Carson Wayne had come to Mandelyn Bush with the ultimate request: he needed her to teach him how to treat a lady. No doubt he'd asked the right person Mandelyn was as polished and feminine as Carson was rough and reclusive. And she was the only person who could reason with him during one of his barroom brawls.

It was too intriguing a challenge to turn down. Mandelyn was curious about what lay beneath the outlaw's hard shell. She suspected that the renegade was really a caring and sensitive man.

But what she hadn’t counted on were her own feelings for this irresistible rebel.

“I need some help.”

“You!” Mandelyn burst out.

Carson glared at her. “Don’t make jokes.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

Uncharacteristically, he hesitated. His face hardened. “Hell, look at me,” he growled finally, ramming his hands into the pockets of his worn, faded jeans. “You told Patty I was too savage to get a woman, and you were right. I don’t know how to behave in civilized company. I don’t even know which fork to use in a fancy restaurant.” He shifted restlessly, looking arrogant and proud and self-conscious all at once. “I want you to teach me some manners.”

“Me?” Mandelyn exclaimed in shock.

“Of course you,” he shot back. “There’s no one else who could teach me as well as you could.”

Also available from MIRA Books and DIANA PALMER

THE RAWHIDE MAN

LADY LOVE

FRIENDS AND LOVERS

DIAMOND GIRL

PASSION FLOWER

CHAMPAGNE GIRL

ROOMFUL OF ROSES

AFTER THE MUSIC

ONCE IN PARIS

RAGE OF PASSION

PAPER ROSE

FIT FOR A KING

MOST WANTED

Coming soon DIANA PALMER’s newest blockbuster LORD OF THE DESERT October 2000

Cattleman’s Choice

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Alicia

And for Arizona’s Stephanie, Ellen,

Trish and Nita

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

At first, Mandelyn thought the pounding was just in her head; she’d gone to bed with a nagging headache. But when it got louder, she sat up in bed with a frown and stared at the clock. The glowing face told her that it was one o’clock in the morning, and she couldn’t imagine that any of the ranch hands would want to wake her at that hour without cause.

She jumped up, running a hand through the glorious blond tangle of her long hair, and pulled on a long white robe over her nightgown. Her soft gray eyes were troubled as she wound through the long ranch-style house to the front door that overlooked the Chiricahua Mountains of southeastern Arizona.

“Who is it?” she asked in the soft, cultured tones of her Charleston upbringing.

“Jake Wells, ma’am,” came the answer.

That was Carson Wayne’s foreman. And without a single word of explanation, she knew what was wrong, and why she’d been awakened.

She opened the door and fixed the tall, blond man with a rueful smile. “Where is he?” she asked.

He took off his hat with a sigh. “In town,” he replied. “At the Rodeo bar.”

“Is he drunk?” she asked warily.

The foreman hesitated. One corner of his mouth went up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said finally.

“That’s the second time in the last two months,” she said with flashing gray eyes.

Jake shrugged, turning his hat around in his hands. “Maybe money’s getting tight,” he guessed.

“It’s been tight before. And it isn’t as if he doesn’t have options, either,” she grumbled, turning. “I’ve had a buyer for that forty-acre tract of his for months. He won’t even discuss it.”

“Miss Bush, you know how he feels about those condominium complexes,” he reminded her. “That land’s been in his family since the Civil War.”

“He’s got thousands of acres!” she burst out. “He wouldn’t miss forty!”

“Well, that particular forty is where the old fort stands.”

“Nobody’s likely to use it these days,” she said with venom.

He only shrugged, and she went off to change her clothes. Minutes later, dressed in a yellow sweater and designer jeans, she drew on her suede jacket and went out to climb in beside Jake in the black pickup truck with the Circle Bar W logo of Carson Wayne’s cattle company emblazoned in red on the door.

“Why doesn’t anybody else ever get called to go save people from him?” she asked curtly.

Jake glanced at her with a faint smile. “Because you’re the only person in the valley who isn’t scared of him.”

“You and the boys could bring him home,” she suggested.

“We tried once. Doctor bills got too expensive.” He grinned. “He won’t hit you.”

That was true enough. Carson indulged her. He was fiery and rough and lived like a hermit in that faded frame building he called a house. He hated neighbors and he was as savage a man as she’d ever known. But from the first, he’d warmed to her. People said it was because she was from Charleston, South Carolina and a lady and he felt protective of her. That was true, up to a point. But Mandelyn also knew that he liked her because she had the same wild spirit he possessed, because she stood up to him fearlessly. It had been that way from the very beginning.

They wound along the dusty ranch road out to the highway. There was just enough light to see the giant saguaro cacti lifting their arms to the sky, and the dark mountains silhouetted against the horizon. Arizona was beautiful enough to take Mandelyn’s breath away, even after eight years as a resident. She’d come from South Carolina at the age of eighteen, devastated by personal tragedy, expecting to find the barren land a perfect expression of her own emotional desolation. But her first sight of the Chiricahua Mountains had changed her mind. Since then, she’d learned to look upon the drastically different vegetation with loving, familiar eyes, and in time the lush green coastline of South Carolina had slowly faded from memory, replaced by the glory of creosote bushes in the rain and the stately stoicism of the saguaro. Her cultured upbringing was still evident in her proud carriage and her soft, delicately accented voice, but she was as much an Arizonian now as a Zane Grey character.

“Why does he do this?” she asked as they wound into the small town of Sweetwater.

“Not my business to guess,” came the reply. “But he’s a lonely man, and feeling his years.”

