The Cowboy and the Lady

At sprawling Casa Verde, old flames still burn…

Seven years ago Amanda Carson watched her affluent, well-respected family lose both face and fortune. Then her childhood crush—ice-cold cowboy Jace Whitehall—made her an offer she had to refuse. Now Amanda has returned to Casa Verde, Jace’s luxurious home. And Jace isn’t about to let her forget who she is or what she’s lost.

Yet beneath their heated words, something simmers, waiting. For what once drove Amanda from this land may be the one thing that can make her stay.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer

“Nobody does it better.”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

“Palmer’s talent for character development and ability to fuse heartwarming romance with nail-biting suspense shine in Outsider.” —Booklist

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“The dialogue is charming, the characters likable and the sex sizzling.”

—Publishers Weekly on Once in Paris

“No one beats this author for sensual anticipation.”

—Rave Reviews

“A love story that is pure and enjoyable.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Lord of the Desert

“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly…. Heartwarming.”

—Publishers Weekly on Renegade

The Cowboy and the Lady

The Mills & Boon Famous Firsts Collection™

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Frances Thompson and family

Dear Reader,

It is so interesting to look back at The Cowboy and the Lady, first published in 1982. It was written, however, in 1981, a momentous year in my life. Our son, Blayne, was just a year old. I was still working as a full-time newspaper reporter, on call twenty-four hours a day and writing books at night after I got off work. My husband, James, was working at a clothing manufacturing company. We drove a ten-year-old car, had very little money, lived in a rented house and watched the baby as much as we watched television for entertainment.

Twenty-seven years later Blayne is married and his wife, Christina, is expecting their first child. We are living in a home we own, not rent, and the car in the driveway is a very fast new Jaguar. I still work full-time, and have no plans to retire, ever. Like Mills & Boon Books, I seem to have the gift of endurance.

Mills & Boon is now sixty years old. I myself am also into my sixth decade. I am still filled with wonder when I think about the wonderful job I have—one I would gladly do for nothing.

I owe this to a lot of people: my husband and son, who put up with a lot of cold dinners; and my best friend, Ann, without whom I would never have sent off that first manuscript. To my extraordinary editor, Tara Gavin, and my agent Maureen Walters. And last but never least, my loyal readers who are very much a part of my life. They are my family. So is Mills & Boon and its amazing staff. All of us together, writers and others, make up this wonderful company, which has never lost its special touch as the oasis of pure romance in the world.

Congratulations, Mills & Boon, on your Diamond Anniversary. I hope that you, and I, will continue to warm the hearts of women around the world with love stories that never go out of style. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me a job in the first place.

With all best wishes to our readers everywhere,

Diana Palmer

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

They were at a standstill, the tall man and the willowy young blonde, poised like boxers waiting for an opening.

“Never!” she repeated, her brown eyes throwing off sparks. “I know we need the business, and I’d do anything for you—within reason. But this isn’t reasonable, and you know it, Terry Black!”

He drew a weary breath and turned to the window overlooking San Antonio’s frantic late-morning traffic, his hands rammed into his pockets, his thin shoulders slumping dejectedly.

“I’ll be ruined,” he said softly.

She glared at his back. “Sell one of your Cadillacs,” she suggested.

He threw her an irritated glance. “Amanda…!”

“I was Mandy when I came in this morning,” she reminded him, tossing back her long, silver-blond hair with a smile. “Come on, Terry, it isn’t all that bad.”

“No,” he agreed finally, “I guess it isn’t.” He leaned back against the wall beside the huge picture window and let his eyes drift over her soft, young curves, lingering where her beige shirtwaist dress made a straight line across the high, small curve of her breasts. “He can’t really dislike you,” he added absently. “No man with blood in his veins could.”

“Jason Whitehall doesn’t have any blood in his veins,” she said. “He has ice water and a dash of aged whiskey.”

“Jason didn’t offer me the account. His brother Duncan did.”

“Jace owns the lion’s share of the corporation, though, Terry,” she argued. “And he’s never used an advertising agency, not ever.”

“If the Whitehalls want to sell lots in that inland development project they’re working on in Florida, they’ll have to use one. And why not us?” he added with a boyish grin. “After all, we’re the best.”

She threw up her slender hands. “So you keep telling me.”

