Saxon's Lady

by Stephanie Janes

  "You're right. How the damned furniture looks isn't as important as the fact that I told you I didn't want it in here."

  Devon gathered her internal resources. "Garth, I hate to break this to you, but in a marriage, you do not get to have everything your own way. Having a wife is not like owning a mare. I know you're accustomed to being the boss. I realize you're used to having everything done just as you want it. There's something about you that makes everyone around you cave in and give way to you. You've gotten spoiled. But things are going to change around here.

  "You've told me you want a working marriage. A part­nership. Well, partner, that means we both get to have our own way from time to time. And when it comes to this furniture, I'm going to have the final say. I know a great deal more about design and color than you do. I took a lot of classes in fine arts in college, remember? I say the fur­niture looks good in here and it's going to stay."

  Garth stared at her in mingled astonishment and out­rage. "I don't believe this. You're going to go to the mat with me over a few pieces of furniture?" He waved a hand at the dashing furniture in question. "You consider this junk worth a full-scale showdown between us?"

  "No, but you apparently do. Look how hard you're fighting over a couple of chairs and a sofa."

  "It's the principle of the thing!" he snapped.

  "Exactly."

  They stood glaring at each other in taut silence for a long moment. Devon sensed just how unstable the situation was and wondered if she should give up and give in. But the line had to be drawn somewhere, she told herself. Garth had to learn that he wasn't getting a household conve­nience, he was getting a wife.

  "I don't want this stuff in here, Devon.''

  "Why not? Why are you so opposed to it?" she de­manded.

  "Because it reminds me of the year you spent in San Francisco!"

  That took her aback. Devon blinked uncertainly and then took a steadying breath. "I'm here now, Garth. And so is the furniture. The year in San Francisco is over. Nei­ther me or my furniture is going back."

  The clash of wills caused almost visible energy to arc in the room. And then, to Devon's overwhelming relief, it was Garth who finally ended the stare-down. He stalked past Devon, heading toward the door. Fingers wrapped around the doorknob, he stopped and slanted her a nar­row-eyed glance.

  "Sometimes I forget," he muttered, "just how stub­born you can be."

  Devon tried a tentative smile. "That's funny. I never forget how stubborn you can be."

  He said something unprintable under his breath and yanked the brim of his hat down low over his eyes. In that moment he reminded Devon of a hard-edged gunslinger from another century sizing up an opponent before decid­ing whether to accept a challenge. There was a cool, spec­ulative gleam in his gaze as he surveyed her slender, determined figure.

  "You and the furniture are both here to stay?"

  Devon nodded once, not quite daring to say anything. Something vitally important had just been said between the two of them. And Garth seemed to recognize it, too.

  He exhaled slowly, as if coming to a decision. "All right. If you give me your word I won't have to put up with any more talk about how you should have stayed in the city instead of coming back here to Hawk Springs with me, Fil­let you keep the damned furniture." He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Then he paused again and looked back at her. "But don't get the idea you can ma­nipulate me this easily every time you want something."

  "No, Garth. And you have my word."

  "And in the future, you will talk to me before you de­cide to override my orders."

  "Yes, Garth."

  He eyed her skeptically and then stepped back inside the house, closed the door behind him and came across the room to tower over her. "I was right. You're going to drive me crazy until I get that ring on your finger."

  Her eyes widened, half in challenge and half in relieved amusement. She wasn't quite sure why she was relieved. Garth still looked very intimidating. Standing in front of her in his dusty boots, jeans and denim shirt, with the Stetson pulled low over his eyes, he was every inch the complete macho cowboy. "Do you think things will be a lot different between us once we're married?"

  "I think," he told her forcefully, pulling her into his arms, "that things will be a lot different when we can fin­ish our arguments in bed." His mouth came down on hers in a short, hard kiss that held the essence of his pent-up desire and the remnants of his outrage over the matter of the furniture.

  As usual, Devon felt herself relaxing against him, her mouth opening under his in undisguised surrender. Garth cut the kiss off almost as soon as he felt her answering re­sponse. When he lifted his head, his eyes were gleaming.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "Things will be different. At least I won't be wandering around with this never-ending ache in my guts." He released her and headed toward the door again. "See you at dinner."

