a look. “Don’t look so damn suspicious. I’m not offering you a spot in my bed.” Damn shame about that, he admitted to himself, since just looking at her made him want to reach out and cover her mouth with his. And a few other things besides. But not the point.
“You can stay on the other side of the house,” he said. “My mother died a couple years ago. You can have her wing. We won’t even see each other.”
“Her wing?” Shelby frowned. “How big is this house?”
“Big enough.”
* * *
At the Texas Cattleman’s Club, the reception for the wedding that didn’t happen was in full swing. A band played dance music as a Goodman wedding would never have accepted something so pedestrian as a DJ. The tables were decorated with snowy white cloths and a bud vase on each table held a single pink rose. The soft clink of china and crystal was an undercurrent to the music and, while the crowd gathered in knots to exchange gossip about the runaway bride, Rose Clayton sat alone at a table watching it all.
At sixty-seven, Rose was an attractive woman with a figure she took care of, stylishly cut dark brown hair with just a hint of gray—thanks to a talented stylist—that swung in a loose fall at her jawline, and her sharp, smoke-colored eyes never missed a thing.
Conversations rose and fell around her like a continuous wave. She was only half listening, and even at that, she caught plenty of people talking about the upcoming TCC board elections. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have given them a thought. But, now that women were also full-fledged members in the Texas Cattleman’s Club, she was more than a little interested.
As far as Rose was concerned, their current president, James Harris, was doing a wonderful job and she saw no reason to make a change. It was nice to eavesdrop and hear that most of the other members felt the same way.
As people passed her table, they nodded or smiled, but kept moving. Rose’s reputation as the uncrowned queen of Royal society kept people at bay even as they treated her with the respect she’d earned through years of a stubborn refusal to surrender to the unhappiness in her own life.
Rose knew everyone at the reception. She’d watched many of them grow up. Including Margaret Fraser Goodman. The woman, Rose thought, had been born an old stick. She had always been more concerned with appearances than with what really mattered. But even as she mentally chastised Margaret, Rose had to admit that she had done the same. The difference was, she assured herself, that Rose found enjoyment within the parameters that had been forced on her so long ago.
Her gaze fixed on Margaret Goodman briefly and noted the crazed look in her eyes and the grim slash of a mouth she kept forcing into a hard smile. Rose had already heard bits and pieces of chatter, no doubt started by Margaret, that had turned the situation around. Now, the story went, it was Jared who had changed his mind at the last moment. Told his unfortunate bride to leave.
And a part of Margaret might even believe it. Rose had never met the now missing bride, but damn if she didn’t admire the woman. She’d taken charge of her own life and done what she’d had to do. Who knew how Rose’s life might have turned out if she’d had the same gumption?
But times had been different fifty years ago and Rose’s father, Jed, had been a man no one crossed. Her gaze swept the room until she spotted her grandson Daniel. Daniel Clayton was her reward for all of the misery she’d managed to survive over the decades.
A grown man now, he was handsome, intelligent and damned funny when he wanted to be. He was the light of her life and there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do to see him happy. Within reason.
“Oh, that is simply unacceptable,” Rose murmured to herself as she saw Daniel bend down and gently kiss a pretty woman who looked dazzled by his attention.
Alexis Slade.
The granddaughter of Gus Slade.
Just thinking the man’s name gave Rose’s heart a jolt. Once upon a time, she’d been crazy in love with that old goat and risked her father’s wrath to be with him. Until the night her father made the threat that had ended everything between her and Gus forever.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Nodding to people who addressed her, she was a part of the crowd and yet separate from it as her mind raced back through the years.
For decades now, the Claytons and the Slades had been if not enemies, then at least at odds. They didn’t socialize. Didn’t trust each other. And they surely didn’t look at each other as Daniel and Alexis were right that minute. She wouldn’t have it. And what’s more, Rose was quite sure that on this subject at least, Gus would agree with her.
Their grandchildren had been sweet on each other years ago, but Rose and Gus had put a stop to it. Gus sent Alexis off to an out-of-state college, while Rose kept Daniel so busy with ranch work, he didn’t have time to miss the girl he couldn’t have.
“Unacceptable,” she whispered again, tapping her manicured nails against the tablecloth in a muffled staccato. Again, she scanned the room, but this time, she was looking for someone in particular.
When she found him, Rose stood, crossed the room and stopped at his table. “Gus. We have to talk.”
Gus Slade wore a steel-gray suit with a white shirt and a bold red tie. His black cowboy hat rested on the table alongside his arm. His thick hair, once black as midnight, was silver now, and his skin was tanned and leathered from years of working out in the Texas sun. He was leaning back in his chair, one booted foot resting on a knee. At sixty-nine, he was still a powerful, magnetic man.
Damn it.
His piercing blue eyes fixed on Rose with neither welcome nor warning. “Talk about what?”
Ignoring his rudeness, she took a seat near him, glanced over her shoulder toward their grandchildren and said pointedly, “That.”
He took a look, then frowned. “Nothing to talk about. Keep your boy away from my girl and we have no problem.”
“Take another look, you old goat,” Rose said in a whispered hush. “It’s Alexis doing the flirting. And she’s got the look of a woman who’s been thoroughly—recently—kissed.”
Gus’s frown deepened and his gaze shifted to Rose. “A woman flirting doesn’t mean a damn thing. And kisses are fleeting, aren’t they, Rose?”
She took a gulp of air at the implied insult. Rose had been sixteen years old when she fell head over heels in love with Gus. And if she had to be honest—the man could still give her insides a jump start. But damned if she’d sit there and be insulted.
“I didn’t come over here to talk about the past.”
“Then why are you sitting at my table?” he snapped.
Rose swallowed back her annoyance. Since the death of his wife, Sarah, from cancer a few years before, Gus had become even more unsociable than usual. And another piece of her heart ached. Sarah Slade had once been Rose’s best friend, but Rose had lost them both when she’d rejected Gus. He had turned to Sarah for comfort and soon the two of them had been together, shutting
