If she did suffer regrets—and she would, if she chose to marry him—he didn’t want her to look back and assume she’d been coerced into agreeing.
In an effort to get out from under the constant irritation of the construction workers, Zane decided to take Arabesque for an afternoon ride.
His nerves were on edge and he realized his nervousness was due to Lesley. He wanted her answer, one way or the other, so he could move forward.
If she turned down his proposal, then he’d make plans to go after Schuyler as soon as the remodeling was complete. His scheme for vengeance against the terrorist was progressing beautifully. Zane’s first line of attack had been against Schuyler’s finances. He wanted to hurt him where it would affect him most, and since Schuyler assumed Zane was dead, he hadn’t a clue how it was happening. If by chance Lesley did agree to marry him, then Zane would hold off on his revenge until after he was certain Lesley was pregnant.
Arabesque’s sleek neck appeared over the stall door when Zane entered the barn. He reached inside his pocket for a sugar cube and fed it to him while he gently spoke to the gelding.
Carl, who was breaking up a bale of hay with a pitchfork, glanced up from the other end of the barn. “Howdy,” he called, looking pleased with himself.
“You seem to be in a chipper mood.”
“I am,” Carl returned.
“Any particular reason?”
His friend leaned against the pitchfork and Zane swore Carl wore a grin as wide the Mississippi River. “I’ve got an important dinner date coming up.”
Zane assumed it had something to do with the property Carl had mentioned purchasing not long ago.
His friend returned to the task at hand, whistling as he pitched hay.
It didn’t take Zane long to saddle Arabesque. The gelding was in the mood for a run. Generally he held him back, but not this afternoon.
After a brisk workout, Zane looked longingly toward the beach. The path down was a series of steep switchbacks that demanded all his skill as a rider. Because of the time and attention it entailed, Zane rarely rode Arabesque on the shore.
He was three-quarters of the way down the steep hillside when he heard voices. His view was blocked by a large boulder, but he didn’t need to see the trespassers to know that they were there.
Being careful not to attract their attention, Zane painstakingly wound his way farther down the hillside. As he neared the rock, he was more able to make out the words.
“What if we get caught?”
“He never comes down this way. He’s not going to catch us.”
Whoever it was didn’t sound to be more than nine or ten. Boys, Zane decided, looking to make trouble.
“He’d kill us if he ever found us.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“He’s been in prison. I heard my mom talking with Mrs. Wilson and she said he got those scars in a fight while in a federal penitentiary. She said he was up for murder.”
“Murder,” the other two repeated.
Murder. This was news to Zane. He knew that the locals thought him a monster, but this was the first time he’d heard he was fresh from the slammer.
“I bet he escaped and that the law’s looking for him.”
“Yeah.”
Zane couldn’t resist it any longer. With Arabesque’s head held high, tail swishing, Zane led his gelding from behind the huge rock.
Three boys stared up at him, their eyes wide with fear, their mouths gaping open. “This is private property,” Zane announced in his sternest voice. “I suggest you leave before I decide to press charges and have you thrown in jail.”
Two took off running so fast, their shoes kicked up small rocks. The third boy, the smallest, scampered up the hill. His foot hit a loose rock and he lost his footing. With what must have been a shot of frantic fear mingled with alarm, the lad rolled down the rocky landscape and landed no more than a few feet from Arabesque’s prancing hoofs.
The wind seemed to have been knocked out of him because he doubled up and didn’t seem to be able to breathe.
Zane climbed down off his gelding and knelt down beside the boy. “Take small breaths,” he advised calmly. “And don’t panic. The pain will pass in a moment.” He removed his own jacket and tucked it under the boy’s small head.
“It’s gonna hurt bad, but it won’t last long.”
The boy’s chest heaved and he panted. His eyes were incredibly round as he stared up at Zane.
“Don’t worry, son, I’m not going to do you harm.”
As soon as he was physically able, the youngster sat upright. It was apparent by the way he immediately edged away from Zane that he didn’t trust him.
“I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” Zane repeated. “Is anything broken?”
Another boy appeared around the corner, and with a yell Tarzan would have envied, he hurled himself at Zane. “Leave my brother alone.”
Zane captured the older boy and tucked him under his arm. The child kicked and screamed, legs and arms flailing out wildly as he lashed out in a desperate effort to save his younger brother from certain death. The boy on the ground leapt to his feet and kicked at Zane’s bad leg with all his might.
Zane bit off a groan at the stabbing pain that shot up his thigh. With his free arm, he circled the younger boy’s waist and lifted him off the ground. Now he had two squirming boys to contend with.
It didn’t take either one of them long to expend their energy. The oldest gave out first. The youngest stopped soon afterward, and glanced up at Zane with a look that revealed both anger and terror.
“Are you going to eat us?” the youngest boy asked.
Zane burst out laughing, the sound echoing with the wind.
“That was a stupid question,” his older brother admonished. “Of course he isn’t going to eat us.”
