by Gina Wilkins
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Chapter One
Tiffany saw him in the distance, riding the big black stallion. It was spring, and that meant roundup. It was not unusual to see the owner of the Lariat ranch in the saddle at dawn lending a hand to rope a stray calf or help work the branding. Kingman Marshall kept fit with ranch work, and despite the fact that he shared an office and a business partnership with Tiffany’s father in land and cattle, his staff didn’t see a lot of him.
This year, they were using helicopters to mass the far-flung cattle, and they had a corral set up on a wide, flat stretch of land where they could dip the cattle, check them, cut out the calves for branding and separate them from their mothers. It was physically demanding work, and no job for a tenderfoot. King wouldn’t let Tiffany near it, but it wasn’t a front row seat at the corral that she wanted. If she could just get his attention away from the milling cattle on the wide, rolling plain that led to the Guadalupe River, if he’d just look her way...
Tiffany stood up on a rickety lower rung of the gray wood fence, avoiding the sticky barbed wire, and waved her Stetson at him. She was a picture of young elegance in her tan jodhpurs and sexy pink silk blouse and high black boots. She was a debutante. Her father, Harrison Blair, was King’s business partner and friend, and if she chased King, her father encouraged her. It would be a marriage made in heaven. That is, if she could find some way to convince King of it. He was elusive and quite abrasively masculine. It might take more than a young lady of almost twenty-one with a sheltered, monied background to land him. But, then, Tiffany had confidence in herself; she was beautiful and intelligent.
Her long black hair hung to her waist in back, and she refused to have it cut. It suited her tall, slender figure and made an elegant frame for her soft, oval face and wide green eyes and creamy complexion. She had a sunny smile, and it never faded. Tiffany was always full of fire, burning with a love of life that her father often said had been reflected in her long-dead mother.
“King!” she called, her voice clear, and it carried in the early-morning air.
He looked toward her. Even at that distance, she could see that cold expression in his pale blue eyes, on his lean, hard face with its finely chiseled features. He was a rich man. He worked hard, and he played hard. He had women, Tiffany knew so, but he was nothing if not discreet. He was a man’s man, and he lived like one. There was no playful boy in that tall, fit body. He’d grown up years ago, the boyishness driven out of him by a rich, alcoholic father who demanded blind obedience from the only child of his shallow, runaway wife.
She watched him ride toward her, easy elegance in the saddle. He reined in at the fence, smiling down at her with faint arrogance.
“You’re out early, tidbit,” he remarked in a deep, velvety voice with just a hint of Texas drawl.
“I’m going to be twenty-one tomorrow,” she said pertly. “I’m having a big bash to celebrate, and you have to come. Black tie, and don’t you dare bring anyone. You’re mine, for the whole evening. It’s my birthday and on my birthday I want presents—and you’re it. My big present.”
His dark eyebrows lifted with amused indulgence. “You might have told me sooner that I was going to be a birthday present,” he said. “I have to be in Omaha early Saturday.”
“You have your own plane,” she reminded him. “You can fly.”
“I have to sleep sometimes,” he murmured.
“I wouldn’t touch that line with a ten-foot pole,” she drawled, peeking at him behind her long lashes. “Will you come?”
He lit a cigarette, took a long draw and blew it out with slight impatience. “Little girls and their little whims,” he mused. “All right, I’ll whirl you around the floor and toast your coming-of-age, but I won’t stay. I can’t spare the time.”
“You’ll work yourself to death,” she complained, and then became solemn. “You’re only thirty-four and you look forty.”
“Times are hard, honey,” he mused, smiling at the intensity in that glowering young face. “We’ve had low prices and drought. It’s all I can do to keep my financial head above water.”
“You could take the occasional break,” she advised. “And I don’t mean a night on the town. You could get away from it all and just rest.”
“They’re full up at the Home,” he murmured, grinning at her exasperated look. “Honey, I can’t afford vacations, not with times so hard. What are you wearing for this coming-of-age party?” he asked to divert her.
“A dream of a dress. White silk, very low in front, with diamanté straps and a white gardenia in my hair.” She laughed.
He pursed his lips. He might as well humor her. “That sounds dangerous,” he said softly.
“It will be,” she promised, teasing him with her eyes. “You might even notice that I’ve grown up.”
He frowned a little. That flirting wasn’t new, but it was disturbing lately. He found himself avoiding little Miss Blair, without really understanding why. His body stirred even as he looked at her, and he moved restlessly in the saddle. She was years too young for him, and a virgin to boot, according to her doting, sheltering father. All those years of obsessive parental protection had led to a very immature and unavailable girl. It wouldn’t do to let her too close. Not that anyone ever got close to Kingman Marshall, not even his infrequent lovers. He had good reason to keep women at a distance. His upbringing had taught him too well that women were untrustworthy and treacherous.
“What time?” he asked on a resigned note.
“About seven?”
He paused thoughtfully for a minute. “Okay.” He tilted his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes. “But only for an hour or so.”
“Great!”
He didn’t say goodbye. Of course, he never did. He wheeled the stallion and rode off, man and horse so damn arrogant that she felt like flinging something at his tall head. He was delicious, she thought, and her body felt hot all over just looking at him. On the ground he towered over her, lean and hard-muscled and sexy as all hell. She loved watching him.
With a long, unsteady sigh, she finally turned away and remounted her mare. She wondered sometimes why she bothered hero-worshiping such a man. One of these days he’d get married and she’d just die. God forbid that he’d marry anybody but her!
That was when the first shock of reality hit her squarely between the eyes. Why, she had to ask herself, would a man like that, a mature man with all the worldly advantages, want a young and inexperienced woman like herself at his side? The question worried her so badly that she almost lost control of her mount.
The truth of her situation was unpalatable and a little frightening. She’d never even considered a life without King. What if she had to?
She rode home slowly, a little depressed because she’d had to work so hard just to get King to agree to come to her party. And still haunting her was that unpleasant speculation about a future without King...
But she perked up when she thought of the evening ahead. King didn’t come to the house often, only when her father wanted to talk business away from work, or occasionally for drinks with some of her father’s acquaintances. To have him come to a party was new and stimulating. Especially if it ended the way she planned. She had her sights well and truly set on the big rancher. Now all she had to do was take aim!
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6661-2
VALENTINE BABY
Copyright © 1998 by Gina Wilkins
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