That would be a disaster, she thought, although she couldn’t help continuing to smile at him. She was turning into a brainless twit who could only smile despite impending ruin. “I promise you that I won’t do what Deidre did.”
“Why not?”
Because I love you. But she didn’t say those words. If she did, he might follow her to New York, and neglect the ranch again, as he probably had when Deidre was a part of his life. “Because you have rights, too,” she said. “Rights that Deidre ignored. I would have the baby and turn the child immediately over to you. I can’t think of a better place to grow up than the Whispering Winds, and Juanita would take...really good care of...” She cleared the lump from her throat. “This is silly. I’m sure I’m not pregnant.”
He drew her close and caressed her cheek. “I wouldn’t just want the baby. I’d want you.”
“I know.” She gazed up at him. “But I’m the wrong woman.”
“I don’t think so.” His kiss was desperate.
She couldn’t help responding, because she was feeling pretty desperate, herself. But she had to get out of that room before she started agreeing to things that would be a mistake for both of them. With an effort she pulled away.
“I’m going back to my cabin.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“No. If you do, I’ll want you to come in, and we’ll just start all over again.”
“So what? I promise we’ll use protection.” He reached for her.
She stepped back, away from the temptation of his strong arms. “That’s the problem. I liked it too much without.”
With a groan he moved quickly and hauled her back against him. “You belong with me, Cleo. Stop fighting it and—”
“And give up everything I’ve worked so hard for?” She looked into his beloved face, knowing this decision was as important for him as for her. “No. Let me go, Tom. Let me go so I can find the strength to walk away from you. You and this ranch have cast a spell over me. It’s a glorious spell, but it’s not what I want for the rest of my life. Let me go.”
She looked away from the anguish in his eyes as he loosened his hold on her and stepped back. Then she walked over and picked up her camera bag. Not trusting herself to say anything more, she started from the room.
“Take the film.”
She glanced back at him.
“You can have it. Develop the damn pictures and use them any way you want At least that’s one way I can stay in your life.”
Swallowing back the tears, she went to the bedside table and picked up the roll of film. Now she had everything she wanted. Sure she did. “Thanks,” she whispered, and walked out the door.
HE WATCHED HER walk across the yard back to her cabin, watched until she was safely inside the door. Well, at least he hadn’t groveled. At least she had no idea how much he needed her at this very moment. Several times tonight he’d thought about telling her the latest news. Now he was glad he hadn’t.
His mother’s voice on the phone this morning had been teary. She’d found some papers his father had hidden, and in his mental deterioration, probably forgotten. If Tom had been paying more attention to such things instead of being so wrapped up in Deidre, and later in her secret abortion and the divorce, he might have been more aware of his father’s activities.
But he’d left that angle to his dad, not wanting to admit that his father was losing his grip on reality and couldn’t be trusted to handle the ranch finances. Now here was another banknote, another lien on the Whispering Winds. A balloon payment was due in two weeks, and if it wasn’t paid, the ranch would be lost.
He’d had some crazy idea that with Cleo by his side he’d be able to stave off the inevitable. And even if he lost the ranch, having Cleo would make life seem worth living. But she didn’t want to be a Montana rancher’s wife. She’d made that perfectly clear.
If she turned out to be pregnant, and he had a gut feeling she was, she’d send the baby to him to raise, because she was a woman of her word. He’d go along with that, no matter what sacrifices he had to make in the process. But chances were, that kid wouldn’t be raised, as she’d so lovingly described, on the Whispering Winds.
CLEO KEPT her appointment with the thirteenth cowboy the next morning as a safety measure. Considering her mental state when she’d been snapping those pictures of Tom, she didn’t know if she’d have anything usable. The pictures she’d taken after they’d made love were a different story. But the calendar shots might be trash.
After her sleepless night she was running on pure adrenaline as she drove the replacement convertible the rental agency had delivered. She’d discovered a wooded area near a picnic grounds and had suggested meeting Jake there. The pose she had in mind involved him leaning against a ponderosa pine she’d discovered that already had a heart and initials carved into it. Perfect for February. Even if the shots of Tom worked, she might suggest to Bernie that they publish a thirteen-month calendar that began in December, so she could use everyone, including Jake.
She pulled into the parking area and cut the engine. Her hand went to her stomach, as it had been doing many times in the past few hours. Of course she wasn’t pregnant She just needed to get away from Tom, out of Montana, and these crazy notions would disappear. She didn’t even want to think of how she’d tell her father such a thing. But that wouldn’t be necessary because she wasn’t carrying Tom’s child.
Jake hadn’t arrived, so she got out and walked the short distance to the tree she’d found. The scent of warm pine needles reminded her of the night in the hot tub. She put a hand on the tree’s rough bark and looked up into branches that climbed fifty feet into the air. Then she traced the heart carved into the side of the tree, and the crude initials. B.R. + D.S. Tears filled her eyes as she pictured the earnest young lovers eager to tell the world of their bond.
