Too worried about Yancy to dwell even for a moment on his last, sweetly tantalizing statement, Sara kept her anxious gaze on his still features, her spirits soaring when he would wake and stare around him with obvious comprehension, her heart becoming an icy lump of lead in her chest when he would close his eyes and lie on the tra-vois like a dead man.
It seemed like hours to Sara, but eventually the hacienda came into view, and soon enough Yancy was lying naked beneath the covers on his bed, his wound freshly cleansed and a wide swathe of clean white linen wrapped rakishly about his head. At the moment, he seemed to be sleeping normally, and sitting in a chair by his side, Sara watched him anxiously as he slept. He had been awake and extremely vocal throughout the entire process of getting him settled and comfortable, and she smiled faintly as she recalled his pithy comments when he was stripped by Bartholomew and Esteban and hustled into bed, only to be instantly overwhelmed by Maria and Tansy as they fussed over his wound. Her strong, arrogant husband had not liked being so helpless one little bit!
The sleepiness worried Sara, but it did seem that he was awake far more than he slept, and when he was conscious, his gaze was clear and intelligent. Most of her fear that he would die had receded, but she would not be totally at ease until he was once again his usual infuriating, overbearing and oh-so-beloved self! She had known for a long time that she loved him, but she had not realized the depth of her feelings for him until he had lain so still and unmoving on the ground. She would never forget that awful moment. Neverl Unable to help herself, she reached out and tenderly caressed his brow where the linen bandage covered his wound.
Yancy's dark hand came up suddenly and captured hers. Dragging her fingers to his mouth, he kissed their
tips and, with his eyes still closed, murmured, "Are they all gone now? Is it safe for me to wake up?"
A scandalous expression on her face, Sara stared at him as his eyes flickered open. He grinned at her and, his amber-gold eyes dancing with tender amusement, said softly, "Sweetheart, how were we ever to have a moment alone? Only by feigning a feeble state could I ensure that they would leave us alone."
Despite the joyous thunder in her heart, Sara scolded him. "They were worried about you! You frightened all of us! Pretending to be hurt worse than you are! Shame on you!"
His eyes glittering mockingly beneath their thick black lashes, he asked in an injured tone, "Are you saying that you didn't want to be alone with me? That you don't love me?"
"Yes! No!" she blurted out, adorably flustered. Snatching her hand away from his, she glared at him. Fiercely she said, "You don't deserve to be loved! I'm sure that I will never understand what you do to inspire such devotion and loyalty in your people that you do! They have no idea what an arrogant monster you are!"
Her words didn't perturb him in the least. A crooked smile on his face, he reached out and his hands closed firmly around her upper arms. He gave a swift jerk and Sara tumbled onto his chest, her lower legs dangling off the edge of the bed. His mouth inches from hers, he muttered, "Sara, you little fool! I adore you—even when you are being a shrew!" He kissed her then, a hard, passionate kiss that sent her already befuddled senses swimming.
The universe whirled away, and for Sara there was only Yancy, Yancy's warm lips against hers, Yancy's hands on her body and Yancy's heart beating rhythmically beneath hers. She gave herself up mindlessly to his
kiss, to his touch, and when at last their lips parted, she whispered, "Oh, Yancy, I do love you!"
He brushed back a lock of her hair that had fallen across her forehead, and a tender smile on his face, he said, "Do you know, there were times I feared that I would never hear you say those words. Times when I was certain that I was the greatest fool in nature to have taken one more look at your sweet little face that first night when I returned to Magnolia Grove and fell helplessly in love with you! You've led me a merry chase, sweetheart—never once giving me a clue to how you felt, constantly throwing Paloma up in my face, refusing to marry me .. . forcing me to act in a manner that I found abominable, but never giving me any chance to do otherwise." He sent her a stem look, which was at definite variance with the tenderness in his eyes. "You have much to answer for, wife!"
Sara smiled dreamily. Her finger outlining his hard mouth, she murmured, "And what about you? You never once explained yourself! You just ordered me around and took blatant advantage of me!"
