Cattleman's Pride

by Diana Palmer

  She closed her eyes and lifted up on her tiptoes as she felt the slow, soft press of her own lips against his for the first time.

  Her knees were weak. She didn't think they were going to support her. And still Jordan didn't move, didn't respond.

  Frustrated, she tried to lift up higher, her arms circled his neck and pulled, trying to make his mouth firm and deepen above hers. But she couldn't budge him.

  “Oh, you arrogant!”

  It was the opening he'd been waiting for. His mouth crushed down against her open lips and his arms contracted hungrily. Libby moaned sharply at the rush of sensation it caused in her body. It had never been like this in her life. She was burning alive. She ached. She longed. She couldn't get close enough.

  “Hey, Jordan!”The distant shout broke the spell . Jordan jerked his head around to see one of his men waving a wide-brimmed

  hat and gesturing toward a pickup truck that was driving right out into the pasture where Jordan was putting those pregnant heifers.

  “It's the feed supplement I ordered,” he murmured, let ting her go slowly. “Damn his timing.”

  He didn't smile when he said that. She couldn't manage even a word.

  He touched her softly swollen mouth with his fingertips. “Maybe you could take me on a date and we could get

  lost on some deserted country road,” he suggested.

  She took a breath and shook her head to clear it. “I do not seduce men in parked cars,” she pointed out.

  He snapped his fingers. “Damn!”

  “He's waving at you again,” she noted, looking over his shoulder.

  “All right, I'll go to work. But I'll send Curt on home.” He touched her cheek. “Be careful, okay?”

  She managed a weak smile. “Okay.”

  He turned and vaulted the fence, mounting George with the ease of years of practice as a horseman. “See you.”

  She nodded and watched him ride away. Her life had just changed course, in the most unexpected way.

  Chapter Three

  But all Jordan's worry and Libby's unease was for nothing. When she got home, Janet's Mercedes was gone. There was a terse little note on the hall table that read, Gone to Houston shopping, back tomorrow.

  Even as she was reading it, Curt came in the back door, bareheaded and sweaty.

  “She's gone?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Left a note. She's gone to Houston and won't be back until tomorrow.”

  “Great. It'll give me time to put locks on the bedroom doors,” he said.

  She sighed. “Jordan's been talking to you, hasn't he?” she asked.

  “Yes, and he's been kissing you, apparently,” he murmured, grinning. “Old Harry had to yell himself hoarse to get Jordan's attention when they brought those feed supplements out.” She flushed. She couldn't think of a single defense. But she hadn't heard Harry yelling, except one time. No wonder people were talking.

  “Interested in you, is he?” Curt asked softly.

  “He wanted me to ask him out on a date and get him lost on a dirt road,” she said.

  “And you said?”

  She moved restively. “I said that I didn't seduce men in parked cars on deserted roads, of course,” she assured him.

  He looked solemn. “Sis, we've never really talked about Jordan.”

  “And we really don't need to, now,” she interrupted. “I'm a big girl and I know all about Jordan. He's only

  teasing. I'm older and he's doing it in a different way, that's all.”

  Curt wasn't smiling. “He isn't.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, it doesn't matter. He's not a marrying man and I'm not a frivolous woman.

  Besides, his tastes run to beauty queens and state senators' daughters.” He hesitated.

  She smiled before he could say anything else. “Let it drop. We've got enough on our minds now without adding more to them. Let's rush to the hardware store and buy locks before she gets back.”

  He shrugged and let it go. There would be another time to discuss Jordan Powell.

  When Libby got home from work Tuesday evening she was still reeling from the shocking news that a fed up

  Violet had quit her job and gone to work for Dick Wright. Blake Kemp had not taken the news well. Her mood lifted when she found Jordan's big burgundy double cabbed pickup truck sitting in her front yard. He was sitting on the side of the truck bed, whittling a piece of wood with a pocket knife, his broad-brimmed hat pushed way back on his head. He looked up at her approach and jumped down to meet her.

