DIANA
PALMER
BOSS MAN

Published by Silhouette Books

America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

“You Weren’t A Virgin

By Accident.”

She colored. “I don’t date much….”

Kemp waved away the rest of the reply. “You’re in love with me. I’ve always known it. There isn’t any other reason that would make you give yourself to a man without marriage.”

He moved closer, taking her gently by the shoulders. “You’ll work for me until we find out, one way or another, if there are going to be any consequences.”

“I should never have…!”

“We’re both human.” He searched her eyes. “I love the way you were with me,” he added huskily. “Try not to be ashamed of something so beautiful.”

He was saying something incredible. She stared up at him, fascinated.

“I was happy being alone until you came along and shook up my life,” he murmured, watching her closely. “I can’t go back.”

Dear Reader,

It’s November and perhaps the weather is turning a bit cooler where you are…so why not heat things up with six wonderful Silhouette Desire novels? New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer is back this month with a LONG, TALL TEXANS story not to be missed. You’ve loved Blake Kemp and his ever-faithful assistant, Violet, in other books…. Now you finally get their love story, in Boss Man.

Heat continues to generate in DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS with Laura Wright’s contribution, Savor the Seduction. Grant and Anna shared a night of passion some months ago…now he’s wondering if they have a shot at a repeat performance. And the temperature continues to rise as Sara Orwig delivers her share of surprises, in Highly Compromised Position, the latest installment in the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE SECRET DIARY series. (Hint, someone in Royal, Texas, is pregnant!)

Brenda Jackson gets things simmering in The Chase Is On, another fabulous Westmoreland story with a strong emphasis on food…tasty! And Bronwyn Jameson is back with the conclusion of her PRINCES OF THE OUTBACK series. Who wouldn’t want to share body heat with The Ruthless Groom? Last but not least, get all hot and bothered in the boardroom with Margaret Allison’s business-becomes-pleasure holiday story, Mistletoe Maneuvers.

Here’s hoping you find plenty of ways to keep yourself warm. Enjoy all we have to offer at Silhouette Desire.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

Published in Great Britain 2009.

MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Diana Palmer 2005

ISBN: 978-1-408-92968-1

Long, Tall Texans Books by Diana Palmer

Silhouette Desire

†That Burke Man #913

†Beloved #1189

†A Man of Means #1429

†Man in Control #1537

†Boss Man #1688

Silhouette Special Edition

†Matt Caldwell: Texas Tycoon #1297

†Carrera’s Bride #1645

Silhouette Romance

†Calhoun #580

†Justin #592

†Tyler #604

†Sutton’s Way #670

†Ethan #694

†Connal #741

†Harden #783

†Evan #819

†Donavan #843

†Emmett #910

†Regan’s Pride #1000

†Coltrain’s Proposal #1103

†The Princess Bride #1282

†Callaghan’s Bride #1355

†Lionhearted #1631

†Cattleman’s Pride #1718

Silhouette Books

†A Long, Tall Texan Summer 1997

Lone Star Christmas 1997

†“Christmas Cowboy”

†Love with a Long, Tall Texan 1999

†Long, Tall Texans

DIANA PALMER

has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. With over 40 million copies of her books in print, Diana Palmer is one of North America’s most beloved authors and considered one of the top ten romance authors in America.

Diana’s hobbies include gardening, archaeology, anthropology, iguanas, astronomy and music. She has been married to James Kyle for over twenty-five years, and they have one son.

CONTENTS

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

COMING NEXT MONTH

One

Violet Hardy sat at her desk and wondered why she’d ever taken this secretarial job in the first place. Her boss, Jacobsville, Texas, attorney Blake Kemp, didn’t appreciate her at all. She’d only been trying to keep him from dying of a premature heart attack by changing his regular coffee to decaf. For her pains, she’d been on the receiving end of the worst insult she could ever imagine, and from the one man in the world that she loved above all others. She knew her co-workers were as upset as she was. They’d been kindness itself. But nothing made up for the fact that Blake Kemp thought Violet was fat.

She looked down at her voluptuous body in a purple dress with a high neckline, frilly bodice and straight skirt, vaguely aware that the style did nothing for her. She would be wearing it today, of all days, when Kemp gave her that disapproving scrutiny. Her mother had tried to tell her, gently, that frills and big bosoms didn’t match. Worse, a tight-fitting skirt only emphasized those wide hips.

She’d been trying so hard to lose weight. She’d given up sweets, joined a gym, and worked hard at cooking regular and weight-conscious meals for herself and her elderly mother, who had a heart condition. Her father had died the year before of an apparent heart attack. But just lately there were rumors that her co-worker Libby Collins’s stepmother might be responsible for Mr. Hardy’s sudden death. Janet Collins had been suspected of poisoning an elderly man in a nursing home, and she’d taken Mr. Hardy for quite a sum of money before he died unexpectedly, just after being seen with her in a motel room. It had been too late for Mrs. Hardy to stop payment on the check, because she didn’t realize the money was missing until well after the funeral.

Violet and her mother had been devastated, not only by his loss, but by the disastrous financial condition he’d left behind. They’d lost their nest egg, their home, their car, everything. The woman who’d convinced Mr. Hardy to give her a quarter of a million dollars couldn’t be positively identified. And she’d run up accounts in department stores and even jewelry stores for which Mr. Hardy’s estate was suddenly responsible. Her mother had had the first stroke just after the funeral. Violet’s small, separate inheritance had been just enough to support them for a few months. But after it ran out, Violet had been forced to support them both. There had been a vacancy at Kemp’s office, working with Libby Collins and Mabel Henry. Fortunately, Violet had taken a business course in spite of her father’s disapproval. She’d never have to get a job, he’d said confidently.

It was nice working in Kemp’s office and she was a good secretary. But her boss didn’t appreciate her. Less today than ever before. She raged for five minutes, while her helpless co-workers listened and sympathized. She poured out her heart, including her feelings for her taciturn boss.

“Don’t take it so much to heart, dear,” Mabel said finally, sympathizing with her despair. “We all have bad days.”

“He thinks I’m fat,” Violet said miserably.

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Well, you know how he looked at me and what he insinuated,” Violet muttered, glaring down the hall.

Mabel grimaced. “He’s had a bad day.”

“So have I,” Violet said flatly.

Libby Collins patted her on the shoulder. “Buck up, Violet,” she said gently. “Just give it a couple of days and he’ll apologize. I’m sure he will.”

Violet wasn’t sure. In fact, she’d have bet money that an apology was the last thing on her boss’s mind.

“We’ll see,” she replied as she went back to her desk. But she didn’t believe it.

She pushed back her long dark hair and her blue eyes were tearful, although she was careful to conceal her hurt feelings. It was far worse than just his insinuation that she was overweight. She’d overheard Mabel and Libby whispering that the intercom had been on when Violet had poured out her heart to her co-workers after Kemp’s blistering attack over the decaffeinated coffee he’d been given. She was crazy about him. He’d heard that. How was she ever going to be able to face him again?

It was as bad as she feared. All day, he walked out to the front to meet clients, talk about appointments and get coffee. Every single time he walked in, he glared at Violet as if she were responsible for the seven deadly sins. She began to cringe when she heard his footsteps coming down the hall.

By the end of the day, Tuesday, she knew she couldn’t stay with him anymore. It was too humiliating all the way around. She was going to have to leave.

