In the front room, she gathered her handbag from a small table, then headed toward the door. Cordero automatically followed while his mind spun. From the first moment he’d spotted Anne-Marie walking across the yard to greet him, he’d been totally mesmerized by the sight of her. She’d been dressed in some sort of gauzy white dress that floated around her slender body like a thin misty cloud. Flaming copper hair had hung in thick waves to the middle of her back and caressed the faint jut of her breasts. Even from a distance, he’d been able to see that her skin was milky white and as smooth as top cream. As she’d walked toward him there’d been a smile on her face that had made him think of a Southern belle hiding her expression behind a palmetto fan. Now that she’d confessed to a broken romance and diverted plans to enter a convent, she was even more intriguing. What sort of man had seduced her, he wondered, and why wasn’t she with him now?
Careful, Cordero, don’t try to make this woman your business. She’s not for you. Not even close. You want those carefree, love ’em and leave ’em types. Not a sweet angel with a broken wing.
“We’ll take my car,” she said once they were out on the porch. “That way you won’t have to worry with unhitching your horse trailer.”
“It’s really no problem if you’d like for me to drive my truck,” he offered.
“That isn’t necessary. My car is parked right over here in the garage.”
The Duveuil house wasn’t the typical Grecian structure he’d expected to find at Cane’s Landing. Instead of typical white pillars and red brick, the massive two-story was made entirely of wood and displayed a Creole flavor. Verandahs, with overhangs supported by carved black posts, lined all sides of the structure. Matching black shutters bracketed the many windows on the graceful facade.
As he followed Anne-Marie down the front steps, he noticed that live oaks, all of them dripping with Spanish moss, hugged the house with massive sagging limbs. Along the lattice-covered foundation, dahlias, camellias and hollyhocks bloomed bright and lush.
The estate was beautiful, he silently noted, but compared to the Sandbur ranch it was damn quiet. Back in Texas there were always people and vehicles about, cowboys and cattle buyers milling around the barns and pens. Here at Cane’s Landing the only sounds he’d heard were the songbirds and an occasional bark from a bluetick hound.
The garage was a separate building situated about a hundred feet from the house. Presently the double doors were opened and he could see a dark green luxury car parked on the left side.
She handed him the keys. “I hate driving,” she said. “Will you do the chore?”
For her? Cordero would split a cord of wood with an ax or stack ten ton of hay in the barn loft just to see a tiny smile on her face. Merely looking at her made him feel like an adolescent and he didn’t know how to deal with his strange reaction. It was downright scary. He needed to get away from Cane’s Landing just as fast as he could get. But how the heck was he going to do that, when he’d already promised Jules he’d spend the remainder of the week here?
But he’d made that promise before he’d met Jules’s beautiful daughter. Now he had to find some way to cut short his stay. Otherwise, this vision with flaming hair was going to end up leading him around by the nose. And he wasn’t the sort of man to let himself be led by a woman.
“I’d be glad to drive,” he told her.
After helping her into the passenger seat, he walked around the car and slid beneath the steering wheel. The seat squished comfortably around him like a marshmallow.
There was no doubt the Duveuils’ finances were secure. If this woman ever did look at him in a manto-woman way, it wouldn’t be for his money. They were equal in that aspect, but polar opposites in every other way. He couldn’t see Anne-Marie at a Texas dance hall, kicking up her heels in a pair of jeans and cowboy boots. No more than he could imagine himself joining her on a missionary trek to some third world country. Those differences ought to be enough to make him keep his hands to himself. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop the itch to touch her.
Slowly, he eased the car down the oak-lined lane. Once they had reached the blacktopped road, Anne-Marie instructed him to turn left. With the setting of the sun, the massive pines sent deep shadows across the roadway and made the evening seem much older than it was. The dimness of the car interior cocooned them together. As the miles passed, Cordero found his gaze slipping over to her slim figure far more than safety allowed.
He needed to keep his mind on the job of driving rather than on her. But she was a tempting sight and the clothes she’d changed into made looking at her even more pleasant. Her beige slacks were slim-fitting linen and matched the short, sleeveless top that left her arms and a provocative amount of skin at the neckline exposed to his view. It would be easy enough to reach across the seat and slide a finger against that soft skin, but he figured her response would be fast and furious.
Realizing he needed to break the train of his thoughts, Cordero asked, “What does your father plan to do with the horses? Since I’ve run into him at several horse shows here lately, I thought he might be planning to ride himself.”
Anne-Marie continued to stare out the window. It was much safer and wiser than looking at him. “It’s been several years since we’ve had horses here at Cane’s Landing. Father’s only started going to horse shows again after his health forced him to retire from managing the plantation. I guess the competition never left his blood, but now it’s not for himself. It’s for me.”
“You?”
There was so much surprise in his voice that she turned to look at him. He was staring at her in disbelief and the sight nettled her in a way she’d not felt in years. Just because he was from Texas didn’t mean he was an expert on equines or who was qualified to ride them.
“Why, yes. I do ride. And I have since I was a very young girl.” Folding her hands together on her lap, she silently told herself to relax. This man’s opinion of her was of no importance. His stay here would be short. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that he had enough sexuality for ten men and that she was too weak-willed to ignore it.
Breathing deeply, she added, “Father wants me to compete in Western reining or in cutting competitions. But I’m not sure I want to do either.”
Cordero couldn’t imagine this woman even sitting astride a horse, much less riding one as it spun in tight circles or jumped violently back and forth to head off a cantankerous steer. But then he’d been surprised by women before. In fact, most of them were never what they appeared to be on the surface. He was beginning to think Anne-Marie wasn’t what she appeared to be, either.
“Why not?” he asked. “You don’t have the confidence to compete?”
She started to take offense at his question, before she realized he was asking it sincerely.
“Well, I’m not timid,” she answered. “And I’m sure I could get my riding skills sharpened fairly quickly. But that’s not the issue. I have…other plans that have nothing to do with horses.”
“Apparently your father doesn’t know about your ‘other’ plans.”
Her mouth pressed into a grim line. “Oh yes, he does. But he’s the persistent type. He’ll never give up on the idea of me following his wishes instead of mine.”
Cordero couldn’t help but wonder if her “other” plans had anything to do with a man. But he quickly told himself to forget the question. Anne-Marie wasn’t the modern, free-spirited sort. She was the picture of old-fashioned family values. She’d even wanted to enter a convent! If she ever did decide to get involved with a man, it would be with marriage in mind. And matrimony, with any woman, was not part of Cordero’s plans. He’d seen too much loss, too much heartache, in his family to risk putting himself through such pain.
Seven years ago, his brother’s wife had died