with bait. "Go put this on your hook," he told Crissy, "and watch that you don't get it stuck in your finger like poor old Mr. Hull did last time he went with us."

  "Yes, sir," she said at once. "I don't want my finger cut open!"

  She rushed off, a miniature whirlwind in jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt.

  "She loves to fish," Luke said. "I had a date, but I broke it" He made a face. "My latest girl doesn't like fishing or any other 'blood sport.'"

  "Fishing is a blood sport?" Tom asked.

  "Sure is," came the reply. "So is eating meat." He grinned sheepishly. "I'm not giv­ing up my cattle, so I guess this girl will go the way of the others pretty soon. She's a looker. Pity."

  Tom knelt down beside Luke, glancing war­ily toward the child. "She said her dad was redheaded."

  Luke's indrawn breath was audible, al­though he recovered quickly enough. "Did she? She was barely older than a toddler when he died..."

  "Red is red, whatever age you are," Tom said doggedly. His green eyes met the blue ones of the other man. "She's mine."

  Luke cursed silently. Elysia was going to kill him.

  “She's mine," Tom repeated harshly, his eyes demanding verification.

  Luke bent his head. "She's yours," he said heavily.

  Tom looked at the little girl again, his face white, his eyes blazing. He'd never thought much about getting married, much less about having children, and all at once, he was a fa­ther. It was a shattering thought.

  "Dear God," he breathed.

  Luke put a hand on his shoulder, noting how the other man tensed at once. He didn't like being touched. Luke withdrew the com­radely gesture. "She thought you were a big city playboy," he explained. "She never con­sidered trying to get in touch with you, espe­cially after the way you acted before she left town."

  Tom grimaced.

  "If it's any consolation, Fred had leukemia when they married, and he was already infirm. They lived together as friends, nothing more, and she was fond of him. She needed a name for Crissy. For a small town like this, we're pretty tolerant, but Elysia couldn't bear having people gossip about us more than they already do." He searched Tom's eyes. "You'll have heard about our father, I imagine?"

  Tom nodded. He drew in a long breath. "My father was a madman," he confided qui­etly. "I've had my share of beatings, too," he added, and a look passed between the two men. "The difference was that my father died of a brain tumor—while he was beating my sister for smiling at a boy she liked. He called her a slut, if you can imagine being labeled that for a smile."

  Luke grimaced. "Good God, and I thought I had it bad."

  Tom laughed coldly. His eyes were on the child. "One time," he said half to himself, "in my entire life, and there was a child."

  Luke looked down at the ground. "Elysia was your first?"

  Tom hesitated, but he was too stunned by what he'd learned to conceal it anymore. "Yes," he said bluntly. "And the last. There hasn't been anyone else, ever."

  Luke looked up, quietly compassionate. "Not for her, either," he said. "Not even her husband."

  "You're not serious."

  "Yes, I am," Luke countered. "He was too ill most of the time, and she never felt like that about him. She was honest. Then when Crissy was born, they seemed to find common ground. That child was wanted and very much loved."

  Tom's hand clenched by his side. "And now that I know about her—" he nodded to­ward the child "—what the hell do I do?"

  Chapter 3

  On that subject," Luke mused, "I would say that you've got a real problem on your hands. Elysia never meant for you to find out about Crissy. And here I've given the game away."

  He shook his head. "Crissy gave it away," he replied, "when she said her dad was red­headed. I believe in recessive genes, of course, but not to that extent. She's a dead ringer for my sister, Kate."

  "I noticed that, too," Luke replied.

  "What am I going to do?" Tom groaned, pushing his hands through his hair in frustra­tion. "I can't walk up to Elysia after all this time and demand my rights to my daughter. I let her leave New York pregnant, although I swear I didn't suspect that she could have been after one night, and I never even tried to see her again. She won't understand why."

  “Care to tell me?"