It was a simple and elegant process. You found someone, fell in love and promised to cherish them forever. You didn’t audition candidates in front of your camera. And you didn’t, she realized now, meet on alternate weekends for sex. She’d never be able to stand so much time away from a man like Tom. More and more, she was realizing that she wouldn’t get married at all. As he’d said, she wasn’t capable of doing something halfway.
Jake arrived in his gleaming black pickup. He had a lot of swagger to him as he climbed down and walked toward her. She often looked for swagger, because it meant the subjects already knew how to project their sexuality.
He touched the brim of his white straw cowboy hat. “You’re looking fine, ma’am.”
“Thank you. You, too.” And he did, she thought. Tight jeans, polished boots, a muscle shirt and the muscles to go with it. Intense black eyes and raven hair worn just a little long. Women would go wild looking at him next February. But she didn’t feel a thing.
She’d work into it, she told herself. That little twinge of sexual excitement she always felt at the beginning of a shoot was just slightly late this time. “As I told you, I want to use this tree over here.” She walked back toward the ponderosa and he followed her.
Jake chuckled. “I know the ol’ boy who carved those initials.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Went to high school with him. Last I heard, he and Donna had about five kids.”
Cleo touched her stomach again. “Really? How about you? Do you have any children?”
“No, ma’am! Don’t know if I ever want any. Kids are a lot of trouble.”
“And what does your girlfriend think of that?”
He glanced at her. “To be honest, Suzanne and I broke up over it. She’s married now, and already has a baby on the way.”
“Oh.” She felt rotten for probing into his personal life. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He gave her a lazy grin. “Why not? That’s what most women do when they’re trying to find out if a guy’s available, and that’s exactly what I am. How about you? Somebody special in your life?”
Here he was, s
he thought. The perfect candidate to fall in with her husband-hunting plan. He was about her age, maybe a couple of years younger. Wanted a carefree existence. Looked great in jeans, and probably knew his way around a bedroom. He’d probably love the idea of a once-in-a-while wife. Too bad the concept didn’t appeal to her at all anymore.
“Looks like I asked too personal a question, myself,” he said. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s not too personal.” She tried to push Tom out of her mind. She couldn’t do it. “Yes, there is someone.”
“I wondered. There’s that certain glow women get when they’re either in love or feverish. I’m glad you’re not sick.”
“Not sick,” she said. “Just crazy. Come on, let’s get the shots taken.”
“I’m ready.”
She instructed him to lean a shoulder and hip against the tree. Then she got below him, shooting upward to emphasize his crotch and the strong jut of the tree. It was an extremely sexual angle. Normally, she’d be reacting to the suggestive nature of the pose, but she might as well have been taking a photo of a haystack.
“You have a great physique,” she said, but instead of the husky tone she normally used to work her men into a lather, the comment came out sounding like a clinical evaluation.
“Thanks.”
She cursed to herself. She had to get into the mood somehow, and she didn’t have all day to do it. “Tell me what you like best about a woman’s body,” she said.
He laughed. “Is this supposed to be X-rated or the family channel?”
“Make it sexy. That’s what we’re here for, to capture a little lust.”
“Okay. Then I’d have to say a woman’s breasts are my favorite. I love touching them, holding them, kissing them, especially if she really likes that, too.” His eyes grew smoky with desire. “And her nipples, the way they get hard when I run my tongue around them. I love doing that when I’m inside her, and she’s all shivery, anyway.” The tight fit of his jeans made his arousal obvious.
Cleo took advantage of the moment he’d created to snap frame after frame, but she’d lost the instinct that had always guided her trigger finger. Although he was totally into the mood, she wasn’t. She felt no connection with his fantasy because...he wasn’t Tom. When the truth hit her, she almost dropped the camera.
She surged right into denial, blaming exhaustion, Jake’s tone of voice, the setting, for her lack of involvement in this shoot. But in her heart, as she clicked the shutter furiously, she knew that what she’d feared the most had indeed happened. She’d broken her rule, interrupted the flow of the creative river she’d been gliding down with such success. She’d lost the magic touch for getting the shots that had made her famous. And she was never getting it back.
14
A SIXTH SENSE made Tom take a stroll on the front porch just when Cleo drove away from the ranch to shoot her thirteenth cowboy. His gut tightened, knowing the way she normally conducted those sessions. He knew that her photo shoot this morning wouldn’t end up like last night’s, yet he still didn’t want her pointing that camera at some cowboy on the make. He didn’t want her using that sultry tone of voice that made men gaze at her with lust
But it was her job. She’d go on doing it, whether he wanted her to or not. He might as well concentrate on something productive, like trying to negotiate more time on the balloon payment. With a sigh he walked into the house and headed for his office.
By noon he’d talked to enough self-important bank officials to last him a lifetime. He went into the dining room, hoping Cleo might have decided to eat with everyone else for a change, but she wasn’t there. He spoke to several of the guests, managing to laugh and talk like a normal human being even though he felt as if somebody had hollowed him out and left only the shell.
Juanita passed by with a heaping bowl of potato salad and stopped to glance over her shoulder at him. “She’s taking pictures of Rosa and Peter at two in the barn, in case you’d like to know.”
