by Janet Dailey
Carter. He seemed eons away. Had it only been such a short time ago that she had been with him? His last letter had been chatty and full of interesting tidbits of various mutual acquaintances, but it also held an underlying current of concern that Stacy couldn't ignore. She knew he was waiting for an answer from her, one that she couldn't give. She had difficulty even recalling what Carter looked like; all she could summon up was a blurred image of short, sandy hair and shining blue eyes so unclear that it could have been Jim she was picturing rather than Carter. Maybe the resemblance between the two was the reason she was so drawn to Jim. Stacy really couldn't say. But she had no desire to think on it. She probably would have been better off if she had never come out here, but then she never would have fallen in love with this wild, rugged country. Even in her present circumstances, Stacy enjoyed the closeness of the demanding landscape. Gone was the overcrowdedness, the smog, and the endless blare of traffic; in its place was endless space, fresh air, and the muffled calls of God's creatures.
With a glance at the sinking sun, Stacy remounted the rested horse and turned him towards the ranch house. Her wandering thoughts were brought up short by the knowledge that she had to return before the sun was too far down.
All too quickly they reached the stables. Stacy dismounted and led the docile sorrel through the fence gate to the stable area. Humming contentedly, she didn't hear the approach of the wizened Hank.
'You shore are mighty cheerful,' Hank crackled behind her.
The sudden voice startled her. 'Hank! You shouldn't do that !' she admonished with a shaky laugh. 'You-practically scared me out of my boots!'
'You looked so happy and contented that it seemed a pure shame to spoil such a pretty picture,' he grinned.
'I thought only the Irish had kissed the Blarney Stone. Seems you people out here must have one of your own,' she teased, a sparkle lighting up her brown eyes.
'Pshaw! Ain't nothin' fancy about tellin' a pretty girl she's pretty when all she had to do is look in the mirror an' see,' Hank replied with a grunt.
Warned by the affection of the gnarled man beside her and the caressing rays of the firey-bright sun, Stacy had a tremendous urge to spread her arms and envelop the great wild, rugged land that had captured her so completely. Instead she raised her face to the gentle breeze and inhaled the fragrant perfumes it carried.
'I love this land !' she exclaimed, ending in a regretful sigh. 'I'm going to hate leaving all this behind.'
'I thought you didn't like it here?' Hank commerited, turning his head away to hide the twinkle in his eye.
I've never seen anything like it. At times it's so harsh and desolate, but the beauty is still there. Oh, no, Hank, I don't like it, I love it!'
'Humph ! If you're so fond of this place, why leave it? Why don't you just move to some part of the country around here?'
'It wouldn't be the same,' Stacy replied with a gentle shake of her chestnut hair.
'What's so special about this place, anyway?'
'It's a hundred different, things. The sun wouldn't set quite the same. The hills wouldn't be the same colour,' she explained hesitantly.
'The sun sets the same anywhere,' Hank snorted. Then he turned to her rapturous face, not even trying to hide the gleam in his eyes and added, 'What about the Boss?'
'What do you mean?' Stacy queried, stiffening at the reference to the enigmatical Cord Harris.
'Ain't he a part of all this?'
'Of course not! He's—–'
'He's the only reason why you're wantin' to stay here at all,? Hank grinned, hurrying on before Stacy could voice the protest forming on her lips. 'Quit kiddin' yoreself that you're only here to work out the trouble yore horse caused.'
'He won't let me go,' Stacy cried.
'You won't let yoreself go,' Hank answered. 'Face it, girl, the only hold he has on you is your heart. You love him. I've known it for a long time.'
'No,' Stacy said weakly as the gruff words sank in.
'Reckon it's about time the cat was let out of the bag. If you got any guts at all, you'll admit it to yourself.'
