Diamond Spur

by Diana Palmer

  “How convenient that you aren’t still pregnant,” he said. “You’d have had to curtail some of your jet-setting.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. Like old times, she thought, seeing beneath the raging mockery to what was really underneath. Odd how well she knew him. How completely. She’d come into the house fuming and irritated, and now she could feel the impact of his pain. The anger and frustration drained out of her, leaving only the shared sadness. Kate couldn’t see what was under the pain, but that alone was enough to soften her.

  She got up from the table and went to him, ignoring the surprise on his dark face as she bent and brushed a soft, tender kiss across his forehead.

  “I wanted the baby, too, Jason, despite what you think,” she whispered softly and managed a wobbly smile.

  She moved away with tears in her eyes. It still hurt, just as much as it had in the beginning.

  Jason watched her go with a face he could barely keep calm, hurting from his heart down. She saw too much, damn her. He slammed his napkin down and went to his study without even his coffee, and he slammed the door behind him. Damn her!

  He sat down at the desk, his head in his hands. Now he knew that she’d been grieving as much as he had. She’d just learned his gift of hiding it. He wished they could talk. But he still couldn’t bend enough to tell her how he really felt. Until he could, there was no hope of a reconciliation.

  The whole family was at breakfast the next morning. Kate smiled vaguely at everyone as she sat down, trying to put the night before behind her.

  “You won’t be on the road anytime soon, I gather, and not working impossible hours until you start on your new designs,” Jason said unexpectedly.

  “Not right away, certainly,” she said quietly.

  “Then you’ll have time to do some things for me,” he said, leaning back arrogantly in his chair. “I want you to organize a few dinner parties for me. I’m trying to drum up some support for a feedlot operation I have in mind. I’ll give you the names of the men I want to invite, and you can get them here in different parties, so that we have a full table. Sheila can help you.”

  Kate shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t know anything about dinner parties,” she said shortly. “Or don’t you remember my first one?”

  He only lifted an eyebrow as he sipped black coffee. “It’s time you learned. If you’re going to live here, you can’t walk around in rags and bare feet forever.”

  Kate glared at him, oblivious to the shocked faces around her. “I’ll dress as I please in my own home, as long as it is my own home,” she informed him. “I’m not high society, as you once told me.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and buttered a slice of toast to go with her eggs, glaring at him. “As for organizing dinners, if Sheila will help me, I’ll try. But don’t expect miracles. As you once said, I’m just a poor little country girl.”

  He actually grinned, a painful reminder of the old camaraderie they’d once shared. “Don’t wear black sequins, will you?” he murmured.

  She lifted her coffee cup and came within a hair of throwing it across the table at him. “Damn you!” she breathed.

  Jason lifted his chin, delighted at her show of fury. It meant there was still some feeling in her. Even subdued fury was better than her constant coldness. “Damn me, by all means, but buy a new dress.”

  “I’ll be delighted to buy an original at Neiman-Marcus,” she promised with icy sweetness, “and give you the bill. If you want rich, you can have rich, but you’ll pay for it.”

  Gene chuckled. “She’s got a point,” he began.

  Jason glared at him. “You can shut up,” he said flatly. “I’ve had more than enough advice from you. I’m carrying the load for both of us while you strut around pretending to be the next Renoir.”

  “Renoir was an impressionist,” Gene replied imperturbably as he buttered a biscuit. “I’m going to specialize in portraits. Right now, I’m working on one of Kate, from a sketch I did when she didn’t know.”

  Kate was flattered and surprised. “Are you, really?” she asked.

  “He really is.” Cherry grinned. “And it’s beautiful. He’s putting you in a green satin gown….”

  “Don’t tell her yet!” Gene burst out. “It’s a surprise.”

  “If you want to paint Kate, put her in blue jeans in a patch of sunflowers,” Jason said lazily, studying her with eyes that were dark and quiet and oddly attentive. “Not in an evening gown.”

