by Cindy Gerard
“Well,” she continued, looking to the window, then to her wine, “she was very sweet to me.”
When he sat down in a matching chair that faced hers, she felt too much elation and not enough dread over the fact that he appeared to be settling in for a while.
“She’s very taken with you. I hope she didn’t wear you out.”
“No. Oh, no. It was like talking to my aunt Amelia, the dowager duchess. They’re both crusty, opinionated icons. I love that about them. The eccentricity, the forthrightness. It’s refreshing.”
“Most of the time,” he agreed with another smile. “Lois takes pride in proclaiming that she and her husband, Frank, have been with the family since before I was even a sparkle in my daddy’s eye. Frank’s seventy-five and still riding fence. And Lois—well, Lois is still running the show at High Stakes. They both could have retired years ago but since Lois gets all huffy and drags out her spoon when the R word is mentioned, we just keep the status quo—if for no other reason, to keep the peace.”
“And because you love them,” she concluded, noting that particular emotion was clear in his voice.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Because I love them.”
The honesty of his emotions also played across his face. How refreshing. And how uncomplicated. Just as the man seemed uncomplicated, she thought, watching him. But was he really? She suspected not. She suspected that there was much more to Matthew Walker than charismatic smiles and gentle wit. And she wished it were possible for her to get to know him well enough to find out. Since she would be leaving in a short time, there was little point in thinking along those lines. And yet, she did. She did want to know him better.
Two months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated at a little aggressive flirtation to finesse the information out of him. Two months ago, she’d been confident that he would have responded. Now, she was confident of nothing. Especially her own physical appeal.
He lifted his glass to his lips again then watched her with quiet eyes as another silence enveloped the room. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted quickly when he sat back in the chair and, with a tilt of his head, relayed his uncertainty.
“It’s very beautiful, your High Stakes,” she continued evasively, needing to steer the subject away from herself, needing to steer her thoughts away from that unfamiliar uncertainty that had become her constant, unwanted companion. “And very…” she hesitated, sought the right word, finally decided on, “Texas.”
Their eyes met, held for the longest of moments before he looked out the window, cleared his throat. “You’ll be more comfortable when we get you resettled at the Hunts’. Casa Royale is a sprawling one-level hacienda. You won’t have the stairs to deal with there.”
She blinked. Lowered her head. Well, there was a preemptory goodbye if she’d ever heard one. His statement shouldn’t have felt so much like a blow, but it did. The thought of leaving shouldn’t have felt so much like disappointment either, but there it was, teaming up with everything else that seemed determined to undercut her confidence. Of course he wanted to be rid of her. She was a disruption to his life.
She drew a bracing breath, accepting that she’d faced many disappointments in the past two months and it was time to get used to it.
“I’m sorry, Matthew—about the stairs. I’d never forgive myself if you put your back out carrying me up and down them.”
Green eyes glittering, he gave her a slow, assessing once-over. “If I can’t manage a lightweight like you, there’s not a lot of hope.”
Oh, those eyes. Oh, that look. Did he have any idea what it did to a woman? Yes. She supposed he did, and yet, there was such a gentle spontaneity to his reply that she forgave him for it.
“Lightweight? Lightweight—steer?” she suggested, attempting to keep her voice and, she hoped, the mood, light.
Another slow, lazy grin shot a spike of searing heat straight to her heart. “You don’t forget much, do you?”
“Mind like a steel trap.”
He nodded, giving the point to her. “I may have exaggerated a bit.”
Since she, herself, was a master of innocuous flirtation, she knew exactly how little import to attach to that smile. She’d let many an ardent admirer down with one just like it, so she understood that he’d meant nothing by it. And that’s what hurt the most.
She also understood that he’d have been dismayed to know that his lack of interest cut like the twist of a knife. So, she’d just make sure he’d never know.
“Well, I do thank you for that.” Despite the disappointment, she gave in to her spontaneous need to return his smile.
It was just so easy, that smile. It sort of unfurled—slow and sexy and sincere and by the time it was full blown, she couldn’t help but react to it.
“In any event,” she continued, determined to mask the disappointment that was far too real and altogether defeating, “it really wasn’t necessary for you to carry me. I could have managed the stairs. I need to manage stairs.”
“And you will—in time,” he assured her. “Now, I want an honest answer this time. How are you feeling? Truth.”
She looked at her wine. Looked at him. “The truth is that it feels so very good to have that cast off for a while.”
He looked down, focused on her bare feet peeking out from beneath the long robe. She saw him swallow, let out a breath…and for the briefest of moments, let herself believe that she saw something more intense than concern. Something that hovered near awareness. Whatever it was, it made her heartbeat quicken.
“Is that wise—to take it off, I mean?”
Her heart still hadn’t settled when she decided she’d only wished for something that wasn’t there. “Yes, actually. I think Dr. Chambers has me wearing it more for precaution now. He assures me I can get rid of it completely in a couple of days if the X rays look good.”
“And it’s really not bothering you?”
She shrugged, unwilling to admit to the pain. “Oh, it throbs a bit.”
“You need to get it up.”
