Heartbreaker

by Linda Howard

  They were the words of a lover, but she was shaking with cold. Roger was already crazy. How many times had he whispered love words to her only moments after a burst of rage, when she was stiff with terror, her body already aching from a blow? But then he’d be sorry that he’d hurt her, and he’d tell her over and over how much he loved her and couldn’t live without her.

  Her lips were so stiff that she could barely form the words. “Please leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “You don’t mean that. You know I love you. No one has ever loved you as much as I do.”

  “I’m sorry,” she managed.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I’m not going to talk to you, Roger. I’m going to hang up.”

  “Why can’t you talk? Is someone there with you?”

  Her hand froze, unable to remove the receiver from her ear and drop it onto its cradle. Like a rabbit numbed by a snake’s hypnotic stare, she waited without breathing for what she knew was coming.

  “Michelle! Is someone there with you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m alone.”

  “You’re lying! That’s why you won’t talk to me. Your lover is there with you, listening to every word you’re saying.”

  Helplessly she listened to the rage building in his voice, knowing nothing she said would stop it, but unable to keep herself from trying. “I promise you, I’m alone.”

  To her surprise he fell silent, though she could hear his quickened breath over the wire as clearly as if he were standing next to her. “All right, I’ll believe you. If you’ll come back to me, I’ll believe you.”

  “I can’t—”

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there? I always knew there was. I couldn’t catch you, but I always knew!”

  “No. There’s no one. I’m here all alone, working in Dad’s study.” She spoke quickly, closing her eyes at the lie. It was the literal truth, that she was alone, but it was still a lie. There had always been someone else deep in her heart, buried at the back of her mind.

  Suddenly his voice was shaking. “I couldn’t stand it if you loved someone else, darling. I just couldn’t. Swear to me that you’re alone.”

  “I swear it.” Desperation cut at her. “I’m completely alone, I swear!”

  “I love you,” Roger whispered, and hung up.

  Wildly she ran for the bathroom, where she retched until she was empty and her stomach muscles ached from heaving. She couldn’t take this again; she would have the phone number changed, keep it unlisted. Leaning against the basin, she wiped her face with a wet cloth and stared at her bloodless reflection in the mirror. She didn’t have the money to pay for having her number changed and taken off the listing.

  A shaky bubble of laughter escaped her trembling lips. The way things were going, the phone service would be disconnected soon because she couldn’t pay her bill. That would certainly take care of the problem; Roger couldn’t call if she didn’t have a telephone. Maybe being broke had some advantages, after all.

  She didn’t know what she’d do if Roger came down here personally to take her back to Philadelphia where she “belonged.” If she’d ever “belonged” any one place, it was here, because John was here. Maybe she couldn’t go to the symphony, or go skiing in Switzerland, or shopping in Paris. It didn’t matter now and hadn’t mattered then. All those things were nice, but unimportant. Paying bills was important. Taking care of the cattle was important.

  Roger was capable of anything. Part of him was so civilized that it was truly difficult to believe he could be violent. People who’d known him all his life thought he was one of the nicest men walking the face of the earth. And he could be, but there was another part of him that flew into insanely jealous rages.

  If he came down here, if she had to see him again…if he touched her in even the smallest way…she knew she couldn’t handle it.

  The last time had been the worst.

  His parents had been in Europe. Roger had accepted an invitation for them to attend a dinner party with a few of his business associates and clients. Michelle had been extremely careful all during the evening not to say or do anything that could be considered flirtatious, but it hadn’t been enough. On the way home, Roger had started the familiar catechism: She’d smiled a lot at Mr. So-and-So; had he propositioned her? He had, hadn’t he? Why didn’t she just admit it? He’d seen the looks passing between them.

  By the time they’d arrived home, Michelle had been braced to run, if necessary, but Roger had settled down in the den to brood. She’d gone to bed, so worn out from mingled tension and relief that she’d drifted to sleep almost immediately.

  Then, suddenly, the light had gone on and he’d been there, his face twisted with rage as he yelled at her. Terrified, screaming, stunned by being jerked from a sound sleep, she’d fought him when he jerked her half off the bed and began tearing at her nightgown, but she’d been helpless against him. He’d stripped the gown away and begun lashing at her with his belt, the buckle biting into her flesh again and again.

  By the time he’d quit, she had been covered with raw welts and a multitude of small, bleeding cuts from the buckle, and she’d screamed so much she could no longer make a sound. Her eyes had been almost swollen shut from crying. She could still remember the silence as he’d stood there by the bed, breathing hard as he looked down at her. Then he’d fallen on his knees, burying his face in her tangled hair. “I love you so much,” he’d said.

  That night, while he’d slept, she had crept out and taken a cab to a hospital emergency room. Two years had passed, but the small white scars were still visible on her back, buttocks and upper thighs. They would fade with time, becoming impossible to see, but the scar left on her mind by the sheer terror of that night hadn’t faded at all. The demons she feared all wore Roger’s face.

  But now she couldn’t run from him; she had no other place to go, no other place where she wanted to be. She was legally free of him now, and there was nothing he could do to make her return. Legally she could stop him from calling her. He was harassing her; she could get a court order prohibiting him from contacting her in any way.

