Lass Small - Impulse

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Elsie MacLean

friend and sage

with my love

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Speaking long-distance from Winter Haven, Florida, Mrs. Abbott assured her daughter in Atlanta, Georgia, “Well, Amy, you’re perfectly welcome to come home right now, but why not stay where you are for another day or two? With the rain, you’d either be trapped here in the house, or you’d have to go somewhere else. Unless, of course, being twenty-four years old and wearisomely mature, you’ve become tolerant of Mitzie and Peck?”

“How do you stand them?” Amy Abbott Allen inquired with genuine curiosity.

“As you know, I’m very grateful Peck saved Bill’s life all those years ago in Vietnam. I must add— however— the ‘saving’ is being told with increasing drama each year. I honestly believe Peck tripped at the crucial moment, but then you know how unbearably logical I can be?”

“I have seen hints of it.” Humor laced Amy’s droll words.

“Don’t try to ingratiate yourself to me with flattery. I cannot hint the Peckerels away. You know that. And they are such a refreshing change for your father. He needs Peck like some people need an occasional dose of Laurel and Hardy.”

“Peck is chatty, but he’s tall and thin, so he must be Laurel?”

“Yes, and Mitzie is Hardy har-har-har.”

Amy laughed with those sounds. “And what purpose does Mitzie serve?”

“I especially appreciate Mitzie’s visits. Bill looks at me in awe for simply days after we’ve been with the Peckerels.”

“I can’t begrudge you that, Mom. Instead of staying here, I think I’ll go to Saint Petersburg Beach.” She sighed dramatically into the phone mouthpiece. “I’ll sulk there until you finally get rid of the Peckerels.”

“Be careful of the prowling beasts.” Her mother’s voice became gentle. “The wolves are always after little girls like you.”

“Little? Mother, you fantasize. You know I take after Daddy.” While Mrs. Allen was five feet two inches, Amy was five feet seven, and her father was six feet four. Amy declared, “I’m a woman.”

“I...” But Cynthia Allen had hesitated too long, so she said airily, “Never mind, I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Let me guess. You’ve found the perfect husband for me.”

Cynthia chided, “Now, Amy, why would you say something like that?”

“I’ve known you all my life.”

“It’s been a delightful acquaintance, my love. I’m sure the Peckerels can’t stay more than another few days. We haven’t been too lively.”

“You’re very sweet to Daddy.”

“I like him.”

* * *

So on that early March day, Amy Abbott Allen drove her packed car from Atlanta down to Saint Pete Beach on the west coast of Florida. She drove under the portico at the Trade Winds, exited her car and went into the glassed lobby as the rainy evening came down.

On the lobby tree, the flamboyant parrots were tolerant of the attention they were getting from some of those in the laughing, milling group of well-dressed young adults to be registered.

As Amy waited her turn, she noticed most of the people in the lobby knew one another. They were having a teasing, greeting time, exchanging gibes and laughter.

That’s when she saw him.

He was somewhat ahead of her in the casual line for the desk. He was one of that special, friendly group. Her first thought was: There’s a man Dad would like.

Then she looked at him for herself, and a strange flicker went through her body before it concentrated in the bottom of her stomach.

He was big. Almost as big as her father. He was probably thirty. His suit perfectly fit his marvelous body. His hair was very dark, so his eyebrows were, too, and that explained his black eyelashes. His lower lip was full and his jaw looked stubborn. His lazy smile was being wasted on an obnoxiously beautiful redhead who flirted with him.

Any woman would flirt with him. Amy realized that right away. A woman could become quite silly in attracting him. She could be quite like a bitch wolf trying to impress the dominant male wolf. It always embarrassed Amy to see women be so obvious.

He didn’t seem to mind the redhead’s attentions as he stood so easily relaxed. He was probably that same way in the boardroom, relaxed and in control, but God help the careless employee.

He’d slay with one rapier glance, and he’d say, “Find it!” in a soft voice. And if that person made a second mistake, he’d...uh-h-h...he’d help the incompetent one to relocate. Amy scoffed that she could know all that about a man she’d only glimpsed across the crowded lobby of a beach hotel.

But that was exactly how he would be. She’d bet on it. It would be interesting to meet him...just to see if she was right. That was all. She wasn’t going to do anything about him. She was only— curious. There were a lot of men who wore facades of authority, but they were actually hollow men.

When it came to pressure, they lacked the judgment, the background of information or the skill of business. She’d seen a lot of men, having traveled with her father in his business.

It was her father who had carefully guided her to know people and how to judge them.

Amy glanced over at— What would his name be? What name would such a man possess? He hadn’t yet looked at her. That was unusual.

Men generally saw her in their first assessing sweep of a room, and she would meet interested eyes every time she glanced up. She had never deliberately invited such interest.

There in the lobby other men looked at her and talked for her benefit, ready to include her in their conversation. But he didn’t even notice her.

He didn’t need to look around. Women migrated to him like iron filings to an irresistible magnet. They had crowded him so that he was no longer in the line ahead of her but off to one side.

Amy thought such interest, from her, in a disinterested man was astonishing and, to distract herself from him, she began to listen to the group. How open they were! How careless with names and plans.

Privileged people don’t care who hears their idle chatter. They rarely consider the other people who are around or listening.

Apparently the group was there for the redhead’s wedding. The bride was talking solely to the formidable man. Amy wondered how her groom felt about his bride flirting with such a man.

Or was he the bridegroom?

The bride’s name was readily available, since everyone was teasing her. She was Sally. And quickly, as Amy listened, his name was Chas, the diminutive of Charles.

Amy agreed with that choice of nickname. He wasn’t a Charlie, although the redhead did call him Charlie in such a sassy way she must be privileged. How privileged? Amy’s eyes narrowed on the redhead.

Then Amy thought, what business was it of hers? Well, at least Sally wasn’t marrying Chas. The groom’s name was Tad. Why the feeling of relief in her because the groom was not Chas?

“Any of Trilby’s bunch coming?” One of the group inquired of Sally.

“Who knows? I couldn’t find many and even they are all out of touch with one another. Trilby had ten children, all girls, and they married and scattered. With all the name changes, they’ve been hard to find. What we’ve found of the next generation, they were all girls, too!”