“He’s only thirty-eight,” she said. “Hardly a candidate for Medicare.”

Jake looked at her speculatively. “He’s alone, Miss Bush,” he said. “Problems don’t get so big when you can share them.”

She sighed. How well she knew that. Since her uncle’s death four years before, she’d had her share of loneliness. If it hadn’t been for her real estate agency, and her involvement in half a dozen organizations, she might have left Sweetwater for good just out of desperation.

Jake parked in front of the Rodeo bar and got out. Mandelyn was on the ground before he could come around the hood. She started toward the door.

The bartender was waiting in the doorway, wringing his apron, his bald head shining in the streetlight.

“Thank God,” he said uneasily, glancing behind him. “Mandelyn, he’s got a cowboy treed out back.”

She stopped, blinking. “He’s what?”

“One of the Lazy X’s hands said something that set him off. God knows what. He was just sitting quiet at the table, going through a bottle of whiskey, not bothering anybody, and the stupid cowboy…” He stopped on an impatient sigh. “He busted my mirror, again. He broke half a dozen bottles of whiskey. The cowboy had to go to the hospital to get his jaw wired back together….”

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up a hand. “You said he had the cowboy treed…”

“The cowboy whose jaw he broke had friends,” the bartender sighed. “Three of them. One is out cold on the floor. Another one is hanging from his jacket on a hook where Carson put him. The third one, the last one, is up in a tree out back of here and Carson is sitting there, grinning, waiting for him to come down again.”

Carson never grinned. Not unless he was mad as hell and ready for blood. “Oh, my,” Mandelyn sighed. “How about the sheriff?”

“Like most sane men, he gave the job of bringing Carson in to his deputy.”

Mandelyn lifted her delicate eyebrows. “And?”

“The deputy,” the bartender told her, “is in the hall closet, asking very loudly to be let out.”

“Why don’t you let him out?” she persisted.

“Carson,” the bartender replied, “has the key.”

“Oh.”

Jake pulled his hat low over his eyes. “I’m going to sit in the truck,” he said.

“Better go get the bail bondsman out of bed first, Jake,” the bartender said darkly.

“Why bother?” Jake asked. “Sheriff Wilson isn’t going to get out of bed to arrest the boss, and since Danny’s locked in the closet, I’d say it’s all over but the crying.”

“And the paying,” the bartender added.

“He’ll pay you. He always does.”

The bartender made a harsh sound in his throat. “That doesn’t make up for the inconvenience. Having to order mirrors…clean up broken glass…it used to be once every few months, about time his taxes came due. Now it’s every month. What’s eating him?”

“I wish I knew,” Mandelyn sighed. “Well, I’d better go get him.”

“Lots of luck,” the bartender said curtly. “Watch out. He may have a gun.”

“He may need it,” she told him with a cold smile.

She walked through the bar, out the back door, just in time to catch the tail end of a long and ardent string of curses. They were delivered by a tall man in a sheepskin coat who was glaring up at a shivering, skinny man in the top of an oak tree.

“Miss Bush,” the Lazy X cowboy wailed down at her. “Help!”

The tall, whipcord-lean man turned, pale blue eyes lancing at her from under thick black eyebrows. He was wearing a dark ranch hat pulled low on his forehead, and his lean, tough face needed a shave as much as his thick, ragged hair needed cutting. He had a pistol in one hand and just the look of him would have been enough to frighten most men.

“Go ahead, shoot,” she dared him, “and I’ll haunt you, you bad-tempered Arizona sidewinder!”

He stood slightly crouched, breathing slowly, watching her.

“If you’re not going to use that gun, may I have it?” she asked, nodding toward the weapon.

He didn’t move for a long, taut minute. Then he silently flipped the gun, straightening as he held the butt toward her.

She moved forward, taking it gently, carefully. Carson was unpredictable in these moods, but she’d been dealing with him for a long time, now. Long enough to know how to handle him. She emptied the pistol carefully and stuck it in one coat pocket, putting the bullets in the other.

“Why is that man in the tree?” she asked Carson.

“Ask him,” Carson said in a deep drawl.

She looked up at the thin cowboy, who was young and battered looking. She recognized him belatedly as one she’d seen often in the grocery store. “Bobby, what did you do?”

The young cowboy sighed. “Well, Miss Bush, I hit him over the back with a chair. He was choking Andy, and I was afraid he was going to do some damage.”

“If he apologizes,” she said to Carson, who was slightly unsteady on his feet, “can he come down?”

He thought about that for a minute. “I guess.”

“Bobby, apologize!” she called up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne!” came the prompt reply.

Carson glared up toward the limb. “All right, you…”

Mandelyn had to grit her teeth as Carson went through a round of unprintable words before he let the shivering cowboy come down.

“Thanks!” Bobby said quickly, and ran for it, before Carson had time to change his mind.

Mandelyn sighed, staring up at Carson’s hard face. It was a long way up. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a physique that would have caught any woman’s eye. But he was rough and coarse and only half civilized, and she couldn’t imagine any woman being able to live with him.

“Jake with you?” he bit off.

“Yes. As usual.” She moved closer and slowly reached out to catch his big hand in hers. It was callused and warm and it made her tingle to touch it. It was an odd reaction, but she didn’t stop to question it. “Let’s go home, Carson.”

He let her lead him around the building, as docile as a lamb, and not for the first time she wondered at that docility. He would have attacked any man who tried to stop him. But for some reason he tolerated Mandelyn’s interference. She was the only person his men would call to get him.

“Shame on you,” she mumbled.