“Thanks.” He figured Juanita could see past the front he was putting on for the guests to the agony inside his heart. The threat of losing the ranch was bad enough. The threat of losing Cleo, too, had nearly crippled him.
“Want to sit down and have some lunch?” Juanita asked.
He shook his head.
“Make her stay, Tom.”
He forced a smile. “Don’t think I can.”
Juanita frowned. “Try harder.” Then she continued serving the guests.
He would try harder, if he only knew what might work. But he’d given her his best last night, and it hadn’t been enough. Stopping to speak to a few more guests on his way out, he left the dining room. By this time tomorrow, she’d be gone. He couldn’t accept it, but he didn’t know how to keep it from happening.
Going out to the corral, he threw a saddle on Red and headed out, letting the big horse run as long as the terrain allowed. He rode hard, but the peace he usually found on the back of a horse wouldn’t come. Finally he turned Red’s nose for home, and as the ranch came into view, he saw her drive the convertible in and park it beside her cabin. He pulled his horse to a halt and leaned on the saddle horn to watch as she climbed out and went inside.
The connection between them tugged at his insides with the strength of a steer on the end of a rope. As he nudged Red into motion again, he wondered if he’d still feel that tug when she was two thousand miles away. From the power of it, he imagined he would. But she didn’t want him in New York, either. She’d also made that clear.
He took his time getting back to the corral and unsaddling his horse. He didn’t want to arrive at the barn before she’d had a chance to get completely involved taking pictures of the kids. But he had to see her, had to talk with her at least once more, and this might be his only chance.
The sound of childish laughter echoed inside the barn as he drew near, and he smiled. For one brief moment he allowed himself the fantasy that Cleo was in the barn taking pictures of their children, but he couldn’t dwell on the fantasy too long, not when it had such a slim chance of coming true.
Juanita glanced at him when he appeared in the open barn door, but Cleo was oblivious.
“That was a wonderful somersault, Peter,” she said. “Do another one.”
“Wanna see my cartwheel?” asked Rosa, jumping up and down in the mounds of hay Cleo had spread out for them.
“You bet.” Cleo dropped to one knee, clicking away as Peter tumbled in the hay. He came up grinning, pieces of hay stuck in his dark curls. “Look this way, Peter. That’s good. Do you have a teddy bear?”
Peter nodded. “Freddy the Teddy.”
“How big is Freddy?”
Peter raised his hands over his head as Cleo kept the camera shutter busy.
“Here goes!” shouted Rosa.
Cleo swung her attention to Rosa’s earnest attempts at a cartwheel. “That’s so good,” she said. “I’ll bet you’re going to be in the Olympics someday.”
“I am,” said Rosa, and flung herself over again.
Tom couldn’t resist coming closer. He crouched next to Juanita, who was sitting on a bale of hay, her face glowing with pride.
She leaned over and murmured in his ear. “Look how she is with them.”
Oh, he was looking, all right. In between shots she’d call them over and pick hay out of their hair, running her fingers through their soft locks. Her touch lingered as she brushed a speck from Rosa’s shirt, or refastened a button on Peter’s overalls. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice every time she spoke to them. She was entranced with these two children, and they’d fallen head over heels in love with her.
Judging from the unbearable pain in his heart, so had he.
He sat back on his heels and watched with bittersweet delight as the session continued. She was a natural with those kids, but he wasn’t surprised. She might be, though.
“That’s it,” she said finally. “Film’s all gone.”
“Now you do one
,” Rosa said. “You promised.”
“So I did.” She set her camera down, walked over to the bed of hay they’d constructed and executed a decent cartwheel. “Ta-da!” She threw her arms up and back in a classic gymnast pose.
“Yeah!” Rosa clapped wildly and Peter grinned.
Cleo laughed and turned toward the bale of hay where Juanita was sitting. “Well, lady, I—” She caught sight of Tom for the first time. Her smile faded. “Hi. Didn’t know you were there.”
He stood. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not.” She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced away. “After all, it’s your ranch.”
Juanita gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs and angled her head in Cleo’s direction. Then she hurried over to take each of her children by the hand. “Time for that homemade strawberry ice cream I promised you,” she said.
“Yummy!” Rosa said. “Come on, Cleo. Ice cream!”
“Sounds great.” Cleo tucked her camera in her bag and swung it to her shoulder.
“Uh, Cleo, could I talk to you a minute?” Tom asked, stepping closer to her.
She glanced toward the doorway as Juanita hustled the kids outside. “Okay.” Her gaze returned to his. “But I don’t think—”
His arms went around her and his mouth came down on hers before he even realized what he was doing.
She struggled at first, but not for long. He slid the camera strap from her shoulder and lowered the case gently to the ground as he tapped into her heat. Soon the resistance went out of her and she molded herself against him. Then, with an endearing little whimper, she opened her mouth for his tongue.
He longed to keep kissing her right through tomorrow, but that wasn’t exactly a realistic plan. With great reluctance he lifted his mouth a fraction from hers. “Nice cartwheel.”
“I thought you wanted to talk,” she murmured.
“I thought I did, too.” He ran his tongue over her lower lip. “God, you taste good.”
“Tom, this is only going to make it harder.”
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