Valley of Fire

by Janelle Taylor

  Painful reality returned in the form of heavy raindrops pelting her in the face. They welled in her eyes and slid into her nose. Steven’s lips were searing a blazing path down her throat to the hollow of her neck. His back was soaked, but he never even noticed the wetness. Neither would Brandy if he had not been lying upon her supine body with her face skyward . . .

  She began to struggle to get his attention and to halt their runaway emotions and this extremely dangerous situation. She feared one of her ranch hands would come riding by and witness this burst of unbridled passion. She did not even know how they had come to be lying on the lush grass, arms and legs entangled, mouths and senses united as one. His hands were moving over her body as if he owned it. Fiery kisses were being spread over her face, mouth, ears, throat. Soft words of persuasion and seduction were being fired into her eager and naïve ears. Yet, as always, not one word of love or commitment left his lips. Doubts surged through her warring brain. If he felt anything serious towards her, he would have told her by now. Since he had not, it could mean only one thing. Her love for him stormed her. She could not continue this dangerous game. If she did, she could suffer greatly.

  Steven was aware of her change of mood. Brandy began to panic at this total and frightening loss of control and at the powerful feelings which were savagely ripping away her reason. She felt as if she were being tumbled in the grass like some milkmaid by a demanding English lord. She tried to pull free, but his grip on her tightened. Each time she tried to cry out for him to stop this untimely onslaught on her senses, his mouth would claim hers and increase her uncontrollable flames and her fear. She began to struggle against him and her unrestrained emotions with this new energy and reason which her panic had born.

  Brandy screamed at him and beat on his back with her fists to catch his attention. His persistence was intimidating, alarming. “Stop it, Lance. Let me go!” she cried out at him as his lips forged another fiery path down her throat. She seized a handful of his silky black hair and yanked with all of her remaining strength, for soon it would be too late to stop him. “Let’s go home,” she pleaded. “I have men working everywhere.”

  “What the—” he shouted in confusion and pain. He leaned back and stared down into her terror-filled gaze. “What’s wrong?” he questioned through ragged breaths. His eyes were glazed with unleashed passion which she innocently mistook for fury.

  His great strength of body and purpose only served to increase her fear and mistrust. He almost acted as if he would—She had to get away from him before there was no controlling or stopping his obvious intention to take her there in the meadow. But she was more worried and panicked by her mindless reaction and surrender to him. She had lost all sense of time, of surrounding, and of herself. In just a few more minutes. . .

  Ashamed and frightened, she sharply panted, “I’m not some slut to be rolled in the grass. Let me go this instant! It’s raining. I’m getting soaked.” she babbled foolishly.

  Too impassioned to be kind or understanding, he glared down at her. “But, Brandy, I want you; I need you . . . now!”

  He had left out the most important words. “No! Not here.”

  “Then why the devil did you lead me on this far if you had no intention of making love to me? Don’t play the tease with me again. I might not be so generous next time!” he stormed at her, his blue eyes turbulent with the unleashed violence which flooded his hungry body and filled his eyes. How could she withdraw at a moment like this? He was almost tempted not to let her go; he was tempted to use his powerful allure to seduce her anyway.

  Steven quickly rolled off her and sat up, painfully concealing his aroused condition. “Go home, Brandy. Don’t make this any rougher on either of us. Next time, don’t start something you have no intention of finishing. If you ever tempt me again . . .” He did not complete his wild threat.

  Too scared to move, she simply lay there while the rain pelted down into her face and saturated her clothes. Brandy didn’t want to leave him this way, but neither could she allow him to take her in such a selfish manner. Her chin trembled as tears rolled from her eyes into her already wet hair. Her body began to shudder with the full implication of her decision. God, how she wanted him too. If only she could be assured of privacy . . . If only he hadn’t made it sound like an order . . . If only he loved her . . .

