Fire Brand by Diana Palmer

was his game—throwing Aggie off the track with a red herring. She wondered how much of what he’d said to her in the pool house had been part of the plan. Had he meant it, or had he just been stirring her up so that Aggie would read even more into her expression?
    She didn’t trust men at the best of times, but she’d always felt that she could trust Bowie. Now she wasn’t sure anymore. She felt vulnerable and afraid.
    â€œHello, mother,” Bowie said. He let go of Gaby’s hand and seated her before he leaned over to kiss Aggie’s cheek. “How was Jamaica?”
    â€œJamaica was lovely,” Aggie murmured dryly. She glanced at her friend and put her thin hand over his big one. “Bowie, this is Ned Courtland.” She made a caress of his name.
    â€œHow do you do?” Bowie said pleasantly enough, but his features were rigid and his eyes were already damning the other man to hell.
    â€œI’m fine, thanks,” Ned returned in a slow drawl. “How are you, son?”
    Bowie bristled, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He smiled coolly. “I hear you run a few head of cattle.” He sat down beside Gaby and lit a cigarette, his first that afternoon. “What do you think of the Japanese outlook?”
    Ned raised thick eyebrows. “Well,” he began, “I don’t much care for Japanese food, to be honest, but I guess I could learn.”
    Bowie’s expression, in another place, would have been comical. He leaned forward, his smoking cigarette in one lean hand resting on the other forearm. “I meant the export of beef to Japan.”
    â€œOh, that.” Ned smiled. “Damned if I know much about it.”
    Bowie’s eyes were speaking volumes, and Gaby could see Aggie starting to fidget as Montoya brought coffee and Elena set platters of food on the table.
    â€œThere’s been a movement afoot to encourage the Japanese to import more American beef,” Gaby began, trying to help things along.
    Ned glanced at her in an odd way. “Is that so?”
    â€œThere’s a hell of a lot more to the situation than that,” Bowie said irritably, glaring at her.
    â€œI refuse to talk shop at the table,” Aggie said shortly, her dark eyes challenging her son. “Eat your lunch, Bowie, then you and Gaby and I might show Ned the operation here.”
    â€œWhat a wonderful idea,” Gaby agreed enthusiastically. “Casa Río has some beautiful purebred Brahmans.”
    â€œI hate Brahmans,” Ned said pleasantly, and smiled as if at some secret joke, his lean hands ladling chili into a bowl from the red pot on the table. “Ugliest damned cattle in the world.”
    â€œYes, they are,” Aggie chuckled, “but very suited to desert conditions.”
    Bowie finished his cigarette and put it out with a deliberate motion that meant trouble.
    â€œWhat breed of cattle do you like, Mr. Courtland?”
    â€œCall me Ned.” He pursed his lips as he sampled the ham. “I like red and white ones.”
    Gaby picked up her napkin and smothered a helpless laugh in it. Aggie was doing the same thing. Bowie looked as if he might take a bite out of his plate and then Mr. Courtland.
    â€œHave some ham, Bowie.” Gaby offered the platter to him quickly.
    He searched her eyes with pure malice, but he took the hint. He fell to eating while Aggie and Gaby caught up on each other’s gossip. Mr. Courtland seemed pretty intent on his own food, but there was a definitely amused gleam in his dark eyes the one time Gaby got a good look at them.
    After lunch, Gaby stuck to Bowie like glue, torn between her growing attraction for him and her need to help Aggie ward off his temper before it exploded over Mr. Courtland.
    The pasture stretched all the way to the main highway. Parts of it were fenced, only to keep in certain cattle. The rest, like most ranch land, was open range, and the cattle wandered where