by Arlene James
"I think you are being just a bit melodramatic," she said lightly.
"Oh, am I? Don't you know that you are helping him to perpetuate the myth, that as long as you are around, he will never forget her and go on with his life?"
Crystal's brows wrinkled in agitation. Inwardly she was beginning to freeze. Outwardly she managed to maintain the image. "What on earth are you talking about?" she laughed.
"I'm talking about the fact that you look almost exactly like the late Mrs. Dean." As Alicia's ugly words hit home, she smiled viciously. "It's positively uncanny," she said, surveying Crystal coldly. "I wonder if even he realizes how very much you are like her."
Crystal stood very still, except for the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. It was as if the blood had congealed in her veins, quite suddenly and without the slightest warning. Her brain commanded that she smile, that she keep up the pretense, but her face remained impassively frozen.
"Th-that's silly," she managed, her voice cracking.
"Ask anyone who knew her." Alicia sneered. "Petite, doll-like, long dark hair, big innocent eyes." She laughed pitiably, triumphantly, while Crystal stood frozen to the ground, numb, shaken.
Only moments later, when the rest of the little group returned from their sightseeing to request more drinks, did she realize that the other woman was sneering at her, enjoying the shock etched upon her face. Immediately Crystal came to herself. She blinked, smiled wanly, and pressed a still-trembling hand to her forehead. "By all means," she heard herself saying. "Mr. Murrow, would you tend bar for us, please?"
It was much later that night, after Crystal was once again allowed the sanctity of her room, that she could even think about what Alicia Murrow had told her. The remainder of the evening had passed in a blur, though she supposed that she must have pulled off Garrett's little charade to his satisfaction. She vaguely remembered him thanking her, and Lupe's satisfied crowing, but she could not have recalled her reply, if indeed she made any, to save her life.
She did not purposely set out to consider what Alicia Murrow had revealed. It merely stole into her brain and stayed there until she dealt with it. Once she had had time to think about it, it seemed perfectly logical.
It seemed most probable to her that Garrett was unaware of his motives for hiring her. It had probably been a subconscious thing, a nagging impulse that he could not deny or define. Otherwise, why had he suddenly changed his mind and offered her the position? Originally he had not thought she could handle the job, and there was no satisfactory explanation for why he had changed his mind.
Then there was Lupe. Crystal felt certain that Lupe had seen the resemblance at once. It made sense. It had probably given her the idea to put Crystal in this very room. Probably, she thought that it would make Garrett happy, once he realized that Crystal was so like his late wife. And Petie. Why had he immediately assumed that Garrett had married her? Did he take one look and automatically assume that Garrett had found a replacement for the wife he had lost? And Gloria—was she also aware of the uncanny resemblance? Did she disapprove? Was that why she had seemed so hostile?
Her thoughts went full circle, right back to Garrett himself. Why had he suddenly decided to make her his date for the evening? He had kissed her, not once, but twice, and called her darling, even though he actually seemed to dislike her at least part of the time. Was it only because he wanted to discourage Alicia Murrow? Or was it because he could not keep from equating her with his dead wife?
The whole thing was entirely too preposterous to think about, but think about it she did. And the longer she dwelt upon it, the more plausible it seemed to her, until finally she had no logical perspective upon the matter at all.
By morning she had all but totally convinced herself that she was the spitting image of the late Mrs. Dean. She even believed that he probably hired her on the basis of that resemblance alone. And though she told herself that it did not make one bit of difference as far as she was concerned, her heart was heavy when she left her room at the appointed hour for her meeting with Garrett.
Chapter Six
"You wanted to see me?" asked Crystal, managing to keep her tone level and impersonal.
His back was to her as he bent to empty a chair of its contents. He stacked the pile of journals on the floor next to the chair and indicated for her to be seated. She sat, barely noticing the framed pictures of rodeo scenes that covered the walls or the trophies and plaques displayed haphazardly around the room.