  Steven turned and glared down at her. Even as he took in her vulnerable state and her anguish, he could not risk reaching out to her. “Get out of here before I refuse to let you go!” he snarled, his own anguish concealed by the gruffness of his tone. He fumed over her rejection. He wondered if she had been testing her power over him. He wondered why she always backed down when he was getting to her.

  Brandy was propelled into motion with that new threat. She hastily jumped up and raced to her horse. She mounted up and prodded him into a fast gait. She did not dare look back. When she arrived at the stable, she called out for Zack to take care of her beloved Wildfire. She ran into the house and went straight to her room. Too wet to throw herself upon her couch or her bed, she walked through her sitting area in her bedroom and into the bathroom. She stepped into the tub and huddled there like some child frightened of a violent storm.

  Brandy cried and shook for a long time. She sobbed as she noted the loud slamming of the back door following his much later return. When she could call forth no more soothing tears, she stripped off her damp clothes and took a long, hot bath which failed to relax either her taut body or her miserable spirits.

  Brandy slipped into a satin nightgown—the silvery gray one which she had purchased in Las Vegas—and lay down across her bed.

  She listened to the rolling thunder which made its nearby presence loudly known. She forced her attention on the steady pattering of the raindrops. She contemplated the power of the breeze which was swaying the tall trees near her windows. She tried to think about anything except Steven Winngate and this tormenting afternoon. Why had he treated her in such a cruel manner? Was he reaching for an excuse to be thrown out?

  Brandy wondered how she could ever face him again. He had been right to be angry with her. In his eyes, she had led him on. She was new to such feelings, but she should have recognized their powers. How could he know how completely hypnotized she had been? How could he know it was only the rain falling into her face which had awakened her to reality? She would have fallen prey to his desires if that storm had not alerted her to the danger she was unknowingly entering. Worse was the danger and humiliation of discovery by one of her workers. My Lord, couldn’t she kiss him and hug him without making love each time? Did such expressions of tenderness have to lead down that passion-lined path each time?

  If only she knew how he felt about her. He desired her, but why? She couldn’t comprehend his violent temper and disregard for privacy. Guilt filled her as she comprehended the full reality of his physical pain and embarrassment. How could she make him understand? How could he ever forgive her?

  Brandy began to weep anew. The thought that she had destroyed any possible hope for them to get together ravaged her tender heart. The hour grew late; the sky steadily darkened. Mary came to tap lightly on her door. Catching sight of her disheveled state, the pale face, and the puffy red eyes, Brandy knew she could not face Mary either. She rubbed her fingers over her swollen lips. No one could see her like this!

  Brandy called through the door, pretending to be just aroused from sleep, claiming a terrible headache and a need for more rest. She asked Mary to take care of Mr. Winngate for her. Brandy said she would not be down for dinner. After promising to take care of herself, Mary returned to the kitchen to prepare Steven’s dinner before leaving for the night.

  Brandy stood up and went to sit on the floor near a large window. Time passed as she gazed out at the scenery without really seeing it. The clouds leisurely moved off toward the far horizon, leaving behind a star-filled heaven. She watched the yello
w ball as it climbed higher and higher into that stygian sky until it was overhead.

  Brandy did not know how long Steven had been standing there in the darkness behind her. She had not heard the click of her lock as he had expertly jimmied it. Her chin was resting upon her hands on the wide windowsill. She did not know if it was the sudden sensing of another’s presence or if it was his scent or if it was his magnetic allure which slowly pulled her head around.

  Steven placed a tray of food on the floor beside her. “I’m sorry about this afternoon, Brandy. I was out of line,” he vowed huskily, then turned to leave, tormented by her loss.

  “Lance! Steven!” she cried out before he was half way across her room. He halted, but did not turn around. He seemed to be waiting for some attack or well-deserved chiding. She suddenly realized he was assuming the blame, or most of it.

