Sultry. Mary Baxter Lynn
fuss so.”
“I wish you’d do like your cardiologist told you and take it easy,” she said. “Which didn’t include playing a round of golf.”
Cooper’s bushy white eyebrows drew together. “I see Dolly’s been running her mouth.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I didn’t play,” he announced in a petulant tone. “I just rode around with a friend, and I’m none the worse for it. And as you can see, I’m already in bed, though I don’t like it, mind you.”
Probably because he was without a woman beside him, Lindsay thought, recalling her conversation with her brother. Like Tim, would she ever accept the unvarnished truth that her daddy was a ladies’ man, that he had most likely been unfaithful to her mother? She doubted it. After all these years, that fact still rankled. Yet he’d never married again, which had always puzzled her. But then, she had never pretended to understand her daddy, and knew that she never would.
“You look nice, my dear,” Cooper said, bridging the short silence.
“Thanks,” Lindsay murmured, looking not at him but out the French doors.
“Are you about to have dinner?”
“Shortly.”
“With Peter?”
Lindsay smothered a sigh. “No. I’m dining alone, actually.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he snapped. “I’m sure Peter would be more than happy to join you.”
Lindsay wanted to lash out and say that Peter was his pet, not hers. But she didn’t. Instead, she told him, “I didn’t feel like company. I’m still suffering the effects of jet lag.”
“I meant what I said last night, Lindsay.”
So much for her good intentions. However, she hadn’t been called her father’s daughter for nothing. She could be—and often was—as stubborn as he was.
“Daddy, I—”
He held up a hand, halting her flow of words. “I know what you’re about to say.”
“Then let me say it.”
Cooper’s lips tightened. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I know, but—”
He interrupted again. “It’s past time you were married.”
“That way of thinking is archaic, Daddy. I’m only twenty-six years old, for heaven’s sake.”
“That’s beside the point, and not even the most important issue. No young woman of your prestige and status should be without a husband.” He paused, as if to let his words sink in. “I’ve already pointed that out countless times. How long is it going to take before it soaks in?”
Lindsay flushed and bit down on her lower lip.
“It’s just not proper. Your mother would have agreed with me one hundred percent.”
Lindsay bristled but continued to hold her tongue, again wise enough to know that now was not the time for a final showdown, not when he was recuperating from a nasty accident. Yet his old-fashioned attitude sent her irritation factor soaring off the charts.
“We’ll talk later, Daddy.” She made her way toward the door.
“Good night, my dear.”
She swung back around and smiled, though not with her eyes. “Good night.”
Thirty minutes later, Lindsay was sitting in the parlor, sipping on flavored coffee from the silver pot that Dolly had left on one corner of the table. She had just finished a delicious meal in the small, less formal dining room and was feeling her eyes grow heavier by the minute. Moments after they closed, she heard the doorbell chime.
Groaning inwardly, her lashes fluttered open and she saw Peter standing in the doorway. Oh, brother, she thought, her heart plummeting.
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Hello, Peter,” she said, not bothering to hide her aggravation.
If he picked up on it, he didn’t show it. He crossed to the couch and sat down on the opposite end. “Dolly let me in,” he said inanely. “She thought you might enjoy some company, said you seemed lonely.”
Boy, was Dolly in big trouble. “I’m not lonely. I’m exhausted.”
“In that case, I won’t stay long.”
A silence fell between them.
Peter didn’t have to say anything for her to know that he was mentally shifting gears, getting ready for what he hoped was the big and final pitch.
“Lindsay, you already know how I feel about you.”
She deliberately set her cup down on the tray and looked at him. “I know that you don’t love me.”
He was obviously stunned by her bluntness and seemed to scramble for a suitable reply. “You don’t know any such thing.”
“Look, Peter, this is not a good time—not when I’ve just arrived back home and not so soon after Daddy’s accident.” God, did she sound like a broken record or what?
He let out a deep sigh. “All right, Lindsay. But you should know, I’m not going to go away.”
She hadn’t thought he would, not because he loved her, but because Cooper wanted him in the picture. And for whatever reason, Peter seemed content to be led by the nose.
Unwittingly, the thought crossed her mind that the “gardener” she had seen earlier could never be coerced into doing anything he didn’t want to do. The set of his jaw and his air of self-confidence had said as much. But then, like her brother, Peter was weak in many ways. If she were to marry him, they would live in the big house, in her suite, which was something her daddy also wanted.
Would there ever come a time when pleasing Cooper wasn’t important to her? Or would the legacy of her mother’s suicide always force her to feel overly dependent on the one parent she had left, even when he didn’t always deserve the level of her devotion?
“I don’t know about you,” Lindsay said suddenly, “but I need some fresh air.”
Before Peter could respond, she was up, had the French doors open and was out on the cozy side veranda. Peter followed suit with their cups. It was when she reached for hers that her hand froze.
Him. Again.
“Lindsay, what’s wrong?” Peter demanded.
“Er…nothing.” She forced a smile, and with fingers that weren’t quite steady, she took the cup.
However, her eyes never strayed off Mitch Rawlins, who was standing on the front porch of his cottage, leaning against a post. Even though he was too far away for her to see his eyes, she sensed he was also staring at her.
Lindsay’s heart raced, and her palms turned sweaty. Before she could begin to sort through this explosive and unexpected reaction, Mitch pushed his big body away from the post. Yet his gaze seemed to be stuck on her.
She stiffened as a myriad of emotions charged through her. This was the second time she’d seen this man. Both times she’d responded in an animalistic way. Her face flamed. It was purely physical, she told herself, which in itself was crazy.
The feeling would go away, she assured herself, forcing down the desperation closing in on her.
Yet there was something about him, something about his razor-stubbled face and big body, that messed with her hormones. Suddenly she felt torn between her body’s betrayal and her mind’s determination to keep her distance.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Peter gave her a strange look.