  It was the first thing he’d said to her since she’d lost the baby that didn’t have an edge to it. Her green eyes searched his dark ones in a long, tense silence. He didn’t look away, and the tension burst into sparks as it lengthened and pulsed with excitement.

  “By all means,” she said, tearing her eyes away. “Show the world what a country hick looks like.” She put down her napkin and stood up. “I’m late.”

  Jason hadn’t meant it that way, and he almost said so. But she was gone, and Gene and Cherry just sat staring daggers at him. He finished his coffee and got up leisurely, his mind on that helpless softness in Kate’s eyes. It seemed like a long time since he’d made love to her. He thought about it a lot these days. Altogether too much, when he should be thinking of ways to keep from losing the Spur. None of them, not even Gene, knew how critical his situation was getting. He’d bought additional land when interest rates were sky high. It had seemed a good idea at the time because a recreational facility had been planned for that land, and Jason was worried about having four-wheel drive vehicles worrying his cattle, or drunken party-goers shooting them for sport. Now, when he was struggling just to pay the interest on the loan he’d taken out to pay for the land, it didn’t seem overly wise. But spilled milk was spilled milk. He’d just have to do the best he could.

  “Why is he so cruel to her?” Cherry asked when Jason was out the front door.

  Gene shook his head. “I don’t know. It isn’t like him to hurt Kate. But they’ve had an odd relationship. Our father had warped ideas about sex and women. I think Jay’s having a hard time reconciling what he’s been taught with what he feels for Kate.” He sighed and touched Cherry’s hand gently. “I hope he can work it out. Losing the baby has done something terrible to both of them.”

  “Yes, I know,” Cherry replied. She linked her fingers into his. “That’s why I haven’t said anything about our baby.” She searched Gene’s eyes and smiled softly. “But we’ll have to tell them someday. I’ll start showing before much longer.”

  “And I have to start showing a profit,” he mused, lifting her fingers to his mouth. “Now that I’ll have three mouths to feed instead of two. Jason’s never taken my art seriously, but when he sees what I can do with this portrait of Kate, he’ll be convinced. I’m certain of that, Cherry.”

  “So am I,” she said firmly. “And if we have to starve in a garret and beg milk for the baby, I’m with you all the way. Every step.”

  He took a slow, proud breath. “I love you,” he whispered.

  She leaned toward him, smiling as she touched her lips to his. “I love you, too.”

  The weather was slowly getting cooler as October turned to November, and Thanksgiving came into sight. Kate, well into organizing the first of three of Jason’s dinner parties, was very nervous. She wasn’t sure about the guest list, and Jason had been vague. He usually was, expecting people to read his mind if they wanted answers he was too impatient to give.

  She did the best she could, worrying over the caterer and the seating arrangements, whether or not she’d chosen the right kind of wine to serve with the poultry dish and the sweet. She didn’t know beans about wine. She didn’t know beans about place settings, either, not formal ones. Sheila had to teach her. If designing was hard, creating a formal table wasn’t much easier. She’d never known how many utensils it took just for one big meal. A knife, fork, and spoon had been adequate when she was growing up.

  The past two social events she’d gone to had led to disaster because
of the way she’d been dressed. But this time, Jason’s mocking attitude had sent her to a boutique, where she found a sedate gray crepe dress with a high neckline and bishop sleeves that suited Kate very well. She had her hair trimmed and a body wave put in it, so that it curled softly around her oval face. She wore a minimum of makeup and very sophisticated perfume, and not too much of that, either. From her dark hair to her sedate gray kid high heels, she looked perfect as a young society wife. And she was certain that even Jason couldn’t find fault with the way she looked this time.

  She’d done some reading in her spare time—best-sellers, and some historical novels. She’d boned up on elegant cuisine and art. She knew a lot about costume already, from her design training. Kate wasn’t polished, but she felt she could hold her own. Hopefully.

