"But why didn't Sam do something? How could he just stand by and let Andy drive him and your mother apart?"
Yancy sighed and impatiently rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't like talking about his parents or any of the past, for that matter, and normally he would have cut the conversation short. But he had the feeling that it was important for Sara to understand how it was, important for her to understand how he had felt about Sam
and love. .. . Reluctantly he said, "Sam didn't stand a chance against his father. Andy had raised him to obey without question, and I think that the only time Sam ever defied Andy was when he ran away with my mother. Sometimes I wonder how he found the courage— it was so totally out of character for him." He stared blindly over at the tiny fountain, the soothing sound of splashing water flowing across the courtyard. Abruptly he said, "Sam was a gentle, easygoing man and, as you know, not at all strong-willed. As far back as I can remember, he always took the path of least resistance, and with Andy constantly undermining my mother and making demands that Sam couldn't ignore, it really isn't surprising that my parents became estranged—no matter how much they may have loved each other in the beginning." Yancy grimaced and said bluntly, "Old Andy Cantrell was a selfish, bullheaded despot—even if he was my grandfather! And he was well used to getting his own way and bending or breaking people to his will. It would have taken a far stronger man than Sam to stand up to someone as determined to have his own way as Andy. The old devil was clever, too—he played on Sam's loyalty to him, always calling him back to Magnolia Grove, always claiming that there was some vital task that only Sam could do. After a while, Sam just found it easier to go along with whatever Andy wanted."
Sara stared at Yancy, horrified. "But couldn't your mother have . .. ?"
"Have what?" Yancy asked coolly. "Fought her father-in-law for the love of her husband?" A hard cast to his face, he growled, "If Sam had been a man, a real man, and hadn't allowed himself to be manipulated by Andy, she wouldn't have had to fight for his love! She shouldn't have had to!" The hardness left his face and he admitted wearily, "But it wasn't just Sam and Andy—she had her demons, too. Her father was never very happy about the
marriage, and even though he eventually became resigned to it, in his own way he did his best to turn her heart against Sam and to belittle her feelings for him. They were both vulnerable, and with Andy working on Sam and Armando working on Madelina, they never stood a chance. What happened between them was inevitable, and I doubt that things would have improved even if my mother had outlived Andy—the damage had been done."
Sara's features were pensive as she looked around the charming courtyard, trying to imagine what Madelina must have felt, loving a man, married to a man, yet always losing the battle to his father and being constantly beleaguered by her own father. And Sam, too—what must he have felt? He had loved Yancy's mother, of that Sara was positive; loved Madelina as he had loved no other woman ... but Yancy didn't believe that....
Looking back at him, she said suddenly, "You blame Sam for everything, don't you?"
Yancy discarded his hat on the iron table and ran his hands wearily through his hair. "No, and I don't hate him—I never did. Maybe when I was younger I resented him for not being stronger, for not standing up for my mother and me, but hate never entered my thoughts. He loved me, in his own fashion, and as I grew older I realized that he simply couldn't help being weak." His fine mouth twisted. "Even after Margaret, I didn't hate him. He hurt me badly—I can't deny it—and there was a time when I was so full of wounded fury that I thought I hated him, but I didn't. He was my father, and when all was said and done ... I loved him."
Sara's eyes searched his, and what she saw in them convinced her that he spoke the truth—he had loved Sam. Then she asked quietly, "If you loved him, why didn't you answer any of his letters?" She couldn't help the note of accusation that crept into her voice. "When he
was dying he begged you to come and see him £ind you never did! You claim to have loved him, but you denied him the one thing, the only thing, he wanted—you by his side as he lay dying!"
Yancy frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? Except for that damned messenger sent by his lawyer, I never received any letters from him—not one!"
Sara looked confused. "But—but he wrote—several times." At Yancy's skeptical expression, she said hotly, "I saw the letters, I tell you! I even wrote some of them for him!"
