Michael's Father

by Dallas Schulze

  **rm not sorry,*' he said, just when Megan had begun to think he wasn't going to answer the question. His fingers tightened over hers for an instant and then he released her and stepped back.

  **Good." She could barely get the word past the knot in her throat. If she had an ounce of sense, she'd get into her car and leave this place, she thought as he turned toward the big house. But she was starting to think that she didn't have even an ounce of sense. At least not when it came to Kel Bryan.

  She smelled of roses and sunshine, a soft, elusive scent that teased at the edge of his senses, making him want to move closer to discover its source. Had she dabbed perfume on the soft curve of her neck or dusted powder over her slender body when she stepped from the shower? If he were to sUde open the buttons of her mint green camp shirt and bury his face in her breasts, would they smell of roses?

  And even if they did, would he be able to tell with the broken nose M^an would probably give him? Kel wondered ruefully. It had been a long time since he'd found his physical responses so difficult to control. He didn't like the feeling.

  He should have called Carla while he was in Casper. There was nothing mystical about his reaction to

  Megan Roarke. It was caused by nothing more than a healthy sex drive. An afternoon spent in Carta's wide bed, enjoying her uninhibited response, and his fingers wouldn't be itching to loosen the neat French braid that confined Megan's hair. He'd probably hardly even notice her slender body.

  Yeah, right. And if he could convince himself of that one, maybe he should try selling himself some ocean-view property in Arizona.

  Megan found herself having to speed her pace to keep up with Kel as he gave her a brisk tour of the house, showing her through her new—and possibly very temporary—domain. She had the distinct feeling that he was anxious to get the tour over with. And to get away from her?

  Well, he couldn't be any more anxious to part company than she was. Kel Bryan's large presence set her nerve endings aj angle, making it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, making it difficult to think clearly at all. Once he was gone, she'd go through the house on her own and figure out where things were. At the moment, she couldn't remember whether the door he'd just shut concealed the linen closet or a bathroom.

  **I think that's about it," he said.

  "It's a beautiful house." That much she'd managed to absorb.

  "My grandfather built it for my grandmother. She came from a wealthy Virginia family, and he wanted her to have some of the comforts she was accustomed to, even out here in the back of beyond."

  "She must have been very happy here."

  "Not so's you'd notice." Kel's mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "She moved back to ^rginia when my father was four and never set foot west of the Mississippi again."

  "It must have been difficult for your father, with parents on opposite ends of the country." . "Not really. He never saw her again. He was part of the mistake my grandmother put behind her."

  "I think divorce is always hardest on the children," Megan said, remembering her own parents' divorce and the vicious quarrels that had come both before and after.

  "A bad marriage is even harder."

  Megan wondered if he spoke from experience. Had his parents' marriage been bad? His own? When he'd described the job to her, he'd said that he wasn't married, but that didn't mean he hadn't been in the past.

  "I've got things I need to do," Kel said, glancing at his watch. "Do you have any questions?"

  None that she had any right to ask, Megan shook her head.

  "Colleen ought to be able to tell you anything you need to know," Kel said as they went downstairs. "Figure on four for dinner, including yourself."

  Which answered the question of whether or not he expected her to eat with the family, Megan thought, watching him take a hat from the old-fashioned brass hat rack near the front door. He settled the gray Stetson on his head and turned to look at her.

  Megan felt her breath catch a little as those green eyes raked over her. He looked as if he was about to say something but then changed his mind. Lifting his

  hand in quick farewell, he turned and left. It wasn't until he was gone that she realized she'd been holding her breath. She released it on a sigh.

  **Kel tends to have that effect on people.** Colleen Bryan's voice came from behind, and Megan turned to look at her.

  "What effect?" she asked a little warily. Was her attraction to the girl's brother that obvious?

