Donavan

by Diana Palmer

  “What are we celebrating?” Fay asked breathlessly as Donavan swung her around and around to the quick beat of the music.

  “Who cares?” He chuckled.

  She shook her head. In all her life, she couldn’t remember being so happy or feeling so carefree. If she died tomorrow, it would be worth it, because she had tonight to remember. So she drank warm beer that tasted better with each sip, and she danced in Donavan’s lean, strong arms, and rested against his muscular chest and breathed in the scent of him until she was more drunk on the man than the liquor.

  Finally the frantic pace died down and there was a slow two-step. She melted into Donavan, sliding her arms around him with the kind of familiarity that usually came from weeks of togetherness. She seemed to fit against him, like a soft glove. He smelled of tobacco and beer and the whole outdoors, and the feel of his body so close to hers was delightfully exciting. His arms enfolded her, both of them wrapped close around her, and for a few minutes there was nobody else in the world. She heard the music as if through a fog of pure pleasure, her body reacting to the closeness of his in a way it had never reacted before. She felt a tension that was disturbing, and a kind of throbbing ache in her lower body that she’d never experienced. Being close to him was becoming intolerable. She caught her breath and pulled away a little, raising eyes full of curious apprehension to his.

  He searched her face quietly, aware of her fear and equally aware of the cause of it. He smiled gently. “It’s all right,” he said quietly.

  She frowned. “I…I don’t quite understand what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “Maybe the beer…”

  “There’s no need to pretend. Not with me.” He framed her face in his lean hands and bent, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. “We’d better go.”

  “Must we?” she sighed.

  He nodded. “It’s late.” He caught her hand in his and tugged her along to the truck. He was feeling something of the same reckless excitement she was, except that he was older and more adept at controlling it. He knew that she’d wanted him while they were dancing, but things were getting ahead of him. He didn’t need a rich society girl in his life. God knew, one had been the ruin of his family. People around Jacobsville, Texas, still remembered how his father had gone pell-mell after a local debutante without any scruples about how he forced her to marry him, right on the heels of his wife’s funeral, too. Donavan had turned bitter trying to live down the family scandal. Miss High Society here would find it out eventually. Better not to start something he couldn’t finish, even if she did cause an inconvenient ache in his body. No doubt she’d had half a dozen men, but she might be addictive—and he couldn’t risk finding out she was.

  She was pleasantly relaxed when they got back to the deserted bar where she’d left her Mercedes. The spell had worn off a little, and her head had cleared. But with that return to reality came the unpleasantness of having to go home and face the music. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, and they were going to be angry. Really angry.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, turning to Donavan after she unlocked her car. “It was a magical night.”

  “For me, too.” He opened the door for her. “Stay out of my part of town, debutante,” he said gently. “You don’t belong here.”

  Her green eyes searched his gray ones. “I hate my life,” she said.

  “Change it,” he replied. “You can if you want to.”

  “I’m not used to fighting.”

  “Get used to it. Life doesn’t give, it takes. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

  “So they say.” She toyed with her car keys. “But in my world, the fighting gets dirty.”

  “It does in mine, too. That never stopped me. Don’t let it stop you.”

  She lowered her eyes to the hard chest that had pillowed her head while they danced. “I won’t forget you.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he murmured dryly, flicking a long strand of hair away from her face. “I’m not looking for complications or ties. Not ever. Your world and mine wouldn’t mix. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

  “You just told me to,” she pointed out, lifting her face to his.

  “Not in my direction,” he emphasized. He smiled at her. The action made him look younger, less formidable. “Go home.”

  She sighed. “I guess I should. You wouldn’t like to kiss me good-night, I guess?” she added with lifted eyebrows.

  “I would,” he replied. “Which is why I’m not going to. Get in the car.”

  “Men,” she muttered. She glared at him, but she got into the car and closed the door.

  “Drive carefully,” he said. “And wear your seat belt.”

