Page 41 of Texas Honor

He sighed heavily. “Well, he’s family. My grandmother worships him. I couldn’t say no without having her jump all over me—and maybe even rush home to defend him. She’s having a good time at Belinda’s. No reason to disturb her.”

She knew about old Mrs. Jessup as well, and she almost smiled at his lack of enthusiasm for his grandmother’s company.

“If you’ve already got one houseguest, you surely don’t need another one.”

He shrugged. “There’s plenty of room. My secretary quit,” he added, studying his hat. “I sure could use some help in the office. You could almost name your own salary.”

“You forced me to leave Texas in the first place,” she shot back, glaring up at him. “You did everything but put me on the bus! You propositioned me!”

His cheeks had a sudden flush, and he looked away. “You can’t actually like this job,” he said shortly. “You said you hated working with numbers.”

“I like eating,” she replied. “It’s hard to eat when you aren’t making money.”

“You could come home with me and make money,” he said. “You could live with your aunt and help me keep Cousin Bud from selling off cattle under my nose.”

“Selling off cattle?”

His powerful shoulders rose and fell. “He owns ten percent of the ranch. I had a weak moment when he was eighteen and made him a graduation present of it. The thing is, I never know which ten percent he happens to be claiming at the moment. It seems to change quarterly.” He brushed at a speck of dust on his hat. “Right now, he’s sneaking around getting statistics on my purebred Santa Gertrudis bull.”

“What could I do about Cousin Bud—ifI went with you?” she asked reasonably.

“You could help me distract him,” he said. “With you in the office, he couldn’t very well get to any statistics. He couldn’t find out where I keep that bull unless he found it on the computer. And you’d be watching the computer.”

It was just an excuse, and she knew it. For reasons of his own it suited him to have her at the ranch. She didn’t flatter herself that it was out of any abiding love. He probably did still want her, but perhaps it was more a case of wanting to appease Lillian. She frowned, thinking.

“Is my aunt all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “She’s fine. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. But she’s lonesome. She hasn’t been the same since you left.” Neither had he, he thought, but he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. She didn’t trust him at all, and he couldn’t really blame her.

She fiddled with a pencil, considering Ward’s offer. She could tell him to go away and he would. And she’d never see him again. She could go on alone and take up the threads of her life. What a life it would be. What a long, lonely life.

“Come with me, Mari,” he said softly. “This is no place for you.”

She didn’t look up. “I meant what I said before I left. If I come back, I don’t... I don’t want you to... to...”

He sighed gently. “I know, I know. You don’t have to worry,” he told her. “I won’t proposition you. You have my word on that.”

She shifted. “Then I’ll go.”

He forced back a smile. “Come on, then. I’ve got the tickets already.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Were you that confident?”

“Not confident at all,” he replied. “But I figured I could always put my Stetson in one of the seats if you refused.”

She did smile faintly at that. “I always heard that a real Texan puts his hat on the floor and his boots on the hat rack.”

He lifted a tooled leather boot and studied it. “Yep,” he said. “I guess I’d put my boots in the extra seat, at that. But I’d rather have you in it.”

She got to her feet and put her work aside. “I need to see Mr. Blake, my boss.”

“I’ll wait.” He wasn’t budging.

After Mari had apologetically informed her boss of her departure, she picked up her purse, waved at her new friends and went quietly out the door with Ward. It felt odd, and she knew it was foolhardy. But she was too vulnerable still to refuse him. She only hoped that she could keep him from knowing just how vulnerable she was.

He drove her back to her apartment and then wandered around the living room while she packed.

His fingers brushed the spines of the thick volumes in her small bookcase.“The Tudors of England,”he murmured, “ancient Greece, Herodotus, Thucydides—quite a collection of history.”

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