Donavan. Diana Palmer
fingers.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her bluntly.
“I’m filling in for Nita,” she began.
“Don’t tell me you have to work for a living now, debutante?” he asked in a mocking tone.
She hesitated. He sounded as if he disliked her. But she knew he’d enjoyed the fiesta as much as she had. His behavior puzzled her, intimidated her.
“Well, yes,” she stammered. “I do.” And she did. For the time being.
“What a hell of a comedown,” he murmured with patent disbelief. “Still driving the Mercedes?”
“You know each other?” Calhoun asked narrowly.
Donavan lifted the cigar to his mouth and blew out thick smoke. “Vaguely.” He glanced at Calhoun until the other man sighed angrily and went back to his office with a muttered goodbye.
“You’ve been driving by the bar fairly regularly,” he remarked curtly, and she blushed because she couldn’t deny it. She’d been looking for him, hoping to have a chance to tell him how he’d helped her turn her life around. But he seemed to be putting a totally different connotation on her actions. “Is that where you found out I did business with the Ballengers?” He didn’t even give her time to deny it. “Well, no go, honey. I told you that night, no bored debutante is going to try to make a minor amusement out of me. So if you came here hoping for another shot at me, you might as well quit right now and go home to your caviar and champagne. You’re not hard on the eyes, but I’m off the market, is that clear?”
She stared at him in quiet confusion. “Mr. Holman told me about the job,” she said with what dignity she had left. “I don’t have a dime until my twenty-first birthday, and I’m living on my own so I have to pay rent. This was the only job available.” She dropped her gaze to her computer. “I drove by the bar a time or two, yes. I wanted to tell you that you’d changed my life, that I was learning to stand on my own feet. I wanted to thank you.”
His jaw tautened and he looked more dangerous than ever. “I don’t want thanks, teenage adulation, hero worship or misplaced lust. But you’re welcome, if it matters.”
He sounded cynical and mocking. Fay felt chastised. She’d only been grateful, but he made her feel stupid. Maybe she was. She’d spun a few midnight dreams about him. Except for some very innocent dates with boys, she’d never had much attention from the opposite sex. His protective attitude that night in the bar, his quiet handling of what could have become a bad incident, had made her feel feminine and hungry for more of his company. He was telling her that she’d made too much of it, that she was offering him affection that he didn’t want or need. It was probably a kindness, but it hurt all the same.
She forced a smile. “You needn’t worry. I wasn’t planning to follow you around with a wedding band on a hook or anything. I just wanted to thank you for what you did.”
“You’ve done that. So?”
“I…have a lot of work to get through. I’m only temporary,” she added quickly. “Just until Nita comes back. When I get my legacy, I’ll be on the first plane back to Georgia. Honest.”
His dark eyebrows plunged above the straight bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember asking for any explanations.”
“Excuse me, then.” She turned her attention back to her keyboard; her hands were cold and numb. She forced them to work. She didn’t look up, either. He’d made her feel like what came out of a sausage grinder.
He didn’t reply. He didn’t linger, either. His measured footsteps went out the door immediately, leaving the pungent scent of cigar smoke in their wake.
Calhoun came back out five minutes later, checking his watch. “I have to be out of the office for an hour or so. Tell Justin when he comes back, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling.
He hesitated, his narrowed eyes registering the hurt on her face that she couldn’t hide. “Listen, Fay, don’t let him upset you,” he added quietly. “He doesn’t really mean things as personally as they sound, but he rubs everybody the wrong way except Justin.”
“He saved me from a bad situation,” she began. “I only wanted to thank him, but he seemed to think I had designs on him or something. My goodness, he thought I came to work here because he did business with you!”
He laughed. “Can’t blame him. Several have, and no, I’m not kidding. The more he snarls, the harder some women chase him. He’s a catch, too. He makes good money with Mesa Blanco, and his own ranch is nothing to laugh at.”
“Mesa…Blanco?” she stammered, as puzzle pieces began to make a pattern in her mind.
“Sure. Didn’t he introduce himself before?” He smiled ruefully. “I guess not. Well, that was J. D. Langley.”
Chapter 3
Fay got through the rest of the day without showing too much of her heartache. She’d had hopes that Donavan might have felt something for her, but he’d dashed those very efficiently. He couldn’t have made it more obvious that he wanted no part of her or her monied background. He wouldn’t believe that she had to work. Well, of course, she didn’t, really. But he might have given her the benefit of the doubt.
It hadn’t been a terrible shock to learn that he was J. D. Langley. He did live down to his publicity. Later, she’d found out that Donavan was his middle name and what he was called locally, except by people who did business with him. She certainly understood why the Ballengers hated to see him coming.
She was sorry about his hostility, because the first time she’d ever seen him, there had been a tenderness between them that she’d never experienced. It must have all been on one side, though, she decided miserably.
Well, she told herself as she lay trying to sleep that night, she’d do better to stop brooding and concentrate on her own problems. She had enough, without adding the formidable Mr. Langley to them.
But fate was conspiring against her. The next day, she tried a new cafeteria in Jacobsville and came face-to-face with J. D. Langley as she sat down with her tray.
He gave her a glare that would have stopped traffic. He’d obviously just finished his meal. He was draining his coffee cup. Fay turned her chair so that she wasn’t looking directly at him and, with unsteady hands, took her food off the tray.
“I told you yesterday,” Donavan said at her shoulder, “that I don’t like being chased. Didn’t you listen?”
The whip of his voice cut. Not only that, it was loud enough to attract attention from other diners in the crowded room.
Fay’s face went red as she glanced at him apprehensively, her green eyes huge as they met the fierce silvery glitter of his.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here…” she began uneasily.
“No?” he challenged, his smile an insult in itself. “You didn’t recognize my car sitting in the parking lot? Give it up, debutante. I don’t like bored little rich girls, so stop following me around. Got that?”
He turned and left the cafeteria. Fay was too humiliated by the unwanted attention to enjoy much of her meal. She left quickly and went back to work.
Following him around, indeed, she muttered to herself while she fed data into her computer. She didn’t know what kind of car he drove. The only vehicle she’d seen him in was a battered gray pickup truck, had he forgotten? Perhaps he thought she’d seen his car when he’d come to the feedlot, but she hadn’t. The more she saw of him the less she liked him, and she’d hardly been hounding him. She certainly wouldn’t again, he could bank on that!
Abby came in the next afternoon with an invitation. “Calhoun and I have to go to a charity ball tonight. I know it’s spur-of-the-moment, but would you like to