by Diana Palmer
He kept walking, his mind still on the way Allison had looked in that sundress. He paused to check two of the sick calves in the barn, marveling at how much he’d changed in just one day and one night. Maybe it was his age, he thought. Then a picture of Allison Hathoway’s soft hazel eyes burned into his brain and he groaned. With a muttered curse, he saddled a horse and went out to check on the night herders—something he hadn’t done in months.
Chapter Three
Allison wasn’t comfortable talking to Winnie about Gene Nelson, but she was too curious about him not to ask questions. He’d warned her away himself, telling her that he was bad medicine. But she was attracted despite the warnings. Secretly she wondered if it could be because of them. She’d led a conventional life all the way, never putting a step wrong. A renegade was bound to appeal to her.
“You can’t get involved with him,” Winnie said quietly when Allison couldn’t resist questioning her the next day.
“He didn’t seem like a bad man,” Allison protested.
“I didn’t say he was,” Winnie replied, and her expression was sympathetic. “In fact, there isn’t a nicer man than Gene. But he’s gone wild since he found out about his father. You heard what Marie accused him of yesterday. She wasn’t kidding. Gene makes no secret that he has only one use for a woman, and he’s done a lot of hard drinking and hard living in the past few months. Because everybody around Pryor knows it, just being seen with him could ruin your reputation. That’s why I don’t want you to go out with him. I’d never begrudge you a little happiness, but Gene could cost you your respectability. And that’s something you can’t afford to lose, my friend, in your chosen vocation.”
“Yes, I know,” Allison murmured. Her heart sank. Winnie was drowning all her dreams. “You said that Gene didn’t know about his real father?”
“No. He was just four when his mother divorced his father and married Hank Nelson,” Winnie said, startling her. “Until six months ago, when his stepfather died, he never knew that he wasn’t a blood Nelson.”
Allison’s tender heart ached for him. “Poor man,” she said huskily. “How terrible, to find out like that!”
“It’s been terrible for all of them,” Winnie said honestly. “Don’t get me wrong. Dwight and Marie don’t feel any differently now than they ever did about Gene, but it’s changed everything for him. He worshiped Hank.”
“No wonder he’s embittered,” Allison said softly.
“None of that,” Winnie murmured dryly. “Your soft heart will be your undoing yet. Now let’s talk about something besides Gene. I don’t think he’s got a soft spot anymore, but he could hurt you if you tried to find it, even for the best of reasons.”
“Yes, I know,” Allison replied. “I sensed that, too. But you don’t need to worry,” she added with a sad smile. “I’m not the type of woman who could appeal to a man like him. He’s very handsome and suave. I’m just…me.”
“You weren’t yourself at the barbecue,” her friend murmured tongue in cheek. “You were light and flirtatious and carefree. Gene has no idea who and what you really are, and that kind of secret is dangerous to keep.”
“Any kind of secret is dangerous to keep,” she replied with a gentle smile.
“Amen. Just trust me and keep your distance.” She patted Allison’s hand gently. “Don’t underestimate your own attractions, my friend. You’re a knockout when you dress up, and that warm heart of yours attracts everyone, including men like Gene.”
“It never has before,” Allison sighed. “Well, not the right kind of men, anyway.”
“One of these days the right man is going to come along. If anybody deserves him, you do.”
Allison smiled. “Thanks. I could return the compliment. I like your Dwight very much.”
“So do I.”
“Will you live with his family when you marry?”
“No,” Winnie returned, grateful for the change of subject. “There’s another house on the ranch, where Dwight’s grandfather used to live. It’s being remodeled, and we’ll live there. I’ll take you to see it one day, if you like.”
“I would.”
Winnie smiled. “You’re so much better than you were when you first came here,” she said gently. “Is it easing off a little?”
Allison nodded. “Every day, thanks to you and your mother.”
“That’s what we both hoped. Dad will be home soon, and then we can do some sightseeing. You know I’m hopeless at finding things, and mother hates to drive distances. There’s a lot of history around here.”
