Diana Palmer - Donavan

“I heard what happened in Cole’s Café.” Abby grimaced. “J.D. doesn’t go to charity balls, so you aren’t likely to run into him there.”

“Thank God. He was so kind to me the night I met him, but he’s been terrible to me ever since. I only wanted to thank him. He thinks I have designs on him.” She shuddered. “As if I’d ever chased a man in my life…!”

“You’re not J.D.’s kind of woman, Fay,” the older woman said gently. “Your wealth alone would keep him at bay, without the difference in your ages. J.D.’s in his early thirties, and he doesn’t like younger women.”

“I don’t think he likes any women,” Fay replied with a sigh. “Especially me. But I wasn’t chasing him, honestly!”

“Don’t let it worry you.”

“You’re sure he won’t be there tonight?”

“Absolutely positive,” Abby assured her.

Prophetic words. Abby and Calhoun picked Fay up at her apartment house, and drove her to the elegant Whitman estate where the charity ball was already in progress. Fay was wearing a long, white silk dress with one shoulder bare and her hair in a very elegant braided bun atop her head. She looked young and fragile…and very rich.

They went through the receiving line and Fay moved ahead of Calhoun and Abby to the refreshment table while they spoke to an acquaintance. She bumped into someone and turned to apologize.

“Again?” J. D. Langley asked with a vicious scowl. “My God, do you have radar?”

Fay didn’t say a word. She turned and went back toward Abby and Calhoun, her heart pounding in her chest.

Abby spotted J.D. and grimaced. “I didn’t know,” she told a shattered Fay. “I swear I didn’t. Here, you stick close to us. He won’t bother you. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Bart and that will solve all your problems. I’m sorry, Fay.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It’s fate, I guess,” she said dryly, although her eyes were troubled.

“Arrogant beast,” Abby muttered, sparing the tall, elegant man in the dinner jacket a speaking glance. “If he were a little less conceited, you wouldn’t have this problem.” She drew Fay forward. “Here he is. Bart!”

A thin, lazy-looking man with wavy blond hair and mischievous blue eyes turned as his name was called. He greeted Abby warmly and glanced at Fay with open curiosity and delight.

“Well, well, Greek goddesses are back in style again, I see. Do favor me with a waltz before you set off for Mount Olympus, fair damsel.”

“This is our newest employee, Fay York,” she introduced them. “Fay, this is Bartlett Markham. He’s president of the local cattlemen’s association.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. “Do you know cattle?”

“I grew up on a ranch. I work for a firm of accountants now, but my family still has a pretty formidable Santa Gertrudis purebred operation.”

“I don’t know much, but I’m learning every day,” Fay laughed.

“I’ll leave her with you, Bart,” Abby said. “Do keep her away from J.D., will you? He seems to think she’s stalking him.”

“Do tell?” His eyebrows levered up and he grinned. “Why not stalk me instead? I’m a much better catch than J.D., and you won’t need preventive shots if you go out with me, either.”

Insinuating that she would with J.D., she thought. Rabies probably, she mused venomously, in case he bit her. She smiled at Bart, feeling happier already.

“Consider yourself on the endangered species list, then,” she said.

He laughed. “Gladly.” He glanced toward the band. “Would you like to dance?”

“Charmed.” She gave him her hand and let him lead her to the dance floor, where a live band was playing a bluesy two-step. She knew exactly where J. D. Langley was, as if she really did have radar, so she was careful not to look in that direction.

He noticed. It was impossible not to, when she was dancing with one of his bitterest enemies. He stood quietly against a wall, his silver eyes steady and unblinking as he registered the fluid grace with which she followed her partner’s steps. He didn’t like the way Markham was holding her, or the way she was responding.

Not that he wanted her, he assured himself. She was nothing but another troublesome woman. A debutante, at that, and over ten years his junior. He had no use for her at all, and he’d made sure she knew it. Their one evening together had sent him tearing away in the opposite direction. She appealed to him terribly. He couldn’t afford an involvement with a society girl. He knew he was better off alone, so keeping this tempting little morsel away from him became imperative. If he had to savage her to do it, it was still the best thing for both of them. She was much too soft and delicate for a man like himself. He’d break her spirit and her heart, because he had nothing to give. And his father’s reputation in the community made it impossible for him to be seen in public with her in any congenial way. He’d accused her of stalking him, but gossip would have it the other way around. Another money-crazy Langley, critics would scoff, out to snare himself a rich wife. He groaned at just the thought.

He didn’t like seeing her with Markham, but there was nothing he could do about it. He shouldn’t have come tonight.

He turned away to the refreshment table and poured himself a glass of Scotch.

“You aren’t really after Donavan, are you?” Bart asked humorously.

“He flatters himself,” she said haughtily.

“That’s what I thought. Like father, like son,” he said unpleasantly.

“I don’t understand.”

He made a graceful turn, carrying her with him as the music’s tempo increased. “After Donavan’s mother died, Rand Langley got into a financial tangle and was about to lose his ranch. My aunt was very young then, plain and shy, but she was filthy rich and single, so Rand set his cap for her. He kept after her until he seduced her, so that she had to marry him or disgrace her family. She was crazy about him. Worshiped the ground he walked on. Then, inevitably, she found out why he really married her and she couldn’t live with it. She killed herself.”

Fay grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“So were all of us,” he added coldly, glaring at J. D. Langley’s back. “Rand didn’t even come to the funeral. He was too busy spending her money. He died a few years later, and believe me, none of us grieved for him.”

“That wasn’t Donavan’s fault,” she felt bound to point out.

“Blood will tell,” came the unbelieving reply. “You’re well-to-do.”

“Yes, but he can’t stand me,” she replied.

“I don’t believe that. I can’t imagine J.D. passing up a rich woman.”

“How many has he dated over the years?” she asked with faint irritation.

“I don’t keep up with his love life,” he said tersely, and all his prejudices showed quite clearly. Fay could see that he wouldn’t believe a kind word about J. D. Langley if he had proof.

“The two of you don’t get along, I gather.”

“We disagree on just about everything. Especially on his ridiculous theories about cattle raising,” he added sarcastically. “No. We don’t get along.”

She was quiet after that. Now she understood the situation. It couldn’t have been made clearer.

She danced with several eligible bachelors and several married men before the evening ended. It surprised her that J. D. Langley was still present. He remained on the fringes of the dance floor, talking to other men. He asked no one to dance. Fay was sadly certain that he wouldn’t ask her.

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