“Button up,” he said curtly. “When I want a sermon, I’ll call a preacher.”

“Any preacher you called would faint dead away,” she shot back. “And don’t give me orders, I don’t like it.”

He stopped suddenly. She was still holding his hand and the action jerked her backward.

“Wildcat,” he said huskily, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. “For all your culture and polish, you’re as hard as a back-country woman.”

“Sure I am,” she replied. “I have to be, to deal with a savage like you!”

Something darkened his eyes, hardened his jaw. All at once, he turned her, whipped her around, and bent to jerk her completely off the ground and into his hard arms.

“Put me down, Carson!” she said curtly, pushing at his broad shoulders.

He ignored her struggles. One of his arms, the one that was under her shoulders, shifted, so that his hand could catch her long blonde hair and pull her head back.

“I’m tired of letting you lead me around like a cowed dog,” he said in a gruff undertone. “I’m tired of being called a savage. If that’s what you think I am, maybe it’s time I lived down to my reputation.”

His grip on her hair was painful, and she only half heard the harsh words. Then, with shocking precision, he brought his hard mouth down on her parted lips and took possession.

It was the first time he’d touched her, ever. She went rigid all over at the unfamiliar intimacy of his whiskey-scented mouth, the rasp of whiskers that raked her soft skin. Her eyes, wide open and full of astonished fear, looked up at his drawn eyebrows, at the thick black lashes that lay against his hard, dark-skinned cheek. He made an odd sound, deep in his throat, and increased the pressure of his mouth until it became bruisingly painful.

She protested, a wild sound that penetrated the mists of intoxication and made his head slowly lift.

His chiseled lips were parted, his eyes as shocked as her own, his face harder than ever as he looked down at her. His hard gaze went to her lips. In that ardent fury his teeth had cut the lower one.

All at once, he seemed to sober. He put her gently down onto her shaky legs and hesitantly took her by the shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly.

She touched her trembling lips, all the fight gone out of her. “You cut my mouth,” she whispered.

He reached out an unsteady finger and touched it while his chest lifted unsteadily.

She drew back from that tingling contact, her eyes wide and uncertain.

He let his hand fall. “I don’t know why I did that,” he said.

She’d never wondered before about his love life, about his women. But the feel of his mouth had fostered an unexpected intimacy between them, and suddenly she was curious about him in ways that unsettled her.

“We’d better go,” she said. “Jake will be worried.”

She turned, leaving him to follow. She couldn’t have borne having to touch him again until some of the rawness subsided.

Jake opened the door, frowning when he saw her face. “You okay?” he asked quickly.

“Just battle-scarred,” she replied with a trace of humor. She climbed in, drawing her knees together as a subdued Carson climbed in beside her and slammed the door shut.

“Get going,” he told Jake without looking at him.

It was a horrible ride back home for Mandelyn. She felt betrayed. In all their turbulent relationship, she’d never once thought of him in any physical way. He was much too coarse to be an object of desire, too uncivilized and antisocial. She’d vowed that she’d never love a man again, that she’d live on the memory of the love she’d lost so many years ago. And now Carson had shocked her out of her apathy with one brutal kiss. He’d robbed her of her peace of mind. Tonight, he’d changed the rules, without any warning, and she felt empty and raw and a little afraid.

When Jake pulled up at her door, she waited nervously for Carson to get out of the truck.

“Thanks,” Jake whispered.

She glanced at him. “Next time, I won’t come,” she said curtly.

Leaving him to absorb that, she jumped down from the cab and walked stiffly toward the front door without a word to Carson. As she closed the door, she heard the pickup truck roar away. And then she cried.

Chapter Two

When dawn burst over the valley in deep, fiery lights, Mandelyn was still awake. The night before might have been only a dream except for the swollen discomfort of her lower lip, where Carson’s teeth had cut it.

She sat idly on the front porch, still dressed, staring vacantly at the mountains. It was spring, and the wildflowers were blooming among the sparse vegetation, but she wasn’t even aware of the sparkling early morning beauty.

Her mind had gone back to the first day she’d ever seen Carson, when she was eighteen and had just moved to Sweetwater with her Uncle Dan. She’d gone into the local fast-food restaurant for a soda and Carson had been sitting on a nearby stool.

She remembered her first glimpse of him, how her heart had quickened, because he was the only cowboy she’d seen so far. He was lean and rangy looking, his hair as unruly then as it was now, his face unshaven, his pale eyes insolent and intimate as he lounged back against the counter and stared at her with a blatant lack of good manners.

She’d managed to ignore him at first, but when he’d called to her and asked how she’d like to go out on the town with him, her Scotch-Irish temper had burst through the restraints of her proper upbringing.

Even now, she could remember his astonished look when she’d turned on the stool, coldly ladylike in her neat white suit. She had glared at him from cold gray eyes.

“My name,” she’d informed him icily, “is Miss Bush, not, ‘hey, honey.’ I am not looking for some fun, and if I were, it would not be with a barbarian like you.”

His eyebrows had shot up and he’d actually laughed. “Well, well, if it isn’t a Southern belle. Where are you from, honey?’

“I’m from Charleston,” she said coldly. “That’s a city. In South Carolina.”

“I made good grades in geography,” he replied.

She’d given a mock gasp. “You can read?”

That had set him off. The language that had followed had made her flush wildly, but it hadn’t backed her down.

She’d stood up, ignoring the stares of the astonished bystanders, walked straight over to him, and coolly slapped him with all the strength of her slender body behind her small hand. And then she’d walked out the door, leaving him staring at her.