Libby and Mabel noticed her unusual solemnity. It got worse when she pulled a typed sheet from her printer, got up, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall to Kemp’s office.

Seconds later, they heard him. “What the hell…?”

Violet came stalking back down the hall, red-faced and unnerved, with an enraged Kemp, minus his glasses, two steps behind, waving the sheet of paper at her back.

“You can’t give me one day’s notice!” he raged. “I have cases pending. You’re responsible for sorting them out and notifying the petitioners…!”

She whirled, eyes flashing. “All that information is in the computer, along with the phone numbers! Libby knows what to do, she’s had to help me keep track of your cases when I had to be home with Mother during her last stroke! Please don’t pretend it matters who’s doing the typing or making the phone calls, because I know it doesn’t matter to you! I’m going to work for Duke Wright!”

He was seething, but he went suddenly quiet. “Going over to the enemy, then, Miss Hardy?”

“Mr. Wright is less excitable than you are, sir, and he won’t rage about coffee. In fact,” she said audaciously, “he makes his own!”

He looked for a retort, couldn’t think up one, mashed his sensuous lips together, let out a word under his breath that could have had him up for charges of harassment, and stomped back down the hall still clutching the single sheet of paper. As an afterthought, he slammed his door.

Libby and Mabel tried not to laugh. Mr. Kemp had thrown two people out of the office onto the sidewalk in less than a month. His temper had gone from bad to worse, and poor Violet had caught the worst of it. Now she was leaving and it would be lonely without her. Sadly, Libby thought, her own workload had just doubled.

Violet apologized to her co-workers, but insisted that she couldn’t take the working situation anymore. At the end of the day, she closed down her computer, noting that Mabel and Libby were both out the door before she could get her things together. Libby had already agreed to come back as soon as she had a bite to eat and finish up two cases that Kemp was presenting the next day. Violet would have offered to do it; poor Libby had problems of her own with her horrible stepmother trying to sell the Collins house out from under Libby and her brother, Curt. But Libby insisted she didn’t mind.

Violet shouldered into her long sweater-jacket just as Kemp came stalking down the hall, still in a temper, his pale blue eyes flashing behind his glasses, his lean face taut with anger, his dark wavy hair slightly mussed in back from his restless fingers.

He stopped and glared at her. “I hope I’ve made my point about the coffee,” he said bluntly. “Have you reconsidered your impulsive resignation, by the way?”

She swallowed. He’d made his point about a lot of things. She drew herself up to her full height and faced him bravely. “I have not. I’ll be leaving as soon as you can get a replacement, Mr. Kemp.”

His eyebrows arched. “Running away, Miss Hardy?” he asked sarcastically.

“You can call it that if you like,” she replied.

His eyes glittered, angered all out of proportion by the reply. “In that case, you can consider this your last day and forget the measly notice. I’ll get Libby to finish your work and I’ll mail your two weeks’ pay to you. If that’s satisfactory.”

Her face felt tight and uncomfortable at the taunting question, but she stood her ground. “That will be fine, Mr. Kemp. Thank you.”

He glared at her. He was furious that he couldn’t get a rise out of her. “Very well. Your office key, please.”

She fumbled it off her key chain and handed it to him, careful not to let her fingers touch his. Her heart was going to break in two when the shock wore off. But she was too proud to let him see how devastated she was.

He stared down at her dark head of hair as she placed the key in his fingers. He felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable surge of loss. He couldn’t understand why. He had little to do with women these days, although he was only thirty-six. He’d lost the woman he loved years ago and had never had any inclination to risk his heart again.

Violet, however, threatened his freedom. She had a sort of empathy with people that was disturbing. She was easily hurt. He could see that this was killing her, being tipped out of his office, out of his life. But he had to let her go. She’d already gotten too close. He never wanted to feel again the pain of having his heart ripped out with the loss of a woman. His fiancée had died. He was through with love. So Violet had to go.

It was for the best, he told himself firmly. She was only infatuated with him. She’d get over it. He thought of how much she’d lost in the past year: her father, her home, her whole way of life. Now she had her invalid mother to care for, a burden she shouldered without a word of complaint. Now she had no job. He winced as he sensed the pain she must be feeling.

“It’s for the best,” he muttered uncomfortably.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes tragic in her rounded face. “It is?”

His jaw tautened. “You’re confused about your feelings. You’re only infatuated, Violet,” he said as kindly as he could, watching her face flush violently. “It isn’t love eternal, and there are eligible men elsewhere. You’ll get over it.”

Her lips actually trembled as she tried to find a comeback to that devastating revelation. She’d been afraid he’d overheard her confession of love, now she knew he had. His words made her feel like sinking into the floor. It was the worst humiliation she could ever remember feeling in her life. He couldn’t possibly have made his own feelings any clearer.

“Yes, sir,” she bit off, turning away. “I’ll get over it.”

She picked up her bits and pieces and moved toward the door. Predictably, he went to open it for her, a gentleman to the bitter end.

“Thank you,” she choked, her eyes averted.

“Are you certain that Duke Wright will hire you?” he asked abruptly.

She didn’t even look at him. “What do you care, Mr. Kemp?” she asked in a dull, miserable tone. “I’m out of your hair.”

She walked toward her car with her heart around her ankles. Behind her, a tall man stood watching, brooding, as she walked out of his life.

She’d forgotten the cake. She’d promised to drop it by the Hart ranch for Tess, but it was still sitting in Kemp’s office. She no longer had a key, and she’d rather have died than phoned him to let her in to get the cake. He’d think it was a ruse, so that she could see him again.

She stopped by the bakery instead and got another cake. Luckily for her, Tess didn’t want a message on it, just the cake. She stopped by the Hart ranch property at Tess and Cag’s enormous house and handed it off to their housekeeper, with a beaming smile that never reached her eyes. Then she went home.

Her mother was lying on the sofa, watching the last of her soap operas. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, smiling. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Very nice,” Violet lied, smiling back. “How about you?”

“I’ve done very well. I made supper!”

“Mama, you aren’t supposed to exert yourself,” Violet protested, gritting her teeth.

“Cooking isn’t exertion. I do love it so,” the older woman replied, her blue eyes that were so like Violet’s sparkling with pleasure. Her hair was silver now, short and wavy. She lay on the sofa in an old gown and housecoat, her feet in socks. Nights were still chilly, even though it was April.

“Want to eat in here on trays?” Violet offered.

“That would be lovely. We can watch the news.”

Violet grimaced. “Not the news,” she groaned. “Something pleasant!”

“Then what would you like to watch? We’ve got lots of DVDs,” her mother added.

Violet named a comedy about a crocodile who ate people living around a lake.

Her mother gave her an odd look. “My, my. Usually when you want to watch that one, you’ve had an argument with Mr. Kemp.” She was fishing.

Violet cleared her throat. “We did have a little tiff,” she confessed, not daring to tell her mother that the family breadwinner was temporarily out of work.

“It will all blow over,” Mrs. Hardy promised. “He’s a difficult man, I imagine, but he’s been very kind to us. Why, when I had to go to the hospital last time, he drove you there and even sat with you until they got me over the crisis.”

“Yes, I know,” Violet replied, without adding that Mr. Kemp would do that for anybody. It didn’t mean anything, except that he had a kind heart.