  "Yes, Garth."

  "What are we having tonight?"

  "Pasta primavera."

  "Sounds Italian," he grumbled.

  "I thought it would be appropriate under the circum­stances." Devon smiled to herself as the door closed be­hind him with grand finality. Until this past week Garth had never exhibited any particular curiosity about dinner. Probably because he'd always known what to expect from Bev Middleton's cooking.

  Things were different these days.

  Phil Ordway arrived on Sunday morning and Devon had to admit, the man had style. He pulled up in a black Porsche and emerged from the car's cockpit wearing the latest in trendy menswear: a slouchy, unconstructed linen jacket, jeans that had never been near a ranch until now and a pair of boots that would have been the pride of any Texas oil baron.

  Ordway was a good-looking man in his early thirties who had the confidence, polish and style to make most people think he would go far. He gave the impression he intended to take Ryan with him. Ryan greeted him eagerly and made introductions with an expansive air.

  "You're not quite what I expected, Devon," Phil told her with an engaging smile as he examined her stylish hair and the sophisticated pleated pants and knit top she was wearing. "Ryan told me folks out here tended to be real 'country.'''

  "We have our moments," she told him dryly.

  "Devon's an exception to the rule," Ryan said with a laugh. "She's just moved back here from San Francisco. She's bringing a little sophistication into Garth's mun­dane life."

  "I see." Ordway smiled at Devon with easy charm. "I understand you'll be staying the night?" Devon asked politely.

  "If that's all right with you. I hate to impose, but I imagine it's going to take most of the afternoon to put our proposal to Mr. Saxon, and frankly, it's a hell of a long drive to the nearest decent-size town."

  "It's no trouble. I'm sure Ryan told you we have a so­cial engagement tonight, but you're welcome to join us."

  "The barbecue sounds amusing. Haven't been to one in years." Phil glanced toward the barns. "Ah, is that your brother, Ryan?"

  Ryan squared his shoulders. "That's him. Don't let him intimidate you, Phil."

  Phil smiled enigmatically, his eyes cool and slightly amused. "Oh, I doubt he'll do that. I'm sure he just needs to have the details of our proposal spelled out for him in simple English. After all, he can't have had much experi­ence with this kind of business. What would a man who's lived all his life on a ranch know about the ins and outs of creative financing?"

  Ryan glanced uneasily at his friend as Devon cleared her throat and said, "Uh, Phil, I don't think you should as­sume Garth's not much of a businessman. The fact is, he's very shrewd."

  Phil's smile widened. "I'm sure I can educate him. We'll keep things nice and simple and not bother him with a lot of detail."

  Devon took one look at the remote, assessing expres­sion on Garth's face as he approached, and suddenly she felt a little sorry for Phil Ordway and Ryan. "Lots of luck," she murmured to Ryan. It was too late to offer any other advice or sympathy. Garth was on them.<
br />
  The three men spent the afternoon closeted in Garth's study. As the time wore on, Devon began glancing anx­iously at the clock. They were all due at the Dennisons' by six and she didn't want to be late. She knew Rita Denni­son would be nervous until people started showing up. But this meeting was very important to Ryan and she didn't dare interrupt it.

  "What do you think is happening in that study, Bev?" Devon asked as she shared a pot of tea with the house­keeper around four-thirty.

  "I expect Mr. Ordway is learning that Garth isn't ex­actly stupid when it comes to handing out money."

  Devon's mouth curved. "I'm afraid you're right. I only hope Ordway has enough sense not to treat Garth as though he were a backwoods hick who's never seen a bal­ance sheet. This meeting is so important to Ryan."

  "Stop worrying about it, Devon," Bev advised in a motherly fashion. "You set it up and gave Ryan the chance. Now he has to handle the rest of it himself."

  "I know." Devon drained her tea. "I think I'll go take my shower and get dressed. At least one of us will be ready to leave for the Dennisons' on time."

