by Tami Hoag
He blinked like a man in deep physical pain, rubbed his hands over his face, and swore a litany of curses under his breath. What the hell could he do? He couldn't stop Lyle from selling his land. He couldn't stop Samantha from seeing who she wanted. He couldn't stop Will from running off half-cocked to do who knew what fool thing next. He couldn't do a damn thing. The wolves were closing in and he couldn't do a goddamn thing to stop them. The knowledge shook him right to the core.
Mari stood in the shadows just inside the barn, holding her breath, caught between stepping out and sliding away. She had little doubt J.D. would not appreciate her intrusion on the moment. He stood there with his hands braced on a section of split rail fence, looking out over an open meadow. The naked vulnerability in his face struck her like a physical blow. It was like seeing the Lone Ranger unmasked and realizing he was just a regular man. She wanted to reach out to him, to offer him a touch, some comfort. She knew instinctively he wouldn't want it, and that knowledge made her heart ache.
Oh, Marilee, what are you getting yourself into here?
Trouble with a capital J.D.
She moved backward down the aisle on tiptoe, then coughed loudly and came ahead, scuffing her feet on the cement as she went. When she reached the end of the barn again, J.D. was trying to settle his iron-man mask back in place. He cleared his throat and shot her a scowl.
“Thought you were leaving.”
“Can't go anywhere without Clyde,” she said, catching herself dropping her pronouns as if she had lived there her whole life.
“Who—? Oh, the mule.” He made no move toward the barn, just stood there leaning against the fence, pretending nothing at all was the matter.
“I'm not much for parties as a rule,” Mari said, stepping up beside him. She tried to mirror his stance and found herself staring at a fence rail. Undaunted, she climbed up onto the lowest bar and hooked her arms over the top, a position that put her eye level with Rafferty. “I don't like much of anything I have to shave my legs for.”
“So don't go.”
“I'm just curious about a couple of things, that's all. I had sort of lost touch with Lucy since she moved here. I'm curious about the crowd she ran with.”
“So go see them,” J.D. growled. “Do what you like.”
“It's not a matter of what I like. Lucy left me everything she had in the world. I feel a certain obligation.”
J.D. sniffed, dry amusement kicking up one corner of his mouth. He knew all about obligation. He clung to his while the world came apart around him.
“Has Bryce asked you about selling yet?” he said.
“Not really.”
“He will.” He turned and studied her, his eyes narrowed. “Will you sell it?”
“I don't know.”
“He's a ruthless, obnoxious little son of a bitch who doesn't give a damn about anything but getting what he wants.”
Mari arched a brow. “I could say the same thing about you—except the little part.”
He didn't bat an eye. At that moment it was difficult to reconcile the image before her with the one she'd seen from the shadows. This man didn't look as if he had ever been afraid in his life. He looked like bullets would bounce off his chest.
“Will you sell it to me?” he asked bluntly.
“I told you, I haven't decided to sell it at all.”
He stepped over and very deliberately planted a hand on either side of her on the rail. Mari twisted around to face him, her heart beating a little harder as he leaned close. His gaze held hers like a deer in headlights.
“Don't play games with me, Mary Lee,” he warned.
“I'm not interested in games,” she whispered, her heart pounding harder behind her breastbone.
For a moment J.D. looked into those big deep blue eyes, looking for lies, looking for reasons not to trust. Then he felt as if he were drowning in them, and lies and Bryce and everything else went right out of his head. Losing himself seemed a welcome option at the moment. He pressed his lips over hers and submerged himself into a blissful oblivion.
Mari kissed him back, bracing her hands on his shoulders. They were like rock beneath the damp cotton of his shirt. Her fingers kneaded the muscle, moving up the back of his thick neck and down again. All the while their tongues slid against each other, their lips clung, their breath mingled with the taste of strong coffee and dust.
She wanted him. She wanted to comfort him and offer him something soft and gentle. . . .