It was days later that she learned they were neighbors. He’d come to talk to Uncle Dan about a horse, and that was when she’d found out who Carson Wayne was. He’d smiled at her, and confessed to her uncle what had happened in town, as if it amused him. It had taken her weeks to get used to Carson’s rowdy humor and his unpolished behavior. He would slurp his coffee and ignore his napkin, and use language that embarrassed her. But since he was always around, she had to get used to him. So she did.

Later that first year, she’d gone to the rodeo, and Carson had been beating the stuffing out of another cowboy as she was coming out of the stands. Obviously intoxicated, he was throwing off the men who tried to stop him. Without a thought of defeat, she’d walked over to Carson and touched him lightly on the arm. He’d stopped hitting the other man immediately, looking down at her with dark, quiet eyes. She’d taken his hand, and he’d let her lead him around the corral, to where Jake was waiting nervously. After that, Jake went looking for her whenever his boss went on a spree. And she always went to the rescue. But after last night, she’d never go again.

With a long sigh, she walked back into the house and put on a pot of coffee. She fixed a piece of toast and ate it with her coffee, checking the time. She had a meeting at nine with Patty Hopper, a local woman who’d just come back home fresh out of veterinary school and needed an office. Then, after lunch, she had to talk to the developer who was interested in Carson’s forty-acre tract. It was going to be another long day. The man had insisted on seeing Carson personally, but after last night, it was going to be heavy going. Mandelyn didn’t particularly relish the thought.

Patty met her at the vacant house Mandelyn wanted to show her. The small, dark-eyed woman had light brown hair and a broad, sweet face. She and Mandelyn had been on the verge of friendship when Patty went away to college, and they still met occasionally when the younger woman was home on vacation.

“Well, what do you think?” Mandelyn answered her. “Isn’t it a great location, just off the town square? And I can help you get a great interest rate if you want to finance it over a twenty-year period.”

“I’m speechless.” Patty grinned warmly. “It’s exactly what I wanted. I’ve got space for an operating room here, and enough acreage out back to put in fences for runs. This gigantic living room will make a perfect waiting room. Yes, I like it. I like the price, too.”

“I just happen to have all the paperwork right here,” Mandelyn laughed, producing an envelope from her large purse. “Then you can meet with James over at the bank and convince him you need the loan.”

“James and I went to school together,” Patty told her. “That won’t be any problem at all. I’ve saved up a hefty down payment, and I’m a good credit risk. Just ask all my classmates who loaned me money!”

“I believe you.” Mandelyn smiled as she watched Patty sign the preliminary agreement. “This is a sunny office. I can see you making your fortune right here.”

“I hope you’re right.” Patty stood up, folding her arms over the tan sweater she was wearing with casual jeans. “Wow! All mine.”

“Yours and the bank’s, at least,” came the dry reply.

“You’re a jewel, Mandy,” Patty told her. She glanced curiously at Mandelyn’s lip. “I heard you were riding around with Jake in the early morning hours.”

“Small towns,” Mandelyn said gruffly. “Yes, I was. Carson had the local bar in an uproar again.”

Patty laughed. “Just like old times,” she said, and looked oddly relieved. “Carson’s a bearcat, isn’t he? I’m on my way out there next, on a large animal call. He’s got a sick bull.”

“Don’t get too close, he might make a grab for you,” Mandelyn teased.

“Me? Not Carson, he’s too polite.”

“That’s rich!” Mandelyn laughed bitterly. “He’s a savage. Something right out of ancient history.”

“He’s always been polite to me,” Patty said. “Strange, isn’t it, that he’s never married?”

Mandelyn felt her blood boil. “It doesn’t seem strange to me. He’s too uncivilized to get a woman. He’d have to kidnap one and point a gun at her to get a wife!”

“I thought he was your friend,” Patty said.

“He was,” Mandelyn said coldly. She turned. “Well, I’ve got a developer coming round in about an hour. I’d better go and have my lunch. I’m glad you liked the office.”

“Me too,” Patty said, laughing. “Say, do you really think Carson would be all that bad in bed?” she added curiously. “He’s awfully sexy.”

Mandelyn couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. “If you say so. I’ll give you a call later about the details of the agreement, okay?” she said with a forced smile.

“Sure,” Patty said. “Thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

Mandelyn had a salad at the local cafe, but she didn’t enjoy it. Her thoughts kept returning to Carson and to Patty’s disturbing remarks about him. Afterward, she went back to her office where the developer was pacing back and forth, waiting for her. She made a sly wink at Angie, her new secretary.

“Hello, Mr. Denton,” she said pleasantly, extending her hand. “Sorry I’m late. I was finalizing another deal.”

“Perfectly all right,” he returned, a tall, dignified man in a gray suit. “I’d like to go out to the ranch, if you’re ready?”

She hesitated. “I’d better check with Mr. Wayne first,” she said.

“I had your secretary do that,” he said curtly. “He’s waiting for us. I’ll drive my car.”

She didn’t like his high-handedness, but she couldn’t afford to antagonize a potential client, so she ground her teeth together in a false smile and followed him out the door.

“Sorry,” Angie mouthed at her.

Mandelyn gave her a shrug, and winked again.

All the way to the ranch, Mandelyn felt as if her stomach was tied in knots. She glanced out across the grassy valley rather than ahead to the ramshackle house nestled in the cottonwood trees with the mountains behind it. She didn’t want to see Carson. Why was fate tormenting her this way?