“And then there was that huge basket of fruit he sent us at Christmas.” The older woman was still talking.

Violet was on her way to her bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt. She wondered how she was going to get another job without naming Mr. Kemp as a reference. He might give her one. She just hated having to ask him to. She’d told her co-workers, and Kemp, that she was going to work for Duke Wright, but it had been a lie to save face.

“Going to the gym tonight?” her mother asked when she reappeared and rifled through the DVD stack for the movie she wanted.

“Not tonight,” Violet replied with a smile. Maybe never again, she was thinking. What use was it to revamp herself when she’d never see Mr. Kemp again, anyway?

Later, she cried herself to sleep, hating her own show of weakness. Fortunately, nobody else would see it. By dawn, she was up and dressed, her makeup on, her resolve firm. She was going to get a new job. She had skills. She was a hard worker. She would be an asset to any prospective employer. She told herself these things firmly, because her ego was badly hurt. She’d show Mr. Kemp. She could get a job anywhere!

Actually, that wasn’t quite the case. Jacobsville was a small town. There weren’t that many office jobs available, because most people lucky enough to get them worked in the same place until they retired.

There was one hope. Duke Wright, a local rancher who had a real verbal war going with Mr. Kemp, couldn’t keep a secretary. He was hard, cold, and demanding. At least one secretary had left his employment in tears. His wife had left him, along with their young son, and filed for divorce. He consistently refused to sign the final papers, which had led to a furious confrontation between himself and Blake Kemp. The fistfight escalated until Chief of Police Cash Grier had to step in and break it up. Duke threw a punch at Cash, missed the chief and landed in jail. There was certainly no love lost between Duke Wright and Blake Kemp.

With that idea in mind, and gathering up her courage, she phoned him from home the next morning while her mother was still asleep.

His deep voice was easily recognizable the instant he spoke.

“Mr…. Mr. Wright? It’s Violet Hardy,” she stammered.

There was a surprised pause. “Yes, Miss Hardy?” he replied.

“I was wondering if you needed any secretarial help right now,” she blurted out, embarrassed almost to tears just to ask the question.

There was another pause and then a chuckle. “Have you and Kemp parted ways?” he asked at once.

She felt her cheeks redden. “In fact, yes, we have,” she said flatly. “I quit.”

“Great!”

“Ex-excuse me?” she stammered, surprised.

“I can’t get a secretary who doesn’t see me as a matrimonial prospect,” he told her.

“I certainly won’t,” she replied without thinking. “Uh, sorry!”

“Don’t apologize. How soon can you get out here?”

“Fifteen minutes,” she said brightly.

“You’re hired. Come in right away. Be sure and tell Kemp who you’re working for, will you?” he added. “It would make my day!”

She laughed. “Yes, sir. And thank you very much! I’ll work hard, I’ll do overtime, anything you want! Well, within reason.”

“No need to worry, I’m off women for life,” he said in a rough tone. “See you soon, Violet.”

He hung up before she could reply. She had a job! She didn’t have to tell her mother she was out of work and they wouldn’t be able to afford rent payments and her car payment and food. It was such a relief that she sat staring at the phone blankly until she remembered that she had to go to work.

“I’ll be home just after five, Mama,” she told her mother gently, bending to kiss her forehead. It felt clammy. She frowned, standing erect. “Are you okay?”

Her mother opened pale blue eyes and managed a smile. “Just a little headache, darling, certainly nothing to worry about. I’d tell you. Honest.”

Violet relaxed, but only a little. She loved her mother. Mrs. Hardy was the only person in the whole world who loved her. She had frequent unspoken terrors about losing her. It was scary.

“I’m okay!” her mother emphasized.

“You stay in bed today and don’t get up and start trying to do cordon bleu in the kitchen. Okay?”

Mrs. Hardy reached out and caught Violet’s hand. “I don’t want to be a burden on you, darling,” she said softly. “That was never what I intended.”

“You can’t help having a bad heart,” she insisted.

“I wish I could. Your father might still be alive, if he hadn’t been forced to…to go to another woman…for—” She broke off, tears brightening her eyes.

“Mama, you can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t help,” Violet told her, privately thinking that if she’d been married to the same man for twenty-five years and he had a stroke, she certainly wouldn’t be running around on him while he was fighting just to stay alive. Her father hadn’t really loved her mother, and it showed to everybody except Mrs. Hardy. The older woman was forever doing things to help other people. Until her illness, she’d always been active in the community, baking for fund-raising sales, working in her church group, taking food to bereaved families—anything she could do. Her father, a very successful Certified Public Accountant, went to work and came home and watched television. He had no sense of compassion. In fact, his mind was forever on himself, and what he needed. He and Violet had never been close, although he hadn’t been a bad father, in his way.

But she couldn’t say all that to her mother. Instead she bent and kissed her mother’s temple again. “I love you. It’s no burden to take care of you. And I mean that,” she added, smiling.

“You tell that Mr. Kemp that I’m very proud he gave you the job. I don’t know what we’d have done…”

Violet sat down beside her mother. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

“You’re getting married?” the older woman asked hopefully, with bright eyes and a smile. “He’s finally realized you’re in love with him?!”

“He’s realized it,” Violet said, tight-lipped. “And he said I’d get over it quicker if I was working for somebody else.”

Her mother’s jaw fell. “And he seemed like such a nice man!” she exclaimed.

She held the other woman’s hand hard. “I’ve got a new job,” she said at once, before her mother could start worrying. “I’m going to start this morning.” She smiled. “It’s going to be great!”

“Start where? Working for whom?”

“Duke Wright.”

Her mother’s thin eyebrows arched and a twinkle came into her eyes. “He doesn’t like Mr. Kemp.”

“And vice versa,” Violet stated firmly. “It will pay just as well as Mr. Kemp did,” she added, mentally crossing her fingers, “and he won’t complain about how I make coffee.”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Hardy asked.

Violet cleared her throat. “Never mind, Mama. It’s going to be fine. I like Mr. Wright.”

Mrs. Hardy pressed her hand again. “If you say so. I’m sorry, darling. I know how you feel about Mr. Kemp.”

“Since he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s for the best if I don’t go on working there and eating my heart out over him,” Violet said realistically. “I daresay I’ll find other company, someone who doesn’t think I’m too fat…” She stopped at once and flushed.

Her mother looked furious. “You are not fat! I can’t believe Mr. Kemp had the audacity to say something like that to you!”

“He didn’t,” Violet replied at once. “He just…insinuated it.” She sighed. “He’s right. I am fat. But I’m trying so hard to lose weight!”

Her mother held her hand tighter. “Listen to me, darling,” she said softly. “A man who really cares about you isn’t going to dwell on what he considers faults. Your father used that same argument to me,” she added unexpectedly. “He actually said that he went to that other woman because she was slender and well-groomed.”

“He…did?”

She grimaced. “I should have told you. Your father never loved me, Violet. He was in love with my best friend and she married somebody else. He married me to get even with her. He wanted a divorce two months later, but I was pregnant with you, and in those days, people really gossiped about men who walked out on a pregnant wife. So we stayed together and tried to make a home for you. Looking back,” she said wearily, lying back down on her pillows, “perhaps I made a mistake. You don’t know what a good marriage is, do you? Your father and I hardly ever did anything together, even when you were little.”