  Tom laughed coldly. "Because I was too ashamed," he said. "I got drunk and had sex," he said with self-contempt. His eyes closed. "My God, I thought I was sure to go to hell after that. I didn't realize that the hell was going to be living with myself afterward. I missed her," he confided. "She'd been with me for two years, and it was like losing part of my own body. But every time I thought about what I'd done, I was too ashamed to try to contact her. I never thought of a child," he added huskily. He shook his head. "I wasn't very clued-up for a twenty-eight-year-old man. And Elysia thought I was a playboy. How's that for irony?"

  "You should have told her the truth," Luke told him. "She's not the sort of woman who would think less of you. I'd guess that it would impress her very much."

  "How could I have told her something like that? I'm thirty-four now, but when I knew Elysia I was twenty-eight already. How many male virgins of that age have you ever known?" Tom asked him with an irritable glance.

  Luke grinned. "One."

  Tom burst out laughing. It didn't seem so terrible now, that he'd had a woman and a child had come of the experience. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more pleasure he felt. Those pangs of conscience were re­ceding at least a little. But he was knee-deep in problems, with no solutions in sight. Elysia was the biggest one of all. He remembered the things he'd said to her recently and he wanted to throw back his head and scream. Even if she'd have let him come around Crissy before, she'd never allow him close to the child now. He'd burned his bridges by accusing her of sleeping her way up the corporate ladder. He groaned aloud. How could he have been so blind?

  "You might come to supper tonight," Luke said.

  Tom's eyebrows lifted. "She'd have me stuffed and baked if I walked in the door. Ei­ther that, or she'd smother me in all that to­mato sauce you said she made."

  "No guts, no glory," Luke reminded him. He looked at the child, who was just joining them. "Crissy, what would you think if Mr. Walker came to dinner tonight?"

  "I'd like that," the child said seriously, grinning up at him. "I'd like to know all about Indians."

  Tom sighed. "I only know family lore, and not much of that," he confided. "Kate and I went to live with our grandmother, and she didn't like that side of our family at all. She refus
ed to let us talk about it."

  "How mean," Crissy muttered.

  "It was, wasn't it?" Tom agreed, having just realized that it was a form of discrimina­tion on the old woman's part. "But my sister's husband knew someone on the Sioux reser­vation who was related to our great-grand­father—and therefore to us. He asked for the history, and Kate went to see the woman and wrote it all down." He searched the little face so much like his own. "One of our ancestors was at the Little Bighorn, and we have distant relatives in Canada and South Dakota among the Sioux."

  "Do you visit them?" Crissy asked, wide-eyed.

  "I haven't yet. I think I might like to," he added. He smiled. "Maybe you and your mom could come along."

  "You could ask her," Crissy said doubt­fully. "She doesn't like to go places."

  "You said she took you to a powwow," Tom reminded her, cherishing the memory.

  "She liked it," Crissy agreed. "She told me all about the Plains Indians and about that place where General Custer got shot, too."

  "Colonel Custer," Tom told her. "He had a Civil War battlefield promotion to Brigadier General, but that was a brevet commission. He was only a colonel in the 7th Cavalry."

  "Touchy subject, hmmm?" Luke teased.

  "Very," Tom replied. "And isn't it a hell of a thing that it should be? I haven't paid a lot of attention to my ancestry before now." He looked at Crissy. "But it's in the genes."

  "It sure is," Luke replied amusedly.

  "I want to catch a big fish for you to eat at our house,'' Crissy said. She tried to throw the hook into the water, but she wasn't tall enough to cast the line out.

  Tom squatted just behind her, holding her with one arm while he guided the small hand holding the line. "Like this, sweetheart," he said gently.

  She grinned at him over one shoulder. "Thanks. You smell nice," she added.

  He chuckled, hugging her close. "So do you, tidbit."

  He got up, leaving her to hold the pole tight in both hands. He'd never used endearments, but the child seemed to invoke them effort­lessly. He stared down at her with pure pride, unaware that Luke could see that pride.