by Diana Palmer
"You're earning it," he replied quietly.
"By helping you get rid of Miriam," she agreed.
"We'll have to do a little work on you first," he returned. He studied her for a long moment. "You washed your hair."
"Actually, Mary and I washed my hair. I have to get Mary to help me dress with this thing on," she muttered, holding up the arm with the cast and then grimacing at the twinge of pain it caused. "I can't even fasten my bra—" She bit off the rest of the word.
His eyes narrowed. "Embarrassed to talk about undergarments with me?" he asked. "I know what women wear under their clothes." He grew suddenly distant and cold. "I know all too well."
"Miriam hurt you very badly, didn't she, Ethan?" she asked without meeting his eyes. "I suppose having her come back here makes all the scars open up again." She looked up then, catching the bitterness in his expression before he could erase it.
He sighed heavily and lifted the cigarette to his lips with a vicious movement of his fingers. He stared out over the horizon blankly. "Yes, she hurt me. But it was my pride, not my heart, that took a beating. When I threw her out, I vowed that no woman was going to get a second shot at me. So far, no one has."
Was he warning her off? Surely he knew that she'd never have the courage to set her cap for him again. He'd knocked her back hard enough over Miriam.
"Well, don't look at me," she said with a forced smile. "I'm definitely not Mata Hari material."
Some of the tenseness left him. He stubbed out the finished cigarette in an ashtray nearby. "All the same, little one, I can't see you sleeping around. Before or after marriage."
"We go to church," she said simply.
"I go to church myself."
She clasped her hands in her lap. "I read about this poll they took. It said that only four percent of the people in the country didn't believe in God."
"The four percent that produce motion pictures and television programs, no doubt," he muttered dryly.
She burst out laughing. "That was unkind," she said. "They aren't atheists, they're just afraid of offending somebody. Religion and politics are dangerous subjects."
"I've never worried about offending people," Ethan replied. "In fact, I seem to have a knack for it."
She smiled at him. He made her feel alive and free, as if she could do anything. Her green eyes sparkled as they met and held his silver ones, and the same electricity ran between them that had bound them together, years ago, one lazy day in late summer. The look had been translated into physical reality that one time, but now it only made Arabella sad for something she'd never have again. Even so, Ethan didn't look away. Perhaps he couldn't, she thought dazedly, feeling her heart shake her with its beat, her body tingle all over with sweet, remembered pleasure.
He said something rough under his breath and abruptly turned away. "I've got to get down to the holding pens. If you need anything, sing out. Betty Ann's in the kitchen."
He left without a backward glance.
Arabella stared after him with open longing. It seemed that she couldn't breathe without setting him off. And even if he could have felt something for her, he wasn't going to let his guard down again. He'd already said so. Miriam had really done a job on his pride.
She leaned back in the swing and started it swinging. Odd that he hadn't found someone to replace Miriam as soon as his marriage was over. He could have had his pick on looks alone, never mind the fortune behind his name. But he'd been a loner ever since, from what Mary had said. Surely Miriam couldn't have hurt him that much—unless he was still in love with her.
She sighed. She was a little afraid of Ethan. She was much too vulnerable and he was close at hand and alone. Ironically, Miriam's arrival might be her only hope of keeping her heart from being broken by him all over again.
Chapter Four
Arabella had supper with the family for the first time that night, and Matt announced that he was taking Mary to the Bahamas for a much-needed vacation.
"Vacation?" Ethan glared at him. "What's that?"
Matt grinned. He looked a lot like his brother, except that he had deep blue eyes and Ethan's were silver. Matt was shorter, less formidable, but a hard worker in spite of his easygoing nature.
"A vacation is a thing I haven't had since I got married. I'm leaving and Mary is going with me."
"It's March," Ethan pointed out. "Calving? Roundup. . . ?"
"I never asked for a honeymoon," Matt replied with an eloquent glance.
Ethan and Coreen exchanged wry looks. "All right. Go ahead," Ethan told him dryly. "I'll just have an extra set of arms put on and manage without you."
"Thanks, Ethan," Mary said gently. Her eyes glanced shyly off his and she smiled at her husband with pure delight.
"Where in the Bahamas did you plan to go?" Ethan asked.
Matt grinned. "That's a secret. If you don't know where I am, you can't look for me."
Ethan glared at him. "I tried that four years ago. You found me."
"That was different," Matt said. "A note came due at the bank and they wouldn't let me arrange the renewal."
"Excuses, excuses," Ethan replied.
"You might look at houses before you come back," Coreen murmured.
Matt shook his finger at her. "Not nice."
"Just a thought," she replied.
"If we leave, who'll save you from Ethan?" Matt asked smugly.
Arabella glanced at Ethan, who looked more approachable tonight than he had since she'd come home from the hospital. She felt suddenly mischievous. She raised her hand. "I volunteer."
Ethan's silvery eyes lanced her way with faint surprise and a little delight in them as he studied her face. "It'll take more than you, cupcake," Ethan said, and he smiled.
The smile reminded her of what Coreen had said, about how easily Ethan had once smiled for Arabella. The knowledge went to her head. She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'll recruit help. At least one of the cowboys was offering to spray you with malathion late this afternoon. I heard him."
