have? How?” Angel smiled as she put glasses into the dishwater, remembering that Dulcie used to be able to read her like an open book.
“You haven’t asked a single question about how my brother got mixed up with a famous face like Jada Barrington.”
“I did wonder—” Angel hesitated “—but I’ve learned the value of privacy and I try to extend it to other people.” Then she grinned. “Besides, I can hardly imagine asking Day. Your brother isn’t exactly thrilled with my presence here.”
Dulcie sobered. “I know. And I blame every ounce of his attitude on Jada. Day has gotten a lot harder and a lot tougher since his marriage ended. The worst of it is, it’s my fault they ever met. I regret that stupid bet every day.”
“What bet?”
“The bet I made with Day.” Dulcie sighed. “Several years ago we heard that Jada was filming a special project in Lake Valley, a ghost town north of here. They needed local cowboys as extras. I bet Day they wouldn’t use him and he went just to prove me wrong. Jada took one look at him and decided that he would make great publicity. She was just starting out then, remember?”
Angel nodded. She thought of the way Day’s jeans had molded his long legs, those unforgettable eyes and the easy confidence he wore like a favorite hat. It was easy to see how any woman would take a second look at Day Kincaid. But the man she’d met didn’t seem the type to be easily manipulated by a woman. “So she bowled him over?”
“Not exactly.” Dulcie’s words confirmed her first thoughts. “But he was flattered by all the attention at first. Jada can be very persuasive, and for a while I think Day honestly thought she loved him. Anyway, I’ll give you the short version. Jada got pregnant, and when Day found out, he married her even though he wasn’t happy about it. She’d never have roped him otherwise. Jada thought Day would dance to her tune but when she found out he had no intention of ever joining her in L.A., they had some knock-down-and-drag-out fights like you can’t imagine. The result was that she went back to L.A. before the baby was born. When Beth Ann arrived, Jada couldn’t have been less interested. Day brought Bethie here when she was three days old, and until last year, Jada hadn’t even seen her.”
“What changed that?”
“Beth Ann is three now. As she got older, it occurred to Jada that the mother angle will enhance her somewhat soiled image. She’s been insisting on visitation and hinting at custody for several months.”
“That’s awful if it’s the only reason she wants Beth Ann.” Doubt crept in because she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving that sweet little girl. And she knew better than most how vicious the press could be. Maybe she’d been wrong in assuming that Jada had mistreated her child. Maybe the woman wasn’t as bad as she had been made out to be. “Maybe she misses her and regrets the time she’s lost.”
Dulcie snorted. “And pigs fly. Whenever Beth Ann comes back from a visit to Jada, she’s a silent mouse who’s afraid of her own shadow. She’s terrified of getting punished for getting dirty and she shies away from sudden movements as if she thinks she’s going to get hit.” Her face darkened. “Day’s trying to get full custody and I, for one, am hoping he succeeds.”
Angel thought of the love in Day’s rough tones when he kissed his daughter’s forehead, and of the way he’d given her his exclusive attention when he’d danced her around the kitchen earlier. There was no question that he adored his daughter. If what Dulcie believed was true, then she, too, hoped Day would succeed in gaining full custody, for the child’s sake.
Three
When Day came into the kitchen before the crack of dawn the next morning, he was surprised to note that Dulcie must have gotten there before him. The lights and the radio were on and a cup of aromatic coffee, half-consumed, was sitting on the counter. A thud in the walk-in pantry alerted him to her whereabouts.
“Want me to start on lunches?” he called.
“Either that or the pancakes.” Angel stepped out of the pantry, a loaf of bread and a dozen oranges carefully balanced in her arms. Her heavily lashed eyes were sleepy lidded and appealing; her bright hair spilled over one shoulder from the elastic band in which she’d confined it.
Too startled to keep silent, he blurted, “I wasn’t expecting you!”
She gave a small shrug and smiled. “I told Dulcie to sleep in this morning, at least until Beth Ann gets awake.”
Day pulled out one of the chairs and plopped down, pulling on his boots and stomping into them, surreptitiously studying Angel as she moved around his kitchen. She was dressed in jeans—not designer jeans, but sturdy work jeans faded from use—and a long-sleeved shirt that she’d tucked into the jeans. It was surprisingly serviceable clothing, even if it did fit her like a second skin, making him all too aware of the body beneath the clothing.
He thought about the offer he’d made yesterday in a temporary fit of insanity. A day in her company was going to be sheer torture. “You still interested in riding out with me this morning?”
“Yes.” Across the room, his gaze met hers and she quickly dropped her own.
“You ever take your hair out of that ponytail?”
Startled, she looked up again. “What?”
“I said—”
“Yes. Sometimes.” Her speech was rushed as if she was nervous. “But it’s more practical to wear it this way, especially if I’m going to be working all day.”
He digested that as he took the bread from her and started slapping thick ham sandwiches together. True, he’d offered to show her the ranch today, but he’d assumed that he’d swing back by the house about ten o’clock and prod her into action. He hadn’t expected to spend the entire day with her trailing around behind him.
The telephone call he’d overheard last night replayed in his head against his will, and he wondered sourly if “Karl” was missing her more than she appeared to be missing him. The current lover, perhaps? One of several? She hadn’t sounded sorry to be brushing him off as she had.
He watched her from beneath his lashes as she set the long table in the dining room with quick, efficient motions. She paused to heat the large cook pot and mix up a huge quantity of pancake batter, then threw on a large skillet of bacon and sausages.
“There are more of those brownies in the pantry from last night,” she said as she filled a pitcher with orange juice and another with milk, then started a second pot of coffee.
He finished wrapping the sandwiches and brownies, assembling them into individual lunches with an orange and a bag of chips. Then he added a container of raw vegetable sticks and jugs of iced tea and water to each pile, as well, watching her expertly juggle the breakfast preparations.
One thing he had to say for her, she knew her way around a kitchen. “You do this kind of thing before?” he asked.
She paused to flip a pancake onto a waiting platter. “My daddy worked on a ranch up near the Black Mountains when we lived here before. I helped in the kitchen a lot.” Her voice was husky and rich with reminiscence. “I know how much food it takes to feed hungry men.”
He found
