by Brenna Todd
Family. Waite's gaze skipped over to the small creek and he thought of the loved ones he'd lost in the fire at the farm. He remembered it had been a perfect spring day when he'd stood beside their graves and struggled not to cry. The sun had shone gloriously, and the Virginia countryside had been resplendent, washed in its rays, but his heart had been heavy and he'd known he had to move on. Even now, though, on the first day of every spring, he always felt a little sick inside. Maybe that was why he was drawn to this barren winter landscape.
Suddenly the sound and vibration of pounding hooves on the hard, cold ground intruded on Waite's thoughts. Cherokee raised his head, ears twitching, and Waite rose, narrowing his eyes as he waited for the rider to appear over the rise to the west.
A frown drew his brows together when one of J.B.'s Thoroughbreds thundered into view, heading for the creek at a breakneck pace. Its rider was a woman, but she was wearing men's—
"Whoa! Damn it, whoa!" she shouted. "Come on, stop!"
"Oh, for God's sake," Waite muttered when recognition set in. Della. What the hell was the woman doing? She was flopping and bouncing in the saddle as though she'd never ridden a horse in her life. And she knew better than to yell at a horse! Especially a Thoroughbred like Sophie who—
God, the fool woman was going to ride that horse right into a tree! Sprinting for Cherokee, Waite vaulted into the saddle, then watched in amazement as Della somehow managed to turn the horse, and the two went racing off to the east. How she stayed in the saddle was a puzzle to Waite.
Shaking his head, he set out after them. There was no doubt that his stallion could catch the mare, and in moments he and Cherokee were behind them. Della's screams carried back to Waite on the wind, and he was close enough to see the shapely bottom that had inspired so many lustful fantasies in his younger days.
He brought Cherokee alongside them and shouted, "Della, for God's sake, what's—"
Startled, she shrieked and jerked her head around to look at him... and let go of the damned reins!
"Damn it! Have you lost your mind?" Waite couldn't quite fathom what he'd just witnessed. The woman who'd taught him the differences between cow ponies and hunters and the art of riding a Thoroughbred, had just dropped the reins of a horse that was streaking across the ground like a whirlwind! His arm shot out to grab her before she lost her seat completely, but he was too late. Her feet came out of the stirrups and she slid backward beyond his reach, then tumbled off the rump of the horse, landing squarely on her backside.
Waite reined in his horse, watching in stunned silence as Sophie galloped off for parts unknown. Quickly he guided Cherokee over to Della, who was lying flat on her back, once again dressed in men's clothing. Yes, her recent behavior was decidedly odd, he mused. He swung down from the saddle and knelt at her side, gently pulling away the hands that covered her face.
She was crying, he noticed with alarm. "Oh God, you're hurt." He quickly pulled off his gloves and took her hands in his. "Della, where are you hurt?"
She didn't answer. She merely shook her head back and forth, squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed even harder.
"Della, talk to me," he urged, forcing back panic. What if the fall had injured her back? "Can you move your legs? Your arms? Here, sit up, bend your knees, move something, goddamn it."
She didn't answer, but she must have heard him through her sobs, because she lifted her heels off the ground, then bent her legs once before dropping them back to the dirt.
"You scared the life out of me," Waite said. He thought of the spectacle he'd just witnessed and shook his head in bewilderment. He'd often seen Della's delight in shocking J.B. and most everyone else in Munro, but he'd never seen anything as foolhardy as this! If he hadn't known it was Della, he'd have sworn another woman had been on that horse.
Alcohol. That was the only explanation.
He leaned in close, trying to get a whiff of her breath.
Della's eyes widened and her sobs abruptly stopped. She shoved at Waite's chest. "Wh-what do you think you're doing?" she demanded wariiy.
"Checking to see what you've been drinking."
She shoved harder and Waite sat back on his heels. Scrambling up and away from him, she brushed at her backside, then winced. "I...I haven't been drinking anything! It's just—that horse! It wouldn't listen to a word I said."
"Said? How about shouted? You know better than to yell at Sophie."