“I will. Soon.”
Another small silence fell, one that was long enough for her to finally form the question that had been hovering in the back of her mind since he’d stormed into her hospital room this afternoon like an avenging angel. “Matthew, how did you happen to be at the hospital today?”
It was his turn to look into his glass before meeting her eyes again. “Actually, I’d come to talk to Justin. Thought as long as I was there, I’d stop in and say hello.”
Something flashed in his expression before he shifted his shoulders, tipped back his glass then averted his gaze to the window. She’d always been fairly astute at reading body language. And Matthew’s body was speaking to her. The signals he was sending suggested he wasn’t being truthful. She couldn’t imagine why he’d felt he had to lie—unless he thought they both needed him to come up with an excuse for why he’d been there at the exact time she’d needed him most.
That notion resurrected the wanting to believe that this awareness she felt may not be as one-sided as she’d thought. She had only to think back to his firmly spoken, You’ll be more comfortable when we get you resettled at the Hunts’, to get things back in perspective. He wanted her gone. And who could blame him.
“I’d stopped by to see you before,” he added when she didn’t press him for more.
“You had?” This, now this, was interesting. Jamie Morris, the young woman on the plane who was to have been Albert Payune’s mail order bride, had visited her several times. Another one of Matt’s friends, a fellow Cattleman’s Club member, Aaron Black and Pamela Miles—now Pamela Black—and the Hunts had stopped in as well. She’d never known if she had been disappointed or profoundly relieved each time her door had swung open and it hadn’t been Matthew on the other side.
“You were either sleeping or having therapy,” he explained. “Or you’d developed an infection and they weren’t allowing visitors.”
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��I’m sorry I missed you.” She watched as he leaned forward in his chair, slowly rolling his empty glass between his big capable hands, hands that had held her on a dance floor and carried her on an escape route. Strong hands. Sure hands, tanned and lean. She thought of her left hand, no longer strong, no longer sure, and tucked it deeper into the folds of her robe.
When she looked up, he was watching her. She felt herself flush. She was sure he was about to say something about her hand, but instead, he set the empty glass on a side table then lifted a hand to her nightgown and robe. “The gown. The fit is okay?”
She was twenty-seven years old, the subject of countless feet of news footage, lived on constant public display and yet she felt another rush of heat rise to color her cheeks. How civilized they were. And how intimate as she sat here in a bedroom in his house in a pale blue gown and matching robe that covered her from neck to toe, and he asked about the fit.
“It fits just fine. Lois said it belongs to one of your sisters?”
“Becca. She keeps a room full of clothes here. Until Greg sends one of his hands over with your luggage tomorrow, feel free to use whatever you need.”
“And your sister won’t mind?”
“No. She won’t mind. Becca is completely and irrevocably in love with her husband and her life in California. If she makes it home more than twice a year, we’re always surprised, but she leaves some of her things here so she doesn’t have to drag them back and forth. Kay on the other hand does a lot of traveling with her career. We see her more often.”
He stopped abruptly then shook his head as if he’d just come to a realization. “I’m so sorry, Helena. You have to be exhausted. I’m keeping you up when you need to sleep.”
“I’ve enjoyed this. Your company. The wine. It was perfect. Thank you. And thank you for helping me today. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
His eyes met hers and across the few feet separating them, she thought she saw a suggestion there. The suggestion of a mutually satisfying form of repayment that altered her heartbeat and warmed her skin.
She’d been right. There was nothing uncomplicated about this man. In fact, a man who could touch a woman with his eyes and make her feel the pull as if he had physically enticed her toward him must be very complex.
Abruptly, he looked away, and just that easily, reminded her that it was only her fantasy that kept interrupting reality. The reality was, her accident had changed who and what she was—and what she could be to a man like him.
During the silence that harbored that painful truth, he rose and walked to the door. “Rest well.” He turned, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I’ll be just down the hall. Use the intercom if you need anything.”
Helena forced a smile. Well, that was it, wasn’t it? He was leaving. Her heart had not yet recovered and he was leaving. Tomorrow or the next day, she’d be gone from High Stakes and in all likelihood never see Matthew Walker again.
It wasn’t enough, she realized with no small sense of panic. She wanted more. The part of her that was used to years of getting more overrode those new and unfamiliar insecurities that had yet to become cemented in her psyche.
If this brief time was all she could have of him—a fleeting moment, a soft smile—then she wanted one last contact. Despite the threat of rejection, it came as no small revelation that she wanted to test this attraction she felt. To see if, perhaps, she hadn’t merely imagined a return spark.
She’d been a risk taker her entire life. Wasn’t Matthew Walker worth another risk? She’d found out during the past two months that she could live with many things she’d never thought possible. She could live with the outcome if he rejected her—but she didn’t think she could live with the knowledge that she’d been too much of a coward to even try.
“Matthew.”
He turned.
And her heart stalled.
“I…I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest. I’ve over-extended a bit. Would you…could you…” She stopped, swallowed, and raised her eyes slowly to his. “I’m not sure I can make it to the bed on my own power.”
