Faron

by Joan Johnston

  Her fingernails dug crescents in his shoulders as her body arched up in passion. At the last instant, Belinda tried to fight the pleasure. This shouldn’t be happening! She had no right!

  But the Cowboy wouldn’t allow her to withdraw. “Come with me, Princess. Come with me!”

  Then it was too late. Her body began to convulse in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure. She gritted her teeth against the ecstasy that besieged her, holding her prisoner for timeless moments. While she was caught in the throes of passion, the Cowboy claimed her for his own. His cries were guttural as his body arched and spilled its seed within her.

  Afterward, they both lay exhausted, unable to move. Belinda was aware of a fine sheen of sweat on his body and the musky smell of sex.

  “I want to see you again,” the Cowboy murmured as he slipped to her side and drew her into his arms. He was already asleep before Belinda could answer him.

  Which was just as well.

  Belinda was appalled at what she had done. But she couldn’t regret it. What had passed between the Cowboy and his Princess was one brief shining moment when two souls blended into one. They might be strangers still, but they had found something more than physical satisfaction in each other’s arms. She would hold this magical afternoon close to her heart forever.

  But there was no way she could see him again. He would be horrified if he knew the truth about her. And she would be ashamed for him to find out. She had to escape now, while he was asleep.

  She dressed quickly and quietly and led her palomino a short distance away before she mounted him, so that she wouldn’t wake the Cowboy. When she was far enough away that the sound wouldn’t waken him, she kicked the mare into a gallop and raced back to The Castle.

  The instant she stepped inside the kitchen door, she was greeted by her mother-in-law. Belinda plowed a hand through her hair, shoving it off her face, and tried a smile. It failed dismally.

  “You’re late,” Madelyn said. She took one look at Belinda’s disheveled appearance and asked, “What happened to you?” There was more curiosity than accusation in her tone.

  “I…my horse threw me,” Belinda said, brushing at the grass stains on her jeans.

  “Your blouse is ripped. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Belinda flushed and clutched at the torn fabric. Getting thrown shouldn’t have torn three buttons off her blouse. “I’ll just run upstairs and change for supper.” She hurried from the kitchen and practically ran up the majestic circular staircase that led to her bedroom.

  “There’s no hurry,” Madelyn murmured to Belinda’s disappearing back. There would be plenty of time before supper to ask about the love-bruise on her daughter-in-law’s neck.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE COOL NIGHT AIR WOKE FARON. At first he didn’t know where he was. It all came back to him in a hurry. As he dressed himself, one thing quickly became apparent. His Princess was gone.

  Faron was furious when he realized he didn’t know her name or how to find her. Nor could he track her in the dark. Besides, he had phoned The Castle from Casper, and Madelyn Prescott was expecting him for dinner.

  He dressed quickly, muttering profanities when he realized half the buttons were gone from his shirt. He would have to change it when he got back to his truck. He took a look at the knees of his jeans and realized it probably wouldn’t hurt to change them, either. Not that he gave a damn what the Prescotts thought of him, but he had been taught manners around ladies that were hard to shed.

  Faron whistled for his horse, and Sonny nickered a response. The quarter horse hadn’t drifted far. Faron mounted up and rode in the fading light of dusk back in the direction of his truck and trailer. There wasn’t any chance he would lose his way. He had learned young to look back every so often when he was riding the range to mark his trail. He easily found the landmarks that took him back to the highway.

  Faron had gotten directions from Madelyn Prescott, and it didn’t take him long to find the formal entrance to King’s Castle. If the land had awed him, the house itself—The Castle—left him speechless.

  As he stepped from his pickup he couldn’t help staring. Light poured from tall, narrow, leaded windows, and there were sconces on the outside stone walls that created an eerie silhouette on the plains. The house did indeed have crenels along the roofline and what appeared to be turrets at the corners.

  When he cut the engine a cowhand came from the direction of the barn.

  “I’m Toby, Mr. Whitelaw. Mrs. Prescott said I was to take care of your horse,” the cowhand said.

  Faron backed Sonny from the trailer and watched long enough to make sure the cowhand knew what he was doing before he left his horse in Toby’s care.

  Moments later Faron found himself on the front steps of The Castle. The three-story gray stone structure had a massive double wooden door headed by a stone arch that might once have been the gateway to a medieval castle. When Faron knocked, the imposing entrance was opened by a tiny, silver-haired lady dressed in black. He found himself looking into a pair of gray-green eyes the same unusual color as his own.

  “Hello, Faron,” the woman said with a smile of greeting, “I’m your grandmother, Madelyn Prescott. We’ve been expecting you.”

  Faron’s hat came off at once. He leaned over and kissed the old woman on the cheek. She smelled of lavender powder. Her skin had the softness of the very young and the very old. The wrinkles on her face gave her character, as well as age. Faron felt his throat tighten as he realized this woman was indeed his grandmother. It was true, then. He was a bastard.

  Madelyn cupped her grandson’s cheek with her hand and searched his features looking for signs of Wayne. There was nothing of her son in Faron, but there was something of her. “You’ve got the Halliwell eyes, I see.”