“We need the account,” he persisted. His thin, boyish face grew thoughtful. “Do you realize just how big the Whitehall empire is?” he asked, as if she’d never heard of it. “The Texas ranch alone covers twenty-five thousand acres!”

“I know.” She sighed, and her soft brown eyes were sad with memory. “You forget, my father’s ranch adjoined the Whitehalls’ before—” She broke off. “Anyway, it’s not as if you couldn’t go by yourself.”

He looked briefly uncomfortable. “Uh, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She blinked at him across the luxurious carpeted room with its modern chrome-trimmed furniture. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s no deal unless you come along.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re partners,” he said stubbornly, his lower lip thrusting forward. “And mostly because Duncan Whitehall won’t discuss it without you. He’s considering our agency because of his friendship with you. How about that? He came looking for us.”

That was strange. She and Duncan had been friends for many years, but knowing how his brother felt, it was odd that he’d insist on her presence for business.

“But Jace hates me,” she murmured, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to go, Terry.”

“Why does he hate you, for heaven’s sake?” he asked, exasperated.

“Most recently,” she admitted, “because I ran over his quarter-million-dollar bull.”

“Come again?”

“Well, I didn’t actually do it. Mother did, but she was so afraid of Jace that I took the blame. It didn’t endear me to him, either—he was a grand champion.”

“Jace?”

“The bull!” She folded her arms across her chest. “Mother can’t accept the fact that the old days, when we had money, are gone. I do. I can stand alone. But she can’t. If she wasn’t able to visit Marguerite at Casa Verde for several weeks a year, and pretend nothing has changed, I’m not sure she could manage.” She shrugged. “Jace hated me anyway. It just gave him a better reason to let him think I crippled the animal.”

“When did all this happen?” he asked curiously. “You never mentioned it after your trip…of course, you looked like death warmed over for a couple of weeks, and I was head over heels with that French model….”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

He sighed. “Well, it doesn’t change things, anyway. If you don’t go with me, we forfeit the account.”

“We may forfeit it anyway, if Jace has his way,” she reminded him. “It’s only been six months. I promise you he hasn’t gotten over it.”

His pale eyes narrowed. “Amanda, are you really afraid of him?”

She smiled wanly. “I didn’t realize it showed.”

“That’s a first,” he observed, amused. “You aren’t the shrinking violet type, and I’ve seen that sweet temper of yours a time or two in the past year.” His lips pursed. “Why are you afraid of him?”

She turned away. “Now, there, my friend, is a question. But I’m afraid I don’t have an answer.”

“Does he hit?”

“Not women,” she said. “I’ve seen him deck a man, though.” She winced at the memory.

“Over a woman?” he fished, grinning.

She averted her eyes. “Over me, actually. One of the Whitehalls’ hands got a little too friendly with me to suit Jace, and he gave him a black eye before he fired him. Duncan was there, too, but he hadn’t got his mouth open before Jace jumped in. Trying to run my life, as usual,” she added unfairly.

“I thought Jace was an old man.”

“He is,” she said venomously. “Thirty-three and climbing fast.”

He laughed at her. “Ten whole years older than you.”

She bristled. “I can see what fun this trip is going to be.”

“Surely he’s forgotten the bull,” he said comfortingly.

“Do you think so?” Her eyes clouded. “I had to watch Jace shoot him after the accident. And I’ll never forget how he looked or what he said to me.” She sighed. “Mother and I ran for our lives, and I drove all the way home in a borrowed car.” The skirt of her dress swirled gracefully around her long, slender legs as she turned away. “It was a lot of fun, with a sprained wrist, too, I’ll tell you that.”

“Don’t you believe in burying the hatchet?”

“Sure. So does Jace—about two inches deep at the peak of my forehead….”

“How about if you go home and pack?” he suggested with a grin.

“Home.” She laughed softly. “Only you could call that one-bedroom efficiency apartment a home. Mother hates it so. I suppose that’s why she spends her life visiting old friends.” Visiting. There was another word for it: sponging, and Jace never tired of using it. If he’d had any idea that Beatrice Carson, not her daughter, had steered that car broadside into Duke’s Ransom, he’d have thrown her out for good, despite all his mother’s fiery protests.

