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  "Are you taking him to the parade?" he asked, his tone less belligerent than it had been the night before.

  She shook her head, wiping flour off her hands and dabbing at a streak of it on the denim skirt that she was wearing with a yellow tank top.

  "Why did you say you were?" he added.

  She glanced at him angrily. "Because you made me sound like a female Jack the Ripper last night, as if I didn't even care about my own father."

  His eyes slid down her body and back up again, a vis­ual touch that made her nerves sit up and scream. No man had ever looked at her like that, so sensually that she felt as if he'd stroked her bare breasts. She caught her breath.

  He trapped her eyes with his, reading her response in them. So she wasn't immune to him. She might be expe­rienced, but she was vulnerable just the same. A faint smile touched his hard mouth.

  "I know you care about your father," he said. "I just don't like the amount of time you spend with Hale."

  "Brandon is—"

  "A clown," he finished for her, his smile fading. "Too irresponsible and flighty for a woman with your depth. He's probably never satisfied you once."

  What he meant was evident in his tone, and she al­most dropped the bag of flour in her haste to put it away. She kept her back to him while she made biscuits, hop­ing he'd go away.

  "He makes me laugh," she said through her teeth.

  He came up behind her, his body so close that she

  could feel the heat and strength of it at her back, smell

  the faint cologne he wore. She tensed all over, waiting for him to touch her, waiting for his lean hands to bite into her waist and jerk her back into his body, for those same hands to smooth up her rib cage to her full, throbbing breasts and cup them

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  Her eyes blinked. He wasn't touching her. She felt his breath on her nape, but he was just looking over her shoulder, that was all. But she was on fire to kiss his hard mouth, to touch him, to hold him against her. She had to clench her teeth to still the feverish excitement he created with his proximity. Perhaps he didn't realize how vul­nerable she was, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  "I'm making biscuits." Heavens, was that husky whisper really her voice?

  "And ham? I like country ham."

  "Yes, I know. I'm going to fry it while the biscuits cook. There's coffee on the stove if you want some."

  "I noticed."

  But he didn't move. She started pinching off biscuits and laying them neatly into the round baking pan in front of her, but her hands were trembling. He was torment­ing her. She wanted to scream.

  She turned her head helplessly and looked up into his eyes, and all at once she knew. That flicker of mocking amusement in his face was enough to convince her that he was all too aware of the effect he had on her.

  "Do I bother you, Pepi?" he drawled, deliberately letting his gaze drop to her full, parted lips. "Surely I shouldn't if Hale is enough for you."

  Her breath was ragged. She forced her head back down so that she could concentrate on her biscuits. "Is Edie enough for you?" she countered outrageously.

  "When I'm in the mood, anything with breasts is enough for me," he said curtly, angered by her refusal to admit her interest in him.

  "C.C!" she burst out, whirling.

  His hands slid past her wide hips to rest on either side of her on the table, effectively trapping her. His gaze was relentlessly probing. "You don't want me to know that you're attracted to me. Why?"

  "This isn't fair," she whispered. "I've looked out for you for years, I've done my best to make you comfort­able, to help you when I could. Is this any way to pay me back for being your friend?"

  He stared at her unblinkingly. "I told you, I don't need a nursemaid. But you've been avoiding me and I don't like it. I want to know why."

  "And this is how you plan to find out?" she asked, her voice wobbling a little, because his nearness was devas­tating to her senses.

  "It's the quickest way," he replied. "You've been backing away ever since that day in the hall." His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. "In fact, you've been back­ing away since that night in Juarez. What did I do to you, Pepi? Did I try to make love to you?"

  "No!" she burst out.

  "Then what happened?" he asked.

  She couldn't tell him. She should, but she couldn't. She lowered her eyes to his broad chest. "You said I could probably throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of the bar," she said dully, repeating the blistering insult he'd thrown at her. "That I was nothing but a tom­boy. . ."

  He didn't remember. But he could see the hurt on her face, and that disturbed him. "I was drinking," he said gently. "You know I didn't mean anything I said."

  She laughed painfully. "No? I thought people always told the truth when they drank, because they were unin­hibited."

