Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  There was an awkward silence and then Margaret began to prattle to Ann about a new gown she was ordering from New York, and the moment passed.

  Sara found the meal interminable, but it helped that Yancy's dark, incendiary personality was not present at the long mahogany table, and if it had not been for Margaret's barely disguised animosity and Ann's cool indifference, she might have enjoyed herself. Certainly Sam and Thomas Shelldrake tried to make her feel comfortable, and while Margaret and Ann were clever enough not to say or do anything overtly hostile, Sara knew, with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, that it was highly unlikely that she would be allowed to remain at Magnolia Grove—no matter how kind Sam was to her.

  As the evening progressed and Sara watched Margaret—resplendent in a fabulous sapphire silk gown, her

  golden curls framing her patrician features—effortlessly enchanting the gentlemen and conversing gaily with her sister while coldly ignoring Sara as she sat quietly in the comer, her spirits dipped lower and lower. She'd had such hopes, she thought miserably as she gazed at Margaret's lovely countenance, such dreams that she and Margaret would forge as strong a bond as she and Sam had and that they would become as fond of each other equally as quickly, but it was not to be. Margaret didn't want her here; every word, every glance, every action made that cruelly clear.

  Realizing that she was here tonight only on Margaret's sufferance and that there was no need to dwell wistfully on how happy she might have been to live here, Sara rose to her feet when there was a break in the conversation and said politely, "If you all do not mind, I should like to retire to my room. Will you excuse me?"

  "Oh, here, now!" exclaimed Thomas Shelldrake pro-testingly. "Don't run away like that, child. It is far too early." He smiled at her, his brown eyes crinkling at the comers. "Ann and I live only a few miles from here, but we are not often at Magnolia Grove—stay and let us get to know you better before you disappear on us."

  Margaret quickly said, "If she wants to go to bed, we must let her." She sent her brother-in-law a coy glance. "After all, what does she know of adult conversation?" Looking across at Sara, her expression anything but cordial, she added, "I understand that Bartholomew mistakenly put you in the Rose Room. You may sleep there tonight, but tomorrow I'm afraid we shall have to see about finding you more suitable quarters on the third floor. Run along now and find something to amuse yourself."

  Feeling even more dejected, for she had a very good idea what Margaret would consider "suitable" quarters

  for her, Sara swallowed the lump that rose in her throat and pasted a brave smile on her mouth. She had taken just one step toward the door when Sam said quietly, "There was no mistake about her room. / chose it for her."

  Margaret looked petulant. "Oh, darling! Don't tell me you're going to upset the running of my house. You know I wanted to redo that room!"

  Sam smiled uneasily. "Well, no, I didn't." He glanced warmly at Sara. "Don't worry, my dear, we'll find you a nice room—I won't let you be banished to the attic."

  Making some sort of reply and bidding the others good night, Sara fled. Battered by Margaret's and, to a lesser extent, Ann's cruel treatment, she was suddenly awash in tears and didn't see Yancy coming down the stairs until she blundered smack into him. Her first intimation of his presence was when her cheek came into contact with his hard chest and his strong hands closed tightly around her upper arms.

  Yancy's blunt expletive rent the air as he found his arms suddenly full of soft young woman, and in startled misery Sara glanced up into his dark, chiseled features, her breath catching painfully in her throat as she came under the full force of his eagle-gold eyes.

  Feeling as if she had been branded by that fierce gaze, Sara could not move her eyes from his face, and as they stood there frozen at the bottom of the stairs, she became shockingly aware of him in a way that she had never been of any man in her life. He was hard and warm and smelled of leather and tobacco, and as the minutes passed, she was conscious of some new, astonishing emotion unfurling within her.

  For a long, breathless moment Yancy stared down into her tear-drenched eyes, finding himself drowning in their green depths. She was supple and jokingly sweet in his arms, and when his stunned gaze finally traveled

  over her shocked face, he was uneasily aware that he had never seen any young woman quite so beguilingly enchanting in his entire life. Guessing the cause of her distress, his gaze softened and he said gruffly, "I see that Margaret must have been sharpening her claws on you."