“I know. I read all the books I could find about northern Wyoming before I ever dreamed I might actually come here.” She lowered her eyes. “I had hoped it would be for a happier reason, though.”
“So did I.” Winnie sipped coffee. “What do you want to see?”
“The nightly rodeo in Cody,” came the immediate reply. “Not to mention the historical center there. And there’s a place called Sho shone Canyon just outside it, on the way to Yellow stone…”
“Shoshone Canyon gives me the cold willies,” Winnie said, shivering. “It’s eerie, especially when you have to come across the dam to Cody, through the mountain tunnel. I only have to go that way when we’re coming back from Yellowstone National Park, thank God. Cody is northwest of here, so we can avoid the canyon altogether.”
“You chicken, you,” Allison gasped. “I’d love it!”
“I imagine you would. Well, we’ll go when Dad gets back, but I’ll wear a blindfold.”
“I’ll make sure you have one,” Allison laughed.
There was no more mention of Gene Nelson, even if he did seem to haunt Allison’s dreams.
Then, all at once, she seemed to run into him everywhere. She waved to him in town as he drove by in his big Jeep, and he waved back with a smile. She saw him on his horse occasionally as she drove past the ranch with Winnie, and he seemed to watch for her. When she and Winnie visited Dwight, he sometimes paused in the doorway to talk, and his green eyes ran over her with frank curiosity as he joined in the conversation. It always seemed to be about cattle or horses or rodeo, and Allison never understood it, but then it didn’t matter. She just loved looking at Gene.
He noticed that rapt stare of hers and was amused by it. Women had always chased him, but there was something different about this one. She was interested in him, but too shy to flirt or play up to him. Ironically that interested him more than a blatant invitation would have.
He began to look for her after that, despite his misgivings about getting involved. She stirred something inside him that he didn’t even know he possessed. It was irritating, but he felt as if he’d been caught in an avalanche, and he couldn’t stop it.
A few days after the barbecue he noticed Winnie’s car going past the ranch, with a passenger, on the way in to Pryor. And he’d found an excuse to go into town himself. To get a new rope, he said. The ranch had enough ropes to furnish Pancho Villa’s army already, but it was an excuse if he really needed one to appease his conscience.
That was how Allison came upon him, seemingly accidentally, in Pryor that afternoon while she was picking up some crocheting thread for Mrs. Manley and Winnie was having a fitting for her wedding gown.
He was coming out of the feed store with what looked like a new rope in one lean hand. He’d been working. He was wearing stained jeans with muddy boots and dusty bat-wing chaps. A worn and battered tan Stetson was cocked over one pale green eye, and he needed another shave, even though it was midafternoon. He looked totally out of sorts.
In fact, he was, and Allison was the reason for his bad humor. All the reasons why he should snub her came falling into his brain. It didn’t do any good, of course, to tell himself that she was the last complication he needed right now. Miss Chic Society there wasn’t cut out for ranch life or anything more than a wild fling, and he was beginning to feel his age. Instead of running around with wild women, he needed to be thinking about a wife and kids. Except that kids mig
ht be out of the question, considering the character of his real father. His expression hardened. Besides that, considering his reputation with women, it was going to be hard to find a decent woman who’d be willing to marry him. This wouldn’t be a bad time to work on improving his image, and he couldn’t do that by linking himself with another sophisticated party girl. Which Miss Hathoway seemed to be, given her performance at the barbecue.
Of course, it wasn’t that easy to put the brakes on his interest. Now here she stood, looking at him with those big hazel eyes and making his body ache. And he’d initiated the confrontation.
“Hello, Mr. Nelson,” she said, smiling at him. “Out looking for a lost cow?” she added, nodding toward the rope in his hand.
His eyebrows arched. “I came in to buy some new rope, Miss Hathoway.” He was irritated at having told a blatant lie.
“Oh.” She stared at it. “Can you spin a loop and jump through it?”