Stacy stood speechless after the retreating figure. In love with Cord Harris? Impossible ! Why, he was the most arrogant, rude, hateful person she had ever known. She hated him!. Memories raced through her mind—the racing of her pulse when he entered a room, the torment and pain of his mocking smile, the burning of her skin at his touch. Stacy groaned, remembering the black hair with its wayward lock that fell on to the tanned forehead and the dark, flashing eyes that so many times threatened to consume her with their fire, and the finely chiselled cheekbones with their shadow of a beard, his mouth that had bruised and battered her with his kiss when all the time she had been seeking it, waiting for it.
Impatiently the stallion turned and whickered to the slim, freckled figure. Numbly she led him to his corral, stumbling several times, unable to focus on anything but the vivid picture of Cord etched in her mind. She loved him! This torment that possessed her when he was near was the desire to love which was antagonized into hate by his rejection. As she turned the sorrel loose in his paddock, Stacy allowed the realization to wash over her. How could she have been so blind not to have recognized it before? A bubble of elation filled her as she raced to the hacienda. A flush filled her cheeks; a glow lit her brown eyes; and a smile spread across her face with the warming knowledge of her discovery. Stacy Adams loved Cord Harris, her heart chanted. She wanted to scream it to the world. Breathlessly she threw open the heavy oak door and rushed into the silent hall.
The emptiness stopped her. He wasn't here. He had left with Lydia this afternoon after Stacy had quarrelled with him. The desolation swept over her. How could she have forgotten Lydia with her raven hair and porcelain skin? The divorcee with her dark beauty had returned to Cord, returned to accept the love he had once laid at her feet. It was she he cared for, not Stacy. The excitement of her new-found love had allowed Stacy to forget one vital thing—Cord despised her, despised everything she stood for!
'Get hold of yourself, Stacy Adams,' she scolded, wrinkling the golden freckles on her nose at the self-pity that wanted to swallow her. 'Your father didn't raise a quitter. Cord thinks you're a feckless girl without an ounce of sense to your name and concern for no 'one but yourself. You've got to show him before it's too late that he's wrong. At least you can fight for him. You can give that raven-haired witch a run for her money !'
With grim determination Stacy swept aside the waves of melancholy. First things first and the first was washing the dust off from her ride and after that she would dress for dinner. Tonight she'd wear her backless jersey culotte dress with the bold turquoise and emerald design. She had brought it along on a whim, but now she would put it to use.
A spark of combat gleamed in Stacy's brown eyes as she undressed swiftly and stepped under the biting spray of the shower. 'Cord,' she let the name roll lovingly from her lips. It had the sound of a man, the tensile strength of a whip cracking overhead. The rugged land of Texas had bred a man to match and conquer its harsh terrain. Remembering the strength of his hands, the steel of his arms and the solidness of his broad shoulders, she felt a quiver of passion course through her. If only she could look into his dark eyes and see a desire and a love for her there, how perfect her world would be.
By the time she had stepped out of the shower, she had recaptured the earlier enchantment of her new emotion. With a youthful resiliency she had bounded back with a sureness based on faith rather than common sense. Briskly she rubbed the rough terry towel over her body. Singing happily to herself, she returned to the bedroom where she proceeded to dress with a great deal more care than she had ever bothered with before.
Finished, she stood before the large dresser mirror inspecting her reflection with a critical eye. The brilliant blues and greens of her dress offset the light golden tan of her arms and the sun-bleached highlights in her hair. With a final glance at the satin shoes peeping under the floor-length skirt, she winked a comp
liment to her reflection and left the room.
With a regalness of carriage that denied the flutterings in her heart, Stacy descended the stairs. The plump Mexican housekeeper was setting the table in the dining room. The confidence in Stacy's face took a little dive when she saw only one place setting. She almost asked Maria when Cord was expected home, but pride wouldn't let her concede the possibility that he wouldn't be returning early. Her inquiries on previous evenings had always been met with a negative answer and she couldn't bear to hear one tonight.
'The senorita looks lovely tonight,' Maria bubbled with her usual wide smile. 'You have a date with Jeem, maybe, no?'
'No,' Stacy smiled as she tried to steel herself against the trembling in her body.