  He drew in a slow, deep breath. "What else did I say?"

  "That was more than enough. I closed my ears to the rest of it."

  "And that's why you've been avoiding me?" he per­sisted, as if it mattered. In fact, it did. He'd been smart­ing ever since, hurt by her avoidance as he'd rarely been hurt by anything.

  She hesitated. Then she nodded.

  He bent his head and laid his cheek against hers, nuz-

  zling it gently. The silence in the kitchen grew hot with

  restrained excitement. She could almost hear her own

  heartbeat. . . or was it his? She all but stopped breath-

  ing. He smelled of cologne and tobacco, and his cheek

  was rough and warm where it lay against hers. He didn't try to kiss her, or even pull her against him. But his face drew slowly against her own, and she felt his thick eye-lashes against her cheek, her chin, her soft throat, felt the heat of his tobacco-scented breath on her breasts as his forehead rested on her collarbone and she felt the bridge of his nose on the bare swell of her breast where it slowly pushed the fabric out of the way

  "Pepi, where the hell is the newspaper?"

  C.C. lifted his head as her father's voice exploded from the hall. He stared down at her shocked face with nar­rowed eyes in a face like honed steel. He edged away from the table, his lean hands at his sides, and his gaze dropped to the drooping neckline of the tank top, which her cold fingers fumbled to adjust.

  She met C.C.'s gaze for one long, shattering instant and then she turned abruptly back to her biscuits with trembling hands and a heartbeat that shook her.

  "There you are. Morning, C.C," her father said with a chuckle. "I found the paper," he added, waving it as he went to the table and sat down. "Pepi had already brought it in."

  "Happy Birthday," Pepi said with a forced smile. "I'm making breakfast."

  "So I noticed. Do I get a cake?"

  "Coconut, your favorite, and all your favorite foods for supper," she added.

  "C.C, you can come over and help me eat it," he told the younger man.

  "I'm afraid not," C.C. replied, glancing at Pepi's rigid spine. "I'm taking Edie to the parade, and then down to Juarez to spend the day shopping,"

  "Well, you'll enjoy that, I'm sure," Ben said slowly, aware of odd undercurrents in the kitchen.

  "Come with us. You, too, Pepi," he added carelessly. "We'll celebrate your birthday in Mexico," he told Ben.

  "Great idea! I haven't taken a day off since I don't know when. Pepi will enjoy it, too. We'll do it, then to­night you and Edie can come home with us and have supper, can't they, Pepi?"

  She was going to die. She knew she was going to die. Thank God nobody could see her face. "Of course they can," she said through her teeth. "We'll have a lovely time." What else could she say, she wondered. After all, it was Ben's birthday. He was entitled to spend it the way he pleased. But she was still going up in flames at the way C.C. had touched her, and the thought of watching him with Edie all day made her want to run screaming into the yard.

  "Just the four of us," C.C. added as he sat down with a cup of cof
fee in his hand. "Not Hale."

  She swallowed. "Brandon can't come anyway. He's going to be working all day and most of the night."

  "I thought you liked Brandon," Ben Mathews re­marked, eyeing C.C. curiously.

  "I do. I just don't like him hanging around Pepi," C.C. replied honestly. He glanced at her rigid back and away. "She can do better,"

  Ben chuckled. Now the undercurrents began to make sense. He shot a curious look toward his daughter, not missing the flush on her cheeks and the way she fumbled biscuits into the oven. He wondered for a minute what he'd interrupted by bursting into the kitchen. Then C.C. asked him a question about the culled cattle he was sell­ing off, and the moment was forgotten.

  The biscuits went fast. Pepi had to grab to get one at all, and the ham and scrambled eggs went even faster.

  "You're inhaling it!" she accused them.

  "Can I help it if you're the best cook around?" C.C. asked innocently.

  "A good cook beats a fashion plate any day," her fa­ther remarked bluntly. "Ought to marry this girl, C.C, before she takes her pots and pans elsewhere."

  "Dad!" Pepi exclaimed, shattered. She went white with horror, remembering that marriage license in her bureau drawer.

