by Diana Palmer
With a rough word, he stalked off to saddle his own horse. He had work to do, cattle to worry about. He could worry about other things in his spare time.
He looked out over the horizon, his gaze steady and level. He wondered how Katy and Ben were managing. Young Ben had decided to stay in San Antonio to begin that new job he was so excited about. Cole smiled faintly. Ben was so young, so emotional. He loved the boy, although it had needled him that Ben asked so many damned questions about the war. Cole didn't like remembering it, much less talking about it. Perhaps if he could have admitted that to Ben, explained it to him, there wouldn't be so much friction between them. He shook his head ruefully. Someday, his own obsession with personal privacy was going to be his undoing. But for now, there was no way he could change that.
BACK IN SAN ANTONIO, young Ben was managing very well. His mother had agreed to let him keep the runabout for a while, and he was doing rather well at his new job.
He'd moved into a boardinghouse, and he'd been sneaking out with Jessica every night since that first night they'd spent together. He was on fire for her, all the time. Finding places to be together was getting harder, but it was exciting, too. One night, he'd sneaked out one of his landlady's sheets, neatly folded under his jacket, and he and Jessica had spread it on the front seat of the runabout and made wild, uninhibited love in the cold evening air sitting straight up under an oak tree. Their bodies had been feverish enough that they didn't even notice the cold. They'd been totally nude together, and the danger of discovery had made it all the more exciting. Afterward she'd lain in his lap, still undressed, and she'd let him do things to her in the moonlight that could arouse him even in memory.
The only drawback about his new life was the journalism itself, even though it had originally been the most exciting part. Ben didn't really care for sex and scandal in print, but that was what Mr. Bradley demanded for his tabloid. The local newspapers had done their best to compete, but Bradley's tabloid was outselling them all. And it was because of Ben's talent with words. He could turn the most ordinary police news into delicious scandal. There had been threatened lawsuits, and once a victim's brother had even punched him in the nose while he sat at his desk. But still, the tabloid's sales excelled. The addition of a crossword puzzle page had boosted them still more, taking advantage of the nation's growing infatuation with crosswords.
One day, Bradley had instructed Ben to come up with a hoax, since there was no real news to parlay into sales that week. So Ben had obligingly taken a tall tale of Turk's and expanded it into front-page news.
It seemed, he wrote, that there was a big-footed wild creature, as big as a grizzly bear, roaming around area ranches. It walked like a man, and had fur that was more like human hair. A local rancher had actually found some of it tangled in his barbed wire, near the horribly mutilated bodies of two of his cows. Ben even had a photograph of some of the "fur"—which was actually a tuft of Ben's own hair that Jessica had clipped with her scissors. It had been planted on a string of barbed wire, where the paper's photographer snapped it. The story caught on, and sales went up again. And every week, Ben added to it.
He and Jessica were getting thicker by the minute. His writing in the tabloid was attracting national attention, carefully nurtured by Jessica's father. And Jessica, seeing opportunity knocking, began to make subtle and not-so-subtle hints about marriage.
Ben obligingly proposed. And then Jessica announced that she and her father wanted to meet Ben's family. Ben almost had apoplexy at the thought of taking them down to Spanish Flats. Oh, the house was elegant enough; it had been built originally by a Spanish grandee. But Cole was a wild man, unpredictable at best, and so was Turk. Ben worried about what his big brother might do or say when confronted with his young brother's "large financial and business interest in the ranch." Ben didn't want to have his chin smashed in front of his intended. So he kept putting Jessica off with tales of the family traveling widely in Europe, off to visit the Hemingways in France, and then on to Spain for the bullfights …
It worked. He settled down to his job, and put off his worried mother with the occasional phone call. Katy's marriage to a Chicago businessman had come as a shock, and he was careful not to mention the circumstances to his employer and his fiancee. He didn't want them to know about Katy's racketeer husband, either. His family seemed to be doing its best to disgrace him, he thought angrily.
