Page 8 of Texas Honor

“I really am sorry,” Mari murmured.

“So am I,” he said unexpectedly, and his green eyes searched hers quietly. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

She glanced down at her shoes, nervous of the sensations that his level gaze prompted. “It’s hard to be afraid of a man with a lily pad on his head.”

“Stop that,” he grumbled, jerking out a chair.

“You might consider putting up guardrails,” she suggested dryly as she sat down across from him, her blue eyes twinkling with the first humor she’d felt in days.

“You’d better keep a life jacket handy,” he returned.

She stuck her tongue out at him impulsively and watched his thick eyebrows arch.

He shook out his napkin with unnecessary force and laid it across his powerful thighs. “My God, you’re living dangerously,” he told her.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said smartly and meant it.

“That isn’t what your Aunt Lillian says,” he observed with narrowed eyes.

She stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“She says you’re afraid of men,” he continued. He scowled at her puzzled expression. “Because of what happened to you and your friend,” he prompted.

She blinked, wondering what her aunt had told him about that. After all, having your purse pinched by an overweight juvenile delinquent wasn’t really enough to terrify most women. Especially when she and Beth had run the offender down, beaten the stuffing out of him, recovered the purse and sat on him until the police got there.

“You know, dear,” Lillian blustered as she came through the door, shaking her head and smiling all at once. She looked as red as a beet, too. “The horrible experience you had!”

“Horrible?” Mari asked.

“Horrible!” Lillian cried. “We can’t talk about it now!”

“We can’t?” Mari parroted blankly.

“Not at the table. Not in front of the boss!” She jerked her head curtly toward him two or three times.

“Have you got a crick in your neck, Aunt Lillian?” her niece asked with some concern.

“No, dear, why do you ask? Here! Have some fried chicken and some mashed potatoes!” She shoved dishes toward her niece and began a monologue that only ended when it was time for dessert.

“I think something’s wrong with Aunt Lillian,” Mari confided to Ward the moment Lillian started back into the kitchen for the coffeepot.

“Yes, so do I,” he replied. “She’s been acting strangely for the past few days. Don’t let on you know. We’ll talk later.”

She nodded, concerned. Lillian was back seconds later, almost as if she was afraid to leave them alone together. How strange.

“Well, I think I’ll go up to bed,” Mari said after she finished her coffee, glancing quickly at Aunt Lillian. “I’m very tired.”

“Good idea,” Ward said. “You get some rest.”

“Yes,” Lillian agreed warmly. “Good night, dear.”

She bent to kiss her aunt. “See you in the morning, Aunt Lillian,” she murmured and glanced at Ward. “Good night, Mr. Jessup.”

“Good night, Miss Raymond,” he said politely.

Mari went quietly upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat by the window and looked down at the empty swimming pool with its wooden privacy fence and the gently rolling, brush-laden landscape, where cattle moved lazily and a green haze heralded spring. Minutes later there was a stealthy knock at the door, and Ward Jessup came into the room, scowling.

“Want me to leave the door open?” he asked hesitantly.

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