Passion Flower

by Diana Palmer

  “I was so delighted to have the job,” Jennifer sighed, smiling. She brushed back a stray wisp of blond hair. She was wearing her best blue camisole with a simple navy blue skirt and her polished white sling pumps with a white purse. She looked elegant, and Libby remarked on it.

  “Where are you going, all dressed up?” she asked.

  “To get a second job,” Jennifer confessed. “But you mustn’t tell Everett. I want to surprise him.”

  Libby looked worried. “You’re not leaving?”

  “Oh, no! Not until he makes me! This is only a temporary thing,” she promised.

  “Doing what?”

  “Decorating.”

  “That takes a lot of schooling, doesn’t it?” Libby asked, frowning.

  “Quite a lot. I graduated from interior-design school in New York,” Jennifer explained. “And I worked in the field for two years. My health gave out and I had to give it up for a while.” She sighed. “There was so much pressure, you see. So much competition. My nerves got raw and my resistance got low, and I wound up flat on my back in a hospital with pneumonia. I went home to Atlanta to recuperate, got a job with a temporary talent agency, and met Robert Culhane on an assignment. He offered me a job, and I grabbed it. Getting to work in Texas was pretty close to heaven, for me.”

  Libby shook her head. “Imagine that.”

  “I was sorry about Robert,” Jennifer said quietly. “I only knew him slightly, but I did like him. Everett still broods about it. He doesn’t say much, but I know he misses his brother.”

  “He was forever looking out for Bobby,” Libby confirmed. “Protecting him and such. A lot of the time, Bobby didn’t appreciate that. And Bobby didn’t like living low. He wanted Everett to sell off those oil rights and get rich. Everett wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Jennifer said. “If it was my land, I’d feel the same way.”

  Libby looked surprised. “My goodness, another one.”

  “I don’t like strip-mining, either,” Jennifer offered. “Or killing baby seals for their fur or polluting the rivers.”

  Libby burst out laughing. “You and Everett were made for each other. He’s just that way himself.” She glanced at Jennifer as the Houston skyline came into view. “Did Bobby tell you what Everett did the day the oil man came out here to make him that offer, after the geologists found what they believed was oil-bearing land?”

  “No.”

  “The little oil man wanted to argue about it, and Everett had just been thrown by a horse he was trying to saddle-break and was in a mean temper. He told the man to cut it off, and he wouldn’t. So Everett picked him up,” she said, grinning, “carried him out to his car, put him in, and walked away. We haven’t seen any oil men at the ranch since.”

  Jennifer laughed. It sounded like Everett, all right. She sat back, sighing, and wondered how she was going to make him take the money she hoped to earn. Well, that worry could wait in line. First, she had to find a job.

  While Libby went into the store, Jennifer found a telephone directory and looked up the addresses of two design shops. The first one was nearby, so she stopped to arrange a time and place to rendezvous with Libby that afternoon, and walked the two blocks.

  She waited for fifteen minutes to see the man who owned the shop. He listened politely, but impatiently, while she gave her background. She mentioned the name of the firm she’d worked with in New York, and saw his assistant’s eyebrows jump up. But the manager was obviously not impressed. He told her he was sorry but he was overstaffed already.

  Crestfallen, she walked out and called a taxi to take her to the next company. This time, she had better luck. The owner was a woman, a veritable Amazon, thin and dark and personable. She gave Jennifer a cup of coffee, listened to her credentials, and grinned.

  “Lucky me.” She laughed. “To find you just when I was desperate for one more designer!”

  “You mean, you can give me work?” Jennifer burst out, delighted.

  “Just this one job, right now, but it could work into a full-time position,” she promised.

  “Part-time would be great. You see, I already have a job I’d rather not leave,” Jennifer replied.

  “Perfect. You can do this one in days. It’s only one room. I’ll give you the address, and you can go and see the lady yourself. Where are you staying?”

  “Just north of Victoria,” Jennifer said. “In Big Spur.”