  **Sort of a steamroller effect," Colleen said, limping out of the living room and into the big entryway. Kel had introduced her to his younger sister when she first arrived. She was struck again by the strong family resemblance between them. The reddish highlights in Kel's hair were deepened to a fiery auburn in his younger sister, and the stubborn set of Colleen's chin was a softer, feminine copy of her brother's iron jaw.

  **Sort of a let-out-a-sigh-of-relief-when-he's-gone effect," Colleen added, stopping a few feet away.

  "He is a little overwhelming," Megan agreed, though if she was honest, she'd have to admit that her sigh had been as much regret as relief.

  **I bet he took you through the house at a dead run," Colleen said.

  "Well ... it was a quick tour," Megan admitted.

  "Kel's not the domestic sort." Colleen's smile was friendly but there was more sadness in her eyes than any girl her age should feel.

  "I guess it's a good thing he can afford to hire a housekeeper, then."

  "I suppose you're wondering why I'm not taking over the housework and cooking while Mrs. Ca-venaugh is gone this simmier." There was a hint of

  challenge in the girl's eyes, which were the same vivid green as her brother's.

  **I figured you weren't the domestic sort, eithCT."

  **Oh." Colleen's chin came down a notch. "I'm not, but I thought you might have figured it was because of this." She gestured to her left leg.

  "I noticed that you limp, if that's what you're getting at."

  **I don't see how you could help but notice it," Colleen muttered.

  *'But I don't have any way of knowing whether it prevents you from wielding a broom or a skillet," Megan finished calmly. "Does it?"

  **No. Well, not much, anyway," the girl amended. **Kel doesn't think I can do the heavier stuff. Besides, I think he wants you to keep an eye on me, the way Grade, our old housekeeper, did." There was both challenge and uncertainty in her look, and Megan felt her heart break just a little for all that youthful pride.

  "If that's what your brother had in mind, he didn't say anything about it to me," she said, glad she could speak honestly. "As far as I know, I'm just here to cook and clean house. And I'm here on a trial basis, even for that. You look a little too old to require a baby-sitter."

  "That's what Kel said when I asked him. He said he just wanted to make sure we didn't starve to death. I'm not much good in the kitchen, either," Colleen admitted. "I've spent a lot more time on a horse than I have at a stove."

  "Well, I know considerably more about stoves than I do about horses, so that makes us even." Megan

  glanced at her watch and saw that it was a little past noon. "Why don't I start earning my salary by making us both some lunch? Maybe you could keep me company and fill me in on anything your brother might have forgotten."

  Colleen hesitated a moment before nodding, and M^an was reminded of a half-wild kitten, wanting to make friends but skittish about the process.

  Colleen sat down at the kitchen table, and Megan pretended not to hear her stifled sigh of rehef as she took the weight off her leg. Kel's tour of the kitchen had consisted of stepping through the door long enough to confirm that it was indeed the room he'd claimed. It would take a while to figure out where everything was, but for the moment she found everything she needed in the big refrigerator. With the ingredients for a salad lined up on the counter in front of her, Megan glanced over her shoulder to find Colleen watching her.

  "What happened to your leg?" she asked, decidin
g that it was better to get the subject out in the open rather than skirt around its edges for the next week.

  "A riding accident." Colleen looked startled but not offended. "It was broken in three places. I was out on the range and it took a while to get help."

  "Were you alone?" Tbming to get the salt and pepper shakers, Megan saw the girl flush and then pale, her pretty mouth tightening a little as she looked down at the table.

  "No. I wasn't alone."

  Something in her tone told Megan that she'd touched a sore point. Odd that the accident itself

  didn't seem to be taboo, but her companion was. She wondered if she'd be on the Lazy B long enough to find out the whole story.

  "How long ago was the accident?" She slivered some ham and scattered it over the top of the lettuce.

  "Six months. And I still walk like Toulouse-Lautrec."

  Megan chuckled at the description, and after a startled moment Colleen smiled sheepishly. Megan was willing to bet that no one on the Lazy B had dared to laugh at the girl's dramatic description.

