The Reluctant Lark

by Iris Johansen

  His golden eyes were narrowed like those of a pouncing cat. “What about it, little dove? Truce?”

  For an instant she felt a moment of apprehension as she met that predatory gaze. Was she underestimating the power and determination of the man? There was little doubt that despite the curious tenderness that he displayed to her, he was a very dangerous man. Then she shrugged off the worrisome thought. She absolutely refused to let fanciful imaginings cause her to be intimidated.

  “Truce,” she agreed firmly, setting the cup back in its saucer. She was rewarded by a brilliant smile that was so tender that it caused a strange flutter somewhere near her heart.

  “I’ll see that you don’t regret it,” he said quietly, as he rose to his feet and picked up the tray from her lap. “I’ll get rid of this tray and be back in a minute. I think you’d better stay in bed and rest for today.” As he headed for the door, he glanced back over his shoulder to ask, “Do you play chess?”

  “No,” she answered. “I’ve never bothered to learn.”

  “I’ll teach you.” He grinned. “It’s a great way to hone up your strategic skills. I’ve never enjoyed an easy victory.”

  Her lips curved in a reluctant smile as he opened the door. Then her smile faded, and a frown crossed her brow. “Rand!” she called impulsively. When he looked back inquiringly, she asked, “Who’s Laura?”

  He gave her a grin that held an element of mischief. “I think I’ll let you wonder about that for a while. They say a little spice of jealousy can be a healthy ingredient to any relationship.” He closed the door softly behind him.

  Four

  Sheena was not destined to meet Laura Bradford until the next morning.

  Challon had given permission for Sheena to come downstairs for breakfast, and she realized that she was very eager to leave her sickbed behind her. She found that she was only a little shaky when she got out of bed and made her way to the adjoining bathroom to shower and wash her hair. Then, feeling considerably better, she returned to the bedroom to search out something to wear.

  There was more than a generous selection in the built-in closet and the bureau drawers, she discovered. They contained everything from the most fragile underwear to designer jeans and imported bulky knit sweaters. She was amused to note that except for the jeans, everything was in hues that rivaled the peacock for brilliance. Evidently Challon had been quite sincere in his hatred for her drab, somber wardrobe and had supplied her with one to his own taste. It didn’t even surprise her that everything was in her size. A man as thorough as Challon would hardly slip up on a minor detail such as that.

  She pulled on a pair of designer jeans and a stunning scarlet and white ski sweater. She made a face as she noticed the slight looseness in the waist of the jeans. Well, the fit was almost perfect. Challon couldn’t be expected to have anticipated the weight loss due to her illness. Her face was thinner, too, she noticed gloomily, as she brushed her dark gypsy curls into some sort of order.

  In fact, the image that looked out of the mirror was so delicate and fragile-looking that she gave a sigh of discouragement. Even the stunning scarlet of the sweater could not turn her into the exciting, full-blooded woman that Challon had said was his ideal. His purported obsession for her would probably be a temporary aberration that would fade with lightning rapidity when he recognized that she had none of the sophisticated appeal of his usual female companions. It wouldn’t surprise her if he jetted her back to her own world even faster than he’d whisked her away. She was careful not to ask herself why this thought caused her to feel a sudden moroseness. Slipping into brown dockside strollers, she left the bedroom.

  Challon was waiting in the hallway at the foot of the stairs, and there was no hint of disappointment in his face as his gaze went over her with lingering thoroughness as she came down the stairs. When she reached the third step from the bottom, he grasped her slim waist in both his hands and swung her down the last steps. He gave her a quick, hard kiss before putting her down.

  When she would have protested, he said softly, “I missed you. Do you know that last night was the first night since we arrived here that I haven’t slept with you?” He chuckled as her eyes widened in shock. “Of course you probably don’t remember much of it, but I found it very pleasant to have you curled up so trustingly in my arms.”

  He was wrong. She remembered quite vividly snuggling up to the golden man on several occasions, but she hadn’t realized that he had slept with her as a matter of course. She could feel the color flood her cheeks as she remembered that she apparently had been completely nude during that entire week.