“She isn’t at the Whitehall place now?” Terry asked uneasily, visions of disaster clouding his pale eyes.

Amanda shook her head. “It’s spring. That means the Bahamas.” Beatrice had a schedule of sorts about where she visited and when. Right now she was with Lacey Bannon and her brother Reese. But Marguerite Whitehall’s turn was coming up soon, and Amanda was already afraid for her. If Beatrice let anything slip about that stupid bull while she was on the ranch…

“Maybe Duncan will protect me,” she murmured wistfully. “Since it was his idea to drag me out to Casa Verde. And I thought he was my friend,” she groaned.

Terry toyed with a stack of photographs on his neat desk. “You’re not really sore at me, are you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But if Jace turns thumbs down on the account, don’t blame me. Duncan should have let you handle it. I’ll only jinx you.”

“No, you won’t,” he promised. “You won’t regret it.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder with a wry smile. “That’s exactly what Mother said when she coaxed me into going to Casa Verde six months ago. I hope your predictions are more accurate than hers were.”

* * *

Late that night she sat curled up in her comfortable old armchair long after the prime time shows had gone off, watching a news program that she didn’t really see. Her eyes were on a photograph in an album, a color snapshot of two men: one tall, one short; one solemn, one smiling. Jace and Duncan, on the steps of the big Victorian mansion at Casa Verde with its green trim and huge white columns and sprawling wide front porch scattered with heavy rocking chairs and a swing. Duncan was smiling, as usual. Jace was openly glaring at the camera, his dark, hard face drawn into a brooding scowl, his eyes glittering like new silver under light. Amanda shivered involuntarily at that glare. She’d been holding the camera, and the glare had been for her.

If only there were some way out of this trip, she thought wildly. If only she could lock the door and put her head under the pillow and make it all go away. If only her father were still alive to control Beatrice. Bea was like a child, backing away from reality like a butterfly from an outstretched hand. She hadn’t even protested when Amanda took the blame for hitting the bull and brought Jace’s wrath onto her head. She sat right there and let her daughter take the responsibility for it, just as she’d let her take the responsibility for dozens of similar incidents.

And Jace had been given reason to hate her mother long before that accident. But Amanda was too tired to think about that, too. It seemed that she spent her life protecting Bea. If only some kind, demented man would come along and marry her vivacious little headache and take it away to Alaska, or Tahiti, or lower Siberia…

She took one last look at the Whitehall brothers before she closed the album. Now why had Duncan insisted that she come with Terry? They were partners in the ad agency, but Terry was the senior partner and he had the lion’s share of experience. She frowned. Of course, Marguerite liked her, and she might have put a bug in Duncan’s ear. She smiled. That must be the explanation.

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes while the newscaster blared away about a recent murder in the city. His voice began to fade in and out, and before she realized it, she was fast asleep.

Chapter Two

Amanda watched the Victoria airport loom up on the horizon as the pilot of the air taxi banked for his final approach. This part of Texas was no stranger to her. It had been her home before she settled in San Antonio, where she’d gone to college. She’d spent her childhood here, among cattlemen and businessmen and bluebells and an historical legacy that could still make her heart race.

She clenched her hands in her lap. She loved this state, from its western desert fringes to the lush portion of eastern Texas they were now flying over. From Victoria, it was only a short drive to the Whitehall ranch, Casa Verde, and the small community called Whitehall Junction that had sprung up at the edge of the massive property Jace Whitehall had accumulated.

“So this is your hometown?” Terry asked as the small plane touched gently down on the runway with a brief skidding sound before the wheels settled.

“Yes, Victoria,” she laughed, feeling her childhood again as she remembered other trips, other landings. “The friendliest little city you’ve ever seen. I’ve always loved it here. My father’s people settled in this area when it was still dangerous to go riding without a gun. One of Jace’s ancestors was a Comanche,” she added absently. “It was his uncle who owned Casa Verde. Jace’s father, Jude Whitehall, inherited it when the boys were very young.”

“You became good friends, I gather?” he asked.

She flushed. “On the contrary. My mother didn’t even want me to associate with them. They were only middle class at that time,” she added bitterly, “and she never let them forget it. It’s a miracle that Marguerite ever forgave her. Jace didn’t.”

“I begin to see the tip of the iceberg,” he chuckled.

