A Tradition of Pride (4 page)

All I'll have to do is tell him that you're serving his favorite and he'll probably be at the table before the quail is done." Lara pushed the free-swinging kitchen door open with her elbow, taking care not to knock the crystal glasses in her hand. "I don't know what dad would do if Henry didn't go hunting every couple of weeks."

"Henry didn't bring us the quail," Sara corrected, her words checking Lara's exit from the kitchen. "He's down with arthritis again."

"I didn't know." She tipped her head curiously to the side, the red gold coil atop her head shimmered with fire from the overhead light. "Who did give us the quail?"

"Mr. MacQuade."

"Oh," Lara murmured and pushed on through the doorway. As the door swung back, she wondered idly if Ransom MacQuade had known of her father's taste for quail and brought them to edge up higher in his hook. She supposed he had. It never hurt to keep scoring points with the boss.

There was a knock at the door as Lara set the wineglasses around the three place settings at the table. From the kitchen, she heard Sara's grumble and smiled inwardly. "I'll answer it, Sara," she called, touching fingertips to her hair, making sure there were no escaping tendrils.

Her heels clicked loudly on the tiled floor of the hallway. Before Lara reached the front door, there was another knock and she wondered who the impatient visitor could be arriving at the dinner hour. She swung the door open.

The polite smile of greeting froze at the sight of Ransom MacQuade. Her green eyes focused in shock on the bouquet of red roses he held in his hands. Slicing to his face, her gaze searched bewilderedly for an explanation.

"Good evening, Mrs. Cochran." His glittering brown eyes lazily surveyed her from top to bottom. "That's a homey touch," he mocked. "May I come in?"

For an instant, Lara didn't understand his comment until she realized she had not taken off the gingham apron that protected her apricot dress. A hand nervously smoothed the front of it as she swung the door open wider to admit him.

"Of course, Mr. MacQuade. Please come in." Her voice was totally composed, offering no sign that she had been flustered even for a second. "You'll have to forgive my appearance. Dinner is nearly ready to be served."

Her gaze slid briefly, across his wide shoulders, noting the flawless cut of the forest-green leisure suit and the cream-colored shirt, opened at the throat.

"My timing is perfect then?" The suggestion of dimples appeared in his angular cheeks.

The wing of one eyebrow lifted slightly at his comment. Was he inviting himself to dinner, Lara wondered. Remembering the amount of food that had been prepared, she knew it would be straining even Sara's capabilities to stretch the servings to four people. Rather than tell him he couldn't stay, Lara chose to ignore his comment.

The roses were offered to her. "These are for you, I believe," Rans said dryly.

She hesitated for a split second before reluctantly accepting them. "Thank you, Mr. MacQuade. This is very kind of you, but not necessary." Lara fingered the small card attached to the bouquet. Why on earth was he giving her flowers?

"They aren't from me." Laughter danced behind his hooded look. "A florist delivery man was at the door when I came. He had several other stops to make so he asked me to give them to you."

At the first sensation of warmth touching her cheeks, Lara turned away from his mocking and speculative gaze. The trouble with having red hair was that she tended to blush too easily. It had been ages since she had committed an embarrassing blunder like this. It was a novelty to discover she was still capable of blushing.

Curiosity led her to remove the card from its small envelope. The familiar handwriting satisfied Lara before she even read the message. The words were simple: "For my wife. Happy Valentine's Day, darling. Trevor."

Her mouth twitched cynically at the corners. She had so completely blocked out all the romantic notions from her mind that when she had glanced at the calendar this morning and noticed the date was February fourteenth, it hadn't meant anything to her, Trevor, the inveterate Romeo that he was, would never overlook any romantic occasions.

"From a secret admirer?" Rans's husky voice questioned from behind her.

Lara slipped the card back in its envelope, an indifferently cool smile curving her lips as she turned slightly toward him. Her complexion again was the smooth color of marble.