His black Thunderbird was sitting near the house, covered with dust and looking unused. The pickup truck Jake had driven the night before was parked by the barn. The corral was deserted. The front door was standing open, but she couldn’t see through the screen.

“This is where he lives?” Mr. Denton asked in astonishment as he pulled his green Lincoln up in front of the rough wood house.

“He’s rather eccentric,” she faltered.

“Crazy,” he muttered. He got out of the car, looking neat and alien in his city clothing, and Mandelyn fell reluctantly into step beside him. She was wearing a blue knit suit, with her hair in a bun. She looked elegant and cool, and felt neither. She’d tried to disguise her swollen lip with lipstick, but it was raw where her tongue touched it.

As they started up the steps, Carson walked out onto the porch with quick strides. He looked even taller in his work boots. He was wearing faded denim jeans and a blue chambray shirt half unbuttoned over his broad, hair-roughened chest. He looked tired and hung over, but his blue eyes were alert and at least he seemed approachable.

“Mr. Wayne?” the developer said, putting on his best smile. “Nice place you have here. Rustic.”

Carson bent his head to light a cigarette, pointedly ignoring the developer’s outstretched hand.

“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?” Carson asked him with a cold blue glare.

Denton looked a little ruffled but he withdrew his hand and forced the smile back onto his thin lips. “I got rich that way,” he replied. “Look, I’ll up my previous offer by two thousand an acre. It’s a perfect tract for my retirement village. Lots of water, flat land, beautiful view…”

“It’s the best grazing land I’ve got,” Carson replied. “And there’s a fort on the place that dates back to the earliest settlement.”

“The fort could be moved. I’d be willing…”

“My great-grandfather built it,” came the cold reply.

“Mr. Wayne,” the developer began.

“Look,” Carson said curtly, “I don’t like being pushed. This is my place, and I don’t want to sell it. I told you that. I told her that,” he added, glancing toward Mandelyn. “I’m tired of talking. Come out here again and I’ll load my gun.”

“You can’t threaten me, you backwoods…!” the developer began.

“Oh, no,” Mandelyn ground out, covering her face with her hands. She knew even as Carson began cursing what was going to happen. She flinched at the first thud, the shocked cry, the heavy sound of a body landing on hard ground. She peeked between her fingers. The developer was trying to sit up, holding his jaw. Carson was standing over him with calm contempt, smoking his cigarette. He didn’t even look rumpled.

“Get off my land, you…” He tacked on a few rough words and bent to lift the other man by the collar. He frog-marched him to the Lincoln, tossed him inside, and slammed the door. “Vamoose!” he growled.

Mandelyn stood there, frozen, while the Lincoln jerked out of the yard. She stared for a long minute and then, with a sigh, started after it.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Carson asked.

“Back to town.”

“Not yet. I want to talk to you.”

She whirled and glared at him. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He took her arm and half led, half dragged her up the steps and into the house. “Did I ask?”

“No, you never do!” she shot back. “You just move in and take over! He made you a very generous offer. You’ve cost me a fortune…!”

“I told you not to bring him out here.”

“You told my secretary he could come!” she floundered.

“Like hell I did. I told her to tell him he could come if he felt lucky.”

And poor little Angie hadn’t realized what that meant.

“Angie’s new,” she muttered, standing still in the dim living room. He didn’t even have electricity. He had kerosene lanterns and furniture that she didn’t want to sit on. It looked as if it were made with leftover gunnysacks.

“Sit,” he said curtly, dropping into a ragged armchair.

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She’d only been in this house once or twice, with her uncle. Since his death, she’d found excuses to stay on the porch or in the yard when she stopped by to talk business with Carson.

His face hardened when he saw the look she was giving the sparse furniture. He got up, furiously angry, and walked into the kitchen.

“In here,” he said icily. “Maybe the kitchen chairs will suit you better.”

She felt cruel. She hadn’t meant to be rude. With a sigh, she walked past him and sat down in one of the cane-bottomed chairs around the table with its red checked oilcloth cover. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“You didn’t want to soil your designer clothes on my filthy furniture,” he laughed through narrowed eyes. He sat down roughly and leaned back in the chair, glaring at her. “Why pussyfoot around?”

She stared at him unblinkingly. “What do you want?”

“There’s a question,” he replied softly. His blue eyes wandered slowly over her face, down to her lips, and hardened visibly. “Hell,” he breathed at the swollen evidence of his brutality. He pulled an ashtray toward him with a sigh and crushed out his half-finished cigarette. “I didn’t realize how rough I’d been.”

“I’ll put it down to experience,” she said curtly.

“Do you have much?” he asked, holding her gaze. “Did you fight because you were afraid?”

“You were hurting me!” she said, red with embarrassment and bad temper.

His nostrils flared as he breathed. He paused a moment, and his next words took her completely by surprise. “You told Patty I was too savage to get a woman.”

Her mouth flew open. She just sat and stared, hardly able to believe Patty’s betrayal.

“I…I never dreamed…”

“That she’d tell me?” he asked coolly. He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it with an impatient snap of his lighter. “She was kidding around, she didn’t mean anything. I guess you didn’t either.” He stared at the cigarette. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, about getting older, being alone.” He looked up. “When Patty said that this morning, it made me mad as hell. Then I realized that you were right, that I don’t even know how to behave in polite society. That I’m not…civilized.”

“Carson…” she began, at a loss for words.