  She fastened it, but not because of his order—she usually wore a seat belt. She spared him one long, last look before she started the car and pulled away. When she drove onto the main highway, he was already driving off in the other direction, and without looking back. She felt a sense of loss that shocked her, as if she’d given up part of herself. Maybe she had. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another human being.

  Her father and mother had never been really close to her. They’d had their own independent lives, and they almost never included her in any of their activities. She’d grown up with housekeepers and governesses for companionship, and with no brothers or sisters for company. From lonely child to lonely woman, she’d gone through the motions of living. But she’d never felt that anyone would really mind if she died.

  That hadn’t changed when she’d come out to Jacobsville, Texas, to live with her mother’s brother, Uncle Henry Rollins. He wasn’t well-to-do, but he wanted to be. He wasn’t above using his control over Fay’s estate to provide the means to entertain. Fay hadn’t protested, but she’d just realized tonight how lax she’d been in looking out for her own interests. Uncle Henry had invited his business partner to supper and hadn’t told Fay until the last minute. She was tired of having Sean thrown at her, and she’d rebelled, running out the door to her car.

  It had been almost comical, bowlegged Uncle Henry rushing after her, huffing and puffing as he tried to match his bulk to her slender swiftness and lost. She hadn’t known where she was going, but she’d wound up at the bar. Fate had sent her there, perhaps, to a man who made her see what a docile child she’d become, when she was an independent woman. Well, things were going to change. Starting now.

  Donavan had fascinated her. She tingled, just remembering how he hadn’t even had to lift a hand in the bar to make the man who’d been worrying her back down. He was the stuff of which romantic fantasies were made. But he didn’t like rich women.

  It would be nice, she thought, if Donavan had fallen madly in love with her and started searching for her. That would be improbable, though, since he didn’t have a clue as to her real identity. She didn’t know his, either, come to think of it; all she knew was what he did for a living. But he could have been stretching the truth a little. He hadn’t sounded quite forceful when he’d said he was a foreman.

  Well, it didn’t really matter, she thought sadly. She’d never see him again. But it had been a memorable meeting altogether, and she knew she’d never forget him. Not ever.

  Chapter 2

  The feedlot office was quiet, and Fay York was grateful for the respite. It had been a hectic two weeks since she started this, her first job. She was still faintly amazed at her own courage and grit, because she’d never thought she’d be able to actually do it. She’d surprised her uncle Henry as much as herself when she’d announced her plans to get a job and become independent until her inheritance came through.

  It had been because of Donavan that she’d done it. Her evening with him had changed her life. He’d made it possible for her to believe in herself. He’d given her a kind of self-confidence that she hadn’t thought possible.

  But it hadn’t been easy, and she’d been scared to death the morning she’d walked into the office of the gigantic Ballenger feedlot to ask for a
job.

  Barry Holman, the local attorney who was to handle her inheritance, had suggested that she see Justin Ballenger about work, because his secretary was out having a baby and Calhoun Ballenger’s wife, Abby, had been reluctantly filling in.

  She could still remember her shock when she’d gone to Mr. Holman to ask for a living allowance until her inheritance came through, something that would give her a little independence from her overbearing uncle.

  That was when the blow fell. “I’m sorry,” Holman said. “But there’s no provision for any living allowance. According to the terms of the will, you can’t inherit until you’re twenty-one. Until that time, the executor of your parents’ estate has total control of your money.”

  She gasped. “You mean I don’t have any money unless Uncle Henry gives it to me?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “I realize it probably seems terribly unfair to you, Fay, but your parents must have thought they were doing the right thing.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, feeling sick. She wrapped her arms around her body. “What will I do?”

  “What you originally planned. Go ahead and get a job. You’ll only need it for a couple of weeks, until you get your inheritance.”

