Part 4 (1/2)

Probably something her mother taught her no doubt, he thought.

He jerked a thumb at the child. ”How long since she's had a home-cooked meal?”

Denise immediately read the negative side of the question. ”Are you saying I can't cook?”

He couldn't picture her in a kitchen of any sort. He had a great deal less difficulty picturing her in his bedroom, maybe just dressed in her work gloves. The image coaxed an appreciative, sensual smile from him.

”Can you?” he challenged.

As far as cooking went, she didn't burn water, but she didn't exactly do very much else with it, either. ”I don't get any complaints,” she sniffed.

The nonanswer told Will all he really needed to know. ”That's probably because they're afraid to complain.”

She took offense at his inference. ”My family's not afraid of me.”

Maybe afraid was the wrong word, but he bet they knew better than to oppose her. ”A benevolent dictator is still a dictator.”

She didn't like what he was saying, even if the words were coming out of a firm, wide mouth that seemed to unsettle her every time he was close to her. ”What's that supposed to mean?”

She knew d.a.m.n well the way her family reacted to her, he judged. Knew, too, the kind of woman she was. Strong-willed to a fault. He was beginning to suspect that, in a one-on-one contest, she could put Morgan to shame.

”You're a bright lady, you figure it out. In the meantime, come to dinner.”

”Why?” So he and his family could feel superior? So they could feel magnanimous, extending charity in the guise of hospitality to those who they deemed less fortunate?

He looked into her eyes. She had d.a.m.n pretty eyes, he thought, feeling himself melt a little. For him, it was a brand-new sensation and he wasn't quite sure just what to do with it yet. Not without further examination.

”Because I'd like you to,” he said softly.

For just the tiniest second, the way he looked at her made Denise's knees feel as if they were going to buckle like cardboard left out in the rain. The panic that caused made her grab handfuls of sarcasm and spread it liberally around-a magic circle to ward off men who could hurt her heart.

”And I should drop everything because you want me to do something?”

”Not everything.” He placed his hand over the hammer she was holding, just in case she had any ideas. His foot was far too tempting a target for her to resist. ”Just your att.i.tude.”

Just who did he think he was, coming in, criticizing everything about her? ”And just what's wrong with my att.i.tude?”

”Nothing,” he allowed, his smile engaging. ”If you happen to be a Viking about to sack a village. In that case, you'll be all prepared for anything that came your way. However, your att.i.tude needs a little adjusting in light of these more modern, less violent times.”

She knew it. He was laughing at her. ”And you've elected yourself as chief adjuster.” The question was almost a snarl.

Will fell back on his endless good humor, determined not to let her bait him this time. He was already having trouble recognizing himself. ”I'd like the opportunity to do a little tweaking, yes.”

There was no reason in the world for her pulse to jump that way over a word as stupid as ”tweaking.” But there was no denying that her pulse was definitely jumping.

”Why?” she breathed.

Games were for people who knew how to play them. He wasn't even sure how to pick up the board pieces.

”Because I find myself very attracted to you, Denise Cavanaugh. Don't ask me why. Maybe I have a weakness for women who drive big-rigs with carousel horses stored in them, I don't know. All I know is that I'd like to see more of you. Preferably without having to worry about you biting off my head every two seconds.” He gestured around the grounds. ”Maybe you're a little softer, a little more at ease away from all this responsibility you're shouldering.”

So, he wanted her softer, did he? Why? So he could pounce and not find a hard landing? She'd show him softer all right.

”What you see is what you get.” She bit her lip, realizing that perhaps that didn't come out quite the way she wanted it to. ”Figure of speech,” she muttered disparagingly.

He grinned. Under the bravado, he had a hunch, was a very uncertain young woman. It would help him endure the attack.

”Understood.”

Will saw her father approaching them again, a curious expression on his face. The man was probably wondering how he came to still be standing upright after ten minutes in the company of Denny, the man slayer. Will raised his voice, calling out to him.

”Mr. Cavanaugh, I'd like to invite you and your daughter and granddaughter for dinner at the Shady Lady.”

Tate joined them. He welcomed the chance to get away from the makes.h.i.+ft kitchen and the meals that came out of it, even if he usually had a hand in making them.

”Is that a restaurant?” Tate hadn't noticed any establishment by that name on their way in, but there was a whole other side to this town he hadn't had a chance to see yet.

Will shook his head. ”No, sir, that's the name of our ranch.”

Tate rubbed his chest in small, concentric circles, a habit he had of late when he was thinking, Denise noted. She was quick to take advantage of the opportunity she hoped was opening up.

”We don't have to if you don't want to, Dad.”

Oh, but he did want to. It would be good to get away for a while, and think of something other than the troubles surrounding them.

”A man never turns down an invitation for dinner, Denny. It's not polite.” He looked at Will. ”Just give us directions, Will. We'll be there.”

”And I'll do better than that. I'll come by tonight to take you there myself.”

If he drove, they'd be trapped there, Denise thought. ”We can find our own way the-”

”That'll be very kind of you,” Tate told Will, cutting Denise off.

Will nodded. ”I'll be here at six,” he promised. ”But right now, I'm afraid I have to leave.”

Tate nodded, too. ”Thanks for all your help.”

Will took his leave, feeling not unlike a man who had bid on a mystery box, not quite sure just what he was about to receive.

Denise went back to work even before Will was out of earshot. ”You can go with Audra, Dad. I'm not going.”

Tate sighed. If he lived forever, he wasn't going to figure her out. From where he'd stood, watching the two of them, he'd had the impression that there was something humming between them. Something good. He followed her back to the fun house.

”I'm the one who's supposed to get more ornery with age, Denny, not you.” She merely made an unintelligible sound in response as she set the ladder back against the side of the building. Tate held it in place as she climbed up again. ”What've you got against the boy?”

If Will Cutler were a boy, there'd be no problem. ”He's a man, not a boy, Dad, and why are you so sold on him?” She bit back the flash of temper. Her father was far too willing to take people at face value.