  “If you say so, ma’am,” Faron said. “Hope I’m not too late for supper.”

  “Not at all. Belinda is still upstairs getting dressed. Perhaps you’d like to share a brandy with me in the parlor while we wait.”

  “I’d be pleased to, ma’am.”

  “Please, call me Madelyn.”

  But Faron couldn’t bring himself to call his grandmother by her first name. It seemed disrespectful somehow. By what fond nickname would he have called her, he wondered, if he had known as a child that she existed? He had called his father’s mother Nanaw, and his mother’s mother Gram. “Would you mind if I called you Maddy?” he asked.

  Her gray-green eyes quickly misted, and she pressed a fragile hand against her heart. “Why, that would be lovely, Faron.”

  He frowned when she seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “Are you all right?”

  “My health isn’t what it used to be. My heart, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m afraid in my case it’s just a matter of age catching up with me. Come along now. Belinda will be down soon, I’m sure.”

  As Faron followed Madelyn, he stepped into a world of days gone by—an open drawing room with walnut woodwork, nineteenth century furniture of polished cherry and oak, lace curtains and brilliant chandeliers of sparkling crystal. Two broad stairways formed a sweeping arc leading to the upper floors.

  Faron frowned at what he saw only because it represented his father’s wealth, which was the source of the current calamity in his life. It was not the setting in which he had expected to find his ogre of a stepmother. It felt too much like a home. He couldn’t help but admire the sense of history that was represented in the antique Western furnishings.

  Faron and his grandmother had gotten only as far as the stairs when they heard the echo of footsteps.

  “That will be Belinda,” Madelyn said.

  Faron followed her gaze up the stairs. The composed, graceful young woman who came walking down the sweeping staircase was a far cry from the ugly stepmother found in fairy tales. In fact, she was his very own Princess.

  Her glorious golden hair, which he had grasped in his
fists while he came inside her mere hours ago, was bound up now in a stylish twist. Her sleek black silk dress showed off a lush figure with which he was intimately familiar. A long black chiffon scarf circled her neck and floated on the air behind her. But there was nothing of the wanton woman he had loved reflected in the cool violet eyes that met his gaze.

  It would be difficult to say which of the two lovers was more shocked to see the other. It was equally apparent that neither of them was willing to do or say anything in front of Madelyn that would upset the old woman.

  “Good evening, Mr. Whitelaw,” Belinda said, extending her hand. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she were going to faint. When the Cowboy took her hand, he held it longer than he should. His mouth had formed into a smile, but his gray-green eyes looked wintry.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs. Prescott. Please, call me Faron. If you don’t mind, I’ll call you…Belinda.”

  Faron’s anger had returned with a vengeance. Here stood a woman he had hated sight unseen—but with whom he had just experienced an incredibly passionate assignation. He wanted to ask her why she had made love to him when her husband—his father—was barely cold in the ground. But his lips clamped tight on the question. What they had done was awful enough. He had no intention of embarrassing his grandmother with revelations that would have to be distasteful to her.

  Beyond being angry, Faron was hurt. His stepmother had made a fool of him. He had called The Castle from Casper hours ago, so she must have known he was coming. Which meant she also must have known who he was when she had made love with him. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to give him her name! How could she have done such a thing?

  But despite being angry and hurt, he was also aroused. The memory of what had happened between them was still fresh, like a green wound that ached when prodded. Even icily distant, she was still his Princess. And he wanted her as much now as he ever had.

  Tension lay thick in the air. A powerful current sparked between them, threatening a shock to the first who broke it.

  “Come along, children,” Madelyn said at last. She led the way to the dining room, which was as richly furnished as the rest of the house. The pine trestle table was at least fifteen feet long. Three places had been set at one end with fine china and silver.

  Faron held Madelyn’s chair as she sat at the head of the table. Then he went around to help Belinda. Her stomach clenched when Faron leaned over to whisper in her ear and trailed his hand across her bare shoulder. When he spoke, it was his anger she heard.

  “It didn’t take you long to find some young stud to service you,” he hissed. “Did I measure up to my father?”

  Belinda’s face bleached white.

  “Are you feeling all right, my dear?” Madelyn asked.

  “I’m a little tired,” Belinda said. “I had a long ride this afternoon.” She raised her eyes to meet Faron’s and realized the second meaning that could be given to her words. His lips lifted in a slight smirk that made her feel physically ill.

  Belinda wanted to tell him she was sorry. But she wasn’t sorry. What had happened between them had been beautiful. What she really wanted was the chance to explain why she had needed what he had offered. She had been so very vulnerable. It had been so wonderful to allow herself the fantasy of loving and being loved.

  Now Belinda was sure Faron Whitelaw had entirely the wrong idea about what kind of woman she was. She could feel his attraction to her, but it was laced with harsher, harder feelings. The fierce look on his face gave ample evidence that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. And that he was unlikely to forgive or forget what she had done.

  When Belinda realized the road her thoughts had taken she was alarmed. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Wayne? Here she was ready to make the same mistakes again! Why should she care what her stepson thought of her? She would never give another man the sort of emotional, physical and economic hold over her that Wayne had possessed.

