ice man

by Unknown

  He didn't react, although a shadow seemed to pass over his eyes. "Well, that's a novel way of expressing your feelings," he said sardonically.

  ' 'You can't be serious!"

  "Why can't I?"

  "We're related," she blurted out, flushing.

  "Like hell we are. There isn't one mutual relative between us.".

  "People would talk."

  "People sure as hell would," he agreed, "but not about my... condition."

  She understood now, as she hadn't before, exactly what he wanted her to do. He wanted her to come back to Sheridan and pretend to be engaged to him, to stop all the gossip. Most especially, he wanted her there to run interference while Mrs. Holton was visiting, so that she wouldn't find out the truth about him in a physical way while he tried to coax her into selling him that vital piece of land. He could kill two birds with one stone.

  To think of Dawson as impotent was staggering. She couldn't imagine what had caused it. Perhaps he'd fallen in love. There had been some talk of him mooning over a woman a few years ago, but no name was ever mentioned.

  "How long ago did it happen?" she asked without thinking.

  He turned and his green eyes were scorching. "That's none of your business."

  Her eyebrows arched. "Well, excuse me! Exactly who's doing whom the favor here?"

  "It doesn't give you the right to ask me intimate questions. And it isn't as if you won't benefit from getting her to sell me the land."

  She flushed and averted her face.

  He rammed his hands into his pockets with an angry murmur. "Barrie, it hurts to talk about it," he snapped.

  She should have realized that. A man's ego was a surprisingly fragile thing, and if what she'd read and heard was correct, a large part of that ego had to do with his prowess in bed.

  "But you could.. .you did.. .with me," she blurted out.

  He made a rough sound, almost a laugh. "Oh, yes." He sounded bitter. "I did, didn't I? I wish I could forget."

  That was surprising. He'd enjoyed what he did to her, or she certainly thought he had. In fact, he'd sounded as if the pleasure was... She shut out the forbidden thoughts firmly.

  He bent and retrieved the jewelry box from the floor, balancing it on his palm.

  "It's a very pretty set," she remarked tautly. "Did you just buy it?"

  "I've had it for... a while." He stared at the box and then shoved it back into his pocket before he looked at her. He didn't ask. He just looked.

  She didn't want to go back to Sheridan. She'd learned last night and this morning that she was still vulnerable with him. But the thought of Dawson being made a laughingstock disturbed her. He had tremendous pride and she didn't want that hurt. What if Mrs. Holton did find out about him and went back to Bighorn and spread it around? Dawson might have recourse at law, but what good would that do once the rumors started flying?

  She remembered so well the agony her stepfather and Antonia Hayes had suffered over malicious gossip. Dawson must be remembering as well. There was really no way to answer suspicious looks and whispers. He seemed to have had a bad enough time from just the gossip. How would it be for him if everyone knew for certain that he wasn't capable of having sex?

  "Barrie?" he prompted curtly.

  She sighed. "Only for a week, you said?" she asked, lifting her eyes to surprise a curious stillness in the expression on his lean, handsome face. "And nobody would know about the 'engagement' except Mrs. Holton?"

  He studied his boots. "It might have to be in the local papers, to make it sound real." He didn't look at her. "I doubt it would reach as far as Tucson. Even if it did, we could always break the engagement. Later."

  This was all very strange and unexpected. She hadn't really had time to think it through. She should hate him. She'd tried to, over the years. But it all came down to basics, and love didn't die or wear out, no matter how viciously a heart was treated. She'd probably go to her grave with Dawson's name on her lips, despite the lost baby he didn't even know about, and the secret grief she'd endured.

  "I need my mind examined," she said absently.

  "You'll do it?"

  She shrugged. "I'll do it."

  He didn't say anything for a minute. Then the box came out of his pocket. "You'll have to wear this."

  He knelt just in front of her, where she sat on the sofa, and took out the engagement ring.

  "But it might not fit..."

  She stopped in midstatement as he slid the emerald gently onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit, as if it had been measured exactly for it.

