in the mail nearly a month ago. He didn’t want to get dragged into anything, especially not now.
Denial seemed the best way to go.
“Sorry.”
Greer supposed it was possible that the man hadn’t heard of Megan Maitland. If he’d been living in a cave for the last twenty-five years. Still, it wasn’t her place to call him a liar.
Ever the diplomat, she pretended she believed him and patiently explained, “She and her family run Maitland Maternity in Austin, Texas.”
Greer watched his generous lips draw together in slight disdain. She couldn’t tell if it was in response to her, her tone, or what she’d just said.
“I know where Austin is. Don’t know where the Maternity is and don’t rightly think I’ll be needing that information anytime soon.” He peeled off his thick gray socks and let them drop over his discarded boots.
Panic made a second appearance, assaulting her stomach. Any second, the man was going to start taking off his jeans, she just knew it. Desperation fueled her determination. “Will you listen to me and stop talking for a minute?”
Rafe’s eyes gave nothing away as he offered her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Greer pressed her lips together, trying not to dwell on how much she despised hearing that term applied to her. She’d heard it, time and again, years before she ever thought she deserved it. Years before she was ready for it. She hated the idea that she’d grown into a “ma’am” without ever having been a “miss” in anyone’s eyes. She couldn’t help feeling that somehow she’d arrived on the doorstep of settled maturity without having reaped the joys of youth along the way.
“Mrs. Maitland is throwing a Christmas party this December—”
Rafe snorted disparagingly. That was no concern of his. “Good time for it.”
Greer purposely ignored the blatant disdain in his voice. “—and she’d like you to attend. Actually, she’d like you to arrive there as early as possible so that she could get to know you.”
Standing up, he towered over her. His eyes holding hers, Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets. It caused his unsnapped jeans to sink dangerously low on hips that seemed rock solid.
“Why me?”
Her mouth went dry. Greer was having a great deal of difficulty in not noticing just how lean and hard Rafe Maitland was, how his years in the saddle had left him with a body that seemed sculpted out of granite.
Greer dropped her eyes to study the lone pillow haphazardly thrown onto the sofa, pretending to be interested in its Navajo pattern.
“Well, not you alone. You and all the other Maitlands.” She raised her head and looked up at him, wondering if his older brother and sister were going to be this difficult. “Mrs. Maitland wants this to be a family reunion.”
He’d just bet she did. Rafe scowled. Well, he had better things to do than dance like a wooden puppet because some rich dowager wanted to amuse herself and pull the strings.
“Sorry, I’m not much on family and I’ve got all I can handle at the moment.” His fingers resting on the tongue of his zipper, Rafe looked at Megan Maitland’s messenger, feeling the last of his patience leaving. “Now, if that’s all…”
Greer knew that part of her problem was that she appeared to be a complete pushover. But, in a way, that was also part of her strength, her secret weapon, because no one expected her to doggedly dig in. And she did. “No, that’s not all. You’re supposed to say yes.”
Now she was getting him angry. “Why? Because some rich lady says I am?”
Greer’s chin rose triumphantly. “Then you do know who she is.”
For a second, his attention fixed on the hint of a cleft in Greer’s chin. He shook off the sudden, unexpected impulse to run his finger along the indentation. He’d made a slip and he didn’t like making slips. Making slips was sloppy.
His brows drew together as his eyes darkened. Lesser men had backed down from him when he looked like that. That she didn’t look afraid both surprised and impressed him. But impressed or not, he didn’t have time for any nonsense, and this very definitely came under the heading of “nonsense.”
“Whether I do or don’t doesn’t make any difference. I don’t have time for parties, or for sitting around twiddling my thumbs because some woman claiming to be my aunt wants to ‘get to know me.’” He shot her words back at her. Rafe had no use for people who didn’t do an honest day’s work for a living. That had been his father’s way, living off others. Scamming, conniving, until the day he met his demise in an alley behind a casino in what had all the earmarks of a syndicate hit. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a working ranch and I’m one of the ones doing the working.”
Standing over her, he was so close that he seemed to be taking up all the available air. Determined to make him agree, Greer was still having trouble keeping her mind focused.
“Mr. Maitland, Mrs. Maitland has her heart set on getting everyone together.”
What some society woman did or didn’t want made no impression on him. He had to make his living out here, in the real world. He turned away from Megan Maitland’s little pit bull of a messenger and began to walk toward his bedroom and the shower that was just beyond.
“Well, then, I’m afraid her heart’s going to be broken, but I suspect she’ll live.”
Moving quickly, Greer got in front of him again, blocking his way out of the room. “Why don’t you at least think about it?”
Rafe paused, cocked his head as if shifting something over from one side to the other, then said, “There. I thought about it.” He looked her right in the eyes. “No,” he enunciated very firmly.
She felt her knees becoming less than solid. Envisioning Megan’s disappointment, Greer somehow managed to hold her ground. “Why?”
What was wrong with this woman? Why couldn’t she take no for an answer? “Because I plain don’t have the time or the inclination.” He had to really work to hold on to his temper. “Look, I don’t know this woman, and if she’s my aunt like you say—”
“She is—”
The look in his eyes froze any further words in her throat. “Then where was she before?”
“Before?” Greer echoed, not sure what he was referring to.
“Before now,” he ground out. He was tired, he was hungry and the unseasonable humidity was making the shoulder he’d injured years ago when he’d spilled off his horse ache. “Why no cards at Christmas? Why no visits in the last twenty-five years? No word while I was growing up? For all I know, Greer, this is just some big hoax—”
The flash of temper came out of nowhere, like a quick summer storm in the desert. She didn’t like the way he’d said her name, as if it were something comical. “It’s not.”
“Why should I go?” he wanted to know, looming over her again, his eyes holding hers. “Because you say so?”