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Not for telling the truth.” He sighed, stretching, and the hard, heavy muscles of his chest were evident beneath his shirt. Her eyes were drawn to the mat of dark hair visible in the opening, and she felt a sensation that shocked her. “I didn’t sleep,” he said after a minute, watching her. “I’m sorry I cut your lip, that I manhandled you. I guess you knew I was drinking.”

“You tasted of whiskey,” she said without thinking, and then flushed when she remembered exactly how he’d tasted.

“Did I?” His eyes dropped to her swollen lip. “I don’t know what came over me. And you fought me…that only made it worse. You should have known better, little debutante.”

“I’ve been fighting you for years,” she reminded him.

“Verbally,” he agreed. “Not physically.”

She glared at him. “What was I supposed to do, lie back and enjoy it?” she challenged.

His eyes darkened. His chest rose and fell roughly. “All right, I’m sorry,” he growled. “For God’s sake, what do you expect? I never knew my mother, never had a sister. My whole life revolved around a man who beat the hell out of me when I disobeyed….”

She stood quietly, forcing away her bad temper, hearing him without thinking until the words began to penetrate. She turned slowly and stared up at him. “Beat you?”

He drew in a slow breath, then glanced down at her bare arm where his strong, tanned fingers held it firmly. His thumb moved on the soft skin experimentally. “My father was a cattleman,” he said. “My mother couldn’t live with him. She ran away when I was four. He took me in hand, and his idea of discipline was to hit me when I did something he didn’t like. I had a struggle just to get through school—he didn’t believe in education. But by then, I outweighed him by fifty pounds,” he added with glittering eyes, “and I could fight back.”

It explained a lot of things. He never talked about his childhood, although she’d heard Jake make veiled references to how rough it had been.

Her eyes searched his hard face curiously.

He lifted his hand to her face and touched her lip gently. “I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”

She went flaming red. She felt as if his eyes could see right through her.

“I’ve never been gentle,” he said, “because I never knew what it was to be treated gently. And now, I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’m lonely. And I don’t know how to court a woman. Because I’m a savage. This,” he sighed bitterly, tracing her swollen lip, “is proof of it.”

She stared up at him, searching his eyes quietly as his hand dropped. “Didn’t you have any other relatives?” she asked.

“Not one,” he said. He turned away and went to stand by the window. “I ran away from home once or twice. He always came after me. Eventually I learned to fight back, and the beatings stopped. But I was fourteen by then. The damage had already been done.”

She studied his long back in silence, and then shifted, looking around the messy kitchen until her eyes found a facsimile of a coffee pot. She got to her feet. “Mind if I make some coffee?” she asked. “I’m sort of thirsty.”

“Help yourself.” He watched her with a familiar, unblinking scrutiny. “You look odd, doing that,” he remarked.

“Why?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m very domestic. I cook, too, or don’t you remember those dinners Uncle used to invite you to?”

“It’s been years since I’ve eaten at your table.”

She stared down at the pot she was filling. How could she possibly confess that she was too uneasy with him to enjoy his company? He disturbed her, unsettled her and she didn’t understand why. Which only made it worse.

“I’ve been too busy for guests,” she said. Her eyes went up to the tattered curtains at the window. “You could use some new curtains.”

“I could use a lot of things,” he said curtly. “This house is falling apart.”

“You’re letting it,” she reminded him. She put the pot on to boil, grimacing at the grease that had congealed and blackened on top of the once-white range.

“There hasn’t been any reason to fix it up before,” he said. “Just me, living alone, not much company. But I’ve hired a construction firm to do some renovations.”

That was startling. She turned to face him, her gray eyes wide and curious. “Why?” she asked without thinking.

“It has something to do with the reason I brought you in here,” he admitted. He finished the cigarette and crushed it out. “I need some help.”

“You!” she burst out.

He glared at her. “Don’t make jokes.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

He hesitated uncharacteristically. His face hardened. “Hell, look at me,” he growled finally, ramming his hands into the pockets of his worn, faded jeans. “You told Patty I was too savage to get a woman, and you were right. I don’t know how to behave in civilized company. I don’t even know which fork to use in a fancy restaurant.” He shifted restlessly, looking arrogant and proud and self-conscious all at once. “I want you to teach me some manners.”

“Me?” Mandelyn exclaimed in shock.

“Of course you,” he shot back. “Who else do I know with a cultured background? I need educating.”

She blinked away her confusion. “After all these years, why now?”

“Females,” he said angrily. “You always have to know it all, don’t you? Every single damned thing…all right,” he sighed roughly, running a hand through his thick hair. “There’s a woman.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She stood there like an elegant statue, staring at him. Patty! she thought. It had to be Patty! It was the only possibility that made sense. His unreasonable anger about what Mandelyn had said to Patty, his sudden decision to renovate the house coinciding with Patty’s return to Sweetwater. So that was it. The invulnerable man was in love, and he thought Patty had become too citified to like him the way he was. So he was making the supreme sacrifice and having himself turned into a gentleman. Pygmalion in reverse.

“Well?” he persisted, glaring at her. “Yes or no?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Surely there’s someone else.”

“Not someone like you,” he returned. His eyes wandered over her, full of appreciation and something much darker that she missed. “You’re quality. A real, honest-to-God lady. No, there’s no one else who could teach me as well as you could.”

She dropped her eyes to the coffee pot and watched it bubble away.

“Look on it as a challenge,” he coaxed. “Something to fill your spare hours. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Her face lifted and she studied him. “Yes,” she said. “Especially since Uncle died.”

“You don’t date?” he said.

She shifted uncomfortably. There was a reason for that, but she didn’t want to discuss it with him, not now. “I like my own company.”