  He didn't say a word. He had her hand in his and, as she watched, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the ring so tenderly that she stiffened.

  He laughed coldly before he lifted his eyes to hers, and if there had been any expression in them, it was gone now. "We might as well do the thing properly, hadn't we?" he asked mockingly, and got gracefully to his feet.

  She didn't reply. She still felt his warm mouth on her fingers, as if it were a brand. She looked down at the ring, thinking how perfect the emerald was. Such a flawless stone was easily worth the price of a diamond of equal size.

  "Is it synthetic?" she asked absently.

  "No. It's not."

  She traced around it. "I love emeralds."

  "Do you?" he asked carefully.

  She lifted her eyes back to his. "I'll take good care of it. The woman you originally bought it for, didn't she want it?" she asked.

  His face closed up. "She didn't want me," he replied. "And it's a good thing, considering the circumstances, isn't it?"

  He sounded angry. Bitter. Barrie couldn't imagine any sane woman not wanting him. She did, emotionally if not physically. But her responses had been damaged, and he hadn't been particularly kind to her in the aftermath of their one intimacy.

  Her eyes on the emerald she asked, "Could you, with her?"

  There was a cold pause. "Yes. But she's no longer part of my life, or ever likely to be again."

  She recognized the brief flare of anger in his deep voice. "Sorry," she said lightly. "I won't ask any more questions."

  He turned away, his hands back in his pockets again. "I thought I might fly you up to Wyoming today, if you don't have anything pressing. A date, perhaps."

  She stared at his back. It was strangely straight, almost rigid. "I had the offer of a date," she admitted, "but I refused it. That's who I thought you were. He said he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer "

  Just as she said that, an insistent buzz came from the doorbell. It was repeated three times in quick succession.

  Dawson went toward it.

  "Dawson, don't you dare!" she called after him.

  It didn't even slow him down. He jerked open the door, to reveal a fairly good-looking young blond man with blue eyes and a pert grin.

  "Hi!" he said pleasantly. "Barrie home?"

  "She's on her way out of state."

  The young man, Phil by name, noticed the glare he was getting and the smile began to waver. "Uh, is she a relative of yours?"

  "My fiancee," Dawson said, and his lips curled up in a threatening way.

  "Fi.. . what?" Phil's breath exploded.

  Barrie eased around Dawson. "Hi, Phil!" she said gaily. "Sorry, but it only just happened. See?" She held out her ring finger. Dawson hadn't budged. He was still standing there, glaring at Phil.

  Phil backed up a step. "Uh, well, congratulations, I'm sure. I'll, uh, see you around, then?"

  "No," Dawson replied for her.

  Barrie moved in front of him. "Sure, Phil. Have a nice weekend. I'm sorry, okay?"

  "Okay. Congratulations again," he added, trying to make the best of an embarrassing situation. He shot one last glance at Dawson and returned down the hall the way he'd come, very quickly.

  Dawson muttered something under his breath.

  Barrie turned and glowered up at him. "That was unkind," she said irritably. "He was a nice man. You scared him half to death!"

  "You belong to
me for the duration of our 'engagement,' " he said tautly, searching her eyes. "I won't take kindly to other men hanging around until I settle something about that tract of land."

  She drew in a sharp breath. "I promised to pretend to be engaged to you, Dawson," she said uneasily. "That's all. I don't belong to you."

  His eyes narrowed even more, and there was an expression in them that she remembered from years past.

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he hesitated. After a minute, he turned away.

  "Are you coming with me now?" he asked shortly.

  "I have to close up the apartment and pack..."

  "Half an hour's work. Well?"

  She hesitated. It was like being snared in a net. She wasn't sure that it was a good idea. If she'd had a day to think about it, she was certain that she wouldn't do it.

  "Maybe if we wait until Monday," she ventured.

  "No. If you have time to think, you won't come. I'm not letting you off the hook. You promised," he added.

  She let out an angry breath. "I must be crazy."

