The Rancher and His Unexpected Daughter (7 page)

“I can hardly wait to see how long that lasts,” Harlan commented.

To her credit, she did exactly as she'd sworn she would. Unfortunately for him, she hadn't mentioned a thing about any part of anatomy below her fingertips. Just as he was about to bet, he felt a knee nudge
his…and stay there. The heat that rose through him this time could have roasted marshmallows. Turned them to ashes, in fact.

He found that he enjoyed the sensation a little too much to tattle on her. He folded and left Jenny and Mule to battle for the pot. Mule took it with a full house to Jenny's two pairs. To his everlasting regret, Janet's knee retreated to a safe distance. It was by far the most intriguing poker game he'd ever played in. So far, it had cost him five bucks.

He considered the money an investment in his future with Janet. He was learning more about her with every hand of cards they played. He doubted she knew how much she was revealing about herself. Maybe she was a risk-taker. Maybe she wasn't. But she was definitely someone who liked to win.

She was also protective as a mother bear with a cub, where Jenny was concerned. And she had an absolutely fascinating, wild flirtatious streak. Just wondering how far she'd take it made his pulse scramble in a way that was downright disconcerting.

“I really think you ought to ante up,” he told her as Jenny shuffled the cards for the third hand. He glanced at her daughter. “Deal your mother in this round.”

Janet's expression turned faintly uneasy. “Really, I don't think…”

“Humor me,” he taunted. “I'll spot you the fifty cents for the pot.” He tossed two quarters into the middle of the table.

Jenny paused, waiting for her mother's decision before dealing out the hand.

“Okay,” Janet said eventually. “But I haven't had as much practice as Jenny.”

Jenny's mouth gaped. “Mom!”

“Quiet, dear. Deal the cards.”

Harlan chuckled at the exchange. He had the distinct impression now that everything Jenny knew about poker, she had learned from her mother. It was just one more facet to Janet Runningbear to intrigue him. Apparently she was a bit of a gambler, after all.

She scanned her cards with a practiced eye, tossed two back onto the table and waited for Jenny to replace them. Harlan drew three and wound up with two pairs, but most of his attention was on the woman seated next to him. Her face was an absolutely expressionless mask, a genuine poker face.

Mule bet fifty cents. Harlan met his bet. He wouldn't have dropped out of this hand if they'd been playing for a hundred times that amount.

“That's fifty cents to you, darlin'.”

She nodded, not even glancing his way. “Your fifty and fifty more.”

Jenny looked from her mother to Harlan and back again. “I'll fold,” she said.

“I'm out,” Mule concurred, tossing his cards onto the table in apparent disgust.

Janet turned an expectant look on Harlan that had his breath catching in his throat.

“Are you in?” she inquired in a lazy, seductive tone that had him conjuring up images that could have melted concrete.

“You'd better believe it, darlin'. Your fifty and I'll raise you a buck.”

“My, my, you are confident,” she said, turning to wink at Jenny. “Shall I stay, do you think?”

Jenny grinned. “You can't quit now, Mom. He'll think you're chicken.”

“True. We can't have that, can we?” She reached over and plucked five dollars from Jenny's pile of winnings. “I'll repay you in a minute.”

Harlan studied her expression before matching the bet. He couldn't tell a thing about whether or not she was bluffing. He dropped his money on the table. “Call.”

She placed her first card on the table, an ace of clubs. Her second card was a seven of clubs. Her third, a five of clubs. The fourth was a two of clubs. “Now what do you suppose I have here?” she inquired, lifting her gaze to clash with his.

“Either another club or more audacity than anyone else in Texas,” Harlan quipped.

She winked. “Want to go double or nothing on this last card?”

“That ain't the rules,” Mule complained.

“Some rules are made to be broken,” Harlan said, his gaze never leaving Janet's. “Not double or nothing. How about loser cooks dinner for the winner?”

The flash of uncertainty in her eyes told him she'd just realized that she'd overplayed her hand. Still, she didn't back down.