"He was offering to spray me with insecticide?" Ethan glowered. "Which cowboy?" he demanded, with a look that meant trouble for the man.
"I won't tell. He might come in handy later," Arabella returned.
"Feeling better, are we?" Ethan murmured. He lifted an eyebrow. "Watch out. We'll get in trouble."
Arabella looked around. "I thought there was only one of me."
Ethan felt frankly exhilarated, and that disturbed him. He had to drag his eyes away from Arabella's soft face. He stared at his brother instead. "Why don't you want a house of your own?" Ethan asked him.
"I can't afford one."
"Horsefeathers," Ethan muttered. "You've got a great credit rating."
"I don't like the idea of going that deep in debt."
Ethan sat back in his chair and chuckled. "You don't know what debt is until you spend ninety thousand dollars for a combine."
"If you think that's high for a harvesting machine, just consider the total cost of tractors, hay balers and cattle trailers," Coreen added.
"I know, I know," Matt conceded. "But you're used to it. I'm not. Mary's applied for a job at the new textile plant that just opened. They're looking for secretarial help. If she gets it, we might take the plunge. But first we take a vacation. Right, honey?"
"Right," Mary said eagerly.
"Suit yourself," Ethan said. He finished his coffee and stood up. "I've got to make a couple of phone calls." Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to Arabella. She looked up in time to meet that searching gaze, and a long, static moment passed during which Ethan's jaw clenched and Arabella flushed.
Arabella managed to look away first, embarrassed even though Coreen and the others were engaged in conversation and hadn't noticed.
Ethan paused by her chair and his lean hand went to her dark hair, lightly brushing it. He was gone before she could question whether it had been accidental or deliberate. Either way, her heart went wil
d.
She spent the evening listening to Matt and Mary talk about their planned trip, and when bedtime came, she was the first to go up. She was on the bottom step of the staircase when Ethan came out of his study and joined her there.
"Come here, little one, I'll carry you up." He bent, swinging her gently into his arms, careful of the hand that was in the cast.
"It's my arm, not my leg," she stammered.
He started up the stairs, easily taking her weight. He glanced down at her. "I don't want you to overdo it."
She was silent, and he drank in the feel of her in his arms. He'd never managed to forget how she felt close against him, and he'd tried, for years. Of course she didn't need to be carried. But he needed to carry her, to feel her body against him, to bring back the bittersweet memories of the one time he'd made love to her. It had haunted him ever since, especially now that she was here, in his house. He hardly slept at all these days, and when he did, his dreams were full of her. She didn't know that, and he wasn't going to admit it. It was much too soon.
She felt her breath whispering out at the concern in his deep voice. She couldn't think of anything to say. She curled her arms hesitantly around his neck and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. His breath caught and his step faltered for an instant, as if her soft movement had startled and disturbed him. "Sorry," she whispered.
He didn't answer. He'd felt something when she moved that way. Something that he hadn't felt in a long time. His arms tightened as he savored the warm weight of Arabella's body, the faint scent of flowers that clung to her dark hair.
"You've lost weight," he said as he reached the landing.
"I know." Her breasts rose and fell in a gentle sigh, bringing them into a closer, exciting contact with his chest. "Aren't you glad? I mean, if I weighed twice as much as I do, you might pitch headfirst down the stairs and we'd both wind up with broken necks."
He smiled faintly. "That's one way of looking at it." He shifted her as he reached her bedroom, edging through the doorway. "Hold tight while I close the door."
She did, shivering a little at his closeness. He felt that betraying tremble and stopped dead, lifting his head to look into her wide, bright eyes with a heart-stopping intensity.
"You like being close to me, don't you?" he asked. His senses stirred with a sensuality that he hadn't felt in years.
Arabella went scarlet. She dropped her eyes and went rigid in his arms, struggling for something to say.
Amazingly, her embarrassment intensified the excitement he was feeling. It was like coming to life after being dead. His body rippled with desire and he felt like a man for the first time in four years. He kicked the door shut and carried her to the bed. He tossed her onto it gently and stood over her, his eyes lingering on the soft thrust of her breasts. His eyes darted back up to catch hers, his heart feeding on the helpless desire he found on her face.
So she hadn't forgotten, any more than he had. For
one wild minute, he thought about going down beside
her, arching his body over her own and kissing her
until she gasped. But he moved away from the bed
before his body could urge him on. Arabella might
want him, but her virginal state was enough of a brake
for both of them. She was still bitter about the past,
and what he was feeling might not last. He had to be
sure.
He lit a cigarette, repocketing his lighter roughly.
"I thought you'd quit, until this afternoon," Arabella said sitting up. She was uncomfortable with the silence and his sudden withdrawal. Why had he taunted her with that intimate remark and then looked as if she'd asked him to do it? Shades of the past, she thought.
"I had quit until you got yourself banged up in that wreck," he agreed with a cold glance. "That started me back."
"So did having a flat tire in the truck." She began
to count off the reasons on one hand. "There was the
time the men got drunk the night before roundup
started. Then there was the day your horse went lame.