Garrett was in no hurry. He cleared off a spot for himself on the edge of the big oak desk and leaned against it, feet and arms crossed in front of him.
"You ran off last night before I could finish thanking you."
"There is really nothing to thank me for." Crystal folded her hands in her lap and fixed an impersonal stare on the handsome lines of his face. They were not so sharp this morning, lending a congenial air to his manner. Nevertheless, a tiny muscle twitched at the base of his jaw with her curt reply.
"I want to thank you anyway," he said calmly, adding in a more gruff tone, "and since I made it part of your job here, I intend to compensate you."
Crystal looked up quickly, mildly surprised, and saw immediately that he misconstrued her reaction.
"I see you are not opposed to gratitude when it comes in a monetary form."
She set her mouth firmly and made no reply. Let him think that, she didn't care, not really.
He went on carelessly. "When you are paid at the end of the month, you will find a generous bonus added to your salary."
"At the end of the month?" She had spoken without thinking, dismayed to find that she would be flat broke for another month.
"That's right," he said disparagingly. "I've instructed my accountant to issue your checks along with the others for the ranch staff." His eyes narrowed. "Why? Were you thinking of taking my money and running back to the city?"
A chill passed over Crystal, followed quickly by that now familiar anger he so easily aroused in her.
"So that's it!" she declared solemnly. "You are withholding my pay as long as possible to ensure that I can't leave here."
He ducked his head and chuckled into the cradle of his arms. "You set great store by yourself, city girl." He lifted his head and squinted at her. "What makes you think you are so valuable that I would want to keep you here against your will?"
Crimson flushed her cheeks. "That's the way it seems," she replied as calmly as she could.
"I intend withholding nothing of yours." He surged forward and paced behind her chair. "You will receive your first paycheck at the end of the month, just like everyone else around here, and it will be substantial because I intend paying you well for last night's performance."
Crystal twisted in her seat, on the verge of telling him to keep his tainted money, but paused, surprised to catch him in a vulnerable pose. He stood to the side, shoulders drooping, hands pushing ragged paths through sun-kissed hair.
"I apologize for last night," he said unevenly. "I should not have involved you. It's not like me, and it won't happen again."
Crystal's throat constricted. The ice in her bones melted to warmth spreading quickly through her body. "Can we get on to other things? I'm sure you are busy even if I am not," she said.
The hard mask slipped back into place. The faint tenderness he had just displayed vanished, a wisp of down blown away on a chilling breeze.
The heels of his boots clumped on the polished hardwood floor as he moved behind his desk. The cracked leather chair creaked as he lowered his weight onto it.
In clipped business tones he laid out the particulars of her job. Classes would be conducted in the study. He was having a large table moved in with chairs to accommodate the children. She could use the writing desk as her own. A chalkboard would be provided, and anything else she needed, she had but to ask for. The hours would be left up to her, but he suggested the mornings. Her free hours would be her own, and she should feel free to use the pool whenever she felt l
ike it.
He linked his fingers together and leaned back, bringing up one foot to rest on the edge of his desk. "I'll put a vehicle at your disposal. That way you can pick up the children at their home and then return them after class."
Crystal's heart thumped. Everything had gone along quite satisfactorily until now, and she dreaded having to say what she knew she had to.
"That won't work," she ventured quietly. "I can't drive."
For a moment, nothing. Then his foot hit the floor with a bang and he bolted upright in his chair. "Good Lord, woman! Didn't that aunt of yours teach you anything useful? Groman said she was a bit reclusive and old-fashioned, but…" He stopped short. "How did you think you'd get around out here? Horseback?"
Crystal came immediately to her feet, fists clenched at her sides, back ramrod straight. "I can't do that either!" she snapped. "I've never been on a horse in my life. And I'll thank you to leave my aunt out of this." Her chin began to quiver, and in desperation she stamped her foot. "I take full responsibilities for my own shortcomings! So don't you dare criticize my aunt again."