He kissed her lightly and grinned. "I did, didn't I?" His grin faded and his eyes searched hers. "You're not sorry, are you? It did work out all right in the end, didn't it?"
His sudden uncertainty touched her. Arranging herself more comfortably beside him on the bed, she cuddled nearer and said against his mouth, "I could never be sorry for having married you. Neverl Nor for loving you."
''SweetheartV he said thickly. "I adore you!"
Yancy's arms tightened around her and his urgent mouth found hers. The silence that descended was broken only now and then by soft sighs and gentle murmurings, and there was little said during the next several moments that would have made any sense to anyone but the two lovers. It was a sweet, precious
time, and though there was desire between them, powerful, barely leashed desire, they did not give in to it, preferring instead to experience the indescribable pleasure of knowing simply that they loved and were loved by the other. Their kisses and caresses were almost chaste, Sara fully clothed, lying on top of the covers that blanketed Yancy's naked body, but there was such deep emotion between them that it mattered not. Mistily she decided that being in love with one's husband, particularly knowing that he loved her back, was absolutely divine!
Sara's cheek rested against his heart, Yancy's arm possessively cradled her next to his long body, and they lay like that for a long time, savoring this magical moment of utter contentment, this rare and wonderful moment when all was right in their world, when there was perfect harmony between them. All doubts, misunderstandings and troubles were banished and they basked unashamedly in the mystical wonder of their love. Eventually, though, the world intruded, and it was a soft knock on the door which brought them back to reality.
Bartholomew's head appeared around the edge of the door and he smiled, seeing the pair of them lying together on the bed, noticing especially Yancy's miraculous recovery. Entering the room with a twinkle in his eyes, he approached the bed. "I wondered," he said by way of greeting, "just how severe that injury was and just how much was blatant malingering on your part!"
Yancy grinned. "I'm sorry if I caused you any distress, but"—he glanced down at Sara, who had not moved— "I wanted some time alone with my bride!" A gleam lit his amber-gold eyes. "We had much to talk about!"
Open affection on his cafe-au-lait features, Bartholomew looked from one to the other, noting the happiness that shone from both faces. "I take it that
you two have discovered what has been obvious to the rest of us for months?"
Sara giggled. Sitting upright, she said saucily, "You know, we might have discovered this fascinating state of affairs much sooner if only someone had kindly pointed it out to us!"
"And missed the fun of watching you two discover it for yourselves?" Bartholomew asked teasingly.
There were several more minutes of easy banter between them; then, his face sobering, Bartholomew asked quietly of Yancy, "How seriously are you hurt?"
Sara had by this time removed herself to the chair by Yancy's bed, and at Bartholomew's question, an anxious expression crossed her lovely face. One of her hands was still entwined with Yancy's—neither being able not to touch the other—and Yancy's fingers tightened reassuringly on hers. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I really am all right," he said softly. He glanced across at Bartholomew. "And that goes for you, too. I took a bad knock, but I'm fine. I have a slight headache, but that's all."
Bartholomew nodded as if Yancy's words confirmed his own diagnosis. Grabbing another chair and dragging it nearer to the bed, he sat down, his features worried and intent. "That was no accid
ent today," he said bluntly. "Your horse was deliberately shot out from underneath you. Someone wanted you to die or, at the very least, have a serious accident!"
Yancy had been unconscious when the reason for his horse's tumble had been discovered, but he didn't seem surprised by what Bartholomew had just revealed. "I wondered," he said thoughtfully, "what had caused him to go down like that—it didn't/^^/ like a stumble in a prairie dog hole. It felt like he just stopped and went down in a heap."
Bartholomew's mouth twisted. "A bullet in the brain has a way of doing just that—dropping an animal in an instant!"
"But who?" Sara asked worriedly, her wide green eyes moving from one face to the other. "And why?"
Bartholomew and Yancy exchanged glances. "I think," Yancy said slowly, "that the answer to that is fairly obvious. . . ."
