seeing them more in the role of dutiful brothers than dates. Her father had alsopartnered with her when her role of daughter demanded it. She could usually pull it off quite nicely by concentrating on where she put her feet.
Tonight, though, Jack’s nearness proved a huge distraction, and her lack of dancing experience quickly showed itself. She winced yet again when she stepped on the toes of his gleaming black cowboy boots for the third time. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “I wish being with me didn’t make you so tense,” he said, real regret in his voice.
He knew. She wanted to die. “No. I’m clumsy. That’s all.”
They came to the edge of the dance floor, and he dropped his arms. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Elizabeth. I know something’s wrong. What have I done to make you so jumpy?”
She reached out and grasped his forearm. The muscle beneath her fingers was strong and steady, but she knew he’d never use that strength to hurt her. How could she tell him it wasn’t a bad kind of nervousness distracting her?
“No. It’s me,” she said instead. “I wish I could—”
“Elizabeth,” a stern voice said from behind.
Her father. Elizabeth’s heart fell. Not now.
She turned to face Reginald Boyer, and her consternation doubled. Her mother stood at her father’s side looking all pinch-mouthed and annoyed. She’d told them she wouldn’t be going to the Graystone Ball and hadn’t thought to let them know her plans hadchanged. Thank goodness they’d never lower themselves to argue in public.
“Mother. Father. I’d like you to meet my escort for the evening, Jack Alton. Jack, my father, Reginald Boyer.”
“Taggert’s new number-two man?” her father asked but didn’t take Jack’s hand. The frown stayed in place.
“Yes, sir. I signed on as Laurel Glen’s foreman just before the West Nile problem,” Jack said and looked at his extended hand, practically forcing her father to shake it. Which, after shooting a furious glance at Elizabeth, her father did, but with little grace.
“And this is my mother, Louise,” Elizabeth said, hoping her lack of enthusiasm didn’t show.
“Alton. Alton? Of the West Chester Altons?”
“Colorado, ma’am.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth’s mother replied with a look on her face that spoke of a bad smell. “I’d like a word with you, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth knew the problem. Jack didn’t come with an Ivy League pedigree and more than likely didn’t have the kind of bank account that could get them out of trouble. Lance Goodwin Bond had both, and she’d refused to attend the Graystone Ball with him. Of course, she would have refused to attend a dogfight with that pompous jerk. Consequently her parents saw her as an ungrateful daughter, and she was sure they’d cast Jack in the part of interloper.
Just then she caught the look that passed betweenher parents. There was no way she was leaving Jack with her father, and besides, she and her mother had talked enough lately. Especially since Louise Boyer had developed a one-track mind—and that track was named Lance!
Threading her arm with Jack’s, Elizabeth replied, “I don’t think so, Mother. Perhaps I’ll see you after the event tomorrow. Jack, darling,” she continued, pretending not to notice her mother’s glare. “I think I heard something about a cold supper in the dining room. Shall we see what there is to offer?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” her father snapped. “But we will talk tomorrow.”
“What was that all about?” Jack asked.
“Some mothers dream of a knight in shining armor for their daughter. My mother dreamed of a nice fat bank account with legs. She’s a little miffed that I wouldn’t come here with a certain prime specimen after all the work she went to reeling him in.”
After all, Elizabeth thought, what did her mother care if her daughter was happy as long as she secured a new source of funds—one with an acceptable pedigree—for their life-style?
They were
Tonight, though, Jack’s nearness proved a huge distraction, and her lack of dancing experience quickly showed itself. She winced yet again when she stepped on the toes of his gleaming black cowboy boots for the third time. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “I wish being with me didn’t make you so tense,” he said, real regret in his voice.
He knew. She wanted to die. “No. I’m clumsy. That’s all.”
They came to the edge of the dance floor, and he dropped his arms. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Elizabeth. I know something’s wrong. What have I done to make you so jumpy?”
She reached out and grasped his forearm. The muscle beneath her fingers was strong and steady, but she knew he’d never use that strength to hurt her. How could she tell him it wasn’t a bad kind of nervousness distracting her?
“No. It’s me,” she said instead. “I wish I could—”
“Elizabeth,” a stern voice said from behind.
Her father. Elizabeth’s heart fell. Not now.
She turned to face Reginald Boyer, and her consternation doubled. Her mother stood at her father’s side looking all pinch-mouthed and annoyed. She’d told them she wouldn’t be going to the Graystone Ball and hadn’t thought to let them know her plans hadchanged. Thank goodness they’d never lower themselves to argue in public.
“Mother. Father. I’d like you to meet my escort for the evening, Jack Alton. Jack, my father, Reginald Boyer.”
“Taggert’s new number-two man?” her father asked but didn’t take Jack’s hand. The frown stayed in place.
“Yes, sir. I signed on as Laurel Glen’s foreman just before the West Nile problem,” Jack said and looked at his extended hand, practically forcing her father to shake it. Which, after shooting a furious glance at Elizabeth, her father did, but with little grace.
“And this is my mother, Louise,” Elizabeth said, hoping her lack of enthusiasm didn’t show.
“Alton. Alton? Of the West Chester Altons?”
“Colorado, ma’am.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth’s mother replied with a look on her face that spoke of a bad smell. “I’d like a word with you, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth knew the problem. Jack didn’t come with an Ivy League pedigree and more than likely didn’t have the kind of bank account that could get them out of trouble. Lance Goodwin Bond had both, and she’d refused to attend the Graystone Ball with him. Of course, she would have refused to attend a dogfight with that pompous jerk. Consequently her parents saw her as an ungrateful daughter, and she was sure they’d cast Jack in the part of interloper.
Just then she caught the look that passed betweenher parents. There was no way she was leaving Jack with her father, and besides, she and her mother had talked enough lately. Especially since Louise Boyer had developed a one-track mind—and that track was named Lance!
Threading her arm with Jack’s, Elizabeth replied, “I don’t think so, Mother. Perhaps I’ll see you after the event tomorrow. Jack, darling,” she continued, pretending not to notice her mother’s glare. “I think I heard something about a cold supper in the dining room. Shall we see what there is to offer?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” her father snapped. “But we will talk tomorrow.”
“What was that all about?” Jack asked.
“Some mothers dream of a knight in shining armor for their daughter. My mother dreamed of a nice fat bank account with legs. She’s a little miffed that I wouldn’t come here with a certain prime specimen after all the work she went to reeling him in.”
After all, Elizabeth thought, what did her mother care if her daughter was happy as long as she secured a new source of funds—one with an acceptable pedigree—for their life-style?
They were
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