"Well, I never got any of them!" He grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. "Do you honestly believe that if I had received a letter from Sam, if I had known he was dying and wanted to see me, I would have ignored it? Jesusl You really hold me in high esteem, don't you?"
She glanced at him uncertainly. There was such outrage, such anguish, in his words that she didn't know what she believed anymore.
Hearing her sigh, Yancy tipped up her chin and stared down into the emerald depths of her eyes. "I never received any letters from Sam," he said deliberately. "If I had, I would have ridden through hell to get to his side. And before we leave the unpleasant subject of my parents' marriage—rest assured that I am not my father. I am neither weak nor easily swayed, and I would never allow anyone to drive a wedge between us!"
The memory of Ann's words still stinging her, Sara took a deep breath and replied coolly, "No, I don't believe that you would . .. but then, our situation is vastly different, isn't it? We're not in love and you had very practical reasons for marrying me, didn't you? Love had nothing to do with it!"
Yancy's nostrils flared with temper and his eyes glittered fiercely. "You are such a blind little fool!" he said
thickly. "Women are supposed to be so damned clever about these things, but you're so obsessed with that blasted clause in Sam's will that you can't see what's right under your nose." He shook her roughly. "You know, there are times when I definitely would like to wring your lovely neck!" Spitting the words out like bullets, he snarled, ^'Practical reasons had nothing to do with our marriage! If I were a practical man, I'd have left you for the wolves and considered myself damned lucky for having had such a narrow escape!"
Sara stared at him openmouthed, something in his eyes, something in the tone of his voice, sending a dizzying ray of hope flooding through her body. Never taking her gaze from his dark face, gathering up all her courage, she asked breathlessly, "Are you saying that you didn't marry me because of Casa Paloma?" She swallowed nervously. "That you had other reasons for having married me?"
He smiled and pulled her against him. He kissed her, and only when the blood was pounding wildly in her veins, only when she could not think clearly, only when all of her senses were full of him, her arms locked around his neck, her body pressing eagerly into his, did he raise his head and stare down with satisfaction into her dazed feamres. Brushing his mouth tantalizingly across hers, he growled, "Now, what the hell do you think?"
Thoroughly bemused, Sara made no demur when he swept her up into his arms and carried her into a nearby room. She had the impression of white walls; a blanket woven in brilliant tones of burgundy, sapphire blue and yellow hung on the wall, breaking the monotony; a heavy, dark, old-fashioned Spanish bed; and the welcoming softness of a feather-filled mattress as Yancy laid her down. He followed her onto the bed, his big body half lying on hers, his hands caressing her even as he stripped the clothing from her.
He kissed her numerous times, hungry, almost violent kisses that took her breath away and made her desperate for more of his demanding lovemaking. Her mind cloudy with desire, she fumbled with clumsy haste and tore at his clothing, sighing with satisfaction when at last her hands were free to roam over his body. She could not seem to get enough of him, her fingers caressing first his face, then his broad back and hard buttocks, finally exploring the smoothly muscled contours of his chest.
When her teasing fingers lightly brushed against his nipples, Yancy jerked and groaned his pleasure, his hands tightening on her hips. He was aching for her, so hard and ready for release that he was certain h
e would die if he could not find immediate succor in her sweet body. All the powerful desire he'd suppressed these past days was
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riding him unmercifully and the feel of her silken flesh beneath his hands, the taste of her when his tongue mated with hers, the evocative scent of her filling his nostrils and the soft sounds of delight she made as he explored and caressed her, drove him nearly to the edge.
Sara was not far behind him. If the locked door of her room had denied Yancy the pleasures of the marriage bed, she had been denied, too, and the moment he had swept her up into his arms and carried her to the room, treacherous, unruly desire had dominated her. She wanted him. Wanted to feel him moving within her. Wanted his hands at her breast, his mouth buried on hers and his swollen shaft driven deep within her. She burned with the need to find again the rapture that only Yancy's lovemaking could give her, and when his hand slid between her legs and his fingers began to part the damp, aching flesh he found there, she moaned and her thighs fell apart as she arched up into his probing caress.
