Belinda’s face blanched white. She could feel his fury, his hate and his desire. She had learned from Wayne how to avoid confrontation. It didn’t always work, but often enough it had saved her a bruise or a blackened eye. She put those lessons to good use now.
She lowered her eyelids to hide the anger blazing there. She rose and smoothed the front of her skirt with hands that appeared much more calm than they were. In a soft, deferential voice she said, “I believe I’ll retire now.”
When Faron took a step toward Belinda, her eyes flashed defiance. She would not become a victim, ever again. “Keep your distance, Cowboy!”
He took another step toward her.
“I’m warning you—”
Then it was too late. He had her in his arms before she could turn and run.
“Let me go,” she cried breathlessly. “This is wrong!”
“It’s a little late for that argument, don’t you think, Princess?”
“I didn’t know who you were! I never would have…”
“Never would have rolled in the grass with your stepson?” Faron finished for her.
Tears blurred Belinda’s vision. She held herself stiff in Faron’s arms. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“No, you don’t,” he murmured.
The hardest thing Faron had ever done was to let her go. His body was hard and throbbing with need. It didn’t matter one bit that she was his father’s widow. But he had to work side by side with her over the next several weeks—or months. It was going to be awkward enough being together every day without knowing for sure that she still desired him as much as he desired her.
“Where do I sleep?” he asked.
Belinda was quivering with relief—or unsatisfied desire. She wasn’t willing to examine her feelings closely enough to find out. “Follow me,” she said. “I’ll show you where your room is.”
Once again Faron found himself staring into violet eyes that had turned to ice. He followed her up one half of the curving staircase to a room that might have welcomed some cowboy a hundred years ago. It was furnished sparingly with a maple four-poster, a dry sink, a chest and a rocker. A rag rug covered a small area of the oak hardwood floor. The lamp was electric, but it was Victorian in style.
The connected bathroom had a tub on legs and a pedestal sink. “The linens on the rack are for your use,” she said.
Belinda was aware of the confines of the bathroom. She edged her way past the Cowboy and back into the more spacious bedroom. “If you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine,” Faron said, realizing that she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than she had to. “Good night, Princess,” he said. His eyes said what he didn’t put in words. He wanted her. She was welcome to stay.
Belinda didn’t bother to answer. She did what any self-respecting Princess would have done when the dragon started breathing fire. She fled to her room.
CHAPTER FOUR
FARON WAS ASTOUNDED AT HOW MUCH Belinda knew about the business affairs of King’s Castle. Unfortunately, the more he learned from her, the more grim-lipped he became. Because things were every bit as bad as she had suggested they were.
“I don’t know how you’ve kept the bank from foreclosing before now,” he muttered when he was done examining his father’s records.
“Can anything be done to save King’s Castle?”
Faron felt his gut tighten as he met Belinda’s expectant gaze across the width of the oak rolltop desk in Wayne’s study. Even now he wanted her. This morning her golden hair was confined in a single tail that fell over her shoulder, and she was wearing a Western shirt, jeans and boots. She reminded him much too much of his prairie Princess.
He leashed his memories of the previous day and concentrated on the matter at hand. “We can’t do it alone,” he said. “We’ll have to hire some help.”
Belinda wiped her palms down the length of her jeans, unaware of the way Faron’s gray-green eyes followed her gesture. “I don’t have money for that.”
“I do.”
Belinda frowned. “I can’t let you spend your money.”
“You can’t stop me,” Faron retorted. “According to my father’s will I own half of King’s Castle. If something isn’t done, the bank is going to take my inheritance. It’s no skin off your nose if I invest my money to save my half of this place.”
Belinda’s lip curled in a wry smile. “You’ll also be saving my half,” she pointed out.
“I don’t want to see my grandmother put out in the street.”
Belinda’s smile twisted into something more cynical. “And you have to save me to save her, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“Where do we start?” Belinda asked.
Faron arched a disdainful brow. “We?”
“I presume you have some plan in mind. Things that have to be done. I want to help.”
“What is it you think you can do?” Faron asked. He preferred to keep her—and temptation—as far from him as possible.
Belinda’s chin came up pugnaciously. “What do you need done?”
Faron tried to think of something that would impress upon his stepmother—he had to keep reminding himself how Belinda had deceived him about her identity—how very much work was involved in restoring King’s Castle to its former greatness.
Not one, but several ideas caught his fancy. He reached out and grabbed Belinda’s hand and pulled her after him. “Come with me. I want to start with a tour of the ranch, so I can get some idea of what needs to be done.” He only got as far as the back porch before he stopped and asked, “Are there enough roads to get us where we need to go, or should we do this survey on horseback?”
Belinda wasn’t sure which was worse. Spending half the day on horseback together would remind them both of the events of the previous day. But if she said they ought to drive, she would have to endure an hour or more confined with him in the cab of a pickup truck. The pickup seemed the lesser of two evils.