  "Maybe I am, too," he replied. His hands balled into fists in his pockets. "It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I didn't plan to invite her. She invited herself, bag and baggage, in front of half a dozen people and in such a way that I couldn't extricate myself without creating a lot more gossip."

  "There must be other women who would agree to pose as your fiancee," she said.

  He shook his head. "Not a one. Or didn't the gossip filter down this far south, Barrie?" he added with bitter sarcasm. "Haven't you heard? It would take a blowtorch, isn't that what they say? Only they don't know the truth of it. They think I'm suffering from a broken heart, doomed to desire the one woman I can't have."

  "Are they right?" she asked, glancing at the ring on her finger.

  "Sure," he drawled sarcastically. "I'm dying for love of a woman I lost and I can't make it with any other woman. Doesn't it show?"

  If it did, it was invisible. She laughed self-consciously. She'd known there were women in Dawson's life for years, but she and Dawson had been enemies for a long time. She was the last person who'd know about a woman he'd given his heart to. Probably it had happened in the years since they'd returned from that holiday in France. God knew, she'd stayed out of his life ever since.

  "Did she die?" she asked gently.

  His chin lifted. "Maybe she did," he replied. "What difference does it make?"

  "None, I guess." She studied his lean face, seeing new lines in it. His blond hair had a trace of silver, just barely visible, at his ears. "Dawson, you're going gray," she said softly.

  "I'm thirty-five," he reminded her.

  "Thirty-six in September," she added without thinking.

  His eyes flashed. He was remembering, as she was, the birthdays when he'd gone out on the town with a succession of beautiful women each year. Once Barrie had tried to give him a present. It was nothing much, just a small silver mouse that she'd saved to buy for him. He'd looked at the present with disdain, and then he'd tossed it to the woman he was taking out that night, to let her enthuse over it. Barrie had never seen it again. She thought he'd probably given it to his date, because it was obvious that it meant nothing to him. His reaction had hurt her more than anything in her life ever did.

  "The little cruelties are the worst, aren't they?" he asked, as if he could see the memory, and the pain, in her mind. "They add up over the years."

  She turned away. "Everyone goes through them," she said indifferently.

  "You had more than most," he said bitterly. "I gave you hell every day of your young life.''

  "How are we going to Sheridan?" she asked, trying to divert him.

  He let out a long breath. "I brought the Learjet down with me."

  "It's overcast."

  "I'm instrument rated. You know that. Are you afraid to fly with me?"

  She turned. "No."

  His eyes, for an instant, were haunted. "At least there's something about me that doesn't frighten you," he said heavily. "Go and pack, then. I'll be back for you in two hours."

  He went out the door this time, leaving her to ponder on that last statement. But she couldn't make any sense of it, although she spent her packing time trying to.

  Three

  It was stormy and rain peppered the windscreen of the small jet as Dawson piloted it into his private airstrip at Sheridan. He never flinched nor seemed the least bit agitated at the violent storm they'd flown through just before he set the plane down. He was as controlled in the cockpit as he was behind the wheel of a car and everywhere else. When he'd been fighting the storm, Barrie had seen him smile.

  "No butterflies in your stomach?" he taunted when he'd taken off his seat belt.

  She shook her head. "You never put a foot wrong when the chips are down," she remarked, without realizing that it might sound like praise.

  His pale green eyes searched her face. She looked tired and worried. He wanted to touch her cheek, to bring the color back into her face, the light back into her eyes. But it might frighten her if he reached toward her now. He might have waited too late to build bridges. It was a so

  40 MAN OF ICE

  bering thought. So much had changed in his life in just the past two weeks, and all because of a chance meeting with an old buddy at a reunion and a leisurely discussion about Tucson, where the friend, a practicing physician, had worked five years earlier in a hospital emergency room.

  Barrie noticed his scrutiny and frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  "Just about everything, if you want to know," he remarked absently, searching her eyes. "Life teaches hard lessons, little one."

  He hadn't called her that, ever. She'd never heard him use such endearments to anyone in normal conversation. There was a new tenderness in the way he treated her, a poignant difference in his whole manner.