They climbed down out of the plane and Amanda drank in the clean air and sun and endless horizon beyond the Victoria skyline.

“No small town, this,” Terry said, following her gaze.

“The population is sixty thousand or so,” she told him. “One of my grandfathers is buried in Memorial Square. That’s the oldest cemetery here, and a lot of pioneer families are buried there. There’s a zoo, and a museum, and even a symphony orchestra. Not to mention some of the most delightful concerts—the Bach Festival Concerts are held in June. And there are some old mission ruins—”

“I only made a comment,” he interrupted, laughing. “I didn’t ask for a community profile.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t you want to know that it’s located on the Guadalupe River?”

“Thank you.” He shaded his eyes against the sun. “Who’s going to meet us?”

She didn’t want to think about that. “Whoever’s got time,” she said and hoped that ruled out Jace. “Ordinarily, Duncan or Jace would probably have flown to San Antonio after us. They’ve got two planes, and they’re both pilots. They have their own airstrip and hangars, but it’s spring,” she said, as if that explained everything.

He blinked. “Come again?”

“Roundup,” she said. “When they cull and brand and separate cattle. The ranch manager bears the brunt of the responsibility for it, but Jace doesn’t turn over all the authority to anyone. He likes to keep his eye on the operation. And that means Duncan has to double up on the real estate interests and the other companies while Jace is occupied here.”

“And time is short,” Terry said, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t think about that, or I’d have been willing to wait until next month. The thing is,” he sighed, “we really need this account. Business hasn’t been all that good during the winter, the economy’s in such a slump.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t really hearing him. Her eyes were glued to the road leading to the airport, on a silver Mercedes speeding toward them. Jace drove a silver Mercedes.

“You look faintly terrified,” Terry remarked. “Recognize that car, do you?”

She nodded, feeling her heartbeat triple as the car came closer and pulled up in front of the terminal. The door swung open and she breathed a sigh of abject relief.

Marguerite Whitehall came toward them in a dressy pink pantsuit and sandals, her white hair faultlessly arranged, her thin face beaming with a smile.

“It’s lovely to see you again, dear,” she told Amanda as she hugged her, wrapping her in the delicious scent of Nina Ricci and pressed powder.

“It’s good to be here,” she lied, meeting the older woman’s dark eyes. “This is Terrance Black, my partner at the advertising agency in San Antonio,” she introduced him.

“You’re very welcome, Terrance,” Marguerite said courteously. “Duncan explained the offer you’ve made. I do hope Jace will go along with it. It’s just good business sense, but my eldest has some peculiar ideas about…things,” she said with an apologetic smile at Amanda.

“I’m anxious to talk with Duncan about the account,” Terry said with a smile.

“He isn’t here right now, I’m sorry to say,” came the polite reply. “He had to fly to San Francisco this afternoon on some urgent business. But Jace is home.”

Amanda felt something give way inside her, and she fought back the urge to leap back aboard the plane and go home. Instead, she followed the two of them to the car and allowed herself to be placed in the front seat with Marguerite while Terry loaded their bags and got in the back seat.

“The weather’s nice,” Terry commented as Marguerite headed the sleek little car toward the city.

“But dry this year.” Marguerite sighed. She didn’t go into the various ways droughts played havoc with a ranch. Amanda already knew, and it would have taken the better part of an hour to explain it to someone who wasn’t familiar with cattle.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the ranch,” Terry volunteered.

Marguerite smiled over her shoulder at him. “We’re rather proud of it. I’m sorry you had to take a commercial flight. Jace could have come after you, but Tess was with him, and I didn’t think you’d care for her company,” she added with a wry glance at Amanda.

“Tess?” Terry probed.

“Tess Anderson,” Marguerite replied. “Her father and Jace are partners, with Duncan of course, in that real estate venture in Florida.”

“Will we have to consult him about the account as well?” Terry asked.

“I shouldn’t think so,” the older woman replied conversationally. “He always goes along with whatever Jace says.”

“How is Tess?” Amanda asked quietly.

“Just the same as always, Amanda,” came the haunted reply. “With one hand reaching out toward Jace eternally.”

Amanda remembered that. Tess had always been a step away from him, since they were in their teens. Jace had offered to take Amanda to a dance once—a mysterious offer that Amanda had refused in silent terror. Tess had got wind of it, and given Amanda the very devil, as if it had been her fault that Jace asked her.

