bull, and what he hasn’t won, isn’t worth winning, and one thing led to another-” he paused delicately.
“Are you saying you’ve brought bull semen?” Claire demanded bluntly.
“Yes,” he said, nettled. “Since you want to take the bull by the-er-horns, yes, it’s bull semen.”
“Why not just say so?”
“Well-a man hesitates to-I mean, with a lady he’s only just met, there are certain topics that-in polite company-hell! Why didn’t Gabe tell you?”
“Probably because he was having a good laugh imagining this conversation.”
“That sounds like Gabe.”
“Anyway, no need to worry about polite company. You’re on the MBbar now.”
They had just that minute passed through the wide gate with the MBbar fixed over it, which meant three more miles until they reached the house. At last it appeared, to Randall’s relief, for he was aching to stretch his long legs and get a warm drink inside him.
The ranch house was a sprawling, two-story building, under a light dusting of snow. Its center was one big room with a polished wood floor, and brightly colored rugs here and there. More rugs hung on the walls, and in the stone fireplace burned a wood fire, its leaping flames reflected in the deep red leather of the armchairs.
“Great,” Randall said, looking around at the homely comfort with pleasure. “It’s hardly changed, bar a few details, from when I spent the best summer of my life here. Am I sleeping in the same room?”
“You’re in Gabe’s room. His orders.”
She made a dive for the large bag but Randall was too quick for her, grabbing both cases and giving her a challenging look. She returned it in full measure, so that he had a grandstand view of the thrilling blue of her eyes, before leading him up the broad wooden stairs.
When she’d left him Randall surveyed the bedroom with reminiscent pleasure. This was where he and Gabe had slept last time, yakking well into the night, reading forbidden books by torchlight and sipping surreptitious slugs of whiskey. The two beds had vanished, replaced by one large enough for a big man to sprawl out on.
He thought of calling Gabe, then stopped as he realized it was the early hours of the morning in England, although only evening here. The long flight, plus the time difference, was playing havoc with his inner clock. He yawned, trying not to be overcome by jet lag.
A shower in Gabe’s bathroom made him feel better, then he searched Gabe’s wardrobe and found a check shirt and jeans, which he put on. He’d brought very few clothes of his own because Gabe had told him to make free with his.
He yawned again and stretched out on the bed, feeling glad to be here. Other considerations aside, it would get him away from the “Hon Hon”, as Gabe insisted on calling the Honorable Honoria.
The thought slipped in without warning and startled him. Only recently he’d half planned to marry Honoria. They weren’t in love, but she was eminently suitable to be an earl’s wife, and it was time he married.
Honoria thought so, too. At Earl’s party she’d attached herself to Randall. People had called them “a lovely couple.” And suddenly he felt trapped.
He wasn’t sure what had changed, unless it was the effect of Gabe parachuting into his life without warning. That had always been Gabe’s style-without warning. He was like a breath of fresh air; irresponsible, crazy Gabe, who never looked further than the next girl or the next slug of whiskey. It would be fun to “be” him for a while.
Imperceptibly, Randall ceased to fight off the jet lag.
Ten minutes later Claire knocked on his door, calling “Supper’s ready.”
Getting no answer, she looked in, and drew a sharp breath at what she saw.
The man who lay dead to the world on the bed wore Gabe’s clothes, was the same lanky shape, and with his hair tousled from the shower, the likeness was emphasised. The sight struck Claire before she had time to arm herself against it, and suddenly her eyes blurred.
Moving quietly, she came closer. It might have been Gabe, and she could dream, couldn’t she? Just for one little moment. She loved Gabe more than she could bear. He was so far away, and she was so lonely. She settled noiselessly into a chair and watched Randall, aching with some bittersweet emotion that was neither happiness nor misery, but an almost unbearable mixture of the two.
She didn’t know that he’d awoken and was regarding her through his eyelashes, puzzled by her expression.
For her sake he grunted and stirred before opening his eyes fully, and that gave her time to get hastily to her feet and compose her face.
“I looked in to say supper’s ready,” she said gruffly. “I wasn’t sure whether to wake you.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“No it’s not,” Claire said bluntly. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” She vanished.
Randall pulled a wry face. Whatever Claire’s virtues might be, they didn’t include the social graces.
But social graces seemed to mean less than in his other life. What did matter was the long, pleasurable view of her he’d just enjoyed. Without the big sheepskin jacket Claire was revealed as slim and shapely, filling her jeans very nicely, thank you. Randall had swiftly revised his ideas. How could he ever have mistaken her for a man?
Gabe called her “my tomboy kid sister,” and no wonder if she was so set on being one of the boys. But that was a pity. From his viewpoint she had a lot of potential for being one of the girls.
Going down a few moments later, he found Claire in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot from which were coming delicious smells. She’d released her hair and it was falling about her face, softening the fierce air that she wore like armor.
Randall held out his offering, a small, insulated unit containing Rex’s finest. Claire received it without embarrassment and took it away to deposit somewhere safe. Randall looked around at the warm kitchen. In the center stood a large table, big enough to take ten, but laid for two.
“The others have had theirs,” Claire explained, returning.
“The others?”
“North, Dave, Olly. They’re all that’s here now. In summer there’d be more.”
While he waited, Randall looked around him, enjoying the sight of the old place again. Claire watched him with disapproval.
“It’s not as grand as Stanton Abbey,” she said.
Randall regarded her blankly. “Of course not. Nothing is.”
Great! she thought crossly. This snooty Englishman was so lofty that she couldn’t even needle him.
She ladled a thick stew onto two plates and set one before him. It was delicious.
As they ate he came to a sudden decision. “Mind telling me how I got on your wrong side?” he asked mildly. “There’s an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.”