It was a lie. Boldface and brazen. Her ankle hurt, yes. The ten steps to the bed would be difficult, but not impossible. What seemed impossible, suddenly, was letting him leave without touching her again.
He was at her side in two long strides, scooping her up as if she was made of spun glass and lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
His breath was warm and wine-scented as it whispered richly across her cheek. She looped her left arm around his neck; her right hand rested naturally on his chest, just below his collarbone. Beneath her open palm, his heart beat steady and strong. His body heat leached through his clothes and her gown like a summer sun, nigh noon.
She lifted her face to his…to say something…to tell him something…something inane and chatty that would diffuse a tension that was suddenly so thick with awareness that she could hardly draw a breath—but she got caught in the wonder of his eyes instead. They were dark and restless now, as dark as emeralds, as restless as a midnight sea.
Her breath caught as his gaze, deeply intense, carnally sensual, dropped to her mouth. And lingered.
With a slow sweep of his dark lashes, he met her eyes again. For the longest, headiest moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. And she knew, without ever knowing the touch of his lips to hers that they would be firm and gentle, hot and hungry.
She lowered her lashes in anticipation, her heart wildly beating as his warm breath fanned her temple then pressed a very tender, very chaste kiss there. Then he lowered her carefully to the floor.
Even knowing her eyes were swimming with disappointment, she raised her gaze to his.
His touch was gentle as he brushed a fall of hair behind her ear. He swallowed thickly, his caress lingering in her hair as he bent to touch his lips to her brow in a kiss so gentle it made her ache. So brief, it made her yearn.
“Good night, Helena,” he murmured hoarsely. Then he turned and walked out the door.
And left her there.
Alone.
With her heartbeat raging.
Her breath short and shallow.
And her mind drawing conclusions that were brutally and painfully honest.
She’d taken the risk and she’d lost.
His abrupt departure said it all. Matthew Walker wasn’t a man who would walk away from what he wanted. Which meant only one thing. He didn’t want her.
It hadn’t been desire she’d seen in his eyes. It had been compassion. And the pain that knowledge fostered was more crippling than any injury she had yet endured.
Five
“Well, you’re in a fine mood now, ain’t ya?”
Matt tugged his left glove off with his teeth, then very systematically, removed the right, one finger at a time. He stuffed both in his hip pocket with a distracted glance at Frank, who was looking peeved, his bushy brows pinched with curiosity. “Let’s just get this done, okay?”
Frank’s wizened old face scrunched into a shrewd squint beneath his dusty brown Resistol. “That fancy lady you brought home yesterday responsible for that burr you got tucked under your saddle, boy?”
Matt filled his lungs with crisp March morning air and squatted down to grab the loose bottom board on the corral fence. Frank and Lois were the only two people in this world—short of his father—who he’d let get by with calling him boy, in that tone, in that way.
The fact that Frank was right, however, didn’t make it any easier to swallow. That “fancy lady” had everything to do with his foul mood.
“Hand me that sack of nails, would you?”
Frank let go a snort of disgust and tossed the sack at Matt’s feet. It landed with a puff of Texas dust.
“Hokay,” Frank grumbled. “If that’s the way you wanna play it. Don’t talk about it.”
“I don’t intend to.” Matt snagged a galvanized nail, hammered
the tenpenny home.
“Just let it fester. Let it—”
“Frank.” He looked up, met the older man’s eyes with a patient but pointed glare. “Let it go, okay?”
Frank tugged off his hat, raked his fingers through his thinning silver hair and resettled it on his head. “Fine. I got fence to check.” Then, short of kicking a clod, he ambled off to the barn with his bowlegged gait to saddle up old Bill.
Matt almost stopped him, but, in the end, he went back to work on the broken corral fence. This wasn’t a morning for one of Frank’s well-intended lectures. This was a morning he needed to be alone.
That’s why he’d been out here since sunup driving his men crazy and pushing Frank away. While he spent his fair share of time with the horses, he usually didn’t interfere with the day-to-day operations of the ranch. Vince, his ranch manager, had already had a man on the repairs when Matt had intervened and taken over the chore. He’d needed some distance. He’d needed some time.
He’d needed to hit something.
The hammer in his hand was going to take care of that need. He wasn’t sure about the rest of it. He was sure of only one thing. He’d made a mistake going to see Helena last night.
What the hell had he been thinking? He should have left well enough alone, but no, he’d come up with a dozen excuses to justify a visit to her room. He’d been concerned about how she had settled in; he’d needed to play the host; he’d wanted to make sure she wasn’t in pain or intimidated by Lois.
He’d needed to see her.
That, unfortunately, had been the bottom line.
Well, he’d drawn a new line in the cold clear light of morning. One he didn’t intend to cross. As of today, Helena Reichard’s bedroom was as off-limits as a nuclear test site. He could get too damn used to the feel of her in his arms. Too caught up in the fantasy of seeing her in his bed. Naked. Beneath him.
Disgusted with himself, he slammed another nail home. “You’re an insensitive, testosterone-driven jerk, Walker, if the best you can do by her is feed your fantasies by thinking of ways to get her between the sheets.”