  But she wouldn’t, unless he forced her to it. She opened her eyes and stared at herself again. Oh, it was classic. A counselor at the hospital had even talked with her about it. She didn’t want anyone to know her husband had abused her; it would be humiliating, as if it were somehow her fault. She didn’t want people to pity her, she didn’t want them to talk about her, and she especially didn’t want John to know. It was too ugly, and she felt ashamed.

  Suddenly she felt the walls closing in on her, stifling her. She had to get out and do something, or she might begin crying, and she didn’t want that to happen. If she started crying now, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  She got in the old truck and drove around the pastures, looking at the new sections of fence John’s men had put up. They had finished and returned to their regular chores. Tomorrow they’d ride over on horseback and move the herd to this pasture with its high, thick growth of grass. The cattle could get their fill without walking so much, and they’d gain weight.

  As she neared the house again she noticed how high the grass and weeds had gotten in the yard. It was so bad she might need to move the herd to the yard to graze instead of to the pasture. Yard work had come in a poor second to all the other things that had needed doing, but now, thanks to John, she had both the time and energy to do something about it.

  She got out the lawn mower and pushed it up and down the yard, struggling to force it through the high grass. Little green mounds piled up in neat rows behind her. When that was finished, she took a knife from the kitchen and hacked down the weeds that had grown up next to the house. The physical activity acted like a sedative, blunting the edge of fear and finally abolishing it altogether. She didn’t have any reason to be afraid; Roger wasn’t going to do
anything.

  Subconsciously she dreaded going to bed that night, wondering if she would spend the night dozing, only to jerk awake every few moments, her heart pounding with fear as she waited for her particular demon to leap screaming out of the darkness and drag her out of bed. She didn’t want to let Roger have that kind of power over her, but memories of that night still nagged at the edges of her mind. Someday she would be free of him. She swore it; she promised it to herself.

  When she finally went reluctantly up the stairs and paused in the doorway to her delicately feminine room, she was overcome by a wave of memories that made her shake. She hadn’t expected this reaction; she’d been thinking of Roger, but it was John who dominated this room. Roger had never set foot in here. John had slept sprawled in that bed. John had showered in that bathroom. The room was filled with his presence.

  She had lain beneath him on that bed, twisting and straining with a pleasure so intense that she’d been mindless with it. She remembered the taut, savage look on his face, the gentleness of his hands as he restrained his strength which could too easily bruise a woman’s soft skin. Her body tingled as she remembered the way he’d touched her, the places he’d touched her.

  Then she realized that John had given her more than pleasure. She hadn’t been aware of fearing men, but on some deep level of her mind, she had. In the two years since her divorce she hadn’t been out on a date, and she’d managed to disguise the truth from herself by being part of a crowd that included men. Because she’d laughed with them, skied and swam with them—as long as it was a group activity, but never alone with a man—she’d been able to tell herself that Roger hadn’t warped her so badly, after all. She was strong; she could put all that behind her and not blame all men for what one man had done.

  She hadn’t blamed them, but she’d feared their strength. Though she’d never gone into a panic if a man touched her casually, she hadn’t liked it and had always retreated.

  Perhaps it would have been that way with John, too, if her long obsession with him hadn’t predisposed her to accept his touch. But she’d yearned for him for so long, like a child crying for the moon, that her hunger had overcome her instinctive reluctance.

  And he’d been tender, careful, generous in the giving of pleasure. In the future his passion might become rougher, but a bond of physical trust had been forged during the night that would never be broken.

  Not once was her sleep disturbed by nightmares of Roger. Even in sleep, she felt John’s arms around her.

  Chapter Six

  SHE HAD HALF expected John to be among the men who rode over the next morning to move the cattle to the east pasture, and a sharp pang of disappointment went through her as she realized he hadn’t come. Then enthusiasm overrode her disappointment as she ran out to meet them. She’d never been in on an actual “cattle drive,” short as it was, and was as excited as a child, her face glowing when she skidded to a stop in front of the mounted men.

  “I want to help,” she announced, green eyes sparkling in the early morning sun. The respite from the hard physical work she’d been doing made her feel like doing cartwheels on the lawn. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d been until she’d had the opportunity to rest, but now she was bubbling over with energy.

  Nev Luther, John’s lanky and laconic foreman, looked down at her with consternation written across his weathered face. The boss had been explicit in his instructions that Michelle was not to be allowed to work in any way, which was a damned odd position for him to take. Nev couldn’t remember the boss ever wanting anyone not to work. But orders were orders, and folks who valued their hides didn’t ignore the boss’s orders.

  Not that he’d expected any trouble doing what he’d been told. Somehow he just hadn’t pictured fancy Michelle Cabot doing any ranch work, let alone jumping up and down with joy at the prospect. Now what was he going to do? He cleared his throat, reluctant to do anything that would wipe the glowing smile off her face, but even more reluctant to get in trouble with Rafferty.

  Inspiration struck, and he looked around. “You got a horse?” He knew she didn’t, so he figured that was a detail she couldn’t get around.