  “You need not apologize. I was the one at fault today,” she admitted just above a whisper. “But I wasn’t leading you on, at least not intentionally. I didn’t realize what was happening between us until . . . until it began raining in my face. Teasing isn’t my style. Nothing is. I know I write a great deal about romance and passion, but I know little about its realities, only what you’ve taught me. I didn’t come down to dinner because I was too ashamed to face you. I was afraid you would despise me for—for what I did to you out there. One of my workers might have come by. I just couldn’t . . . I promise it won’t happen again. Will you forgive me? Can we still be friends?”

  Unaware of what she was unwittingly revealing to him, Steven smiled into the darkness. Feeling he had the answer he had come seeking, he inhaled deeply and then slowly released it. At his pensive silence, she lived through an endless period of doubt and agony. Was the damage irreparable? Did he hate her?

  “I understand perfectly, Brandy. You have no reason to feel shame or embarrassment. It’s obvious our timing wasn’t right this afternoon. I suppose you know why I was so rude and angry?” he subtly and ruefully confessed.

  “Yes. I’m sorry . . .”

  “I’m the one with all the experience. I shouldn’t have let things go that far. You’re just too damn irresistible. Let’s look at this afternoon as a lesson in self-control. I know you’re not a tease. Eat your sandwich before it gets stale. We’ll talk tomorrow. We have some matters to settle.” Steven decided it was best if he allowed her some time and privacy to sort out her feelings and to accept them. He wanted to seize her and make passionate love to her, but he feared to do so would only make it appear his interest was merely physical, which it wasn’t.

  Brandy yearned to rush into his arms and to shout her love for him, but his strange mood prevented it. She dared not endanger this new truce which he was offering. Somehow she had to entice him to feel more than desire for her. She had to prove she was different from all the women he had known and taken. She had to prove she was the woman he needed. She was elated when he asked softly, “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? I know how strong and persistent I can be.”

  “Thanks to you, I’m fine now, Lance, thank you.”

  He knew if he didn’t get out of her room immediately, he would risk ruining everything again. She was willing to forgive him, and that was enough for tonight. He headed for the door. Just before closing it, he whispered, “Sweet dreams, love.”

  Her anguished heart began to sing with renewed hope and joy. He didn’t hate her! If only she could somehow win his heart. She was suddenly ravenous. She wolfed down the sandwich and glass of milk. She flung herself upon her bed as plans for conquering him raced through her ecstatic mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the soft rays of sunlight began to drift across her bed, and its shiny fingers began to play upon her face, Brandy suddenly sat up in her bed. She had forgotten to draw her blinds. Memories of last night flooded her mind like a rain-swollen river attacking a weakened dam. She flung back the covers and jumped out of bed. She hugged herself as she sighted the tray upon the floor near the window.

  It had not been a beautiful dream. She danced around her room with great excitement and unleashed happiness, swinging her robe around in carefree exuberance. The wind which she playfully created caused a sheet of blue paper to tremble, then take flight behind her dresser . . . She hurriedly showered and dressed in a lovely, white eyelet sundress. She checked her reflection in the mirror, smiling at the glow in her eyes and upon her cheeks. She rushed downstairs to spill her heart to him. No matter what he said or how he felt, she must confess this love which was storming her heart.

  Brandy searched the whole house, but found no one. She nervously paced the kitchen floor while she waited for his return. She rehearsed her coming speech over and over. She had come to a point where she would accept any part of him, all or only a portion. She would go where he said, anytime he said!

  Brandy could now comprehend how a woman could sacrifice anything for the man she loved. Nothing mattered to her, except having him and being with him. She wanted his company; she wanted his children; she wanted a life with him. She feared her heart would surely burst with love and excitement if he did not return soon and absorb some of it! Where was Mary? Perhaps she knew of her love’s whereabouts.

  Growing impatient and anxious, she called the stables to see if Zack knew where he was. She was stunned by his news. Mary had received a call from the farmer’s market to come over and to check out their new arrivals for freezing and canning. But Steven Winngate had departed for the airport in Lexington shortly after daybreak! He told Zack he needed to catch a flight to New York at ten thirty.

