by Diana Palmer
“Are you all right?” Sheila demanded, dressed up for once in a perky mauve dress that almost concealed her abundant weight, her salt-and-pepper hair neatly curled. She glared at Jason. “Done it again, have you? Why don’t you go cut up a calf, that ought to improve your disposition!”
He didn’t flinch. He went back to the bar and poured himself another whiskey, a larger one, and threw it down.
“Go ahead, get drunk,” Sheila persisted. “Be like your daddy…!”
He whirled, his whole expression threatening. “Damn you!” he breathed, almost shuddering with rage.
“Sheila, no!” Kate cried, horrified at what Sheila had said, at what it did to Jason’s eyes. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. She got between them, so that she was right in front of the belligerent housekeeper. “We have guests coming. This won’t do.” She swallowed, sniffling as she tried to compose herself. “Gene, take Cherry out of here, this isn’t good for her.” She smiled gently at Cherry. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”
Cherry ran to her, hugging her warmly. Tears ran from her eyes, spoiling her mascara. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Babies shouldn’t upset people,” Kate said with a forced smile. “And it will be wonderful to have one in the family. Go with Gene.”
Gene looked worried, but Kate nodded, smiling.
They went out and Kate turned back to Jason, who was staring out the window without moving, the whiskey glass clenched in one lean hand.
She stopped beside him, searching for the right words. She alone knew how vulnerable he really was.
“She didn’t mean that,” she said softly. “She thought she as protecting me.”
He looked out the darkened window blankly. “My father was never a cruel man, except when he drank. When he drank, he raged. And while he raged, he hit.” He looked down at the whiskey. “I can remember a time or two when I’ve raised my hand to another man, when I had too much to drink. But maybe I’ll break one day,” he said absently, not looking at her. “Maybe I’ll try to find my answers in a bottle, like my father did. Maybe I’ll end up just like him…”
“You won’t,” she said quietly. “Jason, you aren’t your father. You’re a totally different man. You aren’t cruel.”
“That’s damned funny, coming from you,” he replied shortly, glaring down at her.
She drew in a gentle breath. “You aren’t a cruel man,” she repeated, searching the dark, tormented eyes above her. “Oh, Jason, I’m sorry,” she whispered achingly. “I’m so sorry, about our baby….”
She touched his arm, and he flinched. He actually flinched away from her, his entire body going stiff, his face rigid with self-control. No, he thought in anguish. No, she didn’t love him anymore. He couldn’t let her see how desperate he was for her touch. If he couldn’t have her love, he didn’t want her pity.
But when Kate saw and felt his reaction, she interpreted it a different way. He wasn’t going to stop blaming her for the baby’s death. She’d failed him, as she’d said, and he didn’t want any part of her. Even her touch repulsed him.
Blindly, she withdrew her hand, staring at it as if it weren’t even part of her body. “Excuse me,” she said in a tone that barely carried to his ears. She turned and went quietly from the room in a kind of stunned daze. She didn’t know how she kept from screaming. It was the last straw. There had been too much pain already, but this was insupportable.
Jason watched her go, his eyes quietly haunted. He stared at the glass in his hand for a long moment, studying it. Slowly he made himself put it down and leave it. Not me, he thought. No. Not ever again. He turned away and left it sitting there.
He didn’t know why he’d poured the first glass, except that the dinner tonight had worried him. He was entertaining potential business partners, and it was a critical time for him. He had some land he wasn’t using for any other purpose. If he could involve some potential backers, he might still pull the Spur out before he had to file for bankruptcy. He was living on his nerves already because of the tension between himself and Kate, and now he realized that he’d created it.
Kate thought he was ashamed of her, that she’d let him down. That was almost laughable. She was the only bright spot in his world, and she had a heart so tender that she could even try to comfort a man who’d hurt her. He closed his eyes and his lips compressed as he fought down a wave of remorse that cut off his breath. Softhearted when she’d needed someone, when she’d lost a baby that he realized now she’d wanted desperately, he’d turned his back on her.
He turned, staring blankly at the door. He loved her with a passion so primitive it struck him like lightning, almost bringing him to his knees. He’d have given anything to take back the past few months, to make it all right again. But the road ahead looked dark. He wondered if Kate would ever let herself care about him again.
He reached the doorway as the bell rang, and guests started pouring in. Minutes later, when they were sitting around the table and he got a look at Kate’s too-composed features, he knew that it was going to be too late. When she turned and looked into his eyes, he was sure of it. There was such indifference in them that he knew without a word that she’d given up on him at last.
The dinner party might have been a huge success, if Kate hadn’t been so upset. But she was nervous and unsure of herself, and having Jason sit at the head of the table like a man ready to order an execution didn’t help. She felt out of place, and she looked it.
One of the society matrons mentioned a book she’d read. It happened to be one of the ones Kate had thumbed through, and she quickly said so and praised the author’s talent.
The matron was immediately affronted, because the book had been a satire on the oil business, which her husband made his living from. Then while Kate was trying to talk her way out of that faux pas, another of the wives mentioned the rates her CDs were getting. Kate didn’t know what a certificate of deposit was, so she assumed that the woman meant the mileage her car was getting, and Kate began talking about hers.
