by Janet Dailey
“I would enjoy it.” She returned his smile. “But I don’t want to be guilty of monopolizing your time, so why don’t we invite Carol to come along—and your mother?”
“So you want me to share the pleasure of your company,” he joked, but he wasn’t really joking. Her pulse quickened a little with the temptation to say no.
Only she didn’t. “That’s right.” Lanna forced the brightness to stay in her voice.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll ask them,” Chad agreed without enthusiasm. He finished his coffee and stood up to leave. “I have a couple of phone calls to make. I’ll see you at lunch, if not before.” As he passed her chair, he paused long enough to lay a hand on her shoulder, then left the room.
Lanna was glad he hadn’t argued about inviting the others because he could have talked her into letting the ride remain a twosome. That was the problem. He could talk her into most anything, she realized. Was she being too trusting? How did she know if what Chad said was true?
“Damn you, Hawk, for putting these questions in my mind,” she murmured aloud.
That evening Lanna was acutely aware of every minute she had spent in the saddle during her afternoon ride with the Faulkner family. It had been an exhilarating experience, filled with laughter and gaiety and the excitement of new sights. But her muscles, unaccustomed to such exercise, ached at the slightest move she made.
Not even the soothing Brahms melody Katheryn was playing on the piano made Lanna forget her soreness. When the last note faded into the silence of the living room, Lanna forced her protesting muscles to make her stand. Her action drew Chad’s gaze.
“I think I’m going to take a couple of aspirins, soak in a tub for an hour, and then fall into bed.” Her attempt to laugh at her condition was forced.
“Can you make it to your room?” Chad teased. “Maybe I should help you.”
“I’ll manage,” Lanna assured him dryly.
“We shouldn’t have ridden so long. I hope you feel better in the morning,” Carol offered.
“I will. Good night.” It was meant for all of them. There was a responding chorus. Katheryn’s fingers were already gliding over the piano keys with the opening chords of another piece as Lanna left the room.
Once in her room, Lanna didn’t waste any time filling the tub with steaming-hot water and adding scented oil. Shedding her clothes, she climbed into the tub and stretched out full length to rest her shoulders against the curved porcelain back of the tub. The liquid heat flowing over, under, and around every inch of her body sent relief surging through her cramped and aching muscles. She closed her eyes in utter contentment and let the bath water wash the soreness away.
The water had turned cool before she summoned enough energy to lather her skin with soap and then rinse. When she stepped from the tub, the quick evaporation of water chilled her. Lanna rubbed at the shivers with a heavy bath towel, its roughness stimulating the return of warmth.
Slipping into the full-length robe of silver satin, Lanna entered her large bedroom. The bath had isolated her soreness, confining it to a few places instead of her whole body. She felt refreshed, not nearly as bone-weary as she had earlier. The softness of the bed didn’t look quite as inviting, but neither did she feel like getting dressed and rejoining the others in the living room.
They were still there. She could hear the strains of the sonata Katheryn was playing as it drifted into the room through the veranda door that was standing ajar. Lanna crossed the room to close it before a barrage of insects became attracted to the lights. When her hand closed around the brass doorknob, it hesitated. The clean, dry scent of fresh air wafted through the opening. Outside, the quiet beauty of the night beckoned to her.
Lanna wandered onto the veranda, silently closing the door to the master bedroom. The stone floor still retained the warmth from the day’s heat. It felt good beneath her bare feet. She walked to the edge of the veranda and rested a hand on the rough timber post supporting the beamed roof as she gazed at the skyful of stars. They gleamed sharp and crystal bright, a million of them appearing so close that she had only to reach up to touch one. There were no city lights or smog to obscure the breathtaking spectacle of nature’s display.
A night bird called from the trees crowding the lawn around the house. Its trill blended with the classical piano music drifting into the night from the opened window in the living room. Lanna’s gaze wandered to the trees, trying to locate the bird, but not really expecting to succeed.