Quietly she seated herself at the empty table and tried to eat the attractive dishes placed before her. But the anticipation that consumed her didn't leave any room for food even though she tried valiantly to show an interest in the fruit salads and cold meats that Maria had prepared so painstakingly for her. Finally, after picking away at a pineapple confection for several minutes and not tasting a bit of it, Stacy pushed herself away from the table. It was no use. The tension and apprehension of waiting had stolen her appetite. She was just too excited to eat. Nervously she rose from her chair and began pacing by the table.
'Do you not feel well, senorita?' the Mexican woman asked, standing in the doorway of the dining room.
'It was really a very good meal, Maria. I just don't have any appetite,' Stacy apologized, not wishing to hurt her feelings.
Maria seemed to accept Stacy's explanation and began clearing away the dishes. Stacy watched for a minute, trying to gather the courage to ask Maria if she knew where Cord was.
'You perhaps would like your coffee out on the patio?'
'Yes, that would be nice,' Stacy murmured absently. Quietly she started to walk from the room, then stopped and in a nonchalant voice asked, 'Do you expect Mr. Harris home early this, evening?'
'Oh, no. He went to a cattlemen's dinner. He usually very late,' was the reply before Maria bustled off to the kitchen.
Dejectedly Stacy walked through the living room to the large glass doors that led on to the veranda. The hope had washed out of her eyes as she slid the doors open and stood on the cobblestone floor outside.
The loneliness seemed to seep into her bones, quelling all the hope and confidence she had summoned. Restlessly, Stacy walked farther out and leaned heavily against a pillar supporting the balcony above. She struggled desperately to fight the dejection and list-lessness that was surrounding her. The pool shimmered darkly in the dim light, a hint of ominousness in its depths. She gazed in the direction of the family cemetery on the gentle knoll above the house, hidden from direct view by the adobe walls. Silently she whispered a prayer to Dona Elena, Cord's grandmother. If she understood how much Stacy loved this country and her grandson, perhaps the ghost of this Spanish woman would intervene on her behalf. But no, that only happened in dreams. Wishing Cord by her side could not make it so.
Absently Stacy heard the sound of steps on the patio. Assuming it to be Maria with her coffee, she remained leaning against the pillar, not wishing the Mexican woman to see the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks.
'Just put the coffee on the table, Maria. I'll serve myself in a minute,' Stacy's voice was uncommonly low, her throat choked by the emotion she couldn't control.
'The coffee's already here. You don't mind if I help myself before it gets cold, do you?' came the reply.
'Cord,' she whispered faintly. For a moment, she was afraid her legs wouldn't hold her. In that brief moment he rushed to her side.
'Stacy, are you all right?' His hands seized her shoulders roughly.
'Yes, yes, I'm fine. You startled me,' Stacy eplied shakily, refusing to look into the probing dark eyes for fear they would see the naked love she felt.
'For a minute there I thought you were going to faint. You were as pale as a ghost. Are you sure you feel all right?' The concern still in his voice as his tanned hands remained on her arms.
His nearness overwhelmed her. She was so conscious of the rich black cloth of his suit, the brilliant whiteness of his shirt, and his face just inches from hers, that she couldn't look up. She couldn't let him see what he was doing to her. Her eyes concentrated on his left hand, the strong fingers, the dark, curling hairs peeping out from the cuff of his shirt.
'You're hurting me!' Her voice came out weakly as her body threatened to sway against the massive chest that presented itself so invitingly.
'I'm sorry,' Cord said moving abruptly away from her, a briskness returning to his voice. Stacy glanced up, but his eyes were hidden in the night's shadows and she was unable to determine his reaction. Did he consider her a silly city girl afraid of the dark? 'I didn't realize I was holding you so tightly,' he finished.
Firmly Stacy got hold of herself. She mustn't act like a coltish schoolgirl. After all, this was what she wanted, a chance to be alone with him. The trouble was her tongue was twisted up with the love in her heart. How much easier it would be just to tell him she loved him. Casually she walked up to the edge of the veranda to join him.
'Care for a cigarette?'