She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt, then frowned, looking in the direction her mount had taken. "Is she...deaf or something?"
Waite shook his head at her and stood. "You have been drinking, haven't you? Of course she's not deaf. What on earth are you talking about? You know better than to scream at her when she's hellbent for speed."
"Oh.. .oh, yeah. Sure, I knew that. I just forgot, that's all."
So why did he have the feeling that she knew no such thing? Was it because of the spectacle he'd just witnessed—mistakes a horsewoman like Della would never make? Or was it the way she quickly averted her eyes? She was acting the same way she'd behaved this morning inside the fireplace. Jittery. As if she had something to hide. He caught her by the arm and turned her to face him.
"No one who knows horses the way you do forgets how to handle them. Explain that exhibition you just put on, Della. In fact, you've got a lot to explain, don't you? Last night—"
"I just fell off a horse, that's all. Happens to the best of us, doesn't it?"
"No, not to experienced riders like you—" Just then, blood trickling from the cut on her head caught his eye. "Hell, you're bleeding again."
Her fingers rose to the wound and came away smeared with crimson. She sighed.
"That's it, isn't it?" he asked, realization dawning. "Your head. You're in no condition to ride a horse, but you got on Sophie anyway. It's a wonder you were able to stay in the saddle at all."
"Well.. .yes, you're right," Erin replied. "But you know me. I just wanted to do it, so I did."
"Come with me," Waite said, grabbing her hand and leading her to his horse.
"Are you taking me back to the house?"
"No." He lifted her into the saddle, settling himself behind her, then took her to the copse of trees she'd nearly crashed into. It was a good thing it wasn't far, because her bruised posterior couldn't have taken much more abuse, Erin thought wryly.
Of course her mind was less on her sore rear end than on the fact that she was in Waite MacKinnon's arms. Though she held her back stiff and struggled to keep her thoughts out of the gutter, there was no stopping her little jaunt down sensuality lane. She felt his jaw brush against her hair a couple of times, and imagined, just for the moment, that she really was Della. The strong arms that flexed and rubbed against hers as he maneuvered the horse's reins made her wonder about the passionate embraces the two must have shared. And when she wobbled in the saddle and Waite slid an arm beneath her breasts to steady her...well, Della exited the scenario completely. That feeling was there again. The sense of Tightness she always felt with him.
Waite stopped the horse near a shallow creek sheltered by overhanging trees, and Erin slid from the saddle, quickly putting some much-needed distance between the two of them. Her legs were shaky, but nevertheless she hurried to the bank, and bent to scoop up water to clean the wound.
"Here." His low voice came from behind her and she glanced around to see him holding out his handkerchief to her.
"Thanks," she said, grabbing it, then hurriedly turning away from the intense expression in his black eyes. Wetting the cloth, she held it firmly against her cut and wondered if the man ever smiled. Granted, she'd only been in his company twice since coming here, but his mood had been strangely intense on both occasions. She found it compelling... and intimidating.
But it wasn't appropriate to feel compelled. Or intimidated. Nothing, in fact, was appropriate in this situation. She ached to get home. Home to her people, her father. She felt guilty as hell for leaving the house yesterday, no matt
er how much it had been her family's idea. Now here she was seventy years in the past. Yes, it was time to acknowledge her predicament.
Whatever her feelings toward Waite, Erin wondered if she shouldn't take one last try at persuading him to help her into the tunnels. He hadn't seemed receptive to the idea this morning, but then, she'd backed down because she'd been so preoccupied with the thought of his and Della's affair.
She rinsed out the handkerchief in the cold water, then wrung it out. Steeling herself, she turned to Waite, and was met by the same black, scrutinizing eyes.
"I...need your help, Waite. And if you care anything about me, you'll listen, all right?"
"What is it?"
"I need to find another entrance to the tunnels. Surely one of them will be unlocked." She held up a hand. "No, don't say anything until I'm finished," she begged, "and please stop frowning until you've heard me out!"
Waite frowned but remained silent. Erin gave herself a mental shake. "I still had the locket you gave me. I had it on last night. No, I really did," she added when his look became skeptical.