Violet pushed back her mother’s disheveled hair. “I love you very much,” she told her parent. “I think you’re wonderful. So do a lot of other people. It was my father’s loss if he couldn’t see how special you were.”

“At least I have you” came the soft reply, with a smile. “I love you, too, darling.”

Violet fought tears. “Now I really have to go,” she said. “I can’t afford to lose my new job before I start it!”

Her mother laughed. “You be careful!”

“I’ll drive under the speed limit,” she promised.

“Mr. Wright isn’t married now, is he?” Mrs. Hardy wondered.

“Yes, he is. He refused to sign the final divorce papers.” She laughed. “That’s why he had the fight with Mr. Kemp.”

“Is it spite, do you think, or does he still love her?”

“Everybody thinks he still loves her, but she’s making a fortune working as a lawyer in New York City and she doesn’t want to come back here.”

“They have a little boy. Doesn’t she think his father has any right to see the child?”

“They’re still arguing about custody.”

“What a pity.”

“People should think hard about having children,” Violet said with conviction, “and they shouldn’t ever be accidents.”

“That’s just what I’ve always said,” Mrs. Hardy replied. “Have a good day, darling.”

“You, too. The phone’s right here and I’m going to write down Mr. Wright’s number in case you need me.” She penciled it on the pad next to the phone, smiled, and went to get her purse.

Duke Wright lived in a huge white Victorian house. Local gossip said that his wife had wanted it since she was a child, living in a poor section of Jacobsville. She’d married Duke right out of high school and started to college after the honeymoon was over. College had opened a new world to her eyes. She’d decided to study law, and Duke stood by and let her have her way, sure that she’d never want to leave Jacobsville. But she got a taste of city life when she went on to law school in San Antonio, and she decided to work in a law firm there.

Nobody understood exactly why they decided to have a child in her first year as a practicing estate lawyer. She didn’t seem happy about it, although she had the child. But a live-in nurse had to be employed because Mrs. Wright spent more and more time at the office. Then, two years ago, she’d been offered a position in a well-known law firm in New York City and she’d jumped at the chance. Duke had argued, cajoled, threatened, to try to get her to turn it down. Nothing worked. In a fit of rage, she moved out, with their son, and filed for divorce. Duke had fought it tooth and nail. Just this month, she’d presented him with divorce papers, demanding his signature, which also required him to remit full custody of his five-year-old son to her. He’d gone wild.

To look at him, though, Violet thought, he seemed very self-possessed and confident. He was tall and bronzed with a strong face, square chin, deep-set dark eyes and blondish-brown hair which he wore conventionally cut. He had the physique of a rodeo star, which he’d been before his father’s untimely death and his switch from cowboy to cattle baron. He ran purebred red angus cattle, well-known in cattle circles for their pedigree. He had all the scientific equipment necessary for a prosperous operation, including high-tech methods of genetic breeding, artificial insemination, embryo transplantation, cross-breeding for leanness, low birth weight and daily weight gain ratio, as well as expert feed formulation. He had the most modern sort of operation, right down to lagoon management and forage improvement. He had the most modern computers money could buy, and customized software to keep up with his cattle. But his newest operation was organic ham and bacon that he raised on his ranch and marketed over the Internet.

Violet was staggered at the high-tech equipment in the office he maintained on his sprawling ranch outside town.

“Intimidated?” he drawled, smiling. “Don’t worry. It’s easier to use than it looks.”

“Can you operate it all?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged. “With the average duration of secretarial assistance around here, I have to be able to do things myself,” he said heavily. He gave her a long look and stuck his lean hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Violet, I’m not an easy boss,” he confessed. “I have moods and rages, and sometimes I blow up when things upset me. You’ll need nerves of steel to last long here. So I won’t blame you if you have reservations.”

Her eyebrows arched. “I worked for Blake Kemp for over a year.”

He chuckled, understanding her very well. “They say he’s worse than me,” he agreed. “Okay. If you’re game, we’ll give it two weeks. After that, you can decide if it’s worth the money. That’s another thing,” he added, smiling. “I pay better than Kemp.” He named a figure that made Violet look shocked. He nodded. “That’s to make it worth the aggravation. Come on, and I’ll show you around the equipment.”

It was fascinating. She’d never seen anything like the tangle of spreadsheets and software that ran his empire. Even the feed was mixed by computer.

“Not that you’ll have to concern yourself with the organic pork operation,” he added quickly. “I have three employees who do nothing except that. But these figures—” he indicated the spreadsheet “—are urgent. They have to be maintained on a daily basis.”

“All of them?” she exclaimed, seeing hours and hours of overtime in statistics before her.

“Not by hand,” he replied. “All the cowboys are computer literate, even the old-timers. They feed the information into handheld computers and send it to the mainframe by internal modem, right from the pastures,” he told her.

She just shook her head. “It’s incredible,” she replied. “I hope I’m smart enough to learn all this, Mr. Wright.”

He smiled approvingly. “There’s nothing I appreciate more than modesty, Miss Hardy,” he replied. “You’ll do fine. Ready to get started?”

“Yes, sir!” she replied.

It was a short day, mainly because she was so busy trying to learn the basics of Duke Wright’s agricultural programs. She liked him. He might have a bad reputation, and she knew he could be hard to get along with, but he had saving graces.

She managed not to think about Mr. Kemp all afternoon, until she got home.

Her mother smiled at her from the sofa, where she was watching her daily soap operas. “Well, how did it go?” she asked.

“I like it!” Violet told her with a big smile. “I really do. I think I’m going to work out just fine. And, besides that, I’m going to be making a lot more money. Mama, we might even be able to afford a dishwasher!”

Mrs. Hardy sighed. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

Violet kicked off her shoes and sat down in the recliner next to the sofa. “I’m so tired! I’m just going to rest for a minute and then I’ll see about supper.”

“We could have chili and hot dogs.”

Violet chuckled. “We could have a nice salad and bread sticks,” she said, thinking of the calories.

“Whatever you like, dear. Oh, by the way, Mr. Kemp came by a few minutes ago.”

Violet’s world came crashing down around her ears. She’d hoped to not even hear his name, at least for another few days.

“What did he want?” she asked her mother.

The older woman picked up a white envelope. “To give you this.” She handed it to Violet, who sat staring at it.

“Well,” she murmured. “I guess it’s my final pay.”

Mrs. Hardy muted the television set. “Why not open it and see?”

Violet didn’t want to, but her mother looked expectant. She tore open the envelope and extracted a check and a letter. With her breath in her throat, she slowly unfolded it.

“What does it say?” her mother prompted.

Violet just stared at it, unbelieving.

“Violet, what is it?”

Violet drew in a breath. “It’s a letter of recommendation,” she said huskily.

Two

“I can’t believe he actually gave me one,” Violet said huskily, her heart racing from just the thought that he’d backed down that far. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“He told me that,” her mother replied. “He said that he felt really bad about the way you left, Violet, and that he hoped you’d be happy in your new job.”

Violet looked up at her parent, hating herself for being so happy with these crumbs of Kemp’s regard. “He did?” She caught herself. “Did you tell him where I was working?”

Mrs. Hardy shifted on the sofa. “Well, dear, he looked so pleasant and we had such a nice conversation. I thought, why upset the man?”