  “You're late,” he complained.

  She got out of her car, grabbing her purse on the way. “I had to stay late and type up some notes for Mr. Kemp.”

  He scowled. “That's Violet's job.”

  “Violet's leaving,” she said on a sigh. “She's going to work for Duke Wright.”

  “But she's crazy for Kemp, isn't she?” Jordan wondered.

  She scowled at him. “You aren't supposed to know that,” she pointed out.

  “Everybody knows that.” He looked around the yard. “Janet hasn't shown up. Curt said she'd gone to Houston.”

  “That's what the note said,” she agreed, walking beside him to the front porch. “Curt put the locks on last night.”

  “I know. I asked him.”

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Want some coffee?”

  “I'd love some. Eggs? Bacon? Cinnamon toast?” he added.

  “Oh, I see,” she mused with a grin. “Annie's gone and you're starving, huh?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “She didn't have to leave. I only yelled a little.”

  “You shouldn't scare her. She's old.”

  “Dirt's old. Annie's a spring chicken.” He chuckled. “Anyway, she was shopping for antique furniture on the

  Internet and she found a side table she couldn't live without in San Antonio. She drove up to look at it. She said she'd see me in a couple of days.”

  “And you're starving.”

  “You make the nicest scrambled eggs, Libby,” he coaxed. “Nice crisp bacon. Delicious cinnamon toast, Strong coffee.”

  “It isn't the time of day for breakfast.”

  “No law that you can't have breakfast for supper,” he pointed out.

  She sighed. “I was planning a beef casserole.”

  “It won't go with scrambled eggs.”

  She put her hands on her hips and gave him a considering look. “You really are a pain, Jordan.”

  He moved a step closer and caught her by the waist with two big lean hands. “If you want me to marry you, you have to prove that you're a good cook.”

  “Marry?”

  Before she could get another word out, his mouth crushed down over her parted lips. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, his big hands steely at her waist, as if he were keeping them there by sheer will when he wanted to pull her body much closer to his own.

  Her hands rested on his clean shirt while she tried to decide if he was kidding. He had to be. Certainly he didn't want to marry anybody. He'd said so often enough.

  He lifted his head scant inches. “Stop doing that.”

  She blinked. “Doing what?”

  “Thinking. You can't kiss a man and do analytical formulae in your head at the same time.”

  “You said you'd never marry anybody.”

  His eyes were oddly solemn. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

  Before she could answer him, he bent his head and kissed her again. This time it wasn't a soft, teasing sample of a kiss. It was bold, brash, invasive and possessive. He enveloped her in his hard arms and crushed her down the length of his powerful body. She felt a husky groan go into her mouth as he grew more insistent.

  Against her hips, she felt the sudden hardness of his body. As if he realized that and didn't like having her feel it, he moved away a breath. Slowly, he lifted his hard mouth from her swollen lips and looked down at her quietly, curiously.

  “This is getting to be a habit,” she said breat
hlessly. Her body was throbbing, like her heart. She wondered if he could hear it. His dark eyes fell to the soft, quick pulsing of her heart, visible where her loose blouse bounced in time with it.

  Beneath it, two hard little peaks were blatant. He saw them and his eyes began to glitter.

  “Don't look at me like that,” she whispered gruffly.

  His eyes shot up to catch hers. “You want me,” he said curtly. “I can see it. Feel it.”

  Her breath was audible. “You conceited!”

  His hands caught her hips and pushed them against his own. “It's mutual.”

  “I noticed!” she burst out, jerking away from him, red faced.

  “Don't be such a child,” he chided, but gently. “You're old enough to know what desire feels like.”

  Her face grew redder. “I will not be seduced by you in my own kitchen over scrambled eggs!”

  His eyebrows arched. “You're making them, then?” he asked brightly.

  “Oh!” She pushed away from him. “You just won't take no for an answer!”