  She didn't understand it, and she didn't trust it.

  A movement caught his eye. "Here comes Rodge," he murmured, nodding toward the ranch road, where a station wagon was hurtling toward the airstrip. "Ten to one he's got Corlie with him."

  She smiled. "It's been a long time since I've seen them."

  "Not since my father's funeral," he agreed curtly. He left the cockpit and lowered the steps. He went down them first and waited to see if she needed help. But she'd worn sneakers and jeans, not high heels. She went down as if she were a mountain goat. She'd barely gotten onto the tarmac when the station wagon stopped and both doors opened. Corlie, small and wiry and gray-haired, held her arms out. Barrie ran into them, hungry for the older woman's warm affection.

  Beside her, Rodge shook Dawson's hand and then waited his turn to give Barrie a hug. He was at least ten years older than Corlie, and still dark-headed with a few silver streaks. He was dark-eyed and lean. When he wasn't managing the ranch in Dawson's absence, he kept busy as Dawson's secretary, making appointments and handling minor business problems.

  The two of them had been with the Rutherfords for so long that they were more like family than paid help. Barrie clung to Corlie. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the woman.

  "Child, you've lost weight," Corlie accused. "Too many missed meals and too much fast food."

  "You can feed me while I'm here," she said.

  "How long are you staying?" Corlie wanted to know.

  Before Barrie could answer her and spill the beans, Dawson caught her left hand and held it under Corlie's nose. "This is the main reason she came back," he said. "We're engaged."

  "Oh, my goodness," Corlie exclaimed before a shocked Barrie could utter a single word. The older woman's eyes filled with tears. "It's what Mr. Rutherford always prayed would happen, and me and Rodge, too," she added, hugging Barrie all over again. "I can't tell you how happy I am. Now maybe he'll stop brooding so much and smile once in a while," she added with a grimace at Dawson.

  Barrie didn't know what to say. She got lost in the enthusiasm of Rodge's congratulations and Dawson's intimidating p
resence. He must have had a reason for telling them about the false engagement, perhaps to set the stage for Mrs. Holton's arrival. She could ask him later.

  Meanwhile, it was exciting to look around and enjoy being back in Sheridan. The ranch wasn't in town, of course, it was several miles outside the city limits. But it had been Dawson's home when she came here, and she loved it because he did. So many memories had hurt her here. She wondered why it was so dear to her in spite of them.

  She found herself installed in the back seat of the station wagon with Corlie while Dawson got in under the wheel and talked business with Rodge all the way up to the house.

  The Rutherford home was Victorian. This house had been built at the turn of the century, and it replaced a much earlier structure that Dawson's great-grandfather had built. There had been Rutherfords in Sheridan for three generations.

  Barrie often wished that she knew as much about her own background as she knew about Dawson's. Her father had died when she was ten, too young to be very curious about heritage. Then when her mother married George Rutherford, who had been widowed since Dawson was very young, she was so much in love with him that she had no time for her daughter. Dawson had been in the same boat. She'd learned a bit at a time that he and his father had a respectful but very strained relationship. George had expected a lot from his son, and affection was something he never gave to Dawson; at least, not visibly. It was as if there was a barrier between them. Her mother had caused the final rift, just by marrying George. Barrie had been caught in the middle and she became Dawson's scapegoat for the new chaos of his life. George's remarriage had shut Dawson out of his father's life for good.

  Barrie had tried to talk to Dawson about his mother once, but he'd verbally slapped her down, hard. After that, she'd made sure personal questions were kept out of their conversation. Even today, he didn't like them. He was private, secretive, mysterious.

  Rodge took her bags up to her old room on the second floor, and she looked around the hall, past the sliding doors that led to the living room on one side and the study on the other, down to the winding, carpeted staircase. Suspended above the hall was a huge crystal chandelier, its light reflected from a neat black-and-white-tile floor. The interior of the house was elegant and faintly unexpected on a ranch.