Harden

He cut her off. “Here. Drink this. It won’t sober you up, but it might lighten your mood a bit.”

He pushed a cup and saucer toward her. The smell of strong coffee drifted up into her nostrils as she lifted the cup.

“Careful,” he said. “Don’t spill it on that pretty dress.”

“It’s old,” she replied with a sad smile. “My clothes have to last years. Tim was furious that I wasted money on this one, but I wanted just one nice dress.”

He sat down across from her and leaned back, crossing his long legs before he lit a cigarette and dragged an ashtray closer. “If you don’t like the smoke, I’ll turn the air-conditioning up,” he offered.

“I don’t mind it,” she replied. “I used to smoke, but Tim made me quit. He didn’t like it.”

Harden was getting a picture of the late Tim that he didn’t like. He blew out a cloud of smoke, his eyes raking her face, absorbing the fragility in it. “What kind of secretary are you?”

“Legal,” she said. “I work for a firm of attorneys. It’s a good job. I’m a paralegal now. I took night courses to learn it. I do a lot of legwork and researching along with typing up briefs and such. It gives me some freedom, because I’m not chained to a desk all day.”

“The man you were with tonight…”

“Sam?” She laughed. “It isn’t like that. Sam is my brother.”

His eyebrows arched. “Your brother takes you on drinking sprees?”

“Sam is a doctor, and he hardly drinks at all. He and Joan—my sister-in-law—have been letting me stay with them since…since the accident. But tonight I was going home. I’d just come from an office party. I certainly didn’t feel like a party, but I got dragged in because everyone thought a few drinks might make me feel better. They did. But one of my coworkers thought I was feeling too much better so she called Sam to come and get me. Then I wanted to come here and try a piña colada and Sam humored me because I threatened to make a scene.” She smiled. “Sam is very straitlaced. He’s a surgeon.”

“You don’t favor each other.”

She laughed, and it was like silvery bells all over again. “He looks like our father. I look like our mother’s mother. There are just the two of us. Our parents were middle-aged when they married and had us. They died within six months of each other when Sam was still in medical school. He’s ten years older than I am, you see. He practically raised me.”

“His wife didn’t mind?”

“Oh, no,” she said, remembering Joan’s kindness and maternal instincts. “They can’t have children of their own. Joan always said I was more like her daughter than her sister-in-law. She’s been very good to me.”

He couldn’t imagine anybody not being good to her. She wasn’t like the women he’d known in the past. This one seemed to have a heart. And despite her widowed status, there was something very innocent about her, almost naive.

“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.”