“It isn’t good for a woman to live alone. Haven’t you ever thought about getting married?”

“I’ve thought about a lot of things. What do you want in your coffee?”

She poured it out and braved the refrigerator for cream. Inside there was a basket of eggs, some unsliced bacon, some moldy lumps and what appeared to have been butter at one time.

“I don’t have any milk, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he muttered.

She gaped at him. “You have hundreds of cows on this ranch, and you don’t have any milk?”

“It isn’t a dairy farm,” he said.

“A cow is a cow!”

“If you want the damned milk, go milk one of them, then!”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He scowled back. Eventually, she gave in with a sigh and put the cups on the table.

“That’s what I like most about you,” he said as she sat down gingerly in one of the rickety old chairs.

Her eyes came up. “What?”

He smiled slowly, and his blue eyes darkened, glittered. “You fight me.”

Her skin tingled at the way he said it. Before she thought, she said, “You didn’t like it last night.”

His smile faded. He sighed and lifted the cracked mug to his lips. “I was drunk last night.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Things got on top of me. I started thinking about how alone I was….” His eyes shot up, pinning hers. “I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “We all get depressed sometimes, even me. It’s all right, no harm done.” She touched her lower lip with her tongue. “Well, no permanent harm, anyway,” she added dryly.

“What you told Patty was true,” he said.

“I didn’t really mean that, or what I called you last night,” she said, watching him. “You’re not an unattractive man, Carson.”

“Pull the other one,” he said curtly and put his cup down to light another cigarette. “I’ve finally got a little money, and I’m working on some investments that will pay a good dividend. But there’s nothing about me that would attract a woman, physically or intellectually, and you know it.”

She caught her breath. Did he really believe that? Her eyes wandered slowly over the lean, tough length of him, the powerful muscles of his arms and chest, the narrow flat stomach and long legs. He was devastating physically. Even his craggy face was appealing, if it were shaved and his hair trimmed. She remembered suddenly what Patty had said about how he’d be in bed, and she turned crimson.

He looked up in time to catch that blush and he frowned. “What brought that on?”

She wondered what he’d say if she admitted that she and Patty had been wondering how he was in bed. “Nothing,” she said, “just a stray thought.”

“Twenty-six, and you still blush like a virgin,” he murmured, watching her. “Are you one?” he asked, smiling faintly.

“Carson Joseph Wayne!” she exclaimed.

His blue eyes searched her gray ones. “I didn’t realize you knew my middle name.”

She toyed with her coffee cup. “It was on the deed, when I sold you that ten-acre parcel that used to be part of Uncle’s land.”

“Was it?” He sipped some more of his coffee. “You still haven’t answered me. Will you teach me?”

She went hot all over at the way he said it. “Carson, any woman who wanted you wouldn’t mind the way you are…” she began diplomatically.

“This one would,” he said harshly.

She was suddenly jealous and didn’t know why. How ridiculous! She touched her temple with a long finger. “Well…”

“I’m not stupid,” he said shortly. “I can learn.”

“Oh, all right,” she said with equal curtness.

He seemed to relax a little. “Great. Where do we start?”

Her eyes wandered over him. God help her, it would take a miracle. “You’ll need some new clothes,” she said. “A haircut, a shave…”

“What kind of clothes?”

“Shirts and slacks and jeans, and a suit or two.”

“What kind? What color?”

She grimaced. “Well, I don’t know!”

“You’ll have to come with me to Phoenix,” he said. “There are some big department stores there.”

“Why not Carter’s Men’s Shop in Sweetwater?” she protested.

His jaw tightened. “No way am I going in there with you, while old man Carter laughs in his whiskers watching us.”

She almost laughed at the fierce way he said it. “Okay. Phoenix it is.”

“Tomorrow,” he added firmly. “It’s Saturday,” he reminded her when she started to protest. “You can’t have any business that won’t wait until Monday.”

“That sounds as if I’d better not,” she laughed.

“You work too hard as it is,” he said. “Tomorrow you’ll have a holiday. I’ll even buy you lunch. You can teach me some table manners at the same time.”

It looked like this was going to be a fulltime job, but suddenly she didn’t mind. The project might be fun at that. After all, Carson did have distinct possibilities. His physique was superb. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that? She lifted her cup and sipped her coffee while Carson slurped his.

“That’s the first thing,” she said, indicating the cup. “Sip, don’t slurp.”

And when he tried it, unoffended, and succeeded, she grinned at him. He grinned back and a wild flare of sensation tingled up her spine. She’d have to be careful, she told herself. After all, she was revamping him for another woman, not herself. And then she wondered why that was such a depressing thought.

Chapter Three

If it had sounded like a simple thing, helping Carson buy clothes, Mandelyn soon lost her illusions.

“You can’t be serious,” he told her, glaring as she tried to convince him that a pale blue pinstriped shirt with a white collar was very trendy and chic. “The boys would laugh me out of the yard.”

She sighed. “Carson, it’s a whole new world. Nobody has to go around in white shirts anymore unless they want to.”

“What kind of tie would I wear with that…thing,” he asked shortly, while the small salesman hovered nearby chewing on his lower lip.

“A solid one, or something with a small print.”

“God save us,” Carson burst out.

“And with a solid colored shirt—say, pink—you’d wear a striped tie.”

“I’m not wearing pink shirts,” he retorted. “I’m a man!”

“A caveman,” she agreed. “If you don’t want my advice, I’ll go buy a tube of lipstick.”

“Hold it,” he called as she started to walk away. He stared down at the packaged shirt. “All right, I’ll get it.”