  Her bright face dimmed, then lit again. “I’ll drive the truck,” she said, and raced toward the barn. Thunderstruck, Nev watched her go, and the men with him muttered warning comments.

  Now what? He couldn’t haul her out of the truck and order her to stay here. He didn’t think she would take orders too well, and he also had the distinct idea the boss was feeling kinda possessive about her. Nev worked with animals, so he tended to put his thoughts in animal terms. One stallion didn’t allow another near his mare, and the possessive mating instinct was still alive and well in humans. Nope, he wasn’t going to manhandle that woman and have Rafferty take his head off for touching her. Given the choice, he’d rather have the boss mad about his orders not being followed than in a rage because someone had touched his woman, maybe upset her and made her cry.

  The stray thought that she might cry decided him in a hurry. Like most men who didn’t have a lot of contact with women, he went into a panic at the thought of tears. Rafferty could just go to hell. As far as Nev was concerned, Michelle could do whatever she wanted.

  Having the burden of doing everything lifted off her shoulders made all the difference in the world. Michelle enjoyed the sunshine, the lowing of the cattle as they protested the movement, the tight-knit way the cowboys and their horses worked together. She bumped along the pasture in the old truck, which wasn’t much good for rounding up strays but could keep the herd nudging forward. The only problem was, riding—or driving—drag was the dustiest place to be.

  It wasn’t long before one of the cowboys gallantly offered to drive the truck and give her a break from the dust. She took his horse without a qualm. She loved riding; at first it had been the only thing about ranch life that she’d enjoyed. She quickly found that riding a horse for pleasure was a lot different from riding a trained cutting horse. The horse didn’t wait for her to tell it what to do. When a cow broke for freedom, the horse broke with it, and Michelle had to learn to go with the movement. She soon got the hang of it, though, and before long she was almost hoping a stray would bolt, just for the joy of riding the quick-moving animal.

  Nev swore long and eloquently under his breath when he saw the big gray coming across the pasture. Damn, the fat was in the fire now.

  John was eyeing the truck with muted anger as he rode up, but there was no way the broad-shouldered figure in it was Michelle. Disbelieving, his black gaze swept the riders and lighted unerringly on the wand-slim rider with sunny hair tumbling below a hat. He reined in when he reached Nev, his jaw set as he looked at his foreman. “Well?” he asked in a dead-level voice.

  Nev scratched his jaw, turning his head to watch Michelle snatch her hat off her head and wave it at a rambunctious calf. “I tried,” he mumbled. He glanced back to meet John’s narrowed gaze. Damned if eyes as black as hell couldn’t look cold. “Hell, boss, it’s her truck and her land. What was I supposed to do? Tie her down?”

  “She’s not in the truck,” John pointed out.

  “Well, it was so dusty back there that…ah, hell!”

  Nev gave up trying to explain himself in disgust and spurred to head off a stray. John let him go, picking his way over to Michelle. He would take it up with Nev later, though already his anger was fading. She wasn’t doing anything dangerous, even if he didn’t like seeing her covered with dust.

  She smiled at him when he rode up, a smile of such pure pleasure that his brows pulled together in a little frown. It was the first time he’d seen that smile since she’d been back, but until now he hadn’t realized it had been missing. She looked happy. Faced with a smile like that, no wonder Nev had caved in and let her do what she wanted.

  “Having fun?” he asked wryly.

  “Yes, I am.” Her look dared him to make something of it.<
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  “I had a call from the lawyer this morning. He’ll have everything ready for us to sign the day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s good.” Her ranch would shrink by a sizable hunk of acreage, but at least it would be clear of any large debt.

  He watched her for a minute, leaning his forearms on the saddle horn. “Want to ride back to the house with me?”

  “For a quickie?” she asked tartly, her green eyes beginning to spit fire at him.

  His gaze drifted to her breasts. “I was thinking more of a slowie.”

  “So your men would have even more to gossip about?”

  He drew a deep, irritated breath. “I suppose you want me to sneak over in the dead of night. We’re not teenagers, damn it.”

  “No, we’re not,” she agreed. Then she said abruptly, “I’m not pregnant.”

  He didn’t know if he should feel relieved, or irritated that this news meant it would be several days before she’d let him make love to her again. He wanted to curse, already feeling frustrated. Instead he said, “At least we didn’t have to wait a couple of weeks, wondering.”

  “No, we didn’t.” She had known that the timing made it unlikely she’d conceive, but she’d still felt a small pang of regret that morning. Common sense aside, there was a deeply primitive part of her that wondered what woman wouldn’t want to have his baby. He was so intensely masculine that he made other men pale in comparison, like a blooded stallion matched against scrub stock.

  The gray shifted restively beneath him, and John controlled the big animal with his legs. “Actually, I don’t have time, even for a quickie. I came to give Nev some instructions, then stop by the house to let you know where I’ll be. I have to fly to Miami this afternoon, and I may not be back for a couple of days. If I’m not, drive to Tampa by yourself and sign those papers, and I’ll detour on my way back to sign them.”

  Michelle twisted in the saddle to look at the battered, rusting old truck bouncing along behind the cattle. There was no way she would trust that relic to take her any place she couldn’t get back from on foot. “I think I’ll wait until you’re back.”