LITMIR.BIZ

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the sofa, he called his housekeeper. Esmerelda appeared at once.

      “¿Sí?”

      “Could you bring in a tray?”

      “Coffee?”

      Cade glanced at Colleen.

      “Just water would be fine, thank you.”

      His brisk, “And coffee for me, Esmerelda,” sent the housekeeper back to the kitchen. Cade took a seat in the big armchair that faced the sofa and watched coolly as Colleen set her cane aside.

      “Thank you for seeing me. I was sorry to hear about Craig. It was a shock.”

      Cade felt a nettle of anger. There’d been no acknowledgment from her of his brother’s death until this moment. It was almost as if she’d decided she needed to express her condolences now only because she wanted something from him. And he could tell when females wanted something from him. He could always tell.

      She went on and he felt his irritation rise. “I realize the flowers and the card were too late for the funeral, but I didn’t find out until I read it in the papers.”

      He caught the faint chastisement for not informing her himself, but she wasn’t pitiful enough to let her off the hook for lying about flowers and condolences.

      “There were no flowers or card, Miz James,” he said bluntly. “Why are you here?”

      Colleen felt the sting of his rebuke, but she was shocked that the flowers and card had not been delivered.

      “There must be some mistake. Whatever had happened these past months, Craig was my brother-inlaw. I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I did send flowers and a card. I wouldn’t have let something that serious go by unacknowledged, even if it was belated.”

      Her explanation did nothing but harden his rugged expression, and he’d never seemed more intimidating. His big body was wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and corded with heavy muscles that made him rock-solid and gave an impression of physical power that no one but a bodybuilder would dare to challenge.

      But it was his face that held her attention, and always had. Rugged and no-nonsense, he had dark brows over deep-set eyes the color of aged bourbon. His cheekbones were high and prominent enough to suggest at least a trace of Native American ancestry. His nose was sharply bladed and gave the same impression of ancestry, but his mouth was a carved line that could go straight and hard with temper or—rarely—curve into a line that lit his face and made him seem years younger and surprisingly handsome.

      Because Cade Chalmers was not handsome, not really. But he was impressive and his harsh, rugged looks were as charismatic as a movie star’s. It had always been a struggle not to stare at him, but he’d never caught her at it because she’d been virtually invisible to him. A lackluster, unremarkable female firmly in the shade of her beautiful, outgoing younger sister.

      She stared at him now, though, almost more than she cared to, because he’d become impatient with her. And he was angry because he thought she’d lied to him.

      “Why are you here?” The terse question closed the subject of the flowers and the card. He’d heard her explanation and judged her a liar. Distressed, she rallied to correct the judgment.

      “I’m sure the florist kept a record of the order. It was a local shop. Josie’s Flowers, I think. And I used my Visa card.”

      Cade’s dark brows lowered. He’d made up his mind and it was clear that he didn’t want to be confused by the facts. Colleen felt her dismay deepen. This was a terrible start.

      “Is that why you didn’t answer my letters or return my calls,” she asked cautiously, “because I’d hurt your feelings?”

      Because I’d hurt your feelings?

      Colleen felt a jolt of horror. She’d not intended to put it that way! As if someone like her could ever be important enough to Cade Chalmers—or that anyone could—to hurt his feelings was preposterous.

      Offend or insult him, yes; hurt his feelings, no. Men like Cade Chalmers were too macho to own up to feminine notions like hurt feelings. In this case, he’d probably been angered by what he’d consider an intentional snub. She should have worded it that way, but one of her problems after the crash was that she sometimes spoke imprecisely.

      To her surprise, the hard slash of his stern mouth relaxed into the suggestion of a smile. His low-voiced, “What letters?” was not harsh at all then, as if his amusement over the hurt feelings remark had softened him.

      Encouraged and distracted from correcting her remark, she answered. “Besides the flowers, I sent you three letters asking about the children and a condolence card, and I called here this week and left phone messages three times. One of those times was this morning.”

      She hesitated, not certain it was possible that he couldn’t have seen or heard about the letters or the calls. Had he truly not received them? Or was he lying? If he was, then his earlier challenge to her honesty gave her grave concerns about his character, and she was suddenly worried about him raising Amy and Beau.

      “Mr. Chalmers, I have tried to contact you,” she said earnestly. “I know I had the address right and I know I dialed the right number. You should know I have, and I think you probably do.”

      Now the faint amusement on his face vanished and his features went harsh again at her quiet conclusion. She was shaking now and she felt tiny dots of perspiration break out on her skin. Nevertheless, she dared a softly spoken, “I can’t imagine why you’d…pretend.”

      Unable to bear the sharp look he gave her then, she glanced anxiously away and felt painful heat in her cheeks. Why would he lie to her like this? Obviously he didn’t respect her enough or hold her in high enough regard to tell her the truth. The lack of personal integrity that implied increased her worry about the kind of guardian he would make.

      Any realistic hope she’d had that he’d allow her to be a part of the children’s lives died. And probably had long before the moment she’d questioned his word. Now she’d have to find a lawyer and see what the courts might grant her. And that would probably be nothing.

      Before either of them could say more, Esmerelda came in with a tray. Once she set it on the stout wooden coffee table between them, she handed Colleen a heavy crystal glass of ice water. Colleen took it with a faint smile and a word of thanks.

      Her hands shook, and the weight of the crystal and the condensation on the outside of the glass made it difficult for her to hold. Esmerelda left the room and once Colleen had taken a tense sip, she leaned forward to put the glass back on the tray, prepared to pursue Cade for an explanation. Though she was wary of him and more than a little terrified, she had to think about little Beau and Amy and their best interests. Nothing was more important than that.

      But to her horror, the glass slipped from her weakened grip and dropped to the floor with a sharp crack. Water flew everywhere and the sudden disaster shamed her. Awkwardly, she slid forward on the sofa to reach for the neatly folded linen napkin on the tray. She didn’t realize the napkin was anchored by the saucer of the coffee cup until she yanked on it and managed to spill the brim-full cup that rested on its corner.

      Mortification and the frantic need to blot up the mess she’d made on the floor made her lose her balance on the edge of the sofa and go down painfully on her left knee in the spilled water and ice cubes. The glass hadn’t broken, but her knee grazed it and sent it spinning under the coffee table.

      Cade was at her side almost before she could register the series of minor disasters. He lifted her and set her out of the way on the sofa. He took the napkin and calmly blotted water off the carpet with one hand while he got the glass with the other and swiftly replaced the spilled ice cubes before he set it back on the tray. At least the rolled edges of the tray had kept the coffee spill confined.

      Colleen’s horrified, “I’m so sorry,” was as much as she was capable of. Even if she hadn’t already alienated Cade and spoiled her chances to be allowed contact with the children, the

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