Violet laughed helplessly. “What did you tell him, Mother?” she asked gently.

“I said you were working in a local office for a very nice man, doing statistics,” she said with a chuckle. “He didn’t actually ask where. He started to, and I changed the subject. He said Libby and Mabel were splitting your work for the time being. He’s going to advertise for a new secretary,” she added.

Violet sighed. “I hope he’s happy with whichever poor soul gets the job,” she said.

“No, you don’t. I know you hated to leave. But, dear, if he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s a blessing in the long run,” her mother said wisely. “No sense eating your heart out.”

“That’s what I thought when I quit,” Violet admitted. She got to her feet, putting the letter and check back in the envelope. “I’ll go fix something to eat.”

“You could make a pot of coffee,” her mother suggested.

Violet gave her a glare. “You don’t need to be drinking caffeine.”

“Don’t we have any decaf?”

It reminded Violet too much of her ex-boss, and she wasn’t enthusiastic. But her mother loved coffee, and missed being able to drink it. She didn’t know about the coffee wars in Kemp’s office, either. Violet forced a smile. “I’ll see,” she said, and left her mother to the soap opera.

The first few days out of Kemp’s office were the hardest. She couldn’t forget how she’d looked forward to every new day, to each morning’s first glimpse of her handsome boss. Her heart had jumped at the sound of his voice. She tingled all over when, rarely, he smiled at her when she finished a difficult task for him. Even the scent of a certain masculine cologne could trigger memories, because he always smelled of it. She felt deprived because her life would no longer contain even a casual glimpse of him. She was working for his worst enemy. Not much likelihood that Kemp would turn up on Duke Wright’s ranch in the near or distant future.

But as time passed, Violet slowly fell into a routine at Duke’s ranch. The spreadsheet programs were easy to use once she learned what the various terms meant, like weight gain ratio and birth weight. She learned that Duke used artificial insemination to improve the genetics of his cattle, selecting for low birth weight, good weight gain ratios for offspring and lean cuts of meat in the beef cattle offspring that would eventually be generated by his purebred herd sires and dams.

She was fascinated to find that science was used to predict leanness and tenderness of beef cuts, that genetics could manipulate those factors to produce a more marketable product for consumers.

She was fascinated by the various pedigrees and the amount of history contained in his breeding programs. It was like an organic history of Texas just to look back over the first herds that had contributed to Duke’s formidable beef concern. He kept photographic records as well as statistical ones, and she found the early beef sires short, stocky and woolly compared to modern ones. It graphically showed the progression of genetic breeding.

Her duties were routine and hardly exciting, but she made good wages and she liked the people she worked with. Duke had full-time and part-time cowboys, as well as a veterinary student who worked one semester and went to school one semester. He had three people who did nothing but work with his Internet Web site that sold his premium organic ham and bacon products.

But Violet’s job was separate from that of the other workers. There was a new storefront that Duke had just opened in Jacobsville to market his organic pork. There was also a modern office complex adjacent to the enormous barn, where the production and lab staff were located. The barn, in addition to containing the pride of his purebred cattle herd, his expensive seed bulls, there was also a climate controlled room where the frozen sperm and embryos were kept for artificial insemination. The procedure itself was conducted in the barn. Purebred embryos from superior herd sires, as well as straws of semen from champion bulls who were now long dead, were kept in vats of liquid nitrogen. These were placed in surrogate mothers who might be Holsteins or even mixed breed cattle rather than the purebred heifers he also sold along with each new crop of yearling bulls from purebred sires.

Violet had a passing acquaintance with the employees who ran the lab, one of whom was a graduate biologist named Delene Crane, a young woman with a quirky sense of humor. They were nodding acquaintances, because she didn’t have much free time to socialize. None of the staff did, for that matter. Routine at the ranch was chaotic because spring was the busiest time for everyone, with calves being born and recorded and branding in full swing.

She knew that Duke used not only hot branding, but also had computer chips on plastic tags that dangled from the ears of his cattle. These chips contained the complete history of each cow or bull. The information was scanned into a handheld computer and sent by modem to Violet’s computer to be compiled into the spreadsheet program.

“It’s just fascinating,” Violet told Duke as she watched the information updating itself on her computer screen from minute to minute.

He smiled wearily. He was dusty. His chaps and boots were dirty and blood-stained because he’d been helping with calving all day. His red shirt was wet all over. His hair, under his wide-brimmed Stetson, was dripping sweat. His leather gloves, tight-fitting and suede-colored, were dangling from the wide belt buckle at his lean waist over his jeans.

“It’s taken a lot of work to get this operation so far,” he confessed, his eyes on the screen as he spoke, his voice deep and pleasant in the quiet office. “And a lot of cash. I’ve been in the hole for the past year. But I’m just beginning to show a profit. I think the pork operation may be what finally gets me in the black.”

“Where are the pigs kept?” she wondered aloud, because she’d only seen cattle and horses so far. In addition to the cattle herd, Duke maintained a small herd of purebred Appaloosa horses.

“Far enough away that they aren’t easy to smell,” he replied with a grin. “They have their own complex about a mile down the road. It’s remarkably clean, and purely organic. They have pastures to roam and a stream that runs through it all the year, and they’re fed a carefully formulated organic diet. No pesticides, no hormones, no antibiotics unless they’re absolutely necessary.”

“You sound like the Harts and the Tremaynes and…” she began.

“…and Cy Parks and J. D. Langley,” he finished for her, chuckling. “They did give me the idea. It’s catching on. Christabel and Judd Dunn jumped on the wagon last year.”

“It’s been very profitable for them, I hear,” Violet replied. “Mr. Kemp handles all the paperwork for the Harts and Cy Parks…” She bit her tongue as his face hardened and the smile faded. “Sorry, boss,” she said at once.

He moved jerkily. “No harm done.”

But she knew how he felt about Kemp. She opened a second window on the computer screen and diverted him with a question about another procedure.

He explained the process to her and smiled. “You’re a diplomat, Violet. I’m glad you needed a job.”

“Me, too, Mr. Wright,” she replied, smiling.

He pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Well, I’ve played hooky as long as I can,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll get back to work before Lance comes in here and lassos me and drags me back out to the pasture. You go home at five regardless of the phone, okay?” he added. “I know you worry about your mother. You don’t need to do overtime.”

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it. “It’s hard for her to be alone in the evening. She gets scared.”

“I don’t doubt it. Oh, if you get a minute,” he added from the door, “call Calhoun Ballenger and tell him I’m sending him a donation for his campaign.”

She grinned. “I’ll be happy to do that! I’m voting for him, too.”

“Good for you.” He closed the door carefully behind him.

Violet made the call, finished up her work, and left on time. She had to run by the post office on the way home to put Duke’s correspondence into the mail.

As luck would have it, Kemp was in the lobby when she walked in the door, having just put a last-minute letter into the outgoing post.

He stopped short when he saw her, his pale blue eyes narrow and accusing. She was keenly aware that her lipstick was long gone, that her hair was sticking out in comic angles from her once-neat braid, that one leg of her panty hose was laddered. She couldn’t run into him when she looked neat and pretty, she thought miserably. To top it all off, she was wearing white jeans that were too tight and a red overblouse with ruffles that made her look vaguely clownish. She ground her teeth as she glared back at him.

“Mr. Kemp,” she said politely, and started to go around him.

