by Brenda Joyce
Yet she hadn’t even thought of Leon once in the past weeks. Well, she supposed that would soon change. He was here in Paradise now.
She stifled a yawn. She must not allow Leon to sec her like this and think she was bored. Yet she was desperate for a good night’s sleep. Thoughts of him kept her awake at night.
He’d worked up at the house for three days, during which time Lucy did her utmost to avoid him. Yet it seemed she always knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. She only had to glance out the parlor window to see him returning from the smokehouse with a side of beef, his strong legs stretching taut the fabric of his jeans. Or she’d be in the library, searching for a book, and she’d hear him whistling tunelessly in the living room, as he put back up the heavy drapes Miranda had taken down to clean. She couldn’t escape him even in the privacy of her bedroom. She heard him in the hallway outside, helping the maid shift furniture so the floorboards could be dusted.
And each time she heard him, she visualized him, lean and dark, proud and arrogant, every sinew outlined in his damp shirt and his tight jeans.
And she waited for blackmail.
Surely that was why he was here.
There could be no other reason. She didn’t believe that he didn’t want money. He was toying with her, playing a cruel game, although she could not fathom why. Any day now he would make his demands in return for his silence. She lived in anxiety. And worst of all, she had no doubt that he knew her innermost thoughts, for whenever they came face-to-face, she could see the smug, knowing look in his eyes. He knew damn well how he was racking her nerves, and he was enjoying it.
The insomnia dated from that very first day she had found him working at the ranch. The Texas nights were so hot and so humid that under normal circumstances it was difficult to sleep. But nothing was normal now. Images she did not welcome taunted her, teased her. Images of Shoz demanding blackmail money, images of his hard body in his tight jeans, his torso naked and slick and wet. Images of his mouth. She would toss and turn, the damp sheets twisting around her, her body consumed with its own blazing heat. She could remember the feel of him that one heady night in the desert when they had come together in wild abandon; his body hot, slick, and hard beneath her hands, his weight warm and heavy on top of her, the power coursing through him which, ultimately, he had not been able to restrain. The feel of him, the scent of him, the look of him … Lucy could not bear her memories in the heat and dark of these endless nights.
Last night had been like the others, only worse. The air was so thick and wet, her cotton nightgown was like a second skin, damp and opaque. Even the sheets were annoyingly wet. She had padded barefoot to the open window to try and catch a breath of air—to try and escape her fantasies. To her shock, she saw him standing in the front yard by the swing, clearly illuminated by the moon and the outside porch lights. He was shirtless, his back resting against a tree, his cigarette glowing. No doubt he had the same intention as she, or did he? His was staring directly at her window, directly at her.
Suddenly realizing that if she could see him, he could certainly see her, Lucy hastily drew back. It was a long time before she slept at all.
The train was slowing. The noise was deafening. Leon was smiling and calling to her; Lucy smiled back. She suddenly thought of what she had done with Shuz, and she was stricken. If Leon ever knew, he would drop her like a hot potato, but that would not be as bad as witnessing his incredulity and his disgust. The latter would be withering. Tension suddenly tied her in knots. What if he found out? And next week her family would arrive, not just her parents and brothers, but everyone—Uncle Nick and Jane and their children, Aunt Storm and Brett and their children and grandchildren. And everyone knew her so well, especially Nicole; someone would guess …
Panic hit her sharply. She knew she must not let it show. Especially not now, because although Leon had only courted her these past few months, he knew her well enough, and he was very astute. He would miss little, if anything.
He jumped agilely from the train, taking her in his arms. “Lucy!”
Her smile was tremulous. “How was your trip?”
He didn’t answer. He was pulling her into his embrace and kissing her soundly. Lucy stiffened reflexively, although Leon had kissed her many times—and she had always enjoyed it. This time she didn’t enjoy it; how could she? Her predicament had just become a near-crisis, and Shoz was laughing at her in her mind’s eye.