And once, a horse bit you—"
"I don't have to have excuses to smoke," he reminded her. "I've always done it and you've always known it." His eyes narrowed as he studied her soft face. "I was smoking that day by the creek. You didn't complain about the taste of it when I kissed you."
She felt the sadness that must have been reflected in her eyes. "I was eighteen," she said. "A couple of boys had kissed me, but you were older and more worldly." She lowered her eyes. "I was trying so hard to behave like a sophisticated woman, but the minute you touched me, I went to pieces." She sighed heavily. "It seems like a hundred years ago. I guess you were right, too; I did throw myself at you. I was besotted with you."
He had to struggle not to go to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss the breath out of her. She felt guilty, when he was the one who'd been wrong. He'd hurt her. He'd wounded her pride, just as Miriam had wounded his, and sent her running. Perhaps her father would never have gotten such a hold on her if he'd told Miriam to go to hell and asked Arabella to marry him.
"What tangled webs we weave," he said quietly. "Even when we aren't trying to deceive people."
"You couldn't help loving Miriam," she replied.
His face froze. Amazing how just the sound of his ex-wife's name could turn him off completely. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, the hardness in him almost brittle as he stared down at Arabella.
Arabella watched him. "Do you realize how you look when someone mentions her, Ethan?" she asked gently.
"I realize it," he said curtly.
"And you don't want to talk about it. All right, I won't ask," she replied. "I can imagine she dealt your pride a horrible blow. But sometimes all it takes to repair the damage is having your ego built back up again."
His pale eyes pierced hers, and the look they exchanged was even more electric and intimate than the one downstairs.
"Are you offering to give me back my self-esteem?" he asked.
Years seemed to pass while she tried to decide if he meant that question. He couldn't have, she decided finally. He'd made it clear four years ago just how he felt. She shivered. "No, I'm not offering anything, except to give a good performance when Miriam gets here," she told him. "I owe you that much for taking me in while I get well."
His eyes blazed. "You owe me nothing," he said coldly.
"Then I'll do it for old times' sake," she returned with icy pride. "You were like the big brother I never had. I'll do it to pay you back for looking out for me."
He felt as if she'd hit him. The only thing that gave him any confidence was the way she'd reacted to being in his arms. He blew out a cloud of smoke, staring at her with total absorption. "Any reason will do," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."
He turned and started toward the door.
"Well, what do you want me to say?" she burst out. "That I'd do anything you asked me to do short of murder? Are you looking for miracles?"
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked at her. "No, I'm not looking for miracles." He searched her face. Somewhere inside, he felt dead. "I put the cat and kittens in the barn," he said after a minute. "If you'd like to see them, I'll take you down there in the morning."
She hesitated. It was an olive branch of sorts. And if they were going to convince Miriam, they couldn't do it in a state of war. She moved restlessly on the bed. "Yes, I'd like that. Thank you."
"De nada," he said in careless Spanish, a habit because of the Mexican vaqueros who worked for him, who still understood their own language best. Ethan spoke three or four languages fluently, which often surprised visitors who felt his Texas drawl indicated a deprived education.
She watched him leave with pure exasperation. He kept her so confused and upset that she didn't know if she was coming or going.
Mary and Matt left the next morning. Arabella hugged Mary goodbye, feeling a litt
le lost without her best friend. Ethan's new outlook and the specter of Miriam's approach seemed daunting, to say the least.
"Don't look so worried," Mary said gently. "Ethan and Coreen will take good care of you. And Miriam won't be staying here. Ethan wouldn't have it."
"I hope you're right. I have a feeling Miriam could take skin off with words."
"I wouldn't doubt that," Mary replied, grimacing. "She can be nasty, all right. But I think you might be equal to her, once you got going. You used to be eloquent when you lost your temper. Even Ethan listened." She laughed.
"I haven't had much practice at losing my temper, except with Ethan," Arabella replied. "Wish me luck."
"I will, but you won't need it, I'm sure," Mary said.
Ethan drove them to the airport in Houston so they wouldn't have to take the shuttle flight out of Jacobs-ville airport. But he was back before Arabella expected him, and he hadn't forgotten about the kittens.
"Come on, if you're still interested." He took her good hand, tugging her along with him, not a trace of emotion showing on his face.
"Shouldn't we tell, your mother where we're going?" she protested.
"I haven't told my mother where I was going since I was eight," he said shortly. "I don't need her permission to walk around the ranch."
"I didn't mean it that way," she muttered.
It did no good at all. He ignored her. He was still wearing what he called his city clothes, charcoal slacks with a pale blue shirt and a Western-cut gray-and-black sport jacket.
"You'll get dirty," she said as they entered the wide-aisled barn.
He glanced down at her. "How?"
She could have made a joke about it with a less intimidating man, but not with Ethan. This unapproachable man would have cut her to pieces.
"Never mind." She moved ahead of him, neatly dressed herself in a pair of designer jeans and a pale yellow pullover that would show the least hint of dirt.
She walked down the aisle and went where he gestured, feeling his presence with fear and delight. It was sobering to think that but for the accident that had damaged her hand, she might never have seen Ethan again.