  He chuckled again as he noticed her sudden discomposure. Keeping one arm around her waist, he turned her in the direction of the kitchen. “Come along and meet Laura,” he said.

  With its glowing maple cabinets and early American decor, the combination kitchen/dining room had a colorful hominess. The polished maple dining table and red-gingham cushioned captain’s chairs fronted an oval brick fireplace that contained a cheerful fire.

  Challon propelled Sheena past the dining area to a tall, elegant figure standing with her back to them at the stove. Slipping his arms about the woman’s waist, he planted a light kiss on the nape of her neck. “Sheena, this is my best girl, Laura Bradford.”

  The woman turned and leveled a stern eye at Challon. “If you don’t stop your hell-raising and fooling around, I’ll be the only girl who will have you, Rand Challon,” she said tartly.

  Laura Bradford was a woman in her middle sixties and undoubtedly one of the plainest women Sheena had ever met. The older woman was almost painfully thin and just a shade under six feet. Her short mousy brown hair was thin and permed into a riot of curls framing a freckled face whose only charm lay in a pair of exceptionally fine eyes, the color of rich brandy. Her unimpressive appearance, however, was more than offset by the character in her face and the chic elegance of the navy blue slacks and heavy silk Dior smock that she wore.

  “Laura, my love, you cut me to the quick,” Challon said mournfully, his golden eyes dancing. “Now hold that razor tongue of yours and say good morning to Sheena.” He turned to Sheena and explained. “Laura practically raised me from the time I was four. She was first my nanny and then my governess. When I realized that I might need help when you became ill, I sent out an SOS, and she left her teaching job in Houston and came running.”

  Sheena smiled shyly. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance. Rand said you hated to cook sickroom meals.”

  Laura Bradford grimaced. “I hate to cook, period,” she said. “I eat most of my meals out when I’m in Houston. But you were no trouble. In fact, I was glad for something to do. Rand wouldn’t let anyone else near you.” She shot him a cross look. “For a high-powered tycoon, you don’t know much about delegating responsibilities.” She turned away and dished up a bowl of scrambled eggs and thrust the bowl at Challon. “You go sit down and get out of my way while I finish up,” she ordered briskly, as she turned back to the stove.

  “May I help you?” Sheena asked politely. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice in cooking, but I could do the donkey work.”

  The older woman shook her curly brown head firmly. “All we need is two inexperienced cooks in the kitchen. Tomorrow you’d probably be back in bed with a stomach ache, and I’d have him storming all over the place again.” She turned the bacon carefully. “Knowleton may bow out as his personal physician as it is. He wasn’t at all pleased with all that shouting and ranting.”

  To her surprise Sheena noted a guilty flush on Challon’s face. “I was worried,” he said belligerently, then took Sheena’s arm again. “We’d better do as she says, or the shrew will probably poison us.”

  It wasn’t until they were seated at the table before the fire and Challon had poured each of them a cup of coffee from the carafe on the sideboard, that he spoke again. “Laura isn’t as tough as she pretends. Though, at times she comes pretty close. She’s the most loyal individual I’ve ever know
n, but you’ve got to take the tart with the sweet where Laura’s concerned.”

  Sheena stirred her coffee slowly, her eyes on the tall woman bustling briskly about the kitchen. “She doesn’t look like my idea of a nanny. She’s not exactly cozy, is she?”

  Challon shook his head. “No, she’s certainly not cozy. I wouldn’t have known what to do with your standard model nanny when I was a kid. She would have been as out of place at Crescent Creek as Mary Poppins.”

  “Crescent Creek?” Sheena asked. She vaguely remembered that Barbara O’Daniels had mentioned that as one of Challon’s assets.

  “It’s a ranch in the Rio Grande valley,” he explained casually, leaning back in his chair. “I was born and raised there. My father made Crescent Creek his headquarters until my mother died when I was three. After that, he spent most of his time in Houston and only came home periodically.”

