Nelson's Brand

“Around back,” he said, grimacing as he glanced toward the sound of a local band beyond the arch in the surrounding wall. “Gene’s out there.”

“Gene and Marie don’t get along,” Winnie told Allison.

“That’s like saying old-time cowboys and old-time Indians don’t get along.” Dwight sighed. “Fortunately the guests will keep them from killing each other in public. Mother used to spend her life separating them. It was fine while Gene was abroad for a year on a selling trip. We actually had peaceful meals. Now we have indigestion and a new cook every month.” He pursed his lips. “Speaking of food, let’s go see if there’s any left.” Dwight glanced over their heads toward the driveway. “I think you two are the last people we expected.”

“The best always are, darling,” Winnie said, smiling up at him with sparkling affection.

Allison had to fight her inclination to be jealous, but if anyone ever deserved happiness, Winnie did. She had a heart as big as the whole world.

She followed the engaged couple through the stone arch to the tents that had been set up with tables and chairs positioned underneath it to seat guests. A huge steer carcass was roasting over an open fire while a man basted it with sauce, smiling and nodding as two women, one of whom Winnie whispered was Marie Nelson, carried off platters of it to the tables.

Other pots contained baked beans and Brunswick stew, which were being served as well, along with what had to be homemade rolls.

“It smells heavenly,” Allison sighed, closing her eyes to inhale the sweet aroma.

“It tastes heavenly, too,” Dwight said. “I grabbed a sample on my way around the house. Here, sit down and dig in.”

He herded them toward the first tent, where there were several vacant seats, but he and Winnie were waylaid by a couple they knew and Allison was left to make her own way to the long table.

She took a plate and utensils from the end of the table, along with a glass of iced tea, and sat down. Platters of barbecue and rolls, and bowls of baked beans and Brunswick stew, were strategically placed all along the table. Allison filled her plate with small portions. It had been a long time since she’d felt comfortable eating her fill, and she had difficulty now with the sheer volume of food facing her.

Gene Nelson was standing nearby talking to a visiting cattleman when he saw Allison sit down alone at the table. His eyes had found her instantly, as if he’d known the second she’d arrived. He didn’t understand his fierce attraction to her, even if she did look good enough to eat tonight. Her dress was blatantly sexy, and she seemed much more sophisticated than she had in the bar with Dwight and Winnie. Winnie was a model, and he knew she had some liberated friends. He’d even dated Winnie once, which was why Dwight’s fiancée had such a bad opinion of him. Not that he’d gotten very far. Dwight had cut him out about the second date, and women were so thick on the ground that he’d never given Dwight’s appropriation of his date a second thought. That might have added to Winnie’s disapproval, he mused, the fact that he hadn’t wanted her enough to fight for her. It was nothing personal. He’d simply never wanted any woman enough to fight for her. They were all alike. Well, most all alike, he thought, staring helplessly at Allison, with her long, dark hair almost down to her narrow waist.

He sighed heavily as he watched her. It had been a while since he’d had a woman. His body ached for sensual oblivion, for something to ease the emotional pain he’d been through. Not that he remembered much about that supposedly wild night with Dale Branigan that had kept her hounding him. In fact, he hardly remembered it at all. Maybe that was why his body ached so when he looked at Allison. These dry spells were hell on the nerves.

Allison felt his gaze and lifted her hazel eyes to seek his across the space that separated them. Oh, but he was handsome, she thought dizzily. He was dressed in designer jeans and a neat white Western shirt with pearl snaps instead of buttons. He wore a burgundy bandanna around his neck and hand-tooled leather boots. His head was bare, his hair almost black and faintly damp, as if he’d just come from a shower. He was more masculine and threatening than any man Allison had ever known, and the way he looked at her made her tingle all over.

She shouldn’t encourage him; she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t stop looking at him. Her life had been barren of eligible men. It was inevitable that she might be attracted to the first nice-looking bachelor she met, she told herself.

If that look in her eyes wasn’t an invitation, he was blind, Gene thought, giving in to it with hardly a struggle. He excused himself, leaving the cattleman with another associate, and picked up a glass of beer and a plate and utensils before he joined Allison. He threw a long leg over the wooden bench at the table and sat down, glancing at the tiny portions on her plate.

“Don’t you like barbecue?” he asked coolly, and he didn’t smile.