Sara stared at Yancy, wondering what he knew that she didn't. Surely he didn't believe that one of his men had done such a thing! There was no question that, to a man, the vaqueros—or even Bartholomew, for that matter—would gladly die for him. They certainly would never endanger his life! And except for Hyrum, there had been no one else around. Except for Hyrum. Sara gasped as the implication hit her and blurted out, "You think Hyrum did it!"
Neither man made any attempt to deny her statement and Sara felt sick. She had liked Hyrum, had counted him as a friend, and there was a time when she would have found it inconceivable to suspect him of attempting cold-blooded murder. But that, of course, had been before she had discovered that he had been carrying on a torrid, clandestine affair with Ann Shelldrake, all the while claiming to love herl She didn't want to believe that he had tried to kill her husband this afternoon, but she certainly didn't trust him anymore, and there was no denying that he was the likeliest suspect.
Into the heavy silence that had fallen, she asked abruptly, "But why? I thought things were going well between you. You've been treating him very fairly these days—you didn't turn him off as you could have—you've given him a job, almost the same one he would have had if my original plans had been carried out. He couldn't have any cause for complaint and he certainly has seemed resigned and content with
his role here. What would he have to gain by killing you?"
Bartholomew looked at the floor, and it was Yancy who said calmly, "What he's been after all along— your
"Me!" she squeaked, her astonishment obvious. "What the devil do you mean by thatV
Yancy's eyes locked with hers. "Merely that if I were to die, you would become a very lovely, very wealthy young widow. If I were to die, you would inherit everything I own—the vast acres of Rancho del Sol, the countless herds of wild cattle and horses, the silver mines in Mexico, everything." He smiled mirthlessly. "Your lovely face and sweet body would be enough to tempt most men, but coupled with a great fortune. . ." Yancy paused, watching the horrified comprehension spread across her face. Quietly he continued. "Coupled with a great fortune, you would become irresistible— especially to a man who has nothing."
"But I would never. . . I've already turned down his offer of marriage. Besides," she said desperately, "he's in love with Ann Shelldrake. Even if he could convince me to marry him, he couldn't possibly want to tie himself to me for the rest of his life."
Yancy's eyes were hooded. "Who said it would be for the rest of your life? If he is capable of one murder, who's to say that after a period of time you wouldn't suffer a fatal accident? Leaving him a rich man, free to marry the woman of his own choice."
"Merciful heavens! Do you really think he is that wicked? To plan not only your murder, but mine as well?"
It was Bartholomew who answered. "I don't know if he plans on your demise or not, but there is no doubt in my mind that he did try to kill Yancy this afternoon and that the motive for his actions was to make you a widow.
A widow he plans on marrying himself. You won't convince me otherwise." He sent Sara an apologetic look. "I know you liked him, but after Sam died, it was obvious to Tansy and me that he was buttering you up, fawning over you for his own means. Maybe you didn't see it, but we did and we worried a great deal about it. He saw you as his hope for the future, and I don't think even your marriage has changed his point of view. That is just another obstacle in his way now."
It all made a terrible kind of sense, and with the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach growing, Sara realized that she agreed with Bartholomew's reading of the situation. She wasn't quite ready to accept Yancy's premise that at some distant time her own death was planned by Hyrum, but she had difficulty discounting it entirely.
"Do you think he killed Margaret?" Sara demanded suddenly.
Bartholomew shrugged and Yancy said slowly, "I don't know. He could have—as well as half a dozen other people!"
Sara rubbed her temple with one hand. "It would certainly be simpler if he had! It is disconcerting, to say the least, to think that we may have a household comprised of not only Margaret's murderer but also someone else entirely who, except for your handiness with a gun, might have arranged your murder this afternoon!"
Yancy grinned at her. "Don't you worry, sweetheart— I am much harder to kill than Margaret!"
Sara glared at him. "This is not amusing! He tried to kill you!"