“You sure that's what you want? You could just quit now,” she said, clearly determined to brazen it out.

“Not on your life. Get that card on the table.”

She sighed, an expression of resignation on her face as she dropped an ace of hearts on top of the other cards.

Harlan chuckled. “Darlin', you would have made an outstanding stripper,” he teased. “You know a heck of a lot about drawing out the suspense.”

“But you can beat a pair of aces, can't you?”

He showed her his two pairs, fours and eights. “Sure can. So, when's dinner?” he inquired as he gathered up the pot.

Jenny chuckled. “You still think you won, don't you? Wait till you try Mom's cooking!”

“Jenny,” Janet protested. “How's tomorrow? I'm sure I can grill a hamburger or something that will be edible.”

“That'll be a first,” her daughter retorted. She glanced at Harlan. “You might want to bring along a roll of antacids. Mom's still trying to figure out how to cope with life without takeout.”

“I'm sure anything your mother cooks will be just fine,” Harlan said staunchly. “I'll be there about six.”

Mule cackled. “Think I'll let the rescue squad know to be standing by just in case.”

They could all joke all they wanted, Harlan thought as he tilted his chair onto its back legs and studied the trio. Even if Janet's food tasted like cinders, he had definitely come out of this a winner.

T
he kitchen was in shambles. Janet stood amid the collection of messy bowls, streaks of chocolate cake batter and spatters of frosting and despaired of ever getting a meal on the table by six o'clock.

“Why did you let me do that?” she asked Jenny, who was standing in the doorway gloating. “Why on earth did you let me make a bet like that?”

“You sounded like you were on a roll, Mom. How was I supposed to know you just had a piddly pair of aces?”

“Because you know what a competitor I am. I always get caught up in the moment, start bluffing and get carried away. You were doubling your allowance playing poker with me when you were eight for that very reason.”

“I know,” Jenny said, grinning. “If you'd gotten any more carried away yesterday, the man would be moving in with us.”

“Hardly,” Janet denied.

“Mom, it's true. He leveled those baby blues of his on you and you perked up as if he'd showered you with diamonds.”

Janet winced at the accuracy of the accusation. She had enjoyed the challenge and the blatant masculine approval she'd been able to stir with a little teasing. Harlan Adams was the kind of man who could make any woman lose sight of her independent streak.

“All women are a little susceptible to flattery and the attention of an attractive man,” she said to defend herself. “It's not something to be taken seriously.”

“You've got my jailer coming to dinner in twenty minutes and you think that's not serious,” Jenny retorted.

“Would you stop calling him that?” she implored. “Mr. Adams did you a favor, young lady. And the truth is, you're having fun at White Pines, aren't you?”

“Oh, sure, I just love spending my summer vacation breaking my back mucking out that stinky old barn.”

“You should have thought of that before you stole his truck,” she admonished for what must have been the hundredth time.

“How was I supposed to know that pickup belonged to a man who'd never heard of child labor laws? You probably ought to investigate him or something. He probably has little kids all over that ranch of his, working their butts off.” She shot a sly look at Janet. “Little Native American kids, Mom.”

Janet chuckled at the blatant attempt to try to push her buttons. “Forget it, Jenny. You can't rile me up
that way. There is absolutely no evidence that anything like that is going on at White Pines.”

“Isn't that why we're here, though? Aren't you supposed to be righting old wrongs, looking out for the descendents of the Comanches who rightfully belong on that land that Mr. Adams's ancestors stole? Jeez, Mom, we're in town for less than a month and you're practically in bed with the enemy.”

“I am not in bed with anybody,” Janet said. “Stop with that kind of talk and set the table.”

“Okay, but I say you're selling out.”

“And I say you have a smart mouth. I'd better not hear any of that kind of talk while Mr. Adams is here.”

Jenny nodded, her expression knowing. “I get it. You don't want to tip him off too soon that his days on that land are numbered, right? You'll finish your research, then
bam,
file the papers and boot him off. That's good. I like it. Boy, will he be surprised when he finds out I belong at White Pines more than he does. Maybe I'll even make
him
clean the barn.”