She looked up into pale green eyes in a lean face with a deeply tanned complexion. Her eyes were a nice medium hazel flecked with green and gold, but his were like peridot—as pale as green ice under thick black lashes. His black hair was straight and conventionally cut, parted on the left side and pulled back from a broad forehead. He had high cheekbones and a square chin with a hint of a cleft in it. His mouth was as perfectly formed as the mouth on a Greek statue—wide and firm and faintly chiseled, with a thin upper lip and an only slightly fuller lower one. He wasn’t smiling, and he studied Allison with a blatantly familiar kind of scrutiny. It wasn’t the first time a man had undressed her with his eyes, but it was the first time it had affected her so completely. She wanted to pull the tablecloth off the table and wrap herself in it.

But that wouldn’t do, she told herself. Hadn’t she learned that the only way to confront a predator was with steady courage? Her sense of humor came to her rescue, and she warmed to the part she was playing.

“I said, don’t you like barbecue?” he repeated. His voice was like velvet, and very deep. The kind of voice that would sound best, she imagined, in intimacy. She started at her own thoughts. She must be in need of rest, to be thinking such things about a total stranger, even if he was lithe and lean and attractive.

“Oh, I like barbecue,” she answered with a demure smile. “I’m just not used to having it cut off the cow in front of me.”

He smiled faintly, a quirk of his mouth that matched the arrogant set of his head. “Do tell.”

“Do tell what?” she asked with what she hoped was a provocative glance from under the thick lashes that mascara had lengthened.

He was a little disappointed at her easy flirting. He’d rather expected her to be shy and maidenly. But it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken about a woman. He lifted a thick eyebrow. “Give me time. I’ll think up something.”

“A reason to stay alive,” she sighed, touching a hand to her chest. “I do hope you aren’t married with six children, Mr. Nelson. I would hate to spoil the barbecue by throwing myself off the roof.”

His eyes registered mild humor. “I’m not married.”

“You must wear a disguise in public,” she mused.

He studied her with pursed lips for a minute before he picked up his plate and glass and came around the table. Her heart skipped when he sat down beside her—very close. He smelled of soap and cologne, potent to a woman who wasn’t used to men in any form.

“You didn’t come alone, I suppose,” he mused, watching her closely. “Let me get a few bites of this under my belt so that I’ll have enough strength to beat your escort to his knees.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of those,” she assured him, hiding her nervousness in humor, as she always had. “I came with Winnie.”

“That spares my knuckles.” He was flirting, too, but she appealed to him.

“Have you known Winnie a long time?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yes,” she said. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, back in Arizona.”

Winnie had never mentioned her, but then, he hadn’t been around Winnie that much since she’d become engaged to Dwight. And these days, he had very little to say to Dwight.

“You said at the bar that you’d only be here a couple of weeks. How long have you been in Pryor?”

She smiled faintly. “Just a few days. I’m looking forward to a nice visit with Winnie. It’s been years since we spent any time together.” She couldn’t very well tell him that the length of her stay depended on whether or not she could keep anybody in Pryor from knowing who she was and why she was here. She’d successfully ducked the media since her arrival. She didn’t want them after her again.

“Have you done much sightseeing?” he asked, letting his eyes fall to her bare shoulders with bold interest.

“Not yet. But I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice to have a vacation from work.”

That sounded odd, as if she’d forced the words out and didn’t mean them. One pale eye narrowed even more. His gaze slid over her curiously, lingering on the thrust of her breasts under the low neckline. “What do you normally do—when you aren’t visiting old friends?” he asked.

“I’m a vamp,” she murmured dryly, enjoying herself as she registered his mild surprise. It was like being an actress, playing a part. It took her mind off the horror of the past months.

“No, I won’t buy that,” he said after a minute. “What do you really do?” he persisted, fingering his glass.

She lifted her own glass to her lips, to give her time to think. He didn’t look stupid. She couldn’t say anything that might give her away to Winnie’s neighbors, especially her future brother-in-law.

“I’m in the salvage business,” she said finally.

He stared at her.

She laughed. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean used cars and scrap metal and such. I’m in the human salvage business. I’m…” she hesitated, searching for something that wouldn’t be a total lie.

“You’re what?” he asked.

He was dangerously inquisitive, and almost too quick for her. She had to throw him off the track before he tripped her up and got at the truth. She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you by any chance the reincarnation of the Spanish Inquisition?”

“I don’t even speak Spanish,” he said. He smiled slowly, interested despite his suspicions. “How old are you?”

“Sir, you take my breath away!” she exclaimed.

His eyes fell to her mouth. “Is that a request?” he murmured, and there was suddenly a world of experience in the pale eyes that skimmed her mouth, in the deepness of his soft voice.