easily by Hugh and was soon on the defensive. “Do I have any hope of winning?” she asked at one point.
“None,” said Christian.
“Oh, I wouldn’t give up yet,” Hugh encouraged. “You have several good pieces left.”
“But I can’t seem to do anything but sacrifice them.”
“Take charge,” Christian said, leaning closer. “Make him do what you want.”
Lynnette’s eyes met Christian’s, blue and deep. She felt oddly touched that he would offer her encouragement. She tried her best to do as he said. In three moves she was able to call check instead of always hearing it. But four moves later it was over.
“I’m afraid your advice came too late,” she told Christian.
“Another?” Hugh asked.
“I think I should quit while I can still salvage my pride.” She glanced at Arlen, thinking she should return to his side. The comfort of the chair was her excuse for not wanting to move.
“Arlen?” Hugh asked. His son declined, and he waved Lynnette back into the chair, settling deeper into his own. “Tell us how your trip went, Arlen.”
As Arlen started to speak, Emily came down the stairs. She was dressed in a pale blue robe, the hem of a white nightgown and her bare toes visible as she walked. Her hair was down around her shoulders again. She went straight to Christian and handed him a brush. He moved to the edge of his seat, and Emily, turning away from him, knelt on the floor.
Lynnette heard very little of what Arlen said. The wing of the chair hid him from her view, anyway. It was much more pleasant to watch Emily’s profile as Christian dragged the brush through her hair. An occasional glance at Hugh told her he was engrossed in Arlen’s conversation.
With skillful movements, Christian began to plait his sister’s hair. He drew up lock after lock, working them into the braid. Never once did Emily’s expression suggest that he had snagged a hair or tugged too hard. Christian’s face bore a wistful expression that brought a lump to Lynnette’s throat.
It was all over in a few minutes. Over her shoulder Emily handed him a ribbon, and he tied it around the end of the braid. She stood, and he gave her the brush. When she whispered something to him and hugged him, Lynnette forced her eyes away.
Arlen seemed to be coming to the end of his narrative, and she had heard none of it. She hoped he wouldn’t expect her to remember something later. Perhaps she could claim she had fallen asleep.
“I’ll play you, Papa.”
“Have my seat,” Lynnette offered. “I believe I’ll turn in.”
“I’ll see you to your room.” Arlen was at her side in a moment, offering his arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Christian turn and look at her before stepping out the door.
Arlen walked her slowly up the stairs and, outside the bedroom door, he wished her good-night. He bent to kiss her lips, and Lynnette felt she shouldn’t flinch away. At the same time, she didn’t return the kiss, and it all felt very awkward.
Lynnette wondered if he even noticed. He gazed at her adoringly, and she needed to break the spell. “It’s kind of you to give up your room,” she said, placing a hand on the doorknob.
“I’ll dream of the night I can share it with you,” he murmured softly. Lynnette saw his cheeks blush faintly.
She opened the door, her thoughts on escape. A cool breeze greeted her. The balcony door was open, and the temperature had dropped quickly after sundown. Arlen brushed past her and latched the door. For a moment she thought her quick move into the room had been interpreted as an invitation.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked, striking a match and lighting the lamp on the dresser. “I could start a fire to ward off the chill.”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” she said, praying that she had been wrong. How would she gently discourage him?
“Then good night,” he said, and started out of the room, only to stop short once he was past her. Lynnette held her breath. “Tyrant,” he said.
Lynnette turned to the bed to find the big black and white cat sitting disdainfully in the middle of the quilt “How did he get in here?”
“From the balcony, I imagine. Come on out, now.” He waved the cat toward the door.
Lynnette tried to picture the view from the balcony. “I don’t remember any large trees near the house.”
The cat hopped off the bed and rubbed himself against Arlen’s legs. “He climbs the chimneys,” Arlen explained. Lifting the cat in his arms, he bade her good-night once again. Lynnette followed him to the door and closed it behind him.
Picturing the cat’s athletic feats brought a smile to her lips. It wasn’t until she was ready for bed that she allowed herself to remember the things Arlen had said. He seemed to be actively wooing her. He would make a kind and caring husband, and she was unusually lucky.
She blew out the lamp, and twilight spilled into the room through the balcony door. She went to pull the curtains, but found herself stepping onto the balcony instead. What she could see of the barn was a black silhouette against the orange remains of the sunset.
She stepped to the railing to see more. A whinny brought her attention downward. A black horse was barely visible in the small corral. It was tied close to the center post. Christian slowly rubbed the long neck. Her ears, more in tune to the distance now, heard his soothing voice.
She remembered Arlen’s comment about catching opponents while they were tired, but Christian didn’t look at odds with the horse. In fact, his movements reminded her more of the way he had braided his sister’s hair. It was beautiful to watch. As he moved around the horse, it tossed its head and tried to shy away. In moments it was still again as Christian rubbed it neck, its back, its sides.
Something warm unexpectedly curled inside her. She had begun to imagine those hands running over her own body. What wicked thoughts! She quickly turned back into the room, latching the door and drawing the curtain.
Christian spoke softly to the stallion, stroking the silky coat. He had seen the light go out in Arlen’s room, the one Lynnette was using. It hadn’t helped him get his mind off the woman. This morning he had determined to spend as much time with her as possible to learn her true feelings for Arlen. Now, he was reluctant to do so and wasn’t sure why.
Some tiny sound or sixth sense told him he was being watched. He moved toward the stallion’s head and without breaking the rhythm of his strokes, glanced toward the house. In the twilight, he could make out a white-gowned, almost ghostly, figure on the balcony.
He closed his eyes, willing the figure out of his mind. The horse, sensing his inattention, whinnied and tried to pull free.
“Whoa now,” he murmured. “You can’t go till I say. You might as well relax. That’s a good boy.”
He wasn’t going to look up. He turned his back on the house to avoid the temptation. The stallion tossed his head, testing the rope. Christian calmed him again.
Hell, why should an audience ruin his concentration, especially when that audience was a little slip of a city girl he didn’t even like. No, that wasn’t true. He had decided not to like her and found it harder to do than he had expected.
He heard the click of the balcony door closing. He should be able to put her out of his mind now. Who was she, anyway, to dominate his thoughts? She was pretty, sure. Polite and pleasant. Still, she was nothing like the woman he wanted for a helpmate. She should be easy to forget.
But she wanted Arlen, he reminded himself. And he wasn’t going to let his little brother ruin his life by marrying a gold digger. It had all happened too fast to be anything else. He would watch her and expose her for what she was. If her circumstances were truly dire, his family was