Beneath the dark shadows cast by spreading tree branches, the darkness was broken by the flare of a match. Its flame made a short, ascending arc before its light was shielded to a dim glow. Then it was out, leaving behind a tiny red point. Lanna tensed as she realized someone was out there. The red dot was the burning tip of a cigarette.
It moved. The dark outline of a man’s shape stepped out from the shadows and moved toward her. Lanna knew it was Hawk by the way he seemed to glide so silently across the space, not hurrying, yet covering ground with lithe ease. She swallowed and wondered what had caused the sudden tightness in her throat.
When he stopped near her, the starlight played over the hard angles and planes of his expressionless face. The night added to the dark hue of his blue eyes. Lanna was unnerved by the steadiness of his look.
“What are you doing out here?” Her voice trembled on the accusation.
“Listening to the music.” He nonchalantly leaned a shoulder against the rough-cut post and took a drag from the cigarette, cupping it in his hand. “Katheryn was studying to be a concert pianist before she met J. B. She gave it up to marry him. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Lanna admitted in a guarded tone, because she knew something else … about him—who he was.
There was a long moment of silence, dominated by the piano music. Lanna stared straight ahead, aware that Hawk was studying her profile. She was uneasy, wondering if she should tell him and how she should word it.
“You know, don’t you?” Hawk mused.
“No, I honestly didn’t know Katheryn had studied piano seriously—with intentions of making it a career,” Lanna insisted.
“I’m not talking about that. Someone has told you who I am,” he guessed.
“That you are John’s son? Yes, I know.” There wasn’t any point in denying it. Her gaze wandered nervously, looking everywhere except at him. She was on edge, and she didn’t quite understand why she had wanted it out in the open.
“Carol told you,” Hawk guessed again, just as accurately.
“How did you know?” Lanna turned to him in surprise.
“It was a simple matter of the process of elimination.” He took a drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke sideways into the night. “I knew Chad wouldn’t tell you. Neither would Katheryn. Rawlins wasn’t around, and none of the ranch hands would blurt it out. So … that leaves only Carol.”
“I suppose.” But Lanna didn’t completely follow his logic. “Why couldn’t Chad have told me?”
“If he was going to tell you, he’d have done it before now. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t find out.” His mouth twisted in a wry line. “He should have known nothing is secret or sacred here. It’s somehow fitting that his wife is the one who told you, isn’t it? Does he now?”
“Yes. I asked him about you,” Lanna admitted.
Hawk chuckled. “And I’m sure he voiced his opinion regarding my character.”
“You didn’t spare your opinion when you made accusations against Chad,” Lanna reminded him stiffly, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her. His head was tipped to one side, in a listening attitude.
“Hear that?” His sharp gaze swung back to her, a faint smile alleviating the harsh line of his mouth. “I knew she’d play it.” Lanna realized he was referring to the Viennese Waltz being played on the piano. The cigarette was dropped and crushed beneath the heel of his boot.
Before she guessed his intention, his hand was cupping itself to the curve of he
r waist, and her left wrist was taken, his fingers pressing into the center of her palm. In the next second, she was guided into waltz steps. He danced smoothly, without any flourish, as he circled her around the stone floor of the veranda.
Lanna tripped once, on the jutting edge of a stone. His hand moved to the back of her waist to steady her, then remained there to hold her more fully against his length. Her senses were being affected by more than just romantic music and the starshine. Through the satin material of her robe, she was vibrantly conscious of the sinew-hard column of his thighs pressing against hers. The sensitive points of her breasts tingled each time they brushed the dark blue cotton of the shirt that encased the solid breadth of his chest. His fingers were spread across the small of her back, melting in their warmth. His cheeks were smoothly bronze, the heady fragrance of some male aftershave clinging to his skin.
Conversation became mandatory for Lanna. “How did you know Katheryn would play this?”