  She dawdled through a leisurely shower and then spent quite a while choosing her outfit for the evening. This was to be the first time she had appeared in public as Garth's fiancée and she wanted to make an impression. After much consideration, she finally chose a graceful casual skirt in a vivid paisley print and paired it with a laced, tunic-style top. She experimented with the lacing for several minutes until she was satisfied she'd achieved the right look.

  When she was finished, she opened her bedroom door and found Garth standing on the other side, his hand raised to knock.

  "I was just checking to see if you're ready," he said, his eyes moving swiftly over her clothes. He was wearing a Western-cut jacket, an open-neck white shirt and a pair of close-fitting slacks. His hair was still damp from the shower.

  "Ready and waiting. How did the meeting with Ord­way go?"

  "The guy's a jerk." "Oh, poor Ryan."

  "Poor Ryan's going to have to learn to tell the differ­ence between con artists and real businessmen." Garth was frowning at the artfully unlaced tunic. "Aren't you going to finish tying that thing?"

  "No, it's supposed to be left sort of half-unlaced."

  "The hell it is. Lean over the way it is now and anyone standing in front of you is going to have a clear shot all the way to your...never mind. Just finish tying it and let's get going. It's getting late."

  "But, Garth..." She started to protest and then sighed, remembering the battle over the furniture. She'd had the chief victory of the week, she could afford to be gracious now. Without another word she finished tying the laces of the tunic. When Garth took her hand and started down­stairs, she asked, "Is Phil still going to be staying the night?"

  "I guess so. I left him and Ryan in the study. I don't think Ordway's quite given up yet, but personally I've had enough 'creative financing' for one afternoon."

  "Well, even if it didn't work out, I'm glad you gave Ryan a chance. Thank you, Garth." Impulsively, she stood on her toes to brush a soft kiss across his mouth.

  He looked down at her as she pulled away, his gaze full of a waiting heat. Deliberately he drew one fingertip across her lower lip with a deep sensuality that made Devon shiver with expectation. "You're not angry because I didn't let myself get talked into financing Ryan's project?"

  "Of course not. I only wanted you to give it fair con­sideration. You said you would and I'm sure you did. That's all anyone can ask."

  His mouth kicked up at the corner. "You've got a lot of faith in my integrity."

  "Not a lot of faith, Garth. Complete faith. You can be stubborn as a mule at times, but I'd trust your integrity to hell and back," Devon said simply.

  His gray eyes darkened with sudden intensity. "It works both ways, you know," he said softly. "After the disaster of my last marriage I decided my main requirement in a wife was a sense of honor. I wanted a woman I could trust. I trust you, Devon."

  "I'm glad," she whispered, wondering how close trust was to love.

  He moved his rough fingertip across her lower lip again. "Soon, honey. Very soon. Have I told you, Devon Ell-wood, that I'm never going to let you go?"

  "No, but I think I was beginning to get that impres­sion."

  "Good." With a satisfied look in his eyes, Garth took her hand again and started down the stairs.

  Seven

  An hour into the huge backyard barbecue Devon knew Rita Dennison could safely relax. Everyone had shown up, and the lawn behind the Dennisons' newly built home was filled with chatting, laughing neighbors. When she got the chance, Devon caught Rita alone for a few minutes in the kitchen and congratulated her.

  "The party's a success and your house is absolutely lovely, Rita," Devon assured her new friend.

  Rita gave a relieved laugh. "I think you had something to do with the success of the barbecue. As soon as word got out that you and Garth would both be here and that you two were going to be married in a couple of weeks, nothing could have kept everyone in a fifty-mile radius from showing up tonight. I had no idea the two of you were such an item."

  Devon wrinkled her nose. "You know how people love to gossip. Especially people in small communities. Here, let me help you carry those salads out to the buffet table."

  "Thanks. These bowls are heavy. I spent all day yester­day making food. If I'd known what I was getting into when I invited everyone, I'd have thought twice." Rita handed Devon a huge platter of potato salad. "How many people are you going to be feeding at your reception?"

  "I'm planning on two hundred. But I'll have Bev Mid­dleton to help with the preparation," Devon said as she started out of the kitchen toward the long buffet table that had been set up on the lawn. "You and Sam will be com­ing, won't you?"

