A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,72

Come in, Stephen, and sit down.”

Smugly, Stephen allowed her to direct him past Chandler and a dark hallway into a surprisingly large, oak-paneled living room with an impressive rock fireplace. Cushions had been scattered across the knee-high hearth, and it was there that Stephen chose to sit, craning his neck to view the portrait over the mantel. An oil painting of a sweet-faced woman, it had to be Kaylie’s mother, given the red hair, bobbed at chin length, and big brown eyes.

Across the room, in front of a sliding glass door that looked out onto a wild, pretty garden, Kaylie’s father somberly occupied a brown corduroy recliner, and another man took up one end of a long, matching sofa with an enormous rectangular coffee table parked in front of it. Rather portly with thick lips and a deeply cleft chin, he had stuffed his big belly into an expensive, black three-piece suit and looked like the sort who might sleep in silk ties, so much a part of his daily routine were they. His brown eyes goggled when he saw Stephen.

“Good grief!” he exclaimed. “You’re Hangman Gallow. I heard they signed you at three million a year.”

“It’s not straight salary,” Stephen said somewhat defensively. Indeed, once the taxes, annuities and expenses were paid it amounted to much less, but even that figure was ample.

“No, no, of course not,” the other man said. “Wouldn’t be wise. I’d be glad to look at the structuring of it for you.”

“This is my oldest brother, Bayard,” Kaylie put in, her smile a tad strained. “He’s a banker.”

“This is not a business meeting!” Hubner declared hotly.

“No one said it was,” Bayard retorted, “but a good businessman always has his eyes and ears open.”

“Well, there you have it,” Morgan said cheerfully, strolling over to lean with both hands on the back of the sofa. “Bayard votes for Stephen’s bank statement. I vote for Kaylie’s good sense, and Dad and Chandler, while forever at odds over everything else, especially Chandler’s chosen profession, vote for their own convenience.”

“I resent that,” Chandler snapped.

At the same time, Hubner declared, “The Chatam men have always prided themselves on their decency and refinement. We are bred to boardrooms and pulpits. We put our skills and educations to the betterment of others, not frivolous, barbaric sport! We are ministers and, yes, bankers, professors and lawyers—”

“Shipping magnates and doctors,” Chandler went on in a bored voice, “apothecaries and the odd state senator, authors and orators and scientists…Yes, I know, anything but professional cowboys.”

“Or hockey players,” Stephen muttered.

As one, Chandler and his father turned on Stephen, barking, “You stay out of this!”

“Chatams are good Christian men,” Hubner went on, “who embrace their God-given responsibilities with faith and obedience. They are—”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘snobs,’” Chandler sneered.

“No such thing!” Hubner pounded the arm of his chair. “A Christian man is humble! He doesn’t need to beat another, only to do his best in the eyes of God! He is no brute!”

“Was King David a brute when he slew Goliath?” Chandler demanded. “Was Gideon a brute when he led God’s army? Was Joshua—”

“What is going on?” Stephen roared, effectively silencing the room, so effectively that he was a little embarrassed. “You didn’t bring me here to watch a family feud,” he added sullenly.

“I didn’t bring you here at all,” Hub grumbled.

“That was me,” Morgan admitted cheerily. “Only seems reasonable if sis is going to marry him.”

Startled, Stephen swung his gaze to Kaylie, who stood in the center of the room, twisting her hands together. Her face colored, and she wouldn’t look at him, but he could have cried for joy. He’d always known that with Kaylie Chatam it would be marriage or nothing. He couldn’t bear the thought of nothing, but he’d hardly dared hope for anything else.

“I didn’t say I was going to marry him,” she refuted smartly. “I only said that I’d marry him if he asked me to.”

“He will,” Stephen said flatly. “He is.” He glared at Chandler when he said it, but the big cowboy was looking poleaxed.

“Sugar, are you sure about this?” Chandler asked, moving forward to cup Kaylie’s elbows in his big hands. “He’s a hockey player. That’s a different world.”

“I’m not from Mars,” Stephen said dryly. “My father’s a rancher in west Texas. Mom’s a fashion designer in Amsterdam. My stepfather’s a flower broker.”

“Flower broker!” Chandler yelped.

“It’s big business over there,” Bayard put in helpfully. “Largest flower market in the world.”

“Well, there you have it,” Morgan