Free Cattleman's Choice by Diana Palmer Page B

table was already laid, including iced tea in tall glasses.
    â€œI’d just finished,” she explained. “Shall we start?”
    He sighed. “I guess so,” he said with a wistful glance in her direction.
    She stood by her chair while he sat down and shook out his napkin.
    â€œAhem!” she cleared her throat.
    He glanced up. “Something wrong with your throat?”
    â€œI’m waiting for you to seat me.”
    â€œOh.” He got to his feet, frowning. The gleam came back into his blue, blue eyes. He pulled out her chair and bent and lifted her in his hard arms. “Like this?” he asked softly, putting her down in the chair with his mouth hovering just above her own.
    â€œN-not exactly,” she whispered back. Her eyes fell to his mouth, and she wanted it. Wanted it…!
    He seemed to know that, because he straightened with a purely masculine smile on his face and went back to his own chair.
    â€œThis looks good,” he murmured while she tried to get her heart to settle down, her lungs to work again.
    â€œI hope it tastes that way,” she said tautly. “It was a rush job. I had a long afternoon.”
    â€œSo did I.”
    â€œHow’s your bull?” she asked, handing him the platter of chicken.
    â€œHe’ll make it. He was better after that second shot. Poor old critter, I felt sorry for him.”
    â€œI thought it was the cows you felt sorry for,” she murmured demurely.
    He studied her downbent head for a long moment before he dished out some mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You ought to come over when I turn him back out into the pasture,” he said drily. “You’d learn a few things.”
    She all but overturned her tea glass, and he threw back his black head and laughed uproariously.
    â€œAll right, I give up, you’re out of my league,” she burst out. “You terrible man!”
    â€œYou need to spend some time around Patty,” he remarked. “She’d put you on the right track soon enough. A girl after my own heart.”
    Which was probably true, she thought miserably. Patty would suit him to a tee. He might want Mandelyn, but Patty appealed to his mind and heart. How terrible, to be wanted only for her body.
    â€œYou put out salad forks,” he remarked. “Why? You didn’t make a salad.”
    â€œI meant to,” she said.
    â€œEtiquette,” he scoffed. “I’ll be damned if I understand any of it. A bunch of rules and regulations for snobs, if you ask me. Why dress up a table like this when all you do is eat, anyway? Who the hell cares which fork you eat what with?”
    â€œLadies and gentlemen do,” she said, biting down hard on a roll.
    â€œI’m not much of a gentleman, am I?” he sighed. “I don’t suppose if I worked at it all my life, I’d improve a hell of a lot.”
    â€œYes, you will,” she said softly. She studied his craggy face, liking its hardness, its strength. Her eyes fell to his slender hand and she remembered how tender it had been on her bare skin. She dropped her fork noisily against her plate and scrambled to pick it up.
    â€œDo I make you nervous, Mandelyn?” he murmured wryly. “That’s a first.”
    She shifted in her seat. “I’m not used to entertaining men here,” she admitted.
    â€œYes, I know that.”
    He was watching her, the way he always did, and that made her more nervous than ever. They finished the meal in silence, and he helped her carry the dishes into the kitchen. Not only that—he insisted on helping as she washed them. He dried them, smiling at her confusion.
    â€œI’m handy in the kitchen,” he reminded her. “I have to be or I’d have starved to death years ago. I don’t have women over to cook my dinner.”
    She lifted her eyes to his hard face and searched it curiously.
    He looked down at the curious expression on her flushed