by Janet Dailey
“I hope the Major isn’t worried about me.” It was an attempt by Diana to communicate the twinges of guilt she was experiencing at her immoral behavior.
“He knows you are a big girl now. He won’t be waiting for you to come home.”
The indifferent response wasn’t what she had hoped to hear. “I suppose not.”
When they reached the open highway, the truck picked up speed, staying within the limits because of the van it pulled and the precious cargo of a blooded Arabian stud it contained. Diana rested her head against the seat back, letting the cool wind blow through the open window over her face. She closed her eyes.
Holt seemed so distant, and she wondered why. Was he thinking about the Major, too, and wondering what his reaction would be if he learned? She turned her head to look at him, his bold, aquiline profile outlined by the moonlight.
“Would it bother you if the Major knew?”
There was a second’s hesitation before he answered, simply, “No,” his attention not leaving the road.
She wished she could say the same, but old habits die hard. “Don’t you think he’d be upset if he found out?”
“It’s unlikely he would find out unless you intend to make a full confession and tell him how we spent the afternoon and evening making mad, passionate love.” There was a cynical, taunting quality to his voice that sliced at an open wound. “If he did, what would you expect him to do? Play the outraged parent? I was married at the point of a gun once. It won’t happen twice.”
“He could dismiss you.”
It was an ineffectual thrust. “We are two consenting adults. Your father is a man. Given the same set of circumstances, the Major wouldn’t have behaved any differently than we did.”
“No, he wouldn’t fire you.” She could hear the acidity in her tone, but couldn’t prevent it. “He needs you. He depends on you. And you were just doing what any normal, red-blooded American male would have done in your place.”
God, Diana wished she hadn’t brought up the subject. Why hadn’t she left it alone? She turned her face to the window, staring at the looming, dark mountains flanking the highway. The tires whined in the silence. Diana closed her eyes again, not sleeping, but losing herself in the droning hum.
Miles later the rhythm altered as the truck slowed down. Diana opened her eyes to glance out Holt’s side, expecting to see the light from the ranch yard. He caught her look and nodded to the right.
“Would you like to stop here for a while?”
Diana looked in the direction he had indicated and recognized the rest stop where she and Guy had been this morning. Her gaze jerked back to Holt, wary and alarmed.
“Why?”
“You found it an idyllic spot before. I thought you still might be in the mood.”
“You saw us.” She wanted to leap at him and claw his eyes out.
“I left shortly after you and Guy did this morning. When I saw the ranch truck parked there, naturally I slowed down. It was entirely possible that you were having a mechanical problem.” Holt started out speaking in a cool, flat tone, but she could hear the anger mounting. “That was before I had a glimpse of what was going on inside the cab. You are a consummate little actress, Diana. If I hadn’t seen you with Guy this morning, I might have believed that—” He didn’t finish it, his mouth thinning into a hard line.
“Was that your motive for this . . . the hotel room . . . everything?” Raw pain screamed through her nerves. “Some perverted kind of logic that said, ‘if she’s with me, she isn’t with Guy’? Plus it was cheaper than some visit to a chicken ranch.”
Cold and ruthless, steel-gray eyes flashed to her. “Maybe that’s the solution—just make love to you until you’re too exhausted to look for sex with any other man—most of all, Guy.”
Diana turned away holding back tears. She felt sick and sickened. Holt had all but called her a tramp, as he had done before. Right now, Diana felt like one. The miles to the ranch couldn’t fly by fast enough. She felt the truck accelerate and guessed Holt shared her wish to get home quickly.
The silence between them was unnerving. It seemed forever before Diana saw the lights at the ranch winking through the grove of trees. Holt pulled the truck up to the stud pens, stepping out of the cab before the motor had completely died. Diana’s leaden feet were much slower. By the time she walked to the rear of the van, he already had the ramp down and was leading the stallion out of the trailer stall.