She didn’t smile, but it took an effort. Her eyes went over him. He was wearing a beige corduroy jacket and a worn white turtleneck shirt and tan polyester slacks. He’d had a haircut and a shave, though, and already he looked different. In the right clothes, he’d be an absolute knockout, she realized.

After a few minutes, she convinced him that striped shirts weren’t at all effeminate, and he bought several more in different colors and ties to match. Then she coaxed him toward the suits.

The salesman took him to the changing rooms, and when he came back minutes later in a vested blue pinstriped suit wearing a blue shirt and burgundy tie, she almost fell off her chair. He didn’t look like Carson anymore, except for the rigid features and glittering blue eyes.

“Oh, my,” she said softly, staring at him.

His expression softened just a little. “Will I do?” he asked.

“Yes, you’ll do,” she agreed, smiling. “Women, look out!”

He smiled reluctantly. “Okay, what else do I need?”

“How about something tan?” she asked. “One of those Western-cut suits.”

He tried one on, with similar results. He had just the physique to look good in a suit, and the Western cut showed it off to perfection. She let the salesman point him toward some sports coats and slacks, and then after he had paid for his purchases, she talked him into two pairs of new boots and a gray Stetson and a brown one to top it all off.

Just before they left the store she remembered some items they hadn’t shopped for. She turned, but she lost her tongue immediately when she tried to say what was on her mind.

His eyebrows arched. “Something wrong?”

“Something we forgot,” she said hesitantly.

A corner of his mouth pulled up. “I don’t wear pajamas.”

“How about things to go under them?” she said finally, averting her eyes.

“My God, you’re shy,” he laughed, astonished.

“So what?” she returned, her whole stance belligerent. “I’ve never gone shopping with a man before. And do you have socks?”

“I guess I’d better go back, hadn’t I?” He put the parcels in the car. Then he opened the passenger door and helped Mandelyn inside.

“Will you be all right here until I get back?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“Won’t be a minute.”

She watched him walk away, and smiled. Transforming him was getting to be fun, even if it did have its difficult moments.

Her eyes went over the interior of the car. It was spotless, and she guessed that he’d had the boys give it a cleaning for him, because it had never looked so clean. Her hand reached out to touch the silver arrowhead he had suspended from the rear-view mirror and she frowned slightly as she realized what it was attached to. It was a blue velvet ribbon, one she remembered having lost. She’d worn it around her hair in a ponytail one day years ago when Carson had come to see Uncle Dan. She remembered Carson tugging the ponytail, but she hadn’t looked back, and later she’d missed the ribbon. It was odd, that a man as unsentimental as Carson would keep such a thing. Perhaps he liked the color, she thought, and turned her eyes back toward the store. It was hot, and there was no shade nearby. She fanned herself with her hand.

Minutes later, he came back, tossed his parcels into the trunk and climbed in beside her.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said suddenly, studying her flushed, perspiring skin. “I didn’t expect to be so long. There was a crowd.”

She smiled. “I’m okay.”

He studied her eyes for a long moment, and his face seemed to go rigid. “Oh, God, you’re something,” he said under his breath.

The passion in his soft words stirred something deep inside her. She stared back at him and couldn’t drag her eyes away. It was a moment out of time. Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his hard mouth.

“Don’t,” he laughed roughly, turning back to twist the ignition key savagely. “Keep those curious glances to yourself, unless you want me to kiss you again.”

He’d shocked her, and her face showed it. She wondered if he wanted her. Then she remembered Patty and went cold. Her eyes gazed out the window. If he had any emotion in him at all, it would naturally be for Patty. Wasn’t the object of this whole crusade to make him into a man Patty would want? She crossed her long legs with a sigh and stared out over the city.

“Hungry?” he asked after a minute.

“I could eat a salad,” she agreed.

“Rabbit food,” he shot back. “You can get that any day.”

Her eyebrows arched. “That sounds like you’re taking me someplace special,” she said, glancing at him with a grin. “Are you?”

“Do you like crepes?” he asked.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes!”

He smiled faintly. “A cattleman I know told me about a place. We’ll give it a try.”

It turned out to be a hotel restaurant, a very classy one. Mandelyn had definite misgivings about how this was going to turn out, but she’d never be able to teach Carson any manners without going into places like this. So she crossed her fingers and followed him in.

“Do you have a reservation, monsieur?” the maître d’ asked with casual politeness, his shrewd eyes going over Carson’s worn jacket and polyester trousers. “We are very crowded today.”

There were empty tables, Mandelyn could see them, and she knew what was going on. She touched Carson’s arm and whispered, “Give him a tip.”

“A tip?” Carson growled, glaring down at the shorter man with eyes that threatened to fry him to a crisp. “A tip, hell! I want a table. And I’d better get one fast, sonny, or you and your phony French accent are going right out that front door together.” He grinned as he said it, and Mandelyn hid her face in her hands.

“A table for two, monsieur?” the maître d’ said with a shaky smile and a quick wave of his hand. “Mais oui! Just follow me, s’il vous plait!”

“Tip him, hell,” Carson scoffed. “You just have to know the right words to say.”

She didn’t answer. All around the exclusive dining room, people were staring at them. She tried to follow some distance behind him; maybe she could look as if she were alone.

“Don’t hang back there, for God’s sake, I’ll lose you,” Carson said, gripping her arm to half drag her to the table the maître d’ was indicating. “Here. Sit down.”

He plopped her into a chair and jerked out one for himself, “How about a menu?”

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