One Bride Delivered. Jeanne Allan
velvet upholstery. “You cared enough about Davy to worry about him being too young for camp.”
“Don’t read anything into that. You want the brutal truth, Ms. Lassiter? If my brother hadn’t gotten the hots for a pretty face, we wouldn’t have to figure out what the hell to do with the boy he left behind. Steeles raise hotels, they don’t raise children. Davy would have been better off dying in the plane crash with his parents.”
The sound of a closing door came on the heels of Cheyenne’s horrified gasp. Thomas Steele instantly spun around. Jamming his clenched fists into his pockets, he stared at the closed door to Davy’s room. Only the slightest twitch at the corner of one eye disturbed his stone-carved countenance. Then he ground out a swearword and turned away, delivering a swift kick to the nearest chair.
Cheyenne waited until it was apparent Thomas Steele had no intention of going to his nephew before she went to Davy’s door and knocked. She didn’t wait for permission to enter.
Davy sat on the extreme edge of his bed, his thin shoulders hunched over. Cheyenne sat beside him on the frilly mauve bedspread. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, answering the question of how much he’d understood of his uncle’s words.
When she wrapped an arm around him, Davy tried to pull away, but she held him tighter. With her other hand she reached for a box of tissues and held it out to him. “He didn’t mean it.” Davy’s anguish drew the lie from her. Cheyenne didn’t know what Thomas Steele had meant.
“I didn’t want to go to camp. There are bears in the woods and I didn’t know anybody and I couldn’t sleep with my sniffer.”
“What’s a sniffer?”
Davy hung his head lower. “Grandmother threw Bear away because he had holes and stuff was coming out and she said he smelled bad and I was too old to take him to bed. I saved a little piece that come off I keep it under my pillow. It’s a secret. Pearl knows, but she won’t tell.”
“Who’s Pearl? A friend?”
“She works for Grandmother at the hotel.”
“You live in a hotel?”
Davy nodded. Taking a tissue, he noisily blew his nose. “I think Uncle Thomas knows about my sniffer. That’s why he don’t like me. Pearl said he does, but he don’t.”
The sad little voice tore at Cheyenne’s heart, and she wanted to hit Davy’s uncle. Thomas Steele definitely had a problem, and what that problem was, she had no idea, but he had no right to make a little boy so unhappy. Or himself so unhappy. The unbidden thought gave her pause, but Davy came first. Gently squeezing him, she forced lightness into her voice. “Somebody probably took your uncle Thomas’s sniffer away from him when he was a little boy and that’s why he’s so cranky.”
Davy gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t think he had a sniffer. Grandmother says he’s mean and bossy. She told Grandfather she got the wrong baby when she got Uncle Thomas from the hospital. I asked Pearl what Grandmother meant and she laughed and said Uncle Thomas spits like Grandfather and all the Steeles. I never seen Grandfather spit.” He paused. “I thought Uncle Thomas wanted me to come so he could teach me to spit. I’m a Steele, too.”
Cheyenne needed a second to interpret Davy’s words. “Pearl must have meant your uncle Thomas is the spitting image of your grandfather. That means they look alike. People say my sister Allie and I are the spitting images of each other.”
“I wish I had a brother to play with.”
Cheyenne saw an opportunity to perhaps repair some damage. “Sisters aren’t always so great. Last week Allie let Moonie, one of her dogs, get a hold of my new sweater and Moonie chewed a big hole in it. I told Allie I couldn’t decide whether to kill her or Moonie.”
Davy gave her a wide-eyed look. “You wanted to kill your sister?”
“Of course not. People say stupid things without meaning what they say. Maybe they are unhappy or in a bad mood. Your uncle’s probably in a bad mood because he’s hungry.” She rubbed Davy’s back. “He should have eaten his breakfast.”
“Grandmother says I’m a nuisance. When I’m eight she’s gonna send me away to school and have a party.”
“Your grandmother is teasing you.” Inwardly Cheyenne raged. What kind of people were these Steeles?
“He’s not,” the boy mumbled. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.” Cheyenne searched for words to explain Thomas Steele’s behavior. How could she explain what she herself didn’t understand? Why would a man reject his nephew?
She thought of her own family. Her mother had refused to judge Beau, explaining people had to be taught how to love. Cheyenne had been much older than seven before she understood what Mary Lassiter meant. It wasn’t the kind of answer Davy needed now. Feeling her way, Cheyenne said, “You know how it hurts when you fall and cut your knee? Maybe inside, your uncle hurts like that because he misses your father.”
“I forgot to feed my goldfish and he died. Grandmother told me I was bad. She flushed Goldie down the toilet.” Davy gave Cheyenne a miserable look. “I think I was bad when I was a baby. That’s why my mother and father died. That’s why Uncle Thomas hates me.”
Cheyenne jerked around at a sound behind her. Thomas Steele stood just inside the room.
CHAPTER TWO
“SAY something,” Cheyenne said furiously when Thomas Steele did nothing more than imitate a garden statue.
He flicked a stony look at her before saying in a stilted voice, “Your parents died because their plane crashed in bad weather. You had nothing to do with it, and I don’t hate you. Don’t be dramatic.”
So much for sensitivity: Giving Davy another squeeze, she told him to wash his face while she spoke to his uncle. Outside the bedroom, Cheyenne said, “Some reassurance and a hug would have been more appropriate than telling him to quit being dramatic.”
A steel beam showed more emotion than Thomas Steele. He stared unblinkingly at her. “I spoke with Frank McCall and he assures me you’re legitimate.”
“My mother has always said so.”
“I’m referring to your business. McCall said you run individual tours for people who don’t want to sign up with the usual group tours. He gave you a sterling rating and said he could come up with references if I wanted them.”
Cheyenne easily interpreted the begrudging note in Thomas Steele’s voice. “Would you have preferred I have a criminal record?”
“You answered the ad for a wife to drum up business.”
“I did not.”
“Don’t waste my time denying it. I admire enterprise. You saw an opportunity and went for it. It worked. You’re hired.”
“Hired? For what?”
“The women I employed obviously aren’t working out. You can take charge of the boy while we’re here.”
“I run a tour agency, not a day care center.”
“McCall said you take kids.”
“I take families.”
“Drag the boy along.”
She’d like to drag someone. Behind a speeding car over a pasture full of cactus. “We run individualized tours for families. Each family pays us to cater to their particular needs and interests. I cannot, as you so crudely suggest, drag a seven-year-old along on a tour personalized for others. It wouldn’t be fair to them or to Davy Aspen has a number of options for day care or activities and tours geared toward children. Frank McCall can steer you to one.”
“You came looking for me, Ms. Lassiter, not the other way around. The advertisement brought you,