Heather's Song. Diana Palmer
food will give you indigestion,” she scribbled with a grin.
He laughed. “Yes, I suppose it will, but I’m not a patient. Where did you get that gown?”
“It’s hospital issue,” she lied on paper.
“Smart hospital. No patient, male patient, that is, would ever want to escape if all the female patients wore gowns like that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Where’s your stepbrother? They told me he came last night. Excuse me, stormed in last night,” he added with a grin. “At least two of the nurses are being treated for shock, I hear.”
“He was mad,” she wrote on her pad.
“He should have jumped on whoever forgot to give him the message,” Gil pointed out, “not on the poor nurses. They couldn’t help it.”
She sighed. “The nurses were here,” she wrote.
“Oh.” He nodded. “And the poor soul who didn’t deliver the message wasn’t. I wish I knew the devil’s name, I’d send flowers in advance.”
Heather’s face lit up in a smile. Gil was such fun to be around. He made all the shadows go away, and while she was with him she forgot her fears and was able to relax.
He was telling her stories about his early days as a reporter when the door swung open and Cole walked in to find Gil Austin sitting comfortably on the side of Heather’s bed. Cole stood quietly in the doorway, and his very stance spelled trouble.
Heather could almost see his neck hair bristling. That silvery glitter in his eyes was dangerous, and she didn’t like the way he fixed his icy gaze on the man sitting beside her on the bed.
“The stepbrother, I presume,” Gil said with irrepressible good humor as he rose to face the newcomer.
Cole wasn’t amused. He glared at the younger man, his powerful body held in rigid control.
Gil cleared his throat, disconcerted by that level stare. “I’m Gil Austin,” he said, breaking the silence. “I cover the entertainment beat for the News Herald—and Heather’s my girl.” He glanced possessively at the slender young woman under the white sheets.
Cole’s eyes seemed to explode. His jaw went even tauter in his dark face. “A reporter,” he said, making an insult of the word. His eyes swept contemptuously over the shorter man before he turned back to Heather. “I’ll come by for you first thing in the morning,” he told her curtly. “Is there anything you want from your apartment? You’ll be at the ranch for a few weeks, at least.”
Heather scribbled “my coat.” She grimaced at the faint amusement in Cole’s eyes. She was superstitious about the ankle-length ermine coat Cole had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She never traveled without it.
“I’ll bring it,” he promised. “Anything else?”
“My purse,” she scribbled, “my old one—in the closet.”
He frowned.
“I keep my important papers in it,” she wrote, “and my money.”
His eyes narrowed. “You won’t need a bankroll to come home with.”
She sighed with irritation. If only she could talk. She wanted to tell him she didn’t need his handouts…but he read the emotion in her eyes and lifted his head in that arrogant way he had. She could have hit him.
“Can I do anything?” Gil asked, feeling left out.
“We can manage,” Cole said abruptly, sparing the man a glance.
“I’d like to visit Heather while she’s recuperating,” he persisted.
Cole turned around and stared right through him. “The last thing she’s going to need right now are visitors,” he said without even pretending courtesy.
Heather gaped at him. Cole had always been possessive, but now he was acting as though he owned her. Why couldn’t she have visitors?
“Heather needs peace and quiet to get over the trauma of the accident. She’ll heal quicker with family,” Cole added, “and I’m going to take them to Nassau for a week or so, anyway. She can call you when she’s back on her feet.”
Gil hesitated. It was the first time Heather had known him to be without a comeback.
“Get some rest, baby,” Cole told her, bending to brush his hard lips against her hair. “I’ll be here early, so don’t stay up too late with your boyfriend,” he added pointedly. “Good night, Austin,” he said, pinning the other man with his narrowed eyes.
Gil cleared his throat. “You’re right, she does look tired. Good night, little one,” he said, resisting the urge to kiss her before he left. Everett looked frankly dangerous. “Nice to have met you,” he added, pausing to smile at Heather. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Over my dead body,” Cole muttered when he’d gone, and Heather noticed that one lean hand had all but crushed the crown of his Stetson.
“Why don’t you like him?” she wrote on the pad, holding it up with a frown.
“He’s too old for you,” he shot right back.
“I like him,” she scribbled angrily.
But he didn’t even answer her. “Emma’s cooking your favorite dishes,” he said pleasantly enough. “She ran Mrs. Jones out of the kitchen to start getting everything ready. Mothers!”
She smiled involuntarily. Emma might only be her stepmother, but she was as dear to Heather as if there’d been a blood tie between them. She sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe she did need to be alone for a while. Maybe it would do her good to get away from everyone who might remind her of her career and the strangely unsatisfying life she’d made for herself in Houston.
She opened her eyes suddenly to find Cole watching her. She dropped her gaze quickly to the bedclothes, wondering at the way her pulse was misbehaving.
“Good night, baby,” he said curtly and was gone before she could get her pulse under control.
Chapter Two
The flight to Branntville took hardly any time at all, and Heather watched the flat barren landscape with eyes that remembered it in spring, when the bluebonnets were blooming along with the black-eyed Susans and the trees were a hundred different soft shades of green. She smiled at the memory, and Cole took his eyes away from the controls long enough to read the expression on her flushed face.
“And you were willing to give it all up to sing in a nightclub,” he scoffed. “Still think it was a good trade—clean air for smoky rooms?”
She tossed her hair impatiently and glared up at him.
A slow, lazy smile touched his chiseled mouth. “All right, Sunflower.” He chuckled, using his childhood nickname for her. “I get the message.”
She tore her gaze away from his. Cole had a dark charm that must be devastating when he wanted something from a woman, she mused, letting her eyes focus on the beautifully masculine hands at the controls of the twin-engine Cessna. They were long-fingered and dark, and they held the promise of great strength. His mouth, too, was strong, with a sensuality she was only now beginning to notice. The thought brought a slight frown to her face. Would he be a gentle lover? She flushed, vividly remembering the night last year when she saw him kiss Tessa at her birthday party, his mouth rough, not an inch of space between his hard-muscled body and Tessa’s…. The sight had been disturbing to Heather, although she didn’t know why. She carried the picture in her mind for days afterward: Tessa had been clinging to Cole like ivy, as if his kiss was everything she needed from life. No, she thought uneasily, Cole wouldn’t be gentle. He was a man of extremes, and she sensed that his passions were strong ones. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the brief, cool kisses