  Unbearably conscious of him, her skin tingling in the strangest way, Sara said, "Yes, I mean, no."

  An engaging smile quirked the comers of his fascinating mouth and he teased, "Which is it? Yes or no?"

  Sara took a deep breath, wishing he would release her, wishing uneasily that his very nearness wasn't quite so distracting. Remembering her manners, she said primly, "Your stepmother has been most kind to me."

  Yancy laughed outright. "Margaret? Surely you jest!"

  Mesmerized by the difference laughter made on his striking features, Sara remained mute, her bemused gaze taking in the teasing glint in his amber-gold eyes, the attractive dimple that creased one lean cheek and the good-natured smile that crooked his lips.

  As he stared down at the tears drying on her pale cheeks, Yancy's laughter faded, and with an odd note in his voice, he inquired, "If not Margaret, then who was so unkind to make you cry? Shall I make them regret it?"

  Sara shook her head slowly, her gaze clinging to his dark face, her breathing suddenly racing out of control at the expression that leaped into those brilliant gold eyes. She knew she should do something to break this queer spell, but she could not; she could only stand there, completely unaware of her own irresistibility, unaware of the way her spiky-lashed emerald eyes glowed so mysteriously in the light of the chandelier, or of the sweet curve of her creamy cheek, or even of the provocative shape and fullness of her lips.

  But Yancy was very aware of them and, his voice thick, he muttered, "Well, chica, since there are no villains for me to slay, perhaps I shall have to kiss your tears away. ..."

  Sara froze as his lips gently touched the tearstains on her cheeks; her breathing seemed suspended as he dropped warm, tender kisses on her face, his lips unerringly sliding downward to the inviting softness of her mouth. When his lips finally settled on hers, there was a roaring in her head and she was positive that she was going to faint... or that there was nothing more exciting in this world than having Yancy Cantrell kiss her.

  Sara never remembered putting her arms around his neck or pressing ardently against him—it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should be in his arms—and he muttered, "Open your mouth, querida . . . let me ... let me .. ." Caught up in emotions she had never before experienced, she had no idea of denying him, her lips parting eagerly for him, and when Yancy's hot, questing tongue surged within her mouth, she shuddered, the sensations that exploded through her making her sway in his arms.

  How long they would have remained locked passionately together or how the embrace would have eventually ended, neither could have guessed, for the sound of tinkling laughter behind them broke them apart like a pair of scalded cats.

  "Oh, my dear!" Margaret exclaimed with malicious amusement. "When I said to amuse yourself, Sara, I didn't mean for you to test your charms on Yancy."

  Buffeted by powerful emotions and sensations that had been totally foreign to her until the moment Yancy had taken her into his arms, Sara stared blankly at Margaret. She was hardly even aware when Yancy shoved her behind him and blocked her from Margaret's malevolent gaze.

  Dimly she heard Yancy say tightly, "Leave her alone, Margaret! She's an innocent—if you want to vent your spleen, try to do it on someone who is more up to your weight and skill."

  Margaret's lovely eyes narrowed. "Oh, my! Don't tell me you've been fooled by her air of innocence, too!" She smiled nastily. "You Cantrell men! So noble, so ready to protect the downtrodden! Y
ou're a softheaded fool, just like your father!"

  "I think," Yancy said in even tones, "that you've said just about enough!"

  A glitter of excitement in her eyes, Margaret came nearer to the stairs. "And if I decide I haven't? What are you going to do about it?"

  Her scattered senses returning, Sara became very aware of the tenseness of Yancy's big body, and she feared that Margaret would provoke him to violence. When he took a threatening step toward his tormentor, Sara couldn't stop herself from intervening. She clutched at his arm and said, "Don't! Don't let her provoke you this way."

  "Oh, pooh!" Margaret said mockingly. "I'm not afraid of Yancy! And as for you, I believe I told you to run along V

  Sara hesitated, not wishing to leave Yancy to face the unpleasant scene with Margaret, yet she had little choice. Reluctantly she retreated up the stairs, her attention riveted on the pair in the hallway.