“It would be faster and more efficient to drive,” she said. “But the only pickup I have isn’t in very good mechanical shape.”
Faron grimaced at this reminder of the state of poverty in which his father had left his stepmother and grandmother. “We’ll take my truck. Just give me a minute to disconnect the horse trailer,” he replied.
It was strange seeing King’s Castle through Faron’s eyes. The splendor of the land, which Belinda had taken for granted, he found not only pleasing to the eye, but a definite economic asset.
“The land itself is a selling point,” he explained to her. “It hasn’t been overdeveloped. The grass is tall and there’s lots of it.”
She headed him in the direction of the small herd of Herefords that still roamed King’s Castle.
“I see you’re using a windmill for water,” he said as he pulled the truck to a stop beside the windmill tank.
Faron got out of the truck and headed for the windmill, and Belinda followed after him. He leaned his head back and watched and listened as the wind pushed the windmill around.
“It’s not running right,” he said at last. “You’ve got a bolt or two loose up top that ought to be tightened.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Who would you suggest I send up there to tighten them. Myself? Or Toby?”
Faron recalled the stature of the stocky cowhand, then gave Belinda a looking over that had a blush skating up her throat. “I guess you,” he said at last in a taunting voice.
Belinda’s eyes went wide. Was he serious? But if he thought she would back off from such a chore, he had another think coming. “All right,” she said, pushing her sleeves up out of the way. “What is it you want me to do?”
Faron pursed his lips in chagrin. He had been certain she would defer the job to him. Now he found himself in the awkward position of having to admit that he had been manipulating the situation. He certainly didn’t expect a woman to do the kind of dangerous repair job that was necessary.
He opened his mouth to tell her so and shut it again. The challenging look in her violet eyes dared him to admit he was wrong. Before he conceded the issue, Faron decided to see just how far she was willing to go.
He left Belinda and crossed to the back of his pickup where he kept a tool chest. He rattled around in it for a few moments and came back with a wrench.
“I think this is the tool you’ll need.”
Belinda took the wrench from him, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with it. What she was thinking must have shown in her face, because he stepped up beside her and showed her how to adjust it.
“This way tightens it, this way loosens it. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
Belinda stared at the thin metal ladder that was attached to the windmill. Her eyes followed it what seemed an immense distance into the air. She swallowed and said, “No. I’m not afraid of heights.”
“What you’re looking for is the bolt that attaches the wheel. Right now the wheel isn’t at the correct angle to the yaw axis in the vane.”
“What?” Belinda hadn’t the vaguest notion what he was talking about.
“You do understand how a windmill works, don’t you?”
Belinda wrinkled her nose. “Sort of. I understand the principle of the thing, but not exactly how the pieces fit together.”
“Maybe you’d better let me do this.” Faron waited for her to concede that he was the one better equipped to handle this job. He had underestimated her stubbornness.
“I can do it,” she insisted. “If you’ll just explain what it is I have to do.”
“That’s a little difficult without having the windmill down here where I can point things out,” Faron said.
Belinda looked at the ladder. No way could both of them go up it together. “Let me try,” she said at last. “If I can’t fix it, then you can do the job.”
Faron was amazed, but not amused, by Belinda’s insistence on climbing to the top of the windmill. “Dammit, woman. It’s dangerous to go up there.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I am,” he muttered. Faron wasn’t about to let her endanger her life. “You’ve proved your point,” he said. “You’re willing to do what has to be done. Now give me that wrench, and let me go up and tighten that bolt.”
“I’m not helpless!”
“I never said you were,” Faron retorted. “Now give me the damn wrench!”
Instead, she turned and started up the ladder.
Faron put both arms around her and dragged her back down. Belinda didn’t come without a fight. The wrench fell to the ground in the struggle. She kicked and hit at Faron, but he had her from behind and her efforts to free herself were useless.
At last she slumped in his arms.
“Are you done fighting me?” he asked.
“Let me go.”
“Are you done fighting me?” he repeated.
“Yessss,” she hissed.
Now that he could let her go, Faron realized he didn’t want to. His body was way ahead of his mind. It had long since reacted strongly and certainly to the woman in his arms. Faron felt the weight of her soft breasts resting on his forearm. She smelled of soap and shampoo and woman. His hands slid down until his fingertips lay at the base of her belly.
“Faron.”
Belinda bit her lip to keep from saying more than Faron’s name. Oh, God, she wanted him! She wanted to lie with him, to merge their bodies, to join their souls. But she was not so far gone with desire that she couldn’t see the folly of repeating what had happened the previous day.
Belinda covered the male hand on her belly with her own. “We can’t do this, Faron. Please. Your father—”
His whole body stiffened. A moment later she was free.
Belinda was afraid to turn around and face him. When she did, she wished she hadn’t. There was an awful look of disgust and disdain on his face. The gray-green eyes she had found so fascinating yesterday were slicing shards of cut green glass today.