  The statement helped her fight out of her misery. Involuntarily, she smiled, liking the blond attorney. He was in his early thirties, very good-looking and successful. He was married, because on his desk was a photograph of a young woman with long, brown hair holding a baby.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Don’t worry, you won’t even have to look far for a job. I just happen to know of an opening. Know anything about cattle?”

  She hesitated. “Not really.”

  “Do you mind working around them?”

  “Not if I don’t have to brand them,” she murmured dryly.

  He laughed. “It won’t come to that. The Ballenger brothers are looking for a temporary secretary. Their full-time one was pregnant and just had a complicated delivery. She’ll be out about two months and they’re looking for someone to fill in. Calhoun Ballenger’s wife has been trying to handle it, but you’d be a godsend right now. Can you type?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I can handle a computer, too. I took several college courses before my parents died and I had to come out here to comply with the terms of their will.”

  “Good!”

  “But surely they’ve found someone…”

  “There aren’t that many people available for part-time work,” he said. “Mostly high-school students, and they don’t like the environment that goes with the job.”

  She grinned. “I won’t care, as long as I make enough to pay my rent.”

  “You will. Here.” He scribbled an address. “Go and see Justin or Calhoun. Tell them I sent you. Trust me,” he added, rising to shake hands with her. “You’ll like them.”

  “I hope so. I sure don’t like my uncle much at the moment.”

  He nodded. “I can understand that. But Henry isn’t a bad man, you know. And there could be more to this than meets the eye,” he added reluctantly.

  That statement gave her cold chills. The way Uncle Henry had been throwing her headlong at a rich bachelor friend of his made her uneasy. “I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Do you know just how my uncle’s been managing my affairs in the past two months?”

  “Not yet,” Barry Holman replied. “I’ve asked for an accounting, but he’s refused to turn over any documents to me until the day you turn twenty-one.”

  “That doesn’t sound promising,” she said nervously. “I understood my father to say he had at least two million dollars tied up in trust for me. Surely Uncle Henry couldn’t have gone through that in a few weeks, could he?”

  “I hardly think so,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Go and see the Ballengers. Good luck.”

  “I think I’ll need it, but thanks for your help,” she said as she left the office.

  The Ballenger feedlot was a mammoth operation. During the short time she’d been in Jacobsville, Fay had never gotten a good look at it. Now, up close, the sheer enormity of it was staggering. So was the relative cleanliness of the operation and the attention to sanitation.

  It was Justin Ballenger who interviewed her. He was tall and rangy, not at all handsome, but kind and courteous.

  “You understand that this would only be a temporary job?” he emphasized, leaning forward. “Our secretary, Nita, is only going to be out long enough to recuperate from her C-section and have a few weeks with their new baby.”

  “Yes, Mr. Holman told me about that,” Fay said. “I don’t mind. I only need something temporary until I get used to being on my own. I was living with my uncle but the situation was pretty uncomfortable.” Without meaning to, she went on to explain what had happened, finding in Justin a sympathetic listener.

  Justin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Your uncle is a mercenary man. I think you did the right thing. Make sure Barry keeps a close watch on your holdings.”

  “He’s doing that.” She gnawed her lower lip worriedly. “You won’t mention it to anyone…?”

  “It’s nobody’s business but yours,” he agreed. “As far as we know, you’re strictly a working girl who had a minor disagreement with her kin. Fair enough?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, smiling. “I’m not really much more than a working girl, since everything is tied up in trust. But only for a few more weeks.” She smiled. “Money doesn’t really mean that much to me. Honestly I’d rather marry someone who loved me than someone who just wanted an easy life.”

  “You’re a wise girl,” he replied quietly. “Shelby and I both felt like that. We’re not poor, but it wouldn’t matter if we were. We have each other, and our boys. We’re very lucky.”

  She smiled, because she’d heard about Shelby Ballenger and the circumstances that had finally led to her marriage to Justin. It was a real love story. “Maybe I’ll get lucky like that one day,” she said, thinking about Donavan.

