smiled faintly. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I always liked patching people up when they were hurt. I still do. I feel as if I’m giving something back to the world, paying my way as I go.”
“Is that a dig at me?” he asked conversationally, but his blue eyes were serious.
“You work every bit as hard as I do,” she said honestly. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I was explaining my own philosophy, not condemning your lifestyle.”
His broad chest rose and fell heavily. “Maybe I feel like condemning it,” he said broodingly. He ran a lean finger around the rim of his glass absently, watching its path. “My father built the farm up from bankruptcy when he was a young man. He worked hard all his life so that he’d have something to pass on to me, so that I wouldn’t have to break my back for a living. Well, I didn’t have to work, and it affected me. In consequence, I spent the first twenty-five years of my own life giving my father hell and expecting something for nothing. No matter how well meant, you can give a child too much.” He looked up into her eyes. “I won’t make that mistake with my sons.”
“Sons?” she echoed. “Do you already have names picked out for them, too?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning as the atmosphere changed between them. “Well, for the tenth one, anyway. I’ll call him Quits.”
She smiled, radiant. How odd, to sit and talk, really talk, to him. That was a first. She didn’t want to enjoy it, but she couldn’t help herself.
“How about you?” he asked with apparent carelessness. “Do you want kids?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’d like a daughter, though.”
“A daughter wouldn’t be bad, although boys run in my family. The father determines sex, you know.”
“No!” she said in mock astonishment. “And here I thought the cabbage fairy did all that!”
“Stop it, you idiot,” he muttered, chuckling. “I keep forgetting you went through nurse’s training. I expect you know more than I do about reproduction.”
“About some of it, maybe,” she said tightly. She finished her tea and got up to put her cup and the plates in a nearby garbage can. When she came back, Keegan hadn’t moved. He was still watching her, his eyes narrow and calculating.
“How about putting my cup in there, too?” He drained it and handed it to her; but just as she reached down to take it, he caught her wrist and propelled her into his hard body, cushioning the impact with his arms.
“Keegan!” she protested, struggling.
He only held her closer, positioning her across his legs, with her head captured in the crook of his elbow. He looked down at her, watching her struggles, feeling the touch of her hands on his chest as she pushed at it, and the blood rushed like lava through his veins.
“I’m not…on the menu,” she said, panting.
“You should be,” he murmured. His blue eyes scanned her delicate features, her full mouth and bigbrown eyes in a frame of blondish-brown hair. “I like what you’ve done to your hair, Eleanor. I like the new makeup, too.”
She hadn’t thought he’d even noticed it. Her eyes, steady and curious on his hardening face, reflected her puzzlement.
“You were sixteen the first time I kissed you,” he said abruptly, watching her mouth. “It was at the annual Christmas party, up at Flintlock, and you stood under the mistletoe with the damnedest lost look on your face. I bent and kissed you, so gently, and you went beet red and ran away.”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” she muttered, renewing her struggles.
He felt his body going rigid, and he stilled her with a firm hand on her hip. “No,” he said softly. “Lie still. You’re hurting me.”
She froze, because even as he said it she could feel it. Her eyes levered back up to his and were captured by the mixture of hunger and pain she read in them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lying quietly. “But if you’d just let me go…”
“I don’t want to,” he
“Is that a dig at me?” he asked conversationally, but his blue eyes were serious.
“You work every bit as hard as I do,” she said honestly. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I was explaining my own philosophy, not condemning your lifestyle.”
His broad chest rose and fell heavily. “Maybe I feel like condemning it,” he said broodingly. He ran a lean finger around the rim of his glass absently, watching its path. “My father built the farm up from bankruptcy when he was a young man. He worked hard all his life so that he’d have something to pass on to me, so that I wouldn’t have to break my back for a living. Well, I didn’t have to work, and it affected me. In consequence, I spent the first twenty-five years of my own life giving my father hell and expecting something for nothing. No matter how well meant, you can give a child too much.” He looked up into her eyes. “I won’t make that mistake with my sons.”
“Sons?” she echoed. “Do you already have names picked out for them, too?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning as the atmosphere changed between them. “Well, for the tenth one, anyway. I’ll call him Quits.”
She smiled, radiant. How odd, to sit and talk, really talk, to him. That was a first. She didn’t want to enjoy it, but she couldn’t help herself.
“How about you?” he asked with apparent carelessness. “Do you want kids?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’d like a daughter, though.”
“A daughter wouldn’t be bad, although boys run in my family. The father determines sex, you know.”
“No!” she said in mock astonishment. “And here I thought the cabbage fairy did all that!”
“Stop it, you idiot,” he muttered, chuckling. “I keep forgetting you went through nurse’s training. I expect you know more than I do about reproduction.”
“About some of it, maybe,” she said tightly. She finished her tea and got up to put her cup and the plates in a nearby garbage can. When she came back, Keegan hadn’t moved. He was still watching her, his eyes narrow and calculating.
“How about putting my cup in there, too?” He drained it and handed it to her; but just as she reached down to take it, he caught her wrist and propelled her into his hard body, cushioning the impact with his arms.
“Keegan!” she protested, struggling.
He only held her closer, positioning her across his legs, with her head captured in the crook of his elbow. He looked down at her, watching her struggles, feeling the touch of her hands on his chest as she pushed at it, and the blood rushed like lava through his veins.
“I’m not…on the menu,” she said, panting.
“You should be,” he murmured. His blue eyes scanned her delicate features, her full mouth and bigbrown eyes in a frame of blondish-brown hair. “I like what you’ve done to your hair, Eleanor. I like the new makeup, too.”
She hadn’t thought he’d even noticed it. Her eyes, steady and curious on his hardening face, reflected her puzzlement.
“You were sixteen the first time I kissed you,” he said abruptly, watching her mouth. “It was at the annual Christmas party, up at Flintlock, and you stood under the mistletoe with the damnedest lost look on your face. I bent and kissed you, so gently, and you went beet red and ran away.”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” she muttered, renewing her struggles.
He felt his body going rigid, and he stilled her with a firm hand on her hip. “No,” he said softly. “Lie still. You’re hurting me.”
She froze, because even as he said it she could feel it. Her eyes levered back up to his and were captured by the mixture of hunger and pain she read in them.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lying quietly. “But if you’d just let me go…”
“I don’t want to,” he
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