The woman laughed, thinking Kate had made a funny joke. How cute, she told Kate, to pretend to think that a certificate of deposit was a sports car. But to Kate, it was just one more example of how silly she looked trying to be a society woman. She excused herself from the table without saying where she was going. She went upstairs, changed into her jeans and boots and a pullover sweater, and went out to the barn to see about Kip.
Jason had given her a stall for her quarter horse when she’d married him, and she’d moved the horse over after they returned from Jamaica. Having Kip was comforting. He was someone to talk to, who understood her.
She groomed him, talking to him gently. She began to feel like herself again. One thing she knew. She might design clothes well, but she wasn’t cut out to be a hostess. Jason would just have to divorce her and try again. That would probably suit him, too, since he couldn’t stand to let her touch him anymore!
She pulled the curry comb harder through Kip’s dark mane.
“Don’t pull it all out,” Gabe teased.
She smiled out the stall at him. Gabe, at least, liked her the way she was. He was a nice man, even if he did fall in and out of love every second week.
“I won’t,” she assured him. “I’m hiding out. Don’t tell anyone where I am.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“The social set is having dinner with Jason. I’ve just started a fight between two ladies who have opposing views on the latest bestseller, and still another lady thinks I’m hilarious because I don’t understand finance.” She sighed. “Oh, Gabe, I’m just hopeless. I’m not cut out to be anything but a designer.”
“The boss didn’t marry you because you were a designer,” Gabe mused.
“That’s true.” She sighed. “God knows why he did marry me,” she added under her breath as she drew the comb along the sleek withers. “What are you hanging around the barn for?”
He shr
ugged. “I’ve had a fight with my girl,” he confessed. “She thinks I’ve been two-timing her with one of her friends.”
“Have you?” she murmured, tongue-in-cheek, because she knew Gabe.
He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Just a couple of dates, that’s all. Nothing for her to go and get upset about.”
“You’ll never keep a girl with that attitude,” she said easily. “No woman likes being two-timed.”
“I know, Kate, but I like girls,” he groaned.
“So I’ve noticed,” a cold, unpleasant voice said from behind him.
He turned on his heel and the boss was standing there, looking mad as hell and dangerous to boot.
“Uh-oh,” Gabe said under his breath.
“Better find someplace to go to ground, old son,” Jason told him with a smile that was spoiling for a fight.
“No sooner said than done, boss man,” Gabe grinned sheepishly. He nodded to Kate and took off, while there was still time, with only a twinge of regret for leaving Kate to face Jason.
“What in hell are you doing?” Jason asked Kate. He was in his shirtsleeves, bareheaded, with his black hair faintly disheveled in the stark light from the hanging bulb overhead. His white silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his broad, hair-roughened chest and rolled up to his elbows. He looked frankly sexy, if it hadn’t been for the set of his head that alerted her to his state of mind.
“I’m grooming Kip,” she said pleasantly. “I hope your dinner is going well. I had a terrible case of polite indigestion, from an overdose of social leprosy.”
He actually laughed, his stance less threatening. “Well, it’s not fatal.”
“Have they gone?” she asked tersely.
“They’re still arguing about that damned book. At least, two of them are. The other one is in tears because she suddenly realized that she’d upset you. She honestly thought you were making a joke.”
“Sorry,” she murmured regretfully, and pulled the comb slowly along Kip’s flank, watching the way it rippled with pleasure at the touch.
“The men are deliberating about whether to drink all my whiskey or just go home. They don’t think they want to invest in a feedlot.” He tilted his head back. “If you want to walk out, honey, this is a good time to leave. I may go bust any day.”
She stopped the comb altogether. “I didn’t marry you for your money.”
He sighed heavily. “No, I guess you didn’t at that, did you? You married me because you were pregnant with my baby. You told me a few white lies to keep me from sacrificing myself, and I’ve given you hell ever since.” His dark eyes caught her shocked ones. “I know I’m the devil to live with. Well, maybe I didn’t want to get married, but I wanted the baby. I had so much riding on that little one, Kate. I went crazy when we lost him. But I never really blamed you, despite what I said.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He gestured toward Kip’s mane. “You missed a spot.”
She had. She pulled the curry comb over it. “What will you do, if you lose the Spur?”
“Blow my brains out, probably,” he said easily. “It’s the only thing I ever cared about.”
Yes, she thought bitterly, it probably was. God knew, he’d never cared about her. “I’m sorry if I ruined your chances in there,” she said after a minute.
“You didn’t. I’d already ruined them, just by showing weakness,” he said. “People attack it instinctively, Kate, haven’t you noticed? They smell blood. Especially businessmen. They knew I was in trouble when I invited them here.”
“I thought ranchers helped each other,” she said. “You always helped Dad.”
“We’re not talking family ranches here, honey.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and then leaned lazily against the stall to smoke it. “We’re talking millions, not nickle and dime. The bank is two steps away from foreclosure. I’ve defaulted, Kate. I can’t even meet the interest payment. The feedlot was a long shot, but I took it.” He shrugged. “And I lost.”