  "You're too tall to be Toulouse-Lautrec," she said as she brought the bowls of salad to the table and set them down. "And I don't think you're tall enough to be Ken Curtis."

  "Who's Ken Curtis?"

  "On Gunsmoke. He was a deputy or something and he limped. Or was it Dennis Weaver who limped?" Megan frowned, trying to remember. "It doesn't matter," she said, shrugging. "I think you're too short to be either one of them. What would you like to drink?"

  "There's some iced tea in the green pitcher," Colleen said. She watched Megan take the plastic pitcher out and fill two glasses. "Aren't you uncomfortable? Talking about my leg, I mean?" she asked, sounding a little bewildered and very young.

  "Should I be?" Megan sat down and looked at the girl across the oak table.

  "Everyone else is. They just tell me that I'm going to get better."

  "Are you?"

  "I...don't know." Colleen sighed and looked at her leg as if she might be able to read the answer there. **Maybe..."

  She let her voice trail off, and Megan was surprised by the urge to put her arms around the girl and tell her that of course everything was going to be all right. Good grief, what was it about the Bryan family that they brought out such strong reactions in her?

  ''Well, as long as it's still a maybe, it seems a little soon to be giving up, don't you think?" She kept her voice brisk, sensing that Colleen had had more than enough sympathy.

  "That's what they keep saying," Colleen muttered.

  *'Maybe you should believe them."

  "Maybe." The word sounded a Uttle less doubtful this time. The girl looked at Megan, her emerald eyes surprised and curious. "I don't know why I'm talking to you about this. I bite Kel's head off every time he brings it up."

  "Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."

  "I guess." Colleen picked up her fork and poked absently through the salad. "Kel worries a lot. And he fusses at me. You know how family is."

  Megan gave what she hoped was an understanding smile. No, actually, she didn't know how family was. Not the kind of family Colleen was talking about. She couldn't remember her parents or her grandparents ever worrying about her, other than to worry about who was going to get stuck taking care of her. It must be nice to have someone fuss at you, she thought wistfully.

  **Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Colleen asked.

  **rm an only child." And a good thing, too. Her grandparents had been reluctant enough about rearing one grandchild. Heaven knew what they'd have done if her mother had dumped two children on their doorstep.

  The conversation moved on to other, less personal topics, and by the end of the meal, they'd established the b^mnings of a friendship. Colleen's physical therapist arrived soon after lunch, and she and Colleen disappeared into the sim room for a session of torture—at least that was Colleen's description.

  Megan spent some time unpacking in the room Kel had said was hers. She could enjoy spending a summer here, she thought, looking out one of the big multipaned windows that made the room seem bigger than it was. Rolling hills and scrubby vegetation stretched as far as the eye could see. It wasn't a pretty landscape and it lacked the deep green beauty of the Minnesota woods that had bordered her grandparents* farm.

  She'd lived there from the time she was eight until she left home at eighteen, and the woods had been her sanctuary, a place where she felt welcomed in a way she'd never been in the tidy Uttle farmhouse.

  Certainly this was a very different landscape, but she fancied she felt a similar acceptance, a feeling of homecoming. Oh, yes, she could be happy here, if she got a chance to stay.

  Her gaze sharpened as a black horse cantered around the side of the house. There might be any

  number of men on the ranch who wore a gray Stetson and whose shoulders filled out a blue chambray shirt. The rider didn't have to be Kel Bryan. It wasn't reasonable to assume that it was. But her pulse was suddenly beating faster and she felt breathless. And reasonable or not, she knew exactly who it was astride the big black horse.

  As if sensing her gaze, he tilted his head and looked directly at her. His hat shadowed his eyes, but M^an could feel them raking over her, leaving tingling awareness in their wake. She told herself to step back from the window, maybe give him a casual wave first. But she stayed where she was, incapable of movement.

  The moment seemed to stretch forever but it could only have been a matter of seconds before Kel looked away, giving some subtle signal to the horse that sent it cantering away from the house. Megan watched him go, feeling as if she'd just run a race in hundred-degree weather, all breathless and weak-kneed.