Then somewhere in the last bastion of sanity she thought of what kind of games he might be playing. He wanted her land and he wanted her body, and she was damn sure he would want nothing else she had to offer. She was an outsider. She didn't belong.
As if he sensed her sudden shift of mood, J.D. raised his head and looked at her, his eyes the color and intensity of hot charcoal. She couldn't find her voice anywhere, and simply shook her head. His face tightened. He stepped back, and she stepped down from the fence, not at all certain that her knees wouldn't give out.
“I don't play games,” she said again. But as she walked away from him into the dim interior of the barn, she had the terrible feeling she was already caught up in a game with rules she didn't understand and stakes that were far too high.
CHAPTER
11
I WISH YOU hadn't done that with Will,” Samantha said quietly. She stood just outside the door to Bryce's stable. The rest of his entourage was halfway to the house. She hung back, feeling more at home near the barn than near the mansion. In the dimly lit aisle of the stable, a dirty, tattooed ranch hand unsaddled the Appaloosa she had ridden. The man watched her over the gelding's back for a moment, the gleam in his eyes making her skin crawl. She frowned at him and his mouth twisted in amusement, revealing a glimpse of discolored teeth.
Bryce rubbed his fingertips along his jaw, idly contemplating shaving before the party. He studied Samantha at the same time. He stood behind her and to the side, out of her line of vision, very coolly, very calculatingly assessing her emotional state. She looked more like a stable hand than his usual sort of guest. The jeans she wore were old, the blouse cheap cotton. She had pulled her hair back into its serviceable braid again and secured it at the end with a pink rubber band.
“He needed shocking, sweetheart,” he said with just the perfect touch of consolation and paternal wisdom. “Now maybe he'll wake up and see what a fool he's been for neglecting you. If he doesn't, he doesn't deserve you.” He picked up the end of her braid, slipped the band from it, and began to sift the strands free with his fingers. “Personally, I'm quite certain he doesn't deserve you,” he murmured. “Any sensible man would cherish you, pamper you, encourage you to come into full bloom instead of leaving you to wither on the vine.”
He lifted her hair, spread it out across her shoulders. When he turned her to face him, his expression was one of fatherly concern, gently chastising. “Your hair is gorgeous, Samantha. You should wear it loose, show it off. Don't hide your beauty, sweetheart. Glory in it.”
Uncomfortable with his flattery, Samantha tried to glance away from him, but his pale eyes had a way of mesmerizing her, and she kept glancing back at him like a nervous horse. He had to think she was a stupid, naive kid. She had never been anywhere or done anything. She didn't have a clue how to act around his kind of people. And yet he was still taking the time to be nice to her. She may not have liked his methods, but he was trying to help her with Will, even though he didn't think much of her choice of husbands.
“I've never really thought of myself as beautiful,” she admitted shyly, feeling as if she at least owed him her honesty and her confidence. He was only trying to be a friend to her, and God knew she didn't have many of those.
Her confession actually surprised Bryce. A rare shock showed on his face. She had the bone structure of a model, and an exotic quality that had the potential to be stunning. How could she not know that? He didn't know a woman who wasn't fully aware of every weapon in her arsenal. But Samantha w
as not being coy or fishing for compliments. He could easily read the uncertainty in her eyes, and it touched him as very few things could.
Gently he hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “Honey, you could set the world on its ear,” he said sincerely. “All you need is someone to point you in the right direction and encourage you. Didn't your parents encourage you?”
The bitter laugh was automatic, though it mortified Samantha and she immediately wished she could have sucked it back into her lungs and held it there. She couldn't talk about her family with Bryce. They were poor and dirty. Trash. That was what everyone around town said. That was what she had grown up hearing sneered behind her back. The Neills were nothing but half-breed trash. The shame of that clung to her still, like a film of grime she could never wash off no matter how hard she scrubbed.