FAR AWAY, IN CHICAGO, Katy was getting used to the new routine of her life with mingled amusement and apprehension. Danny noticed that she was around occasionally, but his main interest was in his speakeasy and courting local politicians and making money.
Most of the people who came to visit were fascinating. There were public figures and well-known gangsters, and Katy got an education that her family wouldn't have approved of. It began with the expensive clothing Danny insisted on buying for her. Then there were jewels and furs and race cars. All the glitter inevitably led to the parties, where gin flowed like limitless streams. And Katy learned how to drink like a fish.
She drank more and more as Danny's neglect grew. In bed, he was always in a hurry. Even that first night, he'd been quick and silent, taking her without preliminaries, unless those hard, rough kisses had been planned to arouse her. They hadn't. In a way, she was glad that her husband was quickly satisfied. That way, she wasn't tempted to compare his loving with the long, slow, sweet initiation she'd been given by Turk Sheridan. She closed her eyes, sighing at the memory of how exquisite her first time had been. No man could have satisfied her now. Danny liked to have her, but he seemed more interested in making money than making love.
After the first few weeks, when he was always ready to go to bed with her, he didn't even seem to care if she went to bed first. He never woke her, either. And the more he neglected her, the more she drank. She wasn't in love with him, but it hurt her pride that he'd turned from her to business so quickly. And then, to top it all, there was Mama Marlone.
Mama Marlone was condescending—when she wasn't indifferent to Katy's presence. Everything she did was for Danny. She cooked, she cleaned, she fussed over him, she ironed his clothes. There was no maid, no housekeeper; Mama took care of her boy. Katy was in the way. Katy didn't do enough for him; Katy should have been at the club with him, making sure he was looked after while he worked, made to eat properly. Katy should have done everything. . .except marry him. That became Mama's primary lecture as time went by. And the more Danny neglected her, and the more Mama complained about her, the more she drank.
Then came the worst thing of all. Danny decided that he didn't have enough influence with a neighborhood boss to ask him to make a deal with Danny to merge their bootleg booze operation. So he was doing to promise the gang boss that he could have a special treat if he agreed—he could have Katy.
Chapter Seven
Lacy was beginning to wonder if anything she did would be enough to catch Cole's attention these days. Increasingly, the small amount of ground she'd captured with her arrival had been lost. She'd seen that he was worried about the ranch, that financial problems were besetting him. And now they were beginning to interfere with the delicate thread of their marriage. For the past week, she'd hardly seen him. He came to bed after she was asleep, and was awake and gone before she opened her eyes.
Katy's marriage had unsettled him. Apparently it had unsettled Turk, too, because the blond cattleman spent more time out on the range away from the house.
It was a warm day for November—unseasonably warm—and Lacy went walking in her shirtsleeves, wearing only a silky, beige knee-length dress and her comfortable walking shoes. She and Marion had spent the morning addressing envelopes for a party Marion had decided to give for Bennett and his fiancee. Oddly enough, Ben hadn't wanted her to give the party, but Marion had burst into tears and accused him of being ashamed of her. And Ben had given in. So there was to be a party, and all the neighbors were invited. And, because of the expense involved, Marion had been too nervous to approach Col
e about it—so Lacy was deputized to go find him and ask.
She almost welcomed the opportunity to see him without the prying eyes of Cassie and Marion and the cowboys. He was alone at the corral, the small one separate from the stables, exercising a new colt. There wasn't another soul around. Nearby, a huge oak still had a few leaves that hadn't dropped off, and those that had fallen made a colorful carpet on the ground.
Lacy loved November. She loved autumn. With a sigh, she sat down to wait until he finished what he was doing, her eyes glancing nervously at the darkening sky. It looked like rain, and she hadn't a parasol with her.
Out in the corral, Cole was working the young horse. It was an Appaloosa by the look of it, just beginning to show its spots. The breed was foaled snow white. The spots only appeared later, and Lacy loved their conformation. She didn't know a lot about horses, but she loved the Apps.