Diana’s gaze swept absently over the latest addition to their breeding program. The new stallion was a dapple-gray with black points, iron-gray shading to silver, fine-boned and finely muscled. A small muzzle, small pointed ears, an arched neck, and spirited carriage showed all the characteristics of a well-bred Arabian. The stallion pranced at the end of the lead, blowing out rolling snorts and testing the strange smells of his new surroundings. His concave head turned toward the distant paddock where the broodmares were held. He caught the scent of his future harem and sent out a strident, whickering call to them.
“Quiet, fella.” Holt patted the sleek neck. “You’ll meet them soon enough.”
An eruption of sound came from the paddock, shouts and a rifle shot, followed immediately by frightened neighs and the thundering of hooves. Diana raced to the stud corral, climbing to the top rail, mindless of her billowing skirt. Far off in the distance, she saw a ghost-white shape floating over the desert sage, moving ever closer to the shadowy recesses of the mountains. Their return had coincided with the night visit of the mustang stallion.
The commotion made the new stallion fractious. Holt had his hands full trying to hold him and calm him. “Open the stable door and the one to his stall,” he snapped the order to Diana.
Practicality demanded that she obey. Stepping down from her fence perch, she hurried to the stable, pushed open the door, and went on to the large stall that had been Shêtan’s. Moving out of the way as Holt followed, she didn’t linger in the stable. Outside Diana walked swiftly toward the main house. Her path through the shadowed yard took her by the larger stable-barn. Gravel crunched to one side of her, and Diana jumped in alarm.
“Sorry we waked ya.” Rube stepped from the darkness. The barrel of the rifle in his hand gleamed in the yard light. “It was that goddamned white stallion again.”
“I guessed that.” She let him think she had been asleep at the house.
He noticed her downward glance at the rifle he held. “It’s a-gettin’ to be that the sound of a rifle shot is the only thing he respects.”
“You didn’t shoot at him?”
“Hell, no! Do I look like some kinda goddamned fool?!! I ain’t gonna risk hittin’ one of the Major’s mares. He’d have my skin if I did that. ’Sides, Holt never gave no orders about killin’ the horse, only scarin’ him off.”
“I’m sorry, Rube. I should have known you wouldn’t be irresponsible. Good night.”
“Good night.” He was grumbling to himself as she walked away.
A light was on in her father’s room, the door standing open. “Is that you, Diana?” he called as she entered the hallway.
“Yes, Major.” She paused at the door, her heart in her throat, wondering what she would say if he asked her where she had been.
“I suppose all that racket was because of that wild stallion?” Pajama-clad, he looked half-asleep and exceedingly tired.
“Yes, it was.”
The Major sighed in resignation and reached to switch off the lamp on his nightstand. “I should have known. Good night.”
Morning brought only questions about the new stallion from the Major and a rather absent comment: “It must have been late when you returned. No trouble with the stallion, I hope.”
Diana had her answer ready. “No. Some weather system delayed the plane’s takeoff from California.”
Since he didn’t ask, she didn’t have to find an answer for how she and Holt had amused themselves in the interim. She almost gagged on a piece of toast. “Amuse.” God, that was th
e right word. Holt had amused himself with her while extracting a savage revenge.
The excuse of a genuine headache kept her from accompanying the Major to the stud pens to see the new stallion and allowed her to skip lunch, thus avoiding Holt for one day. She spent most of the afternoon lying on her bed. Diana felt like one big ache—physical, as well as emotional, and sincerely hoped that Holt was as sore as she was. Two sleeping pills taken after the evening meal ensured her of a night of sound sleep. Nothing disturbed her.
“How do you feel this morning?” The Major’s question greeted her as she arrived at the breakfast table.
“Much better.” Her head felt slightly woolly. Diana blamed it on the aftereffects of the sleeping drug.
“Rest is a marvelous cure, especially when there are no disturbances in the night.” He passed her the pitcher of orange juice.
“Yes.” She didn’t catch the significance of his remark.
