only shook his head. She was so young. She hadn’t learned yet that life had a way of giving with one hand, only to take back with the other. Oh, well, she had plenty of years to learn those hard lessons. Let her enjoy it while she could. He knew that King would never settle for a child-woman like his beautiful daughter, but it was something she was going to have to accept one of these days.
“I hope to be back by four,” he said, reaching down to peck her affectionately on one cheek. “Are we having champagne? If we are, I hope you told the caterer. I’m not breaking out my private stock until you get married.”
“Yes, we are, and yes, I told them,” she assured him. “After all, I don’t become twenty-one every day.”
He studied her with quiet pride. “You look like your mother,” he said. “She’d be as proud of you as I am.”
She smiled faintly. “Yes.” Her mother had been dead a long time, but the memories were bittersweet. The late Mrs. Blair had been vivacious and sparkling, a sapphire in a diamond setting. Her father had never remarried, and seemed not to be inclined toward the company of other women. He’d told Tiffany once that true love was a pretty rare commodity. He and her mother had been so blessed. He was content enough with his memories.
“How many people are we expecting, by the way?” he asked as he put on his Stetson.
“About forty,” she said. “Not an overwhelming number. Just some of my friends and some of King’s.” She grinned. “I’m making sure they’re compatible before I railroad him to the altar.”
He burst out laughing. She was incorrigible and definitely his child, with her keen business sense, he told himself.
“Do you reckon they’ll have a lot in common?”
She pursed her pretty lips. “Money and cattle,” she reminded him, “are always a good mix. Besides, King’s friends are almost all politicians. They pride themselves on finding things in common with potential voters.”
He winked. “Good thought.”
She waved and went to call Lettie about doing the cheese straws and the caterers to finalize the arrangements. She was a good hostess, and she enjoyed parties. It was a challenge to find compatible people and put them together in a hospitable atmosphere. So far, she’d done well. Now it was time to show King how organized she was.
The flowers and the caterer had just arrived when she went down the long hall to her room to dress. She was nibbling at a chicken wing on the way up, hoping that she wouldn’t starve. There was going to be an hors d’oeuvres table and a drinks bar, but no sit-down dinner. She’d decided that she’d rather dance than eat, and she’d hired a competent local band to play. They were in the ballroom now, tuning up, while Cass, the housekeeper, was watching some of the ranch’s lean, faintly disgusted cowboys set up chairs and clear back the furniture. They hated being used as inside labor and their accusing glances let her know it. But she grinned and they melted. Most of them were older hands who’d been with her father since she was a little girl. Like her father, they’d spoiled her, too.
She darted up the staircase, wild with excitement about the evening ahead. King didn’t come to the house often, only when her father wanted to talk business away from work, or occasionally for drinks with some of her father’s acquaintances. To have him come to a party was new and stimulating. Especially if it ended the way she planned. She had her sights well and truly set on the big rancher. Now she had to take aim.
Chapter 2
Tiffany’s evening gown was created by a San Antonio designer, who also happened to own a boutique in one of the larger malls there. Since Jacobsville was halfway between San Antonio and Victoria, it wasn’t too long a drive. Tiffany had fallen in love with the gown at first sight. The fact that it had cost every penny of her allowance hadn’t even slowed her down. It was simple, sophisticated, and just the thing to make King realize she was a woman. The low-cut bodice left the curve of her full breasts seductively bare and the diamanté straps were hardly any support at all. They looked as if they might give way any second, and that was the charm of the dress. Its silky white length fell softly to just the top of her oyster satin pumps with their rhinestone clips. She put her long hair in an elaborate hairdo, and pinned it with diamond hairpins. The small silk gardenia in a soft wave was a last-minute addition, and the effect was dynamite. She looked innocently seductive. Just right.
She was a little nervous as she made her way down the curve of the elegant, gray-carpeted staircase. Guests were already arriving, and most of these early ones were around King’s age. They were successful businessmen, politicians mostly, with exquisitely dressed wives and girlfriends on their arms. For just an instant, Tiffany felt young and uneasy. And then she pinned on her finishing-school smile and threw herself into the job of hostessing.
She pretended beautifully. No one knew that her slender legs were unsteady. In fact, a friend of one of the younger politicians, a bachelor clerk named Wyatt Corbin, took the smile for an invitation and stuck to her like glue. He was good-looking in a tall, gangly redheaded way, but he wasn’t very sophisticated. Even if he had been, Tiffany had her heart set on King, and she darted from group to group, trying to shake her admirer.
Unfortunately he was stubborn. He led her onto the dance floor and into a gay waltz, just as King came into the room.
Tiffany felt like screaming. King looked incredibly handsome in his dark evening clothes. His tuxedo emphasized his dark good looks, and the white of his silk shirt brought out his dark eyes and hair. He spared Tiffany an amused glance and turned to meet the onslaught of two unattached, beautiful older women. His secretary, Carla Stark, hadn’t been invited—Tiffany had been resolute about that. There was enough gossip about those two already, and Carla was unfair competition.
It was the unkindest cut of all, and thanks to this redheaded clown dancing with her, she’d lost her chance. She smiled sweetly at him and suddenly brought down her foot on his toe with perfect accuracy.
“Ouch!” he moaned, sucking in his breath.
“I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” Tiffany murmured, batting her eyelashes at him. “Did I step on your poor foot?”
“My fault, I moved the wrong way,” he drawled, forcing a smile. “You dance beautifully, Miss Blair.”
What a charming liar, she thought. She glanced at King, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was talking and smiling at a devastating blonde, probably a politician’s daughter, who looked as if she’d just discovered the best present of all under a Christmas tree. No thanks to me, Tiffany thought miserably.
Well, two could play at ignoring, she thought, and turned the full effect of her green eyes on Wyatt. Well, happy birthday to me, she thought silently, and asked him about his job. It was assistant city clerk or some such thing, and he held forth about his duties for the rest of the waltz, and the one that followed.
King had moved to the sofa with the vivacious little blonde, where he looked as if he might set up housekeeping. Tiffany wanted to throw back her head and scream with outrage. Whose party was this, anyway, and which politician was that little blonde with? She began scanning the room for unattached older men.
“I guess I ought to dance with Becky, at least once,” Wyatt sighed after a minute. “She’s my cousin. I didn’t have anyone else to bring. Excuse me a second, will you?”
He left her and went straight toward the blonde who was dominating King. But if he expected the blonde to sacrifice
