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His air of formality had a tongue-in-cheek quality to it that made it easier for Jessy to tolerate. She had always been a down-to-earth person, frequently speaking with a man’s bluntness.
She did so now. “To be honest, when I first met you, I assumed that if there was anyone in Montana you would want to spend time with it would be Tara.”
He feigned a shudder of distaste. “Please,” he dragged out the word in emphasis, “don’t tell me I made that poor of a first impression.”
It was so dryly said, with so many undertones of criticism of Tara that Jessy laughed warmly and richly. If nothing else, the fact that Monte shared her dislike of her late husband’s first wife was enough to endear him to her.
“It wasn’t anything you said or did,” Jessy assured him. “It was merely an assumption on my part.”
“Frankly, I don’t know if Tara is fascinated by my brother’s title or hopeful that I might introduce her to the current Earl of Stanfield.”
Laura sat back on her heels, bright-eyed with excitement. “Is Aunt Tara coming tonight?”
“No. She’s off on a trip somewhere.” Thankfully, Jessy added to herself.
“Is she in Texas with Grampa?”
“I don’t know where she went this time, honey,” Jessy replied, despairing that her daughter would ever get over her idolization of Ty’s first wife.
The corners of Laura’s mouth turned downward. “I want a red dress like this one.” She referred to the picture she was coloring. “If Aunt Tara was here, she’d get me one.”
“I don’t want to hear you asking Tara for one, Laura,” Jessy warned, mollified that maybe it was only the presents Tara showered on the twins that attracted Laura to the woman.
Suppressing a smile, Monte inquired, “How old did you say she is?”
“She will be four.”
“Ah, that explains it. She is nearly a woman grown.”
“And very particular about what she wears. Everything has to match.” Even worse, she loved dresses. Jessy blamed Tara for that. As a child, Jessy had been too much of a tomboy to ever want to wear a dress. Her daughter’s desire for anything and everything feminine was totally alien to her.
“Good news.” Cat sailed into the den, carrying a serving plate crowded with appetizers. “Sally says dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. With any luck, Logan will be here by then, but with this storm I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets called away to an accident scene.”
She offered the assortment of appetizers first to Monte, then to Jessy. Standing side by side, the two women were a study in contrasts. Cat, with her glistening black hair and green eyes, was petite and strikingly beautiful, gifted with a tremendous capacity for emotion, which she rarely concealed. On the other hand, the fair-haired and hazel-eyed
Jessy was tall and boy-slim, projecting a steady calm and innate strength. It was rare that she ever revealed what was going on inside her head, whereas Cat was an open book.
“The two of you do understand that I am accepting this dinner invitation only on the condition that you come to my ranch on Sunday.” After a scant pause, Monte added, “Chase will be back by then, won’t he?”
Jessy nodded. “When I spoke to him yesterday, he said he planned to fly home on Friday.”
“Good.” He nodded decisively. “I am eager for him to see my new arrivals.”
“What new arrivals?” Cat asked.
“Your cattle arrived, then?” Jessy used the lift of her voice to turn the statement into a question.
“They did,” he confirmed.
“You imported some cattle,” Cat guessed and helped herself to a cracker mounded with crab salad.
“Not just any cattle,” Monte asserted with a hint of pride. “These are registered Highland cattle.”
“Highland,” Cat repeated. “Aren’t those the ones that have shaggy hair hanging around their horns, making them look like they have bangs?”
“Their appearance is quite distinctive,” Monte agreed with his typical flair for understatement. “But their attributes are many and valuable. Once the American public learns of them, the demand for Highland beef will soar.”
“What makes Highland beef better than any other beef?” Cat showed her skepticism.