  “Well, if you want the job under those conditions, it’s yours,” he said after a minute. “Welcome aboard. Come on and I’ll introduce you to my brother.”

  He preceded her down the hall, where a tall blond man was poring over figures on sheets of paper scattered all over his desk.

  “This is Fay York,” he said, introducing her. “Fay, my brother, Calhoun.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said sincerely, and shook hands. “I hope I can help you keep things in order while Nita’s away.”

  “Abby will get down and kiss your shoes,” Calhoun assured her. “She’s been trying to keep one of our boys in school and the other two in day care and take care of the house while she worked in Nita’s place this week. She’s already threatened to open all the gates if we didn’t do something to help her.”

  “I’m glad I needed a job, then,” she said.

  “So are we.”

  Abby came barreling in with an armload of files, her black hair askew around her face, her blue-gray eyes wide and curious when they met Fay’s green ones.

  “Please be my replacement,” she said with such fervor that Fay laughed helplessly. “Do you take bribes? I can get you real chocolate truffles and mocha ice cream…”

  “No need. I’ve already accepted the job while Nita is out with her baby,” Fay assured the other woman. “Oh, thank God!” she sighed, dropping the files on her husband’s desk. She grinned at Calhoun. “Thank you, too, darling. I’ll make you a big beef stew for dinner, with homemade rolls.”

  “Don’t just stand there, go home!” he burst out. He grinned sheepishly at Fay. “She makes the best rolls in town. I’ve been eating hot dogs for so many days that I bark, because it’s all I can cook! This has been hard on my stomach.”

  “And on my stamina.” Abby laughed. “The boys have missed me. Well, I’ll show you what to do, Fay, then I’ll rush right home and start dough rising.”

  Fay followed her back to the desk
out front and listened carefully and made notes while Abby briefed her on the routine and showed her how to fill in the forms. She went over the basics of feedlot operation as well, so that Fay would understand what she was doing.

  “You make it sound very easy, but it isn’t, is it?”

  “No,” Abby agreed. “Especially when you deal with some of our clients. J. D. Langley alone is enough to make a saint throw in the towel.”

  “Is he a rancher?”

  “He’s a…” Abby cleared her throat. “Yes, he’s a rancher. But most of the cattle he deals in are other people’s. He’s general manager of the Mesa Blanco ranch combine.”

  “I don’t know much about ranching, but I’ve heard of them.”

  “Most everybody has. J.D.’s good at his job, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a perfectionist when it comes to diet and handling of cattle. He saw one of the men use a cattle prod on some of his stock once and he jumped the man, right over a rail. We can’t afford to turn down his business, but he makes things difficult. You’ll find that out for yourself. Nobody crosses J.D. around Jacobsville.”

  “Is he rich?”

  “No. He has plenty of power because of the job he does for Mesa Blanco, but it’s his temperament that makes people jump when he speaks. J.D. would be arrogant in rags. He’s just that kind of man.”

  Abby’s description brought to mind another man, a rangy cowboy who’d given her the most magical evening of her life. She smiled sadly, thinking that she’d probably never see him again. Walking into that bar had been an act of desperation and bravado. She’d never have the nerve to do it twice. It would look as if she were chasing him, and he’d said at the time that there was no future in it. She’d driven by the bar two or three times, but she couldn’t manage enough courage to go in again.

  “Is Mr. Langley married?” Fay asked.

  “There’s no woman brave enough, anywhere,” Abby said shortly. “His father’s marriage soured him on women. He’s been something of a playboy in past years, but he’s settled somewhat since he’s been managing the Mesa Blanco companies. There’s a new president of the company who’s a hard-line conservative, so J.D.’s toned down his playboy image. There’s talk of the president giving that job to a man who’s married and settled and has kids. The only child in J.D.’s life, ever, is a nephew in Houston, his sister’s child. His sister died.” She shook her head. “I can’t really imagine J.D. with a child. He isn’t the fatherly type.”