“I should go home,” she mumbled, glancing at the cheap oversize watch she wore strapped to her wrist, the band wrapped twice around. It was Will's. She wondered if he missed it any more than he missed her. “I have to feed my dog.”
“I'll send Morton to take care of it,” Bryce said. He didn't want her slipping away now, when she was in this melancholy mood. She would likely talk herself out of returning for the party, and he couldn't have that.
“You don't have to. I'll need to change clothes anyway,” Samantha said, doing a bleak mental inventory of her wardrobe. She had nothing good enough to wear to a party the likes of this one. Because she didn't belong here, she reminded herself. She wasn't Cinderella. She had no fairy godmother. Her Prince Charming had dumped her for a chance to ride off into the sunset with honky-tonk heroines night after night.
Bryce waited, letting the moment ripen, stepping forward just as the first glitter of tears glazed across her eyes. Taking hold of her hand, he granted her a subdued version of the Redford smile. “Wait here just a minute. I have a little surprise for you.”
He went into the stable and gave instructions to the hired hand brushing down the Appaloosa to drive into town and see to Samantha's dog. When he came back out, he took her by the elbow and led her up the path to his house. Samantha thought it was nearly as large as the Moose, all gray wood and fieldstone, sparkling windows and soaring roof lines. Passing by a living room, she caught a glimpse of sparkling windowpanes that rose to a peak in the center of the wall, making her think of a cathedral, as did the beamed, vaulted ceiling. Seemed like a lot of wasted space, but it was beautiful. The view was incredible. It was like standing in heaven and looking down on paradise. She could have fit her whole house into this one room.
Bryce led her up a curving open staircase to the second floor and down the quiet, elegant hall of the guest wing. Five of the ten guest rooms were occupied, though there was no sign of the guests. Everyone had retired to get ready for the party.
The suite of rooms Bryce took Samantha to far out-stripped anything she had ever encountered in terms of luxury. Thick beige carpet, antique furnishings, real paintings on the walls, a huge bouquet of fresh flowers in a Chinese vase on a table in the small sitting room. In the bedroom a pine wardrobe stood open near the bed with an array of jeweltone clothing hanging inside.
“Take your pick,” Bryce said, brushing a hand across the dangling sleeves and setting the garments swinging. “I had Sharon stop in at Latigo Boutique and pick up a few things in your size. The colors are perfect for you. You'll find whatever else you might need in the bureau.”
“I can't accept this,” Samantha whispered, too stunned to speak louder—or too afraid that he might agree with her. One blouse from Latigo was enough to swallow her whole paycheck. There were half a dozen in the wardrobe.
“Of course you can,” he insisted, grinning. “We're friends.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. I'm a generous man. I enjoy giving things to my friends, especially those in need of a little something special in their lives.” He softened his expression and brushed the knuckles of one hand down her cheek. “This is my gift to you, sweetheart. Enjoy it. Enjoy the rooms. Enjoy the clothing. Enjoy the party tonight. My payment is getting to see you smile and have a good time.”
Samantha backed away from him, a grin tugging at her mouth. Laughter bubbled up inside her as the pendulum of her emotions swung upward again and the shift of momentum threatened her equilibrium. She turned around, taking in the room, the clothes. Through the partially open door to the bath she caught a glimpse of marble and gold fixtures. “It seems too good to be true.”
“Not at all,” Bryce murmured, curling his fingers around the doorknob. “This is opportunity, Samantha. The doors to the whole world are open to you. You have only to choose to go through them.”
He left her on that note, pleased with his flair for drama, certain Samantha would soak it in like a dry sponge. Poor kid. He knew what it was to be stuck in a life devoid of quality; financially, culturally, socially bankrupt. That was the life to which Will Rafferty would anchor her. She had to be allowed to glimpse the world she could have if she would cut the anchor free.
He glanced at the watch he'd had crafted by a silversmith in Missoula—a platinum Rolex set in a wide cuff of sterling that was shaped and engraved into the likeness of an eagle with its wings spread to encircle his wrist. Two hours to prepare. Ample time. Everything was under control.