Janet was beginning to regret ever having told Jenny how the land that Lone Wolf's father had cherished had been taken over by white ranchers, while the Comanches were forced into smaller and smaller areas and eventually out of Texas altogether.

“Sweetie, there is no evidence that White Pines itself belonged to Lone Wolf's father,” she explained. “True, he roamed all over west Texas and the Comanches believed that the land of the Comancheria was theirs, but it's not as if it was ever deeded to them and recorded as theirs.”

“But that's just a technicality, right?” Jenny argued. “You're going to prove that possession was nine-tenths of the law stuff and that the government never had any right to force them out, right?”

Janet had to admit it was a dream she had had, a fantasy inspired by listening to Lone Wolf spin his sad tales. She had vowed at his grave, when she was younger than Jenny was now, that she would try to rectify what had happened to their ancestors.

When her marriage had failed, she'd been drawn to Texas at least in part to see if there was any way at all to fulfill that old promise. Now, while it seemed likely there was much she could do to assist the scattered Native Americans still living in Texas, reality suggested there was little chance she could return their old lands to them. While principle dictated the claims of the tribe were valid, individually their legal rights were murky at best.

“Jenny, you know that's what I want to do, but it's complicated. I can't just waltz into the courthouse and file a few briefs and expect a hundred years of wrongs to be righted. The system doesn't work that way.”

“The system stinks,” Jenny retorted, thumping the plates onto the table. “And just remember, Mom, Mr. Adams is part of that system.”

Janet sighed. It wasn't something she was likely to forget. If the twinkle in his eyes or the fire stirred by a casual touch distracted her, she had only to gaze around at his land to remember what had brought her to Texas.

Every acre of raw beauty reminded her of Lone Wolf's broken father, forced to live as a farmer in an
unfamiliar state when tradition and instinct made him a hunter.

In the abstract, it had been easy to hate the Texans who had made that happen. Now, faced with a man like Harlan Adams, who had shown her nothing but kindness, compassion and a hint of desire, it was awfully hard to think of him—or even his faceless ancestors—as the enemy.

So, what did she consider him to be? she wondered as she checked the cake she had baking. Her mother, a full-blooded Comanche, had barely survived a disastrous marriage to a white man. Janet was only half Comanche and her own marriage to a white man had been only minimally better. She'd convinced herself that returning to Texas to learn more about her Comanche heritage was the secret to happiness.

Was Jenny right? Was she selling out already by allowing Harlan Adams to assume such a significant role in their lives? It was not as if she'd had much choice, she consoled herself. Jenny had gotten their lives entwined from the moment she'd impulsively stolen that truck of his.

As for the way she responded to Harlan's warm glances, that was just hormones talking. Her good sense could overrule that anytime she chose—or so she prayed.

She reached into the oven to remove the cake. The pot holder slipped. Her thumb landed squarely on the pan.

“Damn,” she muttered as the round pan clattered to the floor. A crack the size of the Grand Canyon appeared down the middle of the cake. Jenny appeared just in time to stare in dismay at the mess.

“Jeez, Mom, that cake was about the only thing this meal had going for it.”

“Don't remind me,” she muttered, sucking on her injured thumb. “I'll fill it in with frosting, so it'll look okay. We'll cut pieces from the outside edges. Harlan will never know.”

“I don't know. I think after he gets a taste of that limp spaghetti and the wilted salad, he'll be expecting it.”

Janet scowled at her daughter. “You're no help. A little encouragement would be welcomed about now.”

“You need more than encouragement to bail you out,” Jenny declared derisively. “How about a quick trip to DiPasquali's? I could be back before he gets here. He'll never know you didn't prepare every bite yourself.”

Janet was sorely tempted to do just that. For some reason that probably didn't bear too close a scrutiny, she really had wanted this meal to go well. She surveyed the mess in the kitchen, then glanced at the clock. He was due in five minutes.

“There's no time,” she said, resigned to serving a meal barely fit for human consumption.