“Don’t be so hasty, boys. You look like mighty tasty fare.” Then because he was having such fun, Zane reared back his head and shouted. “Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”
“You won’t hurt us,” the older of the two announced. “Tommy got away and he’ll be back with the police.”
“Good,” Zane said calmly. “I’d like to talk to them myself. It seems the three of you were on private property. I’d be well within my rights to have you penalized.”
“What’s “penalized” mean?” the younger whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
The older of the pair ignored his brother.
“It means you’d be in big trouble with your parents,” Zane explained.
“Maybe we’d be better off if he ate us.”
Zane howled. Nothing had struck him so funny in years. He released both boys, certain they’d make good their escape.
Neither one did as he expected. Instead, they stared up at him as if they’d never seen a man laugh before.
“You’re not a monster,” the youngest stated.
“Don’t be so sure.” For effect, he raised his arms and roared. Both boys cowered, but stood their ground.
“I guess I can’t fool you,” Zane said as he walked back to Arabesque. He reached for the reins and swung up into the saddle with graceful ease. The leather creaked as the gelding accepted his weight.
“What are your names?” he asked.
“Eddie,” the oldest said.
“Dennis.”
“Last name.”
“Smith,” Eddie said quickly, too quickly. “Eddie and Dennis Smith.”
“Try again, and this time I want the truth.”
“Glasser,” Dennis confessed. “Our dad works for the gas company.”
“Mom’s an attorney.”
“You tell your parents for me that they’ve raised a fine pair of boys. But it’s not a good idea to come down here to this stretch of beach without getting my permission first, understand?”
Both boys nodded simultaneously.
“Goodbye, boys.”
“Goodbye.” They turned and took off running, their
young legs kicking up rock and sand in their rush to find their friend and tell him of their adventure.
With a smile, Zane finished his ride. Welcoming the freedom, Arabesque took off down the beach in a full gallop. A motion from the corner of Zane’s eye caught his attention. He looked up toward his property and to his delight discovered Lesley standing at the viewpoint. She was dressed in red, and when she realized he’d seen her, she waved.
He returned the gesture. Lesley had made her decision. Because of the distance, Zane couldn’t read her expression. His first inclination was to assume she’d decided to accept his proposal. Then he realized she was the type who would face him either way.
With a flick of the reins, Zane urged Arabesque up the hill. Instead of taking the switchback, Zane drove the gelding up the steep slope, using both the talent of his animal and his skill as a rider to make the vertical climb.
By the time he reached the top, Arabesque was slick with sweat. When he returned his gelding to the barn, Carl volunteered to cool him down.
“Give him a handful of extra oats,” Zane instructed. Then, because he was anxious to see Lesley, he left.
He found her hurrying across the front lawn. He didn’t want to appear overly eager, and at the same time his heart felt like an air hammer pounding holes into his chest. Her decision shouldn’t matter this much, but it did.
He wanted a son. A boy like the ones he’d happened upon while on the beach. A child who would fight against impossible odds to save his brother. One with backbone and honor.
They met halfway across the yard. He searched her face, thinking he might read the answer in her eyes.
“I’ve made my decision,” she said, looking confused and uncertain. Her eyes seemed red rimmed, and he couldn’t think of a single reason for her to weep.
“I was convinced we’d both be making a mistake if we married.”
Disappointment zeroed in on Zane like a hawk narrowing in on a field mouse. He should have realized it would take more than the promise of financial security to tempt a beautiful woman like Lesley to marry a monster like him.
“Perhaps if we spent more time getting to know each other. Surely you realize we’re barely more than acquaintances.”
“No.” He hadn’t the time nor the patience for a lengthy courtship. “If you agree to be my wife, we’ll be married by the end of the month.”
“Not this month?”
“This month,” he countered. But she’d already decided otherwise, so it shouldn’t matter.
Lesley lowered her gaze. “I saw you just now with those two boys, and saw how good you were with them, and I understand now. I feel…”
What the Glasser boys had to do with this Zane didn’t know.
“I’d made my decision,” she whispered, and it sounded very much like she was on the verge of tears. “Blast you, Zane Ackerman, blast you.” She fell into his arms, sobbing for no reason that he could ascertain.
When her emotion was spent, he eased her away from him enough to look at her face, which was blotchy and red. “Lesley, what’s wrong?”
“Me, that’s what’s wrong. I want this. I want a family. I guess what I’m saying is that I’ll marry you.”
This seemed to be a day for celebrating. Because it was impossible to hide his happiness, his arms surrounded Lesley’s waist and he whirled her around, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Chapter Seven
CARL WAS DETERMINED TO do everything right on his date with Candy. He didn’t stop to analyze why it was so important that he mend fences with the little hellcat. Frankly, he feared he wouldn’t like the answer.
When he first started dealing with her at the feed store, he actively disliked her. The woman drove him nuts. He’d never liked bossy, opinionated women, especially ones who seemed to think they could compete in a man’s world, and did. Nor did he appreciate the way she tried to disguise the fact she was a woman. With breasts a cover model would envy, it seemed a downright shame for her to walk around in such an unflattering wardrobe.