“We didn’t have a visit from that wild stallion.”
Diana lifted her head. “Oh. Maybe he’s finally given up.”
“I hope so.”
After breakfast, Diana resumed her ritual of a morning ride. She rode far out in the desert, away from all signs of civilization. She raced a jackrabbit until he outmaneuvered her nimble gelding and escaped. She paused to watch a flock of desert bluebirds skim across the top of the sage. But, inevitably, she had to return to the ranch.
There seemed to be virtually no one about the ranch yard. All the vehicles except one were gone. Since it was still too early for lunch, Diana wandered to the stud pens, wanting to see the new stallion in the daylight.
When she saw Guy in the pen working the gray stallion on a lounge line, Diana hesitated, then continued forward. His back was to her as she climbed the fence to sit on the top rail. He turned slowly with the circling horse and finally saw her. She spoke before he could.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” The stallion was even more impressive in the daylight.
“Dynamite.” He halted the horse and walked forward to unsnap the line. “That’s enough for today, fella.” The stallion tossed his head and trotted away, moving lightly on his feet. Guy coiled the lead as he walked to the fence. He joined her on the top rail and watched the stallion. “You weren’t at lunch yesterday.”
“I had a headache. Sophie brought me some soup.”
“I’ve never known you to have headaches. In fact, I can’t remember you ever being sick.”
“That’s true. But this last year, with Rand and me breaking up and the divorce, I’ve had a lot of headaches. Nerves, the doctor said. But they rarely last very long.” God, she was turning into an excellent liar.
“Did you enjoy yourself with Peggy the other afternoon?”
“We had a marvelous time.”
“You said they were going to bring you home.”
It was finally out. It was almost a relief. “I know.”
“But you didn’t come home with them.”
“No. I rode back with Holt.”
“And it was late, too. I know because I was up until midnight, and you still weren’t back then.”
“The plane that flew the stallion in was delayed by bad weather.”
“What did you do all that time?”
The proprietorial demand in his voice irritated her. There was an icy sparkle in her blue eyes when she turned to look at him. “You know that you don’t have any right to cross-examine me this way.”
He couldn’t hold her level stare. “Jeez, Diana, I—”
A pain-pitched squeal screamed through the air. Diana’s gaze jumped to the enclosure where the mares were penned. They were milling together in agitation, colts whinnying in unknown fear. Amidst the mostly dark bodies and the dust stirred by their hooves, Diana caught a flash of white.
“My God, the stallion is inside the fence,” she said, drawing in an incredulous breath.
“How did he know there was no one guarding the mares during the daytime?” For an instant, they were both paralyzed by disbelief. Then Guy vaulted from the fence. “I’m going to run the gray inside. You go get a rifle and meet me at the paddock.”
Diana raced for the main house, the one place where she knew for sure where the rifles were kept. Her mad dash didn’t stop as she slammed into the house straight to the gun cabinet, stretching to reach the key on top.
“What’s the matter, Diana?” The Major stood in the study doorway.
“The white stallion is in with the mares.” Unlocking the door, she grabbed a rifle and a box of cartridges, pausing only to make certain they were the right caliber.
“Now?!!”
“Yes.” Diana pushed her way past him and raced out the door.
Her lungs were on fire by the time she ran across the large ranch yard and behind the long stable to the paddock. The muscles in her legs quivered as she forced them to climb her over the fence. On the other side, she paused to catch her breath and looked for Guy. He was halfway across the paddock, walking toward the horses at the far end. She could hear a cracking pop sound and realized he had grabbed a whip from the stable.
Diana started after him at a stumbling run. She could see the white stallion clearly now. He had cut two mares out of the herd—Nashira and Cassie, the two mares he had stolen before. He drove them to a break in the fence where two rails were down. But the white stallion wasn’t content to reclaim his former property. Once the two mares were outside the enclosure, he returned to the herd, never flicking an ear at the man who hurriedly approached.
