Diana Palmer - Any Man Of Mine

Keena hadn’t stayed to hear any more. With her eyes full of tears and her makeup running down her white face, she’d left the house and walked every step of the way home in the dark without thinking about danger. And those cold, hurting words had stayed with her ever since. They’d been indirectly responsible for her success, because her hatred for James Harris and her thirst for revenge had carried her through the lean, hard times that had led up to her enrollment in the fashion design school. All she’d wanted in life from that terrible night forward was to become something more than a mill worker’s daughter—an outsider. And she had.

There was a discreet tap on the door before Mandy came in like a small, dark-haired whirlwind, her dark eyes sparkling.

“Brought you some coffee,” she said, placing a tray on the coffee table. A plate of doughnuts rested temptingly beside it. “Come on, you’ve got to eat something.”

Keena grimaced at her housekeeper. “I don’t want food,” she said. “Just coffee. You be a love and eat the doughnuts.”

“You’ll blow away,” the older woman warned. “Why bother to bring me down here with you if you aren’t going to let me cook?”

“It gets lonely here,” she replied. She gazed around her at the towering near-ruin of a house. It must have been a showplace years before her father bought it, but lack of care and deterioration had taken their toll on it. Without some substantial repairs, it was going to fall in.

“Did you reach the construction people?” Keena asked as she stirred cream into a cup of steaming coffee.

“Yes,” Mandy replied, looking disapproving. “Look, it’s none of my business, but why are you going to funnel good money into this white mausoleum?”

Keena ran a lazy hand over the faded, worn brocade of the antique sofa. “I’ll need to have the furniture redone, as well. See if you can find an upholsterer while you’re at it.”

“How long are we going to be here?” Mandy asked curiously.

“A few weeks.” She laughed at Mandy’s obvious shock. “I need a break. I can run the company from here. Ann can call me if she needs help. And meanwhile, I’ll play with mending this pitiful house.”

“I wish I knew what you were up to,” Mandy sighed.

“It’s a kind of game,” Keena explained with a smile.

“And is Nicholas going to play, too?”

Keena glared at her. She didn’t want to think about Nicholas right now. “He’s a friend, nothing more. Just because we go out once in a while...”

“Twice a week, every week, and he protects you like a mother hen,” Mandy corrected.

Keena shifted uneasily. “Nick’s like a brother. He feels responsible for me.”

“Some brother,” Mandy scoffed. “You should have noticed the way he was watching you at that Christmas party we gave. He started scowling every time another man came near you. He’ll be along, Miss Independence, or I miss my guess. No way is Nicholas going to let you spend several weeks down here without doing something about it.”

“What do you expect him to do, come and drag me back home?” Keena asked curtly.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” came the equally brusque reply.

“You,” Keena told her with a mock scowl, “are a professional busybody.”

Mandy grinned. “Thanks. About time you paid me a compliment or two for these gray hairs you’ve given me.”

Keena laughed, studying the little salt-and-pepper head. “Not so gray,” she returned.

“You going to see that Harris man?” Mandy asked suddenly with narrowed eyes.

Keena met that gaze levelly. “Maybe.”

“Good thing, too. Get him out of your system once and for all.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Memories are dangerous, you know. They’re always better than reality.”

“That’s why I came back to face them,” Keena admitted.

She stretched hugely and got up from the sofa. “We’ve been getting some interested glances since I had the corral and stable fences repaired and bought that mare.” She smiled. “I think I’ll go for a ride.”

“Didn’t you tell me once that this property joins the Harrises’?” Mandy asked.

“In back,” Keena agreed. “I used to rent a horse to ride. I saved all my money just to catch a glimpse of James Harris in the woods. Maybe I’ll get lucky today,” she added with a smile and a wink.

* * *

IT WAS CHILLY in the woods, and Keena was glad of her jodhpurs and boots, the thick cashmere sweater she put on over her silk blouse, the warm fur-lined gloves on her hands and the thick tweed hacking jacket. She’d never been able to afford a decent kit in her youth, so it was something of a thrill to be able to wear it now. It almost made up for those rides she’d gone on with Jenny Harris, James’s sister, in worn jeans and a denim jacket that Jenny was too sweet to make fun of.

She paused by a small stream, her eyes closed, taking in the cold, sweet peace of the woods, the sound of water running between the banks, the sudden snapping of twigs nearby.

Her eyes flew open as another horse and rider came into view. A big black horse with a slender man astride him, a dark-haired man with blue eyes and an unsmiling face. He was wearing a tweed jacket, too, over a turtleneck sweater. The hands on the reins were long-fingered, and a cigarette dangled in one of them.

“You’re trespassing,” the man said. “This is private property.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, ignoring the wild beat of her heart as she felt the years between her last sight of him fall away.

“The property line is two paces behind you,” she replied coolly. “And if you care to look, there’s a metal survey stake—quite a new one. I had the property lines resurveyed two days ago.”

His eyes narrowed as he lowered them to her slender body, past her high, firm breasts to her small waist and flaring hips, clearly outlined by her tailored riding gear.

“Keena?” he asked as if the thought was incredulous. His eyes came back up to her lovely, high-cheekboned face framed by black hair that feathered around it, her pale green eyes like clear pools under her thick lashes.

She allowed herself a smile. “That’s my name.”

“My God, you’ve changed,” he murmured. His eyes went to her wrist, and he smiled faintly. “Except for that habit of wearing gaudy costume jewelry. I’m glad something about you hasn’t changed.”

She wanted to hit him with the riding crop, but that would have been more in character in her adolescence than it was now. She’d learned control, if nothing else.

“Old habits die hard,” she replied with a bitter smile.

“How true,” he murmured. “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good worker. There’s a small insurance policy, of course. You might check with the personnel office about that. You got the flowers we sent? A potted plant, I think...”

“They were very nice, thanks,” she replied.

“Are you still living in Atlanta?” he asked politely.

“New York,” she corrected.

He made a distasteful face. “Nasty place. Pollution and all that. I prefer Ashton.”

She stared at him, letting the memory merge with the reality. He’d changed. Not just in age, but in every other way. He looked older, less imposing, less authoritative.

“How’s Jenny?” she asked quietly.

“Doing very well, thanks. She lives with her husband and son in Greenville. Larry’s married,” he added pointedly. “He lives in Charleston.”

“I heard that you and Cherrie married,” she said.

His face drew up. “She and I were divorced two years back,” he said coldly.

She shrugged. “It happens.”

He was staring at her again, his eyes thoughtful. “I can’t get over the change. You’re different.”