by Kay Hooper
“Damn,” she murmured.
“I just wanted to warn you.”
“All right. Thanks, Uncle Edward. I’ll get through it somehow.”
“Good luck.”
Amanda cradled the phone, staring at it without seeing it. How on earth was she going to “get through” this situation and emerge intact?
“Amanda?”
She forced the jumbled thoughts into the back of her mind. “Morning, Penny.”
“Morning. Doug just came up from the corral to say your horse was ready. But so is breakfast. Aren’t you hungry? You missed supper last night.”
Amanda shrugged. “I don’t have much of an appetite. Penny…could you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Name it.”
“You’re the only one here besides me who knows that Edward Wilderman owns this place; could you keep it to yourself for a while? There’s a business deal in the offing.”
The housekeeper nodded incuriously. “Okay. Nemo’s in the kitchen eating his breakfast, so you’d better slip out while he’s distracted. It looks like he’s adopted you, and he doesn’t get along too well with the horses. Look, don’t ride out too far or be gone too long. I just heard a weather bulletin and there’s a storm coming in.”
That, Amanda reflected, was all she needed. “I’ll be out only an hour or so.”
“I’ll keep your breakfast warm.”
“You don’t have to—”
Penny cut her off with a dismissing gesture. “It’s no trouble. Besides, if you start living on your nerves, we’ll all be in trouble. From the looks of things, you’re going to need your strength.”
Amanda was left to ponder that as Penny disappeared back down the hallway to the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if the housekeeper had meant the problems of guests in a house under renovation, or if she had noticed other problems.
The sound of a door closing upstairs sent Amanda quickly out of the house. It was quite definitely cold outside, the sun just rising on a clouded horizon, and she zipped up her quilted jacket and pulled on warm gloves as she made her way down to the corral.
“Morning, Amanda,” Doug called, emerging from the stock barn as she approached. He met her and, after a glance around to make certain they wouldn’t be overheard by the few men who were doing the early morning feeding and watering of the stock, said, “Edward told me you might be working on this place, so I brought Whiskey up from Texas.”
“Oh, thanks, Doug.” She felt instantly more cheerful, and smiled at the middle-aged foreman.
Doug Chandler oversaw all the Wilderman ranching concerns, handpicking men and stock, then remaining at each place until it was established and he could safely leave someone else in charge. He knew Amanda well, since she spent several weeks each year on the Texas ranch.
He nodded toward the big, heavily muscled quarter horse tied to the corral’s top rail. “He’s ready for you. But watch him. He’s still sulking. I hauled him up with some other stock, and you know how he hates road travel.”
Amanda laughed. “Yes, I know. I shouldn’t be out more than an hour or so.”
“Okay.” He waved and headed back for the barn.
She went over to the big sorrel, careful to approach his head. Whiskey was a definite handful with a low tolerance for people—and just about everything else. As a young stallion he’d been wildly savage, and though gelding had left him relatively manageable, he still retained his uncertain temper and his stubborn resistance to authority. He was ten years old now, and Doug had often sworn that if he hadn’t been the best cow horse in Texas, somebody would have taken a shotgun to him years ago.
Amanda liked the horse because he kept her on her toes. He was apt to kick or bite, and had a number of other bad habits calculated to unnerve a rider. But he tolerated her more than most people, so the bite he aimed at her now was more or less automatic and halfhearted, and she avoided it easily.
“Be nice,” she warned him, untying the reins and checking the girth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Whiskey send her a glance, his ears back. He’d held his breath while Doug had tightened the girth, so now it was too loose to hold the saddle securely. Amanda tightened it firmly and quickly, checked the length of the stirrups, and then mounted the horse before he could think of trying something else.
She felt his back bow up in a prelude to bucking as she turned him away from the fence, but he settled down after a few steps, obviously deciding not to bother trying to throw her; he’d been trying that for more than five years, and had yet to succeed. He moved out in his easy, ground-covering trot, obeying Amanda’s guiding touch on the reins to head northwest toward the Bighorn Mountains.
Amanda had no particular destination in mind. She just wanted to give the cold air a chance to blow away a few cobwebs in her mind. She opened and closed several gates without dismounting, riding steadily northwest and enjoying the chill wind on her face. They passed through several stands of cattle, and Whiskey flicked an ear back at her, but since he obviously wasn’t expected to work today, he made no attempt to herd the cattle and get them moving.
She stopped finally, almost an hour later, near a couple of cottonwood trees, and it wasn’t until then that she realized she wasn’t going to be alone. Between the wind in her face and the rhythmic creaking of the saddle, she had heard nothing, but as soon as she and the horse were still she heard approaching hoofbeats.
She turned Whiskey to see who it was, and felt little surprise when she saw Ryder coming toward her. He was on a big gray gelding, and by the way he sat easily in the saddle Amanda knew that he’d been riding for years.
“Don’t you know it’s freezing out here?” he called.
“Don’t you?” she retorted.
Ryder pulled up abreast of her so that their horses were standing side by side but facing in opposite directions. He was wearing a thickly quilted jacket, jeans, gloves, and boots, as she was. And, just as she was, he was hatless.