Yancy grimaced and kissed the fingers of the hand he was still holding. "I know, sweetheart, I know, but I don't think we have to worry that he will make another attempt so soon. He certainly wouldn't want to arouse suspicion, nor would he want there to be any signs that
point in his direction. I don't believe this afternoon's attempt was planned—he simply saw an opportunity and took it. If it had worked, well, then he was successful, but if it failed, he hadn't lost anything by it. At least that's how I see the situation."
Bartholomew nodded. "Esteban and I have already talked about it and we're inclined to agree. Hyrum couldn't have known you'd be at that particular spot or that there would be trouble with the bull. We think he was riding far enough ahead of the others to be hidden by the brush and saw what was going on. Realizing that no one could see him, he seized the opportunity, figuring that when the horse went down you stood a good chance of breaking your neck, and if not that, then there was the bull. ... He had nothing to lose by trying."
Sara swallowed. "What do we do now? All we know for sure is that someone shot the horse. Everything else is just speculation on our part. We have no proof that Hyrum did it, much less that he even thought about doing it! So what do we do—send him away?"
"I don't know," Yancy began slowly. "I'm not fond of the idea of Hyrum running loose out there with the thought of murdering me foremost on his mind. I'd rather we kept him here, where we can keep an eye on him until we can come up with a better solution— or proof of what he is up to."
Sara nodded reluctantly, unable to offer another suggestion.
Looking at Bartholomew, Yancy quirked an eyebrow, "Well? Do you have any other ideas?"
Bartholomew shook his head disgustedly. "No, I'm afraid not. I don't like the idea of that bastard thinking he got away with something, but I don't see how we can do anything different than what you proposed. Sara's right—we have only suspicions." Grimly Bartholomew
added, "But in the meantime, Esteban and I will see to it that he is watched closely. Vety closely!"
Sara tried to take comfort from Bartholomew's words, but it was cold comfort indeed. Just knowing that Hyrum was even in the same vicinity as Yancy sent icy tendrils of fear racing through her body, and she barely waited for Bartholomew to shut the door behind him as he left before she flung her arms around Yancy's neck and said fiercely, "Don't you dare let him kill you! Do you hear me? Don't you dare!"
Yancy smiled and pulled her even closer. Kissing her cheek, he said softly, "Sara, I love you, more than I thought I could ever love anyone. You are my life, and I have no intention of letting Hyrum Bumell kill me. I intend for us to have a long and rapturously happy marriage and I'm looking forward to having you in my arms and in my bed for the rest of my life!
Since I've just discovered the glorious fact that you love me, do you think I would let anything, anyone, stand in my way of reveling in your love? I've waited too long and suffered too many anxieties over the state of your heart to allow Hyrum to cut short the decades of loving I expect from you!"
What could she do but kiss him after that? She did so with great enthusiasm and she discovered shortly just how little his wound had incapacitated him. She was never certain how it happened, but in a few brief seconds, she found herself lying naked on the bed with him, her clothes scattered wildly about the floor and his warm, hard body pressed intimately next to hers. He had always had the power to drive coherent thought from her mind, had always had the power to arouse her with a look, a touch, a kiss, but this was different; this time she knew that there was love behind every caress, every brush of his lips, every muttered word that came from him as he explored her body, and her heart rejoiced. He loved her
Compulsively her hands wandered over his lean body, and she smiled to herself at his groans of pleasure when her fingers found a particularly responsive area of his flesh. She took a new, wondrous delight in him, delight in his muscled strength, delight in the increasingly hungry demand of his kisses, knowing that when he claimed her, when at last he slid deeply within her body and began the fierce movements that would bring them ecstasy, the same emotion which was driving her was driving him; that this was not lust, this was lovingl
And afterward, when passion was spent, there was the indescribable bliss of lying beside him, sharing the sweet exhaustion that claimed them both and hearing him whisper softly against her ear, "I love you, querida, never doubt it. You are my heart!"
Love a Dark Rider Page 35