“Because it’s my favorite, and she knows it.” Hawk studied her upturned face through half-closed eyes. “Whenever she thinks I might be out here, she plays it for me—to remind me that I’m outside looking in.”
Lanna looked for bitterness, but didn’t find any.
“Don’t you mind?” The pattern of their steps had grown smaller, staying within an invisible square on the veranda floor.
“It doesn’t matter to me what her reasons might be for playing it. I just like the song. Are you disappointed?”
“Why would I be?” Lanna frowned.
“I thought you might expect me to be drinking firewater and dancing to the beat of Indian drums instead of waltzing in the starlight with a beautiful woman and getting drunk on the way she feels in my arms.”
His softly spoken words raced through her like a flash-fire. Its heat scalded her and sent her pivoting out of his arms as she tried to bring her leaping senses back under control. His compliment had disrupted her thinking, tearing her mental process to shreds and leaving only the physical in tact. Her heart was drumming against her ribs, as wild as the Indian tom-toms he had referred to.
Lanna tried to take a calming breath, but it became stuck in her throat when his hands circled her waist from behind. She caught at them with her fingers when they met in front. She had already revealed too much of the way he disturbed her by running. She decided against struggling while she collected her wits.
“Were you surprised by what I said or the way I feel?” Hawk questioned in that same sensually soft voice.
“You rarely say anything. Then to come out with something like that—yes, I was surprised,” she admitted in a husky tremor.
The soft cheeks of her bottom felt the hard outline of his thighs. His body warmth heated flesh that was already feverish. Lanna felt threatened by the confusing sensations he was arousing—threatened, yet exhilarated.
“Are you surprised that I can express myself?” he mocked gently.
“I know you are educated,” she replied somewhat defensively.
“Educated. Yes, I have been educated in the primitive English language. The language of The People—the Navaho—is much more exact and imaginative. Look.” He withdrew a hand from around her waist to point to the northern sky. “See the Big Dipper and the North Star?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t concentrating on them too well, because his cheek and jaw were pressed against her hair. His breath was scented with tobacco smoke, warm and fragrantly pungent.
“The Navaho word for ’north’ is náhookos. Literally translated, it is ’one stiff slender object makes a revolution,’ referring to the rotation of the Big Dipper around the North Star. It is more than a direction. It’s an identification. English is a passive language of nouns and adjectives, vague and imprecise. Navaho is a language of verbs, exact and precise. A Navaho can never say ’I’m holding it.’ He must distinguish with verbs whether the object he is holding is long, like a stick; something bundled like hay or clothes; or an animate object, like a woman.”
Her heart did a somersault at the sudden intimacy of his tone. Lanna turned in the half-circle of his arm, facing him as she mentally struggled to direct the conversation to other, less disturbing topics.
“Why didn’t you go to John’s funeral, Hawk?” She abruptly changed the subject.
His dark lashes came down once to cover the blue of his eyes, a lazy amusement revealed in the action, although his expression didn’t change. He kept his hand resting lightly on her waist, but he didn’t attempt to close the small distance between them.
“I’m not interested in looking at dead bodies, only living ones.” He reached up to let his fingers trace Lanna’s hairline along her temple. He followed it to her cheekbone, then explored its classic angle, curling his fingers to rub their knuckles across her cheek to her jaw.
“Will you be serious?” Lanna protested and struggled to ignore the caress of his hand. “John was your father.”
“Biologically, yes. He assumed financial responsibility for my upbringing, so not even the Navaho can say that he ’stole me,’” he mused. “Perhaps I didn’t go because the Navaho aversion for dead things was too deeply embedded in my subconscious. The truth is”—Hawk paused, a crooked smile slanting his mouth—“I’m too much of an Indian to be truly white. And I’m too white to be completely Indian. I like the creature comforts of the white man’s world—classical music, fine brandy, soft beds, the stimulation of a cultivated conversationalist, and beautiful women. But I need space, vast stretches of land to roam, and freedom.”