Hearing her moan and feeling her readiness, Yancy, already painfully erect, rolled over onto his back, taking Sara with him. Slightly startled, half lying on him, she gazed down at him, and he said thickly, his eyes blazing with primitive desire, "Ride me, sweetheart—^you decide how swiftly we reach paradise. ..."
Sara's eyes widened as he lifted her, placed her thighs on either side of his hips, then slowly, tantalizingly, brought her down upon his upraised shaft. It was a delicious sensation, all the more so as she watched his expression when he began to slide within her tight sheath, all the excitement and pleasure he felt as her flesh parted for his invasion clear to see on his dark, intent face. Eager to help, she pushed downward, marveling that her small body could take all of his magnificent bulk. A guttural sound broke from Yancy when she finally sank down to the hilt of his shaft and he was completely embedded in
her narrow, silken passage. She was full of him and he was so big, so hard and tightly lodged inside her that she was almost afraid to move. She wiggled experimentally, her lips parting in wonder at the soft shocks of pleasure that rippled through her. When his hands clasped her hips and urged her upward and then downward upon him, she shuddered wildly at the piercing delight those simple movements caused within her.
Dazedly she stared at him and he smiled tightly. "You do it now . . . take us there, take us to heaven."
Her hands resting on either side of his big body, Sara did as he commanded, her slender hips rising slightly and then pushing downward again, burying his warm shaft deeply inside her once more. It was an incredible feeling, both powerful and vulnerable at the same time, and her eyes glistened with carnal excitement as she did it again and again, the spiraling pleasure within her intensifying, the demanding instinct to find release becoming almost more than she could stand.
Yancy's hands were at her breasts, his thumbs rubbing sensuously across her swollen nipples, making her movements more wild, more frantic, as she brought them closer to the pinnacle they sought. Sara was not alone in her increasingly desperate desire for fulfillment; his hips were rising to meet hers and he groaned aloud his delight with every thrust he made into her slick warmth. He reared up suddenly and found her mouth, kissing her with a fierce hunger. His hand cupped the back of her head and when he lay back down, he pulled her with him, the tips of her breasts swaying against his chest, his lips clinging to hers so that he could mimic with his tongue the urgent motions of his lower body.
Sara needed no urging to tip forward, no urging to return his demanding kisses, her tongue, like a flame, dancing with his as they remained locked together, the
frantic pumping of his body into hers making her tremble with all the love and passion she felt for him. The warm touch of his hand gliding up and down her back, the sensation of his hard hips between her thighs, the heady experience of riding him making her wish for this moment never to end. It was torture, this frantic, elemental race for fulfillment, the sweetest torture in the world, and together, they reveled in it until rapture found them.. ..
Yancy's hands were suddenly on her hips, guiding her movements, and as the first powerful storm of pleasure burst through her body, Sara flung her head back, her breasts outthrust as she cried aloud her ecstasy. And it was then and only then that Yancy allowed the savage restraint he had held on himself free rein, and almost instantly he found the same explosive rapture that had claimed Sara.
Stunned by the force of her release, Sara collapsed onto Yancy's heaving chest, the thunder of his heart making her release all the sweeter. As the minutes passed, they lay there together, each one unwilling to break the warm intimacy of the moment, Sara's cheek resting upon his chest, Yancy's hand lightly caressing her narrow back and hips, his lips absently brushing against the honey-gold curls of her hair. Eventually, though, Sara moved, slipping down to lie beside him, her fingers toying with the short, crisp black hair of his chest.
Yancy's arm cradled her close to him, and though there was much that Sara wanted to talk about, she found herself succumbing to a languid drowsiness. In less than five minutes she was deeply asleep.
For several minutes after she had fallen asleep, Yancy stared down into her lovely face, realizing suddenly that he was oddly glad that his father had married Sara. If Sam hadn't taken such drastic action to protect her, some other man might have won her heart and she wouldn't
now be lying so peacefully by his side. He frowned, the queer notion occurring to him that Sam might not have married her just to ensure her future—Sam might have had another reason for marrying Sara, such as to keep her untouched and her heart free until his son returned. . . .
