Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

Buck glanced warily toward Dorie and a ruddy color ran along his high cheekbones. “I never meant it the way you took it,” he retorted.

“You’ll think twice before you presume to make such remarks to me again, then, won’t you?”

Buck made a movement that his employer took for assent.

“And your Christmas bonus is now history!” he added.

Buck let out an angry breath, almost spoke, but crushed his lips together finally in furious submission.

“Go home!” the older man said abruptly.

Buck pulled his hat over his eyes, tossed a dollar bill on the table with his coffee cup and strode out with barely a tip of the hat to the women present, muttering under his breath as he went.

The door closed with a snap. Corrigan Hart didn’t move. He stood very still for a moment, as if steeling himself.

Then he turned, and his pale eyes stared right into Dorie’s. But the anger in them eclipsed into a look of such shock that Dorie blinked.

“What happened to you?” he asked shortly.

She knew what he meant without asking. She put a hand self-consciously to her cheek. “An accident,” she said stiffly.

His chin lifted. The tension in the café was so thick that Abby shifted uncomfortably at the table.

“You don’t model now,” he continued.

The certainty in the statement made her miserable. “No. Of course I don’t.”

He leaned heavily on the cane. “Sorry about your father,” he said curtly.

She nodded.

His face seemed pinched as he stared at her. Even across the room, the heat in the look was tangible to Dorie. Her hands holding the mug of hot chocolate went white at the knuckles from the pressure of them around it.

He glanced at Abby. “How are things at the feedlot?”

“Much as usual,” she replied pleasantly. “Calhoun and Justin are still turning away business. Nice, in the flat cattle market this fall.”

“I agree. We’ve culled as many head as possible and we’re venturing into new areas of crossbreeding. Nothing but purebreds now. We’re hoping to pioneer a new breed.”

“Good for you,” Abby replied.

His eyes went back to Dorie. They lingered on her wan face, her lack of spirit. “How long are you going to stay?” he asked.

The question was voiced in such a way it seemed like a challenge. Her shoulders rose and fell. “Until I tie up all the loose ends, I suppose. They’ve given me two weeks off at the law firm where I work.”

“As an attorney?”

She shook her head. “A stenographer.”

He scowled. “With your head for figures?” he asked shortly.

Her gaze was puzzled. She hadn’t realized that he was aware of her aptitude for math.

“It’s a waste,” he persisted. “You’d have been a natural at bookkeeping and marketing.”

She’d often thought so, too, but she hadn’t pursued her interest in that field. Especially after her first attempt at modeling.

He gave her a calculating stare. “Clarisse Marston has opened a boutique in town. She designs women’s clothes and has them made up at a local textile plant. She sells all over the state.”

“Yes,” Abby added. “In fact, she’s now doing a lot of designing for Todd Burke’s wife, Jane—you know, her signature rodeo line of sportswear.”

“I’ve heard of it, even in New York,” Dorie admitted.

“The thing Clarisse doesn’t have is someone to help her with marketing and bookkeeping.” He shook his head. “It amazes me that she hasn’t gone belly-up already.”

Abby started to speak, but the look on Corrigan’s face silenced her. She only smiled at Dorie.

“This is your home,” Corrigan persisted quietly. “You were born and raised in Jacobsville. Surely having a good job here would be preferable to being a stenographer in New York. Unless,” he added slowly, “there’s some reason you want to stay there.”

His eyes were flashing. Dorie looked into the film on her cooling hot chocolate. “I don’t have anyone in New York.” She shifted her legs. “I don’t have anyone here, either, now.”

“But you do,” Abby protested. “All your friends.”

“Of course, she may miss the bright lights and excitement,” Corrigan drawled.

She looked at him curiously. He was trying to goad her. Why?

“Is Jacobsville too small for you now, city girl?” he persisted with a mocking smile.

“No, it isn’t that at all,” she said. She cleared her throat.

“Come home,” Abby coaxed.

She didn’t answer.

“Still afraid of me?” Corrigan asked with a harsh laugh when her head jerked up. “That’s why you left. Is it why you won’t come back?”

She colored furiously, the first trace of color that had shown in her face since the strange conversation began.

“I’m not…afraid of you!” she faltered.

But she was, and he knew it. His silver eyes narrowed and that familiar, mocking smile turned up his thin upper lip. “Prove it.”

“Maybe Miss Marston doesn’t want a bookkeeper.”

“She does,” he returned.

She hesitated. “She might not like me.”