  "Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss it for the world. Nei­ther would anyone else I've spoken to lately."

  A suntanned overly made-up woman in her late forties with badly bleached blond hair who'd been about to enter the house stopped as Devon came through the kitchen door. It was obvious at once that she had overheard the last few words. She gave Devon an arch look.

  "Ah, the bride-to-be. Rita's absolutely correct, Devon. No one around here is going to miss your wedding. I'd heard you were back but until the invitation arrived in the mail yesterday I couldn't believe you were going to stay. Thought sure we'd seen the last of you when you left town for the big city."

  "Hello, Mrs. Springer," Devon said coolly. "Nice to see you again." It wasn't, really, but it was inevitable, given the size of the community. Martha Springer and her hus­band ran the feed and grain store in Hawk Springs. When Devon's parents had been killed, one of the many debts left owing was the one to Springer Feed and Grain.

  Devon's memories of Martha Springer's predictions about Lee and Kurt coming to a bad end were not pleas­ant ones. The older woman had lost no opportunity in the past to point out what an inadequate job Devon was doing of raising her two brothers. When both Lee and Kurt had been safely launched in college, Martha Springer had shrugged and declared it was just luck and the interven­tion of Garth Saxon. Everyone knew how Garth had stepped in and taken Lee in hand.

  Rita glanced from one woman to the other and seemed to sense the unpleasant undercurrents between them. "If you were looking for the powder room, Mrs. Springer, it's just inside and down the hall to the left."

  "Thank you. Frankly, I was looking for Devon. Haven't had a chance to speak to her since she returned to town."

  "Maybe we could chat later, Mrs. Springer. I've got to help Rita with these salads."

  "Oh, here, I'll give you a hand." Martha Springer stepped inside the kitchen and picked up a bowl. She hur­ried after the two younger women, catching up with them just as they reached the outside table. "You know, every­one's very curious about this whirlwind marriage you're planning, Devon. Kind of a quickie, isn't it?"

  "Hardly a whirlwind affair, Mrs. Springer," Devon said smoothly as she positioned
her salad bowl. "Garth asked me to marry him a year ago and I said yes at that time. We decided then to wait a year."

  "I had no idea," Mrs. Springer pressed on deter­minedly. "I mean, Garth did mention occasionally that he'd be bringing you back from the city one of these days, but I just assumed you were long gone. You never seemed very happy here in Hawk Springs after you came back from college."

  Devon saw Garth glance toward the buffet table and frown. He turned briefly back to the cluster of men with whom he'd been talking, excused himself and then started striding toward Devon. Perhaps he thought she needed rescuing. Devon smiled in amusement.

  "I think we'll put all the salads at this end of the table with the bread in the middle," Rita was saying brightly in an obvious effort to cut through Martha Springer's deter­mined chatter. "If you wouldn't mind carrying a few more things from the kitchen, Devon, I could certainly use the help."

  "I'll be glad to give you a hand," Devon remarked, wondering why both Rita and Garth seemed suddenly de­termined to rescue her from Martha Springer. Devon had known the older woman for years and had a fair idea of what to expect.

  "Excuse us, Mrs. Springer," Rita said firmly, stepping around the other woman.

  "I'll be glad to help carry out a few more things, too," Mrs. Springer declared, refusing to let her quarry escape. "Tell me, Devon, how was San Francisco?"

  "It's a wonderful city, Mrs. Springer."

  "I hear Lee and Kurt are doing all right finally in col­lege?"

  "I know how much you worried about the future of my brothers, Mrs. Springer, so I'm sure you must be pleased to know they're doing just great." Out of the corner of her eye Devon saw that Garth was almost on them. She won­dered exactly what he intended to do.

  "Well, of course, everyone who knew about you and your brothers worried, Devon," Mrs. Springer said smoothly. "It was no secret that money was tight and heaven knows you had some problems. You were so young to be taking on the responsibility of two boys in their teens. I expect it must be a great relief to be finally marrying Garth Saxon." She paused for effect and then said in a voice that was loud enough to catch the attention of those standing nearby, "Now, at least, you won't have to worry about money anymore, will you?"