He stepped right into her path. “What’s Wright been doing to you?” he asked. “You look worn to the bone.”

Her thin eyebrows arched as she registered genuine concern in that narrow gaze. She cleared her throat. “It’s roundup,” she replied.

He nodded understanding. “The Harts are breaking out in hives already,” he mused, and almost smiled. “They’ve had some problems with their exports to Japan as well. I suppose the cattle business is wearing on the nerves.”

She smiled shyly. “Everybody’s rushing to record all the pertinent information for every new calf, and there are a lot of them.”

“He’s opened a meat shop here in town,” he remarked. “It sells organic hams and sausage and bacon.”

“Yes. His employees run a Web site, too, so that he can sell his pork on the Internet.” She hesitated. Her heart was racing like mad and she felt her knees weakening just from the long, shared looks. She missed him so much. “How…how are Libby and Mabel?”

“Missing you.” He made it sound as if she’d left him in a bind.

She shifted to the other foot. If they’d been alone, she’d have had more to say about the accusing look he was giving her. But people were coming and going all around them. “Thank you. For the recommendation, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think Wright would take you on,” he said honestly. “It’s no secret that he hates having women around the ranch since the divorce.”

“Delene Crane works with him,” she replied, curious. “She’s a woman.”

“He’s known Delene since they were in college together,” he told her. “He doesn’t think of her as a woman.”

Interesting, she mused, because Delene wasn’t a bad-looking woman. She had red hair and green eyes and a milky complexion with a few freckles. She froze out the cowboys who gave her flirting glances, though. She was also strictly business with Duke, so maybe it was true that he didn’t think of her as a romantic prospect. She wondered why Delene didn’t feel comfortable around men…

“How’s your mother?” Kemp asked abruptly.

She grimaced. “She does things they told her not to do,” she lamented. “Especially lifting heavy stuff. The doctors said that she still has a tendency toward clots, despite the blood thinners they give her. They didn’t say, but I know that once a person has one or two strokes, they’re almost predisposed to have more.”

He nodded slowly. “But there are drugs to treat that, now. I’m sure your doctor is taking good care of her.”

“He is,” she had to agree.

“Your mother is special.”

She smiled. “Yes. I think so, too.”

He looked past her. “It’s clouding up. You’d better get your letters mailed, so you don’t get soaked when you leave.”

“Yes.” She looked at him with pain in her eyes. She loved him. It was so much worse that he knew, and pitied her for it. She glanced away, coloring faintly. “Yes, I’d better…go.”

Unexpectedly, he reached out and pushed back a long strand of black hair that had escaped her braid. He tugged it behind her ear, his gaze intent and solemn as he watched her heartbeat race at her bodice. He heard her breath catch at the faint contact. He felt guilty. He could have been kinder to Violet. She had enough on her plate just with her mother to care for. She cared about him. She’d shown it, in so many ways, when she worked with him. He hadn’t wanted to encourage her, or give her false hope. But she looked so miserable.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

She swallowed, hard. “Yes, sir. You, too.”

He moved aside to let her pass. As she went by, a faint scent of roses drifted up into his nostrils. Amazing how much he missed that scent around his office. Violet had become almost like a stick of furniture in the past year, she was so familiar. But at the same time, he was aware of an odd, tender nurturing of himself that he’d never had in his adult life. Violet made him think of open fireplaces in winter, of warm lamplight in the darkness. Her absence had only served to make him realize how alone he was.

She walked on to the mail slots, unaware of his long, aching stare at her back. By the time she finished her chore, he was already out the door and climbing into his Mercedes.

Violet watched him drive away before she opened the door of the post office and went outside. It was starting to rain. She’d get wet, but she didn’t care. The odd, tender encounter made her head spin with pleasure. It would be a kind thought to brighten her lonely life.

There was a lot of talk around town about Janet Collins. She’d gone missing and Libby and Curt were the subject of a lot of gossip. Jordan Powell had been seen with Libby, but nobody took that seriously. He was also seen with old Senator Merrill’s daughter, Julie, doing the social rounds. Violet wondered if Libby felt the rejection as much as Violet felt it over Kemp. Her co-worker had a flaming crush on Jordan in recent weeks, but it seemed the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

Violet’s mother seemed to be weakening as the days passed. It was hard for Violet to work and not worry about her. She’d started going back to the gym on her way home from work three days a week, but it was only for a half hour at a time. She’d splurged on a cell phone and she kept it with her all the time now, just in case there was ever an emergency when she wasn’t home. Her mother had a hot button on the new phone at home, too, so that she could push it and speed-dial Violet.

She had her long hair trimmed and frosted, and she actually asked a local boutique owner for tips on how to make the most of her full figure. She learned that lower cut blouses helped to diminish a full bosom. She also learned that a longer jacket flattered wide hips, and that straight lines made her look taller. She experimented with hairstyles until she found one that flattered her full face, and with makeup until she learned how to use it so that it looked natural. She was changing, growing, maturing, slimming. But all of it was a means to an end, as much as she hated to admit it. She wanted Blake Kemp to miss her, want her, ache for her when he looked at her. It was a hopeless dream, but she couldn’t let go of it.

Kemp, meanwhile, spent far too much time at his home thinking about ways and means to get Violet to come back.

He stretched out on his burgundy leather couch to watch the Weather Channel with his two female Siamese cats, Mee and Yow, curled against his chest. Mee, a big seal-point, rarely cuddled with him. Yow, a blue-point, was in his lap the minute he sat down. He felt a kinship with the cats, who had become his family. They sat with him while he watched television at night. They curled up on the big oak desk when he worked there at his computer. Late at night, they climbed under the covers on either side of him and purred him to sleep.

The Harts thought his cat mania was a little overdone. But, then, they weren’t really cat people, except for Cag and Tess. Their cats were mostly strays. Mee and Yow, on the other hand, were purebred. Blake had brought both of them home with him together from a pet store, where they’d been in cages behind glass for weeks, the last products of a cattery that had gone bankrupt. He’d felt sorry for them. More than likely, he told himself, they’d set him up. Cats were masters of the subtle suggestion. It was amazing how a fat, healthy cat could present itself as an emaciated, starving orphan. They were still playing mind tricks on him after four years of co-existence. It still worked, too.

He thought about Violet and her mother, and remembered that the elderly Mrs. Hardy was allergic to fur. Violet loved animals. She kept little figurines of cats on her desk. He’d never asked her to his home, but he was certain that she’d love his cats. He imagined she’d have Duke Wright bringing calves right up to the porch for her to pet.

His eyes flashed at the thought of Violet getting involved with the other man. Wright was bitter over the divorce and the custody suit his wife had brought against him. He blamed Kemp for it, but Kemp was only doing what any other attorney would have done in his place. If the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Wright was as happy as she seemed in that high-powered property law job she held in New York City, she wasn’t likely to ever come home. She loved the little boy as much as Duke did, and she felt it was better not to have him dangling between two parents. Kemp didn’t agree. A child had two parents. It would only lead to grief to deny access to either of them.

He shook his head. What a pity that people had children before they thought about the consequences. They never improved a bad marriage. Kemp’s clientele shot that truth home every time he handled a divorce case. The children were always the ones who suffered most.