He glared at her. “This,” he said, hefting it irritably, “is nylon rope. It isn’t worth a damn until you tie it between the back bumper of a truck and a fence-post and stretch it.”
“You’re kidding,” she said.
“I am not.” He moved closer, looking down at her. She was at least average height, but he still had to look down. She seemed very fragile somehow. Perhaps her lifestyle made her brittle.
He searched her soft eyes. “Did you drive in?” he asked so that she wouldn’t know he’d followed her to town.
“Yes. With Winnie,” she said. “She’s trying on her wedding gown.”
His thick eyebrow jerked. “The wedding will be Pryor’s social event of the season,” he said with faint sarcasm. The thought of the wedding stung him. Dwight was a Nelson, truly his father’s son. Dwight had inherited the lion’s share of the business, even though Gene couldn’t complain about his own inheritance. It was just that he’d been the eldest son all his life. He’d belonged. Now he didn’t. Dwight and Winnie’s wedding was a potent, stinging reminder of that.
“It hurts you, doesn’t it?”
The gentle question brought a silent gasp from his lips. He stared down at her, caught completely off guard by her unexpected remark. The compassion in those eyes was like a body blow. She almost seemed to glow with it. He couldn’t have imagined anyone looking at him like that a week ago, and he wasn’t sure he liked it even now.
“Haven’t you got someplace to go, Miss Hathoway?” he asked irritably.
“I suppose that means you wish I did. Why are you wearing bat-wing chaps in the northwest?” she asked pleasantly. “And Mexican rowels?”
His eyes widened. “I used to work down in Texas,” he said hesitantly. “What do you know about chaps?”
“Lots.” She grinned. “I grew up reading Zane Grey.”
“No better teacher, except Louis L’Amour,” he murmured. His pale eyes slid down her body. She was wearing jeans and a white shirt, short sleeved, because it was June and warm.
“No hat,” he observed, narrow-eyed. “You know better, or you should, having lived in Arizona. June is a hot month, even here.”
She grimaced. “Yes, but I hate hats. It isn’t usually this warm, surely, this far north?”
Those hazel eyes were casting spells. He had to drag his away. “We get hot summers. Winters are the problem,” he said, nodding toward the distant peaks, snow covered even in the summer. “We get three and four feet of snow at a time. Trying to find calving cows in that can be a headache.”
“I expect so.” Her eyes went to his thin mouth. “But isn’t summer a busier time?”
He looked down at her. “Not as much so as April and September. That’s when we round up cattle.”
“I guess that keeps you busy,” she said softly.
“No more than anything else does,” he said shortly. He had to get away from her. She disturbed him. “I’ve got to go.”
“That’s it, reject me,” she said with a theatrical sigh, hiding her shyness in humor. “Push me aside— I can take it.”
He smiled without meaning to. “Can you?” he murmured absently.
“Probably not,” she confessed dryly. She searched his eyes. “Winnie warned me to stay away from you. She says you’re a womanizer.”
He stared down at her. “So? She’s right,” he said without pulling his punches. “I’ve never made any secret of it.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “Did you expect a different answer?”
She shook her head. “I’m glad I didn’t get one. I don’t mind the truth.”
“Neither do I, but we’re pretty much in the minority. I find that most people prefer lies, however blatant.”
She felt momentarily guilty, because she was trying to behave like someone she wasn’t. But she knew that her real self wasn’t likely to appeal to him. She couldn’t help herself.
Gene saw that expression come and go on her face and was puzzled by it. He glanced past her, watching Winnie in the doorway of a shop, talking to another woman.
“You’d better go,” he said abruptly. “Your watchdog’s about to spot you talking to me.” He smiled with pure sarcasm. “She’ll give you hell all day if she sees us together.”
“Would you mind?” she asked.
He nodded. “For Dwight’s sake, yes, I would. I don’t want to alienate Winnie before the wedding.” He laughed curtly. “Plenty of time for that afterward.”