Cole's wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes, shading them from the sunlight that had fast vanished behind the clouds. He was wearing denims today, tight jeans, and an equally tight chambray shirt that clung to every muscle of his body. He was so masculine, Lacy thought, sitting with her knees drawn up, her arms clasped around them. She loved to look at him. She adored his tallness, his muscular deftness as he ran the young mare around the corral on the leading rein. He could do anything with animals.
With them, he had a tenderness that she'd never experienced from him.
He didn't really care for people, she thought sometimes. Perhaps he'd been hurt too much over the years. She recalled Katy saying once that Cole had been laughed at as a boy because of his big feet and lanky body and his awkwardness with girls. And as if that weren't enough, his grandfather's unorthodox teachings had added to it. He was taught how to hunt and stalk and live off the land. He was taught to shun emotion and distrust other people, because that's how his grandfather was—with everyone except Cole's grandmother, at least. But Cole hadn't been encouraged by anyone to learn tenderness. And at school, it wasn't until he learned to use his fists that the other boys accepted him. The girls never had. He'd been shunned by them—not because he was unattractive, but because his taciturn, cold manner intimidated them.
It had never intimidated Lacy. Although she'd been shy, she'd always talked to him, listened to him. Sometimes, rarely, she'd teased him. That had amused him, or seemed to, back in their early lives. He was only four years her senior, but now she felt as if he were much older. He made her feel girlish and inhibited. And she was determined to change those feelings. If she wanted a marriage at all, she was going to find some way to get through to him.
Cole had spotted her, although he didn't show that he had. He kept on working the horse, wondering why she'd come. After his interesting talk with Turk, he'd been oddly nervous around her, uncertain of himself. And that had angered him, so he'd kept his distance. Perhaps it had bothered her that he was avoiding her. He stopped in the middle of the corral, removed the leading rein from the mare, patted her neck gently, and took off the bridle, allowing her to run free. He had to see if Lacy looked bothered.
He climbed over the fence fluidly, rather than take time to release the gate, and walked toward her slowly, with the rein and bridle in one lean, powerful hand.
"Hello, city girl," he taunted, with a faint smile. "What brings you out here?"
She glanced up at him impishly, forcing herself not to retreat. It was only a mask, she told herself. He was hiding behind it so that she couldn't get close enough to wound him. He'd almost admitted as much once.
"Oh, I thought if I came out here in one of my shocking dresses, you might throw me down in the leaves and made wild, passionate love to me," she murmured demurely, and her heart slammed against her ribs at her own shocking boldness.
Cole's own heart went wild at the blatant admission. Was she teasing, or did she mean it? He stared down at her darkly, his eyes intense, searching her averted face. "You've been seeing too many of those Valentino movies," he said, with a laugh.
"I guess so." So he wouldn't play. All right, she'd try something else. "The mare's pretty," she said.
He pulled the makings from his pocket and settled down beside her. "Yes, she is. She's going to make good breeding stock when she's old enough."
"Going into the horse-raising business?" she asked, with a grin.
"I have a few horses to keep me happy," he replied as he licked the paper to close the cigarette, then struck a match to light it. "Besides my quarter horses, I mean."
"Those are the ones you work the cattle with, aren't they?" she murmured casually, staring at the corral.
"What cattle I have left," he agreed, with a sigh. "It's going to be a damned long winter."
"Can't you get some hay from the neighbors?" she asked.
"Honey, the neighbors are as bad off as I am. I even tried selling off some of the cattle, but the prices are so low that I'd come out even worse than if I keep them and pray for higher prices come spring." He stared at the tip of his cigarette. "We may be in for some hard times, city girl. You might do well to pack up and go home."
She turned toward him, her big, grayish blue eyes steady and quiet in her creamy-complexioned face, her dark hair curving softly toward the red mouth and pert straight nose. "Home is where you are, cowboy," she said quietly. "I'll take my chances here, if you don't mind."
Why should that unsettle him so, the way she said it? He had to grit his teeth to keep from making a grab for her. She was a thoroughbred, all right. Class, from her dark hair to her dainty feet. His eyes went down her body, lingering on her breasts straining against the silky, thin fabric of her dress. He stared at them until he saw hard peaks clearly outlined, and something Turk had told him came flashing into his mind without warning.