"I don't want to talk about the damned locket," he said harshly. "If you didn't want it, fine. But the least you could've done was give it back to me, Della."
"I'm...sorry," she murmured, inwardly cursing Della. She could tell that the jewelry had great sentimental value for Waite. Dared she hope that meant he might help her after all? God, how cold-hearted that sounded. Her stomach churned with guilt, and she almost decided to give up and not ask another thing of him. But on the heels of her guilt were thoughts of getting home.
"Waite, please, I want it back. It's in that tunnel, and J.B. has locked me out. You could help me get it back, couldn't you? I promise never to ask another thing of you, never to—"
"Stop it." His voice was low and harsh. Then he grabbed her hand and Erin gasped. There was anger in his eyes, and bitterness. His jaw clenched. "You know where the entrances are, damn it. You don't need me. Why the hell do you care about the locket now? It meant nothing to you. You told me so yourself."
"I... I must have lied to you, Waite. Because I promise you, I still had it."
He turned away, dropping her hand. Erin grasped his arm, circling to face him. He stared down at her hand on his arm, one brow lifted. "I don't know what you're up to, Della, but don't drag me into it," he ground out. "No matter what plan you have cooking in that devious little brain of yours, I won't help you. And what the hell does 'I must have lied to you' mean? Don't you know?"
"Waite, please. I don't have a plan. I... I know this is going to sound hard to believe, but... there are lots of things I don't remember about myself. My head. Everything's gone fuzzy since I banged it." She touched the bump and gazed into his eyes, attempting to coat her lie with a look of sincerity.
"You're trying to tell me you have amnesia?" He smirked, shaking off her hand. "Oh, Della, that's too farfetched even for you."
"No, no, Waite. It's not farfetched at all!" Please! she wanted to shout, I could tell you a farfetched story that would curl your hair! Not that it needed curl, she noted, taking in the soot black waves that swept back from his forehead and brushed his collar. Soft. It looked soft and healthy. She shook herself again. "It happens all the time. A blow to the head can cause memory gaps."
"And can a blow to the head also cause someone to suddenly gain a heart, a conscience? You knew full well what that locket meant to me, that it was the only thing I had of my mother's, but you coldly rejected the gift. If it meant so little to you then, why do you want it back so badly now?"
"I wish I could explain, but I can't," she replied, flinching at the scorn in his eyes. "I have to get it back, Waite. My life depends on it. I can't tell you why, but does that matter? Can't you just help me?"
He studied her with obvious suspicion, his silence inciting a riot of nerves. Erin hated all this duplicity, this subterfuge. Especially with Waite.
And that was another thing she couldn't explain— the sense of connection she felt with him.
It had been his mother's locket. He said he'd given it to Della and she'd rejected it. Erin hated that, too. Oh, this was nuts! She didn't even know Waite—not really. Sure, he made something melt inside her whenever she looked at him, but she shouldn't care so much. She shouldn't care at all.
The only thing that really mattered was that she get the hell out of here, she kept trying to tell herself.
"I won't help you, Della. You're up to something again, and I'm not going to be part of whatever it is. You should know that."
He turned away again and shrugged off her hand. Erin rushed forward and jumped into his path. "But.. .but I thought we meant something to each other, Waite. You gave me your mother's locket, for heaven's sake. And I just... I mean, I thought..."
"What? What the hell do we mean to each other now? Maybe you're telling the truth, Della. Maybe you do have gaps in your memory. Because if you didn't, you'd remember that you and I are ancient history."
Ancient history? She was confused. "You mean we aren't.. .I mean.. .you know..."
"We aren't what?"
She glared at him. "You know... having an affair. Lovers." She was sure her face was crimson, but she refused to back down.
He gave a cynical bark of laughter, then shook his head. "We're not lovers now, and if you want to get right down to it, love had nothing to do with what we were back then, either. Weren't those your exact words? The day you and J.B. announced your engagement to the world?"