"A Valentine gift from my husband," she responded. "I hope I didn't embarrass you by thinking the roses were from you."

"Not at all," Rans shrugged, his roving gaze moving over the fiery crown of her coiled hair. "I wouldn't have chosen red roses, anyway. They clash with your hair." His attention shifted to the artistically draped folds that formed the neckline of her dress. "The shade of your dress would have been more suitable."

His observation was so impersonally offered that it was impossible for Lara to take offense at his remark. She had the impression that although Rans MacQuade might find her attractive, he was definitely not interested in her. There was faint arrogance in his dismissal of her as a desirable woman, but Lara experienced only relief at the knowledge.

"But red roses are a symbol of love." Trevor had descended the stairs unseen to pause on the landing before making his presence known. The charcoal-gray suit and matching vest he wore perfectly complemented his dark good looks. He flashed a smile at Lara and traversed the last few steps. "I'm glad they were delivered before I had to leave, darling."

Leave? Lara hadn't been aware that he was going anywhere, but she was disinclined to admit it in front of Rans MacQuade. She touched a delicate red petal.

"The roses are beautiful, Trevor. Thank you." It was spoken without the warmth of sincerity.

Long strides carried Trevor to her side. His hand cupped the flower of the petal she had just touched and his head bent to sniff its fragrance.

"It was the least I could do since the monthly club dinner was scheduled for this evening." He gazed deeply into her cool green eyes. Lara was unmoved by his supposed adoration. If she felt anything, it was amusement that his male ego was still determined to win back her affection. He couldn't seem to stand it when a woman was indifferent to him. "It's my way of saying I'm sorry I can't be with you tonight."

"I understand," Lara nodded.

"I have to leave or I'll be late." Trevor brushed a kiss across her cheek.

"Does Sara know you won't be here for dinner?" Lara inquired as an afterthought.

"I reminded her this morning, I'll probably have a drink with the others when the meeting is over. If I'm late getting home, don't wait up for me," was his parting remark as he moved toward the door.

As if she would, Lara thought. Watching Trevor leave, her gaze accidentally focused on Rans MacQuade's rugged profile, also observing her husband's departure. The knowing gleam in his brown eyes told Lara that he too was guessing that Trevor's drink with the others referred to the female sex and not the male club members. Trevor, she thought cynically, do you really think you are fooling anyone but yourself?

The incident had answered another question that had been forming. The third place setting at the table, Rans MacQuade's unexpected appearance, and Sara's previous knowledge that Trevor wouldn't be dining at home this evening — obviously Rans's offering of the quail had elicited an invitation to dinner.

As if feeling her gaze, Rans turned to meet it. The knowing gleam left the velvet brown of his eyes as they assumed, a thoughtfully measuring look, silently trying to judge if Lara had guessed. Trevor's evening would end in some other woman's arms. Pride elevated her chin a fraction of an inch, but her bland expression revealed nothing.

"My father is in his study. You'll have time for a cocktail before dinner if you'd care to join him," Lara suggested coolly.

"Thank you, I will." He inclined his head slightly.

With the bouquet of roses in her hand, Lara started toward the kitchen to find a vase to put the flowers in. She heard the firm strides that carried Rans MacQuade to the study door.

The few times that Rans had been to dinner before, Trevor had always been present. He was an expert at table conversation. His charm and wit always maintained a steady flow of talk among the people seated around the table.

Lara's father, on the other hand, tended to either be garrulous or silent. Unfortunately it turned out to be one of his silent nights, which left Lara with the burden of carrying the conversation. Generally she didn't find it difficult. She simply asked the necessary questions to prompt a man to talking about himself and the problem was solved.

This time she wasn't so successful. Rans MacQuade was not cooperating. He answered her questions without elaborating, as if he sensed her lack of genuine interest in his replies. His reticence was becoming irritating.

