by Lois Greiman
By nightfall, she felt as if every nerve ending was made of kindling. She stood in the doorway of her bedroom with him, trying to douse the sparks.
“Good night, Hannah,” he said.
No. Not good-night, her mind argued. Not good-night! Come in. Lock the door. Make love. But despite everything, she was still a Vandegard, and Vandegards did not beg.
“You could come in for a minute.” That wasn’t begging. Just a…suggestion.
He hesitated. “I’d better not.”
“Please.” Okay, that was begging a little. But what did he expect. He’d been driving her mad with his closeness all day. Now just the thought of him leaving made her want to fall at his feet.
Indecision showed on his face. Leaning forward, he kissed her lips.
Every awakened desire in her kissed him back. She slipped her hand quickly behind his neck, answering his caress.
“Her kiss is like summer lightning.” The country lyrics drifted up the stairs, accented by the thumping of a cast and a foot.
Tyrel’s expression was raw with desire when he pulled away.
“Good night,” he said again, and turned stiffly away.
12
THE DAYS PASSED like water through a sieve. Ty could do nothing but let them go. Every moment with Hannah was a pleasant torment, every day one less he would have in the future, and yet he could not stop himself from being near her.
Allowing her to ride alone was nearly more than he could bear. But it would be difficult to teach her to team rope without doing so. And she was painfully determined to learn. She took his every criticism with sober-faced attention, nodding, leaning toward him, absorbing every word, like a soldier doing battle against failure.
There was no need for her to do this, no reason in the world she must learn to team rope. In his soul, he knew she was not what she pretended to be. And though he couldn’t help but hope it didn’t matter, that she would stay forever, his heart knew better. They were like fire and ice, a princess and a pauper.
The nights were long, for he would not make love to her. Not again. Not until she would trust him with her name, with her identity, with her heart. But during the day, he couldn’t keep from touching her. Every facet of her fascinated him, every word, every glance.
“Yee-hah!” she yelled, copying the halloo that had earned Nate a broken leg. But it was adorable when she did it. Her eyes were as bright as crystal, her smile undimmed. “What’s the time, Nate?” she yelled. Beneath her, Lula kept the lariat tight and the steer trapped between her and Ty’s gelding.
“Seven-point-two seconds,” Nate called from his place near the chute. “You done good, honey. But if I was you I’d get myself a new partner.”
Hannah laughed and Ty scowled. But he couldn’t disagree. His mind was elsewhere—not on the roping, but on Hannah, on how she held the reins, how she turned just so in the saddle, how her slim thighs hugged the mare. And somehow, he couldn’t help but envy her mount.
He was one sick puppy! Obsessed! Sleepless. He couldn’t take it anymore. And he wasn’t going to. If he was going to lose her, he was going to know why.
“TY.” LORETTA FOX TURNED from the kitchen table in surprise. She’d gained a few pounds over the years, but she was still pretty. Delicate, some might think. Her sons knew better. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t the boy just stop by to see us sometimes?” asked her husband, rising from his chair, and going to the stove to pour himself another cup of dark coffee. At fifty-two, Robert Fox had pretty much perfected the art of irritating his firstborn son.
They were too much alike to get along. Ty knew that as well as anyone, but tonight he wouldn’t let his temper get the best of him. Tonight he would get some answers.
“Do you want some coffee?” his mom asked.
“Yeah.” Ty drew out a chair and sat down. “Thanks.”
She poured him a cup. It slogged with tarlike reluctance from the spout Tyrel had come by his taste through honest genetics. “Brownies?” she asked. “I just made them.”
“No, thanks.”
“Jell-O? I’ve got some left from Sunday.”
“No.”
“Oatmeal cookies? A little roast beef?” She was rummaging in the refrigerator now. “We’ve got some ham left over. Or—”
“Loretta,” Robert said, “the boy probably just came by for some advice from his old man.”
