Diana Palmer - Diana Palmer Texan Lovers

He closed the door absently behind him and moved closer to her. God, she was lovely! His face hardened as he stared down at her, helplessly feeding on the sensuous nudity she wasn’t even aware of.

He wondered if she’d ever let any of her dates see her like this, and a murderous rage stiffened his tall form. He hated the thought of that. Of another man looking at her, touching her, putting his mouth on that soft swell and searching for a tip that he could make hard with the warm pressure of his open mouth….

He shook himself. This wouldn’t do. “Abby,” he said tersely.

She stirred, but only to shift on the bed so that the whole damned bodice fell open. He actually trembled at the sweetness of her pretty pink breasts with their delicate mauve tips relaxed in sleep.

He muttered something explosive and forced himself to bend over her, to pull the fabric together and fasten it. His hands shook. Thank God she wasn’t awake to witness his vulnerability.

She moaned when his hard knuckles came into contact with her skin, and she arched slightly in her sleep.

His lips parted on a rough breath. Her skin was like silk, warm and sensuous. He gritted his teeth and caught the last button. Then he scooped her up in his arms and stood holding her propped on one knee while he tore the covers loose and stripped back the colorful pink patterned top sheet over the soft blue fitted one.

Her eyes blinked and opened lazily. She searched his hard face, smiling faintly. “I’m asleep,” she whispered, nuzzling close. Her sweet scent and the feel of her soft body in his arms overwhelmed him.

“Are you?” he asked, his voice deeper, huskier than he wanted it to be. He laid her down on the sheet, cupping the back of her head in his hand while he drew a pillow under it, his mouth just above hers.

Her hands were around his neck. He drew them down and pulled the covers up over her with a feeling of relief.

“I never had anybody tuck me in before,” she mumbled drowsily.

“Don’t expect a bedtime story,” he murmured, his deep voice lazy with forced humor. “You’re too young for the only ones I know.”

“I guess I am. Too young for everything. Much too young.” She sighed heavily, as her eyes closed. “Oh, Calhoun, I wish I was blond….”

“Now what brought that on?” he asked, but she was asleep again. He looked down at her softly flushed sleeping face, his eyes narrow and dark and thoughtful. After a minute he turned and went out, flicking off the light behind him.

Justin was coming out of the living room when Calhoun got back downstairs.

“Did you bring Abby home?” Justin asked his brother.

“Yes. She’s in bed. Dead drunk,” Calhoun added with a faintly amused smile. He’d already taken off his Stetson, along with his jacket and vest.

Justin’s dark eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you? Your lip is cut.”

“A slight altercation in the local bar and dance hall,” Calhoun said sardonically. He went to the brandy bottle and poured himself half a snifterful. He swirled it, staring into the glass. “Want one?”

Justin shook his head and lit a cigarette instead, ignoring Calhoun’s pointed glare of disapproval.

“What were you fighting about?”

Calhoun sipped his brandy. “Abby.”

Justin turned, his dark eyebrows arching. “Abby?”

“Misty Davies took her to a bar.”

“Last night a nude revue, tonight a bar.” Justin stared at his cigarette. “Something’s eating our girl.”

“I know. I just don’t know what. I don’t like what Misty’s doing, either, but I can’t tell Abby.”

Justin cocked his head as he drew on the cigarette. “She’s trying to get back at you through Abby, I gather.”

“Got it in one.” Calhoun raised the brandy snifter mockingly before he drained it. “She came on to me hard, and I turned her down. My God, as if I’d be crazy enough to seduce Abby’s best friend.”

“Misty should have known that. Is Abby all right?”

“I guess,” Calhoun said, not adding that he’d put her to bed himself or that she was the reason he was drinking, something he rarely did. “Some red-faced jackass was manhandling her.”

Justin whirled. “And?”

“I think I knocked one of his teeth out.”

“Good for you. All the same, she needs watching.”

“I’ll say amen to that. Shall we flip a coin?” Calhoun asked with pursed lips.

“Why should I interfere when you’re doing such a good job of looking out for her interests?” Justin asked, smiling faintly. His smile faded as he searched the younger man’s troubled eyes. “You do remember that Abby turns twenty-one in three months? And I think she’s already been apartment-hunting with Misty.”

Calhoun’s face hardened. “Misty will corrupt her. I don’t want Abby passed around like an hors d’oeuvre by some of Misty’s sophisticated boyfriends.”

Justin’s eyebrows arched. That didn’t sound like Calhoun. Come to think of it, Calhoun didn’t look like Calhoun. “Abby’s our ward,” he reminded his brother. “We don’t own her. We don’t have the right to make her decisions for her, either.”

Calhoun glared at him. “What do you want me to do, let her be picked up and assaulted by any drunken cowboy who comes along? Like bloody hell I will!”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Justin pursed his thin lips and smiled softly to himself.

* * *

Abby woke the next morning with a headache and a feeling of impending doom. She sat up, clutching her head. It was seven o’clock, and she had to be to work by 8:30. Even now, breakfast would be underway downstairs. Breakfast. She swallowed her nausea.

She got out of bed unsteadily and went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She managed that and felt much better. As she started to get out of her gown, she noticed that the buttons were fastened. Odd. She was sure she’d left the thing unbuttoned. Oh, well, she must have gotten it buttoned and climbed in under the covers sometime before dawn.

It was Saturday, but ordinarily the feedlot stayed open. The cattle still had to be looked after, and the paperwork had to be done no matter what day it was. Abby had gotten used to the long work week, and it was just routine not to have her Saturdays free. She could get off at noon sometimes if she needed to go somewhere. But that hadn’t been her habit in recent months. She was hungry for the sight of Calhoun, and he was there most weekends.

She got into a pale gray suit with a blue silk print blouse and put her hair into a French twist. She used a little makeup—not much—and slid her nylon-encased feet into tiny stacked high heels. Well, she was no ravishing beauty, that was for sure, but she wouldn’t disgrace herself. She was going down with all flags flying. Calhoun would be mad as fury, and she couldn’t let him see how pale she was.

The Ballenger brothers were both at the table when she got downstairs. Calhoun glanced at her, his gaze odd and brooding, as she sat between him and Justin.

“It’s about time,” he said curtly. “You look like hell, and it serves you right. I’ll be damned if I’ll have you passing out in bars with that Davies woman!”

“Please, Calhoun, not before I eat,” Abby murmured. “My head hurts.”

“No wonder,” he shot back.

“Stop cussing at my breakfast table,” Justin told him firmly.

“I’ll stop when you do,” Calhoun told his brother, just as firmly.

“Oh, hell,” Justin muttered, and bit into one of Maria’s fluffy biscuits.

Ordinarily that byplay would have made Abby smile, but she felt too dragged-out to care. She sipped black coffee and nibbled at buttered toast, refusing anything more nourishing.