“I’m hot-natured,” he said. “Cold weather doesn’t bother me at all.”
Amanda eyed him. “I don’t think I want to touch that remark,” she said.
“Not up to my weight this morning?”
Totally against her will she felt a sensual heat as she thought of his weight on her. Hoping her cheeks were already reddened by the cold, she managed to say lightly, “I’m not a morning person. Sue me.”
He studied her thoughtfully, his eyes bright. “You’re being elusive,” he said in a considering tone. “Last night scared you, didn’t it?”
Her first impulse was to deny that unequivocally, but a saner voice prevailed. What was the use of denying what was obvious? she thought wryly. She touched her heels to Whiskey’s sides so that he started walking back toward the ranch house, and waited until Ryder brought his own horse alongside before she spoke.
“I suppose it’ll pander to your ego if I say yes,” she muttered.
“No.” He was silent for a moment. “The opposite, I think. I don’t want to scare you, Amanda. Fear doesn’t belong between a man and a woman.”
She kept her gaze focused ahead, a little surprised by what he said but unwilling to show it. She tried to nerve herself up to tell him who she was but, again, couldn’t find the words to explain.
“You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?” he said suddenly.
This time it required a supreme effort not to turn her head and look at him. “Haven’t we all?” she said flippantly.
A large, gloved hand reached over to cover hers and draw back on the reins. She felt Ryder’s knee brush hers, and was dimly surprised that Whiskey didn’t sidle or kick in his usual objection to being crowded by another horse. Maybe he was mellowing, she thought.
“Amanda, look at me.”
He’d bewitched her horse. He’d bewitched her. She turned her head and looked at him. He was too close, and the intensity of him enveloped her.
“What are you afraid of? Being hurt again? I don’t want to hurt you.”
She heard the ghost o
f a laugh escape her. “Do you think that matters?”
A slight frown drew his brows together. “Don’t good intentions count?”
“You know what they say about the road to hell.” She pushed his hand away from the reins. Now was the moment, she thought. Now she had to tell him the truth. But she was feeling too much to shape the truth into words. She was feeling so much that she didn’t know what she felt.
Ryder was staring at her, his sharp gray eyes narrowed. But before he could say anything, Amanda realized that it was beginning to snow.
“We’d better get back,” she said. “There’s a storm coming.” She lifted the reins slightly and her horse obediently moved forward.
The man riding beside her said nothing for several minutes. Then, quietly, he said, “He must have hurt you very badly.”
Surprising herself, Amanda replied to that honestly. “Hearts don’t break, Ryder. We don’t break. We just make stupid mistakes.”
“What mistake did you make?”
She thought about that, then managed a smile even though she wasn’t looking at him. “I think I made the mistake of expectations. It isn’t a particularly original story.” She was mocking herself now, trying to keep it light. “I expected him to be honest. He wasn’t.”
“And you got hurt.”
Her own words had caused guilt to sweep over her, and Amanda chided herself angrily. Dammit, why couldn’t she tell him the truth? She responded to his comment almost absently. “I also got over it.”
“Did you?”
She decided not to answer that. Instead, she said, “We’d better hurry,” and urged Whiskey into a lope before Ryder could accuse her of running away.
The remainder of the ride back to the ranch was accomplished in silence. By the time they drew up near the house, the light snow had become big, wet flakes blown by a stiff wind, and visibility was decreasing rapidly.
“I’ll take them to the barn,” Ryder said. “You go on into the house.”
Amanda dismounted and handed him her reins. “Thanks. Doug will unsaddle them.”
“See you inside.”
She went into the house, shaking the snow off her jacket and hair as she stood just inside the kitchen door on a braided rug. She tucked her gloves into the pockets of her jacket, then hung it up on a peg by the door. She took one step into the warmth of the big kitchen, but was halted by the large, unhappy dog standing squarely before her. He gave her a look of heart-rending reproach.
“I’m sorry,” she said involuntarily. “But we went a long way, and you would have gotten tired.”
Nemo waved his tail in acknowledgment but whined low in his throat, still unhappy.
Amanda looked across the room at Penny, who was busy mixing the ingredients for a cake. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked Penny.
“He doesn’t like storms,” Penny said calmly. “The last time I saw him this upset, we were snowed in for a week.”
Amanda winced. “Great. It’s really coming down out there.”
“I know. The work crew turned around and left no sooner than they got here. The foreman said to tell you they’d be back when the weather cleared. Nobody wanted to get stuck this far from town. Your breakfast is in the top oven.”
“I really don’t—”
“Eat,” Penny insisted without looking at her.
It was less trouble to give in. Amanda patted Nemo on his massive head, then crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Where’s Sharon?”
“I sent her to town with one of the men. Supplies, just in case.”
“I hope they make it back all right,” Amanda said uneasily.
“Don’t worry. They went in that new four-wheel-drive Doug brought with him.”
Amanda set her coffee cup on the old wooden table pushed over in one corner, deciding to eat in the kitchen rather than in lonely splendor in the dining room. She went to the two ovens that were built-in and opened the top one. Two plates were inside, both heaped with pancakes and crisp bacon.