  "Your bitchery is showing, sweet stepmama," Yancy drawled. "Does Sara's youth and innocence make you envious? Are you afraid that her charms will attract my father?"

  "Why, you ill-bred mongrel! Your father adores me! I can make him do anything I want!" Margaret smiled slyly. "Even give me Casa Paloma...."

  'Tor Diosr Yancy snarled. "I will kill you!"

  In one fluid motion he crossed to where Margaret stood, his dark hand closing savagely around her arm, and he shook her violently. Margaret only laughed and purred, "You don't really hate me, you still want me— that's why you can't keep your hands off me."

  "You delude yourself. For years the only reason I have wanted my hands on you is to wrap them around your neck and squeeze the life out of you!"

  Margaret swayed even nearer to him, her mouth only inches from his. "You're lying! You want me!"

  With a muttered curse, Yancy flung her from him and disappeared toward the back of the house, nearly knocking down the slim young man who was coming from the opposite direction. At the sight of the other man, Margaret snapped, "Hyrum! What are doing you here this time of night?"

  From Sara's vantage point in the shadows near the top of the stairs, she could see that the newcomer was a man about thirty years old, neatly garbed in a light brown frock coat and brown trousers. He was pleasantly handsome, his even features attractively arranged, and his hair was very fair and wavy. Catching his balance from Yancy's violent passage, he looked at Margaret and said quietly, "I was working late tonight. There are several items I want to discuss with Mr. Cantrell, and since I heard that he has returned, I thought I would get everything in order for tomorrow morning."

  "Oh! You were working. How boring!"

  He smiled slightly. "Well, yes. Since I am your husband's overseer, that is what he pays me to do."

  Margaret ran her hand familiarly over the lapel of his coat. "How very dull! Don't you ever forget your duties?" She smiled seductively, her body lightly brushing against his. Trailing her fingers upward to teasingly caress his jaw, she murmured, "Dear, sweet, noble Hyrum, if you would only put away your scruples and forget that I am

  Sam's wife, I'm sure I would find you so much more interesting . . . and you could spend your evenings with me. ..." Her mouth brazenly grazed his and she added huskily, "Doing something far more exciting than poring over tedious business papers!"

  Neither party was aware of Sara watching them from the stairs, and she smothered a shocked gasp at Margaret's boldness.

  Hyrum's mouth tightened. Stiffly he said, "And do you think that your husband would appreciate my efforts?"

  Margaret straightened, a nasty gleam in her eyes. "Such outrage! Strange, how the fact that Ann has a husband hasn't seemed to stop you from mooning over her!"

  Flushing, Hyrum said tautly, "You're turning your sister's many kindnesses to me into something vile! I have only the highest respect for Mrs. Shelldrake—thank God she is nothing like you!"

  Margaret laughed. "She is far more like me than anyone can ever guess, and you're a fool if you believe differently!"

  Hyrum merely said, "Perhaps. If there is nothing else, madam, I must be on my way. If you will excuse me?"

  "But suppose I don't want to excuse you?" Margaret purred. "Suppose I want you to escort me for a walk around the grounds?"

  "If that's what you wish, of course I shall be happy to keep you company," Hyrum replied tightly.

  "Hmm, always the polite employee, aren't you?" Margaret asked with an edge to her voice. "I wonder how Sam would react if I were to hint that you have been making unwelcome advances toward me."

  "That's a damned lie!"

  "Well, yes ... but I wonder which one of us Sam would believe."

  Hyrum's fists clenched. "Yancy is right to call you a witch! It is no wonder he hates you!"

  *'I would suggest that if you don't want to lose your very well-paid position at Magnolia Grove, you not speak to me in such a disrespectful way!" Margaret smiled tauntingly. "After all, I just might decide that it was time my husband hired a new overseer ... I might anyway. . .."

  His voice full of suppressed anger, Hyrum growled, "Someday you're going to go too far—I only hope I'm around when that time comes! It is a miracle that no one has tried to teach you a lesson before now—at this moment, I could gladly do it myself!"

  Suddenly tired of baiting Hyrum, Margaret ordered abruptly, "Oh, go away! Your threats don't worry me— they're only boring, just as you are!"