Yancy scowled. The idea was hopelessly convoluted and utterly ridiculous and, he admitted grimly, exactly the sort of thing someone as foolishly romantic and guilt-ridden as his father would have conceived! A huge yawn took him and his eyes closed, his arm tightening around Sara. Ridiculous, he thought sleepily. Completely ridiculous even to believe for a second that Sam had married Sara to save her for him ...
Sara woke first sometime later and for several moments she just lay there savoring the closeness and warmth of Yancy's lax body. Even in sleep his arm was still curled protectively around her and she smiled mistily. Oh, but she did love him! Even if he was the most aggravating male alive!
Refreshed from her nap and with her mind no longer clouded with passion, Sara began to think about the tantalizing words Yancy had uttered in the courtyard. She wanted to wake him and ask him to explain precisely what he had meant, but she was uncertain and just a little shy. He had never mentioned one word of love to her, had never said why he had insisted upon marrying her; and while she couldn't deny that his actions indicated some powerful feelings for her, she needed desperately to hear those three simple words "I love you."
Even if she could totally convince herself that his desire for Casa Paloma had not been the only motive behind their marriage, and she hadn't quite gotten that far in her beliefs, Sara wasn't quite confident enough to believe that Yancy was in love with her. She knew without a shadow of doubt that he desired her—what
had happened so recently in this very bed was certainly proof of that But she didn't know for sure that she aroused any sort of lasting emotion within him. He was kind to her, indulgent with her, protective of her, concerned about her safety and well-being—but so would be the owner of an expensive broodmare!
Sara moved her head slightly and gazed up at his arrogant profile. She sighed. Even in sleep his expression revealed nothing and would reveal nothing, she thought darkly, unless he deemed otherwise. Yancy hid so much of himself, only now and then giving intriguing little hints of what he thought and felt, and Sara wondered bleakly if she would ever really know what went on behind that infuriatingly enigmatic gaze of his. She glanced at him again, desperately wanting to shake him awake and ask him what he felt about her, but she hesitated, afraid she might not like the answer. Her mouth twisted. // she even got an answer! Yancy
had the irritating habit of answering all her questions with questions of his own— damn him!
A clock suddenly chimed in the room, ringing out the hour of three o'clock, and Yancy sat upright with a jerk. "Cmro! I didn't realize it was that late!" Springing up from the bed, he swiftly pulled on his clothes and, dropping a hard kiss on Sara's mouth, said huskily, "I don't want to leave you, sweetheart, but I promised Esteban that I would meet him at two o'clock and I'm an hour late!"
He was gone from the room before Sara could even ask him when he would return. Since she was no longer sleepy and there was no other rtdison to remain in bed, she searched around for her clothes, grumbling to herself about some men. She found her clothes on the floor where Yancy had tossed them earlier, a silly little smile touching her lips as she grabbed them and quickly dressed.
There had been no time to take in the details of the room when she had first entered it, but now, without Yancy's distracting presence to deter her, Sara glanced around curiously. The room was large and pleasantly furnished. Only one door opened into it, and thoughtfully examining the lockless entry way, Sara grimaced ruefully. She had little doubt that she was standing in the master's chamber, or that at Casa Paloma there was no discreet suite of rooms, no other bedroom to which the mistress of the hacienda could retreat—or lock her husband out of!...
Yancy was dwelling on that agreeable fact as he strolled to his meeting with Esteban, and there was a distinctly satisfied grin on his handsome face. Even when he entered the small sala at the rear of the hacienda, where they had agreed to meet, his grin was still firmly in place; and when he saw that, despite his tardiness, Esteban was still waiting patiently for him, his feeling of good humor increased. The two men exchanged greetings, Yancy apologizing for his lateness. It was only when they were both seated in the dark green leather chairs in front of the massive, intricately carved desk of mahogany that they began to discuss the reason for the meeting.
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