Free Heather Graham by Maverickand the Lady Page B

hay! I forgot to unload the hay. Oh, damn! And it’s so late now.”
    “Hay’s in,” Bill said calmly, lighting up his old pipe and easing back in his chair. “Kane saw it when we came and said he’d take care of it since he wasn’t staying for dinner.”
    “Oh,” she murmured, trying to give Bill a smile. It came off weakly, she was certain. Damn Kane! Didn’t he ever mess up?
    Yes! He had messed up her beautiful plan to prove what a cool and collected and efficient woman she could be!
    Oh, hell, why did she have to prove anything to him? she wondered bleakly.
    “Sonia,” she said as she rose, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s do these together, and then we’ll finish up the evening with a mulled brandy. What do you say?”
    Her brandy was another success—maybe too much of one. By the time they all trooped out she was feeling extremely mellow.
    Martine took a long bubble bath, sipping a second brandy in the tub. When she finished, she thought she would sleep as peacefully as an infant.
    But she just wasn’t tired. She donned her one elegant robe—a forest green velvet with a lighter colored silk sash and lining—and wandered into the game room. Hot tears stung her eyes for a moment as she gazed at the pool table. Her father had loved the game.
    She set down her brandy and set up the balls. “This one’s for you, Dad,” she murmured nostalgically, and tried to set a sober eye at the balls. A little cry of delight escaped her at her break. It was almost perfect. Then she heard the sound of applause.
    Looking up, she saw Kane standing by the door.
    “Good evening, Ms. Galway,” he said, grinning. She stared at him blankly, her stick in her hand, her torso leaning halfway over the table.
    Wherever he had gone, she thought, he had dressed up to go there. She had never seem him in a suit before. The slacks were tan, the jacket was a shade darker, and his vest was a chocolate brown. The combination was superb against his dark coloring. He seemed very tall and, suddenly, exceptionally good-looking. Still not really handsome but striking and rugged and, yes, almost elegant. He appeared as comfortable in the suit as he had in jeans, just different.
    When his grin widened, she noted the cleft in his chin and that his dimples—the softening point of his rather severe features—were very deep.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Want an opponent?”
    She straightened, shrugging. “Do you play?”
    “Don’t all hustlers and drifters play pool?” He removed his jacket and neatly folded it over the back of a chair.
    She didn’t move as he came around by her to pluck a pool cue from the wall. She smiled slightly. “Are you a drifter or a hustler?”
    He indicated the table. “Take your shot, Ms. Galway. I believe you knocked in the six ball with your break.”
    She scanned the table, chose a shot, and called it. The ball sailed like magic into the chosen pocket.
    “Very good.” He commended her lightly. She cast him a dry glance, then called her next shot. She noted him picking up her brandy glass, swirling the liquid around, sniffing it, tasting it.
    She missed her shot.
    “Your fault,” she told him, plucking her glass from his hand. “Go get your own brandy.”
    He laughed. “So that’s what you’ve been into tonight. Brandy, huh? Why don’t you play hostess and get me one?”
    “Maybe I will,” she replied sweetly. “But take your shot first.”
    “Don’t trust me, huh?”
    She swirled her brandy, smiling complacently. “Not for a second,” she told him flatly.
    He grimaced, then appeared very businesslike suddenly as he called his shot.
    That ball did exactly as he ordered. And the next, and the next, and the next—until he had taken the game.
    Martie kept smiling. “Are you always this good?”
    “Nope,” he said, returning his cue to the wall. He grinned at her and arched a brow slightly. “Tonight just seems to be my night. Do I get that brandy?”
    Martine