  “He didn’t take you with him?” she asked, surprised.

  Challon shook his head, “My father was definitely not the paternal type,” he said dryly. “Not that I can blame him for not wanting to be saddled with me. I was a wild young hellion even then, and I didn’t improve much as I got older. I nearly drove Laura crazy until I went away to college. She said that going back to teaching was a rest cure after raising me.”

  Sheena could well imagine the challenge that the young Rand Challon had offered.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to persuade her to stay on in some other capacity,” Sheena said thoughtfully. It was clear that there existed a deep bond of affection between the two, and judging by her own experience with Challon’s autocratic possessiveness, it was inconceivable that he would let her go easily.

  He scowled. “I offered her everything from the position of housekeeper to a vice-presidency at Challon Oil, but she wouldn’t stay. She said she wouldn’t have a job created for her once she’d outlived her usefulness.” Evidently his failure to get his own way still rankled, for his lips tightened grimly. “Lord save me from an independent woman!”

  Sheena smothered a tiny smile and looked quickly down at her coffee. So the arrogant Rand Challon didn’t get his own way quite all of the time.

  The affectionate rapport between Challon and Laura Bradford was not particularly obvious, Sheena noticed, when the older woman finished serving and joined them for breakfast a few moments later. Their conversation was light and bantering and on Laura’s part tinged with acid tartness. It was only when Sheena watched closely that she saw the glimmer of tender amusement in Challon’s eyes and the occasional fleeting expression of fierce, almost maternal pride on Laura Bradford’s face as she looked at Rand Challon.

  After breakfast, Challon’s former governess banished them both firmly from the kitchen with an authority that caused Sheena to smile. Perhaps if Laura Bradford had stayed on, Rand Challon would not be quite the dictator he was today.

  Perhaps Challon’s meekness was due to the fact that the governess’s orders had been in accordance to his own wishes, for he strode briskly to the closet in the foyer with Sheena firmly in tow. “You haven’t been out of the house in a week. We’ll get a little fresh air and some exercise.”

  He bundled her into a heavy green plaid jacket and pulled a red sock cap over her hair and ears. “You won’t need boots any longer. Most of the snow has melted, and the little that’s left refroze last night and is pretty hard packed.”

  “Snow?” Sheena asked. She dimly remembered that he’d mentioned on the night of their arrival that snow was expected. Strange to think that she’d been oblivious for an entire week to everything that wasn’t contained within the four walls of that bedroom at the top of the stairs.

  Challon had pulled on his sheepskin jacket now. “We had one hell of a snowstorm,” he said, as he grabbed her hand and opened the front door. “Knowleton almost didn’t make it here.” He grinned. “He said that he was going to bill me double for hazard pay.”

  The air was cold and sharp and felt marvelously invigorating as they made their way briskly down the hill, past the landing strip toward the woods beyond.

  “This is really magnificent country,” Sheena said, her gaze encompassing the majesty of the snowcapped mountains under a sky so blue that it hurt the eyes to behold.

  “Wait a bit,” Challon said, his eyes twinkling. “You haven’t seen anything yet, little dove.”

  As they entered the forest, she was suddenly aware of what he meant. “It’s beautiful,” Sheena breathed ecstatically.

  It was more than that, it was an enchanted fairyland from a distant childhood dream. The green pine trees were hung with countless garlands of icicles, which sparkled in the strong morning sunlight like multifaceted diamonds, their shimmering prisms reflecting their rainbow hues against the brilliant blue of the sky. The pristine blanket of snow crunched crisply beneath their feet as Challon led her down the winding trail to the small lake at the bottom of the hill. The lake was lent a breathtaking beauty by the winter’s storm; the sparkling blue surface was coated with a thin sheet of ice that had a glittering transparency.

  “It’s as if a wicked magician imprisoned all this beauty for himself in his crystal ball,” Sheena said softly.

