for dinner? Want me to thaw out some steaks? And I’ll ask Marisol to make that potato and cheese casserole you like so much.”
“That sounds perfect,” he’d said. “But take out an extra steak or two. I’m bringing a couple of people with me.”
“Oh?” She still hadn’t suspected a thing. She’d thought he meant business associates—a new contact, perhaps.
“I wanted you to be the first to know, Caroline. I’m…engaged to be married.”
Caroline had been so shocked, she’d been unable to speak. Then she’d thought she’d misunderstood him. “Wh-what did you say?”
He’d laughed. “I said, I’m engaged. Her name is Jill. And she has a ten-year-old son named Jordan. They’re both coming home with me tomorrow. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
After that, Caroline wasn’t sure what she’d said. She’d been shaking and very upset. She hadn’t even tried to hide it. And her father, who was normally the kindest of men, had acted as if he were oblivious. He’d just said, “I know you’re going to love Jill, Caroline. I think you’ll be the best of friends.”
Finally she’d recovered enough to ask questions, which he’d reluctantly answered. That was when she’d found out how young his new fiancée was.
Thinking about that now, Caroline knew he’d hoped to wait until he got home before he’d have to admit that he planned to marry a woman younger than his own daughter. That the woman, this Jill person, was a gold digger was a given.
Yes, Caroline knew her father was handsome, but he was fifty-seven years old, for crying out loud! Maybe fifty-seven-year-old movie stars married thirty-year-old women, but in the real world, that didn’t happen unless the man was wealthy. And ever since oil had been discovered on their land, Elliott Tyler Lawrence had become extremely wealthy.
Oh, this woman was after his money, no doubt about it. She’d taken one look at Caroline’s father and seen a permanent meal ticket. Honestly, men were such fools, Caroline thought bitterly.
She could just imagine what this Jill looked like. She was probably a big-breasted, blond, Pamela Anderson type. Friends! Was her father serious? There was no way on God’s green earth that Caroline would ever become friends with some slut who was trying to usurp Caroline’s mother’s rightful place in her father’s heart.
And mine.
Frightened tears welled in Caroline’s eyes. How could he?
“Miss Caroline?”
Caroline whirled around. Marisol, their longtime housekeeper, stood in the arched doorway that led into the main foyer of the large ranch house. She was wiping her hands on her ever-present apron.
“What is it, Marisol?”
“For dessert tonight, Miss Caroline? I thought I’d make flan. Is that all right with you?”
“I don’t care. Whatever you want to make.”
After the housekeeper turned to go back to the kitchen, Caroline walked to the front window. She angrily swiped at her eyes, then gazed out at the bright June day. She was afraid to think about what would happen if her dad’s marriage plans went through. Would he want Caroline and Tyler to move? What would she do if he did? Just the idea of having to be out on her own again made her feel sick.
I can’t. I won’t.
She was still thinking of the possible consequences of her father’s news when she spied his dark red Dodge Ram truck at the top of the rise that led to the main house. Her heartbeat quickened. She was glad they were here early, before Tyler got home from his friend Evan’s house.
Thinking about her twelve-year-old son and the last thing her father had said to her before they’d hung up yesterday, she clenched her teeth. He thought Tyler and that woman’s brat would be friends, too. Huh. Not if Caroline had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t.
Taking a deep breath and stiffening her spine, she stalked out to the foyer and yanked open the door.
Chapter Two
Jill, nervous but trying to look as if she wasn’t, watched as Elliott, with a big smile on his face, walked over to meet the cool-looking blonde standing in the open doorway. She wore slim-cut jeans, layered tank tops in plum and white, and what looked like four-inch heels. She was very thin, almost brittle-looking. Her grayish-blue eyes held not a hint of warmth as they swept over Jill and Jordan.
Jill swallowed, and her heartbeat accelerated. She told herself she was a grown woman, that she shouldn’t be intimidated by Elliott’s daughter, that Rome wasn’t built in a day and that, given time, she would win Caroline over.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Elliott said, giving Caroline a hug.
She returned his hug, but her attention remained riveted on Jill and Jordan. Elliott reached for Jill’s hand and led her forward. “Caroline, this is Jill…and this handsome guy is Jordan.”
“Hello, Caroline,” Jill said. She projected the warmest smile she could muster. “It’s so nice to meet you.” She stuck her hand out. “Elliott’s told me so much about you.” She immediately wished she could take the last words back; she almost expected Caroline to answer, Well, he told me nothing about you!
“Hi,” piped Jordan, blue eyes bright with curiosity.
“Hello,” Caroline said. She didn’t smile in return, and for a moment it looked as if she would ignore Jill’s hand, too, but she finally gave it a brief shake.
To fill the awkward silence, Jill looked around. “It’s so beautiful here.” The rolling landscape dotted with shrubs and wildflowers, the river a few hundred yards away, the distant hills, the endless blue sky—Jill already itched to capture the scene with paint.
“Not as beautiful as it used to be,” Elliott said ruefully.
Jill knew he hated what he called the invasion of the oil derricks, although from here only the myriad buildings that were part of the working life of the ranch were visible. He’d told her the derricks and other equipment associated with the drilling operation were concentrated in the northwest quadrant of his property, which was very large—some thirty-two thousand acres in all.
“Where are the horses, Elliott?” Jordan said.
“I’ll take you over to the stables to see them after we get you and your mother settled in,” Elliott said, grinning at him. Putting his arm around Jill, he added, “Now that you’ve met Caroline, I’ll drive you around to the guesthouse, okay?”
“Okay,” Jill said, doubly grateful, now that she’d met Caroline, that she would have her own private place here.
Throughout this exchange, Caroline had said nothing. Turning his gaze back to his daughter, Elliott said, “Caroline, tell Marisol we probably won’t want dinner before eight. We ate a late lunch.”
“Eight?” She seemed about to protest, but finally just shrugged. “Marisol won’t like it.”
“Marisol will be fine with it,” Elliott said firmly.