Erin heard pain in his remarks. He'd been in love with Della, she realized, no matter what he said. And it was obvious Della hadn't returned the sentiment. Erin amended her earlier assessment of the woman. Della had been crazier than she'd realized if she had rejected this man for J.B.
"I know you won't believe this, but I'm really sorry you were hurt," she said, her voice quiet. She hated the thought of wrapping the truth in a fabrication, but it was the only way to convey her feelings without having to offer incredible explanations of who she really was. "Maybe a blow to the head can make a heartless person realize how wrong she's been, because I'm truly sorry for what I did to you."
"And I suppose now that you're remorseful and you've seen the light, I should help you get the locket back, is that it? Let me guess why.... You want to sell it to raise money for the orphanage J.B. funds in Missouri. Or maybe one of his other favorite charities, like that Catholic seminary. No, don't tell me, your head was bit so hard you've decided to join the convent. Ah, yes, I can see it now. Sister Della."
Erin knew it was silly to bristle at Waite's sarcasm. It was Della he was insulting, not her. Still she couldn't help the indignation that rose within her.
"Okay, fine! Don't believe me! But if you're so much better, Mr. Holier-than-Thou, why can't you bend a little? Why can't you help me just this once? You're not exactly the soul of charity yourself, are you? If you were, our 'ancient history' would be just that, wouldn't it?"
Moments of silence passed—silence that Erin struggled to interpret.
Then he smiled, and Erin's heart seemed to forget to beat. She'd never seen him smile, and for one fleeting moment all she could think was, At least I got to see it before I left. It deepened the attractive lines at the corners of his eyes, and showed off straight, white teeth. But she wasn't so blinded by the smile that she missed the mockery in it. Damn, but she'd have loved to see him smile at her because he liked what he saw; liked the person she was.
"That bump on the head may have affected your memory, but it certainly didn't make you any less clever. I'm impressed, Della. Whatever your motives for getting back that locket, I have to hand it to you. You're still crafty as hell.
"But not crafty enough. J.B. doesn't want you in those tunnels. And I really would like to be charitable and forgiving, Sister Della, but I'm his friend and partner. I won't go against his wishes."
Erin's temper flared. Why was he still J.B's friend? she'd like to know. Damn it, J.B. had married Della when Waite had been in love with
her! Waite deserved better friends.
"J.B., J.B., J.B.! You're not his friend and partner! You're...you're his lackey! that's right," she said, when his mouth tightened. "Lackey! If everything happened as you say it did, then the man took away someone you loved, for God's sake! What is it he has over you? Why would you just forget what he did, and bow down to him, do any and everything he wants—"
Waite grabbed her arm so quickly the breath rushed from Erin's lungs. Nose to nose with her, he gritted out, "Get it straight. I am no man's lackey."
"Oh, yeah? If that's true, then you can do this for me," she insisted heatedly. Never one to back down from an argument, she added, "You have to! She— I meant something to you once, Waite. If for no other reason than that and the fact that I've changed—"
"You, Della, will never change. Want proof?" he asked derisively, his black eyes flashing.
Oh, how she wished for proof of her own to wipe that arrogant expression off his too-gorgeous face! But there was none, of course, unless she were to tell him Della's body was in a cave somewhere around here. She gave it a moment's consideration before deciding it would only secure her a one-way ticket on the loony-bin express. Her frustration and anger at the boiling point, she tried to jerk, out of his grasp and retorted, "Hell, no. I don't want proof from you! I don't want anything from you! And let go of my arm, you... you..."
"What, Della?" he demanded, his voice low and seductive as he pulled her closer. "I'm interested to hear what you, of all people, were going to call me."
She couldn't think of a name to call him— couldn't think of anything, in fact, because her breasts were now flush with his rock-solid chest and his arm had snaked around her shoulders to hold her locked against him. The set of his mouth and ferocity in his eyes were at odds with the surprisingly gentle manner in which he caressed her cheek, then stroked her lower lip with his thumb.
Erin froze like an animal blinded by car headlights, her body losing all ability to react. But that wasn't exactly true, was it? Her heart reacted immediately, skipping crazily and pumping blood to her cheeks.