  He smiled speculatively. “You can put butter on that,” he agreed. His eyes went up and down her slender figure while she walked through to the kitchen, leaving her purse on the hall table as she went. “Not going to change before you start cooking?” he drawled, following her in. “I don't mind helping.”

  She shot him a dark glare.

  He held up both hands. “Just offering to be helpful, that's all.”

  She laughed helplessly. “I can dress myself, thanks.”

  “I was offering to help you undress,” he pointed out.

  She had to fight down another blush. She was a modern, independent woman. It was just that the thought of

  Jordan's dark eyes on her naked body had an odd, pleasurable effect on her. Especially after that bone-shaking kiss.

  “You shouldn't go around kissing women like that unless you mean business,” she pointed out as she got out a

  big iron skillet to cook the bacon in.

  “What makes you think I didn't mean it?” he probed, straddling a kitchen chair to watch her work.

  “You? Mr. I'll-Never-Marry?”

  “I didn't say that. I said I didn't want to get married.”

  “Well, what's the difference?” she asked, exasperated.

  His dark eyes slid down to her breasts with a boldness that made her uncomfortable. “There's always the one woman you can't walk away from.”

  “There's no such woman in your life.”

  “Think so?” He frowned. “What are you doing with that?” he asked as she put the skillet on the burner.

  “You're the one who wanted bacon!” she exclaimed.

  “Bacon, yes, not liquid fat!” He got up from the chair, pulled a couple of paper towels from the roll and pulled

  a plate from the cabinet. “Don't you know how to cook bacon?”

  He proceeded to show her, layering several strips of bacon on a paper towel coated plate and putting another paper towel on top of it.

  She was watching with growing amusement. “And it's going to cook like that,” she agreed. “Uh-huh.”

  “It goes in the microwave,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You cook it for”

  “What's wrong?”

  He was looking around, frowning, with the plate in one big hand. He opened cupboards and checked in the china cabinet. “All right, I'll bite. Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “Your microwave oven!”

  She sighed. “Jordan, we don't have a microwave oven.”

  “You're kidding.” He scowled at her. “Everybody's got a microwave oven!”

  “We haven't got one.”

  He studied her kitchen and slowly he put the plate back on the counter with a frown. The stove was at least ten years old. It was one of the old-fashioned ones that still had knobs instead of buttons. She didn't even have a dish washer. Everything in the kitchen was old, like the cast-iron skillet she used for most every meal.

  “I didn't realize how hard things were for you and Curt,” he said after a minute. “I thought your father had all kinds of money.”

  “He did, until he married Janet,” she replied. “She wanted to eat out al the time. The stove was worn out and so was the dishwasher. He was going to replace them, but she had him buy her a diamond ring she wanted, instead.”

  He scowled angrily. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

  His apology was unexpected and very touching. “It's all right,” she said gently. “I'm used to doing things the hard way. Really I am.”

  He moved close, framing her oval face in his big warm hands. “You never complain.”

  She smiled. “Why should I? I'm healthy and strong and able to do anything that needs doing around here.”

  “You make me ashamed, Libby,' he said softly. He bent and kissed her with aching tenderness.

  “Why?'' she whispered at his firm mouth.

  “I'm not really sure. Do that again.”

  He nibbled her upper lip, coaxing her body to lean heavily against his. “This is even better than dessert,” he murmured as he deepened the pressure of his mouth. “Come here!”

  He lifted her against him and kissed her hungrily, until her mouth felt faintly bruised from the slow, insistent pressure. It was like flying. She loved kissing Jordan. She hoped he was never going to stop!

  But all at once, he did, with a jerky breath. “This won't do,” he murmured a little huskily. “Curt will be home any minute. I don't want him to find us on the kitchen table.”

  Her mouth flew open. “Jordan!”

  He shrugged and looked sheepish. “It was heading that way. Here.” He handed her the plate of bacon. “I guess you'd better fry it. I don't think it's going to cook by itself.”