  She went downstairs just before the first guests arrived. Jason was in a neat gray vested suit, holding a glass of whiskey. That alone was odd, because he never drank. The last time had been when Kate lost the baby, and she scowled a little as she went into the living room.

  “I’m not going to stagger, don’t look so worried,” he taunted.

  “You never stagger,” she replied quietly. “But it’s odd to see you drinking.”

  Yes, he thought bitterly, but she couldn’t see inside him, to the dark places filled with guilt and frustrated desire. His dark eyes ran down her slender body. Still too thin, he thought bitterly. Too thin, too distant. He tried occasionally to approach her, but more often than not his pride held him back at the last minute. And as for Kate, she never came near him voluntarily anymore. She never touched him. She was a stranger who lived in his house and avoided him most of the time.

  “You look very elegant, Mrs. Donavan,” he said, and without his usual sarcasm.

  “I found it at a boutique,” she replied. “Even though I design clothes, they’re all casual things. I never knew much about evening gowns and such.” She lowered her eyes to his chest. “It was Cherry who told me about the boutique. She does know style, probably because she and Gene hang around with an artistic crowd.”

  He watched the way her hands folded and unfolded, as if just being around him made her nerves stand on end. “They want to move out.”

  She stared at him. “Do they? Cherry didn’t mention anything….”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t,” he said with a cold, bitter laugh. “She’s trying to protect you.”

  Kate frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  He smiled mockingly and lifted his glass to his lips. “She’s pregnant.”

  It shouldn’t have hit her that way. It was only a statement, after all. Just that. But the way he said it, the bitterness in his deep voice, the faint accusation in his eyes brought back the agony of her own loss. Kate felt the floor go out from under her. Her blood beat in her head as great waves of shock hit her from all sides. She just stood and stared at Jason, like a calf waiting for the bullet….

  He caught her as she swayed, spilling whiskey as he dropped the glass and swung her up in his hard arms with a muffled curse. He laid her down on the long couch, noticing how frail her body was and her face, pinched and white. Memories flooded him of Kate running to him across a meadow, laughing, her green eyes sparkling. That child no longer lived in this old, tired woman who lay so still on his living room sofa.

  He fumbled with the brandy bottle just as Gene came in and suddenly stopped at the sight in front of him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Get Sheila,” Jason said shortly. “Tell her to bring a cold wet cloth.”

  “What happened?” Gene persisted.

  “I told her about Cherry,” Jason muttered. “Will you get out of here?”

  Gene went, hastened on his way by those cold black unblinking eyes.

  Jason looked and felt dangerous. He knelt beside Kate, furious that his hand was unsteady as he lifted her head and put the brandy snifter against her lips. She made a face and groaned, but he held her until some of the brandy got past her tight lips.

  “Don’t,” she moaned, pushing at it.

  He set the glass aside and held her shoulders down when she tried to sit up. “Are you all right?” he asked tersely.

  “No thanks to you,” she whispered shakily, her eyes accusing. “Was it necessary to fling it at me like that?”

  He got slowly to his feet. “You had to know eventually,” he returned, standing over her with a face like stone. “Why hide it?”

  “Why, indeed?” She did sit up then, fighting the urge to burst into tears. “If Cherry had told me, at least she would have led up to it first. She wouldn’t have tried to hurt me with it.”

  He glared at her. “Why should hearing about another woman’s pregnancy hurt you?” he asked coldly. “You told me in the beginning that you didn’t even want my child! Your career came first, you said!”

  She didn’t think she could breathe again. The ice had finally cracked. His remoteness had caught fire, and for the first time, he was letting out his feelings, without making her have to guess at them.

  Now if she could only draw him out, keep him going. Kate got to her feet slowly. “Is that what you think, Jason?” she asked, fighting for composure. “That I never wanted the baby, that I deliberately put his life in jeopardy because of my work?”