Apparently Lacy knew what it meant, too, because she abruptly drew her knees up again to hide it. "Uh.. .Marion asked me to come and talk to you," she said abruptly.
"Did she? Why?" But he wasn't really listening. She was aroused by him, and he knew it, and was touched by it.
"Ben's engaged, you know."
"So I heard."
"She wants to give an engagement party."
His face hardened. That got through. "Where does she plan to get the money? Rob a damned bank?"
"Now, Cole..." she began, and laid a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscles contract with a feeling of wonder. For an instant she forgot what she was going to say. Then she got a grip on herself. "I told her that I had plenty of silver and china that I could have brought down here from San Antonio to use for the party, and that we could butcher a steer and a pig, and use some of the canned vegetables that Cassie has in the pantry for an informal buffet. It doesn't have to be an elegant sit-down dinner. Just something for the neighbors, mainly."
He looked thunderous with his sharp features turned away from her, his bronzed skin drawn taut over his cheekbones, smoking his cigarette without a reply.
"Don't," she said, her voice soft and quiet. "Don't be like this. I can't help the inheritance, and we are married..."
"Are we?" he asked.
She gnawed on her lower lip. He sounded so bitter. "Ben deserves something from us, doesn't he?" She changed tactics. "He's a Whitehall, too—and this job is important to his future. He hadn't had any attention at all from us since he started it, because of the way things have been here. Cole, can't we do just this for him? And can't you let your pride go just for once and let me help?"
"Lacy..." he began curtly, glancing down at her.
"For Ben," she coaxed.
He sighed half-angrily. Once, he'd have walked away from her in fierce protest. She weakened him with her own vulnerability.
He stared at her. "You women. You get suffrage, and now you think you're men, don't you?"
"Not quite," she murmured, with a demure little smile. "Your boots wouldn't fit me, bigfoot."
He couldn't believe he'd heard that. He lifted an eyebrow, the smoking cigarette forgotten in his hand, and studied his feet.
> "Well, they are big," she said, defending herself.
He actually laughed. Not a lot, more a sound than an outright guffaw, but it relaxed his hard features a little. He glanced ruefully at the size of his dusty, scuffed, brown leather boots. "Big enough, I guess," he agreed. He pulled at the cigarette. "Okay. Tell Mother she can have the damned party if you foot the bill."
"We're married," she repeated once more. "Pride shouldn't be involved."
"Pride is my one biggest fault, Lacy," he said. He watched the filly prance with narrowed eyes. "I got a double dose when I was born. It's damned hard to take money from a woman."
"Do you think it would be a bit easier for me to take it from you, Coleman Albert Whitehall?" she demanded sharply.
He glanced at her, half-amused by the flash of temper and pride. Yes, she was just as proud as he was, in her way. "Point taken, Alexandra Nicole."
She smiled with delight. She'd never told him her middle name. There was only one way he could have known it. "I didn't know you'd ever looked at our marriage license."
His shoulders rose and fell. "It hung on the wall for several weeks, until the sight of it began to get to me." He finished the cigarette and ground it out carefully on a bare spot so that it didn't catch the dry leaves on fire. "Pride again, Lacy. I couldn't even apologize for what happened that night."
It amazed her that he'd even thought he needed to. Surely that was a small crack in the stone that surrounded him. She stared at his lean, dark hands as they clasped one raised knee before she lifted her eyes. "I knew you didn't mean to hurt me," she said softly.
His dark eyes held hers, and the silence around them grew suddenly tense and warm. "What we did together that morning made my blood sing," he said huskily. "I thought about it all day, dreamed about it, tasted it. By nightfall, I was burning up." He reached out, touched her parted lips, feeling the softness of flesh under the dark red lip gloss, feeling them tremble at his touch. She looked so vulnerable. She touched something deep inside him, and the words came out without conscious volition. "Lacy.. .I didn't know," he said hesitantly, because the words came hard, "that women had to be aroused first."