  Hyrum mastered his anger and, bowing stiffly, said, "Whatever you say, madam."

  Margaret coolly watched him go out one of the wide front doors and then, a pleased smile on her lips, she disappeared in the direction that Yancy had taken.

  It was only when the hall was empty that Sara was able to force herself to go to her room. Her thoughts were spinning dizzyingly in her head as she undressed and crawled into the welcoming softness of the fine feather bed. Half an hour later, she was still tossing and turning in her bed, and after deciding not to fight it any longer, she got up and wandered over to a pair of French doors which opened onto a small balcony. Stepping outside, she breathed in the warm magnolia-scented air of the night, letting the tension knotted inside her evaporate. After several moments, feeling more at ease, she started to turn away, when she became aware of the conversation going on below her.

  She immediately recognized Ann's and Margaret's voices, and believing that she had learned far more about the mistress of Magnolia Grove than she had ever wanted to know, and not wanting to eavesdrop, she took

  a step back toward her room. But Ann's shocking words came to her clearly, and against her will, she lingered.

  "Tom thinks the baby you carry is his. Is it?" Ann asked bluntly.

  There was silence for a second and then Margaret's tinkling laugh rang out. "Oh, dear! How did you find out about that? Did guilt consume him and he told you?"

  "Yes, he did tell me—weeks ago—of your affair. I can't deny I was hurt, but he swore it was over and we'd manage to put it behind us. He was distraught when he came to me with the news that you had told him the baby might be his—I told him I would talk to you about it." Ann's voice had taken on a brittle tone.

  "Are you envious?" Margaret purred. "Do you wish you were the one pregnant?"

  "Is it his child?" Ann repeated.

  Ashamed of herself, yet listening intently on the balcony above the two women, Sara could almost see the malicious smile that curved Margaret's mouth. "It's possible, but then . .."

  "Sometimes," Ann hissed viciously, "I actually pray that Yancy does kill you! And there are times when I think I shall save him the trouble!"

  "Oh, Ann, don't let us fight! I know you were angry when I snapped Sam up from underneath your nose, but you have Tom now, and he is younger and far richer than Sam, and just as handsome. As for the other, you don't love Tom, you only married him for his money, so why be angry with me?"

  "Because," Ann said thickly, "he's my husbandl And anything that happens to him ultimately affects me and my position. I don't care that you had an affair—that's over with now and h
e's no longer so blindly infatuated with you that he can't see you for what you are. Your pregnancy concerns him; he fears the child might really be his and that Sam will find out." Ann paused and Sara

  could imagine her trying to get her emotions in check. "If it comes out that it is Tom's child when you carry, it will ruin everything. You know that he is favored to be the next judge in Austin County, and if your affair and his possible paternity of your child were to come out, the gossip and scandal would be insurmountable. He'd be ruined." An odd note in her tone, Ann continued. "He will do anything to gain that judgeship—I'm warning you, don't ruin it for him."

  "Oh, pooh! This conversation bores me! Now, let's rejoin the gentlemen."

  The voices faded, but the ugly words she had overheard lingered, and as Sara walked to her bed she deliberately pushed their implications from her mind. Serves me right for eavesdropping, she thought sourly as she lay back down. Lying there in the darkness, she took even, deep breaths, trying to focus on something other than Sam's undoubtedly wicked wife. After a while a sleepy smile crossed her face as the image of Yancy's dark features suddenly obliterated everything else in her mind. Moments later, she was sound asleep.

  As was her custom, Sara woke early. For several long minutes she lay in bed, savoring its comfort, but then she recalled all that had happened yesterday, and she sighed. No use getting too comfortable, my girl, she thought resignedly. If Margaret has anything to do with it, you'll not sleep another night in such luxury.

  To her pleasure, she found upon arising that someone had already entered her room and placed a silver tray with piping-hot coffee in a silver pot and a basket of warm raisin-filled buns on a table near her bed. Ignoring the temptation of food until after she had completed her morning ablutions, Sara bit into the golden-brown bun and sipped the coffee several moments later. Deliberately she did not let herself think about yesterday or last night. Her repast finished, Sara took one last look at