  C.C. frowned. That was an odd reaction for a woman who'd been as responsive as she had a few minutes ago. She was acting pretty oddly lately, and he didn't believe it was only because he'd hurt her feelings in Juarez. No, there had to be something more. Something had hap­pened that night, he was sure of it. But what?

  "I don't want to get married, to a good cook or a fashion plate," he murmured absently to Ben, scowling as he turned his attention back to the biscuit he was but­tering. He missed the expression on Pepi's face.

  "Don't you want kids?" Ben asked curiously.

  Pepi could have cried when she saw the way that in­nocent question affected C.C. Her father didn't know what she did about their foreman's past.

  "Have another biscuit," she broke in, shoving the plate in her father's face with a scowl.

  He was quick, was Ben. He realized instantly that he'd said something he shouldn't. "Well, where's the honey?" he demanded, camouflaging the brief silence. "You've eaten it all, haven't you? It was my honey!"

  "It was your apple pie," she threw back. "You ate every bit of it and didn't even offer me any, so you can forget the honey, it's mine!" She clutched the jar to her breasts and glared at him across the table.

  C.C. was touched by her attempt to protect him, even now. He watched her quietly, thinking how attractive she was, extra pounds and all. Come to think of it, she didn't look overweight. She looked just as a woman should, all soft and rounded and sweet. He liked her freckles and the way her hair caught fire and burned like bronze and honey in the sun. He liked the way she talked, the way she smelled. He liked a lot of things about her. And if it hadn't been for the tormenting memories, for the wounds of the past, he might have considered marrying her. But no, marriage wasn't something he coveted. It was a part of life he'd already experienced. Despite his jealousy of Hale, the other man would probably be better for Pepi than he would.

  He never should have touched her. Now he was going to have to undo the damage he'd just done by losing his head before Ben walked in. He'd have to play up to Edie to throw Pepi off the track, to make sure she didn't get any ideas about him. Friendship was all he had to offer, and the sooner he made that clear to her the better. But he was going to have to keep his emotions under control to accomplish that. She went to his head, more so every day. He'd said and done things that he'd never meant to; he'd deliberately made passes at her. He couldn't under­stand his loss of control, or his sudden fascination with Pepi. Perhaps the long hours and hard work of the past few weeks were telling on him. He frowned and studied his cooling coffee. Maybe what he needed was a vaca­tion. God knew he hadn't taken one in three years. He might go back to Jacobsville, Texas, where he was born, and visit his three brothers who were running the family business in his absence. He might go and try to face the past, if he could.

  "I said, when do you want to leave?" Ben asked him for the second time.

  "About nine-thirty," he said, tossing down the rest of his coffee. "We don't want to get there too late for the parade."

  "Are you sure you want both of us along?" Pepi asked hesitantly.

  He got up and glared at her. "It's your father's birth­day. Of course I'm sure. Edie and I will enjoy having company." His eyes narrowed. "After all, we're alone most of the time. As we will be tonight, when I take her home. I don't mind sharing her occasionally."

  Ben chuckled, but Pepi felt as if she'd been slapped. Coming so close on the heels of C.C.'s ardor, it was painful to be reminded that he belonged to someone else. She got up and began to clear the table absently.

  C.C. went out the door without looking back. He hated hurting her. He never should have touched her.

  Pepi took her time dressing. She'd thought about wearing one of her colorful Mexican dresses for the pa­rade, with their lavish embroidery so delicate against the bone-white cotton and lace. But if Edie was going along, she might as well not bother to look feminine. Beside the blonde, she felt like an oversized tank.

  She put on gray slacks and a bulky khaki top, tying her hair back in a severe ponytail. She looked terrible, she thought as she saw her reflection, defiantly leaving off makeup as well. Good. That would show C.C. Tremayne what she thought of him!

  It did. He scowled at the sight of her, no less than her father had when she'd come downstairs.

  "What the hell happened to you?" C.C. demanded. He'd changed, too, into a very becoming yellow knit de­signer shirt and tan slacks, a creamy Stetson perched on his black hair.

  "What do you mean? I look the way I always do," Pepi defended.