“Is that why you quit college before you received your degree?” Lanna felt the vibrations of her throat when she spoke, his hand lightly stroking the sensitive underside of her chin and jaw.
“You know about that, too?” A brow lifted in amused surprise, then straightened to its normal arch. “At the time I quit, I thought it was because I wanted to punish my father after I discovered that he was ashamed to acknowledge me as his son. But now I don’t think that was the reason.”
“Then why?”
“Boredom.”
Her long hair curled around her neck, getting in his way. So he tucked it behind her ear and smoothed it off her shoulders, exposing her neck to his exploring hand. The pulse in her throat fluttered beneath his fingertips. There was such casual mastery in his caressing fingers that Lanna felt helplessly captivated. It wasn’t exactly a frightening sensation.
“Why did you come back here?” she asked. “If … if you knew the way everyone felt, why—”
“Because this land is my home. Why should I let them drive me away from it?” Hawk countered with logic rather than bitterness. “Besides, if I wasn’t around, that family would fall apart. They need me—the proverbial black sheep, someone they can collectively hate. Right now they can blame me for their unhappiness. But if I wasn’t around, they would have to find someone else—probably you.”
As his hand pushed aside the neckline of her robe, he bent his head to let his mouth explore the place at the base of her throat where her pulse beat so wildly beneath the skin. The provocative investigation choked off any protest Lanna might have considered making. She did splay her hands across his chest in weak resistance. It soon faded, although her hands remained there. The nuzzling bite of his teeth teased her skin, sending quivers through her nerves. When he pushed more of her robe aside to reveal her shoulder bone, Lanna shuddered openly, her defenses undermined and crumbling.
“You taste clean and fresh, like soap.” His mouth formed the words against her throat.
“I just bathed.” She heard the throb of desire in her voice and felt confused that this was happening to her—without warning.
But there had been warnings, only she had blundered on ahead instead of running. Her hands slid to his middle as she swayed toward him, a captive of the raw, searing passion he had aroused within her.
Her head was tipped back, lolling to one side, allowing Hawk the freedom he had said he wanted while she enjoyed the liberty he took. When his
hands parted the wrapped front of her robe, Lanna reveled in the license she had given him. Her breasts swelled under the cupping caress of his hands while his lips wandered upward to the lobe of her ear, nibbling at it with his teeth.
Turning her head, Lanna went in search of that mouth that was setting every part of her aflame except her moist and trembling lips. A scorching fire ran through her veins when she found them and succumbed to their male domination. Beneath her robe, his hands curved around to her back and gathered her close, crushing her bared breasts against the cotton weave of his shirt.
A knocking echoed onto the veranda. At first, Lanna thought it was her heart tripping over her ribs. Then it was followed by a woman’s voice calling her name. Hawk lifted his head, his gaze burning hungrily over her face.
“They are looking for you,” he said. “In a couple of minutes, they’ll come out here. Do you want me to stay?” “They” would undoubtedly mean Chad, Lanna realized. She went cold at the thought of what Chad would do to Hawk if he found him here. Fresh in her mind was Carol’s statement that long ago Chad and Hawk had gotten into a terrible fight. Lanna didn’t want to be the cause of any more bad blood between these two brothers, not when she was attracted to each. Hawk watched her thoughts chasing across her expression and a shutter closed on his. “No, I can see you don’t want me to be here,” he concluded and set her away from him, straightening the front of her robe.
“Hawk—” Lanna wanted to explain.
“Sit over there in that lawn chair.” With a nod of his head, he indicated the chaise longue near the house wall while he tightened the knot of her sash. He had switched off all emotion. “When Chad shows up, tell him you dozed off in the chair.”
“But you—”
“He’ll never see me,” he assured her dryly and moved silently away, keeping to the shadows of the house and melting away into the darkness.
The sound of a door opening and closing, and Chad calling her name, prodded Lanna into action. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone floor as she hurried to the lounge chair. She had barely sat down when the veranda door from her bedroom opened.