One Bride Delivered. Jeanne Allan
her of Thomas Steele. An automated, unfeeling machine.
A machine who’d brought his nephew with him to Aspen.
In her experience, adults who disliked children tried to hide their dislike. Even Harold Karper had publicly pretended a fondness for his stepson.
Thomas Steele demonstrated a total lack of affection for Davy, yet Cheyenne could have sworn he’d been perturbed to learn he’d missed his nephew’s birthday. A disconcerting thought crept into her mind, chilling her in spite of the warm, sunny morning. Had Thomas Steele been perturbed, or had she allowed a handsome face to influence her judgment?
Her father had used good looks and a facile charm to sabotage her mother’s judgment. Mary Lassiter had paid the price, raising four children by herself while her husband lived a bachelor’s life on the rodeo circuit. Calling Beau Lassiter an absentee father overstated his role. Absent, yes. A father, no.
Cheyenne had not been without a loving family. Her mother and grandfather more than made up for Beau’s negligence, and Worth and her two sisters would always be there for her.
Davy’s parents had died, leaving the poor kid with no one who cared about him. Cheyenne had delicately probed as he ate his breakfast, and the child’s artless answers convinced her he wasn’t physically battered. The question settled, she should have left when Davy went to his room to dress but the sad lonely picture he painted of an unwanted child, relegated to the periphery of his relatives’ lives made her heart ache. She couldn’t leave. Not yet.
Cheyenne rubbed the gleaming old oak windowsill. Davy needed a loving family. Someone ought to shake Thomas Steele until his head snapped. Someone ought to explain to him little boys were more important than hotels and women friends and making money. Her fingernails bit into the sill. She was the only someone around.
“What does a person have to do to get nd of you, Ms. Lassiter? Call security?”
Cheyenne hadn’t heard him return. To let him know she considered him quite insignificant, she waited a few seconds before turning to face him. And again felt the impact of his striking dark good looks. If it weren’t for the disdain in gray eyes and the cool self-assurance slightly curling the corners of his sensuous mouth, she might have found him attractive. She didn’t. Sneering, arrogant males didn’t interest her. No matter how tall they were.
She refused to be intimidated by a voice colder than the top of the mountain in February. Even if his beautifully tailored charcoal suit and white-collared dark blue shirt and maroon silk tie made her feel like a slightly grubby adolescent. He looked like a walking advertisement for what the sophisticated businessman should wear if he wanted to radiate power and confidence. And sex appeal.
Thomas Steele straightened a French cuff and lifted an eyebrow, a gesture clearly meant to make her feel like an errant schoolgirl. Cheyenne thrust from her mind any thoughts of his sex appeal. If ever the man existed who needed a few home truths, that man was Thomas Steele.
“I’ll leave when I’ve had my say,” she said.
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Or in Davy or anything he has to say.”
“The boy is my business.”
“Davy isn’t business. He’s a little boy. What kind of uncle are you? His parents are dead—yes, he told me. I sat with him while he finished breakfast. You should have. He said he has to stay with you until his grandparents return from a trip. He wanted to go to camp, but you wouldn’t let him.”
“Six years old is too young for camp.”
“He’s seven. He had a birthday three days ago, or have you already forgotten again?” If she hadn’t been watching closely, she wouldn’t have seen the infinitesimal stiffening of his body.
“My family’s never put much stock in birthdays.”
“Your family doesn’t put much stock in family. Davy thinks if he bothers you, you’ll lock him in a hotel room by himself.”
The barest tightening of his mouth acknowledged her words. “He has too much imagination.”
“Does he? I can see he’s afraid of you.”
“He’s afraid of everything. His own shadow, for all I know.”
“For all you know. Which isn’t very much, is it? He’s a little boy, in a strange place, with strange people, and an uncle who does nothing to reassure him. Would it hurt you to sit with him while he eats, talk to him, give him a hug, read him a bedtime story, hear his prayers?”
“It’s time he learned there’s no such thing as fairy tales, and praying is for those too weak and lazy to stand on their own two feet.”
“He’s only seven and his parents are dead,” Cheyenne said, torn between anger and horror. “He misses them terribly.”
“The boy was eight months old when they died. He doesn’t remember them.”
The quickly vanquished glimmer of pain in his eyes and the tightly controlled voice gave Cheyenne pause. Was Thomas Steele still grieving? Or denying his grief? She chose her words carefully. “Davy said his father was your brother. I’m sorry. It must be awful to lose a brother.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“Is sympathy for the weak and lazy, too?” The sharp look he gave her should have slashed her to ribbons. Cheyenne ignored it. “If it doesn’t hurt you to talk about your brother, you—”
“It doesn’t hurt,” he snapped.
“Then why haven’t you told Davy about his parents? He knows almost nothing. He said your mother won’t talk about them.”
Cheyenne wondered what Thomas Steele meant by the harsh laugh he uttered. When he said nothing, she persevered. He doesn’t even have a picture of his mother.”
“The two of you were certainly chatty.”
It would take more than a forbidding, sarcastic voice to chase her away. “He’s lonely. The baby-sitters you’ve hired tell him to go play or sit quietly and watch TV with them. Do you think that’s what his parents would have wanted?”
“I have no idea. My brother and I went our separate ways when he married.”
“Didn’t you like his wife?”
“I never met her. David didn’t want me to. He was raised to runSteele hotels, not marry one of the maids. He dropped out of college and out of the family.”
“But if he loved her and was happy...”
“Love. Happy.” He turned the words into a curse. “Steeles don’t many for love or happiness. They marry for control, power, passion, sex, money and any one of a hundred other reasons, but never for love and happiness.” Turning, he walked over to a huge black-lacquered chinoiserie armoire and opened its doors to disclose a fax machine. Ripping off the long ribbon of white hanging from the machine, he began to read.
Actions meant to dismiss her. Cheyenne marched across acres of black floral carpet and sat on the curvaceous purple velvet sofa. “You’re a Steele. Is that what you want from marriage?”
“Disappointed?” Looking up from his papers, his grin mocked her. “Did you think I’d take one look at your frizzy bleached hair and muddy blue eyes and fall hopelessly in love? Forget it Steeles don’t love.”
“Not even little boys?”
“Davy gets fed, clothed and schooled. He’ll survive. I did.”
He’d said the last two words as if they were a badge of honor instead of extremely sad. If they were true. Studies proved people needed love to survive. Thomas Steele had done more than survive. He’d thrived. How convenient to forget those who had loved him, rather than be inconvenienced by his nephew. “Davy needs love and attention,” she said firmly.
Thomas