Beka Wright had never admitted it, and Kemp never pried, but local gossip had it that Duke had deliberately hidden her birth control pills at a critical time, hoping that a baby would cure her of ambition. It hadn’t. He was an overbearing sort of man, who expected a woman to do exactly what he told her to do. His father had been the same, a domineering autocrat whose poor wife had walked in a cold rain with pneumonia while he was out of town one January weekend in a last, fatal attempt to escape him. Death had spared her further abuse. Duke had grown up with that same autocratic attitude and assumed that it was the way a normal man dealt with his wife. He was learning to his cost that marriage meant compromise.

Blake looked around at his house with its Western motifs, burgundy leather mingling with dark oak and cherry wood furniture. The carpet and the curtains were earth tones. He enjoyed a quiet atmosphere after the turmoil of his working life. But he wondered what a woman would do with the décor.

Mee curled her claws into his arm. He winced, and moved them. She was sound asleep, but when she felt his hand on her, she snuggled closer and started purring.

He laughed softly. No, he wasn’t the marrying sort. He was a gourmet cook. He did his own laundry and housework. He could sew on a button or make a bed. Like most other ex-special forces officers, he was independent and self-sufficient. A veteran of the first war with Iraq, he mustered out with the rank of captain. He’d been in the Army reserves after he graduated from law school and started practicing in Jacobsville, and his unit had been called up. He and Cag Hart had served in the same mechanized division. Few people knew that, because he and Cag didn’t talk much about the missions they’d shared. It forged bonds that noncombatants could not understand.

He reached for the remote control and changed the channel. He paused on the Weather Channel to see when the rain was going to stop, and then went on to the History channel, where he spent most of his free time in the evenings. He often thought that if he ever came across a woman who enjoyed military history, he might be coaxed into rejoining the social scene.

But then he remembered the woman he’d lost, and the ache started all over again. He turned up the volume and leaned back, his mind shifting to the recounting of Alexander the Great’s final successful campaign against the Persian king Darius in 331 B.C. at Gaugemela.

Violet was late getting home the following Friday. She’d stopped by the gym and then remembered that there was no milk in the house. She’d gone by the grocery store as well. When she pulled up into the driveway of the small, rickety rental house, she found her mother sitting on the ground beside the small flower garden at the porch steps. Mrs. Hardy wasn’t moving.

Panicking, Violet jumped out of her car without bothering to close the door, and ran toward her parent.

“Mama!” she screamed.

Her mother jerked, just faintly. Her blue eyes were startled as she turned her head and looked at her daughter. She was breathing heavily. But she laughed. “Darling, it’s all right!” she said at once. “I just got winded, that’s all! I’m all right!”

Violet knelt beside her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Her face was white. She was shaking.

“Oh, baby.” Mrs. Hardy winced as she reached out and cuddled Violet close, whispering soft endearments. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to weed my flower bed and put out those little seedlings I’d grown in the kitchen window. I just worked a little too hard, that’s all. See? I’m fine.”

Violet pulled back, terrified. Her mother was all she had in the world. She loved her so much. How would she go on living if she lost her mother? That fear was written all over her.

Mrs. Hardy winced when she saw it. She hugged Violet close. “Violet,” she said sadly, “one day you’ll have to let me go. You know that.”

“I’m not ready yet,” Violet sobbed.

Mrs. Hardy sighed. She kissed Violet’s dark hair. “I know,” she murmured, her eyes faraway as they looked toward the horizon. “Neither am I.”

Later, as they sat over bowls of hot soup and fresh corn bread, Mrs. Hardy studied her daughter with concern.

“Violet, are you sure you’re happy working at Duke Wright’s place?” she asked.

“Of course I am,” Violet said stolidly.

“I think Mr. Kemp would like it if you went back to work with him.”

Violet stared at her with her spoonful of soup in midair. “Why would you say that, Mama?”

“Mabel, who works at your office, stopped by to see me at lunch. She says Mr. Kemp is so moody they can hardly work with him anymore. She said she thinks he misses you.”

Violet’s heart jumped. “That wasn’t how he sounded when I ran into him in the post office the other day,” she said. “But he was acting…oddly.”

The older woman smiled over her soup spoon. “Often men don’t know what they want until they lose it.”

“Bring on the day.” Violet laughed softly.

“So, dear, back to my first question. Do you like your new job?”

She nodded. “It’s challenging. I don’t have to deal with sad, angry, miserable people whose lives are in pieces. You know, I didn’t realize until I changed jobs how depressing it is to work in a law office. You see such tragedies.”

“I suppose cattle are a lot different.”

“There’s just so much to learn,” Violet agreed. “It’s so complex. There are so many factors that produce good beef. I thought it was only a matter of putting bulls and heifers in the same pasture and letting nature do its work.”

“It isn’t?” her mother asked, curious.

Violet grinned. “Want to know how it works?”

“Yes, indeed.”

So Violet spent the next half hour walking her mother, hypothetically speaking, through the steps involved in creating designer beef.

“Well!” the elderly woman exclaimed. “It isn’t simple at all.”

“No, it isn’t. The records are so complicated…”

The sudden ringing of the telephone interrupted Violet. She frowned. “It’s probably another telemarketer,” she muttered. “I wish we could afford one of those new answering machines and caller ID.”

“One day a millionaire will walk in the front door carrying a glass slipper and an engagement ring,” Mrs. Hardy ventured with a mischievous glance.

Violet laughed as she got up and went to answer the phone. “Hardy residence,” she said in her light, friendly tone.

“Violet?”

It was Kemp! She had to catch her breath before she could even answer him. “Yes, sir?” she stammered.

He hesitated. “I have to talk to you and your mother. It’s important. May I come over?”

Violet’s mind raced. The house was a mess. She was a mess. She was wearing jeans and a shirt that didn’t fit. Her hair needed washing. The living room needed vacuuming…!

“Who is it, dear?” Mrs. Hardy called.

“It’s Mr. Kemp, Mama. He says he needs to speak to us.”

“Isn’t it nice that we have some of that pound cake left?” Mrs. Hardy wondered aloud. “Tell him to come right on, dear.”

Violet ground her teeth together. “It’s all right,” she told Kemp.

“Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up before Violet could ask him what he wanted.

She turned worriedly to her mother. “Do you think it might be something about me coming back to work for him?”

“Who can say? You should wash your hair, dear. You’ll have just enough time.”

“Not to do that and vacuum and pick up around the living room,” she wailed.

“Violet, the chores can wait,” her mother replied amusedly. “You can’t. Go, girl!”

Violet turned like a zombie and went right to the bathroom to wash her hair. By the time she heard Kemp pulling up in the driveway, she had on a nice low-cut short-sleeved blue sweater and clean white jeans. Her hair was clean and she left it down, because she didn’t have time to braid it. She was wearing bedroom shoes, but that wasn’t going to matter, she decided.

She opened the door.

Kemp gave her a quiet going-over with his pale blue eyes. But he didn’t remark about her appearance. He was scowling. “I have something to say that your mother needs to hear, but I don’t want to upset her.”

There went her dreams of being rehired. “What is it about?” she asked.

He drew in a sharp breath. “Violet, I want to have your father exhumed. I think Janet Collins killed him.”