Tyrel took a sip of his coffee. It had the kick of a green broke mule. “Matter of fact I do need some advice,” he said, turning toward his father.
“Yeah?” Robert settled his weight against the counter behind him. “Want to know how you can sell that ranch of yours and finally do something with that fancy education I paid for.”
No, Tyrel thought He wanted to know how he could have what his father had built with his mother. It was a realization he had never faced, and it stunned him now.
“Would it be so bad if I wanted to be like you, Dad?” he asked softly.
For a moment sheer surprise and something like pleasure showed on the older man’s face. He hid it quickly away, but not before Tyrel had noticed. Something softened inside of him.
“Well…” Loretta looped the dish towel through the refrigerator handle. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, but as she passed Tyrel, she reached out to squeeze his arm. In her eyes there was an expression that said, “It’s about damn time.”
Had he been such an ingrate as all that?
“So…” Robert settled himself back into a chair across from Ty. “What do you need?”
“It’s about Hannah.”
“Hannah?” Robert’s brows lifted in curiosity, but there was something else there. It almost looked like a sharp spark of hope.
“That’s right.”
“What about her?”
Ty scowled into his coffee, then back at his father. “I need to know who she is.”
“Listen, son.” He settled back into his chair. “I told you when this started that I couldn’t tell you nothing about her. The money’ll have to be enough consolation.”
“I don’t want the money,” Ty said, his voice low.
“Listen, boy, I told you—”
“You didn’t tell me I’d fall in love with her.”
The words reverberated in the silence of the room, and then Robert smiled.
“So you think she’s the one to settle you down—keep you on that no good piece of land of yours? Not that that’s what I want,” he hurried to add. “Farming’s for fools, and ranching is worse.”
“So you’ve said enough times.”
“From what I heard she’s not the farming type,” Robert said, studying his son with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.”
“I’ll be damned. Old George thought that might be true.”
“George?” Tyrel asked, his heart racing with the promise of any tidbit of information.
“George…Vandegard,” Robert said, taking a sip of coffee and watching him carefully. “He’s an old friend of mine.”
“George…Vandegard…the movie director?” Ty asked.
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
HANNAH WAS TENSE. Tyrel could feel her thoughts as he watched her. She was nervous, worried, taut as a wound spring. Yet grace and elegance exuded from her, and he couldn’t bear to lose her.
“Len Clemens and Toby Carter. Six-point-five seconds. That’s the time to beat,” called the announcer.
But Tyrel didn’t care about the time to beat. He only cared about her. How long would she remain once she learned the truth? How long before she left?
“Are you ready?” Her eyes were as bright as morning, her smile like the flash of the sun through a gray bank of clouds.
No, he wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. But he nodded. They rode side by side to the box behind the barrier.
In the stands, the crowd was silent On the far side of the steer chute, Hannah tipped back her hat—th
e hat he had given her. Her gloved hands were steady on the reins.
“Ready?” The chute man glanced at Hannah. She nodded once. The gate sprang open. The steer charged out Lula lunged after him, Hannah leaning over the horn.
Her throw was clean, catching both horns. She loped off with the steer moving along behind. Tyrel tossed his loop. It whipped in front of the steer’s hind legs. Ty snapped up the slack, confining the animal between them.
“Six-point-two seconds, folks,” called the announcer. “A new best time.”
Ty and Hannah flipped their ropes off the steer, and exited the arena. They dismounted there, and suddenly Hannah was in his arms, hugging him with ferocious joy.
“We did good,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” His heart had stopped. “Yeah, you did good,” he said. It was then that he saw the man in the sunglasses and red shirt. His stomach roiled. “Listen, Hannah…” He gently disengaged her arms. “I’ve got to go see a man about a horse. You stay and watch the others. Let me know how we stack up, huh?”
“Sure.” Her exuberance was undiminished.
He turned away.
“Ty?”
He stopped at the sound of his name and turned back toward her.
“I…” She paused, grinned, and then continued with a shrug. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” he said. Ty hitched Rowdy to the far side of the trailer.