Then out of the blue, Candy started dressing and acting like a woman. He recalled the night of the Grange dance. He’d walked in and spied her across the room, talking with one of the men who worked at the feed store. She was beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—what a difference a little makeup and a skirt could make. From that moment forward, Carl hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
After their explosive lovemaking, Carl had assumed whatever was between them would be satisfied. But it hadn’t worked that way. Instead of leaving him content, their one time together had created a need for more. His thoughts were dominated with the question of how long he’d have to wait. He couldn’t forget the way it’d been between them. Explosive. Urgent. Volatile. Exciting.
If all it took was a box of chocolates, a bunch of red roses and dinner at the finest restaurant in town to get back into Candy’s good graces, then he’d consider it well worth the effort.
Carl dressed in his best shirt and jacket and even splashed on a shot of citrus-scented cologne. He would have liked to talk about what was happening between him and Candy, but the only person he could think to discuss it with was Zane. But then Carl figured his friend didn’t know anything more about courting a woman than he did himself.
In the past, women were a luxury neither man could afford. Relationships were out of the question.
He left the house whistling and arrived at Candy’s promptly at six. She opened the door and he was struck dumb. Carl swore he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. And he’d seen his share.
Candy wore a black skirt that closely hugged her hips, revealing long, sleek graceful lines. She had on the same black boots as the night of the dance, and the soft white V-neck sweater that drew his attention straight to her front.
Carl’s mouth went dry just looking at her. He wasn’t sure how he was going to go the entire evening without his tongue dangling out of the side of his mouth, wanting her the way he did. He must have stared too long because she laughed softly and stepped aside.
“Hello, Carl.”
“Here.” He thrust the bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates at her, unable to be rid of either fast enough. He felt like a silly fool as it was.
“How sweet.” Candy closed her eyes, sniffed the roses and smiled gently. “Thank you, Carl.”
He shrugged, wishing now he’d bought out the entire flower store since she seemed to be so fond of the roses.
“The chocolates were the best Buckwald Pharmacy had.” He would have preferred giving her Belgian ones, but he’d need to drive into Chicago to find those.
“I’m sure they’re delicious.”
“Are you ready to go?” He checked his watch. He hadn’t made reservations, but he didn’t know how long he was going to be able to keep from touching her. Especially when it was just the two of them alone.
“I thought we’d have a glass of wine first…that is, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” he said, swallowing tightly. Wine. He should of thought of that himself. The next time they went out, he’d remember to include a bottle of wine along with the chocolates and flowers.
Candy walked into the kitchen and he followed her. His gaze fell on her hips and the way they gently swayed from one side to the other. The movement was more provocative than if she’d purposely set out to seduce him. With effort, he forced his gaze away, and slowly counted to fifteen in an effort to gain control of his senses.
Candy opened the refrigerator, bent forward and brought out the wine. He might have imagined it, but it seemed to him she purposely aimed her rear at him.
Carl was in trouble and he knew it. “Maybe wine wouldn’t be such a good idea after all,” he blurted out. Sweat formed on his upper lip. When she glanced his way, surprise written on her features, he added, “Being that I’m driving and all.”
“Of course, I should have thought of that.”
Carl had been drinking hard liquor for years and one
glass of Chablis wasn’t going to impair his ability to operate an automobile. But it could greatly weaken his resolve—and he was determined to behave like a gentleman, even if it killed him. At this rate it just might. “Shall we go?” he asked.
Bluebeard’s was by far the best restaurant in town, but by no means fancy. Once they arrived, the hostess, a local woman Carl recognized from the Grange dance, seated them in a corner booth. Candy greeted her by name. Hilda, he thought, but it didn’t matter. The only woman he had eyes for was Candy.
He was greatly relieved now that they were in public. Candy tempted him beyond reason. The only way he could guarantee his behavior was when they weren’t alone.
“The blackened prime rib is delicious,” Candy said, glancing at him over the top of the menu.
Her recommendation was good enough for him. He closed his menu and set it aside. Candy couldn’t seem to make up her mind. He watched as her gaze slid across one side of the plastic-coated menu and then the other. She glanced his way and offered him a nervous smile.
In the end they both ordered the blackened prime rib. Dinner proved to be an enjoyable experience. Once he was able to ignore how much he wanted Candy physically, Carl discovered she was a knowledgeable horsewoman. She seemed surprised by his own expertise in the area.
When he mentioned the property he was thinking of purchasing, Candy brightened.
“That sounds like the Gaudette place.”
The name sounded familiar to Carl. “The house needs plenty of work, and the barn is shot. I’d need to tear it down and build another one.”
“I don’t think anyone’s lived there in ten years or more.”
“Twelve, according to the real estate agent.” Before long, Carl found himself telling her about his ideas for remodeling the place. He used the back of a paper napkin to draw a diagram of the property and where he’d considered placing the barn in relation to the house and other outbuildings.
Candy asked a number of thought-provoking questions and fervently disagreed with his plan for cutting down a grove of hundred-year-old apple trees.
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