'Yes, thank you,' Stacy replied, watching the masculine hands holding the cigarette case as they removed another filter-tipped cigarette and lit it for her. The sudden flare of the lighter illuminated the rough features of Cord's face, outlining the lines of tiredness etched around his mouth.
'Maria didn't expect you back till much later. She said you were at a cattlemen's dinner. Have you eaten? she asked, trying to keep too much concern from showing in her voice.
'Yes,' he replied noncommittally.
'Are those type of things usually over this early?' Stacy asked, desperately trying to keep the conversation going, hoping he wouldn't notice her nervousness.
'No, it was still going on when I left.' His reply was abrupt and gave Stacy the impression that he didn't feel like talking.
'I imagine you're rather tired. Perhaps you'd rather I left so you could relax?' she suggested, willing the pain to leave her heart.
'You're extremely solicitous tonight,' Cord replied, an eyebrow raised quizzically in her direction. 'Yes, I am rather tired, but no, you don't need to leave. If you want to make yourself useful you can pour me a cup of coffee.'
Without replying Stacy walked over to the table. As she stood bathed in the light from the living room, Cord's low voice carried to her, 'You look very becoming in that frock you're wearing.'
'Thank you,' she murmured, trying to still the trembling that ceased her hand.
'Were you expecting company tonight?' His voice had changed from an indifferent tone to the familiar mocking one.
'No,' Stacy said too swiftly, trying to cover the embarrassment that his observation had caused. If only he knew that the only person she expected was him! 'I just felt like slipping into something different.'
Cord walked over into the light near Stacy. She handed him his coffee, her own dark eyes flicking up to meet his as she did so.
'I was hoping you'd be up,' Cord said briskly, moving out of the light where she couldn't study his expression.
'Oh,' Stacy cursed inwardly at the breathlessness in her voice.
'I wanted to apologize for this afternoon. You're doing an excellent job on the barbecue and I was unreasonably harsh.' He seemed to hesitate as if waiting for a reply, but no words came from her lips. 'No harm has been done, and the fault was mainly mine for not advising you about the catalogue.'
'No,' Stacy rushed, 'I should have realized that—'
'Whoa!' Cord laughed. His warm deep mirth thrilled her. 'Let's close the conversation before we start a mutual admiration society.'
'But that's just what I want to do,' Stacy thought as she joined the laughter. She felt rather than saw the tension ease out of him as he turned and flicked his cigarette off into the dark. She watched the arc of the glowing embers as it sailed through the a
ir to be lost in the shrubbery. Her long fingers stubbed her own cigarette out in an available ash tray. Cord had moved over to the pillar where Stacy had been standing when he had arrived. She wandered a few feet to the other side of him, her own cup of coffee held caressingly in both hands, enjoying the feel of its warmth to her palms.
'Oh, the stars are out!' she exclaimed as she looked into the velvet sky at the brilliant array.
'Now you've seen stars before,' the mocking voice said.
'Yes, but you see, when I was looking out here earlier, there were only one or two dim stars and now there's hundreds,' Stacy explained, radiant with her enthusiasm. 'It seemed so lonely with no moon and just a couple of stars, but now it's magnificent.'
'Tell me something, Stacy,' he said, leaning lazily against the pillar, his dark gaze surveying the lithe form beside him, 'are you really what you seem? One time you're a dewy-eyed girl enraptured with a flower or a moon or something, another time you're a hot-tempered Irish colleen fighting me tooth and nail, then you're a cool, sophisticated debutante acting out a part like earlier tonight in your fine satin gown. Which one is the real you?'
'Will the real Miss Stacy Adams please stand up?' she laughed, not wanting to face the serious eyes. But when he failed to join in with her joke, Stacy added as truthfully as she could, 'I suppose I'm all those things.'
Her eyes tried to read his expression, but his face was in the shadows. He stood quietly for a time until the silence became too much for Stacy and she nervously walked over and placed her cup near the coffee urn.
'Stacy?' There was a hesitation in Cord's use of her name that she couldn't identify.
'Yes?'
‘Would you come here a minute?' If only she knew what made his voice seem so different, almost unsure. 'I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind.'