From his faded jeans and dusty boots up over a blue-and-white Western shirt to his dark hair, he was a different man. It wasn’t only the clothing; it was something in his face. A different look. A naturalness. A man in his native setting.
He looked up from his newspaper and cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Aren’t you hungry?”
“Of course.” She sat down beside him, her eyes curious.
“You’ve seen me in jeans before,” he reminded her, amused at her expression.
“You never looked like this before,” she faltered. Her eyes searched his.
He winked at her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Beautifully.” She sighed. “How about you?”
“When I finally got to sleep,” he muttered darkly, “it was soundly. Ben had five hours’ work waiting.”
“Wasn’t some neighbor supposed to be watching things for you?”
“He was, and he did,” came a deep, amused voice from the doorway, “but only Kingston can sign Kingston’s name to his checks.”
Elissa turned to find the voice. The man she saw made her shiver. He looked dangerous, a wild man with unruly black hair and pale green eyes set in lashes as thick and black as his eyebrows. He was lithe and lean and sported a scar down one cheek and a nose that looked to have been broken once too often. Somehow he didn’t look like the kind of man King would call a friend, and Elissa wondered how much else there was to learn about the enigmatic man she’d fallen in love with.
“Blake Donavan,” King introduced him. “This is my houseguest, Elissa Dean.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Donavan,” she said hesitantly.
He gave her an indifferent appraisal and nodded. “Same here.” He turned his attention to King. “If you’ve got everything you need, I’ll head back home. I’ve got those damned lawyers waiting. At least this time it’s for something productive. My signature goes on a document, and the suit’s settled once and for all.”
King lifted his coffee cup. “I hear Meredith Calhoun just won an award for her latest book.”
The green eyes kindled, and the lean face seemed to close up. Obviously this writer, whoever she was, was a touchy subject for Blake Donavan, Elissa noted. Had King brought up the name deliberately? she wondered.
“I’ve got work to do,” Donavan said tersely. “See you, Roper. Miss Dean,” he added, touching the brim of his hat, and was gone.
“Who’s Meredith Calhoun?” Elissa whispered, mindful of the open door.
King sighed. “That’s a long story,” he replied, apparently unwilling to delve into it.
“He’s a hard-looking man,” she ventured.
“Pure diamond,” he agreed, “and it goes straight through. If he looks hard, it’s because life made him hard. He was illegitimate, and his mother died in childbirth. He was taken in by a crusty old uncle who adopted him and gave him his name. The uncle died last year, and Donavan’s been in a hell of a court battle for the property ever since.”
“I can see why he won,” she remarked, shivering slightly and wondering anew at King’s ready compassion for life’s unfortunates. Of course, that compassion was what had made him so vulnerable to Bess... “He’s younger than you, isn’t he?” she said weakly, dragging her thoughts back to the present.
His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “Yes. Eight years. He’s almost thirty-three. Why? Does he appeal to you?”
She blinked. That sounded amazingly like jealousy. Why on earth should he feel possessive about her when it was Bess he loved?
Without waiting for her reply—besides, she was too stunned and confused to offer one—he got to his feet. “I’ve got a full day’s work ahead of me.”
“Not in your office, I gather?” she fished.
“On my ranch,” he said, leaning down to press a hard, warm kiss on her parted lips. “This is how I relax, tidbit—by keeping busy. Manual labor built this ranch.”
“You look like a cowboy,” she mused, surprised by the ardent kiss.
“I am a cowboy,” he replied, searching her blue eyes. “I can travel first-class and buy damned near anything I want, but what I like best is a horse under me and open land around me and a night sky to sleep under.”
“Do you?” She reached up to him, and amazingly, he came to her, letting her have his mouth. She kissed him warmly and was stunned by the softness of his lips, by his eager participation in a caress that had nothing to do with sex.
“Want to come see the calves later?” he asked as he lifted his head. “If you’re good, I’ll even let you pet one.”