Denim And Lace - Diana Palmer

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      THE MORNING COFFEE was well under way, and the bride-to-be looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of Vogue. But at least one of the guests was trying her best not to look bored to death as she stood amid the muted noises of conversation and coffee being served. These were familiar sounds to Elizabeth Ann Samson—the rattle of delicate rose-patterned china cups in their elegant thin saucers, the rustle of linen napkins, the whisper of skin against silk and wool. She smiled a little, thinking how quickly she’d trade those luxurious sounds for the hiss of coffee boiling over on a campfire and being poured into a cracked white mug. But there was no use hoping for that kind of miracle. Cowboys and debutantes didn’t mix. Everyone said so, especially her mother, Gussie. And it didn’t make a bit of difference that Cade Hollister had somehow scraped up ten thousand dollars in cash to invest in her father’s newest real-estate deal. That wouldn’t admit him to the elegant drawing room or to any party at the Samson mansion that Bess might invite him to. Bess was too shy to invite him, in the first place. And in the second, he had no use for her. He’d made that very clear three years ago, in a way that still made her faintly nervous around him. But love was inexplicable. It seemed to thrive on rejection. Hers must, she mused silently, because nothing Cade said or did stopped her from wanting him...

      “Are you going to Bermuda with us in the spring, Bess?” Nita Cain interrupted her thoughts with a smile. “We thought we might rent a villa and get in some deep-sea fishing.”

      “I don’t know,” Bess said as she balanced her cup of black coffee in its saucer. “Mother hasn’t mentioned what she wants to do yet.”

      “Can’t you go on vacation without her, just once?” Nita coaxed. “There are several well-placed businessmen on our stretch of beach, and you look sensational in a bikini.”

      Bess knew exactly what Nita was saying. The older girl had affairs with elegance and ease, and she was beautiful enough to attract any man she liked. She thought Bess was missing out on life, and she wanted to help her out of her rut. But it wouldn’t work. Bess didn’t have affairs, because the only man she’d ever wanted or ever would want was Cade. Anyone else would be just a poor substitute. Besides, she thought, she’d never match Nita for beauty, even if she tried to be a swinger.

      Nita was dark and sultry and outgoing. Bess was tall and lanky and shy. She had shoulder-length brown hair with delicate blond highlights, and it waved toward her face and down her back with delightful fullness. She had soft brown eyes and a complexion that any model would have killed for, but her shyness kept men from looking at her too hard. She didn’t have spirit or grace, because Gussie had those things and didn’t like competition from her only child. So Bess stayed in the background, as she’d been trained to do, speaking when spoken to and learning French and etiquette and how to plan a banquet when she’d much rather have been riding alongside Cade when he was rounding up calves at Lariat, the Hollisters’ moderately successful cow-calf operation. It was a big ranch, but not modern. It was pretty much the same as it had been over a hundred years ago when one of Cade’s ancestors came to Texas looking for trouble and found longhorn cattle instead.

      “I can’t go without Mother,” Bess said, bringing herself back from the dreams again. “She’d be lonely.”

      “She could go, too, and take your father with her.”

      Bess laughed softly. “My father doesn’t take vacations. He’s much too busy. Anyway, he’s been in something of a bind just lately. We’re all hoping his new real-estate project will go over well and take the worry lines out of his face. How was Rio?”

      Nita spent the next ten minutes raving over the Italian count she’d met in that fabled city and discussing the delights of nude bathing in the count’s private pool. Bess sighed without meaning to. She’d never gone bathing in the nude or had an affair or done any of the modern things that with-it young women did. She was as sheltered as a nun. Gussie led and she followed. Sometimes she wondered why, but she always did it. That seemed to irritate Cade more than anything, that Gussie got her own way and Bess never argued. But Cade didn’t want Bess. He’d made that clear three years ago, when Bess had turned twenty, and in a way, it was just as well. Gussie had bigger fish than Cade in mind for her daughter. She disliked Cade and made no secret of it, although Bess had never found out why. Probably it was because the Hollisters lived in an old house with worn carpets and linoleum and drove used cars and never seemed to get ahead. Cade dressed in worn denim and leather boots, and he always smelled of calf and tobacco. The men Bess was allowed to date smelled of Pierre Cardin cologne and brandy and imported cigars. She sighed. She’d have traded them all for one hour in Cade’s arms.

      She turned, idly scanning the crowded room. This coffee was for a newly engaged socialite. It was one of a round of coffees Bess had been to lately, and they were as boring as her life. Drinking coffee from old china stirred with silver spoons, aimlessly passing the time talking about holiday resorts and investments and the latest styles. And outside those immaculately clean windows, real life in the South Texas brush country was passing them all by. Real people lived in that world, which Bess had only caught a glimpse of. Real people who worked for a living, challenged the land and the weather, wore old clothes and drove old trucks and went to church on Sunday.

      Bess glanced at Nita and wondered if she’d ever been inside a church except during the ceremony of one of her three failed marriages. Bess had gone once or twice, but she never seemed to find a place where she felt comfortable. The Hollisters were Baptist. They went to the same church where Cade’s grandfather had been a deacon, and everyone knew and respected the family. They might not be rich, but they were well-thought-of. Sometimes, Bess thought, that might be worth a lot more than a big account.

      Several minutes later she escaped out the door and climbed behind the wheel of her silver Jaguar XJ-S, sinking into the leather seat with a long breath of relief. At least here she felt at home, out in the country with no one to tell her what to do. It was a nice change from the house.

      She headed home, but as she passed the dirt road that led to the Hollister homestead, she saw three calves wandering free of the cattle grid. Her brown eyes narrowed as she noticed a break in the fence. She scouted the horizon, but there was no one in sight. Turning onto the dirt road, she told herself that it was a necessary trip, not just an excuse to see Cade. It wouldn’t do for the Hollisters to lose even one calf with the cattle market down so far because of the continuing drought. Hay had been precious and still was, and the calf crop was dropping early, because it was February and a month before Cade’s cows usually dropped their calves. These little ones were obviously the product of cows who’d ignored Cade’s rigid breeding program. She smiled to herself, thinking how brave those cows were, to defy him for love.

      She was getting silly, she told herself as she wheeled into the yard, where chickens scurried to get out of her way. Her eyes moved lovingly over the big two-story clapboard house with its long porch. A weathered porch swing and two rocking chairs rested there, but only Elise Hollister, Cade’s mother, ever had time to sit in them. Cade and Robert, his youngest brother, were always out on the ranch somewhere working. Gary, the middle brother, kept the books for the outfit, and Elise took in sewing to augment the money Cade won at rodeos. He was a top hand with a rope, and he’d made a lot of money on the rodeo circuit in calf roping and team roping. He was good at bareback bronc riding and steer riding, as well. Bess worried about him. Last time, at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas in December, he’d pulled a tendon in his leg and it had been weeks before he could walk without a limp. He had scars all over his arms and chest from the falls he’d taken and a couple of mended bones, as well. But without that extra money, they’d never have made their mortgage payments. Cade was a keen businessman, and since his father’s death years ago he’d had the bulk of the responsibility for the ranch. It had aged him. He was only thirty-four, but he seemed mature and very adult, even hard, to Bess. Not that it affected her feelings for him. Nothing ever seemed to change that sad fact.

      She got out of the Jaguar, pausing to pet Laddie, the black-and-white border collie that helped the men work the cattle. Cade would get angry if he saw her because Laddie was a cattle dog, not a petting dog. He didn’t like her showing affection to anything on his land, least of all to him. But she thought he might like to know about the wayward

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