Knight in a White Stetson by Claire King Read Free Book Online Page B

have to spend away from you, hon—” he reached his hand out to Calla who took it hesitantly “—but it was worth it.” Clark gave a hearty laugh, which made Calla wonder if he wasn’t a little drunk, as well. “We’ll make a mint.”
    Henry tipped back his chair and clunked his booted feet onto the kitchen table with a crash. The family turned to stare at him. He crossed his legs casually and sipped his drink.
    Calla was annoyed. More than annoyed. Not only was this—fool—who had invited himself to dinner for the first time in two damn weeks—being about as rude as he could be, but her father and aunt were happily allowing it to continue. If anyone else on the planet dared to put his feet on her kitchen table, Helen would have put a broom handle in his ear. Now she just grinned into her coffee cup in a fit of humor Calla couldn’t begin to fathom.
    Calla’s gaze shifted to her father, who was smiling absently at Henry.
    And since when did Jackson Bishop ply people with whiskey? Where had he even got the bottle, for heaven’s sake? She knew Jackson saw how smashed Henry was slowly getting. Why did he keep pouring liquor into his glass?
    And where the hell was Lester? Calla couldn’t remember the last time that weasel had missed a free meal.
    She was furious, and getting madder all the time. Cowgirl? Honey? Dearest? Hon?
    Clark was still talking. “And you should see the plans for the mall, Jack.” He leaned forward earnestly, Calla’s hand still captured in his. “We’re still working on investors, but Dad and I have managed all the up-front money. It’s our biggest deal yet. Huge. You’ll have to come out and see it. I really think you would be impressed. Seriously. We could give you the grand tour. You might even decide you want to throw a little cattle money in that direction. Big bucks to be made in this development, Jack.”
    “You know, I don’t much like leaving the place anymore, Clark,” Jackson said, one age-spotted hand pulling thoughtfully down his face. “I haven’t been back East in I don’t know how long. Before Calla was born, anyway. Her mother and I took a trip to Maine, remember that, Helen? Oh, beautiful country, Maine. Lot of wilderness up there. Reminds me a little of Idaho.”
    “Maine reminds you of Idaho?” Clark guffawed good-naturedly, slapping Jackson on his knee. “You mean except for the rain and the trees, right? Never heard that before. You got one on me there, Jack.”
    Calla began to relax a little. She was still painfully aware of Clark’s possessive hand on hers and of Henry’s defiant feet on the table in front of them. They were both idiotic male statements of some kind, she knew. She’d certainly been around enough men to recognize an idiotic male statement when she saw one. But the conversation wasn’t threatening, and Clark and Jackson were communicating in a way she hadn’t seen before. It was nice, she thought. Suspicious, but nice.
    Henry shifted his feet and Calla glanced over at him. His eyes were on her now. Unreadable, deep pools of darkest brown. His gaze went to her hand in Clark’s. After a moment, he met her eyes again. There was an open challenge in them. She turned to Clark and stole an arm around him, sitting on the narrow arm of the dining chair. She could almost feel those dark pools, drugging her, dragging her in. Clark slid a gangly arm around her waist.
    There was another small crash as Henry slammed his boots on the linoleum and heaved himself out of his chair. He walked steadily to the whiskey bottle on the counter, helped himself to another glass and then leaned against the sink, scowling. Helen choked a little on her coffee. Jackson leaned forward and patted her companionably on the back.
    “Careful there, sister,” he said with a smile.
    Clark didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but Calla’s back became straighter, stiffer, as she perched on the chair.
    “We had an architect make up some preliminary plans. They look