Long, Tall Texans: Calhoun by Diana Palmer Page B

sighed. "The worst yet," she confessed, unwilling to tell him any of the details. She looked up at him. "Calhoun acts as if he hates me lately."
    Justin searched her eyes quietly. "And you don't know why," he mused. "Well, give it time, Abby. Rome wasn't built in a day."
    She blinked. "I don't understand."

    He laughed softly and took her arm. "Never mind. Let's get going."
    Houston was big and sprawling and flat as a pancake, but it had a very special personality and Abby loved it. At night it was as colorful as Christmas, all jewel lights and excitement.
    Justin took her to a small, intimate dinner club where they met the Joneses, Clara and Henry. They owned a small ranch in Montana where they raised stocker calves to supply to feedlots. They were an older couple but full of fun, and Abby liked them instantly. She and Clara talked fashion while Justin and Henry talked business. Abby was really having a good time until she glanced across the room and saw a familiar face on the cozily intimate dance floor.
    Calhoun! Her eyes widened as she followed his blond head through the crowd until there was a clear space.
    Then she saw the ravishing blonde with him. He was holding the woman, who was at least his own age, with both hands at her waist, and she was curled up against him as if they'd been dancing together for years. They were smiling at each other like lovers.
    Abby felt sick. She could almost feel herself turning green. If Calhoun had worked at it for years, he couldn't have hurt her any worse. Coming on the heels of the insulting remark he'd made just a few hours earlier, it was a death blow. This was his kind of woman, Abby realized. Sleek, beautiful, sophisticated.
    This was one of his shadowy lovers. One of the women he never brought home.
    "What's wrong, Abby?' Justin asked suddenly. But before she could answer he followed her gaze to the dance floor, and something in his dark eyes became frightening, dangerous.
    'Isn't that Calhoun?" Henry Jones grinned. "Well, well, let's get him over here, Justin, and see what he thinks of our proposition." Before anyone could stop him, he got up and headed for the dance floor.
    "Mrs. Jones, shall we go to the powder room?" Abby asked with a pale but convincing smile.
    "Certainly, dear. Excuse us, won't you, Justin?" the white-haired woman asked politely, and started out of the restaurant ahead of Abby.
    Justin unexpectedly caught Abby's upper arm and drew her I tack. "Don't panic," he said quietly. "I'll get you out of here as soon as I can. Do you want a drink?"
    She looked up, almost in tears at his unexpected understanding. "Could I have a pina colada with just a little rum?" she eked.
    "I'll order it. Keep your chin up."
    She smiled at him softly. "Thanks, big brother," she said gently.
    He grinned. "Any time. Get going."
    She glanced away in time to catch Calhoun's dark eyes. She nodded her head at him and turned away with no apparent haste.
    Ten minutes later, she and Mrs. Jones returned to find Calhoun about to leave the table, the blonde still clinging to his arm. He looked up at Abby. His face was unreadable, but there was something in his expression that disturbed her. She wasn't about to let it show, though. Lovesick calf, indeed. She'd show him, by gosh.
    She smiled. "Hi, Calhoun!" she said easily, sliding into the chair next to Justin's. "Isn't this a nice place?
    Justin decided I needed a night on the town. Wasn't that sweet of him?" She picked up her pina colada and took a big sip, relieved to find that it had barely enough rum to taste and even more relieved that her hand didn't shake and betray her shattered nerves.
    "She's a big girl now," Justin told his brother, leaning back in his chair arrogantly and daring Calhoun to say a word. His cool smile and level, cold stare had a real impact, even on his toother.
    But Calhoun didn't look any too pleased at the implication of the remark, especially when Justin slid an arm around Abby's shoulders. In fact, Calhoun