“You aren’t half as bad as you pretend to be,” she remarked.
He sobered instantly. “Don’t you believe it, cupcake,” he replied. “You’d better go.”
“All right.” She sighed, clutching the bag of thread against her breasts. “See you.”
“Sure.” He walked past her to his black Jeep and he didn’t allow himself to look back. Pursuing her had been a big mistake. She was Winnie’s best friend, and Winnie was obviously determined not to let her become one of his casual interludes. He had to keep his head. He had more than enough problems already, and alienating his future sister-in-law wasn’t going to solve any of them. That being the case, it might be wise, he told himself sarcastically, if he stopped following her around!
Allison was calm by the time Winnie finally joined her. “My dress is coming along beautifully,” she said. “Did I see you talking to someone?”
“Just passing conversation. I got your mother’s thread,” Allison said, evading the curious question gracefully. By the time they got back to the car, Winnie had forgotten all about it.
But Allison couldn’t forget about Gene. When she was invited, along with Winnie, to supper at the Nelson home two days later, it was almost as if Fate was working in her favor.
She wore a plain gray dress with a high neckline and straight skirt, gently gathered at the waist with a belt. It wasn’t a sexy dress, but when she wore it, it became one. She did her hair in a neat French plait and put on makeup as Winnie had taught her. When she finished, she looked much less sophisticated than she had at the barbecue—a puzzling outcome.
“I don’t look the way I did before,” she told Winnie after they’d said good-night to Mrs. Manley and were on the way to the Nelsons’.
“You look great,” Winnie corrected. “And tonight, will you please be yourself?”
“Why? Are you hoping that Gene Nelson might keep his distance if he sees what a frump I really am?” she murmured dryly.
“He seems to be doing that all by himself,” Winnie reminded her. “I’m not trying to be difficult, honestly I’m not.” She sighed worriedly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. Gene…isn’t himself these days.”
“What was he like before?” Allison asked softly.
Winnie laughed. “Full of fun. He always had his eye on the ladies, but he was less blatant with it. Now, he’s reckless and apparently without conscience when it comes to women. He doesn’t really care whom he hurts.”
“I don’t think he’d hurt me, though, Winnie,” she said.
“Don’t bet on it,” the other woman replied. “You put too much faith in pe
ople’s better instincts. Some people don’t have any.”
“I’ll never believe that,” Allison said firmly. “Not after what I’ve seen. Beauty often hides in the most horrible places.”
Winnie’s eyes were gentle as they glanced toward her friend. She didn’t know what to say to Allison. Probably nothing would do much good. She’d just have to hope that Gene was out, or that, if he was home, he wasn’t interested in Allison.
It was late afternoon, and still light. A gentle flutter of rain greeted them as they arrived in front of the Nelson house and darted up the steps to the front door.
“You’re early,” Marie stammered, flustered and wild-eyed when she opened the door for them. She swept back her blond hair. “Oh, gosh, do either of you know anything about first aid? Dwight had to run to town for some wine, and Gene’s ripped open his arm. I’m just hopeless…!”
“Where is he?” Allison asked, her voice cool and professional-sounding. “I know what to do.”
“Thank God!” Marie motioned them along behind her, down the long hall toward the bedrooms.
“I think I’ll wait in the living room, if you don’t mind.” Winnie hesitated, grimacing. “I’m as hopeless as Marie is.”
“You won’t be alone long,” Marie promised her. “I can’t stand the sight of blood, either! He’s in there, Allison,” she added, nodding toward an open bedroom door. “You can hear him from out in the hall.”
“I’ll look after him,” Allison assured her, leaving Marie to keep Winnie company while she ventured into the room.
Muttered curses were coming from the bathroom. Allison moved hesitantly past the antique furniture in the cream and brown confines of the room, certain that it was Gene’s. The bed was king-size. There was a desk and chair in one corner and two chairs and a floor lamp in the other, beside a fireplace. The earth tones and Native American accent pieces suited what she knew of Gene Nelson.