  Chapters

  C-/olleen helped with the dinner preparations, mostly by pointing out where things were and saving Megan the trouble of constantly searching through the cupboards. Just as she had at lunch, Megan found the girl pleasant company. She had the impression that Colleen didn't go out much, and it wasn't hard to guess that it was because of the injury to her leg. No doubt the limp made her feel conspicuous, and at nineteen it would seem much easier to hide away than to tough out the inevitable curious looks. But the isolation was lonely.

  Well, no one knew better than she did what it was to be lonely and hungry for someone to talk to. She'd spent most of her childhood perfecting those emotions, she thought ruefully. The memory warmed her response to Colleen, and by the time dinner was on the

  table. Colleen was talking as if they'd known each other for years rather than hours.

  Kel walked into the kitchen and found his sister and his new housekeeper laughing together. He stopped just inside the doorway, struck by two things at once. The first was that he hadn't heard Colleen laugh nearly often enough these past months. The second was that Megan Roarke seemed to grow more attractive every time he saw her.

  She'd been stirring something on the stove but, as if feeling his gaze, she turned toward him. Their eyes clashed across the big kitchen. She was flushed from the heat of whatever she was cooking—and whatever it was smelled damned good, he noticed absently. The French braid that held her hair was a Uttle less neat than it had been when she arrived. Soft tendrils of moonlight-colored hair had slipped loose to curl against her forehead and neck. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek, a smattering of tomato sauce on the plain white apron she'd wrapped around her slender waist, not a trace of lipstick on her soft mouth.

  And it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from walking across the kitchen to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

  **Kel." Colleen's voice held more Ufe than he'd heard in weeks. "Megan made spaghetti for dinner and homemade French bread."

  "You made bread?" So that was part of what he'd been smelling, he thought, his eyes finding the towel-wrapped loaves on the counter.

  "You can't have spaghetti without garlic toast," she said. Her voice was a little breathless, and he won-

  dered if it was because she'd been working or because her
pulse was as erratic as his.

  "There's plenty of bread in the freezer," he said. He'd been holding his hat, and now he set it on one of the hooks next to the door. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into thick dark waves.

  "It's not the same as fresh."

  He studied her for a moment and then his mouth curved in a slow smile. "Rolling out the big guns early?"

  Megan widened her eyes innocently, but he saw the laughter in them and knew she understood his question. She was out to persuade him to keep her on after the trial week was up and she wasn't above using homemade bread as a bribe.

  "Don't you like fresh bread?"

  "Yeah, I like it." Worse, he was starting to think he might like her, too.

  Kel became aware of his little sister's curious gaze darting back and forth between the two of them and he quickly subdued the lingering trace of a smile as he went to the sink to wash his hands. He sometimes forgot that Colleen was not a little girl anymore. She was definitely old enough to pick up on any hint of something personal going on between her brother and the new housekeeper.

  Megan turned to the stove and gave the spaghetti sauce a quick stir, aware that her fingers were not quite steady. Kel Bryan was one potent hunk of male pulchritude. In fact she'd never met a more pulchritudi-nous man in her Ufe. But just because he set butterflies

  aflutter in her stomach, that didn't mean she had to lose control of the situation. If only she knew what the situation was.

  The fourth person at dinner turned out to be a friend of the family named Gun Lars^i. According to KeFs introduction. Gun was working on the Lazy B for the summer. Megan couldn't remember ever being in the same room with so much pure masculine beauty—or so much sheer size, she added, looking from one man to the other. Was it something in the Wyoming water that caused men to grow to the size of redwoods? Or had she just stumbled into the land of the giants?

  Gun matched Kel inch for inch in height. She wouldn't have thought it possible but his shoulders were even broader and his hands looked big enough to crush granite boulders like cream puffs. But the resemblance between the two men ended with their size. Gun's hair was the color of just ripened wheat and his eyes were a clear, laughing blue.