  “How lovely!” the lady said. “The job’s in Victoria! No transportation problem?”

  She thought of asking Libby, and smiled. “I have a conspirator,” she murmured. “I think I can manage.” She glanced up. “Can you estimate my commission?”

  Her new employer did, and Jennifer grinned. It would be more than enough for Everett to pay off his note. “Okay!”

  “The client, Mrs. Whitehall, doesn’t mind paying for quality work,” came the lilting reply. “And she’ll be tickled when she hears the background of her designer. I’ll give her a ring now, if you like.”

  “Would I! Miss...Mrs...Ms...?”

  “Ms. Sally Ward,” the owner volunteered. “I’m glad to meet you, Jennifer King. Now, let’s get busy.”

  Libby was overjoyed when she heard what Jennifer was plotting, and volunteered to drive her back and forth to the home she’d be working on. She even agreed to pinch-hit in the house, so that Everett wouldn’t know what was going on. It would be risky, but Jennifer felt it would be very much worth the risk.

  As it turned out, Mrs. Whitehall was an elderly lady with an unlimited budget and a garage full of cars. She was more than happy to lend one to Jennifer so that she could drive back and forth to Victoria to get fabric and wallcoverings and to make appointments with painters and carpet-layers.

  Jennifer made preliminary drawings after an interview with Mrs. Whitehall, who lived on an enormous estate called Casa Verde.

  “My son Jason and his wife, Amanda, used to live with me,” Mrs. Whitehall volunteered. “But since their marriage, they’ve built a house of their own farther down the road. They’re expecting their first child. Jason wants a boy and Amanda a girl.” She grinned. “From the size of her, I’m expecting twins!”

  “When is she due?” Jennifer asked.

  “Any day,” came the answer. “Jason spends part of the time pacing the floor and the other part daring Amanda to lift, move, walk, or breathe hard.” She laughed delightedly. “You’d have to know my son, Miss King, to realize how out of character that is for him. Jason was always such a calm person until Amanda got pregnant. I think it’s been harder on him than it has on her.”

  “Have they been married long?”

  “Six years,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “So happily. They wanted a child very much, but it took a long time for Amanda to become pregnant. It’s been all the world to them, this baby.” She stared around the room at the fading wallpaper and the worn carpet. “I’ve just put this room off for so long. Now I don’t feel I can wait any longer to have it done. Once the baby comes, I’ll have so many other things to think of. What do you suggest, my dear?”

  “I have some sketches,” Jennifer said, drawing out her portfolio.

  Mrs. Whitehall looked over them, sighing. “Just what I wanted. Just exactly what I wanted.” She nodded. “Begin whenever you like, Jennifer. I’ll find somewhere else to sit while the workmen are busy.”

  And so it began. Jennifer spent her mornings at Casa Verde, supervising the work. Afternoons she worked at Everett’s ranch. And amazingly, she never got caught.

  It only took a few days to complete the work. Luckily, she found workmen who were between jobs and could take on a small project. By the end of the week, it was finished.

  “I can’t tell you how impressed I am.” Mrs. Whitehall sighed as she studied the delightful new decor, done in soft green and white an
d dark green.

  “It will be even lovelier when the furniture is delivered tomorrow.” Jennifer grinned. “I’m so proud of it. I hope you like it half as much as I do.”

  “I do, indeed,” Mrs. Whitehall said. “I...”

  The ringing of the phone halted her. She picked up the extension at her side. “Hello?” She sat up straight. “Yes, Jason! When?” She laughed, covering the receiver. “It’s a boy!” She moved her hand. “What are you going to name him? Oh, yes, I like that very much. Joshua Brand Whitehall. Yes, I do. How is Amanda? Yes, she’s tough, all right. Dear, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Now you calm down, dear. Yes, I know it isn’t every day a man has a son. I’ll seen you soon. Yes, dear.”

  She hung up. “Jason’s beside himself,” she said, smiling. “He wanted a boy so much. And they can have others. Amanda will get her girl yet. I must rush.”