Her outburst seemed not to alter the rigid mask of his face in the least. For a full five seconds, green eyes glared defiantly into blue ones. Then, without warning, there was laughter behind those enigmatic eyes. Crystal forced herself to take in the whole of his face, and found a wide grin there. He was actually struggling to keep from laughing!
For an odd moment, relief surged through her, followed quickly by fresh anger. This was twice she had let her indignation get the best of her and spouted off. Common sense and intuition told her that he would not tolerate much more of it. And yet, at the same time, he seemed to ask for it, even expect it from her. The sheer complexity of the man infuriated her. How was a rational being supposed to deal with constant contradiction, constant confusion? What did he want out of her, anyway?
She did not know, and at that moment she didn't care. Calmly but determinedly she turned on her heel and strode toward the door. Like a flash of lightning he moved across the floor and blocked her way with a hand braced against the jamb, knocking into her with his wide shoulder and throwing her off balance. She stumbled to the side, and his long arm went out to catch her before she could fall, pulling her roughly to him.
The mere shock of being pinioned there against the hard muscles of his chest stunned her into stillness. All of a sudden she was looking up into that enthralling blueness. The mobile lines of his mouth came into focus, and she stood there wrapped in that strong arm, not daring to think or to feel.
It seemed like long minutes, though it could not have been more than a split second, before she became aware of the shallow rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. Intuitively she shrank away, but he tightened his hold on her.
"I can't decide about you, city girl," he whispered softly, teasingly. "Back in Groman's office I thought you showed plenty of spunk, but now I don't know whether you're worth the effort it would take to make a real woman out of you or not. One minute you pull those dumb city ways on me and I think what you need is a good spanking." He loosened the grip of one arm and clasped her face in his hand, turning her mouth up vulnerably. Crystal closed her eyes, willing her mind to blot out the feel of his rugged length against her. "And the next minute…" he whispered suggestively before once again assailing her mouth with his own.
This time, however, there was no tenderness in his kiss, no gentle persuasion, only forceful, commanding passion, and despite herself, Crystal felt her body sliding into that euphoria of mutual desire.
She was acutely aware of him now, his hand gliding silkily down her throat, burning her flesh like a brand moving across her body, to leave its imprint upon her shoulder, her breast, the flat of her back. There was no room for logical thought, no space in which to be sensible and rebel, and until he released her, she could only respond to his lovemaking.
Yet, when at last he did release her, she wanted to bolt for the door, to escape before it was too late and recoup her defenses.
"We're not finished yet," he pronounced decisively in low, guttural tones.
"Oh, yes we are!" she flung at him, backing away a safe distance. Her hand went out, seeking support, and found the back of the chair in which she had been sitting. He leaned against the door, arms folded against his wide chest, surveying her languidly.
"There's a little matter of clothing to be seen to," he reminded briskly. "We're going shopping. You need proper clothing, ranch clothing, and after seeing what you've chosen as suitable, I can tell that you don't even know where to begin."
"This isn't necessary," Crystal protested desperately. "I can make do with what I've got."
"There you go again," he chided. "Why can't you just accept the fact that out here I'm the expert, and let it go at that?"
Crystal blinked furiously, knowing that he was right. She wished she could find a way to get out of this shopping trip. The last thing she needed was to spend more time with him. As usual, he was leaving her no choice.
"We'll leave in about twenty minutes. If you haven't had breakfast, I suggest you get some, quickly."
He stepped away from the door and pulled it open. Crystal fairly bolted through, relieved to be in the hall outside his office and away from his disturbing presence.
Lupe had prepared hotcakes and sausages for breakfast, but Crystal could only pick at her plate, dreading the moment when she would again be alone with Garrett.
"No wonder you are so skinny," Lupe observed. "You don't eat enough."
