Diana Palmer - Harden

“You said your husband was a reporter,” he said when he’d finished his coffee.

She nodded. “He did sports. Football, mostly.” She smiled apologetically. “I hate football.”

He chuckled faintly and took another draw from his cigarette. “So do I.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I thought all men loved it.”

He shook his head. “I like baseball.”

“I don’t mind that,” she agreed. “At least I understand the rules.” She sipped her coffee and studied him over the rim of the cup. “What do you do, Mr. Tremayne?”

“Harden,” he corrected. “I buy and sell cattle. My brothers and I own a ranch down in Jacobsville, Texas.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Three.” The question made him uncomfortable. They weren’t really his brothers, they were his half brothers, but he didn’t want to get into specifics like that. Not now. He turned his wrist and glanced at his thin gold watch. “It’s midnight. We’d better call it a day. There’s a spare bedroom through there,” he indicated with a careless hand. “And a lock on the door, if it makes you feel more secure.”

She shook her head, her gentle eyes searching his hard face. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said quietly. “You’ve been very kind. I hope that someday, someone is kind to you when you need help.”

His pale eyes narrowed, glittered. “I’m not likely to need it, and I don’t want thanks. Go to bed, Cinderella.”

She stood up, feeling lost. “Good night, then.”

He only nodded, busy crushing out his cigarette. “Oh. By the way, you left this behind.” He pulled her tiny purse from his jacket pocket and tossed it to her.

Her purse! In her desperate flight, she’d forgotten all about it. “Thank you,” she said.

“No problem. Good night.” He added that last bit very firmly and she didn’t stop to argue.

She went quickly into the bedroom—it was almost as large as the whole of the little house she lived in—and she quietly closed the door. She didn’t have anything to sleep in except her slip, but that wouldn’t matter. She was tired to death.

It wasn’t until she was almost asleep that she remembered nobody would know where she was. She hadn’t called Joan to come and get her, as she’d promised Sam she would, and she hadn’t phoned her brother to leave any message. Well, nobody would miss her for a few hours, she was sure. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep. For the first time since the accident, she slept soundly, and without nightmares.

Chapter 2

Miranda awoke slowly, the sunlight pouring in through the wispy curtains and drifting across her sleepy face. She stretched lazily and her eyes opened. She frowned. She was in a strange room. She sat up in her nylon slip and stared around her, vaguely aware of a nagging ache in her head. She put a hand to it, pushing back her disheveled dark hair as her memory began to filter through her confused thoughts.

She got up quickly and pulled her dress over her head, zipping it even as she stepped into her shoes and looked around for her purse. The clock on the bedside table said eight o’clock and she was due at work in thirty minutes. She groaned. She’d never make it. She had to get a cab and get back to her apartment, change and fix her makeup—she was going to be late!

She opened the door and exploded into the sitting room to find Harden in jeans and a yellow designer T-shirt, just lifting the lid off what smelled like bacon and eggs.

“Just in time,” he mused, glancing at her. “Sit down and have something to eat.”

“Oh, I can’t,” she wailed. “I have to be at work at eight-thirty, and I still have to get to my apartment and change, and look at me! People will stare…!”

He calmly lifted the telephone receiver and handed it to her. “Call your office and tell them you’ve got a headache and you won’t be in until noon.”

“They’ll fire me!” she wailed.

“They won’t. Dial!”

She did, automatically. He had that kind of abrasive masculinity that seemed to dominate without conscious effort, and she responded to it as she imagined most other people did. She got Dee at the office and explained the headache. Dee laughed, murmuring something about there being a lot of tardiness that morning because of the office party the night before. They’d expect her at noon, she added and hung up.

“Nobody was surprised,” she said, staring blankly at the phone.

“Office parties wreak havoc,” he agreed. “Call your brother so he won’t worry about you.”

She hesitated.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“What do I tell him?” she asked worriedly, nibbling her lower lip. “‘Hi, Sam, I’ve just spent the night with a total stranger’?”

He chuckled softly. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

She shook her head. “I’ll think of something as I go.” She dialed Sam’s home number and got him instead of Joan. “Sam?”

“Where the devil are you?” her brother raged.

“I’m at the Carlton Arms,” she said. “Look, I’m late for work and it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise…”

“You’ll damned well tell me everything now!”

Harden held out his hand and she put the phone into it, aware of the mocking, amused look on his hard face.

She moved toward the breakfast trolley, absently aware of the abrupt, quiet explanation he was giving her brother. She wondered if he was always so cool and in control, and reasoned that he probably was. She lifted the lid off one of the dishes and sniffed the delicious bacon. He’d ordered breakfast for two, and she was aware of a needling hunger.

“He wants to talk to you,” Harden said, holding out the phone.

She took it. “Sam?” she began hesitantly.

“It’s all right,” he replied, pacified. “You’re apparently in good hands. Just pure luck, of course,” he added angrily. “You can’t pull a stunt like that again. I’ll have a heart attack.”

“I won’t. I promise,” she said. “No more office parties. I’m off them for life.”

“Good. Call me tonight.”

“I will. Bye.”

She hung up and smiled at Harden. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Sit down and eat. I’ve got a workshop at eleven for the cattlemen’s conference. I’ll drop you off at your place first.”

She vaguely remembered the sign she’d seen on the way into the hotel about a beef producers seminar. “Isn’t the conference here?” she stammered.

“Sure. But I’ll drop you off anyway.”

“I don’t know quite how to thank you,” she began, her silver eyes soft and shy.

He searched her face for a long, long moment before he was able to drag his eyes back to his plate. “I don’t care much for women, Miranda,” he said tersely. “So call this a momentary aberration. But next time, don’t put yourself in that kind of vulnerable situation. I didn’t take advantage. Most other men would have.”

She knew that already. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, darting curious glances at him. “Why don’t you like women?”

His dark eyebrows clashed and he stared at her with hard eyes.

“It won’t do any good to glower at me,” she said gently. “I’m not intimidated. Won’t you tell me?”

He laughed without humor. “Brave this morning, aren’t we?”

“I’m sober,” she replied. “And you shouldn’t carry people home with you if you don’t want them to ask questions.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” he assured her as he lifted his fork.

“Why?” she persisted.

“I’m illegitimate.”

She didn’t flinch or look shocked. She sipped her coffee. “Your mother wasn’t married to your father.” She nodded.