  She ought to show Faron the door. If it had only been herself involved in the catastrophe that threatened, she would have. But there was Madelyn to think of. So she clamped her back teeth together and held her tongue.

  Once Faron was seated, an older woman wearing a voluminous white apron began serving dinner. She passed out plates already laden with pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans. The servant had hair dyed a shocking red and fingernails painted an equally vivid color. When she left the room Madelyn said, “Rue has been with the family forever. Belinda and I couldn’t manage without her.”

  To Faron it was further proof that Belinda Prescott was the pampered Princess he had labeled her. His stepmother sat across from him looking cool and elegant and totally in control. Meanwhile, his body was hard and throbbing from the small caress of her shoulders he had allowed himself. But he would be damned if he’d touch her again anytime soon.

  As he ate his dinner, Faron tried to revive the feelings of dislike he had felt toward Belinda Prescott for forcing him to confront his true paternity. But it was one thing to hate a woman you envisioned as an interfering rich bitch, and quite another to hate a woman with whom you’ve just shared the most poignant physical encounter of your life.

  To compound his confusion, the woman he found so attractive was his stepmother. He had been determined not to take anything handed down to him from Wayne Prescott. Now he found there was one thing he wanted very much: his father’s widow.

  “Did Belinda write you about the terms of the will?”

  Madelyn’s question jerked Faron from his thoughts. “What?”

  “The will. Did Belinda tell you the terms of Wayne’s will?”

  Faron’s gaze swung back around the table to spear Belinda. “No, Maddy, she didn’t. She did seem in an all-fired hurry for me to get here.”

  “Why don’t you tell Faron the problem, Belinda,” Madelyn said.

  “If you came here expecting to inherit wealth beyond your dreams, you’re going to be disappointed,” Belinda began.

  Faron’s brows arched. “I heard my father was a millionaire.”

  “Was is the correct word,” Belinda said. “King’s Castle, including the land and The Castle on it, is mortgaged to the hilt. The mineral leases only provide enough income to cover the taxes, and the worsening economy has left the ranch only marginally profitable.”

  “So sell the ranch and move into town,” Faron said.

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “Why not?” Faron asked.

  “If we could sell the property piecemeal, there might be some hope of making a profit and avoiding foreclosure. But Wayne’s will stipulates that King’s Castle has to be sold all in one piece. Otherwise it gets donated to charity.

  “We simply haven’t been able to find a buyer willing to take the whole thing—thousands of acres of land, dozens of buildings, farm equipment, the stock, the house—in short, someone willing to buy the losing aspects of the ranch along with the profitable ones,” Belinda explained. “I was hoping you might have some ideas about improvements that would make the ranch attractive to a single corporate buyer.”

  Faron had wondered why his stepmother had gone to so much trouble to have him included in his father’s will. Now he had his answer. She needed someone with the right motivation—a promise of half the proceeds—to spend the time and energy putting King’s Castle back on its feet so she could make a big killing when it was sold!

  His sense of self-preservation warned him to get right back in his truck and go home to Texas. He decided to ask a few more questions first.

  “How much money do you have to work with?”

  “You mean cash?” Belinda asked. When Faron nodded she said, “There’s just enough in the bank for food for us and the stock over the summer.”

  “Surely there are some jewels or furs you can liquidate,” Faron said.

  “Oh, dear, no,” Madelyn said. “Wayne sold all those things years ago.”

  “Have you tried cutting the staff for th
e house and the number of cowboys on the payroll.”

  Madelyn’s eyes twinkled as she laughed. “You’ve seen the house staff,” she said.

  “Rue?” Faron asked incredulously.

  “We simply couldn’t let her go,” Madelyn said. “She’s almost family.”

  “And the cowhands?”

  “You’ve met Toby, I presume.”

  Faron nodded. When Madelyn said nothing more he realized the middle-aged cowboy was all there was. “Who takes care of things around here?” he demanded.

  “Why, Belinda does, of course,” Madelyn said.

  Faron stared hard at his stepmother. That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear.

  “I can see you two need to discuss business,” Madelyn said. “So I’ll just excuse myself and go upstairs and get some rest.”

  Faron stood and escorted his grandmother to the door of the dining room, sliding the wooden door closed behind her. Then he turned back to the woman who had become his nemesis—and his desire.

  Faron stared at Belinda with narrowed eyes. “How bad is it?” he demanded.

  She laced her hands together calmly. “It’s as bad as you think it is. We’re as poor as church mice. If something isn’t done to make King’s Castle salable, Madelyn and I will be penniless and homeless within the year.”

  Faron fisted his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. He might have been able to leave Belinda to her fate, but there was no way he could stand by and watch his own grandmother be put out in the street.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll hang around long enough to help put the place in shape to sell. But as soon as we find a buyer, I’m out of here!”

  “No one could want to leave this place more than I do!” Belinda said vehemently. “There are no happy memories here for me!”

  “No one forced you to marry my father,” Faron snarled. “You made your own bed. Now you have to lie in it. Just don’t expect me to join you there.”