“Ryder?” Amanda asked, sending Penny a questioning look.
“Uh-huh,” Penny murmured, industriously mixing batter. “He asked where you were. As soon as I told him, he headed for the barn.”
“Oh,” Amanda said.
The back door opened suddenly, admitting a gust of cold air and a snow-covered Ryder. “Did somebody say something about a storm?” he demanded as he forced the door shut behind him. “That’s no storm out there. That’s a blizzard.”
Chapter 5
Without replying to his announcement, Amanda retrieved both plates from the oven and carried them to the table. “Coffee’s over there,” she said with a nod when he’d removed his gloves and jacket. She found napkins and silverware for them both and carried them to the table, then sat down and began eating her breakfast.
Ryder joined her with his coffee, whistling under his breath, seemingly cheerful for a man who anticipated being snowed in for days to come.
Amanda tried to keep her mind off that probability. “Penny, what about the other guests?”
Penny shrugged philosophically. “We’re ready for them, but I’m not going to hold my breath. The next was due to arrive tomorrow; another few hours and the roads are going to be impassable. I’d say until this blows over, it’s going to be just us.”
Just the four of them, Amanda reflected. Just her, Penny, Sharon, and Ryder. There were more than a dozen ranch hands out in the bunkhouse, of course, but that was self-contained; the men had their own kitchen, their own cook, and their own work to do—even in a blizzard.
Amanda felt a little desperate. With only the four of them in the house, there was barely enough work for Penny and Sharon, let alone her. She could do virtually none of the work she’d come to the ranch to do, since the workmen wouldn’t be around. Quite literally, there was nothing for her to manage. Except far too much free time.
And a guest who wanted her.
She stole a glance at the man sitting across from her, and found him regarding her with a faint smile.
“Don’t look so worried,” he said softly for her ears alone.
Amanda knew at that moment, with utter clarity, that she had to tell him the truth about herself. Now, before this—whatever it was—between them went any further. She looked down at her half-empty plate, then rose and carried it to the sink.
“I’ll take care of that,” Penny said, taking the plate away from her.
Nodding, Amanda went silently out of the kitchen. She went down the hall and into the den, knowing Ryder would follow her. Having made her decision at last, she felt an odd kind of peace. No, she realized, not peace. A sense of suspension. A waiting.
“Amanda?”
There was a fire in the fireplace, blazing merrily. Penny must have built it, Amanda thought as she stood before the smoke-blackened old brick hearth and turned to face him. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
He crossed the room slowly until he reached the couch. “Should I sit down?” he asked politely.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He did, his expression growing a bit more serious as her tension obviously communicated itself to him. “Okay. I’m braced for it.”
Amanda tried to think of the best way to explain this. She’d known it would be difficult, but…“Have you ever worked for a relative?”
“No. I don’t have many.”
“Well, it’s easier sometimes if the people around you don’t know that you’re related to the boss.”
Ryder nodded. “I can see how it would be. And so?”
She drew a breath and looked away from him, watching Nemo enter the room and lie down on a rug near the door. “And so, since I often work for my uncle, I prefer to do so as just another employee. And because we have the same last name, I use my mother’s maiden name whenever I’m doing a job for him.” She looked back at Ryder.
“Your name isn’t Trask?” He seemed very still, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at her.
�
�No.” She rushed on before he could ask the next logical question. “When I came out here I didn’t know who was on the guest list. It wasn’t until you told me why you’d come that I realized things were going to be…tangled.” Of all the incoherent explanations, she thought a bit wildly, this had to be the worst.
“Who are you?” Ryder asked, his voice suddenly flat.
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, wondering why, between them, the furnace and the fire weren’t heating the room. She felt cold. “I’m—Amanda Wilderman.”
After a moment he said, “Wilderman Electronics.”
It wasn’t a question.
But she answered. “Yes.”
“You own the company.”
She nodded. “I don’t have much to do with the day-to-day running of it. But I knew about Dunbar’s patent, knew we were trying to get the rights. Until you told me, I hadn’t known that they’d been sold at all, much less to a guest about to arrive here.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
Amanda could find nothing in his voice or his face. No emotion at all. He was just watching her, his eyes shuttered. She shook her head slightly and heard a touch of bitterness in her own voice. “I learned a lot about expectations, remember? No, I don’t expect you to believe me.”
“Is it the truth?”
“Yes. I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t know that Cyrus Fortune had bought the rights to Dunbar’s system, or anything else about him. He was just a name on a list of guests.” She felt tired.
Ryder got up from the couch and moved until he was standing an arm’s length from her. “I believe you,” he said.
Amanda stared up at him. “What?”
“I said I believe you.”
She was startled. “Why?” she asked slowly.
“Several reasons.” He was looking down at her, his eyes grave. “I don’t think you’d lie about it, for one thing. You aren’t the type for that. But the most convincing reason is purely practical.”
“And that is?”
“The fact that you wouldn’t have anything to gain by such an elaborate deception, as far as I can see. I mean, why the cloak and dagger? You don’t have to resort to such tricks. Unless I’m much mistaken about your company, you have the resources to offer a hell of a lot more than I could possibly come up with.”