"Ah, leave her alone, Lupe. She ain't skinny. She's just about right, if you ask me." Crystal looked up to find Rick Benson standing in the doorway, a large metal thermos in one hand and a dilapidated hat in the other. The jeans he wore were already dusty and dirty, and the T-shirt stretched tautly over his muscled upper torso was damp with perspiration.
"Fill 'er up, huh, Lupe?" He spoke to the cook, but his eyes never left Crystal, who focused her attention on the half-eaten hotcakes on her plate.
Lupe snatched the empty thermos from his hand and looked him over dryly. "You boys were up early this morning," she observed with a wrinkled nose. "You smell like you've been spreading fertilizer."
Rick smiled and winked at Crystal. "Well, if I'd known this lovely young lady was waiting here, I'd of spruced up a bit for the occasion," he drawled with a flourish of his hat.
The thick carpeting of the dining room had muffled the approaching footfalls of Garrett. It was not until he stepped out onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen that Crystal was aware he had taken the long way through the house to come to the kitchen. All heads turned in his direction. He paused and hooked a thumb into the hand-tooled leather belt at his hips, his customary hat held gingerly in the other.
"The lady wasn't waiting for you, Benson. She was waiting for me. Now, put your eyeballs back in your head and get on to work."
To emphasize Garrett's words, Lupe slapped the now filled thermos into Rick's fumbling hands and backed away, hands on fat hips.
"Yes, sir, boss." Rick grinned nervously and departed, but not before sending another conspiratorial wink at Crystal's flushed face.
"I ought to have my brains examined for ever bringing you into this house," Garrett grumbled. "Benson won't be the only one of the hands to get ideas. I should have picked a sour-faced old grandmother for this job."
Crystal slid to the floor with a hop and faced him squarely. "Look, it's not my fault that cowboy is such a flirt. I get the idea he's that way with practically every woman he meets."
She flashed a needy look at Lupe, and the big cook did not let her down. "Why, when there is no other woman around, he even flirts with me!" she declared, thumping her heavy chest. "But he means no harm. And you know it, too." She pointed an accusing finger at Garrett. "So why don't you just stop picking on this girl, eh? I think you would be thankful to her after last night." She folded her thick arms emphatically.
"The teacher doesn't want my thanks," he returned sarcastically. B
lue eyes pinioned Crystal, whose face reddened slightly. Lupe's gaze was questioning, but she said nothing.
Crystal offered no clarifications and was peeved with Garrett for airing their differences. She balked only momentarily, however, when he gripped her arm and tugged her toward the courtyard door.
"Now that you've had your breakfast, could we get out of here?" She nodded curtly and followed him out the door and through the courtyards.
There were three vehicles parked in the big garage, the El Camino, a dark brown Cadillac, and, surprisingly, a sportster with a metallic paint job and a sun roof. Crystal was surprised to find the sports car in Garrett's garage. He did not strike her as the sort to tear around the countryside in a fast car. So she was doubly surprised when he went directly to it and opened the passenger door for her to get in.
"You look surprised," he drawled.
"I guess I am, a little," she admitted, coming around the front end to slide into the snowy white bucket seat. He closed the door and walked around to take his position behind the padded steering wheel, first stowing his hat on a specially made hook between the seats.
"Doesn't fit your preconceived notions of us rough, uncouth, tasteless cowboys, huh?" He switched the key in the ignition and the engine roared, then abated into a finely tuned hum.
"My preconceived notions?" Crystal retorted, thinking about his attitude toward all "city girls," as he called her sort.
In an obvious attempt to forestall another argument, he turned on the dash radio and adjusted the volume up to a mild roar. A twangy country tune filled the interior. He pressed the flat black box on his visor and the garage door raised mechanically. Then he jammed the car into reverse and backed it out.
The auto tore through the gate and along the dirt road in a cloud of dust, barely slowing to take the turn onto the paved road. For some time, neither of them ventured a word. They sped by the green road sign with its silver reflective lettering spelling out "Enchanted Rock 9 Miles" before he swatted the button on the radio and silence surrounded them.