“What’s wrong?”
Lucy managed a smile. “Leon, everyone will see!”
“I know,” he said, smiling and chucking her chin.
Lucy pulled away. He had never kissed her in public before. She was uneasy. Now was not the time for Leon to become serious.
They returned to the ranch in the Duryea, with Lucy driving. Leon admired the car, now as good as new, but was skeptical of Lucy’s ability to drive. “I’ve gotten quite good,” she retorted. He seemed to find it rather amusing to be chauffeured by a woman.
Lucy halted the automobile in front of the house and climbed out without waiting for Leon’s help. He raised an eyebrow at her as he came around the front of the car to take her elbow. “Am I forgetting that we’re now in Texas, or are you forgetting you were raised in New York?”
It was a rebuke, and Lucy found it annoying. She gave him a look, and saw his surprise. But he did not apologize—as any gentleman should after receiving such a glance from Lucy Bragg. Lucy was somewhat put out.
She couldn’t help noticing that he made no effort to retrieve his luggage from the Duryea’s backseat. Was he right about the differences between New York and Texas? In New York no gentleman would handle his bags. Yet this wasn’t New York, it was Texas, and here even her Uncle Brett, the most elegant gentleman she knew, handled his own luggage.
Miranda came out to greet them, wearing a simple blue skirt and shirtwaist and an apron—which she was drying her hands on. Leon was gallant, of course, and very proper, but Lucy was stunned to realize that he was shocked to see her grandmother in an apron and so obviously coming from the kitchen.
They entered the cool, spacious foyer. “Lucy, why don’t you show Leon to his room?” Miranda said. She poked her head into the open doorway of the large salon. Lucy saw over Miranda’s small shoulder that Shoz was there, standing on a ladder, fixing one of the windows. Her heart flopped and sank.
“Shoz?” Miranda asked. “Would you mind bringing some luggage in from Lucy’s roadster?”
Shoz’s cool gaze moved from Miranda to Lucy to the man standing beside her. Lucy could feel her cheeks flaming. Beside her, Leon moved impatiently. Shoz’s lips curled, not exactly pleasantly. Lucy almost expected him to turn on her, one finger pointed, and tell all. Of course, it was only a horrid moment of fear, and he did no such thing. He stepped off the ladder. Lucy turned brightly to Leon. “Right this way.”
Leon smiled back.
She led him upstairs and down the hall. As was correct, he was not staying in the same wing as she. This particular guest room was decorated in warm red tones with dark oak furniture and many Persian rugs. She moved across it to open the window. “You have wonderful views of the Pecos and the hill country. You can even see some mountains on the horizon.”
He came up behind her, crowding her. Lucy jumped when he gripped her arms. “Darling, why are you so nervous?”
“Me?” she asked, her voice a higher pitch than normal. She cleared her throat. “I’m not nervous—just excited is all.”
“Excited to see me?” he murmured, his hold tightening.
Lucy could not say no. “Of course,” she said, striving for a light tone of voice. “It’s been weeks.”
He smiled, pulled her up against him, and before she could protest, his mouth claimed hers.
Leon’s mouth was warm and firm and coaxing. Lucy had allowed herself, in the past, to be seduced into accepting his tongue. She had always preferred his kisses when they were closemouthed. Now she had no intention of allowing him such liberties,
and she kept her lips firmly glued together.
Something heavy hit the floor with a thud! Lucy was intent on keeping her mouth closed no matter how hard he tried to pry past her lips, while he was intent on attaining her surrender. Both heard the noise but did not react. Then there was another thud, this one more forceful. Leon froze and lifted his head; Lucy jumped free of his grasp.
Shoz set the third bag down even more resoundingly and left without even a glance in their direction. As if they were invisible. But of course, he had seen them standing right there in the middle of the room.
“That was outrageous!” Leon gasped, staring after him. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
Lucy hurried to the door and did not reply. It was a harbinger of the disastrous week to come.