“Tyrel Fox.” A man’s voice made him turn. The speaker was tall, graying, looking theatrical in a red fringed shirt, black jeans and cowboy hat that reminded him of Roy Rogers. He removed his sunglasses with one hand and reached out with the other. “So you’re Robert’s son.”
Ty forced himself to clasp hands with the man. “Mr. Vandegard?” he said.
“Call me George.” He smiled, and in the jut of his jaw, Ty could see a hint of Hannah’s stubborn tenacity. “This is Stone Gardner. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
Not since reading the Rabbit’s registration, Ty thought, then nodded to the younger man. He was dressed in a floor-length duster and a hat big enough to shade Arizona. Beneath the brim, he had the perfect nose borne of plastic surgery. His beard was close-cropped. “Stone,” Ty said.
“So you’ve been taking care of my little girl,” Vandegard said.
Ty drew back his hand. He felt sick to his stomach. “She really doesn’t need taking care of.”
“Stone here said the same thing after the incident in the parking lot,” Vandegard said.
“She almost broke my arm,” Stone added, sounding sullen.
Vandegard chuckled. “Be that as it may, she’s still my little girl. And I’ve never seen her happier.”
Ty held his gaze. “And what about when she learns the truth?” he asked. “Will she be happy then?”
Vandegard shook his head. “You don’t understand. Allissa has such fire, such talent, but she never used it. She never had to use it And her mother thought…Gayle was old European blood you know. So beautiful, like Allissa, and she didn’t want her…soiled. Then when Gayle died…” He shrugged. “I was busy with my work. I had struggled up from nothing, you know. I wanted to buy her everything she wanted. Everything she needed.”
“So you bought her a position at The Lone Oak Ranch, thinking that would be enough.”
Vandegard scowled. “If it’s more money you want—”
“Damn the money. And damn you!” Tyrel stormed.,
Vandegard’s brows rose under his hat, and then he chuckled.
“Why don’t you take the money, Ty?” asked a soft voice.
Tyrel swung about.
Hannah stood there, her expression fragile, her eyes wide. “Or is it too much of a hardship putting up with me any longer?”
“Hannah.” Her name slipped from him like a prayer.
“Allissa,” Vandegard gasped. “Baby, don’t get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?” Her tone was strained. She backed up a pace, her fists tight. “And what idea might that be, Daddy? That you lied to me? That you said my life was in danger? That you sent this two-bit actor to accost me in a parking lot? That you sent me away—made me fear for my life—for your life. And all the time you were paying Ty to keep me out of your hair. What? Were you afraid I might insult another of your friends?”
“Baby.” Vandegard’s long face had crumbled. “It’s not like that” He stepped forward, holding out his hands in silent supplication. “Don’t you see? I failed you. All those years I spent away—and your mother…” He paused. “I failed you, Allissa. I didn’t want you to grow old without having a chance at what I had. A chance to do something you care passionately about.”
She said nothing, but watched them all, her eyes cold chips of blue sapphire.
“You never had a chance to succeed, Allissa. Never had a chance to try. That’s all I wanted for you. You have such life, such talent. But you were becoming…”
“An ice princess?” she supplied.
Vandegard shook his head. “My princess, yes. But never made of ice. I knew better. But others couldn’t see it And I was afraid that maybe you couldn’t, either. Colonel Shelby told me long ago that I would spoil you. That I was ruining your heart.”
She tilted her head slightly. “So you decided to give me heart by having me attacked?” She glared at Stone. He backed away a step, holding his offended arm. “By lying to me?”
“I—”
She cut him off with a harsh laugh. “And all the time I thought I was needed, thought I was doing something worthwhile. ” She flashed her gaze to Tyrel.
His heart stopped cold in his chest. “Hannah,” he murmured.
“My name’s not Hannah. It’s Allissa! Allissa Clifton Vandegard! And you’ve known it all along.”