"I know much of your time is taken up with your work, but tell me, Mr. MacQuade—" Lara concealed her impatience at her role as an interviewer that had been thrust upon her "—how do you spend your free time? Obviously you hunt since you furnished Sara with tonight's quail. You must have other hobbies you enjoy, too."

"Fishing, swimming, reading, watching television—the usual pursuits." Before Lara could seize on one of the subjects, his gaze swung lazily to hold hers. "And you, Mrs. Cochran, how do you amuse yourself?"

Lara guessed immediately what he was doing. Rans McQuade was reversing their roles, asking her the questions. The faintly mocking tone of his voice made no attempt to disguise his own lack of interest in her answers.

"The free time I do have, I usually spend horseback riding or reading. Like you, much of my time is taken up with work," she answered with cutting politeness.

"Really?" A dark eyebrow arched with sardonic disbelief.

The action scraped at her nerves. "This is a large house, Mr. MacQuade," Lara responded in a coldly defensive tone. "It requires constant attention. Sara couldn't begin to cope with all of the housework and the cooking, too."

Wry amusement danced wickedly in his eyes. "I find it difficult to visualize you scrubbing floors, Mrs. Cochran."

The comments were becoming too personal. Ignoring his remark, Lara adeptly changed the focus of attention. She smiled at her father seated at the head of the table, his dark auburn hair salted with gray.

"A good portion of my time is spent deciphering and typing daddy's notes. Now that Trevor has taken over much of the office paperwork and you, Mr. MacQuade, have taken over the management of the farm, he has finally begun to fulfill an ambition that he's had for years. I don't know if you are aware of it or not, but daddy is writing a definitive book on growing pecans."

"I'm trying, pet, I'm trying," her father corrected modestly. "I believe I mentioned it to you, didn't I, Rans?"

"You said you were doing some writing, but you didn't indicate the subject matter."

"I decided some years ago that it was time there was a book on the market that dealt with all facets of the pecan industry. Lara could see her father warming to his favorite subject and leaned back in her chair. "A composite type book that will deal with grafting and planting, diseases, methods of disease controls, harvesting, marketing and the advantages and disadvantages of the known varieties—most of it from the research and knowledge I have obtained over the years."

"That is a challenging and demanding project," Rans observed.

"I'm trying to do one phase at a time," Martin Alexander explained earnestly. "Right now I'm accumulating information on the various varieties. You are more familiar with the Texas varieties. Perhaps you could give me some assistance on them."

"I'd be happy to."

A catlike smile of contentment lifted the corners of Lara's mouth. Within moments the conversation consisted of an in-depth discussion on the various merits of different varieties over others. Information and opinions were freely exchanged throughout the rest of the meal.

Once Lara accidentally encountered Rans's gaze. The satirical glitter in his eyes told her that he was aware she had manipulated the conversation to safer channels. It was disconcerting to learn that he had seen through her action so easily.

Coffee was served with the dessert. When they had finished, Lara rose from her chair, knowing if it was up to her father, the two men would linger indefinitely at the table.

"Daddy, why don't you take Mr. MacQuade into your study and offer him brandy?" she suggested.

"Excellent idea," her father agreed enthusiastically. "Will you join us, Lara?"

"No, thank you." A polite but firm smile of refusal on her lips. "I'll help Sara clear the table."

When the dishes were finished, Lara avoided the study, choosing the solitude of the-living room. She wasn't really expected to join her father. He belonged to the old school that thought women should gather in one area to talk and leave the men to their important discussions. It was a decidedly archaic notion that women were incapable of intelligent conversation, but for the most part, Lara didn't care. She had reverted to the childhood practice of entertaining herself.

With a crossword puzzle in hand, she switched the television set on. The movie being televised was a sugary romance. Lara watched half of it before impatiently turning it off. She couldn't accept, even as fiction, a love story where bells rang and rockets soared and the couple supposedly lived happily ever after. Her experience had made her too much of a cynic. The mystery novel in her bedroom offered more enjoyable entertainment.