  Jennifer stood up. “Congratulations on that new grandbaby,” she said. “And I’ve enjoyed working with you very much.”

  “I’ll drop you off at the ranch on my way,” Mrs. Whitehall offered.

  “It’s a good little way,” Jennifer began, wondering how she’d explain it to Everett. Mrs. Whitehall drove a Mercedes-Benz.

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Whitehall laughed. “It’s no trouble at all. Anyway, I want to talk to you about doing some more rooms. This is delightful. Very creative. I never enjoyed redecorating before, but you make it exciting.”

  After that, how could Jennifer refuse? She got in the car.

  Luckily enough, Everett wasn’t in sight when she reached the ranch. Mrs. Whitehall let her out at the steps and Jennifer rushed inside, nervous and wild-eyed. But the house was empty. She almost collapsed with relief. And best of all, on the hall table was an envelope addressed to her from Houston, from the interior-design agency. She tore it open and found a check and a nice letter offering more work. The check was for the amount Everett needed, plus a little. Jennifer endorsed it, grinning, and went in to fix supper.

  Chapter Six

  EVERETT CAME home just before dark, but he didn’t come into the house. Jennifer had a light supper ready, just cold cuts and bread so there wouldn’t be anything to reheat. When he didn’t appear after she heard the truck stop, she went out to look for him.

  He was standing by the fence, staring at the big Hereford bull he’d wanted so badly. Jennifer stood on the porch and watched him, her heart aching for him. She’d decided already to cash her check first thing in the morning and give it to him at breakfast. But she wondered if she should mention it now. He looked so alone...

  She moved out into the yard, the skirt of her blue shirtwaist dress blowing in the soft, warm breeze.

  “Rett?” she called.

  He glanced at her briefly. “Waiting supper on me again?” he asked quietly.

  “No. I’ve only made cold cuts.” She moved to the fence beside him and stared at the big, burly bull. “He sure is big.”

  “Yep.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He looked very western in his worn jeans, batwing chaps, and close-fitting denim shirt, which was open halfway down his chest. He was a sensuous man, and she loved looking at him. Her eyes went up to his hard mouth and she wondered for what seemed the twentieth time how it would feel on her own. That made her burn with embarrassment, and she turned away.

  “Suppose I offered you what I’ve saved?” she asked.

  “We’ve been through all that. No. Thank you,” he added. “I can’t go deeper in debt, not even to save my bull. I’ll just pay off the note and start over. The price of beef is expected to start going up in a few months. I’ll stand pat until it does.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a double dose of pride?” she asked, exasperated.

  He looked down at her, his eyes shadowed in the dusk by the brim of his hat. “Look who’s talking about pride, for God’s sake,” he returned. “Don’t I remember that you tried to walk back to town carrying a suitcase and a typewriter in the blazing sun with no hat? I had to threaten to tie you in the truck to get you inside it.”

  “I knew you didn’t want me here,” she said simply. “I didn’t want to become a nuisance.”

  “I don’t think I can imagine that. You being a nuisance, I mean.” He took another draw from the cigarette and crushed it out. “I’ve had a good offer for the bull from one of my neighbors. He’s coming over tomorrow to talk to me about it.”

  Well, that gave her time to cash the check and make one last effort to convince him, she thought.

  “Why are you wearing a dress?” he asked, staring down at her. “Trying to catch my eye, by any chance?”

  “Who, me?” she laughed. “As you told me the other day, we don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “You were holding me pretty hard that day the rattlesnake spooked your horse,” he said unexpectedly, and he didn’t smile. “And you didn’t seem to mind too much that I saw you without your shirt.”

  She felt the color work its way into her hairline. “I’d better put supper on the...oh!”

  He caught her before she could move away and brought her gently against the length of his body. His hand snaked around her waist, holding her there, and the other one spread against her throat, arching it.