Every time Lucy turned around, it seemed like Shoz was there, lurking in the background. She took Leon for a morning ride, and there he was, fixing the fence in the south pasture. In the hottest part of the day, they sought the shade of the swing beneath the big oaks, and he was there, too, painting the porch railing. She and Leon could not even stroll in the moonlight without crossing his path.
Yet he ignored her. He did not spare them a glance, not ever. Lucy’s feelings changed from confusion to disappointment to displeasure. Severe displeasure. What was she, invisible?
Perhaps it was fortunate that Shoz always seemed to appear when he was not wanted. One afternoon Lucy, Leon, and Joanna planned a picnic at Pete’s Peak, but at the last moment Joanna pleaded a headache. Lucy and Leon went alone. Lucy spent the entire first hour fighting off Leon’s kisses, finally succumbing to them out of sheer fatigue. In this case, his will was stronger than hers. But when his hand ran down her waist and then up and over her breast, she leapt to her feet, absolutely drawing the line then and there.
Leon apologized. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but we haven’t had a minute alone all week. I’m going crazy for your kisses!”
His smile didn’t work on her. “That wasn’t a kiss,” she said hotly, “that was groping.” She chose that moment to remember having been the willing partner to a lot more than just groping not so long ago, and her color increased. Leon took it as a sign of her ire.
“I am sorry, truly. Now come back here.” He patted the blanket where he sat.
“I had better not, Leon.” Now that she was free, Lucy had no intention of getting caught in his embrace again. Somehow, he no longer held the appeal he once had—and she knew why. Under her breath she cursed Shoz for ruining her interest in the best beau she had ever had. Because until Shoz had come along, she had found Leon utterly fascinating: charismatic and handsome and quite perfect.
She was really angry because even now there was no comparison between the two. Leon had everything and in abundance, Shoz had nothing. Leon was gorgeous—Shoz was rough. Yet envisioning them together, Leon’s perfect looks seemed faded and almost delicate, while Shoz’s dark features seemed dangerous and irresistibly virile.
“Lucy,” Leon was saying, “do you think it was easy to get Joanna to agree to fake a headache and stay behind? What’s wrong with you? Come here.”
Once Lucy might have been flattered at the effort he had expended to get her alone, but she wasn’t now. She was furious. “I think we had better go back, Leon.”
Thereafter, Lucy made it a point not to be alone with Leon. Joanna was invited everywhere with them, and Lucy made sure she came. If Leon knew what she was contriving, he gave no outward sign. Lucy was certain he knew, but was gracefully bowing to propriety, for despite having schemed to picnic unchaperoned with her, he was a born gentleman and he did know better.
And then, finally, the day dawned. The day of her parents’ and family’s arrival, the day of Derek’s eightieth birthday.
Lucy was tense with excitement—and anxiety. If the truth would ever be discovered, it would be now.
Lucy was up with the sun, but stayed in her room, because to do otherwise would most definitely arouse her grandfather’s suspicions. She was trembling with excitement. At the moment, her fear of discovery was overwhelmed by the joy of the impending family reunion. At eight o’clock, as planned, the ranch foreman came up to the house and interrupted Derek’s breakfast. The fence had come down in the north pasture and all the blooded mares and foals had gotten out. Derek left immediately. In actuality, the stock had been moved early that morning to a different location, and her grandfather and the cowboys would spend the next six or seven hours trying to track down the escaped animals. By noon everyone would have arrived and the party would be set up.
Lucy ran downstairs to await the arrival of her parents and brothers, her aunts and uncles, and especially her cousins. Already wagons were rolling in from town with the supplies and food and decorations for the party. The men were already digging the barbeque pits out back and setting up rows upon rows of picnic tables. Lucy was soon occupied in the kitchen with last-minute chores.
She was up to her elbows in lemons when a familiar voice cried her name from the doorway. “Miss Bragg!”
Lucy shrieked and whirled. “Lady Shelton!”