  “Trust the Irish to be lyrical about a natural phenomenon,” Challon teased. “What really happened was that the lake froze solid and is now in the process of thawing.”

  Sheena smiled at him. “I like my explanation better. You Americans have no appreciation for the mystical.”

  “Remember that you’re half American yourself,” Challon pointed out, as he took her hand in his and stuck them both in his jacket pocket. “If your parents hadn’t been killed when they were, you might even have gone there to live.” They were strolling leisurely along the path that circled the lake, and Sheena found that she was enjoying the companionable intimacy of their walk.

  Challon looked down at her. “Watch what you say about Americans, dove. You may live to regret it. I intend to deluge that Irish side of you so thoroughly with everything American that in six months time you’ll be singing the ‘Star-spangled Banner’ instead of those dreary dirges you’re so fond of.”

  Sheena chuckled. “You may succeed at that,” she said lightly. “You’ve already got me wearing red, white, and blue.”

  He looked down at her blue jeans and the scarlet and white ski sweater revealed by her open coat and grinned. “I told you that I only had to sit back and let your own instincts take over in order to reform you. You’re halfway there already, my fine Irish colleen.”

  She threw him an indignant look but still left her hand enveloped in his. She was too content to argue with him this morning. The sky was too blue, the crisp cold air too exhilarating, their surroundings too magically beautiful to spoil by conflict of any sort.

  They had reached the upper end of the lake when Challon noticed Sheena’s growing breathlessness. He stopped abruptly, his keen gaze raking her face and noting a faint flush on her cheeks. “You’re getting tired. Why didn’t you tell me that this was all too much for you? You’re just out of a sickbed, for God’s sake!”

  She smiled involuntarily as she recalled how he had bustled her out of the house without even giving her a chance to say yea or nay. “I’m just a little tired. I didn’t want to stop. It’s so beautiful here, just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

  “Right,” he said briskly. Ignoring her startled protest, he lifted her in his arms and strode swiftly to a fallen pine tree several yards away. He sat down on the log and cradled her in his lap. He opened his sheepskin coat and pulled her into its sheltering folds. “So rest, already.”

  Sheena wondered helplessly how he expected her to relax with her ear pressed to his hard, strong shoulder and the clean, earthy smell of him surrounding her. “This isn’t necessary,” she protested in a muffled voice as his hand began to stroke her tousled dark curls soothingly.

  His chuckle reverberated in her ear. “No, but it’s a hell of a lot of fun. Now lay still and let me cuddle you. It seem
s like a long time since I held you like this.”

  It had only been one night, she thought, but she wasn’t in the mood to quibble at the moment. She was finding the warm, virile strength of Challon’s body a heady contrast to the crisp coldness that surrounded them, and she unconsciously snuggled closer. She heard his low laugh again, this time with a note of triumph, and his arms tightened about her.

  She could see his smoky breath on the still, cold air above her as he said, “You’re like a fine-boned kitten, all softness and silk. And you’re all mine, aren’t you, love?”

  She raised her head to protest, to tell him no, to tell him that she was no one’s possession. But she met the golden intensity of his eyes, and the words died away without being spoken. There was no arrogant superiority, no smug triumph in his face at that moment. There was only a joyousness and a depth of tenderness that was incredible.

  “Just as I’m completely yours,” Challon said huskily, and slowly bent his head to take her lips.

  Sheena felt her throat tighten with unshed tears at the sheer beauty of the moment. She lifted her hand unconsciously to stroke the hard contour of his cheek. It was cold beneath her fingers. But his lips were warm and coaxing as they brushed across her throat to rest against the pulse in the soft hollow.

  “You’re beginning to realize that now, aren’t you, love?” he said softly. “You’re beginning to know that I’d never take anything from you without giving a more than even exchange.” His warm lips were on hers once more, and she could feel her heart stop in her throat at the glowing tenderness of his embrace. “Give to me,” he urged softly. “Open to me, dove. Let me love you, and I promise that you’ll never want to fly away again. Can’t you feel that you’ve come home at last?”