  Brandy glanced up at the kitchen wall clock. It was now eleven o’clock. She stammered her confused thanks and hung up the phone. He was gone! He had left without so much as a polite thank you or a friendly farewell. Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving this morning? Not once had he mentioned his flight. Not a single word. Why had he run away like this? Why?

  She covered her trembling lips with her shaking hands. Tears rushed down her ashen cheeks. Agony ripped at her tormented heart. How could he be so cruel and thoughtless? Only yesterday he had wanted . . .

  Suspicion and doubt filled her anguished heart and turbulent mind. Since his arrival, he had been persuasive and disarming. Resentment and anger filled her at his treacherous betrayal and her romantic foolishness. He had come to her room last night knowing he was leaving this morning. Had it been to taunt her or to punish her for her rejection at the skeet range? Why hadn’t he made love to her last night?

  My God, had he been making a complete fool of her? The ruthless tyrant! The cold-blooded, arrogant devil! The coward! Naïve, trusting, gullible Brandy had blindly and recklessly allowed it. He had hurt her again . . .

  She raged at his cruelty; she wept for the pain in her heart. No doubt he had laughed all the way back to New York City. Let that glacial, phony Camille have him—they deserved each other. If only she did not feel as if her very heart was being carved from her body with a dull knife. The anger, humiliation, and resentment were nothing compared to the cutting pain which sliced and pierced her heart, mind, and soul.

  The doorbell rang insistently. Brandy wiped her eyes and went to answer it. She opened the door to find a uniformed, special delivery man standing there, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other in open annoyance. He handed her a long, yellow envelope, telling her to sign for it. Assuming it to be contracts for a novel, she rapidly complied with his request. He turned and hastily departed before she could even tip him.

  Brandy returned to the kitchen and placed the envelope on the table. As she sat down to reason out this drastic and unexpected turn in events, her eyes sighted the return label: Glitter Magazine. Curiosity filled her. Why would his magazine be sending her something by special delivery? He had only left here with his story and pictures this morning. Strange . . .

  She ripped open the envelope and lifted out an advance copy of next month’s i
ssue. Her face drained of all color. She stared at the bold red print and the color photo of herself. He wouldn’t . . . He couldn’t . . . He promised . . . But the timing . . .

  She scanned the index to locate the page number. She shook violently as she found that fateful page. She feared she would be physically ill or faint. As her misty eyes read the story and looked over the pictures, she mistakenly comprehended the reason for his hasty and abrupt departure. Now she recalled the phone ringing last night and Mary calling him to answer it. A warning?

  She glared at the bold print in shock and disbelief: “Will the Real Brandy Alexander Please Step Forward!” by Laura McGavin. He had lied, for he had not canceled the erroneous, malicious story. He had deceived her, duped her, betrayed her, and brazenly and cruelly seduced her.

  She rushed upstairs. She hastily changed into a steel-blue crepe dress. Her hands trembled as she loosely tied a paisley scarf around her neck. She mindlessly tossed some clothes into several pieces of luggage. She snatched up her briefcase and tossed the magazine and the rough draft of her present novel inside of it. She called the airport. Thankfully there was a flight which she could just catch if she hurried. She called Casey’s service and told her to be in her office when she arrived there. She scribbled Mary a note, saying her return home was indefinite.

  When Brandy arrived, Casey rushed forward to greet her. “For Heaven’s sake, Brandy, what’s the emergency?”

  Brandy opened her briefcase and threw the magazine on her desk. “Check pages forty to forty-five. It came by special delivery this morning. He lied and tricked me! How can I possibly do that publicity tour now? Change it to later, if they still want me to show up after that trash hits the market. Every place I stop, those interviewers will be harping on that story.”

  Brandy could not halt a new flow of tears. “I’m sorry, Casey. I honestly thought I was halting it. He promised not to print it. All this time I’ve been entertaining the devil in my own home. And this is how he shows his gratitude! He wants to destroy me and my name, plus my career. Why? It’s not even true. But you well know the public will eat it up. I’m ruined, Casey . . .”