  "You didn't look like that last night," he said accus­ingly.

  "Last night, I dressed up for Brandon," she said, staring back at him. "You have Edie to dress up for you," she added meaningfully.

  C.C. shifted his eyes uncomfortably. He'd deserved that. "Ready to go, Ben?" he asked the older man, who was dressed casually himself.

  "Just let me get my hat." He glanced at his daughter and scowled. "You could have worn that Mexican dress, just for me. I thought it looked just right for a fiesta."

  "It doesn't fit," she lied, averting her gaze from C.C. "Besides, I look like a hippo in it—"

  "You don't look like a hippo," C.C. said angrily. "My God, will you stop harping on your weight? You're just right. At least you look like a woman. People don't have to stop and guess when you walk by!"

  Pepi stared at him with raised eyebrows. He glared at her and turned away just as Ben joined them.

  She wondered if she was ever going to understand him. He was acting so completely erratic these days, like a man in love. She sighed. Probably it was just a matter of time before he and Edie tied the knot, despite what he'd said at the breakfast table about not wanting to marry again. She turned, picking up her purse on the way out the door. Anyway, why would he look twice at her with someone as beautiful as Edie on his arm?

  Edie was waiting in C.C.'s Ford, looking bored and irritable.

  "Finally!" she muttered. "It's hot out here!"

  "Sorry. I had to find my hat," Ben mumbled as he put Pepi into the back seat and climbed in beside her.

  "I didn't mean to sound like that, Ben," Edie purred, all smiles when C.C. climbed in under the wheel and cranked the car. "You know we're delighted to have you, and Pepi, with us today. Happy Birthday!"

  "Thanks," Ben said. He glanced at his daughter's quiet, sad face. She sat stiffly beside him, staring blankly out the window. He was beginning to get the picture about the way she felt. If she wasn't in love with C.C, she was giving a good imitation of a woman who was.

  "Well, on to the parade," Edie mused, checking her makeup in her compact mirror. "Want to borrow a lip­stick, Pepi? I didn't realize I'd rushed C.C that much."

  "I'm not wearing any," Pepi replied, "but thank you.
"

  Edie glanced at her and then shrugged.

  The parade was colorful and there was a crowd. The Diez Y Seis de Septiembre celebration was the annual observance of Mexico's independence from Spain— Mexico's Independence Day. Pepi always enjoyed the music and the floats, and the carnival atmosphere, but today she was preoccupied. She put on a happy face for her father's benefit, hoping he wouldn't see through it. But C.C.'s obvious interest in Edie was killing her. He had a possessive arm around the blonde, and once he bent and kissed her hungrily in full view of Pepi and the rest of El Paso.

  Pepi turned away to buy a pinwheei from a passing vendor, glad for the diversion. She handed it to her fa­ther, deliberately keeping her eyes away from C.C.

  "Happy Birthday, Dad," she said gently and smiled. "I've got your present at home. I thought you could have it with your cake after supper.''

  ''That will be a nice touch." He patted her shoulder. "Sorry about this," he murmured, nodding toward an oblivious C.C. and Edie. "I should have refused,"

  "No, you shouldn't. It's your birthday." She smiled. "It's for the best, you know. I was wearing my heart out on him. It's just as well that I have to face how he really feels. Dreams are sweet, but you can't build a future on them."

  "You've been different lately, Pepi," her father said surprisingly. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

  "A lot." She turned her eyes toward C.C. "But, first I have to tell him something. I should have told him be­fore, but it's not too late. The minute we get home I'll make it all right. Then," she said with a rueful smile, "I'm going to need a shoulder to cry on, I think."

  "You aren't in trouble, or anything?" her father asked hesitantly.

  She laughed. "Not the kind you're thinking, no.'' She sighed and watched the parade. "It will be all right," she said, trying to convince herself. "It's just a little thing. Just a minor inconvenience."

  She hoped C.C. would see it like that. She had to tell him today, before she lost her nerve. He and Edie were getting involved, anybody could see that. She couldn't, in all good conscience, let him face a bigamy charge be­cause of her own stubborn pride. Tonight, she'd tell him the truth, and hope for the best.