Except J. D. Rafferty. Bryce scowled at the reminder. Damned cowboy. So pious, so smug, wearing his air of entitlement like a king's robe when it was nothing more than a shabby rag handed down by another dirty cowboy. He thought his humble Montana birth somehow elevated him morally. The idea made Bryce want to choke.
“I'll bring you to your knees, Rafferty,” he snarled beneath his breath. “I'll have your damn ranch.”
The knowledge that he already had the key brightened his mood and the anger rolled away like storm clouds that had threatened, then moved on. He was smiling by the time he reached his suite. The smile turned carnal as he walked into the bedroom and found Sharon lounging back against a mountain of suede pillows, naked except for one of his narrow, silver-tipped western belts and a pair of tall snakeskin cowboy boots.
“How's our little pigeon?” she asked as he came to a halt at the end of the bed and began to undress.
“Roosting. She likes your taste in clothes.”
“I should hope so,” she said with a wry smile. “You spent a small fortune on her.”
“Investment.” He slipped his shirt off and tossed it onto the seat of a caramel-colored leather chair. “You have to spend money to make money. Samantha won't cost me a fraction of what I'll gain.”
“Rafferty's land.”
“Mmmm . . .” His mind drifted a bit, down the hall, to the beauty who couldn't see past her own sense of inadequacy.
“Have you touched her?” Sharon asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. She rose on her knees on the bed and moved toward him, the long tail of the belt hanging down across her patch of carefully trimmed dark pubic hair.
“Of course not.”
Laughing, she closed the distance between them. Her hand shot forward and she grabbed him by the balls through his jeans, squeezing. Her wide painted mouth twisted up at the corners and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Swear it,” she demanded, teasing him, taunting him.
Bryce groaned, letting the pain throb through him. He snatched a handful of her blond hair and jerked her head back, his eyes locked on the almost masculine features of her face, and lust burned through him. “I swear. Why would I want a girl when I can have you?”
She smiled darkly and released him, her fingers turning to the task of unfastening his belt and unzipping his fly. “Why wouldn't you? She's beautiful. Innocent. I know I would enjoy her.”
“I'm sure you would,” Bryce whispered, stroking her head as she took his swelling penis into her mouth. “But you can't have her, cuz. Not until I get what I want.”
Mari climbed out of her Honda, making one final check of her appearance. She wouldn't knock anybody off their fe
et with her fashion statement, but then, she hadn't come here to attract attention to herself. Out of the limited clothes she had left, she had selected a purple silk blouse with a square-cut bottom that she let fall over a short slim black skirt. Having thrown out all her heels before leaving Sacramento, she wore simple black flats. Having burned all her panty hose, she had made a quick stop at the Gas N' Go for a pair of L'eggs that some diabolical man had designed so that one leg was perpetually twisted. She scowled now as she glanced around for witnesses and tried to adjust the stupid thing with a discreet tug.
The paved parking area of Bryce's little homestead was lined with an incongruous assortment of European imports and American four-wheel muscle. A bass rhythm thumped on the early evening air, carrying out from somewhere behind the enormous lodge-style log house.
“God, he must have felled half of Oregon to build that,” she whispered, staring in awe at the sheer mass of the place. It looked big enough to house Congress. A turret rose on one end like a rocket pointing to the big Montana sky. The roof was slate, the foundation massive fieldstones. The overall impression was of one thing: power.
A shiver skittered down Mari's back. She called it a chill and strode around the side of the house in search of the source of the music and in search of some answers.
Bryce met her at the edge of the terrace as if he had been waiting especially for her. Dressed in loose-fitting navy raw silk trousers and a billowing white silk shirt worn open down the front, he was the picture of elegant hip. His hair was swept back into a neat queue, emphasizing his towering forehead. He beamed a smile at her that was almost iridescent in his tanned face.