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his long legs under the table. His black eyes pinned hers. “Maybe.”
    â€œAbout Aggie,” she guessed, because she couldn’t imagine making any man nervous, least of all Bowie.
    â€œAbout Aggie,” he said flatly. He fingered the case, smoothing over his initials. J.B.M., it read—James Bowie McCayde. He’d never liked his first name, so he’d always been called Bowie.
    â€œWhat’s she done?”
    â€œIt isn’t what she’s done, so much as what she’s about to do.” He leaned forward suddenly. “She’s bringing a man home to Casa Río.”
    â€œAggie’s bringing a man... I need a drink—something big.”
    â€œThat’s what I felt, too. It isn’t like her.”
    The waiter came, but Bowie ordered coffee, not drinks, and sat patiently while Gaby read the entire menu twice before settling for a taco salad.
    â€œMy God, you didn’t need a menu to order that,” he said curtly when the waiter had gone.
    â€œYou didn’t need one to order steak ranchero, either,” she told him with a grin, “but you read the menu.”
    â€œI wanted to make sure they still had steak ranchero.”
    She shrugged. “Who is this man?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know him. She met him on a cruise down to Jamaica. His name is Ned Courtland.”
    â€œI don’t know him.”
    â€œNeither do I. She says he’s a cattleman from somewhere up north.” He glowered at the table. “More than likely, he’s got a couple of calves in a lot out back and he’s looking for a rich widow.”
    â€œAggie wouldn’t get mixed up with a gold digger,” she began but she was wondering about it herself.
    â€œAggie’s human, and she misses my father. She’s ripe for a holiday affair.”
    She stiffened. “Aggie isn’t the type to have affairs, any more than I am.”
    His head lifted and his black eyes scanned her face. He seemed to see right into her brain with that unblinking appraisal. It upset her and she moved her hand too quickly, almost overturning her water glass.
    â€œCareful.” He righted the glass, his big, lean hand momentarily covering hers. Its warm strength sent an electric sensation up her arm. She lifted her eyes to his, curious and questioning, and he stared back at her with a faint scowl, as if the contact bothered him, too.
    She didn’t try to pull her hand away. She was nervous of Bowie, but she’d never had any physical distaste for him, as she did with other men. She liked the touch of his skin against hers very much, and every once in a while, she found herself staring at his mouth with frank curiosity. She wondered how it would feel to kiss him, and that shocked her. She’d been kissed, but it had been somehow mechanical. She’d never really wanted it with anyone except Bowie—not that he knew. She’d made very sure that he hadn’t. He was the kind of man who took over people. She couldn’t bear the thought of that, ever.
    He drew his hand back slowly, aware of an annoying surge of pleasure at the feel of those slender fingers under his. Gaby was off limits, he had to remember that. Aggie would cut his hands off if he tried anything with her baby.
    Aggie had never made any secret of her love for Gaby, nor had his father. They seemed to stop caring about him the day Gaby had moved into Casa Río, and he felt like a spare person in the family. Gaby had robbed him of his rightful place. He tried not to show that resentment, but he frequently felt it. It had been Gaby at his father’s bedside when he died, because his father had called for Gaby before he had asked for his son. By the time he got to Copeland, it had been too late. He’d resented that, too. Aggie hadn’t seemed to notice. She was affectionate, but she reserved her displays of emotion for Gaby. Not once in recent years had she offered to embrace her