  He straightened, staring at her. She was oddly still, as if she were waiting for something. And it was such a relief, suddenly, to have it out in the open. “You told me that no man would ever matter more than your damned job, didn’t you?” he asked with a cool smile, the alcohol mercifully numbing his own guilt about Jamaica. “And that you didn’t want a string of preschoolers hanging on your legs.”

  “I lied.” she said.

  He turned abruptly. “You what?”

  “I lied, Jason.” She took a slow breath, her pale green eyes holding his. “I knew you didn’t want to marry me. You felt guilt that you’d seduced me and got me pregnant, but I was never sophisticated enough or cultured enough to suit a man like you and I knew it. So I lied and told you that I didn’t want you or a child because I thought it would make you go away.” She smiled bitterly. “And it did. Except that you found out the truth and forced me to marry you anyway.”

  She turned away, missing the rigid shock on his dark face. “As for having problems, I had them from the beginning. I refused to have the tests they wanted because I was afraid they’d find something and ask me to have a therapeutic abortion.” She sighed wearily. “I couldn’t have let them. So I hid my head in the sand and pretended that everything was all right. But it wasn’t. Everything went wrong, and maybe it was because of the way it happened.” She toyed with a fold of her dress, fighting tears as she remembered it all. “Babies should be made by people who love each other, Jason, not because of…of an uncontrollable desire. And love on one side isn’t enough. Even when it’s as strong as mine was for you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jason didn’t move. It all came rushing on him like a tidal wave. Why in God’s name hadn’t she told him that long ago? Or at least, when he’d gone to Atlanta to get her? And then he realized how little chance he’d given her to tell him anything. He’d been unreachable. Then, and since.

  She’d lied to save him from a marriage she didn’t think he wanted. She’d wanted his baby. That had to mean that she’d wanted him. But he’d been so cold to her that she couldn’t have any feeling left for him now. He’d shifted his own guilt about the baby on to her thin shoulders, and now his own inability to accept blame had cost him the woman he wanted most in the world, and his child.

  “I wish you’d trusted me, just a little,” she whispered, turning to take a tissue from the ceramic decorator box on the cream-colored end table. The room was done in chocolate and cream, with modern furniture and innovative designs in the carpet and drapes. Kate had always loved it, but right now she could have dropped a match in the middle of it. She sat up, dabbing at her eyes.

  “I’ve never learned to trust, Kate,” he began quie
tly.

  She got up. “I know that,” she agreed, averting her gaze. “I even know why. But I’d never have hurt you deliberately.” She smiled wistfully. “I loved you, Jason. Didn’t you know?”

  He felt sick to the soles of his boots. “No,” he said tautly. “I swear to God, I didn’t even suspect it. Not even when you gave in to me…”

  “You needn’t worry,” she said quickly, shooting a wary glance in his direction. “I’m over it, now. I won’t fall at your feet or anything. I’m cured.” She stared at the tissue in her cold hands. “I’m really cured. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t want anyone to love you. You look on love as a weakness, Jason. I can’t blame you, you’ve never had much experience of it. But I feel sorry for you. Even when it hurts, it’s better than being dead inside.”

  His dark eyes flashed wildly over Kate’s wan little face, and he had the sensation of tearing the wings from a butterfly. She looked almost damaged, and he wanted to tell her the truth. That he did know how to love, that he wasn’t dead inside. That he wanted her love, needed it, hungered for it. If only he could make her understand the darkness inside him, the fear that drove him sometimes to strike out, the fear of ending up like his father….

  He moved toward her, his hard face oddly still. “Kate,” he began softly.

  But before he could speak, Gene and Sheila were back, and Cherry was with them. They’d ganged up in the kitchen, to protect little Kate from that cold man who seemed bound and determined to drag the heart right out of her.

  He glanced toward the door and the impulsive words died inside him. He laughed ironically. “Don’t worry, Kate, here comes the cavalry. They’ll save you from me.”

  “I don’t need saving,” she returned quietly, her hands folded at her waist. “I’m not afraid of you, Jason. I never have been.”