A bay mare with a colt at her side was singled out by the stallion. Frantically, the mare tried to elude him and return to the safety of the herd, but snapping teeth and slashing hooves turned back every attempt. Finally, the mare and colt leaped over the low rails and joined the other two obediently waiting for the stallion.
As the stallion went back for a fourth, Diana twisted a foot and fell to her knees. Guy was still fifty yards away. She had neither the strength nor the breath to call to him. And they were running out of time.
Resting the rifle on her thighs, she flipped open the box of cartridges and began shoving shells into the chamber. She glanced up once. This time the stallion had selected a gray mare, also with a colt. The mare had started to lie down in an effort to resist the stallion’s attempts, but a savage nip on her flank brought the mare to her feet.
Diana’s trembling fingers had only managed four bullets. She cocked the rifle, hoping it was enough. She fired into the air, the explosion deafening to her ears. The mare and colt were racing for the broken fence with the stallion pacing at their heels. She fired again and again and again. Then the hammer clicked. After lowering the rifle, Diana brushed the hair out of her eyes.
The four mares, two colts, and the white stallion were fleeing for the mountains. Two of the mares already knew his directions. The two with foals were learning. And the stallion, white as snow with a gait as smooth as glass, was a hard taskmaster.
“My God, did you see that?” Guy dropped to his knees beside her, shaking his head in wonder as he stared after the fast disappearing horses. “He took four this time, just as neat as you please, right from under our noses.”
“Four mares and two colts,” Diana corrected him breathlessly. There were footsteps behind her in the tall grass. She turned as the Major strode toward them. He looked winded, yet strangely exhilarated.
“Wasn’t anyone around? Didn’t anyone see the stallion before he got in with the mares? Wasn’t anyone watching?”
“No.” Guy scrambled to his feet. “Who ever thought the stallion would be so bold as to make his raid in the daytime? It was fantastic.”
“Yes, I know. I saw it.”
“Should we go after them now? Try to catch up with them before they reach the mountains?”
“No.” The Major shook his head. “At the rate they’re traveling, they’ll be in the mountains by the time you get a horse saddled and leave the yard. But get that fence fixed before any of the mares stray throug
h it.”
“Right away.” Guy handed the coiled whip to Diana and started for the fence break at a jog.
Her breathing had returned to normal and Diana pushed to her feet, the rifle hooked under her arm, the muzzle pointed at the ground. She glanced at her father, not liking the pallor in his face.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“It’s probably the closest look I’ll ever get at that white stallion.” He was staring sightlessly at the mountains, as if he was seeing it all again. In that look, there was conflict. Admiration for a magnificent piece of horseflesh was overshadowed by the threat the horse represented.
“Let’s go back to the house, Major.” Diana wasn’t certain he had heard her, but finally he turned to start back.
“There was a lot of superstition in the Old West about white horses. Some of it even extends into the present day.” He seemed to be speaking his thoughts aloud, aware of his audience of one, yet blind to it. “It was believed white horses were weak and lacked endurance. During Crook’s campaign against the Sioux in ’76, a troup of his cavalry was mounted on white horses, but they stood up no better than the other horses. The Indian’s didn’t want a white horse because it was too easily seen at night. Probably the same reason why mountain men—and later, the cowboys and other western men—avoided riding white horses. Yet, despite all this prejudice, a white horse is still a symbol of pride and power and supremacy. How many great men and conquerors rode white horses? The list is probably endless. A strange contradiction,” he murmured to himself. “A strange contradiction.”
Chapter XVI
Seated at the lunch table, Diana studied Holt through her lashes. He had looked at her only once, when he’d entered the house and acknowledged her presence with a curt nod. His expression was grim, angrily grim. He reminded Diana of a jungle cat that had been riled and was pretending to ignore the object of his anger while his tail lashed the air with mounting rage. A shiver danced over her skin and she let her gaze slide to his hands, the hands that had such intimate knowledge of her body.