“No.” It was the only word he could find in his shattered world.
“No? But you knew I was rich—just a spoiled child whose own father couldn’t bear to have her around. But you could put up with me—for enough money. Was it worth it, Tyrel? Did he pay you extra to sleep with me?”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The truth seemed a thousand miles away.
“You slept with her?” Vandegard’s hand closed on Ty’s arm, swinging him around.
Tyrel jerked out of his grasp. “Hannah,” he said, but she was already running away.
“Damn you!” Vandegard stormed.
He was an old man, but he had fury behind his punch. Tyrel reeled sideways beneath the blow. Vandegard came on, large and incensed, but Ty ducked beneath his punch.
“Dammit!” he rasped, ducking again as his own pickup raced from the rodeo grounds. “She’s leaving. For once in your life think of your daughter.”
The fury went out of Vandegard like hot air from a balloon. “Dear God,” he said, his face pale. “Where’s she going?”
Ty watched her leave. “Anywhere we’re not,” he said softly.
THEY WERE THE WORST TWO weeks of Tyrel’s life. The police found his pickup less than twenty miles from the rodeo grounds, parked in front of Duane’s Café. But Hannah was nowhere to be found. He could only assume she had hitchhiked from there. But to where?
Under some duress, Vandegard had given him a list of phone numbers where she might be found. Ty had called each one. No answer. He’d then telephoned every acquaintance she’d ever known. Still nothing.
It was finally dumb luck that helped him find her—old men in overalls, talking over coffee.
Raymond Caliber had hired himself a new hand, one of them had said. A woman! A looker she was. Could sit a horse like a centaur.
And so it was that Tyrel stood in someone else’s barn on the southern border of North Dakota. Inside the arena, Hannah-Allissa rode a liver chestnut in tight circles.
Tyrel leaned up against the wall and watched her, feeling his heart slap against his ribs and his muscles finally relax one by one. For the first time in weeks, he could breathe without feeling as if his chest were bound in barbed wire.
She was safe. She was well. Th
at would have to be enough for him—at least for now.
“You always had a damn fine seat,” he said quietly.
She jerked toward him at the sound of his voice. He watched her face go pale. The chestnut faltered. Hannah tightened her grip on the reins and pushed the gelding on. Except for the sound of the horse’s hoofbeats, the whole world seemed silent.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Two weeks of sleeplessness, endless phone calls, hopeless leads, dogged badgering, relentless prayer. Even now, his knees felt weak, but whether it was fatigue or the sight of her, he wasn’t sure.
“A woman like you is bound to attract attention, Hannah. I asked around.”
“I assume Daddy is paying you well for your time,” she said.
He straightened from the wall. Regardless of his fears, neither his nor her father’s stupidity had broken her spirit. The muscles in the back of his neck relaxed a tad.
“I never knew who you were, Hannah. Not until a couple of weeks ago when I talked to your dad.”
“Of course you saw no reason to inform me of your correspondence with him. Even though…” Her voice cracked. She scowled and went on. “Even though we had become…intimate by then.”
He watched her. She was all wounded pride and elegant toughness. It was little wonder his heart would never recover. “I think you’ve kept a couple of things from me, too, Hannah.”
She didn’t look at him, but her brow remained furrowed. “He was paying you, wasn’t he? All the time I thought I was achieving something on my own. Earning your respect. He was paying you.”
The gelding’s hoofbeats seemed to echo the beat of Tyrel’s heart.
“You always had my respect. Ever since I saw you trekking through the snow in nothing but a towel and a glare.”
“You were being compensated to keep me,” she said. “Paid—like I was some kid sent off to summer camp.”
“I never thought of you as a kid.”
“You must have laughed. I didn’t know how to feed a calf. Didn’t know how to cinch a saddle.”
Okay. He’d laughed. But the memories of those past moments were like sunshine on his soul now. And if the truth be known, she’d gotten her licks in. “Well…you can be an infuriating woman.”