“You call your father Beau?”
“He didn’t like being called Dad.” Cheyenne made a face. “Rumed his image.”
“Yet you loved him? How charitable and forgiving of you.”
She heard the sarcasm. “There was nothing to forgive. Beau never tried to be other than he was. He never promised to come see us or write or phone. He came around when he needed a place for broken bones to heal. He was like an unexpected guest. We’d enjoy him, then he’d leave, and life would return to normal.”
“No resentment at all?” He clearly doubted her.
“No. We had Grandpa and Mom. And Worth, of course. Beau used to say fate picked Worth’s name because Worth was worth ten of Beau.” She half smiled. “Beau never lied, not even to himself.”
“And you found that admirable, even lovable?” he asked in disgust.
“I’m not stupid, Mr. Steele. I know Beau used his weaknesses to evade responsibility. I liked him. Everyone liked Beau. But love?” She shook her head. “Love is for men like Grandpa and Worth. Men you can depend on. None of us kids loved Beau. We accepted him.” She drew in the dirt with a stick. “That’s sad, don’t you think? Beau had excitement and glamour and women and a certain amount of fame. He never had kids who loved him.”
“Sounds as if he had what he wanted.”
“Beau didn’t know what he wanted. He grew up in a series of foster homes. Beau never saw his mom, but for some reason, she never signed the papers which would allow him to be adopted. As a result, he never connected with anyone. He didn’t know how to love.” Cheyenne watched Davy standing beside the river looking up into the branches of a small aspen. “A child has to be loved to learn how to love.”
“I had a feeling your true confession was leading somewhere. Forget it. I’m no more interested in your opinions on child-rearing than I am in hearing your family’s history.”
“Why do you deny Davy what you had? Parents and family who loved you?” Cheyenne asked in a quiet, intense voice.
“Don’t forget the hundreds of gorgeous women who are madly in love with me and nightly grace my bed.” He paused. “Considering your appalling naiveté, I ought to assure you they grace it one at a time.”
His patronizing smile went no further than his lips. His eyes told her nothing. He hid his secrets well. He hadn’t answered her question. His jaw tightened. Her scrutiny bothered him. She wondered what kind of parents he’d had, but knew better than to ask.
Thomas gave a low laugh. “The next time you start on one of your dreary little sermons, I’ll remember that mentioning my sex life shuts you up.”
The triumph in his voice saddened her. Life was about winning and losing to him, and he thought he’d won. Perhaps he had. Only an idiot would believe she could turn this man and Davy into a family. Allie was nght. Cheyenne couldn’t save the world.
She could give Davy a friend for two weeks. After that... Cheyenne wrapped her arms around herself and watched Davy stalk a butterfly through a small patch of fuchsia-blooming thistles. “I’ll pick Davy up at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”
Thomas Steele said nothing. The silence grew. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things and kick her feet in frustration. Why couldn’t he understand? Tiny prickles crawled down her spine. Raising her chin, she turned her head.
He was studying her, an enigmatic look on his face. “He’ll be ready.”
She’d missed something. He seemed almost disappointed. As if he’d expected something else from her. Something more. Surely not jealousy at the thought of other women in his bed. So what her knees went a little weak at the sight of the chest he’d exposed to the sun’s rays? It took more than blatant masculinity to offset bony knees.
He closed his eyes, shutting her out. Silly thought. When had he let her in? The feeling he’d wanted something from her and she’d failed to deliver wouldn’t go away. Maybe she hadn’t been clear enough. Surely he understood she’d agreed to take Davy for the next two weeks. Didn’t Thomas Steele realize she was letting him off the hook?
An incredible thought almost knocked her off the picnic table bench. Perhaps Thomas Steele didn’t want off the hook. The outline of a brilliant plan sprang into being. What if she refused to let him off the hook?
Deciding to put her theory to the test, Cheyenne spoke before sanity prevailed. “I’ll take Davy to the Aspen Center for Environmental Studies in the morning. We can kill a couple of hours at the nature preserve watching the hawks and ducks, look for a muskrat or beaver Will that be enough tune for you to get things ready for the party?”
Thomas Steele’s eyelids snapped up. “What party?”
“Davy’s birthday party. I’ll order the cake tonight and you can go shopping for presents and decorations in the morning.”
“His birthday has passed.”
“A late party is better than no party.”
“Fine. Give him a birthday party and send me the bill. I don’t care how you entertain him.”
Cheyenne chose to misinterpret his words “If you don’t care what kind of party, I have a better idea. Mom and Worth would think it great fun to throw a birthday party at Hope Valley I’d planned to go out to the ranch tomorrow afternoon, but we can go earlier. Mom loves to bake birthday cakes. I’ll take Davy with me to buy the ice cream and decorations and tell him they’re for Worth. You’ll be in charge of the presents.”
Thomas Steele looked at her as if she’d grown several extra heads. He opened his mouth, but Cheyenne had no intention of giving him an opportunity to refuse. “A couple of hours should give you enough time. We’ll come back to the hotel for you and Olivia. She’s booked with Allie for tomorrow, and she’ll love a party.”
“Ms. Lassiter.” He stood. The blanket fell to the picnic bench. “I’m not—”
“You’ll like Olivia,” Cheyenne said quickly, trying not to stare at the sculpted male torso shining in the sunlight. “She’s filthy rich, and she always stays in Steele hotels.”
He moved to stand in front of her. “I’m not interested in meeting this woman no matter where she stays or how much money she has. Or how beautiful she is.”
“I’m not fixing you up.” If he moved much closer, her nose would bump the bare skin above Worth’s old jeans. He wanted to make her nervous. He couldn’t. “Olivia’s eighty-three.” The day had grown warmer. Cheyenne resisted an urge to fan her face with her hat. The sun was going to burn his broad shoulders and blister the wide expanse of skin. Not that she cared. He could strip stark naked and it wouldn’t bother her.
“Definitely not my type.”
Of course she wasn’t his type. “What is your type?”
“A woman younger than eighty-three.”
He was talking about Olivia. She knew that. “You’re Olivia’s type.” He was leaner than Worth. The jeans hung low on his hips. She tried not to stare at his flat stomach. “She’s crazy about men who are tall, dark, handsome and devastatingly sexy.”
Hands came to rest on her shoulders. “How about you, Ms. Lassiter? What kind of men are you crazy about?” He laughed, low in his throat, and pulled Cheyenne to her feet. “I’m flattered