Diana Palmer - Donavan

F ay felt as if every eye in the bar was on her when she walked in. It had been purely an impulse, and she was already regretting it. A lone female walking into a bar on the wrong side of town in south Texas late at night was asking for trouble. Womens lib hadnt been heard of this far out, and several pairs of male eyes were telling her so.

She could only imagine how she looked in her tight designer jeans, her feet encased in silk hose and high heels, a soft yellow knit sweater showing the faint swell of her high breasts. Her long dark hair was around her shoulders in soft swirls, and her green eyes darted nervously from one side of the small, smoke-filled room to the other. There was a jukebox playing so loud that she had to yell to tell the bartender she wanted a beer. That was a joke, too, because in all her twenty years, shed never had a beer. White wine, yes. Even a pia colada down in Jamaica. But never a beer.

Defiance was becoming expensive, she thought, watching a burly man separate himself from his companions with a mumbled remark that made them laugh.

He perched himself beside her at the bar, his narrow eyes giving her an appraisal that made her want to run. Hello, pretty thing, he said, grinning through his beard. Wanta dance?

She cupped her hands around the beer mug to stop them from shaking. No, thank you, she said in her soft, cultured voice, keeping her eyes down. Imwaiting for someone.

That was almost true. Shed been waiting for someone all her life, but he hadnt shown up yet. She needed him now. She was living with a mercenary, social-climbing relative who was doing his best to sell her to a rich friend with eyes that made her skin crawl. All her money was tied up in trust, and she was stuck with her mothers brother. Rescue was certainly uppermost in her mind, but this rowdy cowboy wasnt her idea of a white knight.

You and me could have a good time, honey, her admirer continued, unabashed. He smoothed her sweater-clad arm and she withdrew as if his fingers were snakes. Now, dont start backing away, sweet thing! I know how to treat a lady.

No one noticed the dark face in the corner suddenly lift, or saw the dangerous glitter in silver eyes that dominated it. No one noticed the look he gave the girl, or the colder one that he gave her companion before he got gracefully to his feet and moved toward the bar.

He wore jeans, too. Not like Fays, because his were working jeans. They were faded and stained from work, and his boots were a howling thumbed nose at city cowboys elegant footwear. His hat was blacker than his thick, unruly hair, a little crumpled here and there. He was tall. Very tall. Lean and muscular and quite well-known locally. His temper, in fact, was as legendary as the big fists now curled with deceptive laxness at his sides as he walked.

Youd like me if you just got to know me The pudgy cowboy broke off when the newcomer came into his line of vision. He became almost comically still, his head slightly cocked. Why, hello, Donavan, he began uneasily. I didnt know she was with you.

Now you do, he replied in a deep, gravelly voice that sent chills down Fays spine.

She turned her head and looked into diamond-glinted eyes, and lost her heart forever. She couldnt seem to breathe.

Its about time you showed up, he told Fay. He took her arm, eased her down from the bar stool with a grip that was firm and exciting. He handed her beer mug to her, and with a last cutting glare at the other man, he escorted her back to his table.

Thank you, she stammered when she was sitting beside him. Hed left a cigarette smoking in the dented metal ashtray, and a half-touched glass of whiskey. He didnt take off his hat when he sat down. Shed noticed that Western men seemed to have little use for the courtesies shed taken for granted back home.