She put away the comb, patted Kip’s neck and gave him a sugar cube, and went out, latching the gate behind her. “What will you do?” she repeated gently.
He blew out a thin cloud of smoke. “I don’t know.”
She searched his hard face. “A lot of it was my fault, I guess…”
“None of it was your fault,” he said curtly.
“I’m not cultured enough to be the kind of wife you need,” she said from between her teeth. “I grew up poor and even if I know how to design, I don’t even know how to dress….”
“Just hold it right there,” he said shortly. His black eyes bit into hers. “You weren’t the only one who told a few white lies. I never thought you wouldn’t fit into my world.” He moved restlessly, avoiding her shocked gaze. “I just didn’t want you fitting into anybody else’s. You’d already said you didn’t want to get stuck on a ranch in Texas.”
“You didn’t want me,” she reminded him. She flushed at the look on his face. “Well, only in bed.” She lowered her gaze back to Kip’s mane. “I tried to be the kind of wife you wanted, but I wasn’t meant for fancy parties and high society. I do like going barefooted and wearing jeans, just like you told Gene to paint me.”
“I told Gene to paint you in jeans because you’re a country girl and I like you just that way,” he replied gently, taking a draw from the cigarette. “I meant it as a compliment, not an insult. I guess with things so strained between us, though, you didn’t expect compliments from me.”
She forced a smile to her lips. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured.
He had to force himself not to make a grab for her, throw her against a wall and make violent love to her where she stood. It was what he wanted to do, and it might have given her a hint about his feelings. But she already seemed to think that desire was all he had to give. It was going to take a long, slow courtship this time to win her back. His eyes kindled and a faint smile touched his hard mouth. Well, he’d managed to do that once. Why not twice? Maybe it wasn’t hopeless.
“How do you feel about your career now?” he asked, and without mockery or anger.
She looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know, Jason. I like doing it. But it isn’t my whole life. It’s just a job that I enjoy. That’s all.”
He pursed his lips and had to fight not to grin. He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette.
“I do make a lot of money at it,” she added hesitantly. “If you need help, I don’t mind contributing what I’ve got…”
“I’m the head of the household,” he returned. “That may sound old-fashioned, but then, so am I. In my family, I make the living. I’d starve before I’d take a penny from you.”
“You’re such a chauvinist, Jason,” she sighed.
His broad shoulders lifted and fell. “Is that new?”
She managed a sad smile. “No. You always were.”
He smoked his cigarette silently. The barn was cozy against the chill of cooler weather. “Have you started your new collection?”
The question surprised her. He sounded genuinely interested. “Why, yes. I’m building it around the Alamo,” she said. “I drove up with Cherry a couple of days ago to look at it again, to get the feel of it. Mr. Rogers thinks I may be able to get a fabric designer at one of the Clayborn mills to design a fabric just for my things. Isn’t that something?”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed absently. “That’s something.”
“Well, it is to me,” she said quietly, turning away. “I put in a lot of hard work to get where I am, even if you do hate my work.”
“I don’t hate it,” he said. His broad shoulders rose and fell. “I resent it sometimes, and don’t bother asking me why, I won’t tell you,” he added curtly.
“Why not?” she asked, her green eyes twinkling for a change. “Are you dying of love for me and madly jealous of my work?”
He actually laughed. It was the truth, and
she didn’t even believe it. “Wouldn’t you fall in the floor if I was?”
“I’d do that, all right,” she agreed, finishing up Kip’s withers.
“About what happened in the house; what I said to you earlier about the baby…” he began gruffly.
She put up the curry comb. “If you apologize, I will fall on the floor, of shock,” she said without looking at him. “You never apologize, because you never make mistakes.”
His eyebrows went up and he grinned. It was the first time he’d ever been able to face that imperfection. “I’m perfect,” he reminded her. “Didn’t you know?”
She let her eyes wander over him with shocked delight, and he felt light-headed at the soft appreciation in them before they averted to the business of putting Kip into his stall. “Physically, I wouldn’t have an argument,” she murmured daringly.
He smiled wickedly. She came back out of the stall, and found herself suddenly caught and held against his broad chest, with his dark face just inches from hers.
“You’re pretty devastating yourself, Mrs. Donavan,” he breathed, and bent to her mouth.
He hadn’t kissed her since before she lost the baby. It was new and exciting, as it had been in the early days of their courtship. She caught her breath as his lips nibbled and teased hers, while that whipcord lean arm held her closer in the soft silence of the barn.
“Kiss me back, Katy,” he teased, nuzzling her mouth. “I dare you. Open your mouth, the way I like it, and kiss me blind…!”
She didn’t want to. She didn’t mean to. But when she turned her head, his mouth was there, hard and warm and smoky and expertly demanding. She caught her breath and it went into his mouth, sighing out helplessly. He turned her and backed her up against the wall, his lips hard against her, his broad chest shaking with the force of his heartbeat, his body causing an instant answering desire in hers.
She put her hands on his chest to push him away, and he chuckled deeply, nibbling her lips while he jerked open the shirt buttons and pulled one of her hands inside, to tangle it in the thick hair over the warm, hard muscles.