The two cousins ran into each other’s arms. “I’m so glad to be here!” Nicole cried.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Lucy said. Nicole was her Uncle Nick’s eldest daughter, a stunning, exotic beauty so much like her father—tall, dark-haired, gray-eyed, with a golden complexion and high, high cheekbones. She had just turned twenty-two that May.
“What are you doing?” Nicole laughed, eyeing her disheveled appearance. “Is this my cousin or some imposter?”
Lucy grinned. “I’m a disaster, I know.”
Nicole was unfazed. Although her appearance was usually impeccable, it was a shocking contrast to her behavior—which rarely was. She was one of Lucy’s favorite people in the entire world, and they had been partners in crime more often than not. “I’ve never seen you in your shirtsleeves before,” Nicole laughed. “Change that awful outfit and put on something utterly wicked!”
Chatting nonstop, the two girls ran from the kitchen. Lucy screeched to a halt in the foyer, which was crowded to overflowing with her entire family. Everyone was talking a mile a minute, hugging, laughing, crying. It was chaos.
Her father, Rathe, was embracing his older sister, Lucy’s aunt, Storm. She was a tall, handsome, formidable woman, equally at ease in the backwoods as she was in her Nobb Hill mansion. Lucy had had a secret crush on her husband, Brett d’Archand, when she was a child. He was tall and dark and dangerous-looking, and so very elegant in his tailored black suit. He was pumping her Uncle Nick’s hand. He was Lord Shelton, the Earl of Dragmore. He had one of his arms wrapped around his unbelievably gorgeous, petite blond wife, the famous actress, Jane Barclay, who was trying to wrest herself free to hug Lucy’s mother, Grace. Years ago in New York, the two had become best friends, or so they said.
Then there were her cousins. Brett’s sons, Stephen and Lincoln, and their wives were surrounding and embracing Miranda, who was crying. Their six small children were racing around the room shouting like Indians with a gangling shepherd puppy, which seemed to be dragging one of them on a leash. Lucy’s youngest brother, Colin, age eight, was racing with them, whooping the loudest of all. Her brothers Brian, Greg and Hugh were trying to catch the younger ones and restrain them. Mark was suspiciously absent. Lucy didn’t have time to think about this, though, because Nicole’s brothers, Chad and Ed, and her younger sister, Regina, rushed forward to envelop her in big bear hugs.
Over Regina’s shoulder, Lucy caught her father’s glacial eye. He knows, she thought, panic knifing through her. He knows about Shoz!
She went white, meeting his stern, disapproving gaze—and then realized that he could not possibly know about Shoz! Her knees almost buckled. Regina gave way to Stephen. She hugged him, filled with relief. Daddy was only angry because he’d found out she’d gone to Texas without Mrs. Seymour!
Things began to quiet down. Not much, but a bit. Lucy said hello to everyone, avoiding her paren
ts. Her mother had also given her a sharp “we’re going to talk” look. “Where is your brother, Mark?” Nicole asked.
Lucy was about to reply that she didn’t know when he appeared from outside, stepping into the crowded foyer. Something was in his arms, something furry, something yowling. He released it. The oversize puppy barked and lunged. The cat screeched and ran. Chaos reigned again.
* * *
All the guests could not possibly fit into the house to hide in order to really surprise Derek. At noon everyone was milling outside, chatting and renewing acquaintances, or making new ones. Over a thousand people from coast to coast had turned out for Derek’s eightieth birthday, and they took up most of the grounds behind the ranch house.
Ten huge barbecue pits were already fired and smoking. The band was tuning up. Giant caldrons were already simmering with chili, and bartenders were serving everything from martinis to cream sodas. Cowboys in denims and hats mixed with ladies in silks and parasols, their husbands in white or navy sack jackets and linen trousers; children played hide-and-seek noisily, grandfathers sat smoking pipes and watching, their wives eating and gossiping. Shortly after one, Derek Bragg rode in.