Diana Palmer - Magnolia

He hadn’t spoken to her like this before—and now he was making himself a stranger to her. She cleared her throat.

“I had to get Chester here, didn’t I?”

“Chester?” he asked, scowling.

She made an awkward motion with her hand. “My motorcar.”

His eyes twinkled. She was an odd woman, he mused, full of spice and vinegar, but she gave a pet name to a piece of machinery.

“I won’t drive it.” She finally agreed, although it was like giving up a part of herself. Apparently the cost of her support was going to be the suppression of her personality. “I can ride my wheel when I need exercise, I suppose.”

“You needn’t sound so tragic. I only wish you to act like the wife of the vice president of one of the most prestigious banks in the South,” he said, “instead of a little girl playing with dangerous toys.”

Her gray eyes glittered. “A motorcar is hardly a toy.”

“For you, it is. Why don’t you spend some of this abundant free time you seem to have making friends or visiting or buying yourself some new clothes?” he asked irritably. “You’re living in the city now, not feeding your chickens and washing clothes like a countrywoman.”

In other words, she had to behave as if she were good enough to be married to a bank officer with a Harvard degree. She felt pure dislike for him.

“I shall try to give good value, sir,” she said haughtily, and curtsied.

He looked as if he might like to give way to a string of curses, but before he could utter them, Claire beat an orderly retreat to her room and slammed the door behind her.

A minute later, she opened it again, red-faced and furious. “Just to set the record straight, I was driving Chester up from Colbyville with my wheel tied on to save you the freight charges. And also for the record let me tell you that I have no intention of terrorizing Atlanta or shocking your friends with Chester. I shall ride the trolley!”

And she slammed the door again.

John stared at the closed door with mingled reactions, the strongest of which was amusement. Claire was spirited, all right. It was a pity his heart was Diane’s, because in many ways, Claire was his match.

He didn’t really mind her playing around with the car, but only when he was with her, to protect her from her reckless nature. Besides, she had to learn to conform to his lifestyle. It wouldn’t hurt her to be tamed, he thought, just a little. But all the same, he had to fight the very strong impulse to follow her into her bedroom and continue the argument. He found her stimulating in a temper. He wondered if the passion in her could be physical as well as verbal. Perhaps one day he’d be driven to find out.

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