“Tess and Amanda were at school together,” Marguerite told Terry. “In Switzerland, you know.”

It seemed like a hundred years ago. Amanda’s family had lost everything when Bob Carson was caught with his financial fingers in a crooked land deal. The shock of discovery had caused a fatal heart attack, and he’d died leaving his stunned wife and daughter to deal with the monumental disgrace and debt. By the time the creditors were satisfied there was nothing left, Jace had offered to help. Amanda still blushed when she remembered exactly how he’d presented the cold-blooded proposition to her. She’d never told anyone about it. But the memory was still with her, and she’d always believed her refusal had fanned Jace’s contempt.

After the ranch went on the auction block, Amanda had carried her journalism degree to Terry Black’s office, and the association rapidly became a partnership. The job kept the wolf from the door, when Bea wasn’t on a marathon spending spree and so long as she imposed on her wealthy friends with long visits. The sacrificing was all on Amanda’s part, not on her mother’s. Bea liked pretty clothes and shoes, and she bought them impulsively, always apologizing for her lapses and bursting into tears if Amanda was stern with her. Every day of her life Amanda thanked God for time payments. And every other day, she wondered if Bea was ever going to grow up.

“I said, how’s Bea?” Marguerite prompted gently, breaking into her weary musings.

“Oh, she’s fine,” Amanda said quickly. “With the Bannons this season.”

“The Bahamas.” Marguerite sighed. “Those lovely straw hats and musical accents and blistering white beaches. I wish I were there now.”

“Why not go?” Terry asked.

“Because the first time Mrs. Brown was fussy about Jason missing breakfast, he’d fire her,” came the tight reply, “and this is the only time I’ve ever been able to keep a cook longer than three months. I’m standing guard over this one.”

Terry looked out the back window uncomfortably. “He sounds a little hard to please.” He laughed nervously.

“It depends on the mood he’s in,” Marguerite said. “Jason can be very kind. He’s always easy to get along with when he’s asleep. The only time we have problems is when he’s awake.”

Amanda laughed. “You’ll scare Terry to death.”

“Don’t worry, now,” Marguerite promised. “Just make sure he hasn’t been near the cattle when you approach him, Terry.” She frowned slightly. “Let’s see, Sunday evenings are fairly safe, if nothing’s broken down or if…”

“We’ll talk to Duncan first,” Amanda promised her colleague. “He doesn’t bite.”

“He doesn’t always have Tess underfoot, either,” Marguerite said in a faintly goaded tone.

“Maybe Jace will relent and marry her someday,” Amanda suggested.

The older woman sighed. “I had hoped that you might be my daughter-in-law one day, Amanda.”

“Be grateful for small blessings,” came the smiling reply. “Duncan and I together would have driven you crazy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about my youngest,” Marguerite said with frightening candor, and the look she gave Amanda made her pulse race.

She looked away. “Jace won’t ever forgive me for that bull.”

“It was unavoidable. You didn’t ask the silly bull to crash through the fence.”

“Jace was so angry,” she recalled, shuddering. “I thought he was going to hit me.”

“I always thought he was angry for a quite different reason. Oh, damn,” Marguerite added with perfect enunciation when they turned into the long paved driveway that led to Casa Verde. “That’s Tess’s car,” she grumbled.

Amanda saw it, a little Ferrari parked in the circular space that curved around the fishpond and fountain in front of the two-storey mansion.

“At least you know where Jace is,” Amanda said lightly, although her pulse was doing double time.

“Yes, but I knew where he was when Gypsy was alive, and I liked Gypsy,” Marguerite said stubbornly.

“Who was Gypsy?” Terry asked the two women, who both had burst into laughter.

“Jace’s dog,” Amanda volunteered through her giggles.

Marguerite pulled up behind the small black car and cut the engine. The house was over a century old, but still solid and welcoming, retaining its homey atmosphere. To Amanda, who loved it and remembered it from childhood, it wasn’t a mansion or even a landmark. It was simply Duncan’s house.

“Duncan and I used to hang by our heels from those low limbs on the oak tree at the corner of the house,” Amanda told Terry as they walked up the azalea-lined path that led to the porch steps. “Duncan slipped and fell one day, and if Jace hadn’t caught him, his head would have been half its present size.”