  “Just stand still,” he said gently. “And don’t start anything. I know damned good and well you’re a virgin. I’m not going to try to seduce you.”

  Her breath was trapped somewhere below her windpipe. She felt her knees go wobbly as she saw the narrowness of his eyes, the hard lines of his face. She’d wanted it so much, but now that it was happening, she was afraid.

  She stilled and let her fingers rest over his shirt, but breathing had become difficult. He felt strong and warm and she wanted to touch his hair-roughened skin. It looked so tantalizing to her innocent eyes.

  He was breathing slowly, steadily. His thumb nudged her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. “You let me look at you,” he said under his breath. “I’ve gone half mad remembering that, wondering how many other men have seen you that way.”

  “No one has,” she replied quietly. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his. She could feel his breath, taste the smokiness of it, smell the leather and tobacco smells of his big, hard body so close to hers. “Only you.”

  His chest rose heavily. “Only me?”

  “I was career-minded,” she said hesitantly. “I didn’t want commitment, so I didn’t get involved. Everett...”

  “No. I don’t want to fight.” He took her hands and slid them up and down over the hard muscles of his chest. His breathing changed suddenly.

  He bent and drew her lower lip down with the soft pressure of his thumb. He fit his own mouth to it with exquisite patience, opening it slowly, tempting it, until she stood very still and closed her eyes.

  His free hand brought her body close against his. The other one slowly undid the top two buttons of her dress and moved inside to her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone. His mouth increased its ardent pressure as his fingers spread, and his breathing became suddenly ragged as he arched her body and found the soft rise of her breast with his whole hand.

  She gasped and instinctively caught his wrist. But he lifted his mouth and looked into her eyes and slowly shook his head. “You’re old enough to be taught this,” he said quietly. “I know how delicate you are here,” he breathed, brushing his fingers over the thin lace. “I’m going to be very gentle, and you’re going to enjoy what I do to you. I promise. Close your eyes, honey.”

  His mouth found hers again, even as he stopped speaking. It moved tenderly on her trembling lips, nibbling, demanding, in a silence bursting with new sensations and promise.

  She clung to his shirtfront, shocked to find that her legs were trembling against his, that her breath was coming quick enough to be audi
ble. She tried to pull away, but his fingers slid quietly under the bra and found bare, vulnerable skin, and she moaned aloud.

  Her nails bit into his chest. “Rett!” she gasped, on fire with hunger and frightened and embarrassed that he could see and feel her reaction to him.

  “Shh,” he whispered at her mouth, gentling her. “It’s all right. It’s all right to let me see. You’re so sweet, Jenny Wren. Like a bright new penny without a single fingerprint except mine.” His mouth touched her closed eyelids, her forehead. His fingers contracted gently, his palm feeling the exquisite tautening of her body as she clung to him and shuddered. “Yes, you like that, don’t you?” he breathed. His mouth brushed her eyelids again, her nose, her mouth. “Jenny, put your hand inside my shirt.”

  His voice was deep and low and tender. She obeyed him blindly, on fire with reckless hunger, needing to touch and taste and feel him. Her hands slid under his shirt and flattened on hair and warm muscle, and he tautened.

  “Does that...make you feel the way...I feel?” she whispered shakily, looking up at him.

  “Exactly,” he whispered back. He moved his hand from her breast to her neck and pressed her face slowly against his bare chest.

  She seemed to sense what he wanted. Her mouth touched him there tentatively, shyly, and he moaned. He smelled of faint cologne and tobacco, and she liked the way his hard muscles contracted where she touched them with her hands and her lips. He was all man. All man. And her world was suddenly narrowed to her senses, and Everett.

  He took her face in his hands and tilted it, bending to kiss her with a hungry ferocity that would have frightened her minutes before. But she went on tiptoe and linked her arms around his neck and gave him back the kiss, opening her mouth under his to incite him to further intimacy, shivering wildly when he accepted the invitation and his tongue went into the sweet darkness in a slow, hungry tasting.