Diana Palmer - Rough Diamonds

“Junk,” he told her casually. “Nothing valuable in here.”

“I meant that it was pretty,” she clarified.

“Oh.” He glanced around. “I guess so. A little gaudy for my taste.”

She was about to respond when her eye caught movement at the door. There, at the counter, was her boss, Mallory Kirk, with Gelly Bruner. He spoke to the waitress and let her seat them nearby.

He smiled coolly and nodded at Morie and Clark. She was thinking that it was an odd coincidence, having him show up here. Certainly he wouldn’t have had any reason to be spying on her… .

“Do you believe this?” Clark asked, shocked. “Does he do this every time you go out with a man? I’ve heard of possessive employers, but this takes the cake.”

“He takes his date all over the place,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “This is the only really good restaurant in town.”

“I suppose so.”

“He wouldn’t have any reason to keep an eye on me,” she pointed out. “I’m just the hired help.”

He pursed his lips and studied her. “Sure.”

MALLORY WAS LOOKING AT HER, too, his dark eyes on the long wealth of thick black hair that hung straight and shiny down her back almost to her waist.

“Why are you staring at her?” Gelly asked coldly. “She’s just a common person. She works for you. And why are we here? You know I hate Chinese food!”

He didn’t hear her. He was thinking that he’d never seen anything as beautiful as that long black hair. It brought to mind a poem. She’d probably be familiar with it, too—Bess, the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, plaiting a dark red love knot into her long, black hair. “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes. It was a tragic poem, the heroine sacrificing herself for the hero. “‘I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way…’”

“What?” Gelly asked blankly.

He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. What would you like to order?” he added and forced himself to look at his date and not Morie.

MORIE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE. Clark wanted to talk about contestants on the television show, and she had no point of reference at all.

“That guy, you know, he really can’t sing, but he’s got a following and he’s getting most of the votes,” he muttered. “I like the girl. She’s classy, she’s got a great voice…Are you listening?”

She grimaced. “Sorry. I was thinking about the weather reports. They think we might have another snow, and we’ve got a lot of first-time mothers dropping calves.”

“Cows,” he groaned. “Morie, there’s more to life than four-legged steaks.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Kirk doesn’t have a cow-calf operation. It’s strictly a seed-bull ranch.”

He blinked. “Seed bull.”

“Yes. They produce industry-leading bulls for market.” She leaned forward. “They don’t eat them.”

He shook his head. “You are the oddest girl I ever met.”

She grinned. “Why, thank you!”

He picked up his wineglass and had a long sip. “Sure you don’t want any wine?” he asked. “This is the only restaurant in town where you can buy single drinks legally.”

“I can’t drink,” she said. “Bad stomach. I get very sick. Can’t drink carbonated beverages, either. Just coffee or iced tea. Or, in this case—” she lifted the little cup with steaming green tea “—hot tea.” She sipped it and closed her eyes. “Wonderful!”

He made a face. “You didn’t put sugar in it.”

“Oh, nobody puts sugar in it in Japan,” she blurted out and then bit her tongue. “At least, from what I’ve read,” she corrected quickly.

“I can’t drink it straight. It tastes awful.” He put the wineglass down. “They have good desserts here, sticky rice with mango or coconut ice cream.”

“The ice cream,” she said, laughing. “I love it.”

“Me, too.” He motioned to the waitress. “At least we both like one thing,” he mused.

WHEN THEY GOT READY to leave, Mallory Kirk watched them through narrowed eyes. He got up while Morie was paying the bill and motioned Clark to one side.

Clark gave him a nervous look. “Mr. Kirk,” he said pleasantly enough.

Mallory’s dark eyes narrowed. “She’s not young enough to be my daughter, but I’m responsible for her. If you do anything she doesn’t like,” he added with the coldest smile Clark had ever seen, “I’ll pay you a visit.”

“You can’t threaten people,” Clark began, flushed.

“Oh, it’s no threat, son,” Mallory said. His jaw tautened. “It’s an ironclad, gold-edged promise.”

He turned and walked off, pausing at his table to leave a tip and help Gelly to her feet.

Clark escorted an oblivious Morie out to his car. He was flushed from the wine and angry that one of the Kirk brothers had threatened him.

“I should call the police,” he muttered as he started the car and roared off out of the parking lot.

“What for?” Morie asked, curious.

“Your boss made a threat,” he said stiffly.

“My boss? What are you talking about?”

He started to tell her and then thought better of it. She was pretty and he liked her; he didn’t want her to think there was a reason for her boss to warn him off.

He shrugged. “He just said I’d better look after you,” he amended.

Her dark eyebrows arched. “Why in the world would he say something like that?” she asked, and tried not to look as flattered as she felt. No man interfered in a woman’s life unless he liked her.

“Beats me.” He glanced at her. “He’s not stuck on you, is he?”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, sure, he likes me because I’ve got millions in a trust fund and I know all the best people,” she said drily.

He laughed, too. He was out of his mind. She wasn’t the sort of woman a cattle baron would want to marry. The Kirks had fabulous parties with all sorts of famous people attending them to sell those cattle she talked about. They had some incredibly well-known friends, apparently. But Morie dressed in old clothes, even for a date. She was clueless. He was overreacting. Maybe Mal-lory really did feel responsible for her. Maybe he knew her folks. He might be afraid of a lawsuit. It wasn’t anything personal. Just good business.

“Well, I loved the movie,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I don’t get out as much as I’d like to,” he added. “But we could see a movie once in a while and have dinner out, if you like.”

She smiled. “I’ll think about that.”

He’d planned to take her to an overlook that doubled as the local lover’s lane. But after Mal-lory’s blunt speech, he wasn’t keen to push the man. So instead, he drove her back to the ranch. He even turned off the engine and walked her to the door of the bunkhouse.

“You live in there with all those men?” he asked curiously.

“I have my own room,” she explained. “They’re nice men.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, thanks again,” she said, hesitating.

He smiled. He liked that little nervous laugh, the way her lips turned up at the corners, the faint dimple beside her mouth.

He bent and drew his lips gently against hers.

She tolerated the kiss. But she didn’t react to it. She felt nothing. Nothing at all.

He noticed that. They were too different to settle in together. But she was cute and he liked company on a night out.

“We’ll do it again soon,” he said.

She smiled. “Sure.”

She turned around and went into the bunkhouse. Darby was sitting by the door, his eyebrows arching as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

“Have fun?” he asked in a hushed tone, so he didn’t wake the cowboys down the hall.

“Yes. I guess.”