She stooped to pick up the wrench, thus avoiding his piercing gaze. When she rose, she kept her lashes lowered. She held out the wrench, and he took it from her, careful not to touch her hand. Soon after, he was halfway up the ladder.
“Be careful,” she whispered. She shaded her eyes from the sun and watched as Faron made his way to the top of the windmill. It didn’t take him long to do what he had to do, but Belinda hardly breathed the whole time he was working. He hadn’t been kidding about the danger of the job. A fall from that height would break a man in pieces.
When Faron came down the ladder she stayed out of his way. “All finished?”
“That’s all I can do right now,” he said. “There’s a part missing. I’ll have to get a replacement.”
“Will it cost much?”
“Always thinking about money, Princess?”
“Don’t call me that! Not like that!”
“Why not? That’s what you are. A pampered, golden Princess. Living off an older man’s money—”
“Stop! Stop!” Belinda put her hands to her ears. “How can you be so cruel?”
“Cruel? Princess, I don’t hold a candle to you!”
Faron stalked back to the truck. He was furious with himself for losing his temper, for taking out his sexual frustration in such a—yes, cruel—way. He hadn’t realized he was capable of that sort of behavior with a woman. Before Belinda…Hell, that was a lifetime ago. Before Belinda he had been Faron Whitelaw, happily oblivious to the fact he was Wayne Prescott’s son. Before Belinda he had known who he was. Now, everything was so damn confused!
“Get in the truck,” he said.
“I’d rather walk back to The Castle than get in that truck with you,” Belinda snapped back.
“Listen, Princess. Either you get in that truck under your own steam, or I’m going to pick you up and put you there.”
Given that choice, Belinda stomped over to the pickup and got in. He stepped in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. The wheels sent dust flying as they headed down the road.
There was a long silence while both of them fumed. At last Belinda said, “I don’t think this is going to work. I think maybe I’ll just let the bank take back the ranch. I’ll go to work somewhere in town to support myself and Madelyn.”
“Doing what?” Faron demanded.
Belinda shrugged. “I used to be a short order cook. I could—”
Faron snorted. “Princesses don’t flip hamburgers. Besides, you may be willing to give up your half of this place, but I’m not about to give up my half.”
“Now who’s thinking about money?” Belinda goaded.
“It’s not the money,” Faron gritted out. He kept his hands on the wheel and forced himself not to put his foot down on the accelerator. “Oh, hell. I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just get the idea of giving this place away out of your head. I’m here and I’m staying until King’s Castle is sold. Now, if you’re through pouting, maybe you’d like to tell me what else I ought to take a look at.”
That was just the beginning of a very long day.
Belinda had put in a lot of hours over the past few years holding King’s Castle together, but she had never worked so long or so hard without a rest. She marveled at Faron’s energy, at his strength, at his tirelessness. But no matter how many jobs he threw at her, she was determined not to be the one who cried mercy first.
It was nearly dusk when he decided they should clean out the tack room in the barn. The small, windowless room that held saddles, bridles and other leather tack was dark and cool. Belinda pulled a string that lit a single bare bulb hanging overhead. She was assaulted by the pungent smells of leather and horses and, once Faron stepped into the room behind her, hardworking man.
“Some of this leather could use a soaping,” Faron said as he walked around the room checking stirrups and reins.
“There hasn’t been much time—”
“We’ll start now.”
“No.”<
br />
It was the first time since the incident at the windmill that Belinda had objected to anything Faron had suggested. He had been expecting her to quit long before now and head back to the house. She had amazed him with her fortitude. And slowly but surely driven him crazy with her presence.
His body had tightened as he watched her lick off a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip that he knew would be salty to the taste. As he watched her stoop and bend and lean in jeans that hugged her rear end like a man’s hand. As he watched her cant her head and lift that golden hair up off her neck so the ever-present breeze could cool her, whipping tiny curls across petal-soft skin.
He should be glad she had finally given up, glad she would be out of his hair at long last. Perversely, he said the one thing he believed would provoke her into staying.
“Conceding the battle, Princess?”
Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t dignify that comment with an argument. I’m going to get cleaned up for supper. We can start here tomorrow morning.”
When Belinda tried to leave the room, Faron spread his arms and rested his palms on either side of the doorway, blocking the way out.
“Please get out of the way,” she said in a controlled voice. “I want to leave.”
“You surprised me today.”
She arched a brow but said nothing.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep up all day.”
She still said nothing.
“I was wrong.”
As an apology it lacked a lot. But it was as much of a concession as Faron was willing to make. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he said.
“What?”
“Why would someone who’s willing to work as hard as you have today marry a man twice her age for his money? It doesn’t fit.”
Belinda’s face paled. “It doesn’t have to. I don’t owe you any explanation. Now let me pass.” She wouldn’t discuss her marriage to Wayne with Wayne’s son. She wouldn’t.
When Faron saw she had no intention of answering, he took his weight off his palms and leaned back against the door frame, his legs widespread. She could get out, but not without touching him.
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