Three

Violet wasn’t sure she was hearing right. She knew there was something going on with Janet Collins. Curt had come by her office when he carried a note to Duke from Jordan Powell, his boss. He’d told her that he and Libby were going to have to have their father exhumed because there were suspicions that Janet, their stepmother, might have killed him. She was suspected of killing at least one other elderly man by poison. Violet and her mother knew about the waitress Mr. Hardy had had his fling with. But they’d never questioned the cause of death. And they’d never found out who the waitress was. Now, a lot of questions she hadn’t wanted even to ask were suddenly being answered.

Her lips parted on a husky sigh. “Oh, dear.”

Kemp closed the door behind him and tilted Violet’s chin up to his eyes. “I don’t want to do this,” he said softly. “But there’s a very good chance that your father was murdered, Violet. You don’t want Janet Collins to get away with it, if she’s guilty. Neither do I.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “But what about Mama?”

He drew in a long breath. “I have to have her signature. I can’t do it on yours alone.”

They exchanged worried looks.

His eyes suddenly narrowed on her oval face in its frame of dark hair. Her skin was clean and bright. She wasn’t wearing makeup, except a touch of pink lipstick. And that sweater…His eyes slid down to her breasts with quiet sensuality. They narrowed, as he appreciated how deliciously full-breasted she was. She had a small waist, too. The jeans emphasized the nicely rounded contours of her hips.

“I’ve lost weight!” she blurted out.

“Don’t lose any more,” he murmured absently. “You’re perfect.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Sir?” she stammered.

“If I weren’t a confirmed bachelor, you’d make my mouth water,” he replied quietly, and the eyes that met hers were steady, intent.

Her heart began racing. Her knees were weak. He wasn’t blind. Any minute, he was going to notice her helpless, headlong reaction.

“But I am a confirmed bachelor,” he added firmly, as much for his own benefit as for hers. “And this isn’t the time, anyway. May I come in?”

“Of course.” She closed the door behind him, unsettled by what he’d said.

“I planned to come by your office and tell you,” he said, his voice low, “but I got caught at the last minute and by the time I finished with an upset client, you’d already left Wright’s place. I’d hoped to have a little time to prepare you for what we have to do.” He glanced toward the living room door. “How is she?” he asked.

She bit her lower lip. “She’s had a slight spell this week,” she told him worriedly. “She thinks she’s stronger than she really is. Losing Daddy and finding out about his affair ruined her life.”

He bit back a harsh reply. “Should we have the doctor here while I tell her?”

She sighed wearily. “I don’t think it will matter.” She looked up at him. “She has to know. I don’t want Janet Collins to get away with murder. Neither will she. We both loved Daddy, in our way.”

“All right then.” He nodded for her to go ahead of him and he followed her into the room.

Her mother looked up and smiled. “Mr. Kemp! How nice to see you again!”

He smiled, pausing in front of her to shake her hand gently. “It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Hardy. But I’m afraid I may have some upsetting news.”

She put down her knitting and sat up straight. “My daughter thinks I’m a marshmallow,” she said with an impish look at Violet. “But I’m tougher than I look, despite my rickety blood vessels.” She set her lips firmly. “You just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll do what I have to.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “You are a tough nut, aren’t you?” he teased.

She grinned at him, looking far younger than she was. “You bet. Go on. Spill it.”

His smile faded. Violet sat on the arm of her mother’s chair.

“It must be bad, if you’re both expecting me to keel over,” she said. “It’s something about Janet Collins, isn’t it?”

Violet gasped. Kemp’s eyebrows arched over the frames of his glasses.

“I’m not a petunia. I don’t just hang on the porch all the time,” Mrs. Hardy informed them. “I get my hair done, I go to the doctor’s office, I see a lot of people. I know that Libby and Curt Collins are up to their ears in trouble about their stepmother, and there’s a lot of talk that she’s been linked to the death of an old man in a nursing home. They said she took every penny he had. And then she went on to cheat Arthur and me out of our savings, a quarter of a million dollars. It wasn’t ever proven that it was her.”

“I’ve found an eyewitness who thinks she can place Janet Collins at the motel with Arthur the last day of his life,” Kemp told her, “just before the ambulance came to take him to the hospital. She ran out the door and was seen. At the hospital the doctor, not aware of any foul play, diagnosed a heart attack from the symptoms. There was no autopsy.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Hardy said. She gave her audience a knowing look. “And you think she killed him, don’t you?” she asked Kemp.

He was impressed. “Yes, I do,” he told her honestly.

“I didn’t want to think about that, but I’ve had my doubts,” she said. “He never had heart trouble. There had been some mixup at a clinic in San Antonio and he ended up getting a heart catherization that he didn’t really need. What it showed was that his heart and arteries were in fine shape, no blockages at all. So it came as something of a surprise when he died only a month later of a supposed heart attack. But I was far too upset at his affair and his sudden death to think clearly.”

“If it’s any consolation, Janet Collins had a way with men,” Kemp replied. “She was known for playing up to older men, and she isn’t a bad-looking woman. Most men react predictably to a head-on assault.”

Violet was wondering irrelevantly if it would work with Kemp, but she pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

“Arthur had strayed before,” Mrs. Hardy said surprisingly, and with an apologetic glance at Violet. “He was a handsome, vital man, and I was always quiet and shy and rather ordinary.”

“You weren’t ordinary,” Violet protested.

“My people were very wealthy, dear,” she told her daughter sadly. “And Arthur was ambitious. He wanted his own accounting firm, and I helped him get it. Not that he didn’t work hard, but he’d never have made it without my backing. I think that hurt his pride. Maybe his…affairs…were a way of proving to himself that he could still appeal to beautiful women even as he got older. I’m sorry, Violet,” she added, patting her daughter’s thigh. “But parents are human, too. Arthur did love you, and he tried to be a good father, even if he wasn’t a good husband.”

Violet clenched her teeth. She could only imagine how it would have felt to her, if she’d been married and her husband thought nothing of having affairs with other women.

“By the time Arthur started straying,” Mrs. Hardy continued, “I was too fragile to leave him and strike out on my own. There was Violet, who needed both her parents and a stable environment. And I could no longer take care of myself. Arthur paid a price to stay with me, under the circumstances. I don’t really blame him for what he did.”

She did, though, and it showed. Violet hugged her close. “I blame him,” she murmured.

“So do I,” Kemp said, surprisingly firm. “Any honorable man would have asked for a divorce before getting involved with another woman.”

“Why, you Puritan,” Mrs. Hardy accused with a smile.

“I’ve got company,” he jerked his thumb at Violet.

Mrs. Hardy laughed. She folded her hands in her lap. “Okay, so we’ve settled that Arthur probably had an affair with Janet Collins and she may have been responsible for his death. But unless he’s exhumed, and an autopsy done, we can’t prove it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Mr. Kemp?”

“You’re amazing, Mrs. Hardy,” Kemp replied with admiration in his pale blue eyes.

“I’m perceptive. Ask Violet.” The smile faded. “When do you want to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll make the arrangements, if you’re willing. There will be papers to sign. It may make news as well.”

“I can manage. So can Violet,” Mrs. Hardy assured him, smiling up at her daughter.

“I can,” Violet assured him. “We’ll both do whatever’s necessary. Whatever Daddy did, she had no right to kill him.”

“Very well.” Kemp got up from the sofa and shook hands with Mrs. Hardy one last time. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got things underway. You’re taking this very well.”

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