  She smiled up at him. “I'll drain it on paper towels and get rid of some of the grease after it's cooked.”

  “Why are you throwing those away?” he asked when she put the bacon on to fry and threw away the paper towels it had laid on.

  “Bacteria,” she told him. “You never put meat back on a plate where it's been lying, raw.”

  “They teach you that in school these days, I guess?”

  She nodded. “And lots of other stuff.”

  “Like how to use a prophylactic?” he probed wickedly.

  She flushed. “They did not! And I'll wash your mouth out with soap if you say that again!” she threatened.

  “Never mind. I’ll teach you how to use it, when the time comes,” he added outrageously.

  “I am not using a prophylactic!”

  “You want kids right away, then?” he persisted.

  “I am not having sex with you on my kitchen table!”

  There was a sudden stunned silence. Jordan was staring over her shoulder and his expression was priceless. Grimacing, she turned to find her older brother standing there with his mouth open.

  “Oh, shut your mouth, Curt,” she grumbled. “It was a hypothetical discussion!”

  “Except for the part about the prophylactic,” Jordan said with a howling mad grin. “Did you know that they don't teach people how to use them in school?”

  Curt lost it. He almost doubled over laughing.

  Libby threw a dish towel at him. “Both of you, out of my kitchen! I'll call you when it's ready. Go on, out!”

  They left the room obediently, still laughing.

  Libby shook her head and started turning the bacon.

  “Hasn't Janet even phoned to say if she was coming back today?” Jordan asked the two siblings when they were seated at the kitchen table having supper.

  “There wasn't anything on the answering machine,”

  Libby said. “I checked it while the bacon was cooking. Maybe she thinks we're on to something and she's running for it.”

  “No, I don't think so,” Curt replied at once. “She's not about to leave this property to us. Not considering what it would

  be worth to a developer.”

  “I agre
e,” Jordan said. “I've given Kemp the phone number of a private detective I know in San Antonio,” he added.

  “He's going to look into the case for me.”

  “We'll pay you back,” Curt promised, and Libby nodded.

  “Let's cross our bridges one at a time,” Jordan replied. “First order of business is to see if we can find any proof that she's committed a crime in the past.”

  “Mabel said she was suspected in a death at a nursing home in Branntville,” she volunteered.

  “So Kemp told me,” Jordan said. “This is good bacon,” he added.

  “Thanks,” she said with a smile.

  “Violet's father was another one of her victims,” Libby added.

  Jordan nodded while Curt scowled curiously at both of them. “But they can't prove that. Not unless there's enough evidence to order an exhumation. And, considering the physical condition of Violet's mother,” he added, “I'm afraid she'd never be able to agree to it. The shock would probably kill her mother.”

  Libby sighed. “Poor Violet. She's had such a hard life. And now to have to change jobs”

  “She works for Kemp, doesn't she?” Curt asked.

  “She did. She quit today,” Libby replied. “She's going to work for Duke Wright.”

  “Oh, Sherry King's going to love that,” Curt chuckled.

  “She doesn't own Duke,” Libby said. “He doesn't even like her.”

  “She's very possessive about men she wants.”

  “More power to her if she can put a net over him and lock him in her closet.”

  Jordan chuckled. “He's not keen on the thought of a second wife.”

  “He's still trying to get custody of his son, isn't he?” Curt asked. “Poor guy.”

  “He won't be the first man who lost a woman to a career,” Jordan reminded him. “Although it's usually the other way around.” He glanced at Libby. “Just for the record, I think you're more important than a new bull, no matter what his ancestry is.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she replied, tongue-in-cheek.

  “It never hurts to clear up these little details before they become issues,” he said wryly. “On the other hand, it would be nice if you'd tell me if you have plans to go to law school and move to a big city to practice law?”

  “Not me, thanks,” she replied. “I'm very happy where