“I shudder to think what might have happened,” Marguerite said and her patrician face went rigid. “You and Duncan were always restless, my dear. Duncan has the wanderlust still. It’s Jace who’s put down strong roots.”

Amanda’s fingers tightened on her purse. She didn’t like to think about Jace at all, but looking around that familiar porch brought back a bouquet of memories. And not all of them were pleasant.

“Your son said that we could take a look at the property tomorrow,” Terry remarked casually. “I thought I might spend this evening filling his brother in on the way we handle our accounts.”

“If you can get Jace to sit still long enough.” Marguerite laughed. “Ask Amanda, she’ll tell you how busy he is. I have to follow him around to ask him anything.”

“At least I can ride.” Terry laughed. “I suppose I could gallop along after him.”

“Not the way Jace rides,” Amanda said quietly.

Marguerite opened the front door and led her two guests inside the house. The entrance featured a highly polished heart of pine floor with an Oriental rug done in a predominantly red color scheme, and a marble-top table on which was placed an arrangement of elegant cut red roses from the massive rose garden that flanked the oval swimming pool behind the house.

A massive staircase with a red carpet protecting the steps led up to the second floor, and the dark oak bannister was smooth as glass with age and handling. The house gave Amanda goose pimples when she remembered some of the Westerners who were rumored to have enjoyed its hospitality. Legend had it that Uncle John Chisolm had once slept within its walls. The house had been restored, of course, and enlarged, but that bannister was the original one.

A maid came forward to take Amanda’s lightweight sweater, followed by a man who relieved Terry of the suitcases.

“Diego and Maria.” Marguerite introduced them only to Terry, because Amanda had recognized them. “The Lopezes. They’re our mainstays. Without them we’d be helpless.”

The mainstays grinned, bowed and went about making sure that the family wasn’t left helpless.

“We’ll have coffee and talk for a while,” Marguerite said, leading them into the huge, white-carpeted living room with its royal blue furniture and curtains, its antique oak tables and upholstered chairs. “Isn’t white ridiculous for a ranch carpet?” She laughed apologetically. “But even though I have to keep on replacing it, I can’t resist this color scheme. Do sit down while I let Maria know we’ll have our coffee in here. Jace must be down at the stables.”

“No, he isn’t,” came a husky, bored voice from behind them in the hall, and Tess Anderson strolled into the room with her hands rammed deep in the pockets of her aqua knit skirt. Wearing a matching V-necked top, she looked like something out of a fashion show. Her black hair was loose and curling around her ears, her dark eyes snapping, her olive complexion absolutely stunning against the blood red lipstick she wore.

“Wow,” Terry managed in a bare whisper, his eyes bulging at the vision in the doorway.

Tess accepted the male adulation as her due, gazing at Terry’s thin, lackluster person dismissively. Her sharp eyes darted to Amanda, and she eyed the other girl’s smart but businesslike suit with distaste.

“Jace is out looking at a new harvester with Bill Johnson,” Tess said casually. “The old one they use on the bottoms broke down this morning.”

“Bogged down in the hay, I reckon,” Marguerite joked, knowing full well there wasn’t enough moisture to bog anything down. “Has he stopped swearing yet?”

Tess didn’t smile. “Naturally, it disturbed him. It’s a very expensive piece of equipment. He asked me to stop by and tell you he’d be late.”

“When has he ever been on time for a meal?” Marguerite asked curtly.

Tess turned away. “I’ve got to rush. Dad’s waiting for me. Some business about selling one of the developments.” She glanced back at Terry and Amanda. “I hear Duncan is thinking about hiring your agency to handle our Florida project. Dad and I want to be in on any discussions you have, naturally, since we do have a rather large sum invested.”

“Of course,” Terry said, reddening.

“We’ll be in touch. ‘Night, Marguerite,” she called back carelessly. Her high heels beat a quick tattoo on the wood floor. Then the door slammed shut behind her and there was a conspicuous silence in the room.

Marguerite’s dark eyes flashed fire. “And when did I give her permission to call